[donald4spiderman]

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asian, she/her, 18+ // lover of TV, rap & rnb music, public transit, and cats

inbox: open/closed — accepting request for: jack abbot (the pitt)

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[thislilmindofmine]

Teach Me How To Be Loved - Jack Abbot x Reader

Description: Y/n picks a fight with Jack after having a hard day, and she doesn't know how to react when he refuses to fight back.

Warnings: Kind of the aftermath of a blow-up, there's not really actual arguing. Other than that, it hints at past unhealthy relationships. Implied age gap, but not specified. Use of y/n and she/her.

Notes: Idk, I have this headcanon that Jack doesn't raise his voice at his partner. I wanted to explore it more. Anyway, I think this is cute. Enjoy :)

_________

She truly didn't mean it. It was stupid, really. She had barely slept the night before, then proceded to have the worst day imaginable. Everything was going wrong. She was tired, upset, emotional, and frustrated, though now she knew none of that gave her the right to be acting the way she was.

She couldn't even remember what started it. All she knew was that she got so angry. The worst part was that Jack didn't fight back. He let her yell at him. They'd never fought before. It was uncharted territory. But the calmer he was, the more frustrated she seemed to be.

There was a moment when she paused to take a breath. Jack stood opposite her, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow.

"Are you done?".

She let out an irritated sigh. "Why aren't you more angry?".

He tilted his head. "I'm not angry at all."

"Why not? Jack, just say something. Fight back!".

He didn't flinch. Didn't falter.

Just crossed the room and moved closer to her. "No."

His voice was so soft and gentle that it pissed her off. She glared at him. He ignored it, taking another step closer to her. "I'm serious. Shout back at me. Do something! What's wrong with you?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to shout at you. I won't ever do that, sweetheart."

"But I'm shouting at you."

"I know, that's okay."

"Fuck you."

He chuckled. "I know you're not mad at me."

"I am now!".

"No, you just found a new thing to be mad at. You don't even remember what you were mad at before."

It was incredibly frustrating fighting with someone who won't do it back. Someone who knew her better than she did sometimes. If she was thinking rationally, she would've realised he was right. But she just kept thinking about how awful her day was, and it was overwhelming. And now her boyfriend was being so sweet to her despite her being so mean to him.

He sighed. "What do you need from me? Want me to leave, or do you want a hug?".

Physical touch was the last thing on her mind right now. She was so mad at everything. She didn't know what she wanted.

"I don't want you to leave." She muttered.

"Okay. I won't, it's okay." He replied softly but stayed where he was. He didn't move in to hug her because she didn't say that either.

"I think I want to be alone for a while."

He nodded. "You do what you need to do, honey. I will be in the kitchen making dinner when you're ready."

She had to leave before she blew up at him again just for that. Before Jack, she was single for a long time. She used to just deal with things by herself. And before that, she only seemed to be in relationships with men who didn't know how to talk. So much of her adult life had been spent only relying on herself. Then, Jack came along, and suddenly, she had someone who talked and listened and took care of her and learned all of her little quirks and habits, and understood how important her independence was to her.

It dawned on her that perhaps after almost five months of dating him, it was finally catching up to her. They were getting more serious. Her hoodie was draped over the back of his couch. Her citrus scented body washes were in his shower, her skincare products on his bathroom counter. Her book was left on his coffee table. He had a set of crutches at her place. His gym shirts in her laundrey basket. And he just did things for her. Without her asking or even saying anything. He never complained or made her needs feel like a burden. He made it easy, and it was starting to scare her.

And him not yelling back at her tipped her over the edge because what did he mean he wasn't going to fight with her? Like it was the most normal thing ever.

It felt weird.

She slipped back into her old habits and distanced herself from him. She went to his bedroom and laid down on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to cool down.

Silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

She wanted to scream and cry, but nothing like that came out. It wasn't dramatic. She broke down quietly. Not necessarily to avoid Jack hearing her. But she was just so tired and feeling insecure. It was all too much, and she wasn't used to this many feelings all at once. It was exhausting. She cried herself to sleep, nuzzling her face into Jack's pillow. The faint familiar smell of him that lingered there was comforting. Without his physical presence there it wasn't overwhelming, and she could finally take a deep, shuddering breath to release all the pent-up energy left in her body.

About an hour went by, and Jack decided to go check on her. When he noticed all was quiet, he assumed she'd fallen asleep. He tapped on the door, a soft knock with the back of his knuckles. No response. He did it again. Then, he proceded to carefully push the door open and made sure to close it behind him to prevent the light from the hallway coming in and waking her up.

He made his way over to the bed and sat on the edge beside her. Looking at her face, he could see the tear tracks left on her cheeks. He frowned, finding her arm with his hand. He stroked her soft skin for a moment, leaning over to brush the stray hairs out of her face.

He didn't say anything just yet, wanting to let her have a few more peaceful minutes before waking her up. He had come to tell her that dinner was ready, but upon seeing that she had been crying, his intention quickly changed.

He woke her up so gently it almost felt like she was dreaming.

"Hey, sweetheart."

She blinked up at him tiredly. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "You still mad?".

She nodded, shifting to sit up against the headboard. Then she paused and shook her head no instead.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "You don't know?".

She sighed quietly. "No. I just... I don't know."

"Hey, it's okay. Don't worry."

Reaching over her, he gently grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Wanna tell me what's on your mind?".

She shrugged, letting him hold her hand. "I'm sorry... for shouting at you."

He shook his head. "Already forgiven. I would like to know what I did wrong, though."

She frowned, feeling terrible now that she was a bit calmer. "Nothing."

"Well, I find that hard to believe."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Jack. You just... didn't fight back."

"Is that what you're upset about?".

"No. I... I'm not upset. I'm tired and angry and confused and scared. I think I panicked and took it out on you even though I didn't mean to. You didn't shout back."

For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he looked at her. "Can I come closer?".

She nodded, instinctively making room for him while he removed his prosthesis. He shifted closer, taking her spot before pulling her against him to rest on his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, hands settling on her stomach. He felt her breathe deeply.

Then he rested his chin on her shoulder, nuzzling into her cheek and pressing a soft kiss on the side of her neck.

"M'kay, angel." He hums. "I need you to listen up. Can you do that for me?".

She nodded.

"You listenin'?".

"Yeah."

"I love you. Do you know what I mean when I say that? I mean that I love all of you. Every part of you. Every version of you. When you're happy, sad, scared, exhausted, or randomly decide you hate me for a few seconds. Especially in those moments, I love you. I will always love you with everything I have. I know you didn't mean to shout. And I know that it wasn't me you were mad at. I even know you had to leave before you shouted more. But it would still be okay if you didn't make that decision because I love you more than anything you could say to me. And if that's what scares you, we need to talk about it."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them away. She sniffled. "I'm terrified, Jack."

"Can you tell me why?".

"Because loving someone is scary, and you make it easy. And letting someone like you love me is... overwhelming. Sometimes."

His head tilted, but he didn't judge her. He didn't take offence or get defensive. Instead, opting to press a kiss to the side of her head, which made her close her eyes briefly.

"What overwhelms you, sweetheart?".

"All of it. You know how to talk. You listen, actually listen to me, and remember stuff I've said. For the first time in my life, I feel like I can rely on someone other than myself. You take care of me in ways I didn't even know had to be taken care of. I like it, but... sometimes I hate it, too."

His expression softened. "You know, I hate to say it. And your feelings are absolutely valid, and I understand what you're saying. But, honey... that's how a relationship is supposed to be. You're supposed to talk and listen and remember stuff. We need to be able to trust and rely on each other. We take care of each other. That's actually the bare minimum."

Turning in his arms, her chest now pressed against his, she looked at him.

"If it doesn't feel easy, then something ain't right." He said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's not normal. It can't be."

"It is, baby. I promise."

She frowned. "Then why am I scared, Jack?".

"Because you're not used to it. It's okay to be scared."

"What if I don't want to rely on you for everything?".

"You don't have to. We can talk about it and figure out what you feel comfortable with."

She let out a quiet sigh, settling with her chin gently resting on his chest and looking up at him with her big eyes he was so madly in love with.

His expression softened. "I know this is hard for you."

"I'm not gonna pretend it isn't. But we'll figure it out together, and then it'll get easier. Alright?".

Her chin lightly bumped into his chest as she nodded, making him smile at her. "Okay." She mumbled.

He sighed. "C'mere."

She furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of how much closer she could get to him. But he just chuckled and pulled her up further so they were face to face. First, he kissed her forehead, then pressed more on her face until he had her giggling. Then he pulled her into a sweet kiss on the lips.

"There's my girl." He hums. "Feel better now?".

"Yeah... a little."

"Do you need anything from me?".

"Just want you to hold me."

He melted inside. "That I can do. Are you hungry? Dinner's ready, but I'll probably need to heat it up by now."

She shook her head. "Not really."

"No? Okay, later then. You need to eat something."

She nuzzled back into his chest, content to fall asleep on top of him like this. Jack had no complaints about it, but he would be waking her up in an hour or two to persuade ger to eat something. For now, he just held her in his arms while she rested.

For the next two hours, Jack stayed awake, trailing his hand down her arm up soothingly as she slept. He kept his touch light and delicate, reaching down further to intertwine their fingers together. He pressed the softest kiss on to her temple, letting his lips linger a little longer. His other arm held her by the waist, pressing her torso against his, and he could feel each steady breath. When her eyes eventually fluttered open once again, he brushed some of her hair back out of her face.

If it was possible, her body sunk into him even more. Just wanting to feel his closeness and warmth.

"Hi." He whispered.

"Jack, I'm so sorry."

"Hm?".

"I'm sorry." She started to cry.

"Oh... no, no. Don't cry. It's okay. It's all forgiven. I promise. There's nothing to be sorry for."

His hand stroked the back of her head lovingly as she sniffled. He gently wiped her tears away with his thumb.

"I love you." Her lip wobbled.

His expression softened. "I know, angel. I know you do. It's alright. Calm yourself down."

She took a deep, slow breath in and out, and he nodded. "There you go. That's it."

She sighed quietly, nuzzling back into him, and he gently squeezed her. "There she is. That's my girl."

She smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"Any time."

After a while, he convinced her to get up with him to eat. She didn't realise how hungry she was until a bowl of heated up pasta was placed in front of her. And he had made one of her favourite dishes.

She looked at him confused.

"What's up?".

"It's not my birthday."

He smiled. "I know it's not. But you had a hard day, and I wanted to make something nice for you."

It was official. She had the best boyfriend. He was kind and thoughtful, and even when she was having the worst day of her life, he still loved her. That was all she could really ask for

__________

[donald4spiderman]

my fucking shaylas ugh

[wildflowerluver]

★ Don't Forget You Love Me

pairing: jack abbot x fem!resident!reader

summary:

cw: drinking, cigarettes, jack abbot is #inlove, drunk!reader, friends to lovers, the pitt girlies are besties, lowkey self-loathing, terrible love confession

word count: 3.5k

a/n: sorry everyone i lowk hate parts of this so i apologize if the writing isn’t all that 😣

Two Irish Carbombs with Cassidy and Trinity had you officially fucked.

You weren’t expecting a co-worker outing to be as fun as it was. But people were actually letting loose and not letting the horrors of the emergency room linger.

And above all, the drinks were flowing.

You pregamed with Mel, Samira, and Victoria, fully expecting the night to be some form of a shit-show.

Especially when you knew for a fact that Jack Abbot was going to be in attendance.

Jack Abbot.

The man who started as your night shift attending and has since transformed into the one you always look for in a crowded room and undeniably the person you best work with.

It seemed to be apparent to quite literally everyone besides the two of you.

Your introductions at the bar had been coy. You had slid up to where he was standing, hand on his bicep warning him of your presence.

“What’re you drinking?”

“Beer,” Jack answers plainly.

You roll your eyes. “So typical.”

“Admit it. You like fighting with me.” He’s close enough to you now that you can spot every freckle that dances across his face.

“Eh, only when you play dirty,” you start. “Besides, you just have to try a cocktail I make and then you’ll be off of shitty beer.”

“Is that an invitation?”

You bite your lip. “It can be if you say yes.”

Trinity interrupts the two of you soon after, something about shots for Victoria’s 21st birthday.

“Well Dr. Abbot, duty calls,” you wink at Jack.

“Looking forward to your return,” he answers back.

It started with the shots for Victoria, then the Irish car bombs with Trinity and Cassidy.

You were bouncing around throughout the bar, saying hi to familiar faces and introducing yourself to those you didn’t know. You were blissfully socially drunk.

And then Dana pulled out a cigarette which sounded delicious.

You pressed a finger to your lips with a giggle as you and Samira slid out of the booth to follow the charge nurse outside.

You’re stopped when a hand reaches out to grab your wrist. Jack.

“Where ya going?” He inquired as he takes a sip of his beer, the same kind he was drinking when you talked to him last.

“Dana has a cig,” you giggle. “I’ll be back.”

Jack’s face shifts just slightly.

“Relax old man. Just want a hit.”

Jack holds his hands up in mock surrender.

You stumble back over to where Samira is waiting. Her arm interlocks with yours and in another fit of giggles, you slip into the crisp Pittsburgh night.

Dana might be one of your favorite people on planet earth and sharing a cigarette with her was legendary.

The slight nicotine buzz combined with the liquor was starting to take its full effect.

Jack noticed it the second you walk in. You’re leaning a little bit more onto Samira when you return. But above all, you’re still smiley and giggly.

“Room for one more?” Samira asks the older attending.

“Drop her here,” Jack nods.

You sit down at the bar stool next to Jack. He’s been in a conversation with Robby and Langdon about something you haven’t quite been able to catch onto.

Jack bumps his knee against yours. “You okay?”

“Do I look fucked up?”

Jack hums. “You look like a dream, sweetheart.”

Your face heats, a pink hue overcoming your cheeks at his flirtatious remark.

His knee stays pressed against your leg. You zone out allowing your hazy mind to wander as Jack jumps back in the conversation.

You don’t know how long you sit there, sharing the same square of space as your attending.

Jack finishes his beer soon after and places it at the edge of the table. He brings his hand up to the water ring it left behind and runs his finger in the circle.

That certainly grabs your attention.

Jack has big hands. You’ve seen them wrist deep during emergency surgery or on a patient's chest when he performs CPR. But seeing one of his meaty fingers making mesmerizing circles had your mind reeling.

You wonder what it would be like to hold his hand, his calloused palms against your own. Or his hands on your hips, him dragging them down your body to explore every part.

You know you need to stop imagining your superior in compromising situations but right now all you want is him. Someone you can’t have.

And then the swaying starts.

Jack notices it almost immediately. He’s been keeping a careful eye on you since you sat down. He can’t help it.

“Still doing okay?” Jack inquires.

You nod, mouth feeling too heavy to give a verbal answer. You’re starting to feel dizzy and you know for a fact your alcohol to water ratio was severely off.

Please let your drunk self remember to fill your water bottle and grab some painkillers.

When you finally open your eyes, it’s quickly apparent that you and Jack are the only ones remaining at the table. You could spot Langdon talking to Mel across the bar and figured Robby had headed out early.

“Jack?” you whisper.

He hums.

“Everyone leave?”

Jack nods. “Just you and I.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah I just-“ You pause to take a deep breath as another dizzy spell takes over. “M’ just getting sleepy.”

“I can take you home, sweetheart,” Jack offers.

Against your will, you feel the pang in your chest and your eyes start to well with tears at the implication of his offer.

“You aren’t drunk?” You pout. “I don’t wanna be the only drunk one. Dammit I’m so sorry.”

You know you get emotional when you drink and on top of already feeling like a burden for him essentially watching over you, it was a terrible combination.

Jack takes a step forward. He rests his hand on your bare upper arms. The goosebumps on your skin disappear as he rubs his hands up and down.

“Sweetheart, relax.”

That damn nickname again.

The older man gives you a look as if to say ‘copy me’ as he takes a deep breath in before releasing it. You follow his command.

Goddamn breathing exercises you both use with your patients.

The tears wet your waterline as they threaten to spill down your cheeks.

You hiccup. “Just feel bad.”

“Don’t. Let me take care of you,” Jack responds without missing a beat.

Eventually you nod. “Okay. You can take care of me.”

Jack grins. His hand slides around to rest on your back, right where the hem of your shirt falls.

“I can walk myself Abbot,” you say sternly.

“Don’t be annoying,” he quips back.

“Annoying you is what I’m best at.”

It’s colder than when you were out last to smoke. This time, thankfully, you actually had a jacket with you.

You barely take two steps in the general direction of Jack’s car before you trip over a crack in the concrete unfortunately in the direction of the street.

Jack’s hands immediately reach out to grab you, both landing on the crests of your hips.

You look behind you. “That doesn’t count.”

Jack clicks his tongue. “Mhm, sure sweetheart.”

His arm stays wrapped around you all the way until you reach his vehicle.

He opens his truck door for you, hand falling to the small of your back to ensure that you actually make it into the car.

“‘m so drunk Jack. Shouldn’t have smoked that cig.”

Jack squeezes your shoulder. “I know sweetheart, i’m gonna get you home nice and safe.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“Told you so, by the way.”

You pout. “Dana was *hiccup* too convincing.”

Jack chuckles. “I actually don’t think she even asked. You just went.”

He reaches up to pull the seatbelt down and across your body, bucking you in with a satisfying click.

You have a moment of silence once he shuts the door and circles the car. You couldn’t believe it. Jack Abbot was taking you home after you drank too much and couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

Once Jack situates himself in the drivers seat, he passes his phone over to you. You loll your head towards him.

“Figured you would want to play some music. Password is 106582.”

The implications of him giving you his passcode does not go lost. Despite the letters on the keyboard mixed together, you finally find a safe playlist and hit shuffle.

The silence in the car is comfortable, normal even. The cool window glass feels amazing against your hot face.

“Thank ya,” you speak first.

Jack’s eyes flicker over to you before quickly going back to the road. “For what?”

“Taking me home. Taking care of me. The wholeeeeee shabang.”

“Stop pretending you aren’t enjoying this,” he jokes.

“I am,” you admit. “Can’t stay away.”

“Is that right?” Jack smirks.

“Evr’one says we flirt. Just don’t know wha- I’m fucking doing.”

There’s a pause.

“What you’re doing?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “With you.”

Oh. It hits Jack harder than it probably should. He knows you’re not in the right state of mind and what’s tumbling out of your mouth he should take with a grain of salt.

“I can stop flirting Y/N,” He decides.

Y/N. You can’t remember the last time he used your actual name and not some term of endearment.

You shift in your seat to face him just as the car rolls to a stop at the red light.

“No no, please don’t. God. I’m so bad at this,” your teary eyes look into his. “I’m just gonna shut my big ol’ mouth.”

Jack takes one hand off the wheel to rest on top of yours. He squeezes it gently. “We’ll be home soon.”

You are steadfast in your reasoning that you are perfectly capable of getting up to your apartment yourself. It’s just an elevator ride and unlocking the front door. No problem.

But who is Dr. Jack Abbot if not a gentleman who insists that you get inside safe.

You kick your shoes off at the door, throwing your coat across the couch and your purse on the table.

He follows you to your room obediently, drinking in every little detail of your apartment from the bright posters across the walls to the little trinkets scattered throughout.

When the two of you reach your room, there’s a certain newness that can be felt in the air. Jack would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about being in here before, just under very different circumstances.

It’s border-line shameful how many little habits Jack knows you have. Like how you keep your pajamas under your pillow and always keep your apartment freezing.

“Needa get changed,” you explain.

You grab your cute little matching set and slink to the bathroom. The last thing Jack sees before you shut the door is a faint sliver of your bare skin as you strip down.

You’re back out just a few moments later, feeling dizzier than ever.

“Feelin’ woozy.”

That’s all you have to say for Jack to be back at your side.

Jack nudges you towards the side of the bed he knows thinks you sleep on.

“Alright into bed-“

He’s cut off by your hands pushing back against his chest.

“No no,” You mumble. “Gotta take m’ makeup off. Sensory shit.”

“Here. You sit down and I’ll bring the stuff for you. It’s micellar water right?”

You nod. “Blue cap.”

Once retrieved, Jack presses the cotton pad against your face, gently swiping the color off of your cheeks.

It’s intimate, too intimate for the level of friendship you’re at.

You reach up to grab his wrist, doing what you can in your drunken state to push him away.

“Jack,” you start. “Jack we gotta stop.”

The older man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

You gesture haphazardly in the air. “This. This fucking domestic shit. Playing house.”

Jack takes a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

You cut him off.

“No. Fuck,” you press your palms to your eyes. “I’ve always wanted- I want this. Just can’t do it if it doesn’t mean anything.”

His two big hands wrap gently around your wrists, removing your hands from your eyes. He stares directly into you as he brings the cotton pad back up to your face.

“It does mean something, sweetheart. It always has.”

“You mean…”

“Yeah.”

Jack finishes taking your makeup off and discards off the wipes in your trash can.

“I think we need to have this conversation when we’re both sober,” he states.

“I don’t have to be drunk to know I’m in love with you.”

“….what?”

You giggle, back to being a giddy drunk as you flip down on your bed. “Sooooo in love.”

“Don’t keep saying that,” Jack groans.

You frown. “You don’t love me?”

Jack’s quick to shut down your racing mind. “No sweetheart it’s not that it’s just- You know you'll forget this by the morning..." he trails off.

You crawl forward, resting on the heels of your feet as you reach out to him. “Then promise me you'll remember it for me."

Jack nods solemnly. “I’ll remember.”

He guides you back under the covers, pulling the plush duvet right up to your chest.

“Alright sleepy girl, time for bed.”

“Will you stay?” You pout.

Jack hesitates. He knows this is beyond crossing a line in the state you’re in.

“Just until you fall asleep,” He compromises.

You slink back to pull the covers up to your chest. The silk pillowcase is cool against your flushed cheeks.

Jack sits on the opposite edge of the bed. Your hand extends across the plush duvet towards him.

“You’re trouble,” Jack muses.

You smile. “Thank you.”

“Get some sleep sweetheart.”

You fall asleep to the feeling of your hands interlock and his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

________

You wake up physically alone in bed. your only company being a pounding headache and an immediate sense of dread.

God. What happened last night?

Above all, thank god you didn’t have work today.

You have a mix of missed messages waiting for you. 17 from your groupchat with Samira, Trinity, Javadi, and Mel. 1 from Jack Abbot.

You clicked that one first.

Call me when you wake up.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What the actual fuck did you do last night?

Deciding it’s best to ignore that (for now) you open the text thread with the girls. The last message was just sent a few minutes ago.

trinity: how the fuck did y/n make it home last night

samira: idk i checked her location before i went to bed and she somehow was back

victoria: probably abbot be so serious

trinity: LMAO

You take a deep breath before typing.

you: guys i just woke up and JACK ABBOT texted me to call him and holy shit what did i SAY last night.

mel: good morning princess :)

trinity: you didn’t fuck, did you?

you: girl no. he took me home and that’s where it gets all blurry. all i know is i woke up this morning and my makeup was removed and i was tucked in

trinity: sickening actually

you: i’m freaking out. like actually having the worst hangxiety ever

mel: if it’s any consolation perlah and princess haven’t said anything so you couldn’t have done anything THAT bad

samira: ^^^ yeah reminder some of us had to work today

you: samira i was with you a lot. did i run my mouth AT ALL?

samira: idk my night gets a little blurry after we smoked with dana

you: worth it sorry 🤤

javadi: i’m dead

mel: just call him! we’re here for you!

you: i’m giving myself a half hour to get myself together.

You’re washing your face when the first memory hits you. Jack driving you back. Him taking your makeup off. Saying you love him.

No. There is absolutely no way that you confessed to Jack that you were head over heels in love with him while drunk out of your mind.

Then promise me you'll remember it for me

Maybe if you sent in your letter of resignation from PTMC and transferred hospitals you could still hold onto some of your dignity.

But what Jack said during this whole ordeal is still a little fuzzy in your brain. Maybe a phone call could ease the anxiety that was running rampant through your body.

Just call him.

You can do this.

With shaking fingertips, you finally press the call button. It rings once.

“Hello?”

Of course Jack answers right away.

“Hi,” you squeak. “I’m so sorry-“

“Hey hey,” Jack cuts you off. “Let’s not start with apologies. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you answer honestly.

Jack laughs. “I figured.”

“Jack, I-“ you try to start again only.

“Y/N,” Jack states firmly. “How about breakfast?”

“I don’t know if I can show my face ever again.”

He laughs. You’re shocked he’s unable to read your seriousness hidden by ill-timed humor. Or maybe he can and is just enjoying messing with you.

“How about I pick us up coffee and bagels and come to you,” Jack offers.

You purse your lips together. “Okay.”

“Sesame bagel and iced caramel latte with almond milk?”

Your heart pangs. Somewhere over the cluster of working together and whatever you were doing now, he had learned your go-to.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

“I’ll be over in 20.”

The call ends after that. It sets in what’s happening. While last night lingers in your memory of Jack’s caring actions, you were now being forced to confront what actually happened.

You sighed, moving towards the living room to attempt to clean up as much as you can. But before you do, you open back up your text thread.

you: he’s coming over.

victoria: WHAT OMG

trinity: HELLO

mel: Oh !?!?!??

samira: girl WHAT

You hit ‘Do Not Disturb’ without another thought.

Exactly twenty-two minutes after the two of you who hung up, there’s a firm knock at your apartment door.

Jack’s already smiling when you open up. It’s not teasing, but the same one you’ve come to fall in love with.

“Hi,” you squeak.

“Hi sweetheart.”

He’s sliding past you to enter your living room, tossing his keys in the bowl by the front door.

“I got you regular whipped cream cheese if that’s okay,” Jack declares as he places the bags down on your coffee table.

You make no effort to move away from the door, hand still resting on the cold brass knob.

“Jack I’m going to be so honest I’m really freaking out right now,” you confess.

His eyebrow raises. “Do you want to talk? Are you ready?”

“I hope you know how mortifying this is for me.”

Jack turns to you as you take exactly three strides to get over to him.

“I want to start out by apologizing for my behavior and thanking you for taking care of me,” you keep your eyes trained on the carpet. “And above all I’m really sorry if I said anything that made you uncomfortable.”

Jack presses his lips together. “Do you remember exactly what you said last night?”

You cringe. “Partially.”

“Last night you told me you loved me and I need to know if that was you talking or the alcohol.”

Your stomach drops.

“And you made me promise that I would remember it.”

You feel like you’re gonna throw up. Sure you remembered flashes of getting home but hearing Jack say it out loud solidified the memory in your mind.

“Jack, I-“

“Did you mean it?”

Admittedly, his confidence is very attractive.

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as you finally admit “I do.”

“Sweetheart….”

Now he’s taking a step to enter your space.

“I have been waiting to hear that for so damn long.”

“Me too. You have no idea.”

“Was waiting for you to pick up on the pet names, or picking you for all of my cases, or god your scrubs have been doing wonders for you, honey.”

Your head instinctively dips at the cheeky comment, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

As quick as your eyes fall, Jack’s fingers slide under your chin to lift you back.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he hums.

“I’m-“

“Sorry? You gotta stop apologizing when you don’t need to.”

Jack’s hands sprawl to hold your cheeks, thumb brushing the skin just under your eyes.

“Do you even realize what you do to people? To me?” He remarks.

You wrap your arms around his back. “I can tell you want to kiss me right now.”

“I do.”

His forehead presses against yours. You can feel his breath close to your waiting lips.

“Then do it.”

Your eyes flutter up as he leans in, though you don’t feel the physical contact.

“I’m sorry I just can’t believe i’m finally about to kiss you,” Jack admits.

Before you can laugh, his lips are pressing against yours.

Your noses bump. The kiss is exploratory, finding the perfect rhythm. Jack’s lips are slightly chapped but the only issue is that he’s holding back.

“C’mon Jack, kiss me right.”

His lips crash back against yours with a new level of confidence. It’s hot, hands running down your body till they settle on your hips.

When you pull away, both of your lips are cherry red and swollen.

You lean forward to plant a final gentle kiss on his lips.

“I’m glad you didn’t forget.”

[pencil-n-pen]

—i’m always on my own

fake boyfriend! jack x eldest daughter! reader

“Know I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back I'm always on my own.” -All Them Horses, Noah Kahan

summary: your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.

wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)

tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat

a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. i’m normal and can be trusted with noah kahan’s discography. fic has been crossposted on ao3 and is linked below :)

acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me

masterlist | ao3

“Your family’s in town?”

You’re at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where he’s getting them is one of the world’s strangest unsolved mysteries. 

You can’t see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone. 

“Yeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how it’s such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.”

“Dinner circuit?”

You wave a hand. “It’s actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that they’re here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time they’re at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.”

“Yikes,” The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, “And the whole successful doctor thing doesn’t work on them? It got my parents off my back.”

You shake your head. “I’m the only doctor in the family, but they thought I should’ve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.”

The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. “There’s money in emergency medicine. Eventually.” 

“There’s money in all medicine eventually,” You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’m sure if I'd picked general surgery they would’ve found a problem with that too.”

“So your fucked, basically.”

Your eyes slip shut again. “Yep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way won’t get my mom off my back.”

Shen clasps you on the shoulder. “Best of luck with that. You’re the only intern the night shift has got, so we’d rather you don’t off yourself via poisoned wine.” 

“I wouldn’t do poison. I’d choke on bread so they’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.”

“Jesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but that’s brutal.”

You shrug. “Not as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.”

He gapes. “What reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?”

“I told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.”

“That’s…” Shen trails off, flabbergasted, “…Wow. Now I'm worried you’re going to kill one of them.”

“Way too much effort. They aren’t worth the jail time.”

The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. “Well, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please don’t call me. I can’t afford to be implicated.”

“You saying I can’t hide a body myself?”

“I’m saying I can’t hide a body.”

“Who’s hiding bodies?” Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand. 

Shen jams a thumb in your direction. “She’s killing her parents later today.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and don’t bring up any trigger topics, I’ll be fine.”

Jack snorts. “You’re describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.”

“Dr. Intern?” Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift, “There’s a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says she’s your mom.”

Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. “It’s six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Someone behind you says “Holy shit,” but you’re already gone. As you’re speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that you’d only had a chance to skim and— fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?

You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby. 

“Mom?” 

“There you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that there’s nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. Something about a security issue?”

“It’s not safe. We’ve had incidents in the past—“

She waves a hand, dismissing you. “I’m your mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had to come down here if you’d just respond to my texts.” 

“I’ve told you mom, I’m really busy here and I don’t get very much time to look at my phone—“

“Your brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,” She sighs, then continues on, “Did you get time off this week for dinner?”

You frown. “I thought we were having lunch.”

“Well, I figured since we’re all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effort—“

“It’s fine, mom,” You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, “I can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?”

“It’s this Friday and Saturday.”

Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice. 

“Can I help you, ma’am?” 

Jack. 

Jack fucking Abbot. 

Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.

Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him. 

“I’m trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Don’t tell me you’re security.”

You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says ‘DOCTOR’ on it, so your mom’s just being bitchy. Figures. 

Jack’s hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks. 

“I’m Dr. Abbot,” He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, “I’m an attending here at the ED.”

And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway. 

“You work with my daughter?”

“Yes ma’am. She’s the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.”

Your lips twitch at his words. He’s joking. Testing your mother— you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, she’ll pick up on his joke. 

She doesn’t. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles. 

“Well that’s good to hear. We’re very proud of her.”

Proud of the money I send home, maybe. 

“If you’ll excuse us, I need her working on patients.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. “I didn’t realize she was so important and busy here.“

You would if you’d ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better. 

Jack’s thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. 

“I’ll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?”

Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely. 

“No rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.”

Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your mom’s turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside. 

The second the doors close behind you and you’re enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale. 

“I,” You start, “Am so sorry. I never thought she’d show up here, I got the flight times mixed up—“

“Hey,” Jack’s voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, “None of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.”

“I know. I know. Still, I’m sorry. She can be… difficult.”

He snorts. “Understatement of the year. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t want to get involved with her, I wouldn’t have swooped in there.”

You huff a laugh. “My hero. I’m pretty sure if you’d introduced yourself as my boyfriend she would’ve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.”

“Are those desired outcomes?”

“Mostly.”

He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. “Might be worth a shot, then.”

It’s a very well kept secret that you’ve harbored an embarrassing, ‘think about him while you’re falling asleep at night’ crush on Jack. 

So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.

“Yeah, right,” You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jack’s gaze is too intense, “Could even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.”

“You could.”

“Wipe out my entire family?”

“Take me to dinner with you.”

Jack’s body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. There’s no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like he’s serious. 

“Are you joking?”

He can’t really be serious. He’s probably just fucking with you. He wouldn’t actually—

“No.”

You run a hand over your hair. “Yeah, sure, laugh it up, haha—“

“I’ll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.”

What. The. Fuck. 

“No.” You gape, incredulous. 

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“No, I mean— fuck. Dr. Abbot—“

“Jack.” 

You purse your lips. “Jack. You can’t just… pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” You sputter, “For one, we hardly know each other—“

“You’ve been working here for three months. We’re hardly strangers.”

“You’re my boss, your way older than me, you’re—“ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like ‘you’re ridiculously fucking hot and I haven’t washed my socks in months’, “It wouldn’t even be believable. How would we even have met?”

“In the ED, obviously.”

“How long have we been together?”

“Month and a half.”

“Why are we even dating?”

“Because you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.”

Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine. 

“Have you… thought about this?” 

He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. “Would it work?”

“Are you rich?” 

There’s that devilish, pants dropping smile. 

“I’m a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. I’m comfortable.”

You worry your lip between your teeth. “I still can’t… I appreciate the offer, but I can’t subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.”

“But you do?”

“They’re my family.” 

Jack doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isn’t coding somewhere. 

You sigh. “Why would you even offer, anyway?” 

“You need help, and I’m in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesn’t involve people dying or getting shot at.”

“So you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?”

“Beats drinking beer in the park.”

You can’t say yes. It’s crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life. 

On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldn’t be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win. 

“So. We’ve been dating for a month and a half?”

Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. “I asked you out, of course.”

“Flowers?”

“Naturally.”

“You pay?” 

“For every meal.”

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Navy blue. Mine?” 

You roll your eyes. “Black. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?”

Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients. 

“Will she really be that upset about it?”

“Probably not, but she’ll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but he’s easier to placate than my mom is.”

Jack hums thoughtfully. “When’s the lunch today?”

“Twelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.”

“How about this,” He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, “Lets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?”

Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind. 

“Deal.”

—

Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend. 

Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, he’s as good as yours. Kind of.

In a way. 

You’re standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.

Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just don’t want to fucking go. 

Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door. 

You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.

Shit, he’s here and you’re not ready, god he’s going to be so upset you have to make him wait it’s so rude—

“Hi!” You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. It’s a thin line between the two, “I’m almost ready, I’m so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I won’t take too long to finish up. Sorry.”

You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old method— hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape. 

“Woah, easy girl. Nobody’s mad at you. We have time, remember?”

Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked. 

Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. “I know, but that was so we’d have time to plan and it’s rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I can’t get my makeup to look right—“

Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause he’s just standing in the hallway and you’re rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why can’t your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?

“First of all,” Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, “You look beautiful.”

Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what he’s doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing? 

He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. It’s your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain. 

“Secondly, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.”

You crack a wobbly smile. “Not even to Nurse Evans?”

“She’d probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.” 

You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one there’ll be hell to pay.”

“You could swap me with someone else?”

“Do you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?”

“Touché.” 

The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.”

“I ain’t judging, sweetheart,” Jack soothes, “Besides. We’re ER doctors. We’re all a little neurotic.”

Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity you’re trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom. 

“I’ll just. Finish up. Sorry again.”

“I’m gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorry’s. You’re gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.”

Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesn’t critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go. 

He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly. 

Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.

Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. “Do you want a shot, Jack?”

“You’re aware that I’m fifty?”

Right. That's probably an unhinged question.

“Just thought I’d offer,” You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, “Sometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.”

He’s leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. “It was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. I’m more of a whiskey man, anyways.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “You act like we’re going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be unprepared, because they’re not always bad but when they’re bad they’re bad, you know? And I just don’t want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just don’t—“

“Do you always ramble when you’re worried?” Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.

“Um. No? I don’t know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.”

He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly. 

“We got this, okay? I’m not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, I’ll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and we’re being called in.”

“Won’t my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?”

Jack shrugs. “It’s the city. Something horrible is always happening here.”

He holds the front door open for you when you’ve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as you’re sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply. 

“You smell good.” 

Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold. 

“Oh,” You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, “Uh— Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.”

“It’s nice. Suits you.” 

You manage to squeak out another awkward “Thanks” before hastily locking the door, hoping he can’t tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain. 

The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask. 

(“What should I say if she asks if we’ve slept together?”

“Do you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?”

“Fair point.”)

By the time you arrive, you’ve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldn’t be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them. 

At least, that’s what he says. 

“I want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”

You can’t help but smile at his efforts. “And what will you be doing while I’m sneaking out?”

“Singing your praises, of course.”

Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you “In case they’re still watching,”) and loop your arm through Jack’s, you feel… almost capable. 

The lunch is going to suck. That’s a given. But Jack assured you he’s seen worse (“Probably done worse, sweetheart,”) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid —and fucking huge, how are his biceps that big— under your arm, and his presence is steadying. 

As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried you’d be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but there’s no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body. 

The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you. 

You’ve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers: 

“You’ve got this, baby. And if you don’t, I do.”

Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you. 

When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jack’s grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how… possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves. 

Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. “Honey, we’ve talked about you being on time to these things. You can’t be late to important family—“

You watch in real time as your mother’s gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness. 

Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isn’t going down too well. 

If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place. 

He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby. 

“I believe we’ve met before, but I’ll introduce myself again. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot.”

Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like you’ve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she can’t afford in the first place. 

“You’re my daughter’s plus one?”

Jack nods. “Her boyfriend, yes.”

Your brother’s gape. Your dad’s glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack. 

“Honey,” Your mother says, gaze darting to you, “You didn’t say—“

“I didn’t want you to meet him at the hospital,” You tell her, hoping the lie doesn’t come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, “The lobby of the hospital isn’t the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.”

Your mother purses her lips. “Why the last minute addition? If you’d told me that he was coming before today, it would’ve been easier to make the reservation.”

Jack is quicker to respond than you. “That’s my fault, actually. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.”

You have to try hard not to smile at Jack’s not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending. 

“Yes, well. My daughter doesn’t always stress the importance of these things.” 

Jack’s grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your mother’s gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. “I’m starving.”

Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you. 

“How’d I do?”

You elbow him in the side. “We’ll discuss your performance after this is over.”

“Looking forward to it.” 

The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your money’s on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can. 

To his credit, Jack doesn’t cause a scene, but he doesn’t back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking: 

“Do you really wanna do this right now?”

Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs. 

Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you don’t bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. He’s never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew they’d ask and appropriately prepared him for. 

“So. Dr. Abbot—”

“Just Jack is fine.”

“—How long have the two of you been dating?”

“A month and a half.”

“Why’d you start dating?”

You take a generous gulp of your wine. 

“Because your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?” One of your brothers chimes in. 

Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. “I’d have to be blind and stupid if I didn’t.”

You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes. 

That’s going in the mental folder. 

“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Pretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.”

“Why’d you leave?” 

“Honorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.”

You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine. 

The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the “got a limb chopped off” bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.

Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before we’re in the clear. 

“Mr. Abbot—“

“Either Doctor or Jack works.” 

Ooo. There was some bite in that one. 

Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. You’ve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better. 

But Jack isn’t his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions. 

This no doubt infuriates your father. He’s always hated it when he couldn’t tear somebody down to his level. A true coward. 

“Jack,” Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, “You’re a smart man, yeah? Haven’t you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?” 

Yikes. Questioning Jack’s competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. It’s really hot. 

Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe. 

“War doesn’t really lend to longevity. I’ve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.” 

For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake. There’s raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on. 

But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, he’s passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesn’t bring up any argument-starting topics, doesn’t rise to bait when it’s thrown his way. 

He’s perfect. 

Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesn’t even look. 

Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your father’s attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. It’s probably the third time she’s actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since it’s positive, you’ll let it slide. 

Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jack’s hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and you’re being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car. 

“Wow,” You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. “I think that’s the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. You’re really good at this.”

Jack doesn’t respond though. Doesn’t make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead. 

“Jack?” 

“They didn’t even talk to you.”

You blink. 

“What?”

“Your family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didn’t even ask you any questions.”

You snort. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”

He hasn’t started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He can’t be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?

“You ordered a salad.” He says, a very prominent frown on his lips. 

“So? It wasn’t too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I would’ve looked at something cheaper, I don’t know why salads are so expensive—“

“Please don’t apologize for ordering a salad,” Jack says, voice pained, “Especially because I know you hate salads.”

Oh. 

“How do you know that?”

“I overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.”

Your cheeks heat. “I never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.”

“You hardly ate anything during lunch.”

“My family tends to have that effect on my appetite.”

Jack does not look placated. He doesn’t take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed. 

Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.

“…Mel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?” 

He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.

(It’s not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)

“Of course I remember.” 

There isn’t much to say after that. You’re not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error you’ve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that you’re still present. 

The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesn’t.)

But then he does glance over. He just doesn’t look at your phone. 

Jack just keeps looking at you. 

He’ll look over, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something, and then he’ll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact. 

He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking. 

“You’re so much more than them.” 

Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold. 

“What?”

“Your family,” Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part “Your parents. I hated watching you… disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.” 

You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat. 

“Listen,” You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, “Thank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shifts—“

“No.”

Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly. 

An old habit. 

Something flashes across his face —gone before you can decipher it— and he noticeably forces himself calmer.  

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.” 

Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. “I really can’t ask you to—“

“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.” 

“Jack—“

“Please.”

You’re stunned silent at the rawness in his tone— the pain. 

He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” He continues, jaw working, “I can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.”

You shrug uselessly. “Is there another option?” 

Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes he’d followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you that’s made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability. 

“I’ll walk you to your door.” 

The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. There’s no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress. 

At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.

Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where you’re getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him. 

(As an ED resident, you’ve seen child abuse cases. You’ve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes.  

You know your family isn’t great. But there aren’t any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)

You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you haven’t done something wrong, but you feel like you have because he’s upset so maybe you can make it better? 

“You have that look on your face.”

You frown. “What look?” 

“The ‘I’m gonna apologize for something stupid’ look.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it,” Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, “Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.” 

“It’s freaky when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“You always know what I’m thinking.”

Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets. 

Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: “Why are you upset?” 

“Because your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I can’t.” 

“Oh.” 

It’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad. You’ve seen bad. This isn’t it. It’s hard, but it’s not bad. 

He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you. 

Jack nods towards your door. “We can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.”

Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense. 

Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your –quickly approaching– shift, you linger. 

“How am I supposed to repay you for all of this?” 

The question that’s been burning a hole in your pocket since he said I’ll do it. 

He just shakes his head. Like it’s simple. Easy. “This isn’t something I want repayment for. Now go. You’re no good to me as a zombie.” 

“I’ll just have some of Shen’s Dunkin.”

“He doesn’t share that shit. Besides, he’s off tomorrow.”

“Maybe I‘ll—“

“Sleep,” He points at your door, “Now.” 

You smile at his insistence. He’s sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out. 

Sometimes it feels like he balances you out. 

“Goodnight.”

He gives you a little smile of his own. 

“Goodnight.”

—

Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesn’t talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, he’s going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he won’t be around to take care of you. 

So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list. 

“This really isn’t a good time—“

“Robby,” Jack starts, “They didn’t even fucking talk to her.” 

“Jesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.”

“They just…” Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, “…Ignored her. They talked over her, didn’t ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.“

The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robby’s moved to either the break room or an empty patient room. 

“She fight back at all?”

“No. Just… grinned and beared it. It was fuckin’ unsettling, man. I’ve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMT’s who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.” 

“Christ.”

“She flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.”

“Fuck. Do you think—“

“I don’t know. Maybe when she was younger. They don’t live in state, so if they are, she’s safe.” 

Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “God. I don’t know what to do, Robby. It doesn’t seem like she’s got… anybody. She didn’t even understand why I was upset. She doesn’t get why that would be upsetting.” 

“She’s friends with Mel and Santos, right?” 

“And Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. I’ve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. She’s just been doing everything on her own.”

Jack can picture Robby nodding. “We’ve done our fair share of that.”

“Yeah, and look where that got us. I can’t just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.” 

“That bad?” 

“Yeah.” 

The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand. 

“She’s always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, we’re all fucked up, but watching it happen…”

“It’s different.” 

“You could say that,” Jack sighs, “She soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.”

“You lost me on that last one.” 

“It doesn’t… She’s not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.” 

“Is there a difference?”

“There is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.”

“Are you sure you want to get involved?”

“Bit late for that.”

“You could pull back.”

“Fuck no, I can’t. Then I’d be kicking the puppy.”

“She is a grown woman.”

“Who happens to look like a kicked puppy.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone. 

“You finally realize how ridiculous you sound?”

Jack grunts. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”

The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. “That’s an answer in it of itself, and you know that.” 

He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up. 

“I don’t know, Robby. It’s just…”

“Worse than you expected?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?”

“Fuck no.”

“Exactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and he’s only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet money that he’s moved onto his third during this conversation.” 

“I save lives too.”

“You won’t save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.”

“I would never fall asleep behind the wheel.”

“That’s what they all say.” 

Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed. 

But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he can’t stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he won’t be able to let it go.

—

The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jack’s car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help. 

It’s jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if you’re being honest. 

But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, you’re convinced you’ve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions: 

“Did you and Jack go on a date yesterday?” 

And: 

“What’s Jack like on a date?” 

The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you don’t answer it or any of it’s variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.

You’re not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. That’s conveniently nowhere near him. 

Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, who’s pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you she’s there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and he’s never been to your apartment smelled your perfume. 

(“…I like layering scents.”

“It’s nice. Suits you.”)

It’s all too much.

Hence the avoiding.

You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but it’s oddly difficult. You’ve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, it’s the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you won’t access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled ‘For: Jack Abbot’ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner. 

But you can’t. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, there’s a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack. 

All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack. 

You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesn’t require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack would’ve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isn’t the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So it’s something else. 

It’s how they treat you. 

You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, you’d also probably be upset too. 

But this feels different. Jack’s reaction is different. Jack is different. 

It’s just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You don’t even live in the same state anymore. It’s not a big deal. 

“Why are you hiding from me in a supply closet?” 

You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.

“I’m not hiding from you.”

Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “This is the third time you’ve been here in two hours.”

“So? I just want to be… on top of things. I’m a productive person.” 

“You are,” He amends, “But all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.”

You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. “Things are just… weird, okay? I don’t know how you’re being so normal about all this?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Normal how?”

“You seemed pretty upset yesterday. You’re acting like nothing’s changed, but–”

“Nothing has changed.”

Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it. 

You can’t exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you can’t quite bring yourself to agree either– because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers you’ve had in years isn't just nothing. 

It’s everything. And you, for one, can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen. 

“Hey,” He calls your name softly, “What’s on your mind? What’s bugging you?” 

“Nothing.”

He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so it’s just the two of you alone. “Liar.”

He doesn’t probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like they’re looking for an answer. An answer you’re too hesitant to give. 

“I’m just worried.” 

“You? Worried? No.” 

You cut him a glare, “There’s a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.”

“Sure,” Jack dips his head, “But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because that doesn’t address the fact that you’re avoiding me.”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face. 

“Why do you care?” 

The question that’s been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just can’t seem to get rid of. The puzzle you can’t figure out; the tune you can’t place. 

You’re a logic driven person. You like knowing how things works– why they work. Why things do the things they do. 

You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense. 

Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense. 

“Why do I care about what?”

“This,” You gesture vaguely to the air, “Me. I don’t buy that you just didn’t have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People don’t just… do that. You’re really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, we’re just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just don’t get why you’re so okay with being miserable just for my sake. I’m not that important. These stupid lunches aren’t that important.” 

It’s a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man you’re harboring feelings for. 

He doesn’t respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isn’t taking so much weight. 

“You are important. You’re important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not ‘ruining my week.’ If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.”

“But why?” 

“Jesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didn’t you?” 

You snort. “Guilty as charged.” 

Now it’s his turn to sigh. 

“You… seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.”

You frown. “It is.” 

“It isn’t. At least it shouldn’t be, but I don’t think anyone ever told you that.” 

You scoff. “So this is about my family.” 

He shrugs. “Amongst other things.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“They are.” 

“Other people have it worse.”

“It’s not a competition.” 

You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. “Why is this such a big deal to you?” 

“Because it’s a big deal to you.” 

The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, you’re convinced they’d all be looking at you. 

It’s Jack who speaks first though. 

“I can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when it’s hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. You’re selfless and kind and I don’t think very many people give that back to you.” 

A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you ‘smile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, there’s nothing to cry about.’ It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you don’t know what else to do. There’s no pre-written protocol for something like this.

“I still don’t really get it.” You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.

Jack sends you a light grin. “We’ll work on it.” 

“We will?” 

“Sure,” He shrugs, “Already started anyways.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” He opens the door, “Now get back out there. And bring the gloves too.”

You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where you’d left it and following him out. 

The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesn’t hover, but doesn’t pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesn’t bother him. 

Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because it’s something he’s doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.

You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiver– something that hit the nail right on the head. 

“Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.” 

He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry you’re feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. It’s great but it’s also difficult, because there’s a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then there’s the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that you’re completely capable of doing things yourself. 

That probably wouldn’t even work. He’d just say something infuriating and sexy, like “I know, but I want to do this for you.” 

He would. He totally would. 

The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring. 

(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)

–

The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in… years. 

The lunches are fine, but the part you’ve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. He’ll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before. 

The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jack’s never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but you’re never allowed to order anything that isn’t a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since you’re the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own. 

It’s as frustrating as it is hot. 

But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty good– as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jack’s presence is… steadying, even when he’s not physically there. He’s always present in some way– whether it’s little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you weren’t previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what you’ll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes he’s there in your head; in little things he’s told or taught you that you remember in the moment. 

It’s nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke with– someone who hasn’t looked down on you for the the way you turned out. 

You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below. 

At least, two peach bellinis in, that’s what it feels like. 

“Honestly,” Your mother puffs, “I don’t understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.” 

You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever. 

Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads  to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed. 

You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood. 

“I have the next three days off, mom. We’ll be able to do dinners instead.”

Your mother, however, only scoffs. “That’s no good to anyone now. We’ve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule." 

“I’m a doctor, mom. It doesn’t get more respectable than that.” 

Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three. 

Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over. 

“You work in the emergency department, dear. That’s hardly stable, and stable is respectable,” Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, “No offense, Jack.” 

He smiles thinly. “None taken.” 

Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure. 

So you keep drinking your bellini’s and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary. 

“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?” 

That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. That’s a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man. 

“I have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. I’ve moved on.” 

Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. “You could teach her a thing or two about moving on.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

Jack sets his glass down. “And what do you mean by that?”

It’s your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasn’t enough. 

“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. She’s had exactly one boyfriend before you– what was his name honey?”

“Christopher,” You answer hollowly, stomach churning. 

Your dad snaps his fingers. “That’s it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a party– finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!”

Your family laughs, but Jack doesn’t. 

“Where’s the funny part, in all this?”

Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. “When she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.” 

Your dad nods in agreement. “We had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.”

Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch. 

“He cheated on me with my best friend.” 

At that, your mother frowns. “That’s not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didn’t know you were still together.” 

“I wasn’t distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.” 

Your brother rolls his eyes. “Med school was all you talked about. It’s not like you were putting out.”

Your mother snaps her fingers once. “That is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.” 

“Come on, mom. It’s true. Everyone knows–”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, “But the hospital just texted. There’s an emergency, and we’re needed, so we have to go.” 

Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober. 

Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and you’re sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) you’re both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service. 

By the time you get to the car, you realize that you’re about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment. 

“Jack,” You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, “I think I’m too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?” 

“There is no emergency,” He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, “I made it up. I figured you’d be okay with ducking out of there.” 

“Oh. That was nice of you.” 

He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. “Told you I would handle things.”

You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. “I hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where it’s okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didn’t even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didn’t fuck up my score.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

“Christopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. I’m so glad I don’t live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause they’re my family, but everything is just so much easier when they’re not around.” 

“You’re allowed to hate them, you know.” 

“I know,” You say, fiddling with a hangnail. “I know I probably should.” 

You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. “I always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day they’ll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” 

You frown. “It’s not? It kinda seems stupid. You’d think by now I would know better.” 

“No,” Jack eases the car out of the parking space, “We’re biologically wired to love our families. It’s the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain can’t compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just… don’t. Not in any of the right ways.” 

You blow air through your lips. “I think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.”

Shit, that sounds so whiny. “But it turns out it wasn’t so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and I’m pretty sure I’m friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. She’s cool.” 

Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light you’re currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his face— a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. It’s the only evidence that he’s not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.

Then the light turns green, and his face isn’t illuminated the same. 

“And what about me?” 

Oh. Well. That’s a loaded question.

The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. “I don’t know what to think about you.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Mmm. Nope.” 

“How come?” 

"You're so–” You gesture vaguely, “Confusing. I can’t figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think I’m wrong.” 

“You think you’re wrong?”

“Still can’t figure you out.” 

“And how can I show you that I mean it?” 

That’s. Hmm.

“I don’t know. I think what you’re doing is working,” You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding you’re too tired to care, “It helps that you’re really hot.” 

His lips twitch. “Oh, does it now?” 

“Mhm. You’ve got this whole… capable thing about you. It’s hot. Competency is in.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. You’re so…”

“Competent?” 

“That’s the word.”

If he’s at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didn’t show it. 

“You should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.” 

“Are you like Bob the Builder?”

“I’m a doctor, so no.” 

“You’re kind of like Bob the Builder.” 

“Whatever you say,” He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, “Before I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didn’t even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.”

“Are you gonna be mad at me if I say no?” 

“No.” 

‘Then yes.” 

“You sure? I wasn’t lying.” 

“I know. But I like your cooking.”

You spend the drive to Jack’s continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. “For any alcohol excursions.” 

It’s freaky how prepared he is for every situation. 

When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when you’ve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment. 

His gigantic apartment. 

“Woah,” You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, “I didn’t know they made apartments this size.” 

“Its not that big.” 

“I think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.” 

You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and he’s immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.

You decide to unpack the moment when you’re sober. 

“One, it’s not that big, and two, that’s what you get for renting a studio apartment.”

“Like you could afford better when you were an intern.” 

He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. “If you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.”

You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?

“Only if you don’t mind.” 

“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t. Stay there.” 

Jack’s only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.

He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. I’m gonna change too, and then I’ll heat up the food.” 

Jack shows you the bathroom (you don’t bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, that’s for when you’re significantly more drunk than you are now and when you’re not in his fancy-ass apartment.) 

Because he’s a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, he’s already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and he’s a man. They’re an inky black color with  tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so. 

“What are you doing?” Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that. 

“Looking at the sparkles.” 

“Oookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?”

“You made vodka pasta?” 

He shrugs. “You said you liked it.” 

You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. “The pasta, please.” 

Suddenly exhausted now that you’re in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But you’re not going to fall asleep. You’re not. 

“Don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something first.” 

“M’ not fallin’ asleep.” 

“Mhm. Sure.” 

With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?

“What’re’you’ making?”

“Just a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.” 

“Oh. How come?” 

“Because I don’t want you to throw up.” 

“I promise I won’t throw up on your furniture. I don’t usually throw up when I’m hungover.” 

“You drink often?” 

“No,” Your head lulls to the side, “I’m too busy. I’m actually not-so-secretly very boring. I don’t really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.” 

“Thought you went to that thing with King and Santos?” 

“Yeah, but that was ‘cause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didn’t want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.” 

“I see.” 

“Yeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, “Makes me feel better when you’re around.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being. 

“Sorry I couldn’t finish it,” You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, “I feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.” 

“It wasn’t that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll send it home with you.” 

“Mhm.” You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit. 

Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, don’t you?”

“No,” You shake your head, “I wanna sleep right here. It’s comfortable.”

“It won’t be when you wake up.”

You whine, curling away from him. 

He just puffs another little laugh. “You can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You can’t sleep on the kitchen island.”

“Why not?” You finally lift your head, “And why is your bed an option?”

“One,” He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, “Because the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“Why? Is your couch uncomfortable?”

“No,” He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, “It’s just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.”

“I like sleeping on couches.”

He shoots you a look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you do. But you’re still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.” 

You prop your head on your hand. “Who said I’m even staying here tonight?”

Jack closes the fridge. “Do you want to? Because I don’t care either way. We both have tomorrow off.”

“It’d be weird to wake up here.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my boss.”

“And I’m faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure we’re past coworkers.” 

“What would we even do in the morning?” 

“Sleep.”

“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“You’re my guest–” 

“You’re already doing so much for me,” You blurt, stomach clenching, “I– You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?” 

Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs. 

“Only because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isn’t uncomfortable. I’ll help you make it up.” 

Jack’s apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopher’s room at his parent’s house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucket– “Just in case those bellini’s don’t love you back.” 

The sight of it all is almost too much. It’s just so much care. All of it. The fact that he’s helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasn’t judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets and–

“You okay there?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, “Just thinkin’.” 

He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jack’s middle and burying your face in his chest. 

“Thank you,” You say, voice muffled by the fabric, “For doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.” 

Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact –a line you were previously too scared to cross– but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because you’re never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him. 

Jack’s hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline. 

You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.

“I will always,” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, “Look out for you, baby. I’m always gonna be right here.”

His arms tighten around you, drawing you in— closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you can’t help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him. 

“You smell good.” You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment. 

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Good. Like man.” 

He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. “Thank you sweetheart.” 

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” 

“Because you’re a sweetheart.” 

“I am?” 

“Don’t play dumb now,” He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so you’re forced to look at him, “You know you are.” 

You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, “I don’t know. I was just making sure.” 

“Mhm.” He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.

You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jack’s eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place. 

It’s possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating

And you love it. 

Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn. 

“Okay,” He huffs, taking a step back, “Time for bed. Get going.” 

Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it. 

The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together. 

He waits until you’ve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to “Wake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.” It’s a very Jack thing to say. 

You’re out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other. 

Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can. 

–

Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you that’s she’s sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesn’t want to unless you’re ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, it’s time for the next annual lunch circuit. 

You’re a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. “So it can feel like a real family dinner.” While you know that there isn’t any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way you’re cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again. 

You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then he’d gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that you’re having dinner at his place. 

“Jack,” You’d gaped at him, “It’s fine. My apartment isn’t that small, and you don’t have to help move the furniture if you don’t want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really don’t think you want to host my family.” 

“Sweetheart, it’s just logic. You’ve seen my place.”

“Okay. No need to rub it in.” 

He’d just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. “Come on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.” 

“Do you have a death wish?” You hiss, “That’s asking for torture.” 

Jack had just shrugged. “Would having it at my place be easier for you?” 

“...Yes?” 

“Then we’ll do it there. You’re off in a bit, right?” 

You’d nodded. 

He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “That’s my spare key. I’ll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. I’ll be home soon.” 

Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish. 

The line between real and fake has become so blurred you’re not sure if it ever was there to begin with. 

He’s started calling you sweetheart more and more often– sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie you’re selling. Is it still a lie if it doesn’t feel like one anymore?

The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you can’t help but pace the length of Jack’s kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (“I’m not wearing slacks in my own home, and I’m not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.”) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety. 

“Take your shoes off if you’re going to pace. You’re gonna give yourself blisters.” 

You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle. 

“Things have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think she’s just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that she’s upset about?”

Jack begins preparing the wine –your mother only likes red– for decanting. “I think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldn’t be able to hide it.” 

“True. But what if?”

“I’m not going to help you spiral.” 

“Why not?” You whine. 

He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. “Shoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.” 

You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt. 

When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention. 

But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables. 

The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyone’s flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times. 

Pretty soon it’s all just… over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesn’t matter, and then it’s just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that. 

There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.

You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.

You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.

You’ve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.  

“Why don’t you go and change, huh?”

Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. “But I want to help you clean up.” 

“You can,” He soothes, “After you change.”

“But–”

“Hey,” He interrupts, “No. You’ve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. I’ll wait for you.” 

Jack keeps his word. He’s leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your –now bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with you– face. 

He looks up when the door opens. “Better?” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesn’t push for conversation. 

Cleaning up doesn’t take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesn’t want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there aren’t any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food. 

It can’t just be over like this. It can't.

When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.

“So,” You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, “That’s it then.” 

“So it is.” 

“Guess I owe you big time, huh?” 

“I’ve already told you I don’t care about that.” 

“Right,” You look down at your lap, “Yeah. Sorry.” 

You lapse into silence. 

Jack sighs. “Sweetheart–”

“Was it fake to you?” You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, “Were you– did you mean it?”

It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending. 

It felt real.

It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.

Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.

When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping there’s answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, he’s grinning. 

“What do you think?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He dips his head once. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.” 

Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like you’re liable to somehow float away if you don’t dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight. 

“What if I’m wrong?” 

“You won’t be.”

A scoff escapes your lips, “You can’t know for sure.” 

He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm. 

“You do.” 

Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jack’s gaze on you. 

“I think…” You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, “I think you might like me.” 

“You think,” He drawls, “I might.” 

“I don’t want to be wrong!” You cry. 

Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh. 

“Come here.” 

You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain you’d walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you. 

Jack does love to prove you wrong.

“Soo,” You start, still hesitant, “You do like me.” 

Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something you’re starting to recognize as fond. “Yes.”

“More than a little?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you weren’t faking anything. You were serious about the— You know.” 

“Use your words.” 

“The flirting.” You clarify, ears burning. 

“All correct,” He nods, “Though I would have said it differently.” 

You frown. “And how would you have put it?” 

“I would have said,” He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, “That you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.” 

You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work. 

You frown. 

Wait. 

“Have you known I liked you this whole time?” 

Jack snorts. “Overheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.”

He’s known since the second week?

“Oh my god.” 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Except Robby. He’s been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.”

“Oh my god.”

“I thought it was cute,” He smoothes a hand over your hair, “You were so much more nervous back then. You’ve come a long way.” 

You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jack’s having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place. 

“Can you take a compliment?” 

“No.” 

He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. “We’ll try again later.” 

“Am I– Can I stay here tonight then?” 

“Of course,” he murmurs, “My one condition is that you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“Fine,” You sigh, long and drawn out, “I suppose we can share.” 

“How kind of you to share my bed with me.” 

“I have been told I’m kind.” 

You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips. 

It’s just like your dream. 

Only this time, it’s real. And Jack is kissing you back. 

And you’re not alone anymore. 

[donald4spiderman]

BITCH MY FCKIN HYPER INDEPENDENT HEART

[donald4spiderman]

i don’t make edits anymore (i do too much editing in my day job) so i need someone to make a jack abbot edit to the song night shift by jon pardi okay thanks

[geminiwritten]

── miss independent ; jack abbot

summary: you've always kept things casual. it's just easier that way. you've got a roster, a routine, and absolutely no intention of changing—until you realise you've made one very inconvenient mistake: falling in love with dr. jack abbot.

notes: okay, this took way longer than it should have because i burnt out trying to make all the "medical stuff" absolutely perfect, then when i picked it back up i feel like the rhythm changed a little? hopefully for the better? i'm not sure if it's worth the wait, but i really hope y'all still enjoy! and as always, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, blushing, italics, fwb type situation, jealousy, implied age gap, reader is in serious denial, medical descriptions, medical procedure descriptions (not graphic), most definitely incorrect medical information, sexual references, implied sexual relationships, making out (on shift), and one irritatingly handsome and unreasonably reasonable night shift attending.

word count: 15620

“Hey—oh, thank God.” You kick the door shut behind you. “Can you wait for me? I just need, like, five minutes.”

Ellis sighs. “Really? I was just about to leave.”

“Five minutes,” you say again, already moving toward your room.

You don’t bother shutting the door. You just drop your bag at the foot of your bed, pull the faded old U.S. Army shirt over your head, and shove your sweatpants down. Then you grab a fresh set of scrubs and pull them on, tying the drawstring quickly before opening your bag to check for your badge and stethoscope.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” Ellis calls from the living room.

“We showered before I left,” you say, “but I didn’t have a clean pair of scrubs.”

Ellis gags. “Gross. Why’d you have to say ‘we’?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder as you step out of your room, grinning.

“Because we had some really great shower sex too.”

Ellis makes a dramatic vomiting noise as you both head out the door, her keys jingling as she turns to lock it.

“I thought Deran was your usual Thursday morning appointment,” she says.

You shrug. “Scheduling conflict.”

She turns and starts down the hall, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “You are the schedule.”

“I’m restructuring,” you say lightly, falling into step beside her. “Don’t think Deran’s making the cut.”

Ellis doesn’t say anything else. She just watches you for a second—eyes narrowing, brows drawing a little tighter—before shaking her head and turning toward the fire stairs door. You both make your way down to the parking garage in silence, crossing the dimly lit basement until you reach Ellis’ car.

The drive to the hospital isn’t long. Ellis fills most of it complaining about a patient she handed off to McKay this morning who insisted his diagnosis was wrong because he’d googled it—and she’s still muttering angrily by the time she pulls into the hospital parking lot.

“I swear,” she says, yanking the parking brake a little too hard, “if I hear the words ‘but I googled it’ even once tonight, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You snort softly as you climb out of the car, slinging your bag over your shoulder before shutting the door. You both head inside through the ambulance bay, keeping out of the way of an arriving trauma as the paramedics wheel the gurney through—something about chest pain, you overhear.

“Trauma one’s open,” Dana calls.

“Dr. Toomarian, with me.”

Your head snaps up at the sound of Jack’s voice, your gaze landing on him beside the gurney as he guides it through the trauma bay doors, that familiar mask of focus already in place.

Then he looks at you, something flickering across his face.

“Hey—don’t disappear. I need to talk to you after this.”

You lift your hand, pointing a finger at yourself. “Me?”

He nods once before turning into the trauma bay, the glass door swinging shut behind him.

“Ooh,” Ellis murmurs as you both turn down the back hall. “You’re in trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Maybe he’s restructuring,” she adds, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Think you’ll make the cut?”

You shoot her a flat look. “Very funny.”

Ellis smirks as she opens her locker, shrugging her bag off her shoulder and shoving it inside. You do the same—moving on autopilot as you sling your stethoscope around your neck, clip your badge at your hip, and stuff your backpack in your locker before shutting the door.

You head back toward the hub side by side, both peering into the trauma bay as you pass. The patient is stable now, half-conscious on the bed while Jack gives orders and Jesse preps for transfer to a room for monitoring. Dr. Robby is in there too now, looking as tired as always with his arms folded and protective glasses pushed up on top of his head.

“Evening, ladies,” Lena says from behind the nurses’ desk. “Get a good sleep?”

“Always,” Ellis replies as she grabs a tablet from the rack.

“Good enough,” you mutter, tipping your head back to read the board.

“Mm.” Lena peers at you over the top of her glasses. “Well, maybe you should start prioritising sleep over extracurriculars.”

Ellis snorts beside you.

“Lena,” you gasp, voice thick with mock offence. “I don’t—”

You stop short as Jack steps up beside you, offering Lena a polite nod before looking back at you.

“You have my badge.”

You frown. “What?”

“My badge,” he says again, already reaching for the badge at your hip.

He unclips it from your scrub pants and holds it up, brows lifting just slightly.

“Attending physician, huh?”

You shrug. “Thought it was time I got a promotion.”

He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head as he fastens the badge to his scrub top and fishes your badge from his back pocket. Then he steps in closer, his fingers grazing your hip as he tugs on the waistband of your pants and clips the badge where his had been.

“Try to keep track of it,” he mutters, already turning away.

You don’t respond. You just roll your eyes and turn back to the nurses’ station, where Lena is still watching you over the rim of her glasses, utterly unimpressed.

“You didn’t even notice?” Ellis asks.

You lift one shoulder. “I just grabbed it off the floor.”

“Okay,” Lena mutters, glancing back down at her chart. “I’m choosing not to know.”

Ellis shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” you say, tipping your head back again to read the board. “But you love me.”

She snorts, not even looking up from her tablet.

“Come on.” You bump your shoulder against hers. “Let’s go check out the elbow dislocation in One.”

“Fine,” she sighs, “but I’m not doing traction.”

You roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time as you start moving, heading toward the North corridor with Ellis at your heel. When you pull back the curtain at North One, the man lying there is exactly what you expected—mid-twenties, gym shorts, red with embarrassment and trying not to wince even though the shape of his shoulder is very wrong.

“Alright, Mr. Donovan,” you say, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Let’s have a look at that shoulder.”

His eyes flick up to your face, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Sure am,” you reply as you step closer to the bed. “And with me is Dr. Ellis. She’s going to help me get that bone back in place, but first you’re going to have to tell us how you did it.”

He grimaces as you gently prod his upper arm.

“Yeah—uh—I was just at the gym,” he starts, voice strained.

“Benching?” Ellis asks.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess—personal best?”

He nods again. “Yeah. How did you—”

“Happens more often than you think,” you cut in, your fingers finding the pulse at his wrist. “Move your fingers.”

He wriggles them slowly.

“Any numbness?”

He shakes his head.

“I was just putting the bar back,” he says. “My arm twisted a bit and it just… popped.”

You glance over your shoulder at Ellis, and she nods.

“Okay, Mr. Donovan—”

“You can call me Chase,” he interrupts, the corner of his mouth lifting a little higher.

You nod once. “Alright, Chase. We’re going to give you something for the pain and a muscle relaxant so it’s easier to get it back into place. Then Dr. Ellis and I are going to do the reduction.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Not much,” Ellis replies. “Maybe a little discomfort, but it’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” he mutters, wincing again as he tries to shift in the bed.

You look at Ellis. “Fentanyl and midaz?”

She nods, already turning away to find a workstation.

“We’ll be back in about five minutes,” you tell Chase. “Just as soon as a nurse administers the medication and it has enough time to kick in.”

“Five minutes, huh? That’s just enough time for me to figure out how to ask for your number.”

You snort. “Let’s just get your shoulder back in first, then see how you feel.”

“Ouch,” he chuckles. “Is that your subtle way of saying you have a boyfriend?”

You hesitate, taking half a step back from the bed.

“Uh—no,” you mutter. “No boyfriend.”

He smirks. “So I have a shot?”

You shake your head as you turn away, a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Like I said—let’s see how you feel after I manhandle your humerus back into its socket.”

He doesn’t say anything else—just lets out a quiet breath of laughter as you turn and step out of the room.

Your gaze flicks up as you reach for the curtain, and only then do you notice Jack standing there—arms folded, shoulders set, his hazel eyes fixed on you like he’s waiting for something.

“Oh—hey,” you say. “Need me?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Just doing the rounds. Want a hand with the reduction?”

“Nah, I’ve got Ellis,” you reply, starting back toward Central. “But you’re more than welcome to supervise.”

He scoffs, falling into step beside you. “You don’t need supervising.”

“I know.” You glance at him from the corner of your eye, a smirk tugging at your lips. “But I know how you like to watch.”

His mouth quirks, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

“Or what?” you tease, stopping just before the nurses’ station.

His eyes are a little darker now, the tops of his cheeks dusted pink.

“You don’t want to find out,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

Something twists low in your belly—and you get the sudden, distinct feeling that you do, in fact, want to find out.

“Abbot,” Lena calls before you can say anything else. “Trauma inbound—cyclist versus vehicle, ETA three minutes.”

Jack pauses for a half a second—then nods. “Alright, let’s prep Trauma Two.” He looks at you. “You in?”

You pull a face, all mock disappointment. “Oh, I wish I could, but I’ve got that reduction…”

He gives you a flat look, the corner of his mouth pulling just slightly. “Mm. Tragic.”

“Good luck, though,” you add, flashing him a grin.

You turn away before he does, moving around the hub to grab a tablet and find your next patient. It isn’t long before the paramedics come crashing through the ambulance bay doors with a groaning patient on the gurney—and you take that as your cue to get back to the shoulder dislocation.

“Alright, Chase,” you say, pulling back the curtain. “Let’s do this.”

He gives you a lopsided smile. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

Ellis snorts. “Midaz is working.”

You laugh softly as you step up beside his affected arm, adjusting the bed slightly before pulling on a pair of gloves. Ellis does the same, moving into position on the other side and bracing one hand against his good shoulder.

You look at her. “Ready?”

She nods once.

“Okay, Chase,” you say, one hand wrapping gently around his wrist. “Stay loose for me.”

You place your other hand at his elbow and bring his arm out from his body, easing it into position.

“Hey—relax,” Ellis says. “Don’t fight it.”

He lets out a breath, the tension in his body easing.

“That’s it,” you murmur, starting to pull his arm outward.

You feel the resistance from the dislocation, holding his arm steady until—his shoulder drops.

Ellis nods. “Good. Now rotate.”

You carefully rotate his arm out, slow and controlled, until you feel a small shift—the soft clunk of the bone slipping back into place. Chase flinches, inhaling sharply, then—

“Oh—” He blinks. “Oh, that’s—that’s way better.”

You give him a small smile as you guide his arm back in, keeping it supported while Ellis grabs the sling.

“Move your fingers,” you tell him.

He does.

“Any numbness?”

He shakes his head.

“Good.”

You move aside as Ellis steps in with the sling, fastening it over his shoulder before adjusting the bed again.

“Comfortable?” she asks.

Chase nods slowly. “‘M tired.”

“Then have a nap.”

You peel your gloves off and drop them in the waste bin, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm as you turn back toward Chase.

“We’re going to keep you here for a bit, okay? Just to monitor you and get an X-ray to make sure everything’s back in place.”

“You’re leaving me?” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded.

You shake your head, letting out a quiet laugh. “I’ll be back in a bit to see how you’re feeling, alright?”

He mutters something else as his eyes slip shut, but it’s too soft for you to hear.

Then, after a beat, Ellis looks at you. “Gonna give him your number?”

You roll your eyes. “Um, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm not—”

“Roster’s looking a little thin,” she says as she turns and steps out of the room.

You follow her, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “Not that I’m keeping track, but… by my count, you’re down to one.”

You let out a short, disbelieving scoff. “Okay—well, not that it’s any of your business, but Andrew moved to Canada, and Craig got back with his ex.”

She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “And you dropped Deran, so—”

“Like I said,” you cut in, lifting your chin just slightly. “I’m restructuring.”

“Restructuring,” she repeats mildly, “or retiring?”

Before the words have even landed, she’s gone—slipping into North Five with her tablet in hand and that stupid little smirk still curled at the corner of her mouth. You can faintly hear her greet the patient as the door eases shut, leaving you confused and alone in the middle of the North corridor.

Retiring?

You blink, your brows drawing tighter.

Retiring?

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Retiring from what?

From having fun? Having casual sex? Blowing off a little steam in the most enjoyable way you know how?

It’s not like you’re some irresponsible party animal—you barely go out, you only drink on occasion, and the hardest drug you’ve done since starting med school is ibuprofen. In fact, you’d argue that you’re the opposite of irresponsible. You take your casual sex roster very seriously. You don’t take risks, you make sure every single one of your partners has regular sexual-health check-ups, and you make sure to actually get to know them before you even sign them up.

Which is exactly why you’re not going around giving out your number to random patients.

You need to know someone before you start something casual. You need to know that they’re not going to ask for more, that they’re going to be mature and understand exactly where you both stand.

You need to know that you can trust them not to be irresponsible.

Because the last thing you need is some trigger-happy idiot who isn’t wearing a condom getting caught up in the moment and finishing inside you. Not that you ever go without a condom.

Except for...

Well—except for Jack.

But that’s different. He knows what he’s doing. You trust him—and you’re on birth control.

So it doesn’t really matter if, occasionally, he finishes—

“You good, or are you just going to keep staring into space?”

Your head snaps up, heat flooding your cheeks as you meet Henderson’s gaze.

“Uh—yeah, sorry, I was just—”

He chuckles. “No need to apologise—but if you’re bored, I could use an extra set of hands in Eight.”

You tilt your head. “Worth it?”

“Forearm lac. Exposed tendon.”

You nod. “I’m in.”

The next few hours blur together in a steady stream of night shift weirdness—a woman with a mystery rash whose story evolves from laundry detergent to poison ivy, someone who decided Gorilla Glue was a reasonable substitute for hair gel, a fish hook through a hand with the fish still attached, and a DIY dentistry job with half the tooth left and a lot of blood.

You barely catch a break until your patient in Central Twelve—when you and Ellis absolutely have to leave the room before you both burst out laughing at the mortified man who insists he slipped and fell on a Buzz Lightyear action figure. Because how else would it get stuck up there?

In your defence, you had managed to maintain some semblance of professionalism right up until Ellis muttered under her breath, “To infinity and beyond, I guess.”

That’s when you lost it—muttering the first excuse you could think of before slipping out the door and doubling over with laughter.

“Oh my God,” Ellis says, wiping the corner of her eye. “I love the night shift.”

You press a hand to your stomach, still aching from the laughter.

“Stop—” you gasp, shaking your head. “I can’t go back in there.”

“In where?” Shen asks, appearing in front of you.

You and Ellis both go still for a second, the laughter dying down as you exchange a look.

“Actually,” Ellis says, turning back to Shen with a smirk. “I think this case might be perfect for you, Dr. Shen.”

You nod. “Oh, absolutely. We could really use your expertise on this one.”

Shen frowns. “What’s the case?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Ellis says quickly. “You’re better off seeing it for yourself.”

Shen isn’t stupid, obviously, but he is incredibly curious—as most doctors are. So despite the fact that both you and Ellis are doing a terrible job of hiding your amusement, he takes the tablet from your outstretched hand and opens the door to Central Twelve.

Ellis’ eyes go wide, but before either of you can say anything else, someone calls your name across the department.

“Trauma One—get in here,” Jack says, waving a hand.

You let out a sigh, tipping your head back for a split second before jogging across Central to meet the paramedics.

“Twenty-four-year-old male—fell onto a plastic prop sword,” the first paramedic says, guiding the gurney into Trauma One. “Penetrating injury to the left thigh, object still in situ. Bleeding controlled, pulses intact, GCS fifteen. Fentanyl given en route, vitals stable.”

You almost snort when you realise the man is dressed in a pirate costume, his plastic cutlass wedged about four inches into his anterolateral thigh.

“Alright, we’ll take it from here,” Jack says. “Can you tell us your name, sir?”

“Josh,” the patient replies, his voice strained.

“Stabilise the leg,” you tell Mateo, moving into position opposite him. “On my count—one, two, three.”

You shift the patient from gurney to bed, and the paramedics clear out.

“Josh!”

A young woman rushes into the room, clearly from the same party—wearing what can only be described as a very short, very inaccurate interpretation of a nurse’s uniform.

“Oh my God. Is he bleeding out?”

Jack glances up, his lips twitching when he spots the woman. “I don’t remember approving that uniform.”

You shoot him a look. “Very funny, Dr. Abbot.”

His eyes linger on you for a beat too long.

“Not that I’d object,” he murmurs.

You arch a brow. “The nurses might.”

“I’m not a nurse,” the woman says, indignant. “I’m a sexy doctor.”

You look her up and down again, your gaze catching on the small, laminated name badge pinned to her chest with ‘Dr. Feelgood’ printed in bold pink letters.

You hum. “Right.”

“Still not the sexiest doctor in the room,” Jack mutters as he moves around the bed.

Your eyes flick up, meeting his for half a second, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly before you catch yourself and turn back to Josh.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight, Josh?” you ask.

Somewhere behind you, Dr. Feelgood starts to answer for him, but Bridget quickly steps in and guides her out of the trauma bay.

“I’ve got a dorsalis pedis pulse,” Jack notes.

Josh groans, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

“We’re going to get you something for the pain, alright?” you say, watching Olive insert the IV. “But first, I need to know what happened and how much you’ve had to drink.”

Mateo carefully cuts up the leg of Josh’s pants, fully exposing the entry site.

“I—ngh—I fell on it—” Josh manages. “It’s not even—not even real—fuck—”

Mateo turns away quickly, hiding his amusement.

“What about alcohol?” you ask again.

“Like—two beers,” he replies.

“Any drugs?”

“No—ah—no drugs.”

You nod. “Okay. Let’s give another twenty-five of fent.”

“Can we get surgery down here?” Jack asks as he steps back from the bed.

Mateo moves to grab the phone. “Calling now.”

Jack nods, folding his arms and lifting his head to look at you. “Alright. What’s next?”

“Repeat neurovascular exam, stabilise the object, don’t remove it, and get imaging before anyone touches it.”

He nods again. “Good.”

You try to ignore the way he’s watching you as you move to the foot of the bed, going through the motions of the neurovascular checks a little slower than he had just a minute ago.

“Pulses still intact. Cap refill under two. No numbness,” you report.

“Good,” he says again. “Keep checking. If that changes, we move faster.”

You nod once before turning back to Josh.

“Do you know when your last tetanus shot was, Josh?”

He shakes his head faintly. “No.”

“Okay, tetanus booster—” you glance up at Jack, “and antibiotics.”

“Which antibiotic?”

“Cefazolin?”

He watches you for a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly—then he turns to Olive. “You heard the doctor. Get him some cefazolin.”

You drop your head, biting back a smile as you watch Mateo start to clean the entry site.

“Let’s flag contamination risk for surgery,” Jack says, pulling off his gloves. “And X-ray for—”

“Position and fragments,” you cut in, finishing for him. “And CTA left leg to clear the vessels before removal.”

He tosses his gloves in the bin and turns back toward you, brows raised.

“Alright,” he says, mildly amused. “I can see I’m no longer needed in here.”

You flash him a small, smug smile before turning back to the wound.

“Entry looks clean, bleeding’s controlled—let’s pack around it and get him to imaging.”

Mateo nods and moves to grab more gauze, helping you pack carefully around the plastic blade so it doesn’t shift during transport. Jack lingers just long enough to make sure you’ve got everything under control before he steps out of the room, slipping back into the quiet chaos of the night shift.

You and Mateo quickly finish stabilising the leg before the nurses prep him for imaging. They’re just about to wheel the bed out when Walsh arrives from the OR, fighting a smile when she sees the pirate impaled by his own sword. You give her a brief rundown as you pull your gloves off and squirt a pump of sanitiser into your hands. She nods along, asks a few questions, then mutters something about prepping an operating room while they wait for imaging.

When you finally step out of the trauma bay, you spot Jack standing with Lena at the nurses’ station. You don’t quite catch all of their conversation as you walk past to grab a tablet, but you do hear something about ETA three minutes and decide to make yourself scarce before you’re dragged into another trauma.

You scan the board briefly, pick your next patient, then head toward the South corridor, already pulling up the chart for South Twenty on your tablet. You’re halfway through the patient’s intake when—

You stop—then take two steps back, turning your head toward South Seventeen.

“Deran?”

The man in the bed glances up, blowing a lock of dark blond hair out of his eyes.

He smiles. “Hey, doc.”

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, despite the obvious.

He’s got his left hand cradled in his lap, wrapped loosely in an oil-stained rag that’s already soaked through in places, blood seeping into the fabric and drying in dark blotches. His knuckles underneath are split and swollen, his pinky finger sticking out at an odd angle, the rest of his hand already blown out around it.

“I was helping a friend with his truck,” he says, glancing back down at his mangled hand. “The prop rod slipped, and the hood came straight down.”

“Ouch,” you murmur, stepping forward.

He huffs out a short laugh. “Yeah. Ouch.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it.”

You set your tablet at the foot of the bed and step up beside him, leaning in as you gently lift the rag to get a better look at what’s underneath. It’s not that deformed—just swollen, and his pinky finger is obviously broken, but otherwise it’s mostly just bruising and superficial cuts. At least he won’t need stitches—maybe some steri-strips and a splint—but you’re more concerned about the dirty rag he’s got wrapped around it.

“What d’you think?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Am I going to make it?”

You tilt your head. “Maybe. If we act fast.”

He laughs softly, the sound ringing almost too familiar in your ears.

You straighten quickly, clearing your throat. “Do you—uh—have you seen a doctor yet?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just you.”

You nod once and pick up your tablet, flicking out of South Twenty’s chart.

“Cool. I’ll be your doctor—” You pause, glancing back at him. “Unless you think that’s a conflict of interest?”

His smile widens. “You mean the prettiest doctor in Pittsburgh’s gonna fix me up?”

You roll your eyes. “Just Pittsburgh, huh?”

“Well, I couldn’t say the world—that’d be way too cheesy.”

You snort. “All your lines are cheesy.”

He gasps. “All of them?”

“All of them,” you echo, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on your tablet.

“Wow,” he mutters. “Tough crowd.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile as you pull up his chart and make a quick note, effectively assigning yourself as his physician. Then you set the tablet back on the bed and turn to grab a pair of gloves.

“Alright, I just need to have a closer look before I can get you some pain relief.”

You nudge the stool closer to the bed and sit down, leaning in as Deran gingerly shifts his hand. You peel the rag back properly this time, murmuring an apology when he winces, and set the dirty thing aside before reaching for gauze and saline.

“This might sting a bit,” you say, already starting to clean the dried blood from his knuckles. “Let me know if you want me to stop.”

“Do I need a safe word?” he asks smugly.

Your gaze flicks up, unamused—then back down to his hand without a word.

“I’m gonna go with meatball,” he decides. “Because—”

“—your favourite thing in the world is a meatball sub from that deli on Carson,” you cut in. “I know.”

His brows lift. “Wow.”

Your eyes flick up again. “Wow what?”

He shrugs, wincing slightly as you turn his hand. “Nothing. I just… didn’t think you paid that much attention.”

You don’t look up this time, unsure what you could possibly say that wouldn’t turn this into a deeper conversation than you’re willing to have right now.

After a beat, Deran hums. “Still doing the whole unavailable thing, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a thing, Deran. I work fifteen hours a day with hardly any phone reception, and my days off are spent catching up on paperwork and sleep. I am unavailable.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, glancing back down at his hand. “I guess I just figured since I hadn’t heard from you in a while, maybe some lucky guy finally managed to sweep you off your feet.”

You scoff, focusing a little too hard on wrapping fresh gauze around his hand. “Yeah, well—you’d be wrong.”

He grimaces when you turn his hand again, being careful not to bump his pinky finger as you finish dressing the cuts. Then you gently set it back in his lap and start cleaning up, swivelling on your stool to toss the oily rag and all the bloodied gauze into the waste bin.

“Alright,” you say, turning back. “Lift your hand for me.”

He lifts it slowly.

“Can you move your fingers?”

His eyes go wide.

You give him a flat look. “Just try.”

His expression twists as he slowly flexes his fingers, letting out a low, pained groan.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you say, scooting forward again. “Any numbness or tingling?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You reach out and press gently against the tip of his pinky—until it turns white—then watch the colour return beneath his nail.

“Cap refill’s good,” you mutter, more to yourself.

He winces again as he lowers his hand back into his lap.

“So, what’s the verdict—is my weekend ruined?”

You snort. “Not entirely. I’ll get you some pain relief and order an X-ray. We might have to reduce the pinky, but I want imaging before I touch it—I need to see exactly where the fracture is first.”

“Well then,” he says, smirking as he lifts his right hand and holds up just the index and middle finger. “Good thing I’m right-handed.”

It takes a moment for the joke to land. You tilt your head, frowning faintly as you stare at his fingers.

Then it clicks.

“Oh my God,” you laugh, grabbing his hand and forcing it back down. “What is wrong with you?”

He grins. “What? You said it yourself—my weekend isn’t entirely ruined.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t think you meant that.”

“Well,” he says slowly, leaning in, “I don’t have plans yet, but if you’ve got time between paperwork and sleeping, maybe we could—”

“Everything alright in here?”

You turn to see Jack stepping past the curtain. He stops at the foot of the bed and clasps his hands behind his back, eyes flicking curiously between you and Deran.

You straighten a little and nod. “Yep. All good.”

“Except my hand,” Deran adds, lifting his injured hand.

“Right.” You shake your head once. “Deran, this is Dr. Abbot—he’s the senior attending on shift tonight.”

Then you glance back at Jack.

“Crush injury to the left hand after a truck hood came down on it. Significant swelling through the fifth digit with an obvious deformity at the pinky, plus some superficial lacerations across the knuckles. Neurovascularly intact—cap refill’s good, no numbness or tingling. I’ve cleaned and dressed the cuts, and I was just about to send him for imaging before we decide if the finger needs reducing.”

Jack nods once. “Good. Any pain management?”

You stand and nudge the stool back, picking up your tablet from the end of the bed.

“I was just about to order some ibuprofen and Tylenol.”

He nods again. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”

You give him a small smile before turning back to Deran. “Hang tight—I’ll come find you once I get your X-ray results.”

He pouts. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

You roll your eyes, already turning away. “Unavailable, remember.”

Jack slides the curtain shut before following you out, falling into step beside you as you head back toward Central.

“You know him?”

You glance up from your tablet. “Uh—yeah. Old friend.”

He lifts a brow. “Friend?”

You give him a look. “What do you want me to say?”

He shrugs, letting out a quiet laugh. “Friend works.”

“Good,” you mutter, stopping at one of the workstations and setting your tablet down.

Jack pauses beside you. “Meet me in Central Twelve once you’ve put the orders in.”

You frown. “Why?”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Because I’m your boss, that’s why.”

Then he’s gone, moving through the department with that faint hitch in his stride and an ass that absolutely should not look that good in scrubs.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the computer in front of you, swiping your badge to log in. You quickly pull up Deran’s chart, make a few notes, and order the ibuprofen and Tylenol. Then, just because you can, you try to pull up Central Twelve’s chart—if only to annoy Jack by getting a head start—but there’s nothing in the system.

Great. Must be a brand-new patient.

You let out an irritated little sigh before logging off and grabbing your tablet again.

The door to Central Twelve is shut when you get there, which isn’t unusual, but immediately makes you fear the worst for whatever case Jack has waiting for you inside.

You take a breath, turn the handle—and freeze when you spot the empty bed.

“Shut the door,” Jack says, without looking up from the supply drawer he’s rummaging through.

You hesitate. “Am I in trouble?”

He sighs. “Do you ever just do what you’re told?”

You finally step into the room, shutting the door behind you before setting your tablet on the room cart.

“Sometimes,” you say. “Depends what’s in it for me.”

Jack straightens, turning toward you. “That’s a remarkably transactional approach to life.”

You shrug. “I believe in reciprocation.”

He takes a step closer. “That’s not what reciprocation means.”

“Really?” you ask. “Because last time I checked—in the shower, by the way—you were getting a pretty good deal.”

His mouth quirks. “Are you saying I owe you?”

You step forward. “Who’s keeping count?”

“Maybe I am,” he murmurs.

Before you can say anything else, his fingers catch the hem of your shirt and he tugs—just enough to pull you off balance. Then his mouth is on yours. Slow, deep, unhurried. As if there isn’t an entire emergency department waiting on the other side of that door.

He presses closer, his hand moving beneath your shirt, rough fingers digging into your hip as his mouth parts lazily against yours. His tongue slides along your bottom lip, pulling a breathy little sigh from the back of your throat as your fingers curl into the front of his scrub top. You tilt your head, leaning in, chasing more—and for a second it almost feels like he’s going to give it to you.

Then he pulls away.

Your lips follow instinctively, and he chuckles, taking a deliberate step back.

You blink. “What was that?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He steps toward the door.

“Dr. Toomarian’s got a patient to present.”

You stare at him. “Seriously?”

He reaches for the handle.

“South Sixteen.”

Then he’s gone, and you’re left watching the door swing shut with something strange and unfamiliar stirring beneath your ribs.

That was weird.

Not unpleasant. Not by any means. Just... unusual.

It takes you a little longer than it should to remember how to move. How to suck in a full breath, pick up your tablet, and head back out into the chaos of the night shift past midnight.

The department is exactly as you’d left it. Patients complaining about pain that could have been prevented with a little common sense. Doctors running on nothing but caffeine and questionable protein snacks. And Lena in the middle of it all, her glasses perched low on her nose as she scans the tablet in her hand.

“Hey,” you say, stepping up to the nurses’ station. “Got anything easy for me?”

Lena glances over the top of her glasses. “Easy left three hours ago.”

You sigh. “Come on. There’s got to be something.”

Her eyes flick back down. “I’ve got a Ms. Callahan in Central Nine. Migraine, vitals are fine.”

“Perfect. I’ll—”

“I’ve got this one,” Jack says, appearing beside you. “Dr. Toomarian needs a resident in South Sixteen.”

You frown. “But I—”

“Now.”

You stare at him for a second, wondering how the hell a man can kiss you breathless one minute then start barking orders at you the next.

“Fine,” you mutter, gripping your tablet a little tighter. “But when I’m admitted for emotional whiplash, I want it documented that you’re the reason why.”

Then you turn and head for the South hall before you’re tempted to say something even less professional.

You don’t normally snap like that—especially not at an attending—but something about the last fifteen minutes has crawled beneath your skin and stayed there, impossible to ignore. Your pulse still hasn’t settled properly. Your cheeks are still warm. And every time you think about Jack’s stupid little half-smirk after he’d kissed you, you’re annoyed.

You just can’t figure out why.

He doesn’t normally kiss you in the middle of a shift.

He doesn’t normally order you around like you’re a lost med student.

And he definitely doesn’t volunteer to see migraine patients.

But you don’t normally get this irritated. Especially not at Jack. The two of you are always messing around. Playing games. Flirting. It’s what you do. So what’s so different about tonight?

“Hey.” Ellis grabs your arm, stopping you just outside of South Sixteen. “You good?”

You blink. “Yeah. Why?”

“You look like you’re contemplating homicide.”

“And if I am?”

“I’d be obliged to remind you that we’re here to save lives, not end them.”

“Damn. Guess I’ll just have to wait until after my shift.”

Her eyes narrow, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly. “Is this about who I thought I saw being taken up to imaging?”

You frown. “Who did you think you saw?”

“Deran.”

“Oh.”

You glance over her shoulder at the empty bed in South Seventeen.

“That was fast,” you mutter.

Her brows lift. “Wait. You’re his physician?”

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Isn’t my life a conflict of interest?”

She stares at you for a moment, amusement tugging at her mouth. “It’s one of those nights, huh?”

You sigh. “Yep.”

She puts a hand on your shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Then she gives you a brief nod and continues down the hall, humming a tune you don’t recognise as if to rub it in that she’s having a far more pleasant shift than you are.

You spend the next half hour alongside Nazely, talking her through a chest pain workup and reassuring the patient who’s convinced every twinge in his left arm is the beginning of the end. By the time you’ve reviewed the ECG for the third time and convinced him that googling symptoms at two in the morning isn’t a substitute for medical advice, you’re finally able to move on.

The shift settles back into its usual rhythm after that. Patients. Notes. Consults. A never-ending stream of questions from the new med student stuck on nights and equally never-ending complaints from people who should have gone to bed instead of doing dumb things that landed them in the ED.

It isn’t until two a.m. that you finally find yourself back at the nurses’ station with Ellis, sipping a vending machine energy drink she’d forced into your hand while the department enjoys a rare moment of relative calm.

“Shen said the Butt Lightyear guy went up for surgery.”

Lena tilts her head. “Butt Lightyear?”

“You don’t want to know,” you murmur into your drink.

“They tried removing it manually but were worried about the wings,” Ellis explains.

“The wings?”

She smirks. “Yeah. You press a button and the wings pop out.”

You shut your eyes. “Ouch.”

“Let me guess,” Lena says, peering over the rim of her glasses. “He slipped?”

Ellis nods. “Yep. Total accident.”

“Yeah, and the toy just happened to be completely covered in lube too,” you add.

Lena sighs. “Every day I learn something new against my will.”

You and Ellis both laugh as Lena turns away, seemingly done with this conversation—and the people of Pittsburgh judging by the defeated look on her face. You’re about to reach for your tablet to pull up the X-ray images off poor Butt Lightyear when a bright laugh cuts through the quiet hum of the department, drawing your attention toward Central Nine.

You narrow your eyes. “Why is he still in there?”

Ellis shrugs. “Not sure. I thought it was just a migraine.”

“Laughing pretty hard for someone with a headache,” you mutter.

Ellis glances at you. “Do you know who she is?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.”

You look at her. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“I have no idea who she is,” you say, grabbing your tablet. “And frankly? I don’t care.”

Ellis nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Then you turn away before she can say anything else, heading toward the North corridor even though you have no idea which patient you’re actually on your way to see.

It isn’t long before you find yourself passing through Central again, peering into Ms. Callahan’s room to see if she’s been discharged yet. Which she hasn’t—but at least Jack’s not in there anymore. Not that it really matters to you, but you can’t imagine the rest of the department is thrilled about an attending wasting half the night on a migraine patient.

Ten minutes later, you walk past Central Nine again. Not because you’re looking this time—you’re genuinely just passing on your way to find a free workstation—but she’s still in there. And she certainly doesn’t look like she’s in pain anymore.

If you were her, you’d be demanding discharge papers by now.

The third time you glance at Ms. Callahan, she catches your eye, and you offer her a small, awkward smile before quickly glancing back down at your chart. The same chart you’ve been pretending to work on for the better part of fifteen minutes without writing a single coherent sentence.

“You know that’s Abbot’s ex, right?”

You blink. “What?”

Shen nods toward Central Nine. “Ms. Callahan. She’s Abbot’s ex.”

You glance back at the gorgeous blonde woman scrolling through her phone, not at all looking like someone suffering from a migraine.

“Oh.”

Shen nods slowly. “Anyway. He’s looking for you.”

You frown. “Who?”

“Dr. Abbot.”

“Why?”

Shen shrugs. “Didn’t say.”

You sigh. “Great.”

He watches you curiously as you log out of the computer and push your chair back.

“Did he say where?” you ask.

“South.”

You nod once. “Thanks.”

Then you turn and head toward the South corridor, but not without one last glance at the woman in Central Nine. The woman who apparently used to date Jack. The woman who, for reasons you still don’t entirely understand, is suddenly very difficult to stop thinking about.

You spot Jack standing beside the workstations in the middle of the South hall, frowning at something on his tablet. He looks tired now, his curls standing at odd angles thanks to the way he drags his hand through them after every stressful trauma patient—and he’s leaning his left hip against the side of the desk, shifting the weight off his right leg because three a.m. is always when it starts aching. Not that he’ll admit it.

“Shen said you wanted to see me.”

He glances up. “Your friend’s imaging came back.”

“And?”

“Hand surgery wants him,” he says, offering you his tablet.

You take it, glancing down at the X-ray images. “Fracture and tendon damage. Fantastic.”

You flip through the images and skim over the surgeon’s review.

“Okay. I’ll send him up.”

Jack takes the tablet back, his brows pulling together slightly.

“Have you eaten?”

You frown. “What?”

“Have you eaten anything tonight?”

“I had an energy drink.”

He stares at you. “That’s not food.”

You shrug. “I haven’t had time.”

“Make time.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. I didn’t bring anything.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, glancing down at the tablet as he flicks out of Deran’s X-rays and brings up another patient’s chart.

“There’s a container in the fridge.”

You blink. “What?”

“Top shelf. Left side. Blue lid.”

Your brows lift. “You brought me food?”

He glances up again. “I brought extra food. It’s that pasta you like.”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Loudly.

“Go eat,” he says. “I doubt surgery’s coming to collect your friend in the next twenty minutes.”

You want to argue. You really do. Because you don’t need to be looked after. You don’t need him to bring you food and make sure you eat and be all quietly caring like this. But God is this man a good cook, and you’d have to be an idiot to turn down free pasta at three o’clock in the morning.

“Fine,” you mutter, already turning away. “I’ll eat.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t look back. Because if you do, you might see the stupidly smug look on his face and it might make you smile. Then he’ll know he was right, and you absolutely cannot give him that satisfaction. So instead, you drop your gaze and watch your shoes move against the speckled linoleum until you reach the break room door.

You don’t even notice that someone else is in there until you reach the fridge and finally glance up.

“Oh. Hey.”

Ellis waves her fork. “Hey.”

You pull the fridge door open and immediately spot Jack’s blue-lidded tupperware.

“You brought food?” Ellis asks, clearly surprised.

You don’t answer. Not explicitly, at least. You just glance over your shoulder with what could be considered a very brief nod, then turn back toward the microwave and set the container inside.

“She’s his ex, by the way,” you say without thinking.

“Huh?”

You press the start button on the microwave before turning to face Ellis properly, leaning back against the kitchenette counter.

“The woman in Central Nine. Shen just told me she’s Jack’s ex.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ellis stabs a piece of broccoli with her fork. “I know.”

You tilt your head. “How do you know?”

“I asked Dr. Abbot how he knew the patient,” she says, as if it were obvious.

“Oh.”

You glance back at the microwave, still humming, Jack’s container rotating slowly inside.

“What’d he say?”

Ellis sighs, stabbing a piece of carrot this time. “Just that they dated about a year after his wife passed, but he realised he wasn’t ready to move on yet, so he ended it. It was amicable. Now they’re friends.”

You frown. “Friends? He’s never mentioned her to me.”

Ellis finally looks up, something sharpening in her expression. “Why would he?”

You hesitate. “Because we’re—well, you know…”

Her mouth twitches. “I thought it was casual.”

“It is,” you say quickly. “I just thought he would’ve mentioned—”

“Does Abbot know who Deran is?”

You blink. “What?”

Ellis smirks. “You know, the guy currently sitting in South Seventeen? Mr. Thursday mornings, or—” she tilts her head, “I guess it’s former Mr. Thursday mornings now.”

“Well—not exactly, but that’s—”

The sharp beeping of the microwave cuts you off, and you turn quickly to silence it.

“That’s different?” Ellis offers.

You grab the container out of the microwave, shut the door, then yank open the cutlery drawer to grab a fork before turning back to face her.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “It’s different. Jack knows we’re not exclusive, but he doesn’t need to know who the other guys are.”

Ellis snorts. “Or were.”

You glare at her.

“Alright,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “Then why do you need to know who she is?”

You stab a piece of pasta. “I don’t. I’m just... curious.”

“You mean jealous.”

Your head snaps up. “I’m not jealous. I don’t care what he does when he’s not with me. He can sleep with whoever he wants. He can sleep with every bottle-blonde in Pittsburgh for all I care.”

Ellis’ brows shoot up. “Wow. You’re really jealous.”

“I am not,” you protest. “It’s casual. We both know that. If he wants out, he can just say so. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. I mean, sure, it’s fun when they’re good, but I am perfectly fine on my own. I don’t need someone interfering with my life. With my routine. I’m happy exactly the way things are.”

Ellis nods slowly. “Okay, Miss Independent. I get it.”

“Thank you.”

“Just to be clear,” she says, pushing her chair back, “you’re standing here eating his food because he told you to. Right?”

You open your mouth to argue, but she keeps going.

“Your hair smells like his shampoo. You walked into our apartment this morning wearing his shirt, and I’m pretty sure those are his socks.” Her gaze drops briefly to your feet before returning to your face. “You haven’t slept in your own bed once this week and, unless I’m forgetting somebody, you haven’t seen another guy in...” She pauses, pretending to think. “Wow. Almost four months now.”

You stare at her.

“And when you got that stomach bug last month,” she says, grabbing her container as she stands, “he called out of work just to sit on the bathroom floor with you for eight hours.”

She steps up right beside you, dropping her container in the sink.

“That’s not casual.”

The water runs for a few seconds as she rinses the container beneath the tap, then she sets it beside the sink and turns toward the door.

“Anyway,” she says lightly, reaching for the handle. “Let me know when you’re ready to admit you’re in love with him.”

Then she’s gone, leaving you alone with your pasta and your rapidly fraying nervous system.

You don’t move. You just stare at the door, trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to think about anything that isn’t that strange and unfamiliar feeling lodged beneath your ribs, insistent on being felt.

No.

It’s not—

It can’t be—

You would know if you were in—

Fuck.

You turn quickly and drop your container of food beside the sink before it ends up on the floor. Then you press both palms into the edge of the counter, as if that might somehow ground you.

This is ridiculous.

Ellis is just messing with you. She has to be.

You’re not in—

God. You can’t even think about that word.

You drag in a deep breath and grab the fork again, lifting it to your mouth.

It’s almost annoying how good it is. Infuriating, really. Because apparently being an emergency doctor, a SWAT physician, offensively attractive and unfairly charming isn’t enough. No. Jack Abbot just has to be an excellent cook too.

Jerk.

You finish the rest of the pasta as quickly as you can, trying not to be disappointed when the container is empty. Then you rinse it beneath the tap and set it beside Ellis’ tupperware.

Your heart is still beating a little too fast when you step out of the break room, and you have to shove your hands into your scrub pockets to keep them from shaking. You keep your head down as you make your way back toward South Seventeen, trying to focus on what you’re going to say to Deran and not how you may or may not feel about your attending.

“Hey,” you say, pulling the curtain back. “How are you feeling?”

Deran glances up. “Hey, doc. Long time no see.”

You squirt a pump of sanitiser into your palm and rub your hands together as you step up beside the bed.

“Been busy,” you say. “Are the painkillers working?”

He lifts his hand, wincing. “A little.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. “You could probably get some more soon.”

His brows pull together slightly. “Is that your way of saying I’m not heading home any time soon?”

You sigh quietly, dragging the stool closer to the bed and dropping down onto it.

“Not tonight, no. I’m sorry.”

He groans, tipping his head back against the pillow.

“I know,” you murmur, leaning in. “But one of our hand surgeons reviewed the images, and you’ve got a fracture right here.” You gently tap the base of his little finger near the knuckle. “I was expecting a break, but it’s lower than we’d like and close enough to the joint that this isn’t something we can safely reduce and splint in the ED.”

He lifts his head.

“There’s also some concern about the tendon around it,” you continue. “The finger was pulled pretty hard out of position, and the surgeon’s worried it may have damaged one of the tendons that helps it move properly.”

“What does that mean?”

“They’ll take you upstairs, get better imaging if they need it, and most likely repair everything at the same time rather than risk you losing function later.”

His brows draw tighter. “Repair?”

“The fracture. The tendon. Anything else they find once they’re in there.”

He lets his head fall back again. “Great.”

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Just not exactly how I pictured getting to spend more time with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

You snort. “Hopefully not. If all goes well, I’ll be at home asleep.”

He sighs. “Damn.”

You push the stool back and stand. “Any other questions before I sign you off to surgery?”

He lifts his head, frowning slightly. “Yeah, actually. I wanted to ask you about that guy.”

You tilt your head. “What guy?”

“The one that came in here before. The attending.”

Your stomach drops.

“What about him?”

“I thought he was your boss.”

You fold your arms. “He is.”

“Huh.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s just—” He hesitates. “I don’t know. You just don’t usually look at your boss like that.”

You stare at him for a moment, trying to ignore the rush of your pulse in your ears.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head?”

His brows lift. “Wait. Did I hit a nerve?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why don’t you just focus on the fact that you need surgery? Do you need me to call anyone?”

He shakes his head. “I already called my mom.”

“Good,” you mutter, already turning away. “Good luck in surgery.”

“Tell your boss I said hi.”

“Bye, Deran.”

His laughter follows you out into the hallway, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking back as you yank the curtain shut.

You shake your head as you start down the corridor toward Central, as if that might somehow knock your errant thoughts back into place. You can still hear your pulse, still feel the heat crawling beneath your skin, your scrub top suddenly too warm and too tight.

The lights overhead are almost painfully bright now, the way they always get in the late hours of the night shift—but tonight their glare feels personal. Offensive, even. As if those buzzing fluorescent bars are shining brightly on everything you’ve worked so hard not to acknowledge. Not to feel.

Not that you’re feeling anything.

At least, not whatever it is Ellis thinks you’re feeling.

You just need a minute. One minute of quiet to come up with perfectly reasonable explanations for every stupid little thing she pointed out. Then your mind can stop running circles and you can finish your shift, go home, and get some much-needed sleep.

By tomorrow, all of this is just going to feel ridiculous.

Because that’s exactly what it is.

Ridiculous.

“Dr. Abbot,” Bridget calls from behind the desk. “Can you take a look at this for me?”

You stop short halfway between South and Central, watching as Jack moves from one end of the nurses’ station to the other. Bridget is already holding up her tablet, pointing at something on the screen while Jack leans in, brow furrowing just slightly as he squints at it.

He needs to wear his glasses. You’ve told him this countless times. Yet for some reason, he insists on reserving them exclusively for news articles, novels, and recipes.

Apparently, the PTMC emergency department isn’t worthy of his clear vision.

Your stomach lurches as your traitorous thoughts remind you of the time he’d worn them during sex. The time he’d insisted on keeping them on as he settled between your legs because he wanted to see you properly. He wanted to see everything.

You shake your head again, trying to push the memory away.

Jack leans a little closer as Bridget starts explaining something you can’t quite make out. Not that you really care to hear what she’s saying. You’re too busy watching the way Jack’s left hand grips the edge of the desk, his weight shifting toward it, lessening the load on his right leg.

It must be really sore tonight.

He nods along, murmuring something low as he taps on the screen. You know what comes next before he even does it. He lifts that same hand and it drags across his jaw, tilting his head just slightly as he tries to concentrate on whatever it is Bridget’s asking—but he’s tired. You know he’s tired. From the set of his shoulders to the way he’s shifting almost all his weight off his right leg, you just know that he’s counting down the hours to the end of shift.

Maybe you should feel guilty for not letting him get enough sleep yesterday.

His left hand adjusts its grip, the tendon in his forearm flexing as it does and for some stupid reason, you forget how to breathe. Just for a second.

“You alright?”

You blink. “What?”

Henderson frowns slightly, suddenly standing beside you with his tablet in hand. “That’s the second time I've caught you completely zoned out tonight. What’s going on?”

“Uh—”

You glance back at Jack just as he looks up, his gaze meeting yours briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips—and your treacherous heart leaps. It actually leaps.

What the fuck?

You clear your throat. “Yeah. No. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Henderson—the perceptive bastard—glances toward the nurses’ station, and his eyes widen.

“Oh, shit. Did something happen between you two?”

Your stomach flips. “What?”

He gestures vaguely toward Jack. “You and Abbot. Did you break up or something?”

“What?” you say again, louder this time. “Why would you even—I mean, we’re not—we’ve never dated. Why would you think that?”

He tilts his head. “Really? I thought Ellis said—”

“Ellis?”

“Not just Ellis.”

Your eyes go wide. “Who else?”

He shrugs. “Everyone assumes you guys are together.”

“Together?”

He frowns. “You’re not?”

“No,” you say, almost too fast. “No. We’re not together, we’re just—it’s… casual.”

His brows lift, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Casual?”

“Yes,” you mutter, dropping your head into your hands. “Are you telling me the entire ED thinks Jack and I are dating?”

Henderson laughs. “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Shen mention it.”

Your head snaps up. “People talk about it?”

Henderson shrugs. “It’s gossip.”

You open your mouth, ready to deny everything, when—

“Trauma inbound,” Lena calls. “Male, twenties. Motorcycle crash. Hypotensive in the field. ETA two minutes.”

“Shit,” Henderson mutters. “That’s not gonna be fun.”

Jack glances over at you again, calling your name across the floor. “Trauma Two. Let’s go.”

You hesitate, taking a step back. “I—I can’t. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Henderson says quickly. “I can jump in.”

He’s already moving before he’s even finished speaking, weaving through the growing rush of staff converging on Trauma Two. You watch him for a second, taking another slow step back, then another—and just before you turn away, you glance at Jack.

He hasn’t moved. He’s still standing by the nurses’ station. Watching you.

Your stomach twists.

Then you turn away and keep walking down the corridor.

And fortunately for your rapidly deteriorating grip on reality, it isn’t long before Dr. Toomarian pulls you into a room to present a patient and you’re forced back into work mode.

The distraction helps, at first. You focus on the patient, answer questions, review scans, place orders, and for a few blessed minutes your brain remembers how to function. Then someone says Jack’s name and your pulse jumps for no reason. You hear a voice that sounds vaguely like Jack’s and your head snaps up. Someone calls for an attending and you catch yourself looking.

By the time you’re halfway through reviewing another chart, your pulse still hasn’t settled and you’re no closer to understanding what the hell is wrong with you, only increasingly certain that whatever it is, it’s getting worse.

Eventually you find yourself moving back through Central, your nose buried in your tablet as you scan the next patient’s intake form, determined to stay distracted. You’re just about to turn down the North corridor when you finally glance up—and there he is.

His brows lift, just slightly. “A word?”

Shit.

“Um. Sure.”

You tuck your tablet under one arm as you follow him around the corner toward the ambulance bay. Not quite all the way outside, but far enough from the nurses’ station that no one nosy can overhear.

When he finally stops and turns to face you, you’re reminded—quite aggressively—just how unfairly attractive Jack Abbot really is.

“What was that?”

You take a small step back. “What was what?”

He nods vaguely toward Central. “You completely dodged that trauma back there.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You look away. “I just—I had a patient I needed to get back to.”

“We’ve all got patients,” he says, folding his arms. “But this is the ED. We treat the most critical patients first. That means traumas—you know that.”

You glance back at him, then down at your shoes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just... a little distracted tonight.”

“Distracted?” he echoes. “Is this about your friend?”

Your head snaps up. “My friend?”

“The one you just sent up to surgery.” His jaw tightens, just briefly. “If I’m being honest, I’m not even sure you should’ve been his physician.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a conflict of interest.”

You scoff. “A conflict of interest? Seriously?”

He folds his arms a little tighter, making the sleeves of his scrub top strain around his stupidly thick biceps in the most distracting way.

“Yes.”

You lift your chin. “Alright. How’s Ms. Callahan, then?”

He blinks. “Who?”

“Central Nine. Your ex.”

He stares at you for a second.

“Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say quickly. “What matters is if you can treat your ex without it being a conflict of interest, then I can treat some guy I used to sleep with.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“So he’s not just an old friend.”

You tilt your head. “You knew that, Jack.”

For a brief moment, neither of you says anything. You can feel your pulse in your throat now, fast and uneven, and judging by the way Jack’s looking at you, you’re not doing nearly as good a job of hiding it as you’d hoped.

“Look,” you say, desperate to end this interaction. “I’m sorry I ducked the trauma. Really, I am. But Henderson was right there—it’s not like I left you hanging. I knew he’d jump in.”

Jack rubs a hand across his jaw, looking away for a second before glancing back at you. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. Henderson was there, I could have called either of you.”

You nod once, the knot in your stomach finally easing slightly.

“Guess I should stop playing favourites, huh?”

You frown again. “Favourites?”

He lifts a shoulder. “You’re always the first person I look for when I need a second set of hands.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck, but you refuse to let him see it.

“What about Dr. Robby?” you ask, shifting your tablet against your chest.

He leans in slightly. “I’d still choose you.”

The words hit you square in the chest, settling somewhere deep behind your ribs. For a second, your lungs forget how to work entirely, and by the time you finally figure out how to breathe again, Jack is already gone.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, waiting for your brain to catch up with whatever the hell just happened. Waiting for those words to make sense. But they don’t. Not entirely. They stay lodged in your chest even as you clear your throat and press a hand against your sternum, turning slowly back toward the chaos of the ED.

Whatever.

Maybe they don’t mean anything.

You shake your head as you glance down at your tablet, pulling up the chart you’d been focused on before all this. Before Jack told you he’d still choose you over his own best friend, who also happens to have more experience, more qualifications, and significantly better judgement than you.

Ridiculous.

You spend the next half hour cleaning gravel out of a drunk college student’s knee after he fell down the porch steps at a house party. Then you help Henderson with a nine-year-old girl who split her forehead falling from the top bunk of her bed, distracting her while he does the sutures. After that, you work through a mild pneumonia case with Nazely before treating a middle-aged man with a kidney stone. The orders, pain meds, scans, and paperwork all blur together, and by the time you finally check the clock again it’s almost seven.

“Shit,” you murmur, dropping down at desk near the nurses’ station.

You need to catch up on your charting if you plan on getting out of here any time soon.

“Hey.” Henderson sits at the computer across from you. “Little girl with the forehead lac just got discharged.”

You glance over at him. “Oh. Nice.”

“Her mom wanted me to thank you for helping her.”

You snort. “Between the drunk college kid and the old guy coughing up half a lung, it was my pleasure.”

Henderson huffs a laugh. “Apparently she’s been saying she wants to be a doctor since she was six.”

Your brows lift. “Really?”

Henderson grins. “And now she wants to be a doctor just like you."

“Yeah? Did you tell her not to go into emergency medicine if she values her soul?”

“Assuming you had one to begin with,” Robby cuts in.

You glance up just as he walks past, wearing that familiar half-smile of weary amusement with a coffee in one hand and his bag slung over his shoulder.

“And here I was worried you’d be in a good mood this morning,” you say, smiling sweetly despite your words.

His eyes narrow, but the corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Careful.”

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to the screen in front of you as he continues through Central.

It takes exactly eight minutes before you’re interrupted again. Bridget taps you on the shoulder asking for your signature on a prescription, and just as you hand it back to her, the red phone rings. You watch Lena answer it with a tired sigh, both Jack and Robby looking up to hear what kind of chaos is inbound.

“Alright,” Lena says as she hangs up the phone. “Male, forties. Single-vehicle MVC. Hypotensive in the field, positive seatbelt sign. ETA four minutes.”

“I’ll take it,” Robby says, setting his coffee down. “Let’s prep Trauma One.”

He glances around the unusually empty floor.

“I’ll jump in,” you offer, pushing your chair back.

Henderson shoots you a look as you stand and turn toward the nurses’ station, pulling a pair of gloves from a box. It’s not that you really want to jump in on another case ten minutes before the end of your shift, but you haven’t had a trauma since Captain Stabby and his sexy doctor friend, and you’re starting to feel a little guilty about it.

“See,” Robby says, pulling on his own gloves. “There’s hope for you yet.”

You roll your eyes again as you follow him out to the ambulance bay, and it isn’t long before you hear sirens.

The ambulance careens in and pulls up right in front of you, the back doors flying open as the first paramedic climbs out, holding a tearful young girl in his arms. She couldn’t be older than four.

“Thirty-eight-year-old male, restrained driver in a single-vehicle MVC versus a tree,” the paramedic says. “Positive seatbelt sign, abdominal pain, hypotensive on scene, improved with fluids. GCS fifteen. Two IVs in place. Daughter was restrained in the back seat and appears uninjured.”

The second paramedic circles the van from the driver’s side and starts helping Robby lower the gurney.

Robby nods toward the daughter. “You check her out?”

“We did a quick assessment on scene, but we’ve been focused on Dad,” the paramedic says, still holding her.

“Alright. We’ll get somebody to take a look at her.”

The young girl starts crying harder as Robby and the other paramedic begin wheeling the gurney inside. You stay beside them, one hand on the man’s forearm as you watch his eyelids droop.

“Stay with me, sir,” you say, squeezing his arm. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Barry,” he murmurs.

“Where does it hurt, Barry?”

He winces. “My—my stomach.”

The gurney rolls through the second set of doors, and suddenly you’re back under the bright fluorescent lights.

“Abbot,” Robby calls. “Can you take a look at the kid?”

Jack appears before you can even glance over your shoulder.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft as he gently takes the daughter from the paramedic’s arms. “Your dad’s in good hands. Come on, let’s get you checked out too.”

You continue moving with the gurney into Trauma One, where Jesse and Olive are already prepping monitors and equipment.

“On three,” Robby says, positioning himself opposite you. “One, two, three.”

The paramedics help shift the patient onto the trauma bed before clearing out, making room for Jesse to start attaching monitors.

“Pressure one-oh-four over sixty-eight,” he reports.

Olive quickly cuts Barry’s shirt open.

“Seatbelt sign across the lower abdomen,” you say, pressing gently along his stomach.

He grimaces when you reach his left side.

“Left’s worse.”

Robby holds out a hand. “Ultrasound.”

Jesse hands him the probe as you squirt gel onto Barry’s abdomen.

“RUQ,” Robby says.

You glance up at the ultrasound screen. “Clear.”

“LUQ.”

“Clear.”

“Pelvis.”

“Nothing obvious.”

“Good,” Robby says. “FAST negative. He’s stable enough for CT.”

You turn to Olive. “CT chest, abdo, pelvis with contrast.”

She nods, moving toward the phone as the whole room finally takes a breath. The negative FAST isn’t a guarantee, but it’s a promising start.

Barry groans, trying to lift his head. “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Ellie?”

You press a hand against his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t try to sit up. Your daughter’s okay—she’s just outside with another doctor.”

“She’s okay?”

You nod. “She’s okay.”

He lets out a strained breath, settling back against the mattress and tipping his head back.

“Hold on.”

You move closer, gently pushing his hair back.

“Forehead lac,” you tell Robby. “About three centimetres.”

He glances over. “Alright. We’ll close it up before he goes to imaging.”

He strips off his gloves and reaches for a new pair while Jesse preps the suture tray. Olive is already cleaning up around Barry as you reach for some gauze to start cleaning the cut, gently pushing his bloodied locks of hair out of the way.

“Lidocaine,” Robby says.

You grab the syringe from the tray and hand it to him, more than happy to let your attending do the work while your adrenaline wanes and that familiar end-of-shift exhaustion sets in.

“Stay still for us, Barry,” you murmur, cupping the crown of his head. “This might sting a little.”

He winces as Robby injects the anaesthetic.

“Saline,” Robby says.

You hand it over before carefully plucking the last few stuck strands of hair away from the wound.

“How’s the pain?” you ask.

“‘S okay,” Barry mumbles.

“Forceps.”

You hand Robby the forceps, then the needle driver before he can even ask.

“Light,” he murmurs.

You reach up and adjust the luminaire until he raises his hand, signalling that it’s in the right spot. Then he pinches the edge of the laceration with the forceps and slides the needle through the skin. Easy. Effortless. Boring.

You glance up at the monitor, noting that Barry’s heart rate has finally dropped below a hundred.

“Scissors,” Robby says.

You grab the scissors from the tray and hand them to him, then go back to reading Barry’s vitals.

“You with us, Barry?” Robby asks.

“Yeah,” Barry murmurs.

“Can’t feel the needle, can you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You let your eyes move slowly around the room, already holding gauze for Robby before he can ask for it. You feel him take it from your hand just as you turn your head toward the glass doors, gazing out at the beginning chaos of morning handover.

But it isn’t Ellis and Langdon arguing about God knows what that gets your attention.

Just outside the trauma bay, perched on the edge of a bed parked beside the nurses’ station is Barry’s daughter. Ellie, apparently. Her eyes are still red and puffy, but she’s not crying anymore. She’s got a pink hospital gift shop teddy tucked under one arm and her other hand wrapped around the tubing of a black stethoscope.

Jack is sitting on a stool in front of her, gently helping put the earpieces in her tiny ears with a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Her little hands grip either side of the headset, adjusting it with a very focused look on her face.

Jack hands her the chest piece as he scoots a little closer to the bed, then points to his chest. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can make an educated guess.

Ellie’s tiny hand grips the bell as she presses the diaphragm against Jack’s chest, a small crease forming between her brows. Jack is watching her with that amused little half-smile, his gaze soft, one hand braced lightly on the mattress beside her so she doesn’t topple backwards.

Ellie says something, and Jack nods, schooling his expression.

She’s taking her job very seriously right now, and Jack is taking her very seriously.

“Doctor.”

You blink, glancing back at Robby.

“Yeah?”

He gives you a look. “Scissors. For the third time.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

You hand him the scissors and watch him snip the tail on the second-last suture, then you turn your attention back toward Jack and Ellie. She’s giggling now, with the diaphragm pressed to Jack’s cheek as he gently shakes his head, laughing too.

“Forceps.”

You grab the forceps and hand them to Robby.

His eyes flick up. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re smiling.”

“No, I’m—”

Oh my God.

You are smiling.

You turn back toward Jack, and your stomach drops.

Oh my God.

You’re in love with Jack Abbot.

“Alright, Barry,” Robby says, peeling his gloves off. “We’re gonna send you upstairs for some imaging now, make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

You take one unsteady step back from the bed.

“Can someone call my wife?” Barry asks, his voice strained.

Robby nods. “I'm sure somebody already has, but I’ll check.”

Your hands shake as you pull your gloves off.

“What about Ellie? Can I see her?”

“Of course,” Robby says. “She’s right outside.”

Barry lifts his head slightly. “Am I okay?”

“Well, you’re talking to me, your pressure’s holding, and your FAST was negative. Those are all good signs.” Robby looks at you. “Isn’t that right, doctor?”

Your head snaps up. “Hm?”

He frowns. “You sure you’re alright? You seem—”

“I’m fine,” you snap, tossing your gloves in the waste bin. “I just—I have charting to do.”

Then you turn and march right out of the trauma bay, keeping your head down as you take an immediate sharp left. Ignoring the familiar voice that calls your name and makes your pulse scatter.

You don’t stop until you reach the picture wall. Only then do you drop down onto the bench, squeeze your eyes shut, and bury your face in your hands. You can’t scream. Can’t shout. Can’t drop to the floor and have a panic attack right here in the middle of the ED. So you just… breathe.

Okay. Maybe you’re being a little dramatic—but can anyone blame you?

You don’t want this. You can’t want this. You don’t have time for this.

Casual sex is easy. No strings, no stress, no reason to worry about anything other than saving lives and finishing your residency. That’s all you want.

Or… all you wanted.

Now?

Now you’re not sure what you want.

Of course you still want to save lives and survive your residency, but now you can’t imagine doing either of those things without Jack.

You can’t imagine another shift without knowing Jack is somewhere in the department. Or getting a difficult case and not being able to talk through it with him. You can’t imagine going home and not immediately texting him. Or having a bad day and not being able to talk to him about it.

You can’t imagine anything without Jack.

Which is terrifying.

Because it isn’t just sex anymore. It isn’t flirting or late-night texts or teasing glances across the floor. It’s the way he’s somehow worked his way into every part of your life without you even noticing. Every shift. Every conversation. Every stupid little story you save up to tell him later. He’s just there. Everywhere.

And now... he matters.

You sit up and drag in a deep breath.

You need to pull it together. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s not even a thing. It’s only a thing if you let it be a thing, which… you’re not going to do.

With another deep breath, you push off the bench and start heading back toward Central. All you have to do is finish your charting, then you can leave. You can go home, turn your phone off, and talk yourself off the ledge.

You just need a little space. A little time away from the hospital, away from Jack, and all these ridiculous feelings will—

“Hey. You okay?”

Your heart lurches, but you don’t stop.

“I was going to come over there,” he says, keeping his voice low, “but I didn’t want to—”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, without even looking at him.

His hand closes gently around your wrist, and your stomach flips so hard it’s almost nauseating. 

“You sure?”

You finally stop, glancing up at him. At the concerned crease between his brows and the little downward quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m fine,” you say again, pulling your arm out of his grip. “Seriously.”

He gives you a look. Not one that says he’s offended or at all upset by your attitude, but one that says he doesn’t believe you. A look that makes you feel far too seen. Far too known.

“I need to finish my notes,” you mutter, turning away before he can say anything else.

You turn down the North corridor and don’t stop until you reach the desks just outside the break room. Then you drop into a chair, swipe your badge to log in, and force your trembling hands to steady themselves over the keyboard.

It takes a significant amount of effort to focus on your charting. You stare at the blinking cursor for minutes at a time before finally managing to squeeze out a few—mostly coherent—sentences. You type Jack’s name at least five times without meaning to, and every time you do, your heart thuds obnoxiously hard beneath your ribs.

Fortunately, no one tries to interrupt you this time, and after forty painstaking minutes of glaring at that computer screen and forcing your wayward thoughts to stay on track, you finally finish.

Now you just need to handover your patients.

You find Langdon by the nurses’ station, standing just below the workboard with his hands in his pockets as he reads through the list of patients and their ailments.

“Hey.” You step up beside him. “You got a minute for handover?”

He glances at you. “Oh. Hey. Didn’t know there were still any night crawlers left.”

You frown. “Everyone’s gone?”

“Everyone but Dr. Abbot,” he says. “And you.”

Your eyes go wide. “Ellis is gone?”

He nods. “Saw her head out about fifteen minutes ago.”

You scramble to grab your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it to find two new notifications from Ellis. Seventeen minutes ago.

Ellis: Abbot said he’s giving you a lift, so I’m headed out. Ellis: Need anything from the store?

Your stomach drops.

“Everything alright?” Langdon asks.

“Uh—yeah. Fine.”

You tuck your phone back into your pocket.

“I’ve only got two patients. Can you take them?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Alright. Central Twelve came in with chest pain. Trops negative, ECG’s clean, waiting on the repeat. If that’s negative too, he can go home.”

“Mhm.”

“And South Nineteen’s the pyelo. Got fluids, ceftriaxone, feeling better. Medicine said they’d come see her, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Langdon snorts. “Got it.”

You nod. “Great. Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.”

He smiles. “Great sign-out.”

“I try,” you mutter, already turning away.

You hurry across the floor toward the lockers, pulling your phone back out of your pocket to type a reply to Ellis as you walk.

You: You’re dead to me. You: And toothpaste.

When you finally reach your locker, you quickly key in the code and pull the door open. You don’t bother removing your stethoscope or badge, or taking time to actually put your jacket on—you just gather everything into your arms and slam the door shut again. Then you turn and make a beeline for the ambulance bay.

Maybe you can catch a bus home. Or—hell—you’ll pay for an Uber if you have to.

“Hey, slow down,” Dana says as you rush past the nurses’ station. “What’s the hurry?”

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “Just—really need to get home.”

You’re moving too quickly for her to press you any further. Thank God. Because the last thing you need right now is Dana and her infuriating habit of knowing things she has absolutely no business knowing.

You keep your head down until you make it all the way outside, and only then do you finally feel like you can breathe. You nod to a patient having a cigarette by the garden bed before turning the other way, pulling your phone out to order an Uber.

Only, you can’t remember the last time you ordered an Uber. Do you even have the app?

“You ready?”

You flinch. “Jesus Christ.”

Jack huffs a laugh. “Not quite.”

You glance back down at your phone, clutching it a little tighter.

“I’m this way,” he says, nodding toward the other side of the parking lot.

You hesitate. “I—uh—I was just going to grab an Uber.”

His brows lift, but he doesn’t look all that surprised. “You were?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

You turn away, but he doesn’t leave. He just stands there, waiting, one hand holding the strap of his backpack that’s slung over his shoulder, the other buried in his pocket.

“Is there something going on that I should know about?” he asks finally.

“Nope,” you reply, too fast.

Then, for some ridiculous reason, you start walking.

“Where are you going?”

“The bus stop,” you say, without looking back.

He follows you. Because of course he does.

“You’re going to catch a bus?”

“Yep.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s more disbelief than dry amusement.

“I’m offering you a perfectly good, no strings attached ride home, and you’d rather catch a bus?”

That makes you stop.

You turn around. “No strings attached?”

He lifts a shoulder. “If that’s what you want.”

“What I want?”

“If you want me to just drop you off, I’ll just drop you off.”

You stare at him for a second, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Just drop me off?”

He nods slowly, his brow creasing slightly.

“And then what?” you ask.

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Then you just leave?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Your throat tightens. “Stop saying that.”

He frowns. “Saying what?”

“If that’s what I want.” You drag a hand through your hair. “You keep saying it like this is entirely up to me. Like none of this has anything to do with you. Like it’s my choice and you don’t get to say anything or—or feel anything, and that’s not fair.”

He studies you for a moment, folding his arms across his chest in the most irritatingly distracting way.

“What are we talking about here?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up. “This. Us. Whatever this is. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore, Jack. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with any of this, and you just keep showing up being completely reasonable all the time, which is really fucking annoying.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m... too reasonable?”

“Yes! God—” You laugh once, sharp and humourless. “Why are you always like this? Why are you always so calm about everything? We never talk about what you want. We never talk about how you feel. We just keep pretending everything’s fine and maybe that’s worked up until now, but I don't think it’s working anymore.”

“Okay,” he says evenly. “Tell me what’s not working, and we can talk about it.”

“Talk about it?” You stare at him. “Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about, because this—this isn’t anything. This is casual, Jack. It’s supposed to be casual. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve spent too much time together. Maybe we just need some space or—or something.”

His brows lift. “Is that what you want?”

You fold your arms, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. “Yes.”

Something that almost resembles amusement flickers across his face, but he schools it quickly.

“Okay,” he says again. “If you want space, I can give you space.”

“Seriously?” You let out another sharp laugh. “Of course that’s your answer. Do you see what I mean? This is exactly what I mean. I stand here and tell you maybe we need some space, and you’re just... okay with it? Just like that? No questions, no argument, no nothing.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Do you want me to argue?”

“Maybe!” You throw your hands up again. “I don’t know, Jack! Maybe I want something. Anything. Just some indication that this means something to you. Because every time I say something, you just... accept it. You just nod and go along with it like none of this affects you at all. Like if I said I wanted space, you’d give me space. If I said I wanted to end this, you’d end it. If I said I never wanted to see you again, you’d just stand there being completely calm and reasonable and tell me that’s okay too.”

You let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head as you look away.

“And don’t tell me that’s not true, because you spent half the night in Central Nine with your ex and I spent the rest of the shift pretending I wasn’t paying attention to that, which is insane, by the way. Completely insane. She was a patient. You’re a doctor. I know that. I know I’m being irrational.”

You tip your head back, squeezing your eyes shut for just a second before looking back at him.

“And that’s the worst part, because I know none of this is actually about her. That’s the problem. It’s not about her at all. It’s about the fact that you’re always fine. You’re always so calm and so reasonable and so completely unbothered, and I don’t know how you do that.” You let out an unsteady breath. “It's like—like none of this matters to you. Like you don’t care. Like you could just walk away from everything, from me, and be completely fine.”

Your chest is rising and falling too fast now, your heart is beating so hard you’re almost sure he can hear it.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you, the corners of his mouth softened by something that looks suspiciously like fondness. And suddenly you’re struck by the horrible suspicion that he understands exactly what you’ve been trying so hard not to say.

“You think I could just walk away from this and be completely fine?” he asks, his voice soft. “You think I could walk away from you?”

He steps closer, the toes of his boots barely inches from yours now.

“When this started, it was casual. I knew that. I knew you were seeing other people. I knew you didn’t want a relationship—and if that’s still not what you want, then okay. I’m not going to pressure you into something you’re not ready for. I’m not trying to be overly reasonable, and I’m certainly not trying to make you feel like you’re losing your mind.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“When I ask you what you want, it’s not because I don’t care what happens. It’s because I do. It’s because I’d rather be patient than push you into something before you’re ready for it. And if space is what you need right now, then I’ll give you space.”

His gaze holds yours.

“But don’t mistake that for indifference. Because there’s no version of this where walking away from you is easy. There’s no version of this where I don’t care. And if one day you tell me that’s what you really want, then I’ll respect it. Not because it’s what I want. Not because what I feel doesn’t matter. But because I respect you.”

His expression softens again.

“Do you understand?”

You nod slowly, your throat suddenly too tight for words.

“Now listen to me.”

He lifts a hand and pinches your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know you’ve had a long shift. I know you’re exhausted. I know you’re standing here trying to convince yourself you haven't completely lost your mind, and I’m not trying to make your day any harder than it already is—but I need you to hear this.”

His eyes search yours, earnest and unguarded.

“I love you too.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. With your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your mouth slightly open, and your heart trying to punch its way through your ribcage.

His lips quirk. “You alright?”

“No,” you breathe.

And then you grab the front of his shirt and kiss him.

His hand drops from your chin to your neck, fingers pressing in just slightly as he kisses you back. Firm, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and has decided, without hesitation, that he only wants to spend it on you.

He steps closer, tilting your head back as his mouth parts against yours. A soft, helpless little noise breaks at the back of your throat, and you can feel his lips curl in satisfaction. Then he kisses you harder, deeper, his other hand finding your waist as his tongue presses past your lips.

You step in until there’s nothing left between you. Nothing but hospital scrubs and the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a public parking lot right now.

And for a second, neither of you seems to care.

The hand at your waist slides higher, pulling you closer as his mouth moves slower. Not because he wants less, but because he knows he’s got you. Because after months of patience and uncertainty, he knows he can finally take his time.

Your fingers bunch tighter in the front of his shirt, and he smiles again.

“Don’t,” you murmur against his mouth.

He doesn’t say anything. He just kisses you again, gentler this time. A lingering press of his mouth against yours. Then another. His thumb brushes against your neck as he tilts his head, stealing one more kiss that feels almost unfairly tender after the way he’d just been holding you.

Then he pulls back completely.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Your lips are still tingling, your hands are still fisted in the front of his shirt, and your heart is still beating hard enough to crack a rib.

The corner of his mouth lifts a little higher.

“Still catching the bus?”

You immediately let go of his shirt. “Shut up.”

He laughs properly then, letting you turn away and start marching toward one end of the parking lot.

“My car’s the other way,” he calls.

You stop, close your eyes, then slowly turn around.

Jack is still standing exactly where you left him, with his hands in his pockets and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Shut up,” you say again.

His smile only widens.

You roll your eyes and start walking again, brushing past him with as much dignity as someone can reasonably muster after having a complete emotional breakdown and then immediately making out with their boss.

You don’t need to look back to know he’s following you.

You just know.

And by the time you finally reach his car, you realise you’re smiling.

Which is annoying for several reasons.

© 2026 geminiwritten

[donald4spiderman]

holy shit the “i love you too” i’m shaking

[fangirl-dot-com]

Thinking about Abbot x Ortho surgeon no bullshit reader I KNOOOOW that man has a competency kink. Seeing you come down from the OR ordering everyone around. Yea that gets him hard. Idk I’m just such a sucker for Baddie Careerwoman x some guy

The Natural Predator

summary: brendon park swam through the pitt with beady eyes and a blood lust. however, after he overstepped his territory, he finds out that there's a bigger fish in the water who's more than willing to put him in his place. and jack abbot loves nothing more than to watch his wife take down her prey.

tags: jack abbot x ortho!wife!reader, no large age gap (41/50), jack has a major competence kink, medical inaccuracies (making up some bullshit), way too much ocean imagery used, ED? we don't know her, jack is getting hard in the trauma room (hashtag praise kink), smut (fingering, dry humping, cumming in pants), 18+ NSFW MDNI

notes: thank you @in-ky for this request! this was yummy yummy to write and I hope it's up to your expectations! taglist is at the bottom, enjoy!

word count: 3.9k

The Pitt acted like the sea. 

Busy hours and waning slow periods were the waves. Patients, nurses, and doctors walked as though they were fish, constantly swimming through the hoards of schools and catastrophes, not needing to keep their head above water because that's exactly where they thrived. They found purpose in bobbing and floating and flicking their tails to get from one room to another. It had its obstacles, seaweed hoards of poles and monitors and gurneys, but when night came, the Pitt settled into lapping motions instead of crashing roars. 

However, the calmer waters meant it was primed for the bigger fish to swim cleanly, jaws chomping at whoever dared to get in their current. 

Known to all, the Pitt had a few big fish to worry about. Victoria knew to steer clear of her mother, Dr. Shamsi, and her biting words. When Garcia got called down, Dennis turned heel and hid in triage (safety in numbers). Even Robby, the very top of the pecking order in the emergency department, vanished when he caught the hint of Gloria coming down the elevator. 

Yet, like all oceans, some fish weren't lucky enough to swim away fast enough. In all instances, everyone never wanted to get caught by the PTMC's very own great white: Brendon Park. 

"Look alive, Santos, we got an incoming," Jack stated as he passed the sleepy-looking R2, fresh from pulling the first half of her second night rotation. 

Trinity blinked wearily before pushing up from the table. She'd been seated during a lull in waves that seemed to always happen between the hours of 1 and 3 am. Jack had warned that things got weird after the sun went down, but most she'd seen was a puking toddler and a man who came in complaining of sleep issues. 

"What do we have?" she asked after finding a place next to the older attending. "And please tell me it's interesting, cause so far I haven't seen the weirdest or wildest cases come through. I'd hate to see that your little pep talk is full of errors." 

Jack barked out a laugh. "Trust me; it only gets weirder from here." 

"Don't jinx us, please," Ellis joined in, stopping on Jack's unoccupied side. 

"Those don't exist!" Shen called out as he rounded a corner before disappearing back into a room. 

Trinity's jaw popped as she yawned. "I need something fast paced or I'm going to fall asleep standing up." 

"We can always have you organize the third storage room. I don't think it's been redone since I started here," Jack mentioned. 

"So, like, way back in the medieval era?" 

Parker raised her eyebrows and smirked at the brunette. "Ooo-hoo-hoo, Abbot you set yourself up for that one." 

Jack rolled his eyes. "Try the third dynasty. Pretty sure I saw a rat go in there once and it never left." 

"I'll take standing up, thank you." 

"Incoming trauma goes straight into room 1," Lena announced. 

The sliding doors to the ambulance bay brought a gust of cool wind before offering a patient and two paramedics to the small group of doctors. On the gurney laid a man in his thirties whose face had gone ashen, eyes not even visible. 

"We got a thirty-two-year old male. Partial traumatic amputation, left lower extremity at the mid femur. Clean cut considering he was run over by roadside milling equipment approximately twenty-two minutes ago. Significant blood loss on scene," one of the paramedics said once they got within ear range. "Detached extremity is here. Packaged separately and wrapped in saline gauze, double bagged, transported on ice but not in direct contact." 

Trinity noted the bag that sat near the patient's remaining foot. It reminded her of one of those goldfish bags you got for winning a fair game. 

Jack stepped forward and grabbed the side of the gurney, helping roll the man straight into Trauma Room 1. Behind him, he heard the normal sounds of gloves snapping on before both Trinity and Parker joined him. 

"On my count," he ordered. "One, two, three—" He grunted under the weight of the man as they slid him over onto the bed. 

"The tourniquet was applied high and tight to the left thigh around 7 minutes after the accent. One CAT failed, second CAT secured on the way over. Hemorrhage controlled after the second application," the second paramedic stated while he began to wheel the gurney away. 

Jack looked over the man. "What's his pressure?" 

"Last manual was eighty-four over fifty. Heart rate one-forty-eight. Respiratory thirty-two. Sp-Oxygen ninety-four percent on fifteen liters non-rebreather. GCS fourteen. Lost consciousness on the way over." 

"Fluids?" 

"Minimal crystalloids. Two-fifty LR. We started whole blood—one unit in progress. One gram TXA given over ten minutes." 

Jack smiled and nodded. "Excellent." 

Trinity leaned over the man with her stethoscope already off and bell pressing into his chest. "Airway's intact. Breath sounds equal bilaterally." 

"Femoral pulse right side weak," Parker called out, two fingers pressed into the man's right upper thigh before moving up to his wrist. "Radial's thready." 

"Pressure's seventy-eight over forty-six," Mateo called out near the head of the bed. 

"He's hemorrhagic until proven otherwise," Jack breathed, hands moving to gently pull back what was left of the man's pant legs. "Let's cut the tourniquet down enough for me to visualize." 

"Dr. Abbot, you think they'd just cauterize the leg back in your day?" Trinity bit with a smirk. 

"Nah," he argued, "they'd just wrap it and pray infection didn't set in before harvest." 

Parker snipped slowly at the tourniquet, and blood instantly welled through the mess of flesh and bone. 

"Back up and tighten it," Jack said, halting Parker from going any further. "That's arterial, and can someone page ortho? This looks like it'd be right up their alley." 

"Please tell me Park's not on shift tonight," Trinity muttered, already walking over to the red phone mounted on the wall. 

"Well, if you hear the Jaws theme song when they put you on hold, you'll know." 

While Trinity talked with upstairs, Jack and Parker did their best to pack the stump as much as possible, combat gauze soaking up red as fast as they put it on. 

It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when the hiss of the trauma room's doors filled the air, the automatic sensor holding long enough for whoever to slip through. Jack's heart beat wildly as he held the gauze, trying not to think about his own experience of being on the receiving end of the painful pressure. 

"What do you have for me, Abbot?" 

If the room could have groaned, it would have caused ripples by the sheer sound, because, of course, Brendon Park just had to be the one to swim through. Trinity glanced up at him, eyes tracking the way he immediately hovered over their work like a shark coasting around its prey. 

"Partial traumatic amputation to his left leg. Whatever machine he got under cut clean through his femur. Leg was bagged on site, and blood flow is slightly waning under the gauze and consistent pressure." 

Park didn't seem all that impressed, and his eye brow raised when he spotted the fair-fish bag full of amputated leg sitting on a tray to the side. He narrow eyed the way Jack's hands almost wrapped completely around the stump, gloves speckled with blood that managed to seep through. 

"You're going to damage the vessels if you hold on that hard," he muttered. "Thought you attendings knew better." 

Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. "The pressure is what's keeping this man from bleeding out. But by all means, I can lighten up if you want to play Legos and 'click the leg back in place' on a dead body." 

"You're the ones who paged me," he bit, teeth chomping around the word. "Unfortunately we can't all be surgeons, or maybe this ER would know how to perfectly pack a partial traumatic amputation." 

"Now, now, let's play nice, Park," a new voice joined over the hiss of the trauma doors. "Without the ER, we wouldn't be standing here now would we?" 

Now, Jack's heart beat wildly for a different reason. In a small glance, his eyes settled on the familiar figure of the Pitt's stand-in night shift Orthopedic Surgeon when Walsh had the shift off. 

"Oh, boy," Parker whispered beside him. She nudged Trinity slightly, body twisting so she could be near the R2's ear. "You asked for wild, and, well, it's about to get wild." 

Trinity barely processed her words as she fixated on the woman who just walked in. She couldn't note how put together she looked with her hair tucked neatly, gray roots peaking through a very expensive looking hair dye. Her white coat was crisp, and Trinity could only guess that it had been tailored with the way it hugged perfectly at her shoulders and waist. If she let herself, Trinity would be drooling, yet, the glimmer of a pair of rings that could probably pay off her entire student debt held her back from sputtering out some illy planned pick-up line. 

"Nice of you to join us," Park gritted out, clearly not happy with the new addition. "But I had this handled. 

You hummed lowly while you looked over the leg yourself and the hands around it. "Sure you did if by having it handled you meant berating Dr. Abbot and his more than capable team." 

"His pressure is way off, and if he keeps it up, the leg isn't going to be able to attach back perfectl—" 

"Aht, aht, aht," you tutted like talking to a child. "You're done talking, because obviously you can't tell the right amount of pressure from the wrong." 

You stepped closer to the bed and leaned over the railing, never hovering but making sure your presence was noted. 

"If you'd taken a breath and took the chance to actually look at the patient instead of wondering if he could be another gold start to your chart," you stated calmly, "you'd find that Dr. Abbot is currently keeping the femoral artery at around—" You leaned in closer to see just how tightly Jack's fingers held the gauze in place. "—250 to 300 mmHgs of the standard pressure needed." 

Jack had to keep himself from blushing under your praise and keep concentrating on, just as you said, the needed standard pressure. He guessed that Park would back off, however, the bigger man wasn't one to ever give up the last word. 

"No offense—" 

"None taken," you slyly interrupted. 

Park huffed, visibly irritated the more he stood there. "But clearly, they should have paged me the moment this man was wheeled in instead of trying to play hero and cut off the bleeding." He crossed his arms and puffed his chest. "They're not surgeons; they're—" 

You held up a hand. "I'll stop you right there, Brendon. Yes, they might not have the specialty experience we both have, but they are more than equipped and competent to handle a partial traumatic amputation." Your lip crinkled in a small sneer. "Dr. Abbot is also more knowledgeable about this type of injury than the both of us, or do I have to remind you that he's lived through something like this." 

Elation bloomed in the pit of your stomach as you watched Park swallow thickly, but you were far from done. 

"And, as someone who volunteers as a S.W.A.T medic after spending countless hours down here, Dr. Abbot has undergone thousands of hours of medical, tactical, and physical training. His muscles are earned through hard work, unlike the ones you like to boast on your Instagram after doing a few sit ups and curls to increase the blood flow of your arms that are more for aesthetics than actual strength." 

Jack was hard.

He was so incredibly hard, cock already pushing against the front of his scrub pants. He just prayed that Parker and Trinity would continue looking at you with stars in their eyes and not down at his . . . predicament. 

Without moving, you held out your hand, palm up towards the ceiling. "Can someone hand me the case tablet? I'm taking over this, and I will personally be scrubbing in myself." 

Park blanched at that, body finally squirming under your unwavering eyes. "You can't—" 

"I can't . . . what, exactly? Take over a case while I am currently your superior as the chief orthopedic attending on call?" you shot back while your fingers curled around the tablet Mateo handed over. "Because that's exactly what I'm doing." You glanced down at the screen before looking back up into Park's dark, blue eyes. “You're more than welcome to observe, Dr. Park, but please, never insult me or any of PTMC's doctors ever again, or I will make sure that you're stuck wrapping soft tissue sprains for months." 

You turned around with a smile on your face, demeanor completely the opposite of what you'd just shown. "Thank you three for making sure this man didn't bleed out on the spot. We'll prep an operating theater and get him transferred up shortly. Best of luck for the rest of the night." 

Your steps were light as you walked away, however you couldn't help but let out an Hoo-Ahh! over your shoulder. 

Jack watched in deep satisfaction that Park didn't even attempt to say anything else, choosing to walk away while he still held the ability to operate in the future. The mechanical doors hissed and closed off the room from the rest of the Pitt. 

Only the monitors kept beeping continually, filling the otherwise silent room. Jack tilted his head down and closed his eyes while he took a deep breath. 

After a moment, Trinity was the first to speak. "Who the fuck was that? I think my world's been rocked." 

Jack looked back up, hazel eyes trained in the direction that you disappeared off into. He swallowed the pooling saliva down in one gulp before answering. "My wife." 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The surgical cap tied tightly around your forehead itched, hair underneath poking and being pulled an at odd angle as a result of your haste to put it on. Park had overstepped, and you needed to show him that he wasn't the biggest fish in the Pitt's ocean, because that title belonged to you. 

Jack would probably laugh at it all later due to your enjoyment of underwater documentaries and fascination with orcas, especially with how they hunted and preyed upon sharks. You'd seen the way he had tried to not look at you for very long down in the trauma room. The thought of him being embarrassed quickly passed through your mind before you shook your head. 

He was never one to be ashamed of being your husband, often boasting at the fact that he put a ring on your finger before anyone else could. He loved you fierce and hard but also soft and sweet, so him looking away had to be because he was focused on making sure the man didn't bleed out before you could get his leg put back together with ease. 

The hall to the surgical room was empty as you stripped from your gown and gloves and pushed them down into the nearest hazard bin. Your footsteps echoed while you walked toward the elevator, wanting to go back down and at least give Parker and Dr. Santos the good news. However, the moment you passed by one of the empty recovery rooms, a hand reached out, grabbed hold of your arm and tugged you in. 

"What the fuck!" you shouted, voice coming out in a screech. 

To your right, the door shut, and the motion-sensor lights flickered on, revealing the person who had yanked you. You sighed in relief. 

"Hi," Jack whispered, pinning you to the wall, chest pressed against yours. 

"Jack, what the hell are you doing up here?" you hissed. "I always come down to give you the update." 

He said nothing and tucked his face into your neck. His lips lightly grazed your pulse point before his tongue peeked out and ran hotly along your jaw. Your hands instantly flew up and sunk deep into his greying curls. 

"Jack?" you questioned again. "Wha-what are you doing?" 

"Just loving on my wife," he muttered, teeth now gently nipping at your skin. "Can't a husband do that?" 

You barked out a laugh that quickly turned into a moan as he sucked harshly. "I mean, he can. But normally he doesn't until after we get home." 

Jack's neediness sent questions washing through your body as he slotted his thick thigh between your legs. Another moan punched out at the feeling, your scrub material bunching in delicious pressure against your heat. 

"Jack," you breathily sighed. "Baby, we have work; we can wait and pick this up later." 

"Can't," he bit, lips and teeth still attacking whatever inch of your neck he could reach. "Can't wait. Been hard since you left." 

"Since I left?" you echoed, mind spinning until it clicked. "Wait, Jack—" 

He hummed in an answer. 

"Don't tell me you got hard because I told off Park in the ER." 

Jack stilled against you and sighed heavily. "Is it really surprising that I'm turned on because my incredibly hot wife knocked asshole Park the Shark down a couple of pegs while simultaneously singing my praises?" 

He pulled back enough that your eyes met his, the hazel hues already swimming with heat. Internally, you battled the pros and cons of having letting Jack continue, but obviously the pros definitely outweighed the cons, and he noticed the moment all fight drained out of you. 

"Fine," you gave in, "but you need to hurry before either you or I get paged, and you're left with blue balls for another four hours." 

"Hurry is my middle name," he quipped, facing going back in to mauling your neck. 

You rolled your eyes. "No it's Waynefucking jeez.," the comeback dying into a moan half-way up your throat. 

Jack's right hand rested against the length of your throat while his left danced along the waistline of your pants, fingers teasingly dipping below and toying with the hem of your underwear. He drew another gasp from your lips when he pushed his thigh up higher, the muscle nesting against your core. Taking your open mouth to his advantage, his hot, slick tongue dipped deep between your teeth and licked around. His chest rumbled in a moan at the taste of you. 

While he kept your mouth distracted, his hand went further down your underwear, knuckles brushing against your navel until his fingertips found exactly what they were looking for. He couldn't help but groan at the feeling of your wet, sticky arousal already pooling between your folds. 

"You're already so fucking wet. How long have you been like this, sweetheart?" he panted after pulling back. "Did you like putting big ole Park in his place while your husband watched? Cause I enjoyed every minute of it." 

To show his enjoyment, Jack thrusted up against your stomach, his hardness evident through his own pants. Your eyes widened at the size of his bulge, cunt clenching with the thought of him putting it right into you. You whimpered loudly into the air, head tilted back to rest against the wall. 

His pointer finger circled around your throbbing clit in soft, minuscule motions and drew pleasured breaths from your lungs. When you started rocking back and forth, he reached a bit lower before sinking two fingers into your sopping, fluttering hole. The thick and sudden intrusion had you whining. 

"Jack! Ooh-ohh-oooohhh," you sputtered as the tips of both fingers found your sweet spot with experience swiftness. Stars dotted your vision, and your stomach and thighs tightened. "Feels good shiittt." 

"Yeah?" Jack asked as his hips continued thrusting up into your center, the band in his gut drawing tighter. He could practically feel the clenching of your cunt around his throbbing length when you tightened around his fingers. "You close, sweetheart?" 

You nodded. "C-close. So, so, so, so close; you're gonna make me cum." 

Your words had Jack whimpering against your neck, eyes pinching closed to not blow his load prematurely. He needed to make you cum before even thinking of letting go himself. 

He withdrew his hand in order to push your scrubs and underwear down, giving him more room to thrust his fingers upward while thumbing at your clit. Without the extra layer, your slick arousal dripped down his hand and spotted his dark scrubs. 

"There we goooo," he drew out, words raspy between his gasps. "Soaking my hand and my pants, sweetheart." 

You were getting close, and your hips canted harder to meet his fingers. Your inner thighs clenched around his hand, and a high-pitched whine squeezed between your teeth. 

"I'm gonna cum!" you keened. "Gonna-gonna-shitfuckfuckfuckfuck! Jack!" 

Your stomach flipped as your walls clamped down tightly around Jack's fingers. To draw out your high, he continued to circle your bundle of nerves and shallowly push in his fingers. He, however, didn't stop grinding against you, and while you were focused on feeling every hot dip of pleasure from climax, Jack grunted twice before his hips stilled and his cum spilled from his leaking tip into his boxers, soaking though to stain his scrubs. 

You sighed dreamily and held Jack's wrist to stop his motions, your core becoming too sensitive for him to continue. Your chest heaved against Jack's, and he leaned back into languidly kiss at your mouth. 

"Never," you managed to get out between kisses. "Never thought my husband would have a competency kink. Learn something new every day." 

"Like I said: it was hot," he said. 

You smirked when he finally met his eyes. "Hot enough to make you cum in your pants, I guess. What are your doctors going to think when you go back down in different color scrubs than you had on before?" 

Jack laughed loudly. "I think Trinity will be too distracted because you are definitely her type, and it won't be the worst thing Ellis has ever seen." 

Heat flooded your cheeks at the remembering of the one time Parker caught you and Jack actually fucking in an on call room. She teased the two of you for months after you promised to help her out with getting a shot at a surgical fellowship. 

Once your pants were back in place, you smooshed close back into Jack's chest, cheek squished against his pec while his hands rubbed up and down your back in slow motions. Aftercare in a recovery room could never be the same as snuggles in bed, but Jack would be damned if he let you go without a little post-coital hugging and kissing.

You had just gotten his lips back on yours when the pager at his side buzzed to life. He pulled back with a groan.

"Duty calls."

"Duty always has the worst timing," you grumbled. "See you in four hours and then round two at home?"

Jack smirked and tapped the side of your ass. "Maybe I'll make sure Park comes back down so you can yell at him again."

You snorted, hand coming up to slap at your nose. "Your foreplay preferences are so weird. Maybe I should yell at you. I think you'd like that, Dr. Abbot."

With that, you slipped out the door and back into the empty hallway, leaving Jack in yet another blushy mess and length twitching at the thought of you talking down at him like you did for Park.

Round two was indeed going to be interesting.

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[donald4spiderman]

this my cookie this my juice

[thecherrypittttttt]

THE FIVE STAGES; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

PART TWO

words: 13.3k

content warnings: 18+!!!! Gets quite smutty, fluffy, jack abbot invented YEARNING, age gap!!!, no use of Y/N

notes: i know this one sounds kinda depressing but i promise its fun and funny and flirty and it’s my favorite one ive ever written!! also debating on making an ao3 account - should i?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack Abbot was unfortunately intimately familiar with the 5 Stages of Grief. Depression, Bargaining, Denial, Anger, Acceptance.

He grieved his leg at the ripe age of 31 - courtesy of an IED in the desert of Afghanistan.

He began grieving his late wife the following year at 32 - courtesy of an arrogant, misogynistic emergency medicine resident.

At 33, he grieved the life he thought he was going to have while he started a new one. No longer a husband, but a widow. No longer an army medic, but an Emergency Room attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Sometimes when he would come back to the empty home he bought at 34, the ghosts of that life were louder than any silence he thought he could drown out with the police scanner.

Jack Abbot knew the 5 Stages of Grief like the back of his hand.

In hindsight, he didn’t know how he didn't realize the 5 stages in which he fell in love with her were quite similar. A mirror of his grief refracted through a lens of unconditional love.

depression

If someone would have asked Jack at the time, he wouldn't have admitted he was depressed. He truly didn't think he was.

He didn't need therapy to deal with his trauma. His wife passed away a decade ago. His leg, or lack thereof, the constant reminder of the time he gave up while he had her on this earth - was physically healed. As much as it was going to be anyways. So therefore he was mentally healed. As much as he thought he was going to ever be anyways.

He'd been running on autopilot. It carried him from but mostly to the emergency room at PTMC. It's what made him stop at the unfamiliar sight of Gloria in his ED. This was why he didn't work the day shift. He never wanted to deal with all of the bureaucratic administrative bullshit. The only business Jack Abbot was ever interested in was the one of saving lives. Gloria hadn't even opened her mouth and Jack already knew that Robby was going to owe him one.

"Dr Abbot! Wonderful timing. I have a residency interview waiting in Robby's office for you."

Now Robby really owed him one. "Doesn't Robby usually..." Jack scratched at the back of his neck, still confused as to why Gloria had involved herself, and now him, in a residency interview, "...facilitate those?"

Gloria gave a curt nod before glancing around them, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard. She lowered her voice as she spoke, "Yes but I specifically scheduled this one when I knew you were covering. She is the best candidate we have ever had and probably ever will. I cannot risk Robby running her off."

Right. The Adamson of it all. There was a joke in there somewhere about Jack being considered the stable one in the ED. He guessed he must be. He had become fairly good at presenting an even keeled, calm front. He still had kind of felt like a mess in every other area of his life but the ED was the one place he was the furthest from one. It's where he solved the mess instead of becoming it.

She shoved a printed resume into Jack's hands before she was off. Back up to her ivory tower. He took a look as he strode over to Robby's office. Full ride to Stanford for both her undergraduate and medical degree.

For once, he agreed with Gloria. What the hell did this candidate want to do with PTMC?

He asked her as much as he sat across the desk from her, brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. Residency interviews usually went one of two ways. The candidate was either far too cocky or so nervous they barely got a complete sentence out.

She struck the balance. She was confident. More so than some of his residents who had been out on the floor that day. She wore a dark gray wool sweater and maxi skirt set. The monochrome was only cut by the deep maroon of her belt, tights, heels, and purse. Her long hair was slicked back into a simple pony tail and her makeup was minimal, if any.

It wasn't the typical look of a medical student on a residency interview. Still completely appropriate, but far less stuffy and much more self assured.

Jack wouldn't know good style if it had slapped him in the face but he did know what hers revealed to him about herself. It was the kind of style that someone who knew who they were had. Who had spent time getting to know what they liked. Whether it was what they were reading, listening to, watching, or doing. Her style wasn’t an afterthought but she carried it with a quiet confidence that let everyone know she was not overcompensating for anything either.

It was a demeanor and style that was derivative of having a life outside of medicine - which was quite uncommon for medical students and residents alike. It was completely foreign to Jack. It intrigued him. She intrigued him.

Her body language was relaxed but respectful. One leg crossed over the other as she leaned back into the wooden chair that was probably older than she was, hands clasped in her lap. Jack doubted her heart rate had reached over 65 the whole time she had been in there.

She took a beat to answer his question which also intrigued Jack. She was not rushing to answer just to fill space. She seemed to be comfortable with the time silence gave her to craft intentional responses. Why PTMC?

A ghost of a smile that looked like it might be haunted by one appeared on her face, "My family is here."

"That's it?"

"Do you want the practiced professional answer that every other interviewer has gotten or do you want the real one?"

Jack bit back a grin at her bluntness. Ignored the stirring in his stomach that made him feel special that she may share something about herself with him that she hadn't with anyone else. He tells himself to Get. A. Grip.

"I am sure the absolute best residencies in the country are foaming at the mouth to land you and you want to come here because of your family? Give me the real reason." He let his smirk slip through as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, "I'm a captive audience after all."

The airy laugh that he got out of her almost knocked him out of his seat. What was wrong with him? He had a feeling she didn't just hand out a laugh as ethereal as that one. That she was not the kind of woman who just giggled because it was the part of the conversation where she'd been socialized to appease the man speaking that he was funny. She seemed far too smart for that. For probably everyone in the building. For him, especially.

"I have already been away in California for eight years. I could have fifty years left with my dad and my brothers and my sister in laws and my nieces and nephews or they could be gone next week," she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. Didn't rush before speaking again, "I don't want to build an unguaranteed future alone and then have no one to share it with when I get there. I wanna spend time with them now."

Jack's adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes burned as he fought to hold back tears. It must have been some kind of cruel joke that right then his phantom limb pain wanted to shoot up through his thigh. Like a reminder of the time he spent wasting while he had his wife alive.

He had joined the army to become a doctor debt free. Then he had spent all of their marriage overseas, saving money for a life they never even got to spend together. He had borrowed time from the future that didn't even exist. And all he had to show for it was ironically - more money - monthly life insurance, disability, and veteran affairs checks. Oh and one and a half legs.

He blinked rapidly. He was not about to cry at work. Nevertheless while he was conducting a residency interview. He diverted the conversation away from himself, "You didn't mention your mom."

"She died. When I was a teenager, about ten years ago. After coming here actually," She coughed out a dry laugh that sounded like she dragged it up through her throat, kicking and screaming. Awfully different to the one Jack had floated out of her moments prior, "She was pregnant and they sent her away without so much as a full consultation. Just chalked her symptoms up to pregnancy and she died from an aortic dissection later that night."

Jack wanted to vomit at the almost exact recountance of how his wife had died. He was so focused on not emptying his breakfast onto Robby's desk that a tear slipped - the first in probably years.

"Oh, Dr Abbot. I didn't mean to make you emotional. I can go back to the professional answer any time you want." Another scoffed laugh, her eyes full of compassion but no tears, "Trust me - it's probably easier for both of us."

Jack really never talked about his late wife anymore. He liked to tell himself he was healed. He most definitely didn't talk about it at work. But he found himself wanting to then - with her, "No it's just - my late wife - she died the same way, about a decade ago. I was away on a stupid bachelor party trip and she didn't want to worry me so she didn't call me about it and then she, uh, never called again."

"Jesus - I am so sorry, Dr Abbot."

He noticed, appreciated, the way her head didn't tip and her eye contact didn't waver. She was not expressing her condolences out of pity or not understanding but of exactly the opposite. She knew exactly how he felt. He ignored the way his heart jumped out of his chest at the thought.

God, Robby really owed him one.

"Thank you - I am sorry about your mom. I am just impressed you still wanna work here. I could never work in the hospital that did that to my wife. The couple years after she passed - I could barely work here."

"Well, the other option was becoming one of those weirdos who swears off doctors and hospitals and science."

Jack tilted his chin at her in consideration, rubbed at the scruff there, and let out a sputtering laugh, "Are you sure that is the only other option?"

He pulled another light chuckle from her and he exhaled. Truly exhaled. For the first time in maybe ten years - like he had been underwater for so long he had forgotten what fresh air felt like.

"This is my way of letting her live on through me. To do something about what happened to her rather than using it as an excuse to sulk through life. I wanna see life as something that comes from me and not at me."

She picked at the lining of her purse that was perched in her lap. The first sign of potentially any nerves. The first time he realized that he was getting the true her. Not the front she must put up for interviews. It didn't seem much different - just a little more vulnerable.

Jack could talk. So much so he had a reputation for it in the ED. He was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a 'God do you ever shutup?' so he was a bit stunned that she had managed to shock him into silence.

He hugged his crossed arms closer to his chest as if that was even possible and just stared.

She cracked a smile, back to what was seemingly her calm and confident self, "Too esoteric for a residency interview?"

"Oh no. Not at all. I just..." Jack couldn't seem to find the right words to tell her that she had just reframed his entire outlook on his life and his grief in one sentence so he settled on, "...I uh never really thought of it that way."

"Me neither. But I have an excellent therapist."

"I will have you know, if you choose to do your residency here, I do not make it a habit of trauma dumping on my residents like I did on you today."

"I think I started that, Dr Abbot. But since I made you cry - does that mean I am in?"

That earned a genuine cackle out of Jack. A cackle. A kind of sound he wasn't even sure he was capable of making anymore but the bright, beaming smile she reciprocated made him want to do it for the rest of his life.

Maybe he owed Robby one.

Jack tried not to think about her as he got the old laptop down from his hallway closet later that night. He may never even see her again. He ignored the fact that that thought made him sick to his stomach.

Tried not to think about how Gloria had never ever personally been the residency candidate welcome committee until today while he googled 'Veteran, disabled, widower therapists near me'.

He tried not to think about how she looked the best anyone has ever looked in that emergency department as he murmured to himself, "God, that's a depressing search."

He tried not to think about how she had the most beautifully intriguing brain of anyone who had ever stepped foot into that hospital, potentially his entire life, as he booked his very first therapy appointment.

bargaining

"Remember when you told me you didn't make it a habit of trauma dumping on your residents?"

Jack didn't even have to look at her to know there was a huge smirk plastered on her face. She had been his resident for a little over a year. Although, it had taken much less time for the ribbing to start.

"Telling you about how Shen won't stop calling me 'Unc'," Jack had put air quotes around the Gen Z slang term as he continued, "is not trauma dumping."

"You seem pretty traumatized by it. You've only brought it up 85 times this shift."

"And to think - I was gonna ask you to a research breakfast after this." Jack nudged his shoulder gently with hers, tried his best to stave off the grin that played on his lips.

"And to think! You're going to anyway, old man." She nudged him right back, a little less gentle causing him to turn his shoulders and gaze towards her, feigning shock and offense.

That got the exact reaction he was fishing for - a big bright smile, loud laugh, and a second or so more of eye contact that he wouldn't have had a reason to justify otherwise.

What can he say? When it came to her - he was greedy.

"You two! I would prefer to get the hand off completed before you're both back on shift tonight. I swear you're like young and dumb medical students after shift sometimes." Dana chastised them but not without a hint of a smile.

Dana had known Jack for over ten years at this point. Seen him in a lot of different moods; but never as happy as this.

"Well, I'm young." She emphasized the 'I' with a smirk and pointed the finger that she had aimed at herself over at Jack, "He is just being dumb."

Jack barked a laugh. A sound that was no longer so foreign to him. No longer so foreign to everyone else in the ED.

He didn't miss the knowing glance Dana shot his way, a grin fighting to appear on both of their faces. He did his best to give Dana a look that said that he wasn't hopelessly infatuated with his resident. That he enjoyed spending time with each of his residents equally. He was not entirely sure he convinced Dana. He wasn't even good at convincing himself.

He could take her to breakfast if it was to help her with her research. It was most definitely not to see how many times he could pull a laugh from her. Bonus points if he got a nose scrunch or an accidental spit take of the orange juice that was already half way down her throat.

He could bring her a coffee every shift if it was to ensure his best resident was energized for her shift. It was not because of the way she looked up at him with her bright, big eyes through her lashes and said "Thank you, Dr Abbot!" like it was some sort of melody. If he started buying coffee for Dr Ellis and Dr Shen as well to make his affection less obvious - what was the difference?

He could let her do a pericardiocentesis way before anyone else her year probably should have if it was to improve her education. And because she truly was ready. He'd have bet his entire career that she was better at it than all of the surgical residents upstairs. Which meant it wasn't so totally obvious that he was staring at her in awe all of the time. Because when she was doing shit like that - everyone was. Being able to guide her hands through a procedure was just a bonus. Even if there were latex gloves between them.

He could bring extra food to shift, knowing she was going to eat half of it, if it was because he wanted to ensure his best resident was properly fueled and empowered to do her job to the best of her ability. He kept it to himself that he drove to a grocery store thirty minutes out of his way to get the specific kind of candy he knew she liked.

He could drive her home if it was to ensure his smartest resident got home safe. It was totally not because he got to spend more time with her. He definitely didn't take the long way to her apartment and he went exactly the speed limit because that was what was safe. Not because it meant extra time with her. No one else needed to know that he went at least fifteen over when she wasn't in his passenger seat.

No one also needed to know that he bought an aux cord just for her because he loved to hear what kinds of songs she liked. He definitely didn't have a playlist compiled of them all that he listened to at home now instead of his police scanner.

denial

She had been his resident for a bit over two years now and the ED was Q word tonight. No one had said it but the combined time they had all spent fucking around at the hub proved it.

Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night. He thought he was being inconspicuous about the amount of time he had been spending with Javadi but his new found interest in the social media app gave him away. Jack couldn't really say anything to his new junior attending about the dangers of falling for someone that you were the superior to without blowing up his own soft spot for a certain resident.

So Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night and he had roped her in.

Jack thought he knew all of her secret talents by now but he watched from behind her, amused and hands tugging at his stethoscope looped behind his neck, as Shen played various Britney Spears songs to see how quickly she could guess them.

She hadn't needed more than 3 seconds for any of them.

Then they were busy for an hour or so. A couple drunk twenty somethings with some concussions and laceration repairs - nothing too crazy. And then they were back at central. The quiet was interrupted by a gasp from Dr Shen. Which was quickly followed by Dr Ellis looking over his shoulder at his phone and then both of them dying laughing.

"I don't even want to know." Jack threw his hands up in surrender.

"Oh, yes you do! You're going viral for being hot!" Shen exclaimed.

"I don't know what viral means if it’s not to do with an infection and I already know that I’m hot thank you very much." Jack didn't even glance up from his charting as he spoke.

“For being hot and being hopelessly in love.” Ellis clarified.

That got Jack's attention. He got up, snatched Shen's phone out of his hand as he muttered, “I am not hopelessly -" he didn't even want to give the accusation a real denial to validate it, "-let me see that.” He pressed play.

It was ironic that he had been telling himself he needed to start schooling his expressions when it came to her when the same dopey smile and enamored eyes he had going in the video were on his face as he watched the video.

He knew Shen and Ellis were monitoring his reaction closely but he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the part of the video where he had guessed the song 'Lucky' before she had.

She had whipped around in the spinning chair so fast - her hair had stuck to her glossed lips, "How the hell do you know that?!" she asked surprised, a wide smile taking over her face.

Jack shuffled around in his wide stance, large hands going from the ends of his stethoscope to clasped behind his back, his chin tilted up at her as he spoke with a drawl, "I let you play your music when I drive you home, don’t I?”

In the moment, Jack had missed what was caught on camera - the knowing smirk Dr Ellis had leveled at Dr Shen off camera as she said, “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

Jack's rebuttal hadn't even had a chance to leave his mouth before Shen and Ellis were reading the comments aloud, taking turns as they went.

"WHOOOO DAT IN THE BACK!?"

"Paging Doctor biceps in the back"

"Close enough. Welcome back Lexie grey and mark sloan"

"What in the greys anatomy"

"Do the two doctor sexys know that age gap august is upon us"

"If she doesn’t wanna bite on his biceps I will"

"Does that girl know she has 30mins to claim that man before I do"

"He does not play about her!"

"A man who YEARNS is a man who EARNS"

"Dr sexy is down bad for the other doctor sexy"

"Where is this emergency room at … for research purposes"

"I want Doctor sexy to look at me like that"

"Okay, I don’t look at her like anything!" Jack hissed low in a whisper, hoping to a god he did not believe in that she was still busy with the drunk college kids and was not hearing any of this.

"Well, you definitely don’t look at me like that." Shen laughed, sucking on his Dunkin straw even though nothing had been left in his cup for hours.

"I look at you all the same." Jack deadpanned. He sat back down at his computer. An attempt to get back to charting. But not before taking a sweep of the ED and making sure she was nowhere within earshot. Not that Shen and Ellis were making it easy with their hysterics.

"Bro - if you looked at me like that I would call HR. She's just into it."

“Into what?" She asked monotonically, not even looking up from her iPad as she approached the rest of the night shift crew at the hub.

“Nothing!” Jack barely got out, grumbling and exasperatedly running a hand through his silver curls as he got up from his computer and went to chairs.

He didn't miss the raise in her brows as she looked at Shen and Ellis, silently asking 'What the hell is up with him?'.

He couldn't tell you the last time he voluntarily went out to chairs but he was hoping his fair Irish skin would be finished betraying him with the pinkness in his cheeks, ears, and neck by the time he made his way back to central.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Shen and Ellis showed her the video and he did not want to be there when they did.

So he missed the flush in her cheeks, ears, and neck that had been identical to his.

And her slightly embarrassed, definitely exaggerated, "You guys stop - he is literally our boss."

"But you're not not into it?" Ellis had pushed. If anyone was getting it out of her, it was Ellis. They had been attached at the hip since their residency began.

"It doesn't matter if I'm into it. He is our boss! He is not into it."

"God, for someone so smart you are so stupid sometimes."

Jack had waved Shen off when Shen had come out to chairs to tell him about that interaction, practically vibrating with excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine. Jack had parroted her, tried to make a joke of it all. Said something along the lines of, "I know you guys like to pretend otherwise but I am your boss."

But once Jack was home, black out shades drawn and snug in his bed, he couldn't wipe the huge, stupid grin off of his face.

anger

Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. Very few things on this earth made him genuinely angry - one of them being the annual hospital gala. Every year they were trotted out as show ponies to raise money that the ED would never even see. You can't save patients with empty compliments and an open bar.

He had managed to avoid it the past couple years - always worked instead. So when he saw he wasn't scheduled to work the night of this year's gala, he printed out the schedule and marched right over to Robby's workstation to rectify what was surely a mistake.

"Why am I not scheduled to work tomorrow? I didn't even check the schedule until now because I just assumed that my friend would do me a solid because he owes me one-"

"Because you have to go to the gala, man." Robby interrupted Jack's rambling.

"What part of 'you owe me one' did you not understand?"

"Did you happen to see who else is not scheduled?"

Neither of them had to say anything for them both to know who's name Jack was scanning that piece of paper for.

Robby clapped him on the back, satisfied with a smile on his face as he walked away, "Go home and rest, Romeo. You got a big date tomorrow night - you’re welcome!"

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

So again, Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. But he had decided to add a new line item to the short list of things that made his blood absolutely boil. The thing being every single young, conventionally attractive, rich, tall surgeon working in his hospital hitting on his resident at this stupid fucking gala.

They hadn't even made it to dinner yet and he was sure she'd been approached over ten times. Jack had to step away after the most recent one - under the guise of getting a drink.

Jack unfortunately was very familiar with this particular suitor of hers. She was well into her last year of her residency and it had not been an uncommon occurrence for Dr Harvard from cardio thoracic surgery to make any and every excuse to come down and consult when she was on shift.

Jack made a conscious effort to forget his name. Shen and Ellis loved to remind him of it.

They'd tease him about it. They'd say that there was a plus side to it all. They never had to wait long on a cardiac surgery consultation anymore. But selfishly, Jack would wait fucking years if it meant he was chatting her ear off instead of Mr Harvard.

Jack wasn't naive. She was practically glowing. She always was. She always looked beautiful. Before tonight, he basically only ever saw her with no makeup on, hair a mess, wearing hospital issued scrubs and he still thought she was the most gorgeous person alive.

But tonight. Tonight, Jack was surprised he did not end up as a patient in his ED the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her hair was carefully curled, framing her perfect face that was painted with just the right amount of makeup. Her lashes were more prominent than usual, her cheeks more flushed and her lips a bit more pink and a lot more glossy.

And then her dress. That damn dress. It was vintage because of course it was. Of course, she found time to vintage shop on top of the grueling hours she put in at the ED. Even in her last year of residency, she had never lost sight of being her own person both in and outside of work.

The dress reminded Jack of something from the prohibition era - celebratory. He was trying not to be so obvious in his celebration of how the structured seams of the powder blue silk created a corset shape that wasn't too tight for a work function but definitely was tight enough to have his imagination wandering.

With delicate lace panels towards the bottom of her dress and the swooping off the shoulder neckline with draped cap sleeves - Jack was being a sap but she looked like she had stepped out of a romance movie. Or off of a runway.

It was the kind of dress that reminded him of when they first met. He loved getting glimpses of her like this. Of who she was outside of the ED.

She had said she found the dress at a second hand shop on consignment. After that he had spent most of their evening dreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand and watch her shop.

Get to see the process of how she selected what she liked. Get to bring her hand up to his lips and kiss it - knowing that he was one of those things that she liked. Maybe even loved. And of course, buy everything her gaze lingered on even when she insisted not to. Especially then.

So Jack was not naive. He knew she was absolutely, positively stunning. He knew even beyond that - she was kind and funny and fucking whip smart. Smarter than anyone he had ever met and in so many different ways. If he could move into her brain - he would. So he was not naive enough to think other men wouldn't flirt with her. They would be fools not to. He just wished he could be the reason they wouldn't.

He sipped his old fashioned and did his best to pretend like he was looking anywhere but at her and Mr Harvard. He can't imagine that he was very successful. A ding from his phone took him out of his misery.

From Shen: Yo - i know you hate that gala shit. Kinda bogus robby made you go. Thought you guys were friends. Anyway, can you come help? Ellis has got a hot date. Or so she says

Jack had never been more thankful to receive a weird text from Shen in his life. He replied with a quick 'On my way' before taking one last glance over at her.

He sighed at the sight of her digging through her purse for something. He couldn’t see her expression but he sure could see Mr Harvard's. Dude couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Jack wished he could do it for him.

Okay chill, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he figured it would be rude to interrupt her to say goodbye. She probably didn’t want her old attending cock blocking her anyways.

Jack set his half finished drink on the bar counter along with a $20 tip and turned on his good heel. He had his hands on the cold metal of the event venue's door when he heard his favorite voice behind him.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Jack turned to see her and the sight made him melt. Arms crossed over her chest, brow furrowed, and lips in a stern line that was slowly slipping into a pout.

"Shen and Ellis need a cover."

"And when were you planning on telling me?" Her hands moved to her hips. Jack's hands flexed at his sides. All he wanted to do was kiss the sass out of her. But he couldn't. She was still his resident. And probably not even interested in him.

"You seemed busy. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet." Jack's response earned an eye roll out of her.

Before he could even blink, her arm threaded under his own - grabbing his bicep, "I'm coming with you."

Who was Jack to argue with that?

"How'd you get out of your conversation with Mr Harvard?"

Another dramatic eye roll. He loved it. Then the prettiest little smile he had ever seen.

"Told him my mean, scary boss said we had to leave."

He couldn't decide his opinion regarding the short walk to his SUV in handicapped parking. One part of him was thankful. He wouldn't be shocked if he had burnt holes in his suit jacket from the way his skin had heated up under her feather light touch. The blush was sure to creep up into his cheeks any moment now.

On the other hand, he could walk for miles if it meant she was touching him the whole way. She stopped at his passenger car door and turned to look at him.

"Mean, scary boss huh?" was all Jack could get out while he was under her gaze. It sounded like he had dragged his words through gravel on their way out. But with the way her eyes still shone in the moonlight and the fact that they were solely trained on his own - he was lucky he managed to get any words out at all.

"The scariest." she winked. She fucking winked. Jack had never been more thankful that he had metal for a leg because if he didn't - his legs were sure to have wobbled out from beneath him right then.

His hands were stuffed into his slack pockets. He didn't trust himself for them to be anywhere else. Her hands had given him a moment of reprieve. No longer lightly squeezing his bicep. But now they trailed up his chest, stopping to pretend to fix his tie even though Jack knew it was perfect. Military habit. Didn't matter - she could do whatever the hell she wanted if it involved touching him.

His breath hitched at her touch. He hoped she didn't notice.

"He cleans up nice though - makes up for all the mean and scary."

"Did your mean, scary boss mention you look beautiful tonight." Jack kept his hands in his pockets but took an experimental step forward. Was this really happening? Was she really hitting on him?

It was almost as if she had heard his inner monologue. Wanted to make her intentions clear as she looped her arms around Jack's neck and absentmindedly threaded her fingers through the curls at the nape there.

Ever since she had started fiddling with his suit, her eyes had dropped to anywhere but his face. Typical Jack would have dipped his head, forced eye contact but Jack right now was just trying to stand up right.

Her gaze snapped to him and this time he hadn't even tried to hide the palpitation in his heart or his breathing, "No." was all she said. Barely a whisper but Jack heard her loud and clear.

His hands immediately fell to her hips. He filed away the way she seemed to sink into his grip. Exhaled a little. Like it was muscle memory from a past life.

Her fingers circled their way higher up onto his head, fully tugging on his curls and lightly scratching at his scalp. Jack had to bite back a groan as he squeezed at her hips and pressed her fully back onto his unopened car door.

"Jack." She murmured out low somewhere between a moan and an airy breath, head tilted back in pleasure at the pressure of his fingers on her hips. Jack was fucked now that he knew what his name sounded like falling off her lips without inhibition.

The expanse of her neck now available to him was like a siren song. The past four years had felt like a siren song and he couldn't help himself any longer. One of his hands found the back of her head, gently cradling it back up for her to look at him. His other hand rubbed at her jaw in sweeping strokes of his thumb.

Neither of them could rip their gaze from the others' lips - their panting chests just a mere centimeter apart. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.

Until he wasn't.

Until a loud bang of the door opening broke them apart. A slew of hospital administrators spilled out behind it looking for their next smoke break. Had Jack mentioned that he fucking hated the annual hospital gala?

They flew off each other at what would have been a rather impressive speed if it hadn't felt so agonizing. What was Jack thinking? That he could make out with his resident against his car like they were a horny teenage couple while all of the people in the building a few feet away from them could have her fired for it in a heartbeat? He had to be better. At least until her residency was over with.

He had to get it together - for the both of them it seemed like. Jack cleared his throat and ran a hand over his stubble to hide the smile threatening to take over his face at the realization that she had wanted to kiss him. The way she had said his name with so much...want. Need, even. Maybe this thing wasn't so one sided after all.

He got out of his own head just in time to stop her closing of the passenger door. He wrapped his hand around the top of the door, held it open and waited for her to look up at him after she had buckled up. But the buckle clicked and her gaze stayed trained on her lap.

"Hey." He whispered softly. They both knew the eye contact he was seeking. She slowly turned her head in his direction, gazing up at where he was standing in front of her.

"You look absolutely breathtaking. You always do."

She sucked in a breath and then there she was - big bright smile, shoulders no longer slumped, no more fiddling with her purse strings just to avoid the space between them. She was back to herself.

"Just for that I'll order pizza to the hospital." His favorite.

"Thank you." He probably should have shut the door by now. Should have probably already been on their way to the hospital. But he couldn't stop fucking staring at her. What's new?

"Don't thank me. I still have your card in my DoorDash account." She giggled and all Jack could get out was good before he shut her door.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

They ate their pizza in their gown and tux at the hub with Ellis and Shen.

Ellis raised the polaroid camera that Dana kept at the hub desk and signaled for them to get together for a photo. Jack hooked two fingers under her rolling stool and tugged her over into his side.

"Woah! Old man still has moves!"

Jack ignored Shen as he wrapped his arm over her collarbone from behind her, pulling her closer. Her head instinctively leaned toward his and her fingers delicately held his wrist as they smiled for Ellis's camera.

Jack didn't miss the look Ellis had given her. Maybe he was delusional or maybe she had gotten her best friend Ellis's advice on making a move on her attending at the gala and now Ellis was checking in on the results.

Jack also didn't miss the way her cheeks heated up and the subtle shake of her head at Ellis. As if to signal that they would talk about it later. Probably, when Jack was out of earshot.

Shen tried to get them to pose like they were going to prom. When they both refused citing unprofessionalism, Shen threw a bit of a hissy fit. Mumbling something along the lines of "Oh, now we are being professional!"

Ellis settled on writing ‘Gala Girlies' as the caption for their polaroid before taping it onto the hub counter with the rest of the pictures that had accumulated over the years. This one was definitely Jack's new favorite.

He knew exactly what Robby was going to say when he saw it tomorrow morning, “You owe me one, brother."

He was so fucked.

acceptance

Jack was bored. He never thought he'd say that but this hospital without her was straight up boring with a capital B. He worked here without her for ten years and now - the ten days of PTO she had taken before her first day as a junior attending - felt like the longest of his life. And he was only on day 6.

He wasn't even supposed to be there right now. He had come in after a Tactical EMS job gone bad. His buddy had already gone up to surgery. Before Jack could leave, Robby had roped Jack into joining him on the new day shift attending, Dr Al-Hashimi's, welcome tour.

He was waiting on a text from her. She was spending the day with her family and then she and Jack were supposed to go watch the fireworks together - alone. It was the Fourth of July after all. He had it all planned. He had practiced how he was going to profess his feelings to her in the mirror like a dork more times than he cared to admit. He had long accepted that he was in love with his resident. Now his colleague. He could work with that.

He checked his phone again. No luck. He ignored Robby's inquisitive glance. Jack had never been so interested in his phone like he had been today.

They stood at the hub as Robby droned on and on about day shift procedures that Jack was so thankful not to have to know too much about. Jack just admired the polaroids on the desk in front of them. He was still plotting a way to inconspicuously steal the one of him and her from the gala for his wallet but it had become a fan favorite in the past few months.

Dr Al-Hashimi directed her next question to Jack, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up his second favorite polaroid with a raised brow, "Am I going to have the pleasure of meeting..." Dr Al-Hashimi squinted to read the writing below the picture, "...Abbot's Angels?"

Jack couldn't help but laugh. The photo had been taken over a year ago. Shen had begged him to take it. Handed the camera over to Jack as he maneuvered himself between the two girls. Both her and Ellis's backs to Shen. All three of them holding up finger guns to their lips with faux serious expressions.

As if her ears were ringing, Dr Ellis appeared behind Jack at the hub. Clapping him on the shoulder and extending a hand out to greet Dr Al-Hashimi, "Don't bring it up to him. He is going through withdrawals because his favorite is still out on PTO."

"Parker - I do not have favorites. You guys aren't even my residents anymore." Jack muttered in defense as he checked his phone again.

Dr Al-Hashimi clocked him, "Dr Abbot - I am good to go here and I am sure I will be seeing you. You should go. It's your day off and a holiday. I am sure you have plans."

"Yeah, what are your plans, Dr Abbot?" Ellis teased. She must have known her best friend's plans were with him for the night. Ellis was enjoying herself. Jack shot her a glare.

"I think his plans just showed up!" Robby clapped his hands together, sputtered out a laugh at the coincidence.

"Brother - I am not taking another case! I am leav-" Jack looked up from unscrewing his water bottle to follow Robby's gaze.

He spotted her mid sip and he genuinely choked on his water in a way he thought only happened in cartoons. He was ready to send Ellis out to chairs when she patted his back like she was burping a baby and suggested that there was a cooling room in North 5 if he needed it.

She was simply glowing. Wavy hair, bright eyes, sun kissed skin donning a short jean skirt and a white halter tank top that accentuated the tan lines over her collarbones left by her bikini.

"Well if it isn’t the prodigal princess of the pitt herself!" Robby goaded, grabbing a clip board and rounding the hub.

The man she was pushing in the wheelchair piped up at that, "You guys actually call her that? Seriously? I thought she was making that up. Please stop - her ego is big enough as it is."

"What do you got?" Robby asked. Jack was still staring. Who the fuck was this guy?

"Idiot male. 37 years old. Broke his ankle trying to relive his glory days coaching youth soccer practice," She was leaned over, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, "and could stand to lose a few pounds."

That pulls an almost relieved huff from Jack. Whoever this guy was - she must've not been that fond of him.

"Hey -" the man reached behind him and tugged on her hair "-my arms still work!"

Oh hell no, Jack thought. Ellis must have noticed he was about to step in and she stopped him before he could, "At ease, soldier. That is her brother."

"Well your brain clearly doesn't" she whacked him right upside the head.

Her brother imitated her, high pitched while she made a show of dramatically handing over his wheelchair to Robby so he could take him away for X-rays.

She thanked Robby as she made her way over to the hub, introducing herself to Dr Al-Hashimi and grabbing the bag of candy that Jack was offering out to her.

She looked him up and down and nodded her head at his camouflage pants, "Really? What is with the GI Jack get up? I thought you were gonna get a hobby.”

"And I thought you said you were gonna stop stealing my food."

"And I thought you said you were gonna stop buying t-shirts one size too small."

"From Walmart." Dr Ellis added.

"You guys, I told you - I do not shop at Walmart."

She giggled and gently nudged her shoulder into Ellis's, "Oh yeah Parker, how could we forget? He shops at Costco!"

"They send good coupons in the mail!" Jack defended himself

"Bro - you're a disabled, widowed veteran who makes more than half a million dollars a year. I think you can afford real clothes." Ellis deadpanned.

“Any other comments from the fashion police about my outfit?”

“Don’t threaten us with a good time.”

Jack cocked his head towards her, smirk widening. He couldn't hide how happy he was to see her. It had been a long couple of days, "And to think I was just starting to miss you."

"Just starting to!?" She raised her eyebrows in challenge, feigning offense while her eyes practically sparkled up at him. He could feel the weight of Ellis's knowing smile on them. He didn't care.

He was debating how obvious it would be for him to pull her into a hug until Dana beat him to it.

"Dr Al, you have just met one of our finest," Dana squeezed her harder, "Except you probably won't see her much because Abbot is always hogging her on nights."

She was released from Dana's grip just enough to clap a light hand on Jack's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, "He needs someone to keep him sharp in his old age."

Jack grimaced the second her hand had made contact with his shoulder and dread washed over her face. Dana fully released her now. Letting her turn all of her attention onto Jack.

“Jack…”

“I’m fine.” He avoided her probing stare and that was exactly how she knew he was not fine.

“Really?” She asked - not buying what he was selling.

“Yes!" She applied light pressure on his shoulder again and he wriggled out of her grasp with a sharp and hissed, "- ah!”

“The room right there is open. Go patch him up.” Dana pointed to the room across the hall. Shooing them in there before Jack had a chance to protest.

Jack sat on the bed as she shut the door and pulled the curtain. Her back was still turned to him as she said, "Take off your shirt."

"At least let me take you to dinner first." Jack tried to pull a laugh from her. It didn't go over well.

"Jack." She warned. Now turned toward him with her arms crossed, “What happened?”

“I was intubating in open fire and a bullet grazed my vest. I’m fine.” He shrugged as he pulled off his shirt. As if what he just said was a completely normal and frequent occurrence.

“You were shot!?” She hurried over to him, standing in between his legs as he sat on the bed.

“Shot…at."

She tilted her head at him in annoyance. Pausing her opening of the various utensils she was preparing to clean his wound.

“What?” He asked.

“Can’t you just take up tennis or golf or literally anything else? Like a normal person?”

“What fun would that be?” Jack insisted upon keeping it light. She shouldn't ever have to worry about him. That was his job.

She lathered some kind of ointment onto his open wound that was on the front of his chest, right above his collar bone. Jack was too distracted by how close they were to care and see what kind.

“There is nothing fun about me coming to work one day and finding out you’re dead because you wanted an adrenaline rush.”

“That isn’t gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that. You think you’re invincible and you’re not.”

“Is that an old joke?”

“Jack-“ her voice cracked and Jack was immediately on his feet, cupping her face in his hands.

“Woah, woah honey okay - I thought we were kidding. I’m fine.” He cooed, one hand stroked her cheek bone making sure not one tear fell while the other steadied her at her hip as she stood between his legs.

“Look at me." He tilted his chin down while he tilted hers up, holding her gaze with his own, "I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere."

“I won’t survive you dying, Jack. I can't.” Her voice sounded wrecked as her chin wobbled. Jack felt horribly responsible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Naturally, like they had been in this position a million times before. He murmured into the side of her hair, “Okay forget the SWAT thing. Although, you should’ve seen me earlier in my full uniform I looked pretty sick”

Jack huffed a sigh of relief as he felt her laugh vibrate through him. He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders to get another good look at her, "There's my girl."

She wiped a sniffle with the back of her hand and lightly pushed him back down to a seat. His hands never left her. Just slid down her body until he rested them on the outsides of her upper thighs - a safe distance away from the hem of her jean skirt.

She worked in silence for a moment until Jack piped back up, “I’ll pick up tennis or golf like a normal person. I promise.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I just want you to have a little more regard for your life okay? Can you please just do that for me?”

“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Jack didn't even think that was an exaggeration.

“Except for wearing the correct size shirt.”

He teasingly pinched her leg and she swatted at his good shoulder, laughing. She was done helping him but they hadn't moved. Neither of them really wanted to.

“That’s for you too. Don’t think I don’t see you staring at my biceps.”

Her eyebrows rose in faux surprise as she dragged a hand down his freckled arm.

“Oh you wanna talk about staring? I must have picked that up from someone.”

“This is a teaching hospital.”

“Could’ve mistaken it for a staring one.”

“Come on - you’re always performing medical miracles while looking like that. I can’t help it. Cut a guy some slack.” Jack's hands felt like they were on fire, practically kneading her thighs. God, she really had to wear this skirt today of all days.

“You’re a flirt, you know that?”

“Only with you.”

They had about a second to jump apart at the sound of a knock on the door before the curtain was pulled back to reveal Dr Al-Hashimi.

Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. Both him and her were looking anywhere but each other. Jack wasn't planning on getting excited but he was thankful he had placed his shirt over his lap to cover himself now that they were no longer alone.

Dr Al-Hashimi cleared her throat, obviously picking up on the fact that she had interrupted something, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.”

Dr Al-Hashimi handed Jack a piece of paper and then turned to her, "You have a visitor from cardio thoracic surgery outside."

Jack groaned. Could Mr Harvard have any worse timing? She shot Jack a glare and stepped outside. Jack could see the shadow of Mr Harvard who he knew was down here pretending he'd have something to do with her brother's ankle surgery just to flirt.

He caught the end of her dismissing Mr Harvard's valiant attempt at being her knight in shining armor. Jack smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hub to catch up with her. He was explaining a procedure to Whitaker as he walked, "You're gonna have to start with your finger. And then slowly over a few minutes as the wetness gathers, go deeper. All the way to the back of the knuckle."

Whitaker nodded in understanding and was on his merry way. She turned right on Jack the second he was in her vicinity.

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"Problem?" Jack asked, genuinely perplexed.

Her voice pitched down, she whispered, "Why do you have to say everything so unnecessarily slutty? You wanna ask Whitaker out too!?"

Now that - Jack was not expecting. He quirked his eyebrow up in surprise. Also in confusion.

"Ask Whitaker out? What are you-"

He was cut off by a little girl screaming her name and running right into her arms, "Look! Look! Your work is on my new soccer jersey!"

The girl couldn't be older than five. Jack recognized the little girl as her niece from photos she had shown him. He noticed who must have been her sister in law a few feet away, talking to Robby presumably about discharge instructions for her brother as he awaited surgery that he would probably have next week once the swelling went down.

"What are you talking about? Lemme see that." She plucked the jersey from her niece and examined the PTMC logo on it.

Jack knew his cheeks were ruby red. He could see the gears in her head putting it all together as she stared at the small jersey with the ironed on PTMC ED patch. A couple weeks ago, she had told him offhandedly that her niece's soccer league was going to get cancelled since they had no sponsor. So Jack called up the park district and paid for it himself. Under the guise it was the PTMC ED. It was no big deal. If her niece was happy, she was happy.

She put her niece down next to her on the ground as her eyes looked up to Jack, softening, "We don't have the budget for this."

"I know. But I do."

She opened her mouth to say something but her niece cut her off, climbing into her dad's lap on his wheelchair as he, her sister in law, and Robby joined them at the hub, "Auntie, is this Dr Sexy?"

Jack's lips immediatley preened, quirking up into an amused smirk, Dr Ellis and Robby doubled over in laughter.

"No baby - this is Dr Abbot." She tried to recover, her eyes blown wide, mouth agape and her cheeks beet red. She couldn't even look at Jack.

"But you always call him Dr Sexy when you are talking to mommy. What does sexy mean?"

"OKAY-" she said loudly, still looking anywhere but at Jack. She turned her gaze on her brother as she clapped her hands together, "-it is time for you all to leave."

"Only if Dr Sexy walks us out." Her brother teased.

She groaned, putting her head in her hands as Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hid in the crook of his neck, "I am getting a new job."

"Oh no you're not."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack met her at her car after he helped her family to theirs. “Dr Sexy, huh?”

“Shut up. I'm trying to be annoyed with you and you’re making it damn hard”

“Why are you annoyed with me?” Jack steadied himself with a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him, leaning against her car door.

“Seriously?"

Jack just raised his eyebrows back at her in question.

She mirrored his stance, crossed arms over chest, "So you go on dates now?”

“What are you talking about? Is this about tonight? If you don't want to go anymore we don't have to-”

She imitated him and Dr Al-Hashimi from earlier, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.” She emphasized the word.

Jack rubbed his hand over his face, stopping at his scruff and trying to mask the smirk that was threatening to take over his face, “Are you…jealous?”

She scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant but Jack knew her too well for that, “Me? Jealous? No, Jack I just think it’s wildly inappropriate. This is our workplace.”

“Well that’s a damn shame because I didn’t ask Dr Al on a date. I’m setting her up on one. With my army buddy actually."

Her lips formed a barely there oh, "Well…now I just feel like a bitch."

Jack laughed and stepped closer, shaking his head in refute to her statement. He let his hands find purchase on her car, caging her in.

His voice came out far more groveled than expected, "But I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for going on, oh I don’t know almost five years now, but if you think it’s so wildly inappropri-"

“I don’t!”

“You dont? But I thought-“

He earned himself an eyeroll and a stern, “Jack.”

“You just said-" He couldn't help the huge grin spreading across his face.

“I know what I said.”

“So - let me get this straight - it’s only wildly inappropriate if it’s a date with anyone but you? Is that stated somewhere in the HR handbook or-”

"God, do you ever shutup?" And then her lips were on his.

His whole body felt like it was on fire. Her hands on each side of his face, his squeezing at her hips and pressing her up against the car. Just like that night at the gala. Except this time he actually got to kiss her. He was kissing her.

His head spun at the way her fingers circled around to the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. He cradled her jaw in one strong hand and grabbed her waist with the other, hand pushing up the white tank she had on to make contact with her bare skin. They couldn't possible get any closer but it still didn't feel close enough.

Jack didn't want to ever stop the exploration of his hands along her body. He grabbed at the flesh on the outside of her upper thigh, hiking it up slightly around his hips. She ground herself down onto his bulge and the gasp she let out was heavenly. Jack took the chance to swipe his tongue into her mouth, as she ground down again, slower this time. Jack couldn't keep his moan from tumbling out.

He pulled back ever so slightly, their lips still practically touching as their chests heaved, "Baby, where are your keys?"

"My keys? That is what you care about right now?" She went to grind on him again but Jack's hands grabbed her hips, halting her.

"If you keep doing that I am going to come in my pants in the hospital parking garage and I would much rather come somewhere else in the comfort of my own home. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to take my time with you."

"How long?" She asked as she slipped her keys into Jack's front pocket.

"Inappropriatley long. Now get in the car so Dr Sexy can drive us home."

"I am never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Absolutely not."

"I hate you."

Jack grabbed her chin and peppered her face with kisses, ending with one on her lips as she giggled. Kissing her hard because he could do that now, "Somehow, I am not convinced."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack's left hand flexed hard on her steering wheel. His right hand preoccupied with a steady grip on her upper thigh. Her left hand played with his curls as he drove.

"What are you thinking about?"

"How after the gala last year I went home and touched myself. Imagined my fingers were yours." Jack choked on nothing at her words.

"Jesus Christ - I am trying not to cause a mass casualty event, honey. Can you please just wait till we get home."

She groaned his name in frustration and squeezed his fingers between her thighs, trying to find friction anyway she could.

"You're that needy?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Show me then." His voice was gritty and low as he knocked her knees apart. He batted down the sun visor on her side, sliding the mirror cover up and aiming it perfectly to reflect her lap.

She whined at the loss of contact as both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes screwed shut and her chest lifted, breathing heavy. The way her hard nipples were peaking through her tank top was enough to make Jack scared he was going to crash the car.

"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me. You think you can handle that for me, baby?"

His words seemed to hit her all at once. Demanding in the way it was when he was ordering people around the ED. The tone went straight to her core as she hiked her jean skirt up over her hips and slid her small lacy black thong down her legs. She stuffed it in one of the pockets of Jack's camo pants, lightly squeezing his bulge as she did. All Jack could murmur out was a hissed fuck as she angled her center to the mirror above her, giving him a perfect view of her absolutely soaked core.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes, yes I can handle it. I promise." She rushed her words out in one run on sentence, out of breath as her chest heaved.

"Good girl, baby. Show me how you touch yourself."

She nodded as she began to rub her clit, her voice shakey as she spoke, "I start like this and I think about everything you said to me that day. When you tell me good job after a prodecure or how you order everyone around or how-"

A tumbled moan falls from her lips, cutting herself off.

"Do you play with these pretty tits?" Jack reached over and gripped the nape of her neck, tugging at the string of her halter top and letting it fall. He pulled it down, her tits spilling out as he tweaked a nipple, kneading it after with his palm.

He thought she squeaked out a soft uh huh with a nod that trailed into a moan as her right hand slipped two fingers into her center. The sound was obscene as she pushed in and out, her head falling back and her chest pushing forward into Jack's hand.

"Jack!" She was getting louder now, the pace of her fingers moving quicker. The tone of her voice filled with unabashed need.

"What else, baby?"

All she could do was babble in response. Jack's hand fell from her nipples to her pussy, giving it a slap before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, "Do you see how pretty your pussy is? What was that you said earlier? That I say everything so slutty? Look who's the slut now."

They both saw the way her pussy contracted around her two fingers at his words. The way her already dripping core somehow managed to get even more wet at the filth he was spilling.

"Oh you like when I am a little mean, don't you?"

She could barely nod, her chest hitting her chin as her breathing became more rapid the closer she inched towards her finish line.

"You wanna come for me?"

"Please." She panted. Jack smirked to himself as he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from her center before she could even think about finishing, and pressed her fingers into his mouth - licking them clean.

Her head lolled against the seat, she groaned his name. A mix of frustration and want as she dazedly stared at him.

"I've waited almost five years to taste you, honey. You can wait five more minutes till we are home, yeah?"

She huffed out an, "I hate you."

"Somehow, I am not convinced." He chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack held her hand gently as he tugged her into his house. She was practically bouncing on her heels behind him. "I'm gonna shower first and then-"

"Like hell you are." She snipped. Now she was pulling him. Through his foyer and straight to his couch where she perched herself on his lap, bracketing his hips with her thighs and grinding down on his bulge that was dying to spring out of his pants.

He pushed her skirt back up her hips and rubbed her upper thighs as she rocked her bare pussy down on him, her hands steadying herself on his neck as she leaned into press her mouth to his.

Jack's chest was heaving, "Baby, I'm all sweaty and gross from TEMS."

"I couldn't care less, Jack. You might be patient enough to wait five years but I sure as hell am not. Please touch me."

"Like this?" His fingers rubbed her clit, her head falling back in relief at him finally touching her where she needed him most.

"God, you were dripping all over your car and now you're soaking my couch? Who's got you so worked up?" She gasped as Jack entered two thick fingers in her, kissing up her neck as he did. Nipping at her jaw line as he pulled her tank top down so he could swirl his mouth around one of her sensitive nipples.

She pulled his shirt off over his head, flashing him a mischevious smirk before, "Dr Harvard from cardiac surgery."

Jack's fingers stopped immediatley. She whined and writhed in his lap at the loss of contact. Jack wrapped his other hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, "I thought you were gonna be good for me?"

"I will, I will. I am." She begged. Jack didn't know what he did in a past life to get her begging like this in his lap but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Atta girl." He cooed, adding a third finger and plunging back into her tight core, "I am gonna ask you again - what's got you so worked up?"

"You, Jack! Your voice and your arms and your curls and these stupid fucking pants."

"Oh my girl likes my uniform, yeah? Is that what had you so bratty today? Want me to fuck you in it?"

"Please." she huffed. Sweat beading at the top of her forehead as she began to rock her hips, riding his fingers.

"Come for me first."

"Yeah, thats it." Jack hissed, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock where his fingers were. That would surely lead to an early curtain call, "That's it. My good girl."

"Fuck, Jack" She let out a shakey laugh as she came down from her orgasm, riding it out on Jack's fingers as she threaded her fingers in his hair.

"The uniform really does it for you, huh?"

She kissed him hard, "You do it for me. The uniform is just a bonus."

Jack readjusted her in his lap, pushing her legs open further over the expanse of his thick thighs. She whined at the stretch, "Come here, baby. you're doing so good for me. Wanna take my time with you."

"You can take your time with me later. I need you to fuck me now."

"Yeah? That needy, huh?"

"Yes, Jack please." She murmured as she undid the belt on his camo pants.

"You're the boss." Jack winked. He may have been her boss at work. She may have liked him bossing her around in bed. But she was the boss in every other sense of the word.

"Funny."

"Glad you think so." Jack hissed as she wrapped her hand around his hard length, preening with pre cum at the tip. She pushed his pants and his boxers down in one go, his erection immediatley slapping up against his stomach.

Jack's head fell back onto the couch as he let out a moan, her fingers rubbing the precum from his tip down his shaft and back up again. She spit into her hand and repeated the same movement. Jack thought he might come right then and there.

"Wanna ride you, please. I'm clean and have an IUD. Need to feel you."

Jack couldn’t even get words out. He was too busy trying not to come from a handjob like a horned up teenager, "Same. Mm clean, too" He managed to get out, eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure wracked his body, "Fuck, baby."

She sunk down on him in an instant, relishing the stretch and sending them both into a fit of whimpered moans. Jack used one hand on her hip to guide her motions, the other rubbing up and down her back, eventually landing in her hair as he tugged her forward into a blistering kiss. Now that he knew what her lips felt like he was never gonna go long without kissing them.

"Fuck!" She rocked down hard on him again, "You feel fucking phenomenal. So tight, So. Perfect." He emphasized his praise with kisses, "Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for me."

He took the hand from her hair and placed it on her clit, rubbing it as she started to rock quicker. He could tell she was close again. He was in danger of spilling over at any second, "You have no business being so good at this. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long baby. Fuck, look at you." Jack brought the hand from her hip up to her mouth, pushing his thumb into her mouth, moaning as she immediatley began to suck on it.

"All these years. Had a feeling you'd get off on praise. Knew you'd wanna be so good for me. Knew you'd be such a good slut just for me, yeah?"

"Yeah, please. Just for you, I promise." Jack didn't know how he had managed to keep himself from finishing with the way she was riding him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, brought herself all the way up and then slowly rocked herself back down, taking all of him and making sure he felt every fucking inch of her velvety walls.

"If you keep doing that I am not gonna last long." He managed to grunt out.

"Then don't. Come in me, please. Want you to fill me up."

Those words alone did it for Jack as he spilled his warm release into her, continuing to rub her clit. "Give me another one baby. I know you can do it. You can do anything. You're fucking brilliant. Your brilliant fucking brain. C'mon, I feel you clenching. Let go. Come on my cock, please."

She tugged hard on his hair, mixing her own release with his as she came. Panting into Jack's mouth as he whispered, "Good girl."

Jack cradled her cheek as she rode out her orgasm on his cock, whispering praise as she did. He swiped two fingers through the mix of their arousals and brought them to her mouth.

Jacks eyes watched, mesmerized, blown out with arousal as she sucked on his fingers, released them with a pop and then, "The second I saw you in that uniform I wanted to drop to my knees in the middle of the hub and suck the soul out of you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her bare chest over his and nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses there as he scratched her back. His laugh vibrated through her, "Jesus Christ - you can't say shit like that when I'm still inside of you."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He eventually gently cleaned her up. Once she agreed to finally get off of him. He had to bribe her with kisses. He didn't mind one bit. He dragged her to the shower which lead to him having to clean her up again. Again, he didn't mind one bit.

He was at the stove now. Donning only a pair of gray sweatpants as he cooked dinner and watched her pad around his kitchen in only his tshirt and some basketball shorts with probably the dopiest smile of all time on his face.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his side. He used his free hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, pressing kisses into her hair. She behaved for a moment until he felt a pair of soft lips pressing kisses across the side of his chest that was accessible to her.

He turned the burner down, dropped the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta on the counter and then grabbed her hips, trapping her against his kitchen island, "You're going to make me burn dinner."

She put her finger to her lips, pretended to think about what he had to say and then with a quick kiss to his lips she muttered against them, "Mmmm, don't care!"

He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone and put it in her hands, "Put on music. It is already hooked up to the speaker system,"

He picked her up by her hips, causing the cutest squeal he had ever heard, and plopped her down onto his counter. He rubbed a gentle thumb against her cheek, the other against her hip as he stood between her legs, "You need to eat, baby."

She grumbled a fine. She knew when it came to taking care of her - Jack would not budge. She scrolled through his Spotify - she wanted to find something both of them would like but first she was gonna stalk what he already listened to. Of course her curiosity was gonna get the better of her.

A quiet gasp fell from her lips - causing Jack to look over from his spot in front of the stove, "What?"

She turned his phone screen to him, already spotting the flush creeping up on his chest. He recognized the playlist almost immediatley. Made up of all the songs she had played while he drove her home these past couple years - simply titled with her name. There was hundreds of songs on there.

"Did you make this? Do you listen to it?"

Jack figured now was as good a time as ever to lay out all his cards onto the table. Even if he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look up from the dinner he was cooking. He spoke fast, "Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I replaced the police scanner with it?"

"Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I am so beyond in love with you?"

Jack's head snapped up from the dinner. He'd never moved so quickly in his life. He was back to standing in between her legs, holding her face - just staring at her with a huge smile. The same expression was being mirrored back to him. It made his heart soar.

"You do? I mean, you are?"

She laughed, "Where have you been the past couple years?”

"Waiting for you to realize that I've been hopelessly in love with you."

"Are we the dumbest smart people alive?"

"Potentially. But doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Only you. Only us." He kissed her now. Slotted his lips over hers like the perfect final piece of a puzzle. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of her fingers finding their home in his curls. He couldn't believe that this was real. That she loved him. He already knew that the astronomical amount he loved her was very, very real.

"God, I love you." Kiss, "So much." Another kiss.

"Say it again." Jack whispered against her lips, smiling like a little kid.

"I love you, Jack."

He pulled back just a bit. Just enough to murmur how much he loved her and get a good look at her face, "Remember when you were so jealous earlier?" He teased.

"I was not-" She began to deny it but Jack leveled a look at her, "I hate you!" she giggled, swatting at his shoulder that was not bandaged up.

"Somehow, I am not convinced." He preened.

"Mmmm, good." She was kissing him again. He could do this forever. He will do this forever - if he has anything to say about it.

The ding of her phone was what made him pull away. But not by much. They both looked at the cause of the disruption, Jack planting kisses up and down her neck, jaw, and chest as she unlocked her phone.

From Robby: Doing scheduling. Can you pick up a shift next Tuesday night please? Shen needs off. You'll get to see your doctor sexy🤪

They both let out a cackle. Jack took her phone and took a selfie with his middle finger up. He sent it to Robby along with a message that read, 'Stop texting my girlfriend.'

"Girlfriend, huh?"

Jack rubbed up and down her thighs as he spoke, "Figured you might think I was insane if I said wife after just one day but trust me that is part of the plan."

"What else is in the plan?”

“Maybe a kid or two? Or four? Or zero. Really as many or as little as you’ll give me. I’m just happy to be here.”

She chuckled, kissed him while lovingly stroking his face, “I like that plan.”

“Yeah?” He asked, brimming with hope.

She nodded as her phone went off again, a message from Robby flashing across the screen. Jack kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips before reading it out loud - sending them both into a fit of giggles.

From Robby: You owe me one, man.

Boy, did he.

[ematin]

Want Ya

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Resident!Reader

Summary: After months of shameless flirting and undeniable chemistry in the ED, Jack finally stops fighting the pull between you — and gives in to the feelings he’s spent so long trying to bury, admitting just how badly he wants you.

Tags: Fluffy idiots in love, Mutual pining between colleagues, Workplace romance, Endless banter, Flirting, Kissing.

Word count: 5.6k.

The night shift started the way it always did, with controlled chaos. Monitors chimed in uneven rhythms, stretchers rolled through the ambulance bay doors, and somewhere down the hall someone was already asking where Dr. Abbot was.

You found him exactly where you expected. He was standing in front of the patient board, coffee cup in one hand, tablet in the other, with his reading glasses perched low on his nose.

“You know,” you said, walking up beside him, “those make you look old.”

Without looking away from the board, he replied, “And you’re late.”

You checked the clock. “I’m three minutes early.”

“You were supposed to relieve McKay seven minutes ago.”

“Are you counting?”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked toward you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “…Yeah.”

You grinned. “That’s kind of cute.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“No?”

“No.” He took a sip of coffee, finally looking you over. “Did you eat yet?”

You blinked. “Good evening to you too.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“I had a coffee.”

“Caffeine isn’t a meal.”

“It’s close enough.”

Jack sighed through his nose. “You’ve got about twenty minutes before it’ll start getting busy in here. Go eat something.”

“Are you giving me orders now?”

“I’m your attending.”

“Only in here,” you said, gesturing around the department.

He looked at you for a beat, then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Go.”

“Bossy.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You held his gaze for another second before turning away. “You like me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll page you if I change my mind.”

⸻

An hour later, the ambulance bay exploded, just like Jack had predicted.

“Incoming trauma! Male, twenty-three, high-speed MVC. Hypotensive en route.”

The doors burst open, and everything else disappeared.

“Trauma Two,” Jack barked. “Move.”

You were already moving. The room filled in seconds with doctors, nurses, and trauma surgery on standby.

Jack snapped on a pair of gloves. “You with me?”

“Always.”

He didn’t even look to see if you were ready. He knew you were. “Airway?”

“Secure.”

“Pressure?”

“Eighty systolic.”

“FAST-exam?”

“Negative.”

“Hang the second unit.”

“Already running.”

Every order was followed before he finished saying it. Every instrument he reached for was already in your hand. You worked perfectly in tandem with barely any verbal communication. At some point your shoulder slammed into his as you switched sides of the bed. Neither of you apologized. There wasn’t time.

Then, the patient’s pressure tanked.

“He’s crashing.”

“I know.”

“No pulse.”

“Start compressions.”

The room blurred into muscle memory. Minutes stretched. Then, time stopped. A heavy silence settled over the trauma bay in the worst way. Jack looked at the clock. Nobody spoke while he called it. Not until the family liaison quietly asked for the time.

⸻

The room had slowly emptied. You stood at the sink, scrubbing blood from your hands harder than necessary. The water was almost too hot.

“You’ll take your skin off.” Jack’s voice was quieter now.

You didn’t look up. “I missed something.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“I should’ve caught the bleed sooner.”

Jack stepped beside you, washing his own hands. “You did catch it. It was a hard one. ”

“It wasn’t enough to save him.”

“No.” His honesty made you finally look at him. “It wasn’t.” He dried his hands. “But that doesn’t mean you missed it.”

You hated when he did that—refused to sugarcoat anything. Somehow, it always made you feel better anyway.

“You okay?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I will be.”

He studied you for a second too long, then reached over without thinking. His thumb brushed across your cheek.

“What—”

“You had blood on you.” His hand dropped immediately.

“Oh.” You touched the spot yourself.

Neither of you moved. For one suspended second, the noise of the department disappeared.

Then, someone called Jack’s name from the hallway.

He cleared his throat. “I need you to finish the chart.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And eat something.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You almost had a nice moment.”

He huffed a laugh. “Don’t push it.”

You watched him leave, trying very hard not to think about the warmth of his thumb against your skin. Over at The Hub across the corridor, Dana, who was working a double, watched the entire exchange.

She caught your eye and raised one eyebrow. You immediately looked away.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered.

“I didn’t say anything!” she exclaimed, her accent thick as usual.

“You didn’t have to.”

She smirked. “You two are getting worse.”

“We’re coworkers.”

“Mhm.”

“He’s my attending.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you done?”

She picked up a chart. “When one of you finally kisses the other, I expect flowers for putting up with this for ages.”

You scoffed. “As if.”

On the other side of The Hub, Jack was observing the patient board again. He looked away for the briefest moment, and his eyes met yours. He smiled. Small. Barely there. It was enough to make your stomach tighten. You smiled back before you could stop yourself.

Dana groaned loud enough for both of you to hear. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

Neither of you acknowledged her. Neither of you stopped looking.

You walked over to him with the intent of joining him on his next case. You were both staring at the board when another patient popped up.

“Central Eight,” he said without looking at you.

You glanced over his shoulder. “Abdominal pain?”

“Seventy-two-year-old. Spiked a fever in triage.”

“You always give me the fun ones.”

“You always steal the fun ones.”

“I learned from the best.”

He snorted. “Doubtful.”

You bumped his shoulder as you passed. “That’s almost a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

⸻

Mrs. Alvarez smiled weakly when the two of you walked into the room.

“Good evening,” you said, pulling the curtain closed. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N, and this is—”

Jack shot you a look.

You smiled innocently. “…my attending.”

Mrs. Alvarez laughed. “So you’re the important one?”

Jack sighed. “Unfortunately.”

You finished taking the history while Jack listened, occasionally jumping in with a question you’d missed. By now, the rhythm between you was automatic. He knew when to let you lead, and you knew exactly when he wanted more information without him having to ask.

By the time you stepped back into the hallway, he’d started putting orders in.

“CT, labs, lactate,” he said.

“Already did that.”

He stopped typing. “You did?”

“I was standing next to you. I’m good at multitasking.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You look surprised.”

“I am impressed.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“I'm pretty sure that was an actual compliment.”

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

“You make a terrible liar,” you said smugly, nudging him lightly in the side with your elbow.

“I make an excellent attending.”

“You can be both.”

Before he could answer, Dana waved the two of you over. “Abbot, EMS just called. Two minutes out.”

“What’ve we got?”

“Possible overdose. Found unresponsive. Given Narcan on scene with no effect.”

Jack nodded once before looking at you. “You with me?”

You looked back at him like he’d asked something ridiculous. “Since when am I not?”

For the briefest moment, something softened in his expression. Then it was gone. “Let’s go.”

⸻

The patient rolled in, still unconscious and with blue lips. The room shifted instantly into motion.

“One, two, three.”

Transfer.

“Bagging?”

“Respiratory’s got it.”

“IV access?”

“Working on a second line.”

Jack moved around the bed with practiced calm, calling out orders as the team responded around him. You were half a step behind, anticipating what he needed before he said it.

“I have the naloxone,” you said, already connecting the syringe to the patient’s IV.

“Push it.”

A beat. Nothing. Another. Then the patient jerked, coughing violently. The room collectively exhaled.

“Welcome back,” you muttered under your breath.

Jack heard you anyway. “Professional.”

“I am.”

“You absolutely are not.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

“You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“I saw it.”

“You imagined it.”

“You smile at my jokes all the time.”

“I tolerate them.”

“That’s not what your face says.”

He looked at you for a long second. “My face doesn’t say anything.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The monitor chimed as the patient’s oxygen saturation climbed. Jack turned back toward the bed, but you caught the ghost of a smile before it disappeared. You counted that as a win.

⸻

The next couple of hours refused to slow down. A toddler with a febrile seizure. A college kid who’d managed to dislocate his shoulder trying to impress his friends. A chest pain that turned out to be anxiety. The board filled. Emptied. Filled again.

By two in the morning, the department had settled into that strange rhythm only the night shift understood—everyone exhausted, nobody slowing down.

You were finishing a note when Jack’s voice carried across the station. “I need another set of eyes.”

You rolled your chair over. “What’ve you got?”

He turned the monitor toward you. “EKG.”

You studied it. “…No STEMI.”

“No. But something’s off.”

You leaned closer. “So that’s why you called me.”

“I called you because you’re good.” His words came so matter-of-factly that they almost slipped past you. Almost.

You looked up at him. “Wow, Abbot, again with the compliments?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“There he is.”

“Who?”

“The grumpy old man.”

“I’m fifty.”

“I didn’t say ancient.”

“You implied it.”

“I absolutely did.”

He shook his head, reaching for his coffee. Empty. He frowned into the cup like it had personally offended him.

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when you’re about to steal mine.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I was considering it.”

You slid your coffee across the desk before you could think better of it. He looked from the cup to you.

“I’ve had half,” you stated.

“I know.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I’ll survive.”

Jack hesitated for just a second. Then he picked it up and took a sip.

“You know,” he said, setting it back down, “that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever done.”

You scoffed. “I covered your shift last month.”

“That benefited you too.”

“It did not.”

“You got overtime.”

“I got yelled at by Robby.”

“He told me.”

“And you didn’t even thank me.”

“I bought you breakfast.”

“You bought everyone breakfast.”

“I bought you an egg sandwich without mayonaise.”

“…You remembered my go-to order?”

“I remember everything.”

The sentence hung there a second longer than either of you intended. Jack looked back at the computer.

“Abbot!” Dana poked her head over the monitors. “EMS. Three minutes.”

Jack stood immediately. “What’ve we got this time?”

“Industrial accident. Crush injury.”

His expression changed in an instant. Focused. Calm. Professional. “Trauma Two.”

⸻

The patient came in awake. That almost made it worse. He was young, early thirties, gripping your wrist hard enough to hurt while you cut away the shredded sleeve of his work jacket.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“I know,” you said evenly. “Stay with me.”

Jack arrived at the bedside a short while later. “Walk me through it.”

You rattled off the vitals while the nurses worked. He listened without interrupting.

“Compartment syndrome?” you asked quietly.

“Maybe. Call ortho.”

You nodded once. “They’re already on their way.”

Everything moved fast after that. X-rays, pain control, consults, phone calls. The room gradually emptied as the patient was stabilized for transfer upstairs. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Jack was stripping off his gloves. “You called ortho before I asked.”

“You were going to.”

“I was.” He looked at you for a second. “You’ve started anticipating me.”

“I’ve worked with you long enough.”

“It’s getting annoying.”

“You mean helpful.”

“I mean annoying.”

You laughed. “I’ll try to be less competent.”

“Don’t.” The answer came too quickly. Too honestly.

Jack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean…”

“I know what you meant.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I think I do.”

Before either of you could say another word, Dana leaned through the doorway. “There you are. I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”

You both looked at her simultaneously. “What happened?” Jack asked.

She folded her arms. “The vending machine ate my five dollars.”

You blinked. “…That’s why you interrupted us?”

“I need an attending,” she said, winking at you.

Jack stared at her. “For the vending machine?”

“It’s a crime scene.”

You giggled. 'Way to cockblock, Dana,' you thought to yourself.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. “I went to medical school for this.”

Dana nodded toward Jack and pointed at you. “See? She laughs at your jokes.”

“I didn’t make a joke.”

“You exist. Close enough.” As she walked away, she tossed one last look over her shoulder. “And if you two are done making heart eyes at each other, Central Nine’s waiting.”

You and Jack answered at exactly the same time. “We’re not.”

Dana just laughed and kept walking.

Jack sighed. “This department is unbearable.”

“You could transfer.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re the problem.”

You stepped backward toward Central Nine, walking in reverse. “And yet you keep asking for me.”

His eyes followed you all the way down the hall.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “I do.”

You didn’t hear him. He was almost glad you hadn’t.

⸻

By four in the morning, the waiting room had thinned. Not emptied—that never happened. But for the first time all night, there wasn’t an ambulance backing into the bay or a trauma paging overhead. The lull lasted exactly eleven minutes.

Jack was halfway through signing off on an admission when you dropped into the chair beside him.

“Tell me you’ve got something interesting.”

He didn’t look up from the chart. “You volunteering?”

“Depends. For what?”

He swiped the screen of his tablet. “South Twenty.”

“What is it?”

“Foreign body.”

You groaned. “No.”

“Yep,” he said, popping the final p.

“Please tell me it’s a kid who swallowed a Lego.”

“You wish.”

You closed your eyes. “…It’s not.”

“It is not.”

“You can go by yourself.”

“I’m the attending.”

“So attend.”

He finally looked over at you, fighting a smile. “You scared?”

“I’m tired. It’s four in the morning.”

He stood, grabbing the chart from the printer. “C’mon.”

You stayed exactly where you were.

Jack stopped after a few steps. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “You coming?”

“You can’t make me.”

“I can.”

“You literally can’t.”

“I’ll assign you to hallway admits for the rest of the shift.”

Your eyes narrowed. “…You fight dirty.”

“I learned from you.”

You pushed yourself out of the chair with an exaggerated sigh. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You sound awfully confident.”

“I am.”

⸻

By the time the patient had been evaluated, reassured, and referred to the appropriate service, nearly half an hour had disappeared. You stripped off your gloves and stepped back into the hallway.

“I don’t get paid enough.”

Jack fell into step beside you. “You got to tell someone not to put random objects where they don’t belong.”

“I’d rather not have that conversation ever again.”

He laughed. A real laugh—the kind that made the fine lines around his eyes crinkle in that way you adored. It was rare enough to make you glance over at him.

“What?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You laughed.”

“And?”

“So you usually don't.”

“I laugh.”

“You smirk.”

“I laugh.”

“You exhale slightly harder through your nose.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.”

He looked genuinely offended. “I laugh.”

“Do it again.”

“I’m not performing.”

“Coward.”

“You done?”

“Never.”

The Hub came into view again. Jack had stopped by the break room to pick up two fresh coffees while he waited for you to finish up with the patient. He held one out.

You blinked. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know.”

“You got this for me?”

“I got two.”

“You hate this roast.”

“I do.”

“So…”

“So take the coffee.”

You accepted it, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. The touch lasted just long enough to notice, but you didn’t want to pull away.

Then, a monitor alarm started blaring in Central Eleven, breaking the spell.

“I’ll get it,” you said, chugging the lukewarm coffee as you went.

Jack nodded. “I know you will.”

⸻

Central Eleven turned out to be nothing more than a loose lead. When you stepped back into the hallway, Jack was standing at The Hub, elbows braced against the counter, tablet in front of him as he scrolled through lab results.

You walked up beside him and nudged his arm with your shoulder. “Crisis averted.”

“The ECG lead survived?”

“Barely.”

“I’ll notify its family.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That was terrible.”

“You laughed.”

“I pitied you.”

“Sure.”

He was still smiling when he pulled up the next chart. Before he could read it, you reached over and turned the tablet your way. You quickly skimmed through the information while Jack still held onto his end of the device.

“How come you’re always stealing my patients?” Jack asked, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

“I read the chart first.”

“I was literally holding it.”

“Possession isn’t ownership.”

“You making legal arguments now?”

“I’m making winning arguments.”

For a second, neither of you let go of the tablet. It was stupid. Childish. Completely unnecessary.

Jack looked down at your hand over his, then back up at you. “You planning on letting go?”

“Are you planning on asking nicely?”

“I’ve never asked you nicely.”

“I’ve noticed.”

His head tilted just slightly. “You like pushing my buttons.”

“You have so many.”

“And one day that’s going to get you in trouble.”

You smiled. “With you?”

His gaze held yours. “Yeah.”

The answer came low and easy. Not a joke, but not quite a warning either. Before either of you could decide what it meant, the overhead speaker crackled: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”

He let go of the tablet first.

“Saved by the pager,” you said.

Jack didn’t answer. He just looked at you for one lingering beat before turning toward the ambulance doors. “You coming?”

You fell into step beside him. “Always.”

The doors opened before either of you reached them. “Incoming.”

Jack’s expression changed immediately. The teasing disappeared. That was the thing about him—no matter how much you pushed him, no matter how much you got under his skin—the second someone needed him, he was exactly who he was supposed to be. Calm. Focused. Unshakable.

“Give me your report.”

The paramedic rattled off the details. Forty-five-year-old female. Found unconscious at home. Unknown downtime. Family on scene. You moved into position beside Jack without thinking. The two of you had done this enough times that there was no hesitation. You just knew where you belonged.

“On my count.”

The stretcher moved.

“One, two, three.”

The room filled. Orders, numbers, questions, hands moving, voices overlapping. Jack stood at the center of it all, directing the chaos into something controlled. You watched him do what he did best, impressed as always by his skill.

“Pressure’s coming up.”

“Good.”

“Glucose is low.”

“Treat it.”

“Getting a response.”

The patient’s eyes fluttered. The room exhaled. Not relief exactly—not yet—but enough to keep going.

⸻

When the patient was finally admitted, you found yourself standing at the sink again. Same place as earlier. Same fluorescent lights. Same exhaustion settling into your bones.

“You have a favorite spot in this department or something?” Jack’s voice made you look over.

“You just keep finding me here.”

“Because you keep coming here.”

“Maybe I like the sink.”

“Interesting choice.”

“Are you judging my taste?”

“I am.”

“Rude.” You smiled despite yourself.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The shift was catching up with both of you now. The adrenaline had worn thin, the jokes were quieter, and the space between you felt different.

Jack leaned against the counter beside you. “You were good tonight.”

You looked over. “That’s thrice.”

“What?”

“You’ve complimented me three times this shift.”

“I compliment people.”

“Not like that.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Like what?”

“Like you mean it.”

A beat. Then another.

“I do mean it.”

The answer was simple. No teasing, no deflection. Somehow, that was worse.

You looked away first. “You’re dangerous when you’re tired.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You get honest.”

“I’m always honest.”

“No.” You glanced back at him. “You’re careful.”

Something in his expression shifted, because he knew you were right. Jack Abbot was careful. With patients, with decisions, with people. Especially with people.

“Maybe careful is a good thing.”

“Sometimes.”

“And sometimes?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes it just means you spend a lot of time not saying things.”

The silence after that was louder than the department. A monitor beeped down the hall. A nurse laughed somewhere near triage. The world kept moving.

Jack looked at you. “You always this difficult?”

“Only with you.”

There it was. The thing neither of you acknowledged. The line—the one you kept walking toward and then stepping back from.

His mouth twitched. “That’s what I thought.”

“You think you know everything.”

“I know enough.”

“Do you?”

His gaze stayed on yours. Long enough that your heartbeat picked up. Long enough that you remembered exactly how close you were standing.

Then, someone called his name. Again. Always again.

Jack looked toward the sound, then back at you. “I have work to do”

“You always have work to do.”

“That’s because I work here.”

“Convenient excuse.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Central Six.”

“Are you assigning me?”

“Yes.”

“Bossy.”

“Yes.”

“Enjoying it?”

“Maybe.”

The honesty surprised both of you. His smile faded slightly, not because he regretted it, but because he realized you noticed.

“Careful, Abbot.”

His eyebrows lifted. “With what?”

“Getting honest.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback. You walked away before he could find one. And you hated how much you wanted him to.

⸻

Five-thirty came around without either of you noticing. That was the dangerous part of the night shift. Time stopped meaning anything. There was only the next patient, the next call, the next thing that needed doing—until suddenly there was a clock on the wall telling you the sun was going to come up soon.

You were finishing a chart when Jack appeared beside the workstation.

“You’re still alive.”

You looked up. “So are you.”

“I’m the attending.”

“You say that like it’s a personality trait.”

“It might be.”

You smiled. “That’s actually concerning.”

He ignored that. “How many charts left?”

You glanced at your screen. “Three.”

“Three?”

“Don’t sound so offended.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“So have you.”

“I finished mine twenty minutes ago.”

“Congratulations.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No one thanked you.”

“They should.”

“For doing your job?”

“For doing it efficiently.”

“You mean quickly.”

“I mean efficiently.” Jack shook his head. “You make everything more complicated.”

“And yet you keep talking to me.”

The words slipped out easily. Too easily. Neither of you laughed this time. Jack looked at you for a second.

Then, the familiar voice of the overhead speaker filled the space once more: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”

He looked toward the doors, then back at you. “You’re enjoying this.”

“What?”

“Winning arguments.”

“You make it very easy.”

“One day that’s going to backfire.”

You leaned back in your chair. “Is that a threat?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

His eyes held yours. “No.”

Something about that answer made you forget your next smart remark. Thankfully, the ambulance bay doors opened before you had to find one.

⸻

The final case of the night was never really final. There was always something standing between you and going home.

This time, it was a woman in her sixties with shortness of breath, a husband who wouldn’t stop apologizing for bringing her in, and a room full of worry. You took the lead on questions while Jack examined her. Between the two of you, the diagnosis came together piece by piece. Medication history, recent symptoms—you caught the detail everyone else had missed.

Jack saw you catch it. He didn’t interrupt or step in. He just let you work. That was one of the things about him that you appreciated. He never needed to prove he was the smartest person in the room.

After the patient was stabilized and admitted, the room finally emptied.

You exhaled. “Done.”

Jack checked the chart one last time. “For now.”

“You ruin everything.”

“It’s the ED. ‘Done’ isn’t really a thing.”

“Let me have my moment.”

“Fine.” He stepped back.

“Done.” You looked at him.

“That sounded painful.”

“It was.” You laughed.

And there it was again. That look—the one where he forgot to look away. The one where the attending disappeared for a second and he was just Jack. Tired. Human. Standing too close.

“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re not as intimidating as everyone thinks.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“It’s an observation.”

“Even worse.”

“You have a reputation.”

“I know.”

“And then you do things like buy people breakfast and remember their coffee order.”

He shrugged. “People work better when they’re well taken care of.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

He knew. You could tell by the way his expression changed, the way he looked down briefly before looking back at you.

“You should go home,” he said.

“You’re avoiding the conversation.”

“I’m telling you to get some sleep.”

“You should too.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

The silence stretched. Jack looked away first. It was a small victory, but you took it.

“You do that a lot,” you noted.

“What?”

“Change the subject when something gets too close.”

His jaw tightened. “You do that too.”

That caught you off guard. “What?”

“Make a joke,” he said, pausing. “Make it easier.”

You didn’t have an answer. Because he was right. He always was.

Dana walked past the doorway. “Either of you planning on leaving today?”

You both stepped back at the same time. The moment broke.

“Eventually,” Jack said.

Dana looked between you. “Sure.” She walked away.

You grabbed the last chart from the counter. “People are annoying.”

“People notice things.”

“People should mind their own business.”

“Maybe.”

You looked at him. “Maybe?”

“Maybe they’re not wrong.”

Your heartbeat kicked. But before you could answer, Mateo called out from nearby, “Abbot, your sign-outs.”

He sighed. “Saved by paperwork.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I sound tired.”

“Liar.”

He looked at you with a tired smile on his face. A real one. “Finish your charts.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“And eat before you leave.”

“There he is.”

“What?”

“Bossy.”

“You’re welcome.”

You watched him walk away. For the first time all night, you didn’t make a joke. The truth was becoming harder to ignore. The shift was almost over—and somehow that felt more dangerous than anything that had happened inside the ED.

⸻

Six-fifteen. It was the hour where everyone started moving slower. Not because they were lazy, but because hours of alarms, trauma calls, admissions, and impossible decisions had finally caught up with them.

The ED was still alive, but the edges had softened. The waiting room had emptied, and the board was finally clear—a miracle.

You finished your last note and leaned back in your chair. “Tell me we’re almost done.”

Jack was at the workstation beside you, signing off charts. “We’re almost done.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That was suspiciously easy.”

“It was a simple question.”

“You never answer simple questions simply.”

“I just did.”

“Exactly.”

He glanced over. “You always this paranoid?”

“Only when you’re involved.”

A small smile pulled at his mouth before he caught it.

“There.”

“What?”

“You smiled.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Jack.”

His eyes flicked up. Not doctor. Not Abbot. Jack. It was a tiny reaction—barely anything—but you noticed. And judging by the way he looked away, he noticed too.

“Your chart is missing a medication list,” he said.

You stared at him. “That’s your move?”

“My move?”

“Changing the subject.”

“I’m doing my job.”

“You’re such a coward.”

That got a quiet laugh out of him. “Careful.”

“Why?”

“Because one day you’ll say something you can’t take back.”

You leaned back in your chair. “Maybe I already have.”

The words landed heavier than you expected. Jack looked at you. Really looked. Then, the printer started up—loud, obnoxious, and perfectly timed. You both looked away.

“Saved by office equipment,” you muttered.

“Apparently.”

⸻

By seven-fifteen, the last sign-outs were done. You grabbed your bag from the locker room while Jack finished his handoff to Robby in front of the board. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave. That should have been the first sign.

“You leaving?” Jack asked.

“Eventually.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because you avoid answering.”

“You’re good at noticing things.”

A pause.

“Yeah,” he said.

The quiet honesty of it made you look over. Jack seemed to realize what he’d said. Neither of you moved.

He looked toward the hallway. “You should go home.”

“So should you.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

For once, neither of you laughed. The supply room door stood open down the hall—empty, quiet, and private. Jack noticed you looking. You nodded toward the door and began walking without turning around to check if he was following.

You knew he was.

The door clicked shut behind the two of you.

“You know this is the part where we’re supposed to make the smart decision,” Jack murmured.

You stepped closer. “Are we?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m trying to be.”

“Trying?”

A tired laugh escaped him. “You really don’t make anything easy.”

“You like that.”

His eyes met yours. “I do.”

The answer was immediate. Too immediate. The silence afterward was different—not awkward, just honest.

Jack shook his head. “You know how long I’ve been trying not to?”

You tilted your head. “Not to what?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me say it.”

You held his gaze. “Maybe I want you to.”

That was it. Not some dramatic moment, nor some perfect confession. Just the last bit of restraint finally wearing thin.

Jack looked away for a second, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“Yeah.” He paused, looking back at you. “Yeah, I am.”

The supply room light hummed. The hospital carried on around you, but for once, nobody needed anything from him. No patients, no decisions. Just this.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he asked.

“Noticed what?”

“Every excuse you find to come by the board. Every argument you drag out longer than it needs to be. Every time you look at me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your mouth curved. “Maybe I do.”

His eyes dropped briefly before finding yours again. “That’s the problem.”

“Why?”

When he answered, there was no teasing left in his voice. “‘Cause I want ya.”

The words were quiet, but they were everything he’d been refusing to say.

You didn’t move.

Jack exhaled, almost like admitting it had taken something out of him. “I want ya, and I’ve been trying not to.”

The space between you felt smaller.

“Because you’re my coworker,” he added after a pause. “Because I’m supposed to know better.”

You looked at him. “And now?”

His eyes stayed on yours. “Now I think I’m tired of pretending.”

Neither of you said anything after that. You didn’t need to. The kiss happened because there was simply nothing left to argue about. Months of almost. Months of looks across the department. Months of pretending the pull between you was just banter. Gone.

His lips were soft against yours, and you couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped you. Finally.

Your hand came up to tangle in the graying curls at the nape of his neck. His hands were steady at your waist, keeping you grounded. For a moment, neither of you moved, like you were both waiting for the other person to realize what was happening and pull away.

Neither of you did.

The kiss deepened slowly, carefully. Not rushed, and not uncertain, exactly. More like both of you were trying to memorize something you had spent too long pretending you didn’t want.

One of his hands left your waist, coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed along your cheek with a gentleness that almost undid you more than the kiss itself. Jack was always steady, always controlled. But here, with you, there was something softer. Something honest.

You leaned into his touch without thinking. His forehead rested briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe. His eyes stayed closed for a second longer than they needed to.

For a moment, the ED disappeared. The noise, the exhaustion, the rules you had both been so careful about—all of it vanished.

When you finally pulled back, Jack stayed close. He took a quiet breath, a small, disbelieving smile touching his lips. “This is still a bad idea.”

You smiled. “Probably.”

“You’re agreeing?”

“Absolutely.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”

“It should be.”

“Why?”

“Because it means you were right.”

He shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still here.”

This time, he didn’t argue.

The sound of footsteps outside the door reminded both of you where you were. Reality came back. The hospital was still there, and the shift was still ending. Jack stepped back first, because of course he did. Control. Always control.

But the look in his eyes said it wasn't as easy as it used to be. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice a quiet invitation.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”

“No.” He paused. “A promise.”

You smiled. “Careful, Abbot.”

“With what?”

“Getting honest.”

He looked at you. “Too late.”

Part two: Coming soon…

[groovyangelkisses]

a song for jackie — wrapped around your finger by the police

author's note— i've been meaning to start working on some jack fanfic based on the playlist i've created for him; this is the first installment! i'd love to continue this series, so i hope you all like it! xo, your cherry🍒

content warning— nsfw, 1.9k words, fem!reader, age gap (reader is 25+), male masturbation, penetration (f!receiving), slightly jealous!jack, dom!jack but reader has all the control, yearning jack abbot <3

you don't remember exactly how it started; exactly when the friendly glances between coworkers bloomed into something more. it almost feels like you've always been here with him, gazing into the older mans eyes with your legs slowly spreading as his head hangs. like when the universe was made, the divine image of your tucked chin and dark eyes were apart of the natural make up. if you asked jack, he'd say so.

your shift began like many of them did- with a bang and clatter; 3 car pileup, 2 casualties. the "pitt word of the day" as ascribed by shen mid-sip of his caramel latte, was "endurance." and oh, was he right.

jack's been eyeing you down since you walked in, swaying hips and bright eyes ready to work. his hair was still wet from the shower, finally setting into the shape his waxy fingers styled it in 2 hours prior. to put it plainly, jack looked absolutely exquisite. tight black scrub top and military cargos, he was the picture of an aged, all american boy. looking at jack was even better than talking to him, sometimes. his clipped answers and deep swallows often got mistaken for disinterest, but he could never be mistaken for anything other than handsome.

he was handsome, by all definitions. handsome, and desperately infatuated with you.

his ring feels heavier on his hand these days, tighter as if it suddenly reappeared after years of being tucked under blue gloves and pushed to the base of his fingers. jack's eyes grew heavier too; what used to be looks of exhaustion have morphed into... essentially... hunger. green eyes hung low as he studied you, waltzing into the ED with an excitement that used to make him ill. he can remember the first day you walked in; fresh out of school and eager to get started; the model, budding , young ingénue.

how much things have changed.

now, jack finds himself perpetually stuck; caught in between scylla and charybdis; a rock and a hard place. if he acts on his desires, pushes your pretty hair out of your eyes and tells you how good your perfume smells, he's jeopardizing the work climate and his own mental wellbeing.

but if he simmers, and lets you talk to crus for even 15 more seconds, he's not responsible for the vile attitude that will slip out and taint your pretty face.

"crus, you're needed in 2. dislocation." jack tuts, swallowing his tongue and shifting his stance. your eyes find his, crus nodding and walking away with a wink.

"looks like you're with me, kid. buck up, i'm not goin' easy on you," he jokes, grabbing the chart and walking awayv with the intrinsic knowledge that you'll follow. and you do, scurrying behind him and desperately trying to keep up with his long strides.

for a man with phantom pains perpetually creasing his face and neck, he's rather fast.

"we've got a busy night tonight, so i'm gonna need you close, yeah? be snappy, make good decisions and you'll do fine, just like you always do. got it?" "yes, yes okay." "good, alright" he agrees, handing you the chart with a warm touch to your arm. he opens the trauma door for you, always ladies first, and his hand flexes with the hot vibrations of your skin. pinky to thumb, ring to thumb, middle to thumb, pointer to thumb, tight fist, go.

and you move flawlessly throughout the room, it's a grace that only the most empathetic people can conjure. a presence demanding and calming, all at once.

he lets you take the lead, always to your right, always. the smell of your vanilla perfume permeates the air around him, a balm to the antiseptic tinge that always lingers in a hospital room and on his scrubs. jack's tongue peeks out to wet his lips and his throat feels dry when he catches a glimpse of the oil behind your ear, slipping to your pulse point. looking at the soft skin of your neck, he almost squints to try and find a spot that he can pray no one's touched before.

no time to linger or stew, because your voice, muffled by a (now) wailing patient brings him back, "jack, i need you!"

he springs into action, a crescendo of perfect movement and precision. it's a perfect pair, the axel you both move on grinding and weaving with the energy of the room. one in the same, equally balanced by your differences.

your hair is sweaty once you leave the crowded trauma room, chest heaving as you come down from the adrenaline. behind you, jack stares at the pull of scrubs across your shoulders.

"jack, i need you!" over and over and over. a gentle touch to the small of your back as he walks past you, "did so good. proud of you." muttered into the small pocket of air circling between you two.

his hand feels hot on your back, a heavy, guiding presence that you know you'd let take you anywhere, "couldn't have done it without you jack," your eyes flutter as you take him in. a bead of sweat on his hair line and a warm flush on his cheeks, his freckles and sunspots glisten under the fluorescent lighting.

to onlookers, it's nauseatingly adoring; the older man swaying left in instability and your hips immediately cocking in the that direction. always in each other's orbit, somehow. "i wouldn't lead you anywhere you couldn't go, sweetheart."

a sly smile envelopes his face, aged skin dimpling with affection as you mirror him. tongue against your bottom row of teeth, jack looks down his nose at the imperceptible movement of your bottom lip, stretching from the press of the wet muscle.

one more deep breath and he's walking away, gaze lingering on your form for as long as he can before he walks down the hallway. giggling to yourself, you shake your head and head to the charting desks, sitting down with a tired plop.

"he has you wrapped around his finger," ellis smiles, taking out one of her airpods to tease you, "that old man is walking you like a dog" she laughs. a wide smile and faux gasp, you turn to your coworker, "that is not true parker!"

"that's not true parker!" she mocks, all in loving jest before turning back to her own charts. it doesn't take long for shen to saddle up to your side, biting at the orange straw of his nightly coffee and asking, "where's your other half, giggles?" your shoulders drop as you look at the ceiling, finding the cracks of a government-run facility quite interesting as ellis pulls her lips in and tilts her head against her shoulder in suppression.

to your friends, your dearest coworkers, you and jack are peas in a pod, fire and ice, sweet and sour, and all of the other 3rd grade level comparisons they could mention at your last night-shift happy hour. not platonic, not yet romantic, but a secret, third type of yearning that seems divinely placed.

when the breath of life was put into jack abbot, the lingering whispers of "where you go, i go" were solidified. and some 25 years later, when that same ghost of life created you, the echoing response of "when you find me, you'll know" called back.

jack has been practicing "endurance" all night. enduring your friendly smiles and understanding nods. enduring your posture flexing straight when he comes around, eager to please. enduring your teasing and squinting eyes that seem to see right through his paternal facade, and lead him directly to right now.

with your legs spread on his bed, knees slowly moving to show him the center of your love. cotton panties schlacked to your core with wet warmth, clit gently rubbing against the fabric. jack's chest heaves with want, his hands flex again. pinky to thumb, ring to thumb, a slow rub of his middle against the calloused pad of his thumb. his wrist cracks with the twirling grip he has on his cock.

"endurance" that even shen could've hardly predicted.

manicured toes rub up his thigh, his hairy knee pressing into the soft green linen of his bed sheets. the second he got you through the doors, he was on you. you lead him up the stairs, soft hands grabbing at his chubby wrist to make him follow you. his leg ached, his cock throbbed, his brain was slowly turning to mush as he trailed behind you.

"you wanna touch me, jackie?" you coo, back arched as you look through your lashes at the older man. shoulders pressed back in a tight hold, you lean on your hands for support. and jack's only a man, a very desperate, lustful man.

he surges down, squeezing at the base of his pulsing cock, swooping down for a kiss, but you lean back. jack speaks against your mouth, hand working at his cock again, moving knuckles dragging against your core as he jerks himself. tugging raw, raw, raw; the sweet schlick of want leads him right to your pretty clit.

a small, strangled noise escapes you both; jack's louder and more guttural. his thick knuckles press against you and his tummy clenches as you press your nails at it, momentarily stopping him.

"one kiss please, god, one fucking kiss" he begs, speaking against your mouth as his standing leg shakes from his weight. you lick against his lips and he stutters as he looks up at your ceiling. desperate, humiliatingly so, he thinks, but i couldn't care less. she has me wherever she wants me.

raising your manicured finger to his mouth, you press your thumb on his tongue, and jack's good knee trembles with the relief. crowding your space, both knees planted on the mattress between your parted legs, jack can't help the shuddering "yeah, yeah, good" that tumbles out of his mouth.

once again, a vascular hand reaches up to squeeze his tip, a mock pillow for his swollen crown. he sucks at your thumb, swirling his muscle across the salty skin and bucking his hips forward, knuckles once again dragging across your cunt.

you wish they could see it now, your night shift attending and secret lover kissing at your thumb and making himself cum over top of you. slick joints nudging at your fluttery clit as his hand pumps roughly against himself.

"let me touch you," he pants, a growl rising, "gotta have you." "you can't wait any longer jackie?" "can't fucking wait, open up, please. take me in, let me in baby. oh fuuck, oh my god."

and as your back arches, his resounding groan surrounding in the air as he feeds his cock into you, your head hangs back. in the midst of your movement, you see the furrow of jack's brow, jaw hanging open and quick breath moving through him as he presses in, in, in.

a sight for sore eyes, his alabaster skin is warm as he bites at his lip. wrapping your hand around the back of his neck, your fingers press into his flesh as you pull him forward. he stumbles a bit, a small grunt leaving his mouth as you fuck forehead to forehead. he keeps his eyes on you, a wet pop as he finally bottoms out inside of you.

the pace picks up almost immediately, a smacking headboard and unsteady noises surrounding you. sultry, decadent, you ask him "you gonna do whatever i want?" with the same sweet doe eyes you know drive him wild on the clock. "i'll fucking do anything, i'm yours, all yours" he gasped, panting, fingertips pressing into your hips as he ruts against you belly to belly.

he's exactly where you want him, taught muscles and sweaty skin. the look of complete adoration crosses his face as he huffs a gritty, debauched "ah ah ah."

enchanted by you, completely, and totally, fucking infatuated with you. wrapped around your little finger, happily.

[p1stach-io]

the shape of wanting.

summary: you bring jack as your date to a wedding and he brings everything you’ve both been avoiding. (4.8k)

pairing: jack abbot x reader

content: grief/mourning, heavy angst, emotional themes, mutual pining, mention of death of a spouse, fake dating without actually fake dating.

your cousin maria’s wedding invitation had been sitting unopened on your kitchen counter for almost two full weeks before jack abbot found you blankly staring at it during a lull in the shift.

the er hummed around you in that familiar exhausted rhythm.

someone laughed too loudly at the nurses' station because everyone working twelve-hour shifts eventually lost their sense of appropriate volume.

a trauma pager went off nearby only for somebody else to groan, "not it," before disappearing around the corner anyway.

you were sat hunched over stale coffee in the break room, turning the envelope over and over like repetition alone might solve the problem.

you were fully established in your career, the kind of life that had taken real effort to build and yet somehow every family gathering still circled back to the same conversation.

not your job. not your achievements. not the years you had spent becoming someone you were genuinely proud of.

just whether you had a man.

your aunt was going to ask. she always did. same expression. same concerned little tilt of her head like your love life was a error she was personally trying to make her mission to resolve.

it annoyed you more than you liked admitting.

you had worked too hard. you had survived too many overnight shifts. missed too many holidays and birthdays and pieces of your own life trying to build something meaningful just to have your existence narrowed down to whether or not somebody was waiting for you at home.

you had made peace with it a while ago, quietly and without drama. if it happened, it happened. if not, your life still existed in full colour.

other people just seemed determined to view it in grayscale.

jack dropped into the chair beside you with a tired exhale, his legs stretching beneath the table until the toe of his shoe bumped yours accidentally.

neither of you moved away.

his wedding ring caught briefly under the fluorescent lights when he reached for the abandoned bag of pretzels beside you.

jack never talked about his wife much, but he didn't hide her either. there were small things people learned over time — that he had been married young, that she had died years ago, that he still wore the ring afterward without explanation and without apology.

you had never asked him about it. partly because it didn't feel like your place and mostly because the existence of it had always felt like a line neither of you were supposed to cross.

which was probably why nothing had ever happened between you despite months of lingering looks and conversations that stretched too long after shifts ended.

you had assumed jack felt it too. that whatever existed between you lived permanently in the category of things quietly left alone.

"you gonna open it," he asked, glancing at the envelope, "or are you hoping telepathy kicks in?"

you snorted softly despite yourself.

your thumb dragged along the gold lettering. your cousin's name stared back at you in elegant script that felt aggressively cheerful.

"eventually."

jack leaned slightly to get a better look. "wedding?"

you nodded once.

"you don't sound particularly excited."

you tipped your head back slightly. "because my entire family is gonna be there. and my aunt is definitely going to ask why i'm still single like she's conducting annual performance reviews."

that got a real laugh out of him. "harsh."

"last christmas she asked if i was 'being too picky,'" you muttered. "which is a crazy thing to say to someone who once dated a man that thought foreplay was sending me a thumbs-up emoji."

jack choked on his coffee. you looked over in alarm just as he started coughing into his fist, eyes watering slightly.

"oh my god," you said through laughter. "are you okay?"

he held up a hand, still coughing once before looking at you with disbelief.

"a thumbs-up emoji?"

"yellow too," you said solemnly. "not even one of the skin tone ones. just default settings disrespect."

jack laughed again, quieter this time, shaking his head. the sound settled warmly somewhere under your ribs.

"so this wedding is basically psychological warfare," he concluded.

"exactly."

he hummed, watching you for a second longer than necessary.

the silence between you had started feeling different lately.

charged in this quiet, impossible-to-ignore way. too many lingering glances. too many moments where one of you would look up and catch the other already looking.

you looked at him then, fully intending to make some throwaway joke about him being the perfect fake boyfriend to survive the weekend.

but the words stalled halfway out.

because jack looked unfairly good for a man who was simply eating your pretzels from the vending machine. there was something annoyingly magnetic about him lately. maybe not lately. maybe always.

you were just making the mistake of noticing now.

"you should just come with me," you said lightly. "save me from being interrogated about my romantic failures."

you expected him to laugh it off but instead, he went still and when you looked back at him, he was already watching you.

something unreadable crossed his face before he smoothed it away. "...okay."

your stomach dropped immediately.

"wait," you said, sitting up straighter. "seriously?"

he shrugged, trying for casual and missing by a mile. "if you want me there."

"abbot—"

"sounds like you could use the backup."

you stared at him.

he reached for your abandoned coffee, took one sip, immediately grimaced, and pushed it back toward you.

"this is awful, by the way."

you blinked. "you just drank my coffee."

"i was trying to understand your emotional state."

that startled a laugh out of you so suddenly you nearly spilled the cup. jack smiled a little at that.

"it could be entertaining," he added. "watching your family try to figure me out."

"oh they won't try to figure you out," you said immediately. "they'll decide who you are within thirty seconds and never revisit it."

"great." he leaned back in the chair. "can't wait."

the problem was jack abbot didn't really do things like this. he didn't casually agree to weddings. he especially didn't casually agree to weddings with you.

and the fact he had said yes so easily lodged itself somewhere dangerous in your chest for the rest of the shift.

you spent way too long getting ready not because you cared what anyone thought but because jack was picking you up.

your dress fell against your body in deep satin, somewhere between wine and dark brown depending on the light. it slipped slightly off your shoulders, neckline dipping just enough to feel intentional without looking like you had tried too hard.

the fabric hugged your waist before falling softer around your legs, elegant in a way that made you feel oddly unfamiliar in your own skin.

you kept adjusting it anyway.

once at the waist. once at the straps. once because your hands apparently needed a job or they were going to start shaking.

by the time your phone buzzed with a simple 'here', your pulse was already embarrassing you.

when you stepped outside, jack was leaning against his car waiting for you and unfortunately, that was a problem immediately.

his suit fit him unfairly well. dark, simple, expensive-looking without trying to be. his tie was already loosened slightly like formalwear physically offended him.

outside the hospital, he looked different. sharper somehow. less like the steady er doctor you saw every day and more like someone fully capable of destabilising your emotional wellbeing in entirely new settings.

your pulse stumbled the second he looked up and then stopped completely when his expression changed after seeing you.

just for a second.

his eyes moved over you once before he looked away toward the street like he needed a moment to recover privately.

your heartbeat tripped over itself.

"wow," he said finally, his voice sounded rougher than usual.

you tried to laugh through the heat climbing up your neck. "that bad?"

his gaze snapped back to yours immediately. "not even close."

the sincerity hit harder than flirting would've.

jack cleared his throat softly and walked around to open the passenger door for you.

you blinked at him. "...who are you?"

one corner of his mouth lifted. "thought i should pretend i was raised correctly for one night."

you laughed quietly, shaking your head as you got into the car.

his hand settled briefly against your lower back to steady you. both small and polite and completely ruining your life.

you noticed the absence of the ring almost immediately after. your eyes dropped automatically to his left hand resting against the steering wheel.

bare.

your breath caught before you could stop it and jack noticed instantly. his fingers flexed once against the wheel before he spoke, quieter now.

"figured people might have questions if i showed up as your date wearing a wedding ring."

the honesty of it hit harder than you expected.

your chest tightened painfully as your eyes flicked briefly toward his jacket pocket before back to him.

"it's still with me," he added after a second, his voice low and steady. "just... not on tonight."

something about the way he said it made it clear this wasn't him moving on. it wasn't him letting go.

it was practicality, consideration, and maybe even an attempt to make things easier for you more than himself.

"okay," you said softly. you didn't ask anything else. you didn't ask whether taking it off felt wrong. you didn't ask how long he'd sat with the decision before picking you up. you didn't ask whether he was regretting it already.

somehow not asking felt more intimate than if you had.

you glanced down toward his right leg instinctively when he adjusted slightly in his seat, subtle enough most people probably wouldn't have noticed. but you always noticed with him.

the stiffness after long shifts. the slight hitch when he stood too quickly. the way cold weather irritated it more than he ever admitted.

you had argued with him for almost ten minutes the previous day about driving. him deciding to be your date for already enough of a favor.

"jack, it's over an hour away."

"and?"

"and your prosthetic been bothering you all week."

"i'm surviving somehow."

"you're limping."

"don't worry about it." he had refused flat-out after that, already reaching for his keys in his pocket before he had shook them in your face while you had glared at him.

now, quieter, you looked over at him again. "i'm driving us back, by the way."

jack's eyes flicked briefly toward you before returning to the road. "we'll see."

you narrowed your eyes immediately. "that's not an answer."

a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "you always this bossy outside the hospital too?"

"only with difficult patients."

that earned you a soft huff of laughter and then, after a second, he tapped his fingers once against the steering wheel.

"fine," he said. "you can drive back."

the victory felt weirdly satisfying.

you smiled despite yourself, settling back into the seat as the city lights blurred around you.

and beside you, jack glanced over once—brief, quiet, fond in a way that made your stomach tighten all over again.

the drive blurred past in warm city light and half-finished thoughts. jack drove one-handed, relaxed in a way that somehow still looked deliberate. every so often he adjusted his tie with visible irritation like he was resisting the urge to rip it off entirely.

you kept catching yourself staring at the soft line of his jaw under passing streetlights. the quiet focus in his expression when he drove. the way he looked solid even in silence.

eventually, without looking over, he said, "you're doing it again."

heat rushed into your face instantly. "doing what?"

his eyes flicked toward you briefly. "staring."

you swallowed hard. "sorry."

a faint curve appeared at the corner of his mouth. "i didn't say you had to stop."

your stomach flipped so hard it genuinely irritated you so you turned toward the window immediately to hide the smile breaking across your face.

jack noticed anyway.

you could hear it in his voice when he said, quieter now, "there it is."

you looked back over. "what?"

"the smile you've been trying not to do for the last five minutes."

you hated how warm your face got and you hated even more that jack looked quietly pleased with himself for causing it.

that was the exact moment you realised this entire night was going to be a disaster one way or another.

the venue glowed warm against the dark sky, golden lights spilling across the courtyard while music drifted softly through the open doors.

guests clustered together in little pockets of conversation, champagne glasses flashing in the light every time someone laughed.

the second you walked in with jack beside you, your family noticed instantly.

your cousin maria spotted you first near the bar and immediately pointed between the two of you with the expression of someone witnessing breaking news.

"oh, this is insane," she said before you had even reached her. "you brought a hot doctor?"

you nearly choked on air.

jack, meanwhile, looked completely calm as he held out his hand politely. "jack."

your cousin ignored the handshake entirely and hugged him instead.

"thank you for finally giving this family something interesting to talk about."

"maria," you hissed.

she pulled away only to look between the two of you suspiciously. "wait. are you guys actually together or are you doing that thing emotionally unavailable people do where they stare at each other for six months instead of going on a date?"

jack actually laughed while you stared at him in betrayal.

"wow," you muttered. "great to know who's side you're on."

"she seems perceptive," he said calmly.

maria pointed aggressively at him. "i like him, a lot."

things only got worse from there.

your mother adored him within approximately four minutes. then jack found himself helping your uncle carry extra chairs over because apparently he possessed the deeply dangerous quality of being both attractive and useful.

you watched from your table as your niece anna climbed directly into his lap without invitation halfway through dessert because she had apparently decided he looked trustworthy.

jack didn't even blink. he just balanced her there naturally while she explained something extremely serious about horses.

"that one's mean," she informed him solemnly from his lap while pointing at a centerpiece swan sculpture. "you can tell."

jack nodded gravely. "absolutely. bad energy."

anna looked delighted. your mother looked emotional and you looked like you needed to be tranquilised.

jack glanced across the table toward you with anna still tucked against his side, and something in your chest pulled painfully tight at how easy he looked there.

how natural.

like he had belonged in your life long before tonight.

your aunt eventually cornered you near the drinks table with a glass of wine in hand and an expression that immediately made you defensive.

"he looks at you very carefully," she said.

you blinked. "what does that even mean?"

she shrugged lightly. "like you're something he's trying not to want too much."

your stomach dropped so suddenly. "you are unbelievable."

"i'm experienced," she corrected. "there's a difference."

you rolled your eyes, but heat spreading across your cheeks.

across the room, jack caught your eye over the rim of his drink and then smiled slightly when he realised you had been caught looking at him again.

you looked away first.

the ceremony started and slowly, almost invisibly, something changed.

jack still smiled when people spoke to him. still let your mother drag him into family photos. still nodded politely through increasingly invasive questions from distant relatives who had apparently already decided you were secretly engaged.

you noticed first that he stopped moving.

the little idle shifts disappeared. his expression quieted into something too still for the warmth of the room around him.

at first you thought he was just tired but then the groom's voice cracked during his vows and jack froze. only for a second but you felt it immediately beside him.

his right hand slipped into his pocket and stayed there.

your gaze dropped instinctively to the ring hidden against his palm.

your throat tightened painfully.

he stared forward, composed enough that nobody else would notice anything wrong, but you could feel the tension in him now, sharp and controlled and exhausting.

like he was holding himself together through sheer force alone.

and suddenly guilt hit you so hard it made your chest ache.

you shouldn't have asked him to come.

you shouldn't have put him in a room full of promises and first dances and forever.

you turned slightly toward him, unsure what to even do with the hurt suddenly sitting between you.

the bride and groom swayed slowly at the center while everyone around them softened into blurred movement and warm light. your cousin laughed against her husband's shoulder, her eyes closed like happiness was the easiest thing in the world.

jack looked away first then his hand shifted against yours on the seat. hesitant and barely there, like he almost stopped himself.

your breath caught. slowly, carefully, you turned your hand just enough.

jack took it immediately, his fingers slid between yours like it was the only steady thing in the room.

he still didn't look at you but his thumb moved once over your knuckles while his other hand stayed buried in his pocket around the ring.

past and present held in the same breath.

and you didn't let go.

the night had gone quiet in the way only weddings do after the noise finally runs out of permission to exist.

the reception thinned slowly until it became something softer. chairs being stacked in uneven piles, glassware clinking in distant trays, music fading into something almost imagined rather than heard.

outside, the air had cooled properly now, settling against your skin as you sat on the stone steps behind the venue.

the kind of quiet that didn't feel empty so much as exhausted, like the whole day had finally collapsed into itself.

jack was sat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed when either of you shifted. his suit jacket sat around your shoulders, still warm from him, the fabric heavy in a way that felt more intimate than it should've been.

his tie hung loose, shirt collar open slightly, sleeves rolled unevenly like he had stopped caring about precision hours ago. he looked tired in a way that wasn't just physical.

you could see it now that everything had slowed down enough to notice.

neither of you had spoken for a while.

not because there was nothing to say but because everything felt too close to the surface.

the distant sound of cleanup drifted faintly behind the venue doors. laughter from inside had dulled into occasional bursts before disappearing completely. even the wind felt slower somehow, like it didn't want to interrupt.

finally, your voice broke the silence, quieter than you meant it to be.

"i'm sorry for tonight."

jack didn't look at you immediately. his gaze stayed forward, fixed somewhere in the dark beyond the parking lot, like if he focused hard enough he could keep himself steady in place.

his hands were loosely clasped in front of him, but his fingers kept flexing like they couldn't decide what to do with themselves.

"don't do that," he said eventually.

"i brought you here and—"

"i said don't." it wasn't sharp but just strained like he didn't have the energy to let you take responsibility for something that wasn't just yours.

that should've been the end of it but something in his voice made your chest tighten instead of settling.

you turned slightly toward him and that's when you saw it properly. his jaw wasn't as controlled as it had been all night. his mouth had gone tight in a way that looked like restraint held too long. there was a faint crease between his brows that hadn't been there earlier.

his breathing wasn't quite even anymore, subtle enough that anyone else might've missed it — but you didn't.

"jack," you said carefully.

he exhaled through his nose, slow and uneven, like he was trying to reset something internally.

"i'm fine." it was automatic but not very convincing.

you didn't push. you just stayed there beside him, letting the silence sit again, softer this time. the kind of silence that didn't demand anything from him but didn't leave him alone either.

a long moment passed before jack shifted slightly like his body had tried to hold itself together and failed quietly.

his hands went to his face, slow at first like a reflex he didn't mean to follow. he dragged them across his eyes, as if trying to physically reset something inside himself.

but it didn't work like something inside him had reached its limit without warning.

you saw it in his posture first. the way he bent forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, head dipping like the weight of everything had finally become too much to hold upright. his fingers curled against his face again, but this time they didn't steady him.

his breathing turned uneven.

"jack..." you started, softer now.

he shook his head once, sharply, like he was trying to stop you from witnessing it fully but it was already happening.

his voice came out rough.

"i'm trying," he said, barely audible. "i'm trying to keep it together."

your chest tightened immediately.

he let out a short, broken laugh under his breath but it wasn't humor. it was disbelief at himself.

"it's just... tonight," he added quickly, like he needed something to anchor it to. "weddings are—"

he stopped because whatever explanation he had reached for didn't make it out.

his hand dropped from his face and you saw it then.

his eyes were wet.

not fully crying yet. not openly. but close enough that it made your heart ache, like something in you had dropped in response.

he blinked hard, once, like he could force it back down through effort alone but it didn't work.

his voice broke slightly when he spoke again.

"i thought i could do this."

you didn't move closer yet. you didn't want to overwhelm him or make it worse. so you stayed where you were, steady beside him, letting him have space even as he fell apart in it.

"you are doing it," you said quietly.

he shook his head again, sharper this time.

"no." his voice cracked on the word. he swallowed, looking away like he couldn't stand being seen. "i'm not."

and almost like it slipped out before he could stop it. "i miss her."

that landed between you like something heavy and irreversible.

jack's hands clenched together once, then loosened again like he didn't know what to do with them. his breathing stuttered as he tried to steady himself.

"i see things like this," he said, voice roughening further, "and i think i've gotten used to it. like it doesn't do anything anymore."

his eyes shut for a second and when they opened again, they were glassier, more exposed.

"and then i come here and i realize i haven't."

he looked down at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "and i miss her so much it feels... wrong to still be sitting here."

your chest ached in a way that felt almost physical but you didn't interrupt and just listened.

he dragged a hand through his hair, messier now, less controlled. "and then there's you," he said quietly.

that made your breath catch but he still didn't look at you. he physically couldn't.

"and i don't know what to do with that either."

silence hit again, heavier this time. his voice dropped further. "because it's not the same. it can't be. but it's still there."

his jaw tightened like he hated how honest it was.

"and i feel guilty for even thinking about it," he admitted, his voice breaking again. "like it means i'm letting her go."

that was when his composure finally gave out completely. he covered his face again, his shoulders shaking once as he tried to inhale properly.

it wasn't loud crying. it was controlled grief collapsing under its own weight.

years of holding it in finally slipping through all at once, right there on the steps behind a wedding where everyone else had already moved on to happily ever afters.

slowly and carefully, you shifted closer until your shoulder pressed gently against his. not forcing anything and offering presence without demand.

jack didn't pull away. if anything, he leaned into it slightly like his body had been waiting for permission to stop holding itself so rigid.

his breathing was uneven against your shoulder, catching and releasing in broken rhythms as he tried to steady himself.

you stayed like that.

you let him miss her without interruption. letting him fall apart without trying to reshape it and letting him exist in the space between grief and everything else he didn't know how to name yet.

eventually, his voice came quieter again.

broken, but steadier than before. "i didn't expect this."

you didn't ask what he meant because you already knew.

he let out a shaky breath, wiping at his face once more like it frustrated him that he couldn't just stop the emotion on command.

"i'm sorry," he added immediately, instinctively, like apologising was still his first reflex even now.

you shook your head slightly. "don't. you don't have to be sorry for missing her."

that made him go still.

his breathing slowed gradually after that, not fixed, not resolved, but settling enough that the moment stopped feeling like it might shatter completely.

you thought that would be where it ended but jack inhaled slowly, like he was gathering something heavier than breath.

his hand dropped from his face.

he didn't look at you right away and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than everything else that had come before it—steadier, but stripped down.

"there's something i need to say," he admitted shaking his head once, like he didn't love the vulnerability of even starting.

you shifted, just slightly. your fingers tightened around the fabric of his jacket still around your shoulders—like you had only just remembered it was there.

"i've been trying not to say it for months."

that made your pulse pick up as jack finally looked at you. not like a colleague. not like someone passing time. not like a man trying to behave correctly at a wedding.

just... him.

"i've liked you for the longest time," he said simply.

your breath caught sharply.

he didn't rush it. he didn't overexplain it and just let it sit there in the air between you like it had always been there anyway.

"and it hasn't gone away," he added, quieter now. "if anything it's gotten worse overtime."

a short, almost helpless exhale left him like he was annoyed at himself for saying it out loud.

his gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again.

"i would ask you out," he said, voice rough but honest, "if i wasn't... like this."

he gestured vaguely to himself—not just the night, or the grief, but everything sitting behind it.

"i'm not in a place where i can do that properly," he admitted. "not without dragging all of this into it. and you really don't deserve that."

your nodded slowly and he swallowed, his jaw flexing slightly.

"i need to sort myself out first," he said more firmly, like he needed to believe it. "before i ruin something that shouldn't be touched by this."

you let out a breath that almost turned into something else. not a laugh but something softer, more incredulous. it cut through the tension just enough for you to find your voice.

"jack," you said to which he stopped instantly which mattered more than it should've.

your voice came out steadier than you felt. "you don't get to decide what i deserve."

his eyes flickered—not away, but through that statement, like it landed deeper than he expected.

you hesitated for a moment "and you don't get to decide you ruin things just by wanting them."

your fingers tightened slightly against his jacket again. "i'm not asking you to be whole," you said. "i just wish you'd stop acting like you're not allowed to want anything."

jack didn't answer you right away.

his gaze dropped for a moment, like something inside him had been interrupted mid-collapse and didn't know what shape to take next.

when he looked back up, he still looked wrecked.

very much still human and still carrying everything but now he looked like he was in it with you present, not alone inside it.

and that changed everything in a way neither of you said out loud.

[donald4spiderman]

yooo my heart let me get up let me get up

[oxalaia-quilombensis]

jack of all trades

wc: 5k

summary: your family vacation home is falling apart. lucky for you, the hottest man you've ever seen is here to save the day. you make it your personal mission to get him to do a little more than just home repairs. and boy do you succeed.

warnings: age gap (reader is in her early 30s, abbot is 50 because shawn hatosy is 50), power dynamics, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, reader is wayyyyy bolder than I will ever be but I wanted to try writing someone very differently from how I usually do, reader is shorter than him, dbf!jack, strangers to lovers very fast, handyman!jack, insta lust, cowgirl, unprotected sex, oops my hand slipped and now lowkey d/s dynamics, spanking, panties in the mouth, jack is a little mean (but in my defense ive been reading so much Titus ff lately), inappropriate use of a kitchen, reader makes old jokes, references to viagra, fingering, naked woman clothed man, technically edging

an: while this is technically a dads-best-friend!jack fic, the idea of him knowing the reader since she was a child is a wee bit disgusting, so this is a little bit more of dads-best-buddy-from-the-military-who-I-have-heard-about-but-never-met-despite-living-in-the-same-city!jack

For every summer as long as you could remember, your whole family spent at least a week, all of you there together, at the family cabin on the shores of Cranberry Lake.

Well, cabin wasn’t quite the right word. The house was big, 5 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, and 28 windows. You’d counted one summer when your teenage angst had you pouting indoors while everyone else laughed and splashed around.

Up until this year, it had always just been your parents, your two older brothers and whoever they’d been dating at the time, and you. You’d never brought boyfriends with you. No one you’d ever dated felt cabin-worthy. To you, that invite had become a sacred honor. Not even your best friend Trinity had been, despite your parents insisting she should come for a special weekend when the two of you had finished undergrad.

Your oldest brother, Alex, always brought his boyfriend, Liam, and the middle child, Cooper, liked to bring whichever girl he was dating the week they landed in Pittsburgh.

But your parents had never brought anyone along. 

They always claimed that cabin time was family time. 

But this year, that was changing.

“Hi, sweetie,” your mom had sent you that stereotypical ‘please call me’ text that had scared the shit out of you. Turns out, all she wanted to do was make this summer the most painful and torturous of your life. “Did you make it to the cabin?”

“Yep,” you set your wine glass on the coffee table. Through the large bay windows in the living room you could see the sun setting over the still waters. “About 2 hours ago.”

“That’s great. Did the gate work?” The hope was audible in her voice.

“No,” you snorted. As nice as the cabin was, winter had been especially hard on it this year. And even though everyone made an effort to come out individually for a few scattered weekends, nobody had been here since last October. The snow had only just melted a few weeks ago and left more than just the gate damaged. There were water spots, broken gutters, and weak spots on the wrap around porch, not to mention how fucked up the flower beds were.

“The gate did not work,” your mothers sigh was deep and dramatic as you spoke. “I had to push it open. Almost couldn’t. I really thought about turning around and going home.”

Her voice grew faint for a moment as she relayed your troubles to your dad, then she was back.

“Damn, well, then it’s good we’re having someone come take a look.”

“Oh,” this was the first you were hearing about a handyman paying you a visit. It wasn’t surprising, given you’d made the journey 3 and a half months before everyone else with the intent to stay the whole summer to handle the repairs, but your mom hadn’t mentioned making any appointments. “When is he coming?”

“Or she,” your mom corrected. “But fine, he is coming up this weekend.”

“Yeah, but when this weekend?” Your work was remote, you had weekends free, and you were the only family member still living in Pittsburgh so you were volun-told to assess the place.

And, sure, maybe you had zero plans for the next 2 days besides getting a headstart on a summer tan, but you still didn’t want to spend your first weekend sitting and waiting to have to babysit a grown man who was supposed to fix the front gate.

“Umm… maybe around 9:00 or 10:00 AM I think? But it depends on when he’s done with work your dad said,” that seemed a bit odd. “And then he’ll head out Sunday afternoon, I think.”

Since when do handymen stay the night? 

“Mom, what?”

“Did I cut out? Hello? Sweetie, can you hear me?” Her voice was so loud you had to yank the phone away from your ear.

“Ow, no mom I’m still here,” as much as you loved her, you could feel a headache building. “What do you mean the guy is gonna stay the weekend?”

“Oh I thought your dad told you,” she said, like that was an answer to your question.

“Clearly he didn’t,” you grumbled.

“Oh I’m sorry. I told him to text you,” in the background, you could hear your dad blubbering some excuse. “I guess the old man’s memory is going, too.”

You mom was 17 years younger than your dad, and ever since he bit the bullet and finally admitted he needed readers well into his 60s, your mom had been poking fun at him for it.

The thought almost brought a smile to your face but it was foiled by the evermounting frustration that your mom still has yet to explain what the hell was happening.

“Mom, please-”

“Alright, alright,” she finally started to give you the information. “Do you remember dad’s friend, Jack?”

“Dad’s got like 10 friends named Jack,” you were almost ready for a second glass of wine, and if she kept taking her sweet time explaining, you’d run out before the phone call ended.

“Ok, yes he does,” she laughed. “Jack Abbot, the doctor. Very sweet man. He needed a project, so your dad told him he could fix up the place!”

“The emergency doctor?” You vaguely remembered hearing the man’s name, but you didn’t think you’d ever actually seen him. At least not in person. There were a few dusty photos hanging in your dads office of him and his old army buddies and you could just remember your dad pointing him out once, telling you about his job and how he’d saved your dads life, but the memory was fuzzy.

“Yep, that’s the one!”

“Mom, I’ve never met this guy,” as if some old vet ruining your first weekend of peace wasn’t bad enough, he was a total stranger, too. 

“Oh,” she hummed. “I could have sworn he came to your dads 60th…”

‘Now who’s memory is going?’ Your dad shouted in the background before saying something else you couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, grandpa. I guess he was busy. Oh well!”

Your mood soured with every word.

“Anyways, he’ll be popping up from the city whenever he’s got some free time to work on the place before your brothers and we come in August.”

Great. 

You’d asked your mother to give you Jack Abbot’s phone number so you could at least text to ask what his ETA was, but she’d forgotten and then did not answer a single text you sent her for the rest of the night.

So here you were, up since 8am on a Saturday to wait for some stranger to show up.

You were just cracking eggs into a bowl when you heard a knock at the front door. A quick glance at the clock told you it was 8:58. As petty as it was, you couldn’t help grumbling about how your mom was wrong as you made your way to the front door.

Time stopped for a moment as you jerked the heavy oak door open. Before you stood probably the most handsome man you’d seen since your freshman year math professor. A white t-shirt stretched over a broad chest with muscles so defined that your stomach swooped. Looking down didn’t help. The man was wearing jeans that were the perfect level of tightness, letting you clearly see his legs were just as toned without shrink wrapping him.

His face wasn’t much better. A full head of salt and pepper curls contrasting his light, hazel eyes. Wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes, but there was something of a youthful playfulness hidden across the rest of his stubbled face.

He looked very much like the handyman he was playing the part of. His hands looked strong and capable. The vision of those hands all over you in places they definitely shouldn’t be flashed through your mind alongside those of him, sweaty and panting, fixing… something. It didn’t matter what as long as he was doing it with those long, calloused fingers.

“Hi,” his voice was gruff around the edges. “I’m Jack.

You gave him your name. He didn’t reach out for a handshake and neither did you. Silence filled the entry way as you simply looked at each other. It wasn’t awkward, though. It was something heavier, almost as muggy as the air outside was. You could barely hear the birds or the waves on the shore over the blood rushing in your ears.

Suddenly, you were very dissatisfied with your choice of biker shorts and an oversized University of Pittsburgh sweatshirt. Why couldn’t you have worn something just a little more provocative? Maybe the cheeky underwear you’d slept in and that tight tank top that left not a single thing to the imagination.

“Your dad said the gate’s not working?”

 “Oh,” you startled a little when the silence was broken. “Uh, yeah for some reason it won’t open. I don’t know if it's the keypad or the motor or something but it just stopped working.”

“Yeah I noticed,” he looked over his shoulder. You followed his eyes to where his old truck was parked in the gravel driveway and just beyond that, to the half open gate. “Had to push it open. That fucker’s heavy.”

“Yeah, it is,” you snorted a laugh. Your eyes couldn’t help but roam his arms, taking in the biceps that were nearly bulging out of his shirt sleeves. “I bet you managed it juuuuust fine.”

His face briefly twisted up in shock when you winked at him before it was falling back to what seemed to be practiced neutrality. But you could swear that you saw his jaw clench ever so slightly.

“I managed,” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “For an old man.”

You weren’t sure if he was scolding your brazen flirting by pointing out the fact that he was at least 20 years your senior or if he was testing your reaction to that reminder. Either way, you didn’t really care. Your irritation at his intrusion was quickly fading the longer you got to look at him.

“Maybe instead of old, you could think of yourself as… experienced,” your smile grew. “I’m sure you’re very experienced at opening things up and getting in there.”

Jack’s eyes widened as they tracked your insulation.

“And,” you couldn’t help but continue. Your eyes glanced down to his hands again. “With those hands… you look like you’d be real good at keypad maintenance.”

A slight flush had started to creep up his face and you desperately hoped you were the cause, not the steadily rising temperature of mid spring. 

What you could thank the outside temperature for, though, was the ever so slight sheen of sweat gathering on those big arms as he crossed them across his chest. Before the weekend was over, you were going to bite one of those biceps. 

Hopefully. 

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re a fucking brat?” He didn’t look pissed. He looked like he was fighting off a smirk.

“All the fucking time,” you leaned closer to him across the threshold. “But I think I like it the most when you say it.”

“Jesus Christ,” he ran a hand through his hair. “I just met you and you’re trying to kill me.”

“Nonsense. I’m not trying to kill you,” this time you stepped closer, less than 6 inches of space between the two of you. “That part’s coming later. I figured I’d go with smothered to death. What do you think?”

Feeling even bolder at the way his eyes raced over your form, you patted one hand against your thigh.

“I don’t know, I can hold my breath for a long time,” his hands had dropped to his sides. They looked like they were seconds away from grabbing your hips. You were leaning in further. “I’m willing to let you try, tho-”

Both of you jerked back as the phone in his pocket started to ring. He pulled it out and glanced at it.

“Fuck,” he mumbled at first before his voice returned to normal volume. “Fuck. It’s your dad.”

Shit. You’d forgotten about your parents. You’d also forgotten this man was friends with your dad. The previously shameless flirting now had you blushing, pinging back and forth between regret and a desire to push a little bit more.

But you didn’t have a chance because Jack was walking off the porch and back towards his car as he answered the phone.

Jack spent the next two hours working on the gate while pretending not to notice your eyes following him. Which was fucking hard, especially once you’d changed into the shortest distressed denim shorts he’d ever seen, paired with a little string bikini top barely covered by a sheer white tanktop.

It was obscene. 

At least you’d had on more clothes when you’d answered the door that morning. He wasn’t sure he would have survived that interaction if you’d been half naked like you were now.

He was 50 for god's sake. He shouldn’t have been fighting off an erection over some flirting. And all of it over his buddy’s daughter. A woman who was probably at least 20 years younger than him.

 But despite that, you’d still looked like you were one heartbeat away from jumping his bones before that phone rang. And he would have let you. Happily. 

And so he focused on the menial tasks he’d offered to do. 

Jack had been more or less banned from SWAT about a month ago after getting grazed by yet another bullet. The hospital staff and his therapist ganged up on him while he’d been recovering, finally getting him to admit that maybe it wasn’t the best hobby.

And then your dad called him. Mostly to catch up and ask how he was doing, but pretty quickly he just ended up complaining about the damage to his lake house. Jack volunteered to fix it up at no cost.

He had more money than he knew what to do with and a suddenly free schedule, so he talked your dad into letting him do it. What else was he supposed to do? 

Sleep? 

Relax?

He’d never been good at either of those things, but he had worked for a contractor all throughout his undergrad and med school summers. Home repair he was definitely good enough at. Exceptional, actually, considering his services were free.

So he tackled the gate. 

The motor was fried. Probably from all the snow melting. No matter what did it, he couldn’t actually fix it today. He had to order the parts.

Which meant he’d have to come back.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

Jack tried not to think about having to pay you repeated visits as he worked.

While he checked to see just how weak the wooden deck had gotten he did not think about how good you looked laying in the sun 15 feet away. He definitely did not think about his head between your legs when he tightened the leaking faucet in the kitchen. And he certainly did not imagine bending you over the kitchen table while he replaced a lightbulb in the hallway.

You found yourself in the kitchen, staring listlessly into the fridge as you tried to come up with something low effort for dinner that would still impress your house guest. Not that you needed to seduce him with food (you were pretty sure the sheer white t-shirt with no bra would do the trick), but you wanted to thank him.

You’d called your mom to get the rest of the details about Jack while he worked and she’d filled you in that he was doing all of this pro bono. She’d said some other things, but you’d been too busy staring at his ass in those jeans to pay too much attention.

So here you were, kicking yourself for your abysmal grocery shopping skills. Maybe the two of you could skip dinner and just get to know each other biblically until you passed out? Not likely, but the fantasy was certainly an enjoyable one as you fished out the chicken breasts and romaine.

A chicken caesar salad was always a safe bet, right?

Not that you had too many other options besides a frozen pizza. It would have to do.

As you got to work, you heard the front door shut.

“I’m making dinner!” You called out to him.

“What’re you making?” Jack sounded like he was a little out of breath. Not surprising given the man had worked nearly nonstop for almost 7 hours.

“Chicken caesar salad,” you set down the knife you were holding, turning to lean back against the counter and face him. A jolt of satisfaction ran through you as you watched his eyes drop to your breasts through the thin fabric of your top. “That alright with you?”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours. You could only hope your little smirk of satisfaction wasn’t too obvious.

“That sounds great,” he adjusted the strap of the backpack resting over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Need any help, old man?” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed and he leaned against the door frame. His arms were crossed across his chest, only accentuating the curve of his biceps.

“Worried about my safety are you?” You watched as his eyes trailed you from head to toe. He was standing about 10 feet away, but the space in the kitchen seemed to shrink as his gaze left a trail of goosebumps across your body.

“Just don’t want you to break a hip,” you pushed off the counter, taking slow steps towards him. He stepped into the kitchen to meet you when you got close. Tentatively, one of your hands reached out to trail a finger over the hem of his jeans. “I’d really hate for them to be out of commission. Would really put a damper on my weekend plans.”

His hand grabbed your wrist, freezing you in place as you pouted up at him. He tilted his head as he looked down at you. A lazy smirk crawled across his face.

“You got a lot of plans for my hips?” It took very little force for him to use his hold on you to yank you into him. His hands caught your hips as he pressed your chest to his.

“Potentially,” you gave a coy little shrug as your own hands crept up his arms to tangle in his graying curls.

“Potentially,” he echoed. His tone almost sounded mocking as he was walking you backwards until you hit the cabinets. The strength in his grip surprised you as he lifted you up onto the counter almost effortlessly, sliding into the space between your legs. “I’d love to hear about these potential plans.”

“Well…” your voice trailed off into a gasp as his lips met the column of your neck. You let your eyes flutter shut, getting lost in the sensation while he held you close.

“C’mon,” he nipped at your ear as you gasped. “Tell me what you want.”

Your lips opened, words dying on the tip of your tongue as his hand trailed from your hips to pop the button on your shorts. His fingers slid down into them, applying dizzying pressure over your wet panties. They were probably ruined beyond repair, given you can feel how wet you were, practically leaking at the barest touch.  

“What’s wrong?” Jack’s hand not in your pants tangled in your hair, not pulling but simply holding you there as his face moved out of the crook of your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

His smile was almost cruel as he began circling his fingers slowly. The rough material of the lace provided a disorienting sensation of pleasure as you fought to get yourself together enough to speak.

“Not so confident now, huh? I really thought it’d take a little more than this to get you to shut up.”

Jack manipulated your body like an expert. He lifted your hips, yanking down your shorts and underwear. They landed somewhere behind him as he threw them away. Before you could even really process that development, two long fingers were sliding inside of you as the rest of his hand cupped over your folds. It barely took him 30 seconds to figure out exactly how to curl his fingers in order to have you arching into him. Every brush of the pads of his fingers over that spongy spot inside you had the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

“Jack!” It was almost embarrassing how whiny your voice sounded. The cry of his name seemed to echo in the quiet kitchen.

His face was buried back in your neck as he huffed a quiet laugh. The vibrations sent a shiver down your spine. The hand once holding your hair had drifted underneath your poor excuse for a shirt. The callouses on his fingertips felt fantastic against the sensitive skin of your nipples when he tweaked them before his hands were kneading the flesh.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already gone fucking dumb, baby?” Your trembling hands gripped his t-shirt tightly as he licked a line up your neck.

And then his lips finally connected with yours.

His hands didn’t stop their movements, in fact they picked up in speed and intensity as his lips molded to yours. He set a languid pace, keeping up a firm and slow rhythm as his tongue brushed across yours.  You couldn’t help the whimpers and squeaks that he eagerly swallowed as he pushed you right to the edge. 

“Cum for me,” he growled into your mouth. “I wanna feel it.”

But this wasn’t how you wanted to cum. At least, not right now.

Every ounce of self control you still had left was mustered as you pushed him back. He stumbled back, body disconnecting from yours. He looked confused.

Your hands lifted, tugging your shirt over your head before you slid off the counter. A shiver ran through you at the burning arousal that shot through you at the sight of him, fully clothed but rock hard in his jeans.

“I want,” you took a deep, steadying breath as you walked towards him. His hands grabbed your hips as you pushed him down onto one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table. “To ride you until I physically can’t.”

You watched his throat bob as your fingers reached down to undo the button of his jeans.  You pulled his pants and briefs down his thighs, just enough to free his cock. You took it in your hands, admiring the weight of the silky skin in your hands before you were slinging one leg over his lap and lining him up. 

“And then,” slowly, you slid down his length, watching carefully as his eyes closed and he groaned. The rest of your words were breathy as you tried to keep your composure. “I want you to eat me out until I’m crying.”

“Jesus Christ,” his mouth dropped open as you rolled your hips against him. You felt his tip catch against the perfect spot deep inside you as you tested out different angles. Quickly, you locked onto it, chasing that zap of pleasure that dulled your senses.

“After that,” your fingers dug into his hair, pulling on the gray strands. “I want you to fuck the shit out of me on every surface in this house.”

Jack’s hips bucked up into yours, causing both of you to cry out as he buried himself deeper than you thought possible. You could feel the orgasm you’d been on the brink of rising rapidly again.

“Wanna know what I think?” Jack’s hands were tight on your waist, slowing your rhythm and dragging a whine from you as the overwhelming pleasure slipped from your grasp.

“What?”

“As much as I would love to have you ride me- to use me,” you shivered at his words. “I think I want to do things in a different order.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before he was lifting you off of him. Everything blurred as he spun you around, pressing your front to the kitchen table as he bent you over it. The wood was cold against your sensitive skin, your nipples hardening almost immediately. One of his broad hands gripped your shoulder to keep you pinned in place against the flat surface.

“That’s a pretty sight,” he mumbled to himself. 

You had to bite your lip to contain your shaky moan as his fingers trailed over the wet mess between your legs.

He kept toying with you, gently prodding just the tips of his fingers inside, before withdrawing them to give a few light-as-a-feather circles over your clit.

“What’s the hold up, old man?” You couldn’t help the taunts. “I thought I said I wanted you to fuck the shit out of me. Do you need a little blue pill?”

Jack stilled, his fingers leaving your skin. For a moment, you were caught between the fear that you’d gone too far and the anticipation of the pounding the teasing would hopefully earn you.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was the harsh crack of his open palm meeting your ass. 

As you gasped, the pain stinging and bringing another flood of wetness between your legs, you failed to realize Jack had stepped back and away for a moment.

He returned, his hand laying an equally firm hit against your other cheek. You didn’t get a moment to recover from the hit, though, because he was yanking you up. Once again, he spun you, this time lifting you up and setting your still smarting ass against the sturdy wood of the table.

“Hold these,” was all the warning he gave before his hand gripped your jaw, forcing it open to shove your absolutely soaked underwear into your mouth. “Maybe now you’ll actually shut up.”

Your eyes rolled back. 

Fuck, that was hot.

You could taste yourself, the lace scratching over your tongue.

“Uh-uh,” Jack grabbed your hair again as he lined himself up with your opening. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your eyes snapped open, your body following the order before your mind caught up. His gaze was intense as he stared you down.

His hand in your hair was the only thing keeping you from falling back onto the table as he pushed back inside of you. In this position, he had all the control and he quickly took advantage of that.

It took him three slow, grinding thrusts to find that angle you had been chasing in the few minutes he’d allowed you to ride him. Once he did, though, a wicked grin spread across his face as your hips jerked and a muffled whine snuck out around the underwear in your mouth.

He adjusted his aim, thrusting in and against that spot as his thumb found your clit. Your whole body jolted against his as the orgasm you’d been denied twice reared its head much faster than you’d expected.

“You like that?” He was panting now, but he didn’t falter, his movements growing even faster and harder as he worked you up. The wet slap of his hips against yours echoed around the room, creating a beat to match your muffled moans and his grunts. “This is what you needed, huh?”

You whimpered, nodding as much as his harsh hold on your hair allowed.

Jack let out a breathless chuckle. 

“You gonna cum for me now, baby?”

Again, you tried to nod, but the ever rising tide of an orgasm that promised to ruin you was fast approaching. You could feel it, building tension in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so close, I can fucking feel it,” Jack used his grip on your hair to drag you in close. He briefly let go to yank your underwear out of your mouth before his hand slid right back in, his forehead pressed to yours. “I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me who’s making you feel good when you cum.”

“Jack!” You were teetering right on the edge. From his harsh breathing and gritted teeth, you could tell he was close, too.

“Fucking right,” his lips caught yours for a moment, but he had to pull back for both of you to breath. “Say it again. Say my fucking name.”

You didn’t say it, though.

You couldn’t say anything as he pushed you over that edge. Your eyes shut, your back arched, and you stopped breathing. 

Jack’s hips jerked and he lost control as the first pulse of your walls around him gripped him tight. He groaned your name as you pulled him down with you.

The waves rolled over you. Each one was just as intense as the last, washing over your body as you trembled while every nerve in your body lit up with pleasure. And as his thumb kept circling your clit, the pleasure kept going, the waves not stopping until you were weakly pushing him away.

He finally stopped, withdrawing his hand but staying buried inside of you. He slowly softened, his cum starting to leak out of you onto the table as the two of you caught your breath.

You stayed like that for a few, long minutes before he finally pulled out of you, the both of you hissing at the sensation. He tucked himself back into his briefs.

Your eyes looked around the kitchen, searching for a towel or cloth or something to clean up the dripping mess between your legs.

You didn’t get a chance, though, because Jack was grabbing the chair he’d previously occupied, spinning it to sit between your legs, eyes level with your stomach.

“What are-”

Your voice failed you as a smirk you were very quickly beginning to recognize spread across his face. His hands dragged you back to the edge of the table, readjusting you to his liking.

“I’m going to eat you out until you’re crying,” he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Like you told me to.”

“Jack, I just-”

He cut you off again.

“Plus,” he lowered his head, lifting your thighs over his shoulders. “I haven’t had dinner yet and I am starving.”

[donald4spiderman]

whew they freaked out

[afternight-crimson]

an exception, chapter 2 [jack abbot x reader]

summary: you're forced to face jack after what just happened and simultaneously, you try to address his recent behavior as of lately. you also have decided that maybe it's time for you to step back from putting yourself out there. without casual sex, you have nothing to do except to face what you actually feel for your attending physician.

chapter 1 / chapter 2

wc: 8.5k (LMAO I KINDA WENT INSANE IM SRRY)

warnings/tags: +18 mdni, jack abbot x reader, resident!female reader, explicit language, mutual pining/yearning, mentions of jack's insecurities, a little bit of fluff, unprotected sex, piv, riding, oral sex (reader!receiving), nipple play, both of them orgasm yay

a/n: JESUS this took me so long but writing about full on sex made my head hurt a lil. i wanted to make sure too that this would make up for how long i've made y'all wait ever since chapter 1. i also got into an accident, which somehow gave me a spark of inspiration to finish this LOL. enjoy! and like what i always say, i'd love to hear what you guys think about it and im open to any constructive criticisms.

You storm out of the ER, finding yourself just outside the entrance of the E.R.

It's dark and quiet. The city feels different at this hour, something you’ve grown used to ever since switching to nights.

You sigh as you try to get your shit together; the shame of lashing out at your friend sits heavy and sour in your stomach. Ellis didn't deserve that.

But the sheer embarrassment of what happened with Jake still burns hot under your skin.

And what happened with Jake was really unfortunate.

Getting dumped by a hot guy stings. It stings even more when you remember that Jake was genuinely a great guy. He knew your body you well, so fucking well.

He was attractive, funny, and easy to be with.

The accident happened just a few nights ago. You were so into the moment, and he was giving it to you really good.

He was on top of you, your legs pushed up, your knees on your chest, his hands under your thighs, pounding you with all his fucking might. Your mind and body, both loose and intoxicated from alcohol and exhaustion, and the relief of finally getting laid after another brutal week in the ED.

But your intoxicated system played tricks on you at that time.

The more you moaned Jake's name, the more you thought of how close it sounds to Jack's.

And somewhere in that haze, Jack's face slipped into your head.

Your frustratingly attractive attending physician with his steady hands, low voice, and those stupidly kind eyes, the one that you would think about when you're relieving yourself instead of some person you don't feel fully connected with.

You slurred from Jake, Jake, Jake to Jack.

You tried to play it off. Jack and Jake both sound so similar, close enough to be believable. But Jake didn't buy it, and he left your apartment upset, with a text that tells you that he doesn't wanna waste his time with a woman hung up on someone else. Harsh.

More importantly, you hate that Ellis saw through you. You hate that she's right. You do have a thing for Jack, for your fucking attending physician of all people in this damn hospital.

You would never admit to anyone that when you're alone in bed, or when you're having trouble reaching an orgasm. It's him you think about.

You have been crushing on Jack for… well, almost years now?

The thought alone makes you wince.

It sounds pathetic when you frame it like that. But how can anyone not fall for the man?

You couldn't pin when, where, and how you fell for the Dr. Abbot. But you only realized that you had feelings for him when he got close to you, reading your unfinished charts over your shoulders.

He was… so smart, attentive, a good teacher… and really good-looking. You actually learned a lot from that moment you had with him. It's pathetic that you remember it so clearly too.

You remember how he got close to you, to teach you how to write your charts better, even tell you he likes reading how you write; how he admires how your mind works and how you take care of your patients; and how he told you on your second week in the PTMC that he is so grateful he is to have you in his department.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn't realize Jack was behind you.

He calls out to you softly with your honorific, "You okay?"

You don't look at him. He's the last person you want to talk to, especially right now, "Yeah, I need some time alone."

You expect him to just walk away, but unfortunate for you, he stayed there.

Jack doesn't say anything as he takes another step closer to you.

"Are you sure?" he asks so gently.

"Yeah," you answer a little too quickly.

A moment of silence settles between the two of you. You're hoping that he would just leave you alone. His presence isn't what need for your rattled system.

"Is it.. is it about your boyfriend?" he asks innocently. You don't even sense that he's probing.

"I.. What?" you finally look at him, couldn't help the annoyance in your voice after hearing a stupid question.

But then again, maybe he probably got that idea that Jake was your boyfriend from how many times he has overheard you with Ellis. It leaves a bitter taste on you.

But you see the genuine concern on his face and you sigh, "No, he's not my boyfriend. Never was."

“Oh,” he says quietly.

You look away again, arms folding tighter across yourself.

"Well… I'm here if you ever need someone to talk to," he says softly.

You hate hearing him, like that, all soft and genuine. When he has been kind of making you feel like shit for the past few weeks for god knows why.

You fully turn to him now. Maybe the adrenaline from yelling earlier is making you feel a bit bold.

"Can I ask you something?” you ask, arms still crossed.

“Of course.”

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling stupid beofre you even ask the question, but you keep your eyes on him.

“Am I… doing okay here?”

Jack blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean here in the department,” you let out a small, awkward laugh. “Lately you’ve just been kinda harsh on me and I—” you stop yourself, embarrassed already. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I’ve been messing up more than I realized.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, guilt crashes into him almost immediately.

"I.. I swear I'm doing my best," you continue quietly, not wanting to sound too desperate for his approval. "I don't let any of my personal shit affect me, so can you just… tell me what I've been doing wrong? It's… driving me nuts."

He didn't mean to be that harsh that it makes you doubt yourself. Sure, he has been stricter with you because of.. well, reasons he's afraid to admit. But also because every interaction with you has started requiring more control than he’s comfortable admitting.

But to you, it just felt like disappointment, and he has been too deep in his head to realize.

Jack exhales quietly, his expression softening almost painfully.

“Hey,” he says carefully, “you are one of the best residents I’ve worked with.”

"Doesn't really feel like it," you mutter, shifting your gaze somewhere else.

"I… I didn't mean to make you feel that way. That's on me."

You stay quiet, eyes still somewhere else but him.

"Look," he puts his hand on your shoulder. "I mean it when I say you're good, and I'm sorry that I made you feel like you're not. You are."

His other hand curls into a fist on his back, as if to control himself from spilling inappropriate shit an attending would say.

"I am thoroughly grateful that you chose to stay here. It's a tough department, so I can see why people come and go, but…" he trails off, and you look at him.

You feel your breath hitch when you see his eyes on you. He and his intense eyes… just… all on you, like you're the only thing that matters to him. But you're probably being delusional right now.

Jack sighs, "But.. you? You stayed. That means a lot to the department, the patients, and us."

He held himself back from saying 'me', because that would be selfish, right?

"You are not messing anything up, okay?"

You nod, a small smile creeping up on your face.

That made you feel better, not only because it gave you the reassurance that you are still competent, but all of it came from him.

"Thanks, Doctor Abbot," you smile sheepishly.

He nods, removing his hand from your shoulder.

"Don't stay out here too long, alright? We still have some patients to take care of," he says, patting your shoulder.

"Got it, doc," you nod earnestly, as Jack walks past you, returning to the chaos that awaits him in the E.R.

You look back at the quiet city ahead of you and take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart before going back in there.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

After what happened with Jake, you swore to yourself that you're gonna take a break from it, from outsourcing your stress relief.

It does get very tiring to put yourself out there, and just pray for your luck to land on a decent person who can fuck you so good, all the pent-up stress from your work goes away for a moment. It's an exhausting and dangerous gamble.

So naturally, you just stopped trying altogether. No more dating apps, no more flirting during night outs, and just.. no more casual sex.

For the next two months, you just worked. You struggled to keep still now that you have a lot of pent-up energy and time that you used to spend going out, so sometimes you would spend more hours in the hospital until your body is practically screaming at you to get some break.

People somehow noticed that you stopped your usual stress-relieving activities. Some residents even teased you that you have gone celibate or have put yourself off the market.

You just laughed along, saying that you just want a break from it, that's just a fact.

Yet, without those temporary distractions filling the empty spaces in your life, it became impossible to ignore who has been in the back of your mind.

Without getting preoccupied by other people, you started noticing just how often your thoughts naturally circled back to Jack.

Lately, you let the thoughts dwell when you're alone, in bed, with a toy between your legs after a tough shift. It was the only way you can relieve yourself for now.

You would think about the times when he would murmur "good work" beside you after a brutal case. The way his hand would briefly touch your shoulder while squeezing past you when the E.R gets crowded. The way he would look for you first to help him when the floor is overwhelmed with patients from a mass casualty, and would still look for you first after just to check on you.

You keep thinking to yourself that none of those meant anything. He is just an observant man.

Jack was just being kind. He was just being attentive. Just being the good attending everyone respected him for.

But it's hard not to think too much about it when you noticed that Jack has been nicer to you after that talk outside the E.R.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

For almost 3 months of staying true to your promise of "taking a break from the streets" as Ellis would eloquently call it. You find yourself in a bar.

It feels odd to be here again, and you aren't even sure if you still have game. But you decided that maybe you should put yourself out again. Especially when Ellis is practically begging you to "get laid".

Ellis, your ever-caring friend, explicitly told you to “Fuck whatever this is out of your system before you become unbearable" after witnessing you practically tear apart two students within the same shift.

In your defense, they were being slow and uncooperative. Watching them practically fumble putting in an IV was aggravating to watch.

So here you are, in your tight denim shorts, a maroon tube top, layered with a cropped leather jacket and black tights. You look absolutely great.

With all the effort you have put, you just hope that tonight will be a good night.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

Welp, after almost 3 hours of mingling. You conclude that… was a disaster.

You're not sure if it was your skill or just pure luck that made the whole fucking bar just so happen to be full of assholes.

The first guy talks exclusively about crypto, and you genuinely aren't sure if he's actually trying to flirt with you or just trying to get you to invest in it too to increase its value.

Another spends almost 20 minutes talking shit about his ex. Jesus, she's an emergency medicine doctor, not a fucking therapist.

The guy after him was actually attractive. He was tall, funny, and easy to talk to. But he couldn't keep his hands to himself, so you had to swat his hand away when he tried to grab your ass like he had already earned the right to go that far.

After finishing your drink, you already feel drained. Maybe you really have been out of the game for too long.

Every encounter has left you drained, and not even the good kind that you've been hoping for.

You find yourself walking to the nearest convenience store, your system itching for something to take off the edge.

The cold air conditioning of the store hits your bare shoulders immediately as you make your way toward the counter, arms folding loosely around yourself.

You line up in front of the cashier, already digging through your bag for your wallet.

"A box of Marlboro black, please," you say politely, pulling out cash from your wallet and put it on the counter as you wait for the cashier to pull out the box and scan it on the register.

You ended up going back to smoking after swearing off casual sex. It helps you decompress but it doesn't really feel enough.

The cashier hands you the box and as you're absentmindedly staring at the lottery tickets by the register, you hear your name.

You swear it sounds familiar, and you're not sure if it's your mind playing tricks, so you turn around.

There he is.

Jack is behind you, wearing a black shirt that you always see him in at the hospital, on top of it is a gray jacket, and paired with his dark sweatpants.

"Doctor Abbot?" you ask. You suddenly feel weirdly exposed.

You didn't really want him to see you tonight, especially with how you're dressed, especially now that your black see-through tights are slightly ripped because they got snagged on a chair at the bar.

"Hey you… coming from a night out?" he asks with a smirk.

"Oh uh.. yeah.. yeah" you nod, taking a few steps aside so that Jack can put his items on the cashier.

He puts microwaveable ready-to-eat meals and some bottles of water with electrolytes.

You raise an eyebrow, "That doesn't look very healthy," you comment.

He breathes through his nose humourously, "You think that is?" he points to your box of cigarettes.

"Fair point," you chuckle.

The cashier scans Jack’s items while the two of you stand there in silence. Jack then pays for his items and grabs the paper bag with his items in.

You continue to chat as you both walk out of the store, stopping just beside the glass doors.

"Do you live around here?" you ask since he was the last guy you expected to see tonight around here.

"Yeah, I moved just right there—" he points to the building across, just a few blocks away, "—because my old apartment had a really bad termite infestation. They closed the whole building down."

"Jesus. I'm hoping your current one is free from termites?"

He chuckles, "So far, yep."

You hum in acknowledgement before a brief moment of silence has passed. You pull your shorts down just a little, catching Jack's attention momentarily.

Jack wonders if you're feeling a bit self-conscious about what you're wearing. How your 'bar' outfit would probably leave a bad impression on your attending physician. He thinks you shouldn't worry about that, because he's busy enjoying every bit of you that he never got the fortune to see.

"So… was it a good night?" Jack casually asks, deducing that you just came from a night out.

"Nope. That's why I'm settling for this," you wave the box, unwrapping it from its plastic.

But before you can even finish peeling off the plastic, rain starts to pour on the streets. Both of you to rush under a roof by the convenience store.

"Shit," you curse, looking at your small bag. If only you brought a bigger one, you would've had an umbrella.

"Forgot. an umbrella?" he asks, shaking rainwater from his sleeves.

"It wasn't even supposed to rain tonight," you grumble.

"Eh.. you can never really trust those weather apps."

You sigh dramatically, opening your Uber app while rain pounds loudly around you. Of course, the fare prices immediately surged.

Jack glances at your screen briefly before looking back out at the rain.

“You can wait it out at my place if you want," he says like it's no big deal.

You blink, looking up from your phone almost immediately.

“What?”

He gestures casually towards the apartment building he pointed at earlier, “It’s literally a few blocks away."

You glance out the street, watching the rain aggressively pour on the streets.

“I don’t wanna intrude.”

“You won’t," he shakes his head in disagreement. "I'd feel really bad to leave you here stranded."

The rain continues to hammer against the pavement, loud enough that it almost drowns out the way your heart suddenly starts beating a little harder.

He's just being caring like he always is, right? You think to yourself.

"You can just wait there until the prices go down,” he adds. “I have coffee. Probably something edible too.”

You bite your bottom lip in uncertainty. It's not a big deal, it shouldn't be.

"Yeah, sure. I'd really appreciate it," you exhale slowly before finally shoving your phone back into your bag.

The rain is absolutely brutal now, pounding against the pavement hard enough to blur the streetlights into smears of color.

“I don't have an umbrella either” he points out, glancing toward the apartment building down the block. “But it’s not that far.”

The rain seems to fall stronger as soon as those words left his mouth. You laugh once in disbelief. “We’re gonna get soaked.”

"You think you can run?" Jack asks, glancing down at your boots.

"Well, I hope so. You?" you glance down too, and then at his shoes—worried about his prosthetic.

He seems to catch that and grins, "Of course. I was stellar in physical therapy."

A strong gust of wind hits you both. He curses under his breath at how cold that was.

"Ready?" Jack looks at you.

“No.”

“Good enough.”

Before you can complain, Jack grabs your wrist, and the two of you bolt into the rain.

Cold water hits the both of you instantly. You gasp as rain soaks through your clothes within seconds, your boots splashing through puddles while you try not to completely eat shit on the slick pavement.

You couldn't help but laugh at your predicament. Your attending that you have a crush on, running with him with his hands around your wrist, as you both run to his apartment in the rain. This feels oddly romantic.

By the time you both stumble into the apartment lobby, completely drenched and breathless, you laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, pushing soaked hair away from your face.

"You're not a bad runner," Jack teases.

"Oh shut up," you roll your eyes, taking off your drenched jacket.

Jack snorts softly before reaching up to brush the wet hair back from his forehead. Then his eyes flicker to you. His gaze drags briefly over your damp hair, your bare shoulders, the way your tube top clings slightly, your ripped tights plastered against your legs from the rain.

He didn't realize his eyes were lingering until he realizes you're looking at him. He clears his throat softly, and looks away toward the elevator.

“This way,” he says quietly, letting you step in first as soon as it opens.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

You both finally reach his apartment on the 5th floor and Jack just lent you some dry clothes.

He hears the bathroom door open and sees you walk out barefoot, wearing the clothes he just gave you after insisting that he doesn't want you dripping around his apartment.

The shirt hangs loose on you, its size almost swallowing you whole, while the sweatpants sit low on your hips after you tighten the drawstring.

“Let me,” he says quietly, stepping forward to take the wet bundle from your hands. “I’ll throw these in the dryer.”

“Thanks," you smile sheepishly, the warmth of his clothes enveloping you. The feeling of domesticity creeping in, a feeling that is unusual when you're with your attending.

You see Jack has already changed into dry clothes as well, wearing a gray shirt and a pair of plaid green pajamas. You're so used to seeing him in his scrubs, or occasionally in his SWAT uniform.

Right now? He just looks so… comfortable, and more vulnerable somehow, if that makes sense. Jack always seems to be so kept-together in the hospital, a big contrast to how he looks right now.

Jack nods once before disappearing briefly down the hall.

When he comes back, he goes to the kitchen counter, trying very hard to act normal despite the fact that his heart has been acting profoundly embarrassing ever since you walked out of the bathroom.

“You want tea or coffee?” he asks, opening one of the cabinets above the counter.

"Coffee would be nice," you answer.

Jack nods once and reaches for two mugs. The apartment is quiet except for the rain hitting the windows and the low hum of the coffee maker.

"You can wait for me on the couch," he nods towards the living room while the coffee brews.

You hum in acknowledgement and walk towards the couch.

Jack tries not to let his gaze follow, but he takes advantage of your back turned to him to let his eyes trail all over you. Whatever gods are out there right now, he is absolutely grateful for granting him this moment. For giving him this chance encounter, where he gets to see you outside the exhaustion and chaos of the E.R, where he even gets to see you wearing his clothes.

Jack has spent months trying not to want you this much.

Before he gets caught up in his moment of gratitude, he snaps out of it and continues to make coffee for the both of you.

*

You and Jack eventually find yourselves talking about whatever you can think about. Surprisingly, you and Jack have a lot in common outside the E.R. Both of your mugs on the table in front of you, growing colder as you talk more.

You shift slightly, legs tucked under you to make yourself comfortable. After a pause from your conversation, your voice drops a little.

“I just wanna say thank you, and sorry for bothering you tonight,” you mumble. “If the bar wasn’t full of assholes, I probably wouldn’t be sitting in your apartment wearing your clothes right now.”

"Oh come on, you're not a bother."

You laugh softly through your nose. “You say that now.”

"I mean it. Besides, I’d rather have you here drinking my coffee than wonder if some random guy from a bar was making your night worse"

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I think I lost my game."

"I don't think so," Jack reassures you, that's such a stupid thing for you to say.

You glance at him and he shrugs lightly against the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest.

“Maybe the bar was just full of idiots.”

You snort softly, “That’s very generous of you.”

Jack chuckles, grabbing his mug to take a long sip. You turn to your cup, and grab it, letting your thoughts drift.

Before you can stop your curiosity, you can't help but ask the one question that most of the department has been wondering.

"I mean, what about you?" you ask, turning slightly to him. "Have you tried putting yourself out there?"

Jack lets out a humurous exhale through his nose. He never really felt the need to. He was completely fine with his current status. The thought of entering the dating world seems too messy and the last thing he wants is to let unnecessary complications add up to his personal turmoils that involve you.

"Me? No. I don't think anyone would be interested in me."

You scoff at that, "Do you seriously think that?"

"Yeah, I mean. I'm past my prime."

"Past your prime? Are you aware of how many nurses, doctors and patients find you attractive?" you retort in disbelief.

"Eh, I don't know," he mutters, unconvinced.

"You don’t know?” you repeat incredulously. “Jack, half the hospital has a crush on you.”

“I think they find my competence attractive. People on the internet has a term for that…. what is it—” he gestures vaguely with his cup.

"Competency kink?" you raise an eyebrow

"Yeah, that."

You laugh despite yourself, but he still looks unconvinced, gaze lowered toward the drink in his hands.

The way he looks right now, uncertain of his appeal, how he talks about himself throws you off.

Jack Abbot is one hell of an asset in the PTMC. Not only is he a great attending physician, but he is absolutely charming, that's what makes him so great to work with despite your undisclosed feelings making it a bit complicated.

He smiles at nurses and they brighten instantly. Patients adore him. Residents gravitate toward him. He can be such a flirt too, without meaning to half the time. He is just that charismatic.

You’ve seen people stare at him when he’s not looking. Hell, you’ve done it yourself.

"They see you more than that," you insist.

"Debatable."

"Come on," you groan.

"What?” He shrugs, still not meeting your eyes, still not seeing what the big deal is. “I’m serious. Being competent just makes people overlook things.”

"What things exactly?"

He raises his hand wearing the black ring, "I'm older than almost everyone. I'm a widow, an amputee, and I work too much."

He rubs a hand over his jaw absentmindedly. “I’m tired all the time. I’ve got stress lines coming in. Gray hair.” He gestures to his hair.

"That's not a bad thing."

"Is it not? I just don't see how anyone can be even interested in—"

You don't know what came to you.

You're not buzzed. Not really, since you didn't drink that much at the bar earlier. You're literally just having coffee.

Your mind is painfully clear as you sit beside the man currently talking about himself like he's undesirable. When he has no idea just how much you have wanted him all this time. How many nights you’ve spent trying to bury these feelings under strangers and fleeting distractions.

But there you are, your lips on his before you can even overthink it, shutting him up before he can say another terrible thing about himself

Jack goes completely still. You can feel the slight hitch in his breathing.

Before you can even get lost in it, you pull away immediately. Fuck

"Shit. I—" you avert your gaze, unable to meet the stunned look on his face.

You immediately scoot away from him on the couch. Your heart attempting to beat its way out of your chest. What the fuck were you thinking?

"That was… completely inappropriate. I don't know what came on to me and—" you start, breath catching awkwardly as you drag a hand over your face.

You face away and plant your feet on the ground, about to leave the sofa, but, Jack holds your wrist.

You face him. His eyes flick down to your mouth for half a second before meeting your eyes again. The look on his face makes your stomach flip violently.

"Can I kiss you this time?" he asks, trying to conceal how shaky his voice is.

You're not sure if he's being real or not. But when he scoots to you closer, you feel his warmth radiating off of him, confirming that yes… this is real.

You nod, and that’s all it takes for him.

He puts his mug on the table, his hand comes up slowly, cautiously, brushing against your jaw like he’s still giving you room to stop him.

When you showed no signs of refusal, he leans in and presses his lips on yours.

He kisses you softly, and carefully. As if he's scared that if he does more than that, he might ruin this. The very thing that he has wished for, and even prayed for.

After all, he has wanted you for so long.

His hand stays warm against your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your skin while he leans into you with a restraint that almost hurts.

You may have sensed how meticulous he currently is, as if he's still testing the waters. Because he feels your hand slide into his hair, tugging it to pull him closer to you.

He groans, exhaling sharply against your mouth and throws away all his restraint. He feels it, already losing himself just from the feeling of your lips moulding on his.

Jack pulls away to look at you, to see if you're still okay with this.

"Abbot," you whisper, saying his surname out of habit.

"Jack." he huffs as if he's correcting you.

"What?" you try to make sense of what he just said in your buzzed state.

"Please.. call me Jack."

You stare at him, thinking about how strange it would feel when you address him by his first name, but then again, its the same name you moan when you're touching yourself.

"Jack," you mutter softly, trying how it sounds on your tongue in front of him.

"Fuck," he curses in delight, pulling you by your jaw to kiss you again. His mouth moving with yours desperately, his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck to pull you closer.

You whimper into the kiss, pleasantly surprised how rough he's getting.

You pull away, hurriedly sitting on top of him before kissing him again, to get comfortable and close to him as much as you can.

"Is this okay?" you ask, hoping that your weight isn't too much on his prosthetic.

"Better than okay, sweetheart," he says leaning in to catch your lips again.

You chuckle into the kiss at how impatient he is now, he groans softly at vibration, letting his hands roam all over you, squeezing and feeling every part of you that he has been thinking of for god knows how long now.

Jack couldn't believe it, couldn't believe the fact that he has you right on his lap.

One arm wraps tightly around your waist while the other cradles the side of your face, kissing you like he still can’t fully believe this is real.

You melt into him immediately.

You moan softly, barely audible. It's embarrassing how this alone is getting you so riled up… too riled up.

Jack squeezes both of your tits, groaning at the feeling of your plump flesh and your hard nipples under his shirt. He can feel how fast your heart is beating, and puts one hand between your breasts, feeling your heartbeat.

"Are you good?" he asks, slightly worried.

"Y-yeah.. I'm just nervous," you say sheepishly.

He smiles slyly, "Is it because you're breaking your principle?"

"What?"

"The thing you have about not sleeping with co-workers," he says, just like how you would say it.

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing at him. You wonder if he's been extra observant of you.

"Do you pay that much attention to me, Doctor Abbot?"

His jaw clenches slightly, the way his eyes darken for half a second before he exhales softly through his nose.

"Maybe. Maybe a little too closely."

"Sounds like I'm your favorite."

"Don't let the others know," he says lowly, his lips hovering yours.

He makes a trail of hot open mouthed kisses against your jaw then pulls back, facing you.

"If you're not ready. Just tell me you want to stop, and I will.”

Jack has always been intense with his eye contact, but all the times you've met his eyes were nothing compared to the ones you're looking at right now.

He's looking at you, as if he's telling himself to behave and not want too much from you.

So, you smile and shake your head no. You reach for the back of his head to capture his mouth again, kiss him with everything you’ve been holding back.

His hands drop to your waist, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. You feel the hard length of him through his pajamas, pressing against your clothed core.

He cups your jaw with one hand, tilting your head just so, deepening the kiss at his own eager pace.

You tug on his shirt upwards and Jack immediately pulls back just enough to strip it off in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere onto the floor without care.

Your breath catches softly at the sight of him.

A faint flush creeps across his face under your stare, but before you can say anything about it, his hands are already on you again, firm and warm as he carefully switches your position, your back now against the couch cushions.

You gasp softly as he settles over you, bracing himself carefully above your body.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice rougher now.

Then his mouth is on your neck, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

You shudder, arching your back involuntarily, pressing you up into him. He responds with a low satisfied hum of approval, the sound rumbling against your pulse point. His lips part, and you feel the wet heat of his tongue trace a slow, deliberate line down the side of your throat, tasting you, mapping you.

"Y'look so cute with my pajamas on, can I take these off?"

The question hangs in the air between you. His fingers tugging your shirt up gently but eagerly. It's cute how he's still so polite.

You nod, letting him pull the shirt over your head.

Then he slides your pajamas down, slow and deliberate, as if he's unwrapping a gift from the gods. He ogles at every inch of skin that is exposed. The cool air hits your skin, raising goosebumps, but his body heat is already there, pressing down, replacing the chill with his warmth.

His eyes rake over your body, lingering on the curves, hollows, and every part of you. He lets out a slow breath, almost reverent. "Fuuuuck, you're beautiful."

He lowers his mouth to your chest, starting at the swell of your breast, kissing the soft skin with so much tenderness. His lips trace a path inward, circling closer to your nipple with agonizing slowness. He teases the edge of it, never quite touching the peak. Your back arches, a plea in the movement, and he chuckles against your skin.

"These are so pretty," he mutters. Then he takes you in his mouth.

His lips close around your nipple, pulling it deep, his tongue pressing flat against the hard nub. He sucks firmly, rhythmically, drawing a long moan from your throat.

"Ah—fuck, Jack," you whimper.

He smiles slyly, teeth grazing the tip of your nipple, a light scrape that makes you hiss, then he soothes it with a swirl of his tongue. He alternates between soft kisses and deep, hungry suction, building a rhythm that has you grabbing his hair.

His hand comes up to cup your other breast, thumb rubbing circles around the nipple while his mouth works the first. He pinches lightly, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers, matching the pace of his mouth. Jesus Christ, you feel so soft in his fucking mouth.

"Feel good?" he asks. He takes your whine as a yes, biting down gently on the nipple he's sucking with his eyes on you, just enough to send a sharp pulse of pleasure-pain through you, then releases it with a wet pop.

He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention—kissing, licking, sucking, biting. Taking his precious time with your fleshy tits.

When he's satisfied both are glistening and hard, he pulls back.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice rough. His hands slide down your stomach, over your belly, stopping at the waistband of your panties. He hooks his fingers under the elastic, tugging them down, letting his knuckles brush against your mound as he goes. You lift your hips again, and he peels the damp fabric down your legs, discarding it somewhere on the floor.

He settles between your thighs, his broad shoulders nudging them apart. He runs his hands up your inner thighs, thumbs spreading your folds, revealing your glistening arousal.

"Jesus, you're wet," he coos, directly more to your pussy instead of you.

He doesn't tease. So, the greedy man that he is, leans in, his tongue flat against your slit, dragging up from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke. Jesus fuck, you taste so good, he can't help but ruts on the cushion, giving his cock a little bit of relief. The taste of you fills his mouth and he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your cunt.

"Fuck, Jack," you whine.

You've been eaten out godly well for a lot of times, but you swear there's something so fucking delicious with how your attending is feasting on your pussy, moaning like this is the best thing he has put his mouth.

"You taste so good, darling. Enjoying my mouth?" he looks up at you, tongue still working on you. You look so flustered above him, and before you can even give him an answer he licks again, slower this time, savoring, his tongue circling your clit with a precision that makes your hips buck, enjoying every bit of reaction he can get from you.

Jack sucks that sensitive nub between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, alternating pressure and speed based on the twitch of your hips and the pitch of your moans. One hand grips your thigh, holding you open; the other sneaks up to your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple in time with his tongue.

He pulls his mouth away just long enough to mutter against your thigh, "You think you can cum for me? Can my pretty girl do that?"

He buries his face again, his tongue plunging into your entrance before returning to your clit, relentless.

The pressure builds, coiling in your belly like a spring, your breath coming in short gasps. Your hands find his hair again, gripping, pulling, riding his mouth as he works you toward the edges.

"Jack—oh my fuck… I-I—" you stutter pathetically.

The sound of your broken moans sends a jolt straight to his cock, already hard and aching in his pajamas. He doubles down, sealing his lips around your clit and sucks hard. The coil in your belly tightens to a snapping point, and he feels it—feels the way your hips buck, hears how desperate your whimpers are. He groans against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body, pushing you over the edge.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmyfuckinggod," you ramble like a mess as you cum.

"That's it, always so good for me," he coos, not letting up, lapping at you through your climax, drinking every drop of your release as you shudder under his mouth.

He places one last kiss on your pussy, before sitting up.

"Can't wait to have you, fuck," he mumbles, almost growling from the impatience. He lifts himself up above you.

You tug his pajamas down, and he moves to help you get rid of them as fast as you two can.

The moment he goes back on top of you, your legs settle over his hips. He positions himself in between your legs, pumping himself a few times until Jack’s brain short-circuits.

For most of the entire time that he has known you, he has been fantasizing about this very moment. To have you, the woman of his dreams, under him. To finally see this part of you, vulnerable and needy. This is utterly a mind-blowing situation for him as he doesn't deserve such a gorgeous fucking woman.

All those dreams and fantasies that he has conjured in his mind is finally happening, and yet it's starting to overwhelm him.

This is it. The main fucking event.

But it's been a while for him, and fantasies never really accounts for this. For how long it has been since he actually had sex.

He continues to pump his cock, to keep himself grounded and not wallow in his self-doubt right now.

He shouldn't think too much about it. He doesn't want to be like those guys who can't live up to what they expect of themselves. All Jack wants is to make you feel good, but not when his stupid brain is messing with him.

You feel the tension in his gaze, sensing that there’s a tightness in him now that wasn’t there a few moments ago. Like his mind is somewhere else entirely despite the way he’s looking at you.

“Hey.” Your voice cuts through the noise, low and steady. You prop yourself up with your elbows, planting your palms on his chest, feeling his heart hammer against your fingers. “Jack. Look at me.”

He does, reluctantly, and you see the worry. He’s holding himself still, muscles rigid, his brows furrowed in worry.

"Is something wrong? We can stop if you feel uncomfortab—"

"No," he cuts you off.

"I… I really want this, but… shit—sorry. It's just has been a while.." he murmurs.

"It's been a while since..?"

"I.. I did this," he says sheepishly, looking away from you.

You give him an empathetic smile, though a bit surprised by that. You hold both of his cheeks.

"Let me lead then, okay?"

"But—" It's not like Jack doesn't want to. It's just that it is so pathetic of him to start fumbling right fucking now of all times.

"Please?" you ask so gently.

He snaps out of his self-depracting thoughts and just nods, letting his cock go and leans back.

"Sit on the sofa for me," you gently instruct.

As soon as he has made himself comfortable sitting on his couch, you straddle his hips again. Your hand cupping his jaw, making him look at you as you grind his slick on his hard cock.

“Do you feel me?” you ask softly, your eyes on his.

He nods, gulping a moan.

"Y-yeah. Feels nice," he groans.

"Just feel me, okay Jack?"

You position the head of his cock against your entrance again. The warmth of your slick folds makes him hiss through his teeth.

You sink down just an inch, taking the head inside, and he moans.

He stares at you for a long, aching moment, then nods, a shaky exhale escaping him. “Yeah. I trust you.”

“Good.” You lower yourself fully, hissing slightly as your pussy takes him to the hilt, and the way he fills you, stretches you makes you feel lightheaded.

He groans, his head falling back, his hands gripping your hips.

You whine at how your pussy tries to accommodate to his length and girth.

"Shit, you're fuck…" you take a deep breath. "Bigger than I fucking thought."

His hands squeeze your waist. “God,” he breathes. “You’re—this is—fuck, I can feel everything.”

You start to move, slow and deep, and he lets you, his eyes never leaving where you’re joined. The slick slide, the heat, the intimacy of it.

You lean down and kiss him, tasting his relief, and moving your hips up and down, up and down, up and down.

“Fuck,” Jack whispers, the back of his head falling on the top of the back cushion, his eyes fluttering juuust a little, letting himself get carried away.

This is quite an incredible awe sight for you. Your attending physician, the one who intimidates the shit out of everyone in your department. Yet, here he is, under you, all flushed, eyes fluttering and mouth open.

If it weren't for his cock stretching you deliciously, you would've taunted how he looks right now.

Jack is rambling like some fucking teenager having sex for the first time, every sensation messing with his brain as he feels every contraction of your walls around him. His hips twitch upward instinctively, you feel him stopping himself, like he’s punishing himself for wanting more.

You hold his jaw, making him look at you, "Don't overthink it," you say lowly.

He nods, letting his hips buck upwards.

You gasp at the impact, diving in for a kiss, deep and messy, your tongue sliding against his. He groans into your mouth, and you lift your hips, juuust enough for the tip to stay in, and then drop them again, harder this time. The slap of skin echoes in the quiet room, and his breath catches.

Jack breaks the kiss, moaning your name.

"Fuck, I 've wanted you for so long," he babbles, his mind so fucking dazed that he himself is not sure of what he's saying.

You feel your heart start to beat louder, the words catching you by surprise that your walls pulse tightly around him, causing him to hiss.

"Really?" you ask.

"Fuck.. y-yeah yeah," he nods eagerly.

You couldn't help yourself but ask, "Have you been thinking about this a lot?"

He just nods and moans, completely out of it.

You lean, your lips close to his ear, "I've been thinking about this too."

Jack groans at your words, thinking that he may be in a lucid dream, but when you set a faster pace, rising and falling on his cock with a rhythm that cements how much you want him, and how good his cock fucking feels— he's pretty sure that he's not.

“There,” you whisper, picking up speed. “That’s it, just enjoy it.”

He smiles weakly, the doubts clouding in his mind has already disappeared. You see it in the way his furrowed brow smooths, in the way his mouth falls open, in the way his eyes glaze with pleasure instead of worry. His hands roam your body, gripping your ass, your thighs, your breasts, like he’s finally letting himself have this.

“I’m close,” he chokes out, and there’s panic threading through the words. “I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t hold it.”

“Don’t," You lean down, your breasts brushing his chest, your lips at his ear. “I—fuck, I'm close too.”

Your rhythm starts to get sloppy, every downward stroke grinds your clit against his pubic bone, sending sparks through your own body.

"Shit shit shit," he curses, squeezing your waist so tightly that it's deliciously painful.

He moans your name one last time as his whole body tenses, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spills inside you, hot and thick. You slam down one last time, holding it deep as your orgasm tears through you, your walls convulsing around his shaft.

He shudders through his orgasm, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against him as the aftershocks ripple through his muscles.

You stay still, letting him pulse inside you, your hand stroking his hair as his breathing slowly evens out.

“See?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Nothing to overthink.”

"Fuck," he breathes, hands flying to your hips. "You're amazing."

You smile, lifting yourself up from his lap and collapse beside him, his cum dripping a little on his sofa.

Jack looks at you, for a minute he doesn't say anything.

"What?" you ask with a smile.

God, you really are such a beautiful girl. A beautiful girl like you, so caring, and accommodating to his desire for you—needs to be spoiled. One round isn't enough, his mind and still hard cock agrees.

"You wanna go to my bedroom?" he asks bluntly.

The directness of his voice makes you smile even wider. You look down on his lap and see how he's still hard, and you bite your lip in excitement, feeling the heat in your belly and your pussy once again.

"Fuck yeah."

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

Right at 6:40 P.M on a Wednesday, Jack is already in the emergency room, looking at the board of patients.

He taps his foot mindlessly, with a blissful look on his face. Suddenly, he feels a pat on his back.

"Someone looks like they don't work in a hospital," Robby says, raising his eyebrows at him.

"And what do you mean by that?" Jack sighs, clearly annoyed by whatever nonsense was that.

"You look happy, brother," Robby chuckles. "Finally got laid?"

"You're imagining shit," he grumbles.

Robby raises his hands in mock surrender, "Hey! No shame here."

Jack just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, flickering his eyes back to the board.

"I'm just saying, man. I'm just glad you seem… lighter these days,” Robby says with a grin, the teasing in his voice softening.

Robby keeps his eyes on Jack, and sees the moment he spaces out before smiling.

"Oh my god, you really are in bliss. What got you so happy?"

Jack's face quickly sours, "None of your business."

Before Robby can even continue to probe, they hear someone call for Jack, walking towards them.

"Doctor Abbot, can I steal you for a sec? I need some help with these lab results," you ask politely, giving a small nod of acknowledgement to the other attending.

Jack clears his throat, his demeanor shifting to the usual seriousness he gives to the other residents when he's in the department, "Yeah sure."

You walk ahead of him, and Jack follows, glancing back at Robby who's already looking at him like he owes him important information.

You stop just by the door of peds. You grab the clipboard with the lab results and hand it to him.

He takes it, unable to hide the surprise on his face and you immediately catch it.

"Oh wow, you actually need my help," he mutters, suddenly feeling stupid for thinking that you're asking him for something else.

"Yeah," you nod.

Jack feels… well, a bit disappointed. He clears his throat lightly and looks back down at the clipboard.

You watch his face sour a bit, you clear your throat to stop yourself from laughing. You move closer to him, angling your head in a way that makes it look like you're taking a closer look at the papers.

"And… I was wondering if you can come over later at my place? Maybe it's time for you to see my apartment after weeks of me coming over to yours?" you say lowly, audible enough for only the two of you.

You flick your eyes to him, a small smile slowly creeps up on Jack's face, "Yeah?"

You nod, giving him a casual shrug with a neutral expression, playing pretend that you two are still talking about work.

"And… don't smile too much. People have been talking. There's already a betting pool on why," you add quietly, glancing around the busy nurses’ station.

Jack immediately clears his throat, forcing his face to stay neutral despite how excited he is for later.

"Alright alright, whatever you say, sweetheart."

--------------------------

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!! i hope i did chapter 2 justice <333333

taglist: @redhooduwu @moonlightartemisblog @faychak @nosebeers @tqd4455 @thatonedindjarinfan, @princessesareforsuckers @husherstan @mayawainfleet @firewalkwithmme @orodaeh @strangegirl26sff @lorosette @mrsxchase @generation-zero @ultimatewolverine @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @proudlyvastlake

[afternight-crimson]

an exception [jack abbot x reader]

summary: as a way to relieve stress from being a resident in the PTMC, you sleep around. over the years, you’ve managed to keep it uncomplicated by following one strict principle: never sleep with coworkers. however, unbeknownst to you, your attending physician, Jack Abbot, wants to be an exception to that principle.

this was based on an idea that i posted weeks ago!

chapter 1, chapter 2

wc: 4.5k

warnings/tags: +18 mdni, jack abbot x reader, resident!reader, sex positive!reader who sleeps around just for stress relief, jealous!jack abbot, jack is a little toxic and an ass to reader, switch!reader, implied switch!jack, yearning jack, one-sided yearning (maybe or maybe not), masturbation, jack feels guilty for jerking off to his resident lol, ellis is reader's bestfriend, may be a lil ooc

a/n: first time writing smut so im saying sorry in advance, i kinda went a lil crazy writing this one so i decided to make it two chapters dsahjahjs (i worked on this for almost a month sdhjshjadshad but i hope i fixed this enough after reading thru it many times. i may need a beta reader for the next chapter) also wanna put it out there that i heavily fw characters thinking to themselves a lot so sorry hjsdahjas

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Surrounded by busy healthcare workers, patients, and their concerned significant loved ones, Ellis was the first one who noticed how you're in such a great mood despite being surrounded by such chaos and uncertainty if things are gonna go well in the ER.

She has known you for the entire time you started working here, immediately clocking it the moment you step out of the locker area, still adjusting your scrubs, eyes already scanning the board.

She takes a step beside you, looking at the same board.

"You got laid?" Ellis asks casually.

"Mhmm," you confirm, almost absentmindedly, a stupid grin on your face. Jesus, you're in bliss.

"How was it?" she asks, with a neutral face.

"I almost passed out," you grin slyly, giving her a summary of how the guy you met from the bar gave you a really, really good time in his apartment.

She breaks, laughing shortly, impressed, "Damn. So I'm assuming you're gonna see him again?"

"Yep," you pop the last letter.

"Oh, now I'm intrigued," she now looks at you, arms crossed, "So, are you gonna give me some details?"

"Of course, anything for my favorite doctor," you chuckle, already expecting this question as you pull your phone out of your scrubs to show her the guy's picture.

"It's a good thing he works at night shift like me, so we can bang after work and—"

You stop when you hear someone clearing his throat, a familiar one. You already know who it is, from how deliberate he's being.

You turn around, lowering your phone.

"Apologies, did I interrupt something more important than saving people?" Jack says almost innocently, the kind of tone he uses to make you feel worse. He looks at you with his shoulders squared up and his hands on his back.

"Oh uh.. No, sorry…" you say softly, unable to meet his eyes as you put your phone back into your pocket, keeping it in mind for later. Your attention drops briefly to the floor before you straighten again.

Beside you, Ellis shifts her weight, keeping her face neutral and unaffected by the intrusion, but she straightens up her posture in front of the attending as well.

Jack tilts his head, as if he's trying to figure out what your business was before he approached you.

He doesn't reply for a moment, keeping you on your toes.

"Save the girls' talk when we're not getting swarmed by patients, okay?" he says, almost sternly but not quite.

"Okay," you answer, making yourself feel small.

"Good, now come along. I need more hands on this patient," Jack nods towards trauma room 3, and walks ahead of you, not waiting to see if you follow, because he already knows you will.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

Jack Abbot liked it more when you came into the ED with a frown on your face.

Sure, he's not fond of his favorite resident being in an awful mood. That's not something he would ever admit, because it sounds wrong the moment it’s put into words, especially coming from an attending physician. It's obviously selfish and petty, completely out of character with the kind of person he’s always been.

He is a very generous man, and the man who has gone out of his way to provide the help, comfort, and care anyone needs. He doesn't like it when people he cares for aren't happy.

But seeing you displeased—unsatisfied —also meant that whoever you chose, whoever you gave your time and attention to, that version of yourself he never gets to see didn't give you what you wanted. Which means you're still free, that no one has gotten a hold of you yet.

It sounds disgusting when he puts it that way, but he can't help it.

You are known to be that one resident who has a pretty active dating life, maybe more accurately, just a very active sex life.

Surprisingly, the people in the department didn't find it scandalous. They knew that this part of your personal life was something that you do to relieve stress. Nothing more, nothing deeper. It just so happens that this is how you cope with the stressful environment you willingly chose to be in the moment you decided to pursue this specialty.

It's not like you're reckless as well, you're… well, safe and careful. Hell, some of your co-workers approach you for advice. Some nurses and residents would approach you, trying to be discreet when asking you for your input or a tip when they're dealing with something related to their sex lives.

You were oddly respected for being that resident who, well, to put it simply, sleeps around.

Because you don’t let it interfere with your work in the PTMC.

You still show up promptly. You still work well with your peers and handle patients with the utmost care and knowledge that you have. Your charts are well-written, your decisions well-thought-out, and your hands steady even when your work environment isn’t. There’s no sloppiness to pin on you, no mistake anyone can trace back to a distraction or a bad decision the night before.

And of course, Jack knows about your reputation and, to be blunt, he's not a fan of it.

Not that he thinks it's shameful. Jack Abbot is sex positive! He doesn't care what the hell people do when they're horny as long as they're doing it safely and no one is getting hurt.

The issue is that it's you.

He doesn't think less of you because of it. God, he'd never do that. He understands coping mechanisms. He respects boundaries.

Everyone finds their own way to cope with the pressure, the exhaustion, the constant emotional whiplash that comes with this job.

Yours just happens to look like fleeting relationships and temporary release.

Over the time you have been working in his department, it took him a while to notice your pattern— whether you had a good fuck or not. Your work was consistent, which is impressive— but your mood, mannerisms, and body language are big indicators.

When you’re lighter, looser, almost amused by everything, he knows that the person you got to bed with was good and you'll probably see them again. When you’re sharp-edged, antsy, and just a little more reckless with your words, especially with stubborn patients, he knows that you just wasted your time with an asshole who is all talk but no fucking bite and that you probably already ghosted them.

He hates himself for taking note of it. It's none of his business. It has never been his business.

He knows to himself that it is creepy. It's almost cruel. Why would an attending physician even take note of something that isn't connected to their work at all?

Still, he finds himself watching you more closely on those nights when the frown lingers. Not out of concern alone, though that’s the excuse he tells himself—but because there’s something much more selfish in it. A selfish, fleeting satisfaction that settles in his chest when you seem to be in a bad mood, unimpressed, when whatever—or whoever—you gave your time to failed to meet your standards.

He knows better than to insert himself into something that is, by all accounts, none of his business. But despite understanding all that, it doesn't really help the gnawing feeling that haunts him every day.

It doesn't stop the jealousy that burns in his chest every time he overhears another story, another name, another reminder that people who barely know you get the parts of you he secretly wants too.

And another thing that he isn't a fan of is that you are a woman of discipline in your sex life. You are so stuck up on this rule of yours:

"Sorry, it's part of my principles not to sleep with co-workers."

That exact line is what you always say when someone from the hospital tries to hit on you—fellow residents, nurses, people from other departments.

Jack has heard it enough times to anticipate it before you even open your mouth. He’s watched it land on different people; some laugh it off, some push, some look almost insulted, but you never waver. He loves and hates how firm you are.

It is surprising and somehow irritating that you managed to uphold that stupid principle of yours for almost three years.

You would rationalize this rule of yours as the inevitability of ruining the rapport you have built with the people in the workplace. You have no plans of adding to the already messed-up environment in the emergency room.

The inevitable fallout between your co-workers seems small. But you just don't want to deal with what happens after. The day after. The shift after.

You don't want to have any friction with the people you work with. And in the ED? Friction might cause someone's life.

But Jack, the selfish man that he has become ever since you came to his department, wants to be an exception to that.

Although, he sees why you're so ironclad with that rule. Some people in the ED, of course, let their curiosities and genitals get the best of them, which resulted in a very awkward and tense working environment springing up from time to time. Witnessing what happened with Robby and Collins, along with Santos and Garcia, was enough for you to decide it isn’t worth it.

Jack can see the logic. He can respect it. He can even agree with it in the abstract.

And still, it doesn’t sit right with him that he is automatically included in the same category as everyone else. But he knows that being your attending physician? That is absolutely off-limits for you.

Being your co-worker and your superior. He definitely doesn't have a chance. The imbalance alone is enough to shut the door before it ever even opens.

But you have no idea how much he is willing to put in line to have you.

How much he wants you, and how much this want and need haunts him every fucking day.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

Jack finds himself absolutely fuming when he still hears about your latest boy toy a few weeks later. You have been seeing him for weeks now, specifically 20 days—not that he's counting, and not that he would admit, of course.

Apparently, his name is Jake. A typical name for a douchebag, Jack thinks.

If you change the last two letters of that douchebag's name, it could've been his name instead.

The fact that this one hasn’t faded out the way the others usually do. That’s new. That’s… irritating.

The longest one before him lasted almost a week.

*

Jack is sitting in front of a compter at the nurse's station, looking at the records of the patients that he admitted earlier and the patients the shift before, when he hears you and Ellis talking on the other side.

"That must be a record," Ellis teases, looking over your shoulder as you send a text back to Jake.

"What?" You lock your phone, putting it back in your pocket

"Aren't you guys technically in a relationship?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Jesus, it's not that serious," you roll your eyes.

If it's not that serious, not even deep. Then why the hell is this guy still in your life?

"What's so special about this guy?" she nudged your shoulder.

"He's good, I already told you," you shrug.

"That absolutely tells me everything and nothing at once," she scoffs

"What do you even want to know?" you sigh in exasperation.

"Juicy stuff. Come on, why are you weirdly discreet now? Is he special?" Ellis probes

"Oh my god, since when have you been nosy?"

"Can you even blame me?"

"Fine, well. He's really good. He knows what he's doing, with his hands, his mouth..." you say in a hushed tone, continuing to tell Ellis the juicy stuff but keeping it vague to not further expose yourself.

But of course, Jack can still hear it. His hearing is weirdly good when he's around you, despite his age.

Ellis lets out a sharp laugh, immediately catching on. “Oh, that kind of good.”

"Crazy stamina too," you giggle.

God, you sound so cute when you giggle, but he hates what provoked you to make that noise.

"It's nice that our schedules are aligned. Makes things convenient. Helps me loosen up a lo—"

Jack couldn't listen anymore and stops browsing through the records. He walks up behind you two, clearing his throat.

He sees you stop still for a moment.

Fuck. You thought to yourself.

"Done with your charts, Doc?" Jack raises an eyebrow, his tone gentle and polite as ever.

"Uh.. I only have one to finish—"

"Then you should be finishing it, chop chop," he interrupts you.

Jack’s gaze lingers on you for half a second longer than necessary—making you feel exposed and ashamed of what you were just talking about.

He shifts his attention towards the floor, patients already filling the room.

“Trauma’s filling up,” he adds,“I expect you both ready.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, already stepping back slightly, slipping your phone deeper into your pocket as Jack turns to the other way.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

This feels very demeaning, Jack thinks to himself as he pulls down his pants along with his briefs.

Whatever this is, it feels humiliating but it's enough to get him off. He can settle with this: to think of you in times of his need and, when he's done, momentarily get you off his mind.

He feels like a teenager, holding back his stiff cock until he gets home. He always gets riled up when he's around you. This is almost a daily routine for him every after shift.

He sits down on the edge of his bed as he fully discards his pants, and hurriedly removes his prosthetic so he can lie down on his bed—a bed too spacious for him, but would fit if he's with a certain resident he's about to jerk off to.

The moment he got rid of what he needs to be comfortable, he lies down, head resting on his pillows as he starts palming himself, closing his eyes.

He likes to start thinking about kissing you. How your lips would feel on his, how soft and warm it would be pressed on his. He has always liked looking at your lips, and he struggles not to especially when you're presenting a case because if he indulges himself too much, you'll see through him.

He wraps his rough hand around his cock, slowly stroking it, his breaths getting heavier as he focuses on thinking about his pretty doctor.

Jack likes to think that it's him you spend your intimate moments with, instead of whoever the fuck you chose to be with that day. He wishes to be the one on top or under you, whatever you prefer. He'd do anything you'll ask him to do; he's flexible like that.

If his hypothesis is correct, supported by the stories he has overheard, you like being a sub and dom— a switch, as Santos would define it, when she and Whitaker were talking about you while they were gossiping instead of doing charts.

Sometimes he likes to imagine himself taking charge of you. He loves thinking of himself right on top of you, and there you are, lying on your back with your legs spread and glistening, every pretty part of you in front of him.

He groans softly, hand slowly pumping his hard shaft to relieve himself.

'Fuck yeah,' he whispers, picturing you asking for it, begging for it. You were always so polite when you would ask him for help with your cases, how you would sweetly ask, "Doctor Abbot, can I get your opinion?"

But you were always so polite, always so professional.

Jack can't help but wonder what you would sound like when you're not polite and professional anymore. Would you be needy? stubborn? or just bratty? Would you give in or put up a fight when he's being rough?

But then he is also very curious of letting you take charge. Just like how you would use your strict tone on him, the same tone you use on stubborn patients, younger residents and interns.

You never used it on him though, how unfortunate. You respect him too much as your superior, and he wishes that you didn't.

He imagines you telling him what to do to please you. Hovering over him, looking down on him like he's some pervert who is under your mercy. He has heard how you have taken care of people you dominate in bed. It's nothing really explicit but he can imagine you being on top of them, grinding your core on theirs with a menacing smile as you take in every bit of reaction you get out of them as you move your hips.

He moves his hand faster now, collecting the precum leaking on his tip to spread all over his throbbing member, making it easier for him to pick up his pace. He keeps tugging himself, breathy moans filling the silent room.

God, he wishes it was him. He always does, everytime you're in a good mood after a night out, he wishes that he was the reason why.

It's selfish to think of you like this and he shouldn't entertain it. That's what he always tells himself before and after he jerks himself off, but never during. It's a painful cycle, a painful ethical dilemma that he's been struggling with.

He shouldn't be thinking of a senior resident like this. The power balance is tricky. But how can't he?

You're— everything he respects, first. You're smart and unshakably competent. You always know what you're doing in the emergency room.

You are so gorgeous too, with or without even trying. You are just so exceptional and Jack cannot get over how you plague his brain so much when he's alone on his bed.

Because there is so much of you that he doesn't know, what you're like outside of the department.

He moves his hand faster, relieving himself all of the tension and warmth building up in his cock. God, he wishes you would just let him take care of you so you wouldn't have to go through that awful cycle of hookups.

He hates how it twists in his gut, this need clawing at him, making him stroke harder, the slick sound of pre-cum easing the friction. It's pathetic, really, jerking off to the thought of you while trying to push you away, to erase the way your voice echoes in his head, the way your body radiates heat when you're close, and the way your pretty face looks at him when you're listening to his instructions intently.

Sweat beads on his forehead as he pumps his fist, He shakes his head, biting his lip to stifle a groan. He wants to forget about you, because this is just so complicated to be in.

Everytime he gets too deep into this, he spirals. All the want, need, lust turns into this ugly anger that he feels guilty for.

Not angry at you, of course. But at himself.

Anger for feeling this way for his resident. Anger for not being the one you spend your time with outside of the ED.

He couldn't stop the spiral, the way his mind twisted the envy into something vicious. Jack's hand tightened around his cock, veins bulging under his grip as he thrust into his fist, imagining it was you around him instead—tight, slick, pulling him deeper with every roll of your hips.

The stories you'd shared in the break room, casual as if discussing shift schedules, replayed in his head:

Fuck, why them? Why not him? Jack's breath hitched, his free hand clawing at the sheets as he pictured himself instead of the people you slept with.

His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, smearing the leaking pre-cum, and he groaned low, the sound ragged in the empty room.

Jealousy burned hot in his chest, mixing with the building pressure in his balls.

It's always like this when Jack masturbates to the thought of you. All the want, the need, the ugly guilt, jealousy and anger mixed up in his body. He always puts himself through this, willingly too as much as he's afraid to admit. Because he just can't get you out of his head and his heart.

He hated how you laughed off the exhaustion of the ER, turning to strangers for release while he watched from the sidelines, pulse racing every time you brushed past him in the hallway.

He has been working with you for years and yet he knows so little about you.

Yes, he wants you, bad. But it’s about the fact that you keep choosing people who don’t see you the way he does.

People who don’t know how your mind works, how sharp you are under pressure, how steady your hands stay when everything else is falling apart.

Yet, they're the ones you go to.

They’re the ones you let in, even if only temporarily.

How can a beautiful person settle with people who don't even know how to actually take care of you?

Jack's hips bucked involuntarily, fucking his hand faster, the wet schlick echoing in shame.

He wants to be the one who makes you feel good. To outdo them all, to be the best one you have ever had, to make you come so hard you'd shatter, and you wouldn't seek this relief from anyone else because he would be always there for you. There for you to use, to go to either for comfort, for release, and even for love.

His abs clenched, sweat trickling down his temple as the fantasy peaked. He imagined how your face would be all hazed and gorgeous, as he pleases you. How you would say his name, so vulnerable under him.

With a choked curse, Jack came, ropes of hot cum spilling over his knuckles, splattering his stomach. But even as the aftershocks faded, the emptiness hit harder, his need for you, and his shame tied with it, lingering like a bruise.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

You take the rare silence in the ED as your opportunity to catch up on your charts. You settle on one of the computers easily, typing away on the keyboard when you hear a chair slide next to you.

"Someone's awfully quiet," she breaks the silence.

"I'm working," you mutter, eyes on the screen.

After another moment of silence, Ellis moves closer to you.

“By this time you’d be talking about what your cat just did,” Ellis continues, nudging your arm lightly, “or whatever random thing you watched last night, or which fictional character you’re currently obsessed with—honestly, I can go on.”

You huff out a quiet breath, eyes still fixed on the screen. “I'm just not in the mood, Ellis."

"I'm guessing something happened," she slides her chair closer to you.

"Can't I just focus on work?"

"Nope."

"Whatever."

"How are you and your boytoy by the way?" she asks out of curiosity, not that she's looking for anything juicy, but you've been seeing this guy for more than a month already as far as Ellis knows.

"He ended things," you answer, a little abruptly, and a little too flatly.

“What?” she turns fully now, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to read past your tone. “Wait—what do you mean he ended things?”

You shrug, too quickly, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t bother you. "It's whatever. It was bound to happen."

“Oh no,” she mutters, stepping closer, arms crossing. “Absolutely not. You don’t get to drop that and then act like it’s nothing. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you insist, already turning back to your chart, hoping that’ll be the end of it.

“Uh-uh,” Ellis leans in slightly, lowering her voice but sharpening it at the same time. “Spill.”

You hesitate, filling out one section before stopping, taking a deep breath.

"It sounds weird."

"We deal with weird shit all the time, I can take it."

"Stop it."

"Come on"

"Ellis."

Ellis says your name, with a pleading tone. You sigh and remove your hands from the keyboard.

"I uh.."

"Hmm?"

"Well.."

"Just spill it out!"

"Okay!" you huff, getting annoyed by her persistence.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes monetarily.

"When we.. when we were well, doing it..I may have said another name," you say quietly.

"But! I genuinely misspoke!" you follow up a little too quickly.

Ellis raises an eyebrow.

"Whats his name again?" she tilts her head.

"Jake."

"And you misspoke how?" she emphasizes the last word.

You gaze away, feeling your head about to explode from embarrassment.

"Come on, don't tease me."

"Well it's…" you trail off.

"What?" Ellis pushes it.

"Jack" you say softly, almost a whisper.

"I'm sorry what?" Ellis asks again, thinking she may have misheard.

"I may have said Jack instead of Jake," you say in a harsh whisper

Ellis's jaw drops, "Oh my fucking god. You mean our attending?"

"It was an accident! I—"

“An accident?” she repeats, incredulous. “You accidentally said your attending’s name—your attending’s name—in the middle of—”

You smack her arm to shut her up, your face heating up so badly now.

“I know,” you cut in quickly, dragging a hand down your face. “I know, okay? That’s why he ended things.”

“Yeah, no shit he ended things,” Ellis mutters, still staring at you like she’s trying to process it. “I would’ve ended things too!”

“It wasn’t like that,” you insist, though your voice lacks the conviction you want it to have. “It just slipped out.”

Ellis narrows her eyes at you.

“Mm-hmm.”

You glare at her. “Don’t.”

“I’m not saying anything,” she says, holding her hands up in mock surrender—but the look on her face says otherwise.

“You’re thinking it.”

“I’m thinking a lot of things.”

“Ellis—”

"What?"

"God, just leave me alone."

Ellis just chuckles, messing with your hair.

"You know I can see through you right?"

"And what the fuck does that mean?" you grumble.

"Jesus, getting hostile?"

You huff, rolling your eyes.

"I'm sure it's not obvious to anyone but, you've kind of had a thing for Jack for a while, haven't you?" she says in a low voice that you can only hear.

“That’s insane,” you say, too fast.

Ellis doesn’t react to the speed. Just watch you settle back into pretending this conversation isn’t happening.

“Is it?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Mhm.”

The sound is infuriatingly calm, you just turn to the computer again.

You click through the chart harder than necessary, eyes locked on the screen.

“This is not a thing,” you add.

"Oh come on, I'm not gonna tell anyone"

"Ellis."

"And I mean, I've seen how you looked at him and—"

"Stop."

"You dont have to stick with that rule of—"

"Ellis, please stop."

"I’m not even judging you! I’m just saying maybe there’s a reason you accidentally said his na—"

"Will you please shut the fuck up!" you say a little too loudly.

The sound cuts through the low hum of the ED just enough that a couple of heads subtly shift in your direction.

You let out an exasperated sigh, grounding yourself from how that conversation rattled you a little more than you expected.

"I.. Sorry everyone. I need a break," you excuse yourself, walking straight outside the ER.

You didn't even notice that Jack has been sitting just a few feet away from you this whole time, watching you walk out of the floor.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───────────

next chapter

[sunnysidevans]

- Baby ; Jack Abbot

synopsis: The rumor spreads fast that (y/n) "baby" Robinavitch is part of the PTMC family. After one drunk night at the bar, you quickly became his baby.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Robinavitch!Reader

warnings: 18+ always, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of violence against nurses/health care professionals, mentions of sex, very obvious age gap relationship, sexual themes again, 18+!!.

authors note: oh hey! just me popping in with my newest hyperfixation. truly as I pushed this out in three days. inspo from this blurb I posted and this just seemed so fitting for our army doc. anyways lots of love!! <333

the library - italics are flashbacks!!

5 years earlier.

The rapid knocking pulls Robby from his daydream. A 16 hour day had him dazed as he sat on the couch, stethoscope still around his neck. He thought he imagined it until another knock came.

He groans and stands from the coach, assuming it was Mrs.Jones from next door who needed his help with god knows what.

He pulls the door open and is instantly wide-eyed, "what the fuck".

There stood you, his little sister.

Soaked from the rain, a clear bruise forming on your eye, a busted lip and blood dripping from your nostrils, dried at this point.

“Robby..” you whisper to your older brother who is quickly pulling you into the house. “Sit” he orders, motioning to the couch a few feet from the door. He is quick to kneel in front of you, looking over your face.

“It's broken” you croak out after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah pea i think it is” robby nods, looking over your nose. Since you were a little girl, Robby always called you pea, you refused to eat them. “I have to take you to the ED, i cant reduce that here” he adds, your eyes are pleading with him.

“I can’t , you need meds” he shakes his head and stands, “let me get you dry clothes okay?” you didn't trust your voice, nodding. He stands and quickly pulls his phone out to type out a quick text to the only person on nightshift touching his sister.

“Robby; i have an incoming nose fracture, only you on the case please, eta 10”

Jack furrows his brows at the text, looking at Lena, “can you let me know when robby gets here? Says he will be here in 10” Lena frowns but nods with a smile,”of course”. 

Within 10 minutes Robby is pulling you through the ER in dry clothes. You followed behind him, hand held in his as Lupe lets him in through the doors with a smile.

“Jack” the attending turns at the sound of his friend’s voice, brows furrowed. "Hey, what is going on man” Jack asks as he makes his way to him, Robby moves to the side, gaining your attention towards the night shift attending.

His eyes move between you and Robby. “What happened?” Jack questions, looking at you with a softening gaze. “I have a broken nose, Robby wont reduce it without meds” you grumble.

Jack looks back at Lena who nods to a room, “you can do south 17, more secluded” she smiles kindly at you. They see this often on the night shift.

“I don't need meds” you look between your brother and the man you have learned is Jack Abbot. “Can you just put my nose back and refer me to plastics?” You question as Jack looks over at Robby.

Robby nods to the door, “we’ll be right back pea” he squeezes your shoulder and walks out the door with Jack. 

“Her bark is worse than her bite” Robby defends as Jack shrugs. “You could easily pop that back in, what is this about?” He raises a brow and crosses his arms across his chest. Robby sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think her boyfriend did it” he admits.

Jack sighs then, “you want her to file a report” Jack connects the dots. “Its not entirely the first time” Robby adds, eyes falling back to you.

“How about I talk to her?” Jack asks and Robby nods slowly, “maybe someone who is not her brother could get her to talk?” He questions and Robby nods slowly.

“Call me back in for the reduction please” he asks as Jack nods, pushing in the room.

“So, Baby Robinavitch” Jack pulls the stool to his side, sitting down slowly to adjust his prosthetic. “How did this happen?” He asks as you sigh, “I took a spill, hit my face” you chuckle softly, looking over his face. He can see your holding back, the tears are evident in your lash line.

His cold but almost comforting stare holds your eyes for a few more minutes of silence before he nods slowly and turns to call your brother in but your voice stops him.

“He didn't mean it” you whimper as the tears start to fall. He turns back to face you, moving closer, “They always mean it honey” he whispers, rubbing a soothing hand on your knee, which you happily accept.

“Robby brought me in so I could have medical documentation” you let out a deep sigh before continuing, “for a case but i cant” you whisper as his brows furrow.

“He’s a doctor, at presby, a reputation to hold up ya know?” you chuckle through your tears, looking away from his eyes.

Jack scoffs, “fuck a reputation, he’s gonna need to face his consequence” Jack can’t help the way the words flew out, watching the way your eye meets his.

“Dr.Abbot” he shakes his head, “Jack is just fine”. He nods and looks over the blood dripping from your nose, a mix from the tears and injury. 

“Is this the first time?” He questions as he begins to scoot across the room on the stool, gathering what he needs, “no” you admit softly.

He sighs and nods, hands on his thighs, “if you do not want to report it i understand, i have to honor your decision with hipaa law” he whispers as your doe eyes meet his.

“I also understand that if you want me to reduce your fracture without meds and without your brother” he adds, you shake your head, “no meds, yes robby” you voice like a toddler, he has a small smile.

Robby is impatiently passing by the door, when he waves him in. He frowns at the tears on your face as Jack stands. “She’s as stubborn as you are, must be a Robinavitch thing” Jack grumbles, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves, Robby smiles at you. It gets a small smile out of you.

“Okay Baby Robinavitch” Jack has his thumbs on either side of your sinuses. Your doe eyes again are looking up at him, gauze in your mouth, “do it” you mumble around the gauze.

Your scream could’ve been heard 3 floors up from the ED as Jack is relocating your nose and the gauze is falling out of your mouth with a scream.

Jack is quick to catch you as your body falls forward into his arms, eyes falling to Robby. Switching places Robby is pulling you into his arms as you sob, almost screaming from the events of the night.

Jack pulls his gloves off and makes eye contact with Robby who nods. He makes his way out of the room to give you both the space as he began the discharge paperwork. “I got you pea” he whispers his hand on the back of your head to hold you closer to him.

You sob into your brother, gripping his jacket tighter. 

Within hours of your discharge you were roaming your brother's home still clad in his clothes.

With pleading eyes you begged him to get you out of there, out of presby and out of your apartment.

Robby recruited multiple people from the ED, Jack was the remaining. Jack watched with wondering eyes as you curled up in the loveseat like a kitten, finally feeling safe in the presence of your brother, more importantly his. 

From that moment Jack vowed he would always protect (y/n) robinavitch

+

present day.

The sun is just rising over Pittsburgh as your phone rings beside you. Sighing heavily, you reach over and answer through your airpods, “Robinavitch”.

“We need you” is all you got from Robby, calling from the emergency room phone and quickly hanging up, Dana yelling at him in the background.

You are quick to get out of your workout clothes and into scrubs. 

You heard about it through Park, a massive car pile up. Park was on call but was in the middle of a golf game when Robby called him. You are rushing in beside the gurney, paramedics handing over a pair of gloves to you immediately.

“18 year old female, part of the pile up, crushed between  her motorcycle and another vehicle” you are following beside them quickly, bag still on your shoulder.

“Don't say it” Robby follows behind you as you smirk, looking at the girl who is sobbing on the back board. “Hi hun, my name is Dr.Robinavitch, i am gonna be part of the team treating you” she whimpers and nods.

You and Robby worked as an oiled machine, working around the other. After 45 minutes and stabilizing the patients pelvis fracture, you push out of the room and quickly remove your gloves.

“Poor thing” you whisper to yourself and set your bag down with Dana who grins. “Baby Robinavitch” she smiles at the eye roll it gets out of you. “Dana i am a big girl now, a well decorated surgeon” you add as she chuckles, “but you are Robby’s baby sister always” she smirks and puts her glasses on.

"Baby Robinavitch!" Perlah cheers from down the hall as you sigh, closing your eyes and turning to the pair, princess falling beside her best friend, "hi guys".

Robby turns to you with a grin, "you act like being a Robinavitch is a bad thing" he comments as you look at him with a raised brow. "Not a bad thing, bad thing being referred to 'baby' as a very grown woman"

Jack let it slip in the middle of case, you pushed in at 3am to the trauma room, his eyes fly up. He expected park, that's who they told him was on call. "Baby Robinavitch, what are you doing here?" he asks, his body covered up to his elbows in blood. "when one of my favorite attendings calls, I answer" you grin.You can feel Dr.Walsh's eye roll from across the room, which makes your own grin grown.

Ellis caught the small smile on his lips at the favorite part and continued to assist her attending as she then looked at you.

Pulling the gown and gloves on you smiled at her, "what do you got Dr.Ellis?" you raised with a curious brow. The rumour around was Dr.Robby's sister had started at the PTMC and she was an Orthopedic Surgeon but they did not expect to see you in the flesh.

"Pretty sure its a completely separated shoulder, on top of a pretty nasty patella fracture" Jack speaks up after a few moments of silence, you nod. "Lets get to work then" you smirked.

word traveled fast that (Y/N) "Baby" Robinavitch had joined the PTMC family.

“Um” both you and Robby look up at the voice, Samira Mohan stands nervously. “Dr.Robby, i uh i need an ortho consult” she adds as you smile. “Well you are in luck you have an orthopedic right here” you encourage her to walk towards the room.

"I'm (y/n). Dr.Robinavitch" you introduced yourself, following her towards the room. She smiles then, "oh, baby robinavitch in the flesh" you couldn't help the eye roll as you followed her in North 13.

Walking out of the room, discarding your gloves you smile at the R3. “Great call Mohan, have you ever considered orthopedics?” You ask as she smiles up at you with a shake of her head, “no, I mostly have enjoyed trauma work" you shake your head with a smile.

“there is nothing wrong with that, you can always have an undergrad in emergency medicine” she moves to the computer with a smile. "Being a trauma surgeon is kinda cool" you whisper as she chuckles with a smile.

“Don't corrupt her” the voice beside you instantly brings a smile to your lips, turning to the voice, you look down at your watch. “Must be witching hour, Abbot” you smirk and watch the smirk grow on his lips.

“And I'm not corrupting, just advising,” Jack nods with a smirk on his lips. “She likes rolling with us old guys” you laugh at that. “Mohan, if you ever consider it do not hesitate” you smile at her and wink at Jack, walking away from the hub.

Jack is hot on your tail as you make your way into the staff lounge, groaning there was no coffee made. “Theres one in your locker” he mumbles, hands in his pocket as you turn to face him.

It brings a smile to your face as he looks around before shutting the door and pulling the blinds, making his way to you. “You didn’t wake me” he whispers, arms across his chest as you smile up at him.

“You needed sleep, plus you had only been off shift for an hour” you tilt your head, arms crossing over your own chest. “So?” he asks like it was the most obvious answer.

“What are you doin here?” you ask then, his own head tilting. “I came to check in on a patient from last night” he admits as you nod slowly “plus is it a crime to want to bring my amazing girlfriend a coffee that i know she needed?" he pouts which gets a small giggle out of you.

“Thank you for bringing me coffee” you lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your own arms wrapping around his neck. “You should go home and go to bed” you whisper, nose nudging his.

In the staff lounge, it was your own little bubble. Just you and Jack Abbot.

“Bed is not the same without you” his breath fans over your face, grin on his lips as you chuckle. “I will be there after i do my rounds and consults” he rolls his eyes with a groan. “And this and this yada yada” he smirks, “fine, i shall leave everyone to suffer with their fractures and hip pain” you grin at his chuckle.

He connects your lips then with a hum. “Will you at least have dinner with me before shift?” he asks as you hum, “only if you make those reeeeally good ribs”.

He smirks and nods, “anything for you baby robinavitch” you huff and turn to follow him out of the staff lounge.

“You started something and you know it” you grumble and make your way towards the locker room, He makes his way towards the ambulance bay with a wink.

It brings a blush to your cheeks as you walk past the hub and to the locker room. Robby watched from the computer at the hub, glasses perched on his nose.

“What the hell was that?” Dana whispered to him as he shook his head with a sigh. “I- i don't even know” he shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. 

+

The sunrise was beautiful as the golden light was perfect against his salt and pepper curls, basking him in warmth. He heard the rooftop door open, he turns to the sound. He expected Robby for handoffs.

He was surprised to be greeted by your warm smile. “Baby” he grins looking over your face, "where's Robby?" He questions as he meets you half way.

“Downstairs with Shen, told him I'd find you” he smiles and looks down at you. “I’m gonna cover for al hashimi today, had something going on with her son” he nods with a huff.

“Was looking forward to going home to you, all i've been thinking about for the last twelve hours” his smirk is teasing as you roll your eyes.

“I made breakfast, it's in the microwave” he smiles at that, the one where it meets his eyes. “Okay” he nods, kissing your forehead. “Lets get downstairs” he motions to the door, you make it two steps in the door before he is grabbing your elbow and pulling you back against his chest, hands on your waist. "before though" he whispers, leaning down to connect your lips, your arms wrapping around his neck.

He is quick to back you into the wall, your back hitting the concrete gently. His grip is tight on your waist as your fingers are in his salt and pepper curls. You moan against him as he nibbles on your bottom lip.

"Okay big guy" you pant, biting on his bottom lip back with a smirk, "we need to get downstairs" you add with a raised brow. "why can't I just take you here?" he whispers, kissing down your jaw, the 5 o clock shadow tickling your skin with a welcoming burn. "Well, my brother would come up here looking for you and find you balls deep in his sister" you smirk at the groan he leaves on your skin.

He bites at your shoulder, mumbling against your scrubs, "what a buzz kill your brother is"

"this can't happen Jack" you whisper against his skin, nudging his nose as he hovers over you, "says who?" he rasps, kissing down your neck. The scruff of his jaw against your skin which makes you shiver. "Like every sterotype" you mumble biting on his lobe, hooking your leg over his hips. He bucks his hips against you, a groan on his lips as he lifts his head to look over your face. Your eyes were soft, the same doe eyes you looked at him with a year ago. "Is this because i'm the same age as your brother?" he questions, voice soft.

You shake your head, running your hands along his arms that had you caged between them. "Nothing to do with that, i-i'm just... scared" you admit, looking over his face. He looked at you as if you held the sun. "i-I haven't been with anyone since him and what I'm feeling for you is... its scaring me" you admit. "And-And I just started at the hospital and what if-" he cuts you off then. "Doctors date baby, you are allowed to date" he whispers placing a kiss between your eyebrows. "It's allowed, you are not my subordinate, you are you" he whispers.

Your eyes were fearful as he frowns. "I'm falling in love with you, way quicker than I even expected but I will do anything to protect you" he whispers. The tears are welling up in your lash line as he continues, "If protecting you is letting you go, I will" he admits as you sniffle. "Or you could just make love to me instead, and tell me you love me over and over" you admit with a whisper as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

His kiss is feverish, like if he wasn't kissing you he would drown.

"That I can do Baby" he whispers against your lips, with a smirk. Normally it would ensude an eye roll but instead a blush made its way up your cheeks, you were always baby Robinavitch, just baby made your heart flutter and blush deepen. You brushed your lower lip against his, "just kiss me Abbot" he smirks,recconecting your lips.

Robby watched as you and Jack made your way to hand offs, you were giggling softly to something the night shift attending said. Robby wasn’t one to question his little sister but the frequent mornings he’d wake up to your bedroom still dark or as you were just slipping in were getting more frequent. He knew you were an adult but he was your big brother.

He was worried.

You smile and stand back beside Jack, watching the residents gather around Robby. He smiles at all the med students and residents. “We have an additional attending joining us today” he looks back at you with a raised brow as you move beside him.

“Dr Al Hashimi had an emergency and Ortho was gracious enough to let us borrow Dr.Robinavitch” you smile and wave.

“Baby Robinavitch” Dana adds as your eyes narrow at her.

“I'm completely fine with just (y/n)” the group all nod. “Lets get to work” Robby nods as he watches the way you linger behind to talk to Abbot.

“Eat and go to bed” you whisper, arms across your chest as he nods, “yes ma'am” his backpack is slung over his shoulder as he smiles.

“And take your prosthetic off when you get in bed, i noticed its irritating you, i will look into it” he nods again.

He never thought he would find anyone again after his wife passed. Then the Orthopedic surgeon walked into his life and helped him with his prosthetic, he thought he saw an angel.

She just happened to be Robby's baby sister.

“Alright, I will text you when I wake up” he smiles and nods. He makes his way past you, smiling at Robby as he goes.

Jack can’t help the smile on his face when he pulls the plate of waffles out with a side of bacon, a perfectly pink sticky note on top of the plastic wrap.

“Kiss you soon.”

he took the sticky note and folded it up and put it in his wallet. 

“So, any reason you didn’t come home last night?” your eyes fly up to Robby with a raised brow. He is at his computer, looking at the screen as if he isn’t prying.

“Robby” you chuckle and shake your head. “Dr.Robinavitch?” you look over and smile at Mckay.

“Hey Dr.Mckay, whatcha got?” you ask and send daggers towards your brother and follow her towards the room.

“That went well,” Dana chuckles with her own ipad. “I have every right to be concerned right?” he asks as she nods with a shrug.

“Eh, yes and no,” she smiles at him. “Yes and no?” he questions as she chuckles, “robby, she is a big girl but I also know she’s seen some shit so, i understand your concern there” she smiles at Emma who makes her way to the hub.

“Welcome back” she smiles at her as Emma smiles at her.

“Hi Dana” she smiles over at Robby, “Dr.Robby”.

“So are you coming?” Jack’s voice is quiet as you look up from your charts to the man in front of you. “Are you lost?” you question and sit up in the chair, looking around you.

“This sure doesn’t look like the ED” he chuckles and can’t help the smile that makes its way up his lips. “No, I came to see my favorite Ortho attending” he smirks at the blush it brings to your cheeks “and to see if you were coming to have drinks with us”.

You shake your head and stand, hands in your pockets. “I don’t think so, Abbot”. You had been staying with Robby the last few months, only at PTMC for a month. You weren’t ready to interact with the rest of the ED outside of Jack.

He reaches out and catches your elbow. “Please?” he has a plea in his eyes, in his voice. You look over his face, looking for any sign of regret or lying. “Are you?” you question and he shifts his weight to his left side, looking at you with a shy smile.

You knew about his prosthetic but he wanted to keep it a secret, one thing for him to tell you.

He nods, “meet me in the ED in 15?” he asks as you smile, “fine”.

The bar was just around the corner from PTMC, small and quiet but also the perfect atmosphere. You sat beside Robby, clinging to your safe space.

The bruise on your nose was deep and purple and you could tell the residents were curious. Jack slides beside you, setting a beer in front of you. The smell of beer was faint on his lips as he leaned close.

“Here you go Baby Robinavitch” he chuckles at the blush it brought to your cheeks. “You are safe here” his voice is soft, shoulder brushing yours. You nod and smile at him,leaning your head on his shoulder and taking a sip from your beer.

the text message comes through as you stood at the hub, looking down at your phone. a smile making its was to your lips,

"jack: kiss you soon."

“Can I have your help with this patient?” Donnie's voice pulls you from your day dream, looking over at him with a smile.

“Oh yeah absolutely” you nod, following beside him. “Whatcha got?” he hands the ipad over to you, looking over the labs on display.

“His BAC was .25” he mumbles as you stop in front of south 17.

A room with so many memories.

You look over at Donnie and frown. “You don’t need me, you got this” you question as he tilts his head with a smile. “I’m concerned he is also on drugs, looking for your input” you smile and nod, putting the ipad under your elbow and pushing the door open with your shoulder.

“Hello, I’m Dr.Robinavtich, and you are?” you face the man in his polo and khaki shorts. “Uh, my name is Rich, this is Matt, he was just going for a swing before he collapsed” you nod, running your pen lights over his pupils.

“Has Matt taken any drugs or anything?” you question as his friend shakes his head. “Listen, I got a game to get back too, can we just come back later?” he questions as your eye roll is evident, “Sure”.

You look over at Donnie, “I like your hunch" you smile at him "have a nurse grab his vitals in about 15-20 and find me” you hand the ipad back and walk out of the room. You stop outside the door, hands on your hips and take a deep breath.

That whole situation bringing feelings you haven’t felt in almost 5 years. “Hey” Dana’s voice pulls you from your daydream, eyes flashing to her quickly.

“Hey” you whisper, voice cracking as she is quick to lead you out the ambulance bay.

“You okay?” she questions, rubbing circles on your back as you nod slowly, taking another puff of the cigarette she graciously handed over.

“Five years ago” you whisper facing away from her, “robby brought me here at 2am because my boyfriend broke my nose” you admit.

“Lena put me in that room to keep me away from everyone, I was just finishing my residency at Presby” you look over at her with tears in your lash line.

“Brought back those years of my life” you chuckle softly and let the tear roll down your cheek.

“Jack and Robby really changed my life that night” you admit with a sniffle. Dana smirks at the mention of the night shift attending.

“Oh my god!” you slurred as ‘i had the time of my life’ came on softly over the speakers. Jack was still beside you with a smile, “what?” he questions you. “I love this song” you laugh, standing unsteadily from the chair.

“Can we do it Jack?!” you squeal looking at him with a giggle. He laughs then, looking over your face, “Do what?” his brows are furrowed which egg you on.

“Be the Johnny to my baby and do the lift!” you smile at the cheers from the residents. “Yeah Dr.Robinavitch!” Mckay yells as you giggle, shifting on your heels, looking back at Jack Abbot.

He shakes his head and goes to stand as you are walking away. “(Y/N)” his voice warns but he had no time to process your body colliding with his. You laughed as your legs wrapped around his waist, his arms secured around you.

“I think you have had enough Baby” he shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Something you aren’t telling us?” she asks with a raised brow after you had been quiet for a few minutes. You shake your head and put the cigarette out. “Nope” you smirk and make your way back inside. 

The world seemed to stop as Emma was in that room by herself, you just happened to catch as the patient's arm looped around her neck.

“Hula Hoop!” you scream and run into the room, fighting the man off of her and gently pushing her out of the way.

"what's going on?" Robby looks back at the nurses as Ahmed is running past, "we have a code hula hoop, south 17". Robby quickly discards his stethoscope and runs towards the room.

As he makes his way into the room, he is colliding with Emma. His sister ontop of the patient holding his arms down.

The man's elbow managed to hit your face in his thrashing, which you did not notice until the chaos slowed. Jesse and Donnie are at your side quickly as you feel the blood dripping from your nose.

Fuck.

Donnie helps you down as Ahmad makes his way in then. “Emma” your eyes are frantic as you rush out of the room to find her at the nurses station with Dana, rushing over to look her over.

“Are you okay?” you question, crouched in front of her with your hands on either side of her face, looking her over again.

She nods slowly, the look of fear evident in her eyes. “I’m okay” she whispers as you nod, looking around, “Cassie, can you do a work up on her” you stand, hands on your hips. “Should I look at you, Baby?” she questions as you shake your head.

“No, no i'm fine” you snapped, looking over at the sound of your brother's voice. “Why was she in there alone?” he seethes at Dana who laughs. “She is a nurse Robby, she was taking vitals, we should be more concerned on if she is okay” she snickers as Robby shakes his head with a heavy sigh.

You intervene then, stepping between them. It's then that Robby realizes your nose is broken and blood is rolling down your nostrils.

“Leave her alone" you whisper, looking up at him. “She is not one to blame here, no one is, that patient acted on violence against a nurse” you seeth.

“It is not Dana or anyone’s fault but his, he is combative and drunk, probably on something” Robby’s eyes are everywhere but mostly on your nose. “For fucks sake Michael, yes my nose is fucking broken, again!” you yell and walk away from him and Dana.

Everyone watches as you walk away, eyes wide and curious. Perlah whispers to princess beside her, "oh he is in trouble".

The locker room is quiet as you push through the door, finally.

Pulling your phone from your pants pocket, the numbers read back at you. 4:30pm.

You know he is awake, you know he would come running when you tell him what happened. Sliding down against the lockers you can’t help the sobs to fall from your lips. 

you quickly select the contact photo, hand shaking.

It was a photo of Jack in his Swat uniform, a photo he did not know you took. It took two rings before his voice was on the other end. It was rough and gravely, he had just woken up.

“Baby?” he questioned, senses heightened at the sound of your sobs. “Jack” you managed to croak out before he immediately pulled his pants on quicker.

“Hey hey, talk to me” he whispers, putting the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “I-I need you” you sobbed harder and that is all he needed to hear. 

Jack was pretty sure he broke every single traffic law as he pulled into the PTMC parking lot.

“Jack” Robby’s voice is surprised as he looks at his watch, 5:00pm. “You aren’t due to be here for another two hours” he continues as Jack shakes his head. "Brother, what's going on?" Robby questions, grabbing his friends shoulder.

“Where is she?” he almost growls, his eyes were going through every trauma bay, every room he could see. “Where is Baby?” he questions as Robby sighs, “I don't know”.

That’s all Jack needed and he was pushing past his best friends and down the hall. He just passes the locker room when he hears the sobs.

He knows those cries. He is pushing the door open and the sight that meets him felt like his heart was ripped from his chest.

“Baby” he coos as your head lifts at the sound of his voice and then his blood runs hot. “Oh my god!” he is in front of you quickly, cupping your chin in his hands. “It's broken, again” you whimper at the now dried blood on your face.

His eyes are frantic as he looks you over. “A patient attacked Emma, i called code hula hoop, i got him off of her managed to pin him down but in the midst of all that the strong fucker got me in the nose” you sniffle as he chuckles softly.

“C’mon” he stands and helps you up to your feet. 

the morning sun was just peaking through the curtains as your head laid on Jack's chest. He was sound asleep but at peace. His features relaxed in the first time in a while. He called and begged at 3am to see you when he got off. He was relieved when he found you in his bed at 7am.

You knew the shift was bad when all he wanted to do was lay down and let you hold him, which you did happily. You traced along his nose gently as he began to stir.

you moved from his face to his arms, tracing the soft freckles still adoring his skin, "mm, baby" he grumbles and reaches out to pull you closer to him. "I love you" you can't help the words to fall, his eye peaks open at that, a sleepy grin making its way on his lips. "I love you baby" he whispered, kissing your forehead. You would worry about asking about his day later, Jack just wanted to stay in his moment of peace before the world needed him again.

It brings you back to the first day you met Jack Abbot.

Sitting on the bed with your bloody face and him moving around the room. This time you are in scrubs and he is the love of your life.

“I have to pop it in again” he whispers, hands on his hips as he puts the penlight back in his pocket. You nod sadly, looking up at him with your sad eyes.

Jack feels the last three years come back to him, the way your doe eyes look up at him when you just wake up and the way you beg him for everything only he can give. It makes his heart clench.

“I will be right back” he whispers and pushes the door open, eyes scanning the room.

“Dana!” Jack fell back into Dr.Jack Abbot, swat doctor, army veteran.

Dana’s head shoots up at the sound of his voice, looking over at him. “Hey, what are you doing here?” she questions with a smile which falls at the stoic look on his face.

“Who did that to Baby?” he questions, eyeing her closely. “A patient in south 17” she mumbles, turning to face him. “He attacked Emma” Jack's heart twinges at the sound of the young nurse, he knew you liked her. “Will you come help me?” he questions and nods towards the room he cornered you in.

“Pea” you look up at the sound of Robby’s voice who is in the doorway looking you over. “Robby” you whisper, voice cracking. He makes his way in, sitting down on the stool in front of you.

“What is going on?” he asks as you shrug, “my nose is broken Robby” he shakes his head, “in general” he adds.

“You have been different lately, more so than usual, you don’t come home at night- you-you are gone first thing in the morning” he pauses and looks away from you. “I don’t see you anymore, which is beside the point- I just am worried” he looks up at you, arms crossing over his black scrubs. "Am I allowed to be worried?" he questions as you chuckle.

“Robby,” you whisper and shake your head, "yes you are my big brother, worrying is allowed, I worry about you everyday" you add as he nods, running his hands over his pants. "then what is going on?" he asks again, tilting his head.

You smile softly at your big brother. “If I tell you, will you promise not to be mad?” you ask softly. He furrows his brows and nods slowly. 

“She’s been with me” Jack’s voice cuts through the curtain as he and Dana come through the door. Jack secures the latex gloves over his hands. “What?” Robby questions between you and Jack.

“Jack and I have been dating for the last two years” you admit to your brother. Dana smirks from behind the two friends and comes beside you, taking a hold of your hand. "totally saw this one coming Baby Robinavitch" she whispers with smirk as you smile softly at her. “Are you okay?” she asks as you nod with a small smile.

“Nothing like two broken noses” you whisper and giggle softly. “I guess I will be reaching out to my plastic surgeon again,” she snorts at that.

“Wait, so you have been sneaking around me for two years?!” Robby defends as Jack nods. You adjust on the bed to allow him between your legs, your hands resting on his hips.

“Yep” you answer in unison.

Robby furrows his brows, thinking back to everything in the last two years. “How?” he asks as you look up at Jack with a smile. “No meds?” he asks as you nod, “you know the deal Abbot” he smirks at that and grabs the gauze pad.

“We got really good at hiding it” you mumble and look at him. “Can we do this after my nose is back in place?” you ask as he nods.

“Alright Baby, lets do this” Jack has his hands on either side of your nose, just like he did five years ago. The ED is almost silent at the sound of your scream.

This time you fall into Jack’s arms as he is quick to catch you, holding you against his chest. You sniffle into the black t-shirt and grip his hips tighter. “I got you baby, I got you” he whispers into your hair as you let tears slip onto his t-shirt, you cried silently against him.

Dana is rubbing soothing circles on your back as you mumble, “is Emma okay?”. Jack looks back at his two longest friends.

“She is okay Baby” Dana mumbles and nods towards the door. “I’m gonna go check on her” she leaves quietly as you nod.

“When did this happen?” Robby asks Jack looks back at him. “Shortly after her little Dirty Dancing squence at the bar” Jack grins at your soft giggle against his peck. "I tried to fight off the feelings but Baby here is really convincing" he chuckles softly, "i'm sorry". Robby stands to be beside the two of you.

“Why?” he asks as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “She’s your sister” he grumbles as robby shrugs. "She is an adult, as are you and I know you would take very good care of her, which you clearly have been“ he smiles.

“I can’t believe I missed the signs but” you lift your head slightly off Jack’s chest with a sniffle. “I was worried you’d be weirded out” you whisper and he shakes his head.

“My two favorite people love each other , I can't complain,” he smiles. "I'm one of your favorite people?" Jack questions with a smirk as Robby gently hits his shoulder playfully with a laugh.

Robby leaves the room as your head falls back onto Jack's chest, sniffling. "thank you" you whisper as he rests is head on top of yours.

"No need to thank me" he whispers,shaking your head, you mumble "you came running, three hours early for your shift". He nods, tangling his fingers in your hair. "I will always come running for you, you are my girl, my baby" he mumbles.

"Respectfully" you are standing infront of him, hands still around his waist, "I am never covering the ED again, I like my ortho bubble". He laughs, kissing your forehead. "Leave that to us old folk" he smirks at your giggle, holding the door open to lead you back out to the ER.

The ER continued on as you made your way out of the room in North 16. Emma is quick to rush to you.

“Dr.Robinavitch!” She sounded so relieved. “Emma” you breathe and quickly pull the young girl into a hug, which she reciprocates. “Thank you for saving me” she whispers as you smile, squeezing her closer.

The man from south 17 is wheeled past the two of you, arm reaching out as you are quick to step in and grab his wrist, twisting it just right for discomfort.

"Remember when you told me her bark was worse than her bite?" Jack questions his best friend as Robby chuckles. "Usually it is, don't fuck with the people she cares about" Robby whispers back as Jack's eyes shift back to you, he has a comforting hand on Emma's shoulder in case he needed to step in.

“I would think again before you even attempt to touch my nurse” you growl as he looks at you, still heavily intoxicated as his words slurred, “i’m gonna sue you” you laugh.

“Go ahead, my name is Dr.(Y/N) Robinavitch, would you like my NPI too?” You question as Ahmad is there to step in and help him out of the hospital, officers beside him.

“No one puts baby in a corner” Emma mumbles and all eyes fall to her,

“what? I love dirty dancing”

-

wooooow. I really did not expect this to be as long as it is, I apologize. I hope I have done justice to our man Dr.Jack Abbot. I feel like he is a big lover in the long run. I might write lil blurbs on these two more but this just feels perfect!

likes, comments and reblogs are always welcomed!! <333

[donald4spiderman]

Sending love and light your way!!! 💚💫🍀🍵🌿✨🍋‍🟩🌱💚

omg hi 🥹 thank you and right back at you

ur inspiring me to write more because whew i NEED to

[chaos-ocd]

I needed this reminder today.

Maybe it’s the same for you.