summary: when your daughter has a medical emergency, you end up back in the Pitt. you find yourself confronting your painful past and ex, Jack Abbot, in the process.
content: single mom, mentions of abandonment and breakups, child who ends up in the ER due to an allergic reaction, unresolved feelings, cliff hanger (i’m sorry), please let me know if there is anything else!
wc: 2.3k
a/n: all work is my own! this is my first fan fiction post on tumblr, so any feedback is appreciated! please let me know what you think and my requests are open! dividers made by @robinavitchslut
Thinking about walking back into PTMC was not easy, but for your daughter, you would do anything. Even if it meant hurting yourself in the process.
You were at home gathering your daughter's toys off the living room floor when you received a call from her preschool telling you that your 3-year-old daughter was being taken to the hospital. Apparently, she had eaten some of her friend's peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For anyone else, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But Margot, your daughter, has a severe peanut allergy. The preschool informed you that an ambulance was already on its way and said it would be fastest if you met them at the hospital.
“Ok, what hospital are they taking her to?” You asked. Already grabbing your purse and jacket and making a beeline towards the front door.
“Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center,” The woman said.
Your heart dropped, and it felt like time slowed around you. You stopped for a brief second as you approached your front door, but pushed yourself despite the fact that you wanted to stay right where you were. You told the sweet woman, whom you’d met a dozen times picking up and dropping your daughter off from school, thank you. Your body was met with the cold air as you opened your front door. You raced down your porch steps, boots crunching on the dead, dry fall leaves. You unlocked your driver’s side door and practically jumped in, wasting no time starting the car and driving off.
Your mind was racing as you drove to the place you used to call home. It was less than a ten-minute car ride, but it felt like an eternity. The last time you were in the Pitt, you left with unresolved feelings and a mess that you had no desire to go back and clean up. You hadn’t been in contact with any of your coworkers since that one winter day all those years ago. You hadn’t even talked to Dana, who was practically a mother to you. As you drove your car, you prayed that your ex, Jack Abbot, was still working the night shift.
Your and Jack’s relationship was quite frankly something you couldn’t describe with words. You had met each other in passing while he was working as the night shift attending, and you, as one of the new day shift nurses. At first, you would exchange glances and make small talk with one another. As time went on, your conversations bloomed into learning more about each other. You had learned how Jack liked his coffee. Black. He told you how long he had been working in the ER and shared very small details about his life before the Pitt. You told him where you attended school and where you were from. No matter what he told you, you listened, and he did the same for you. Even without telling him, he knew things about you that no one else paid attention to.
He learned what your favorite candy was after seeing it next to your water bottle at the nurses’ station. He knew your favorite color from the socks you wore and the jacket you brought to work with you. He knew your favorite genre of music based on the songs you would hum and sing under your breath while charting. You had never met a person who seemed to be so interested in someone they had just met.
After a few months of working together, you would go out and get drinks with the rest of the Pitt crew. But you two always seemed to find each other in a crowded room. You both could talk to one another for hours and somehow never run out of things to talk about.
Frequently, you would find Jack on the roof after his shift. Other than Robby, you were the only other person who could get him back on the other side of the railing.
When you made things official with each other, nothing really changed. Except for the fact that you would find yourself twisted in his bedsheets the morning after a night out. Or him pulling you into a supply closet, just to get a moment alone with you. That’s when you realized all the little pieces of information he stored away as he got to know you.
Jack would always make sure to keep a few bags of your favorite candy and snacks in the staff lounge, just in case you ran out. He pointed out that when something you wanted was in your favorite color and always told you, “I’ll pay for it.” He knew more about you than some of the people who knew you your whole life. You couldn’t fathom how you got to be the luckiest girl in the world.
Your relationship with Jack was steady, and he couldn’t have been better towards you. He was considerate, loving, and all around a good person. The problem was you. You never felt deserving of the love he gave you. You knew you loved him, but you kept hearing this voice in your head saying you were unworthy of what he was giving you. You grew up surrounded by chaos, and your brain was engraved with the thought that love should be messy. It shouldn’t be this easy.
You weren’t proud of how you left things with Jack. There was yelling, crying, and things said that couldn’t be taken back, mostly from you. You had been lucky all this time that there was no “real” emergency that had you landing in the Pitt. Hell, you were surprised you had gone this long without accidentally running into any of them. All of you and your family’s medical needs were being treated at the other surrounding hospitals, and you even made sure your daughter was born anywhere but PTMC.
You felt sick to your stomach as you pulled up to the ER. Were you ready to face all the people you used to call family? You didn’t have time to ponder your thoughts. You parked your car as close as you could to the emergency room and ran to the automatic doors. You pushed your way through the crowd of people waiting to be seen. You were hit by the smell of the ER waiting room and people begging to be taken back to be seen. When you worked here as a nurse, you tried your best not to let the people who had been waiting for hours get to you emotionally. You knew there were only so many hands and things you could do, but it still hurt to see people who waited for 12 hours in a crowded room with the electric buzz of bright lights. You said your apologies as you squeezed past an older gentleman and approached the front desk.
“Lupe,” you said as your voice quavered and you shot a look to the double doors leading to the main part of the ER.
Lupe looked up at you and opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She gave you a soft and sincere smile before opening the doors to your right.
You heard the buzz and made your way around the corner. Your heart felt like it was still at your front door, but your feet made their way through the madness of the ER. Your body was hit with the smell of antiseptic and the noise of the never-ending cry that occurs in the emergency room. It had been a long time since you had been in the midst of your old work environment. You forgot how loud it was with the sounds of beeping machines and shouting orders from the nurses.
You halted in front of the nurses’ station, looking up at the board, trying to place which room Margot was placed in. You could have asked for help, but it felt easier figuring it out on your own. Your eyes scanned the lit-up board with its fluorescent blocks of color highlighted with people’s names. Just as you came across your little girl's name, a woman's voice said your name.
Your eyes dropped down from the board to an older woman in gray scrubs with her blonde hair pulled up in a claw clip. Dana. You locked eyes with hers, seeing hers rim with tears.
“What are you doin’ here?” She said softly as she reached to put her hand on your arm.
You kept your eyes on her, not knowing what to say. How do you explain to someone you once thought was going to be at your wedding that you have a child with a complete stranger, who abandoned you and your little girl?
“Is there a little girl in here named Margot? ” Was all you could say, as you bit your lip to stop your chin from wobbling.
Dana drifted her gaze from your eyes and then to your hands fidgeting with your jacket button.
“Yeah, she’s in trauma two. C’mon.” She said as she put her hand on the lower part of your back, guiding you towards your daughter.
Even without telling Dana, she knew the little girl was yours. Dana knew everything, especially around here.
As soon as you approached the clear doors of the trauma room, your eyes fell on your little girl. You saw her ringlets of brown hair in the pigtails you had done earlier this morning. Her bright yellow t-shirt and the matching pants that went along with it. The light-up princess sneakers that she insisted on wearing every day, no matter where she was going. You saw her red cheeks and puffy eyes. The rash that seemed to be everywhere on her body was only getting worse.
Without thinking twice, you pushed the trauma doors open, just like you used to when you were assigned to a case. You rushed to Margot's side, practically shoving everyone else out of the way who wasn’t doing anything critical.
“Bug, I'm here. You’re gonna be ok.” You said with a soft but worried smile on your face.
Your daughter’s eyes fluttered open, finding yours. Her lip started to quiver.
“My throat hurts.” She tried to say as tears started to stream from her eyes.
You could feel her tiny heart racing as you lay your hand on her chest.
“I know, but I’m here. And the doctors are going to help you feel so much better.” You said fighting back tears yourself.
“How much Epi has she been given?” You asked, not taking your eyes off your daughter, your hand interlaced with hers.
The med students looked at each other and then back at you. “I am-well, I used to be a nurse here.” They nodded their heads as the female attending, whom you had never met, responded, “Only pushed one so far, she seemed to calm down with the one dose. We’ll see how she does in the next five minutes.”
Just as your question was answered, the trauma doors opened. You looked up, and your eyes met Robby’s. You could see the swirl of emotions he was feeling as he scanned your face. You saw his eyes drop down to the little girl on the hospital bed with an oxygen mask on her face. He didn’t know you fell in love after Jack or got your heart broken at 20 weeks pregnant. Let alone have a child. He quickly looked back at you, and his feet started to move.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi, we got this.” He said as he pushed past her and snapped a pair of gloves on his hands. The woman, whose name you had just learned, looked at Robby and then you, before turning around and exiting the room.
Everyone else in the room kept moving and informed Robby of everything they had already done. He looked at you again, seeing you look down at the little girl with tears in your eyes.
“Vitals are dropping.” A nurse beside you said, causing you and Robby to snap your heads up to the monitor.
“Push another of Epi,” You heard Robby say.
Margot’s eyes were shut, her tiny body fighting so hard as the grip of her hand lessened on yours. You looked down and ran your fingers across her tiny knuckles. Looking at the chipped bubblegum nail polish that she begged you to buy for her. Your mind raced through all the moments you’ve had with her. From when you first found out you were pregnant, to finding out she was a girl and watching her grow up into this tiny, beautiful human being.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to have you step outside.” One of the med students said coming to your side. Your head snapped to look at him, fighting the urge to slap him in the face. You knew as a nurse that family could get in the way of proper treatment for a patient, but you didn’t care. This was your blood, and you weren’t leaving her side. Before Robby or anyone else could respond, you heard a voice, and the door to the trauma room opened.
“She can stay, Ogilvie, she’s family.”
You knew that voice. You had taken comfort in that voice so many years ago. You heard that voice say “I love you” in the morning, at work, in passing, and before you would fall asleep at night. The gruff voice that would whisper in your ear how much he loved you and how well you were doing in your most intimate moments. The same voice that broke when you told him that things were over.
Your eyes shot up to meet him, and for the first time in years, you were in the same room as Jack Abbot.
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 4,013
Chapter warnings: Language, mention of elderly abandonment, mention of alzheimers, Santos and Whitaker are NOSY, other location than the PMTC.
Chapter Summary: You think your shit day can be salvaged if you just pretend you're fine until you make it through. Of course, when do you ever get what you want? Dennis breaks Trinity's picture perfect crush on you. Robby Observes.
< Previous
“Alright Ms. Greenberg, all patched up”
The elderly woman gave you a grateful, albeit slightly absentmindedly smile. You received the call fifteen minutes ago, when the older lady dialed 911 after cutting herself on an envelope opener. Your partner for the day had nothing but stomped out the house when he took in the “emergency”, leaving you to carefully clean and bandage the wound suffered on the junction of the thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, thank you dear” She replied, eyes going down on her injury. “I'm not as agile as I once were. I'm sorry you had to come all the way here”
You gave her a gentle shoulder pat. “Never apologize for asking for help, Ms. Greenberg,” You reassured her. “I'd rather you call to make sure than not, okay?”
Her smile became shaky as she gave you a nod.
You looked around the sparsely furnished house before standing back up on your feet. Ms. Greenberg was well known by the emergency services, and most people drew short straw to avoid answering the call, knowing it would always be something minor instead of an actual emergency.
You, however, didn't moan and groan at the idea even when you were slammed with calls. She was a fragile old woman who lived alone in her house, and to be honest, you worried about her. You had growing suspicions you were dealing with a case of elderly abandonment, along with most likely some cognitive impairment.
“How are you doing Ms. Greenberg?” You asked as you pulled yourself on your feet, ignoring your screaming knee from the few minutes you spent tending to her wound.
She though for a second. “Yes, I'm doing fine”
You looked around the room again until your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the table. Even from where you were standing, the angry red LAST NOTICE stamp on the envelope told you everything you needed to know about the content of the letters.
Feeling her eyes on you, you forced your gaze to move on, sliding to the left onto a fancy dishes abandoned on the counter, long forgotten. You pulled a strained smile for her sake.
“I see you've pulled out the fine China” You began, eyeing her reaction. “Any… distinguished visitors?”
A welfare check disguised as small talk. You had become good at that.
“Just… The mailman… I think” He frowned. “He always stops to talk”
Her expression began to empty again.
“The mailman huh?” You pushed, giving her a conspiring grin. “Any hot date I should be aware of?”
“Oh!” She finally laughed, eyes brightening like the first sun ray of the day. “Oh you!”
You held up your hands in surrender. “Hey now, a beautiful young woman such as yourself is bound to attract a nice gentleman”
She kept laughing. “You're buttering me now”
“Only stating the truth Ms. Greenberg”
“Thank you dear” She said. “It's always good to see you here”
“My absolute pleasure” You gave her a genuine smile. “Keep an eye on that wound for me alright? If it doesn't get better by the end of the weekend, call us again. We'll come back to check”
“O-okay”
You winked at her, turning around to walk out. Halfway to her door, you spun around and walked backward. “Oh and keep me updated about that date yeah?”
She laughed again as you winked and exited the house.
Your joyful expression fell once the door closed behind you, sighing. Ms. Greenberg was entirely too sweet to be left alone with no one visiting or to be forced out of her home this way. It was unfair and cruel, and while you were not supposed to get attached, you had become genuinely angry on her behalf.
Still, you'd never been as thankful as now for the friendship this mailman provided.
“You don't have to chat with her every time, you know?”
Your shift partner was leaning on the ambulance, smoking a cigarette when you shoved your bag in the vehicle and took off your latex gloves.
“You don't have to keep that stick shoved so far up your ass either, but here we are”
You were upset, maybe too much. But his comment flare up your already raging irritation.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Jesus Christ, alright, keep playing with paper cuts when people are dying”
You rounded up the passenger seat as he got into the driver.
“Not all people who desperately need help is actively dying Ethan” You sighed again as he turned on the engine and began driving off. “You should know that by now”
He rolled his eyes. “I don't need you to lecture me on my job”
You gave him a tight smile. “Apparently you do”
Oh he did not like that.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw muscle popping out for a second. “I'm the paramedic. You're the EMT. Stay in your lane”
Your head slowly pivoted to face him, but he kept his eyes fixated on the road ahead of him. You watched as he swallowed hard, the rest of his body locked in place with something akin to fear.
You could almost hear his heartbeat pounding in his ribcage.
It was well known you hadn't gone through the typical road of starting as an EMT to graduate to Paramedic, opting to stick to the range of treatment EMTs provided despite being long past the usual timeline for career progression. You collected ad hoc certifications here and there, but for the most part, you hadn’t been interested in a promotion.
Yet, with your 15 years on the job, having seen everything and anything possible, you had carved your place high enough on the respect hierarchy that people usually didn't dare pull ranks, especially not someone much younger than you.
Usually.
You kept staring him down until you felt any more would result in a driving accident, then returned your gaze to the road ahead. “Next time, if you're gonna storm out on a patient like a kid throwing a tantrum, at the very least try not to let it show until you're actually out of the house”
“If you're gonna be a bitch—”
It was like it slipped out of his mouth subconsciously, considering the way he caught himself and shut up faster than lightning. You raised an eyebrow, side eying him.
“What was that?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing”
“Hm” You nodded, knowing you were doing it on purpose at this point but enjoying using him as an outlet way too much. “Right”
He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and released, muttering a whatever under his breath. The silent drive back to PTMC took no more than twenty minutes, but visibly, Ethan could not wait to be away from you. He all but jumped out of the vehicle the second he pulled the key out.
You took your time, recomposing yourself before facing the outside world again. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. Stretching your lips into a forced smile until it wasn't so strained, crushing down the sadness in your eyes. It was becoming harder and harder to make the people around you believe you weren’t running on the ghost of fumes, but you couldn’t offload this on the few friends you had more than you already had — they had enough to deal with on their own to pick up your pieces.
You rolled your shoulders and your neck, stretching the delicate muscles there. You then grabbed the small takeout container wrapped in a bag in the glove compartment and exited the ambulance, heading for the bay doors.
The ER was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon, supported by the various doctors charting instead of running around like a circus show.
Santos pays attention to you first, spotting the container in your hands as hope filled her features.
Well, that's a sight to to cheer you up now. Nobody had been this happy to see you in ages.
“Sandwich?”
Before you could even answer, Dana scoffed, not even looking away from her computer. “You'd have seen Robby somewhere around if that was the case”
True to her word, the Chief Attending was nowhere to be seen.
“Okay?” Santos looked between you and Dana. “What's it got to do with sandwiches?”
You laughed and shook your head. “We have this ongoing theory that Robby senses when there are sandwiches incoming. Don't worry about it”
“Never been proved wrong so far” Dana called as she pressed enter, then left to do whatever she needed at the moment.
You handed the container to Santos and nodded at it. “No sandwiches today, but this should hit the spot”
She didn't hesitate to accept the offering, unwrapping the box to find two beautifully decorated cupcakes, one in baby blue and the other in light pink.
“Yeah they're gender reveal novelties, but whoever ordered them didn't show up to— oh and it's already going in okay”
She barely listened to your words or laughter as she shoved one in her mouth, biting half of it and making a sound you were pretty sure would not be appropriate for the workplace.
“How come do you always come back here with food?” She said as her mouth was still stuffed with vanilla cake.
You leaned forward like it was the best kept secret in the universe. “People end up liking you enough to give you free stuff when you keep saving their lives”
She sighed, content. “Yeah you're saving my ass right now and I think I'm in love with you”
You grinned and leaned back, grabbing a incident report form from where you knew they where hiding behind the nurse desk. You watched as her own words registered and colour slowly but surely saturated her skin.
She scrambled for her words. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that—”
“Beach or historical site?”
Caught like a deer in the headlights.
You doubled down when she obviously didn't know what to answer now.
“For the wedding”
She began stuttering, mouth slightly opened until Robby swooped by. To make it better or worse was still up to higher powers.
“You don't have to answer that Santos” He called as he flew by you, but not before giving your forearm a warning poke that you swatted away like a fly bite, gasping in faux offense. “You. Stop flirting with my doctors”
You swore your intention was not to put her in an uncomfortable position, but you'd lie if you said you didn't enjoy at least just a little seeing her flustered like that.
Your self esteem was dragging in the abyss and you were desperate to know if you still had it.
Still, you were about to heed Robby's order and back off when Santos swallowed slowly, somehow not breaking eye contact.
“Historical site”
Your eyebrows raised, impressed, at her shaky, yet certain enough answer to your question.
“Too much sand otherwise”
You grinned and took a respectful step back. “You're cute”
Her expression morphed into a mix of slight offense and preen at your words, halfway between embarrassment and triumph.
You winked and leaned down on the counter, almost parallel with the surface to be close to the form as your reading glasses were probably somewhere in your bag back in the ambulance. You grabbed a pen from your cargos’ pocket and began to fill the form. “Have you seen Dr. McKay anywhere?”
It took a moment for her to answer, so much that you paused your writing and looked up to the still flustered resident.
“Huh?”
You suppressed a smile. “McKay. You know where she is?”
She cleared her throat and shuffled on her feet. “Um, no, why?”
You pointed at the form. “I need to flag potential cognitive decline for a senior living alone and isolated on the verge of getting evicted. She still works with the street team?”
She nodded. “Yep. But I haven't seen her anywhere— Hey, Huckleberry!”
You watched as another kid popped out of seemingly nowhere like he had been summoned. You returned to your form.
“You're still on the street team?”
“Yeah” He replied, his gaze flickering between you, Santos and the baby blue cupcake with Boy? written in fancy script on a piece of chocolate in Santos’ hand. “Why?”
“She needs to report something” Santos waved off. “Can you take the report?”
“Dr. McKay should be more aware of what to do…” He trailed off, his eyes once again stopping on the cupcake. “Where'd you get that?”
“Bakery on main” You interjected, eyes still on the form. “Had extras”
He frowned as he looked between the two of you, then back at the cupcake. He opened his mouth to say something, but Santos beat him to it.
“Gotta save her life to get the goods” She smirked.
You couldn't help but chuckle. Fast learner that one.
He gave her an incredulous look. “You did not save her life”
You hummed, checking patient state boxes on the form. “She kinda did. Close enough for me anyway”
She gave him a triumphant smirk.
You signed the sheet at the bottom and stood straight again, looking between the two of them. “Still no sign of Dr. McKay?”
They both shook their heads.
“She's with a patient in North 3” Robby said as he walked back around, just as fast as he came. “You're welcome to sit here until she returns. As for the both of you, if you have time to stand here you have time to check on your patients”
In an instant, they both took off like birds, briskly walking away huddled together.
•••••••••••••
“What are you doing?”
Santos looked from her charting and Whitaker slid beside her. He was shifting on his feet, looking around and whispering conspicuously.
Santos looked around for the source of whatever possessed him, then returned her gaze on him.
“… Charting?”
“No—” He began, then sighed. “I heard you earlier. With that paramedic”
“EMT”
He frowned. “What?”
She rolled her eyes. “She's an EMT”
His mouth opened, then closed again. “Doesn't matter!” His voice slightly rose, bringing a passing nurse's attention. He apologized with a half smile and a wave, before seriousness returned to his feature. “You were flirting with her”
She scoffed, lightly amused. “She was flirting with me first”
“This isn’t funny”
“It kinda is” She said, barely looking at him as she kept typing. “What, you jealous?”
“No!” He whisper screamed. “I just don't think you should get… involved with her”
Santos paused her typing, slowly turning her head towards him. She'd never have missed the chance to tease him to hell and back about it, but even to her, he seemed a little too agitated to her liking.
“What do you know that I don't?”
He took a long breath out, shoulders deflating as he tried to figure out a way to say this without sounding like the worst gossip monger in the world.
“You know that nurses talk right?” He began. “Well, so do the paramedics”
She raised an eyebrow. “o-kay?”
Whitaker took one step closer and lowered his voice even more. “She and Dr. Abbot? Deeply involved with each other. I'm talking living together for a decade type of thing”
Santos' jaw dropped for a moment, not having expected that. She didn’t think she’s even seen them in the same room since she started at PMTC. “They're together?”
He shook his head. “Nope, not together. This is where details get hazy, but from what I've heard, it's messy”
She fully turned to face him. “Well come on, spill!” She looked over her shoulder. “Ideally before Robby comes around again”
His gaze swept around the ER too once before he launched into the rumours. “Accounts differ, but I've heard she was married years ago. Her husband joined the military and ended up getting blown up by some explosive in the Middle East to save Dr. Abbot, and she was best friend with his wife during that time. After they both died, she and Abbot moved in together. But get that, they weren't together, or not publicly anyway which is worse— but they've recently split up for a reason nobody knows. They have been pointedly going around each other when they were always chatting when she dropped patients before. And…” He looked around, scanning the room to make sure the coast was clear. “No one has any idea what's happening and no one in the know will say, and Robby gets legit pissed when the nurses bring it up”
Bu the time he was done, Santos' eyes had grown like saucers. “What. The fuck”
“Yeah” He nodded. “I don't think it's a good idea to get in the middle of that”
“That's… Ugh” She whispered, a look of abject horror on her face. Was there anyone not overly complicated in this god damn joint? “I have so many more questions now. Do you think it’s a secret affair type of mess?”
He shrugged, offering no rebuttal.
“Just my fucking luck” Santos finally sighed as her shoulders sagged. “A hot woman outside of any HR violation finally flirts with me, but oh wait, she's a walking minefield”
He winced.
Realizing her poor choice of words, she closed her eyes and let her head drop. Maybe not the best thing to say if your husband had indeed been blow up on the field.
“Fuck me”
Whitaker patted her on the back and returned to his patients with nothing but a sympathetic smile, missing entirely the one party listening to their conversation from afar.
Robby hadn't meant to snoop.
Not this time anyway.
He knew he should have put a swift end to that gossip session as soon as he caught his name in a conversation he had definitely no business listening to—and that his residents had no business having either from what he quickly pieced together with the next few sentences they spoke after—but his curiosity got the best of him.
Talk about professionalism.
Any other day, he'd have delivered a stern warning about gossip in the workplace and forgot about it, but blame it on the slow day, instead, he found himself gravitating towards the locker room. Opening his locker, he grabbed his cellphone and opened the last conversation thread and typing the words without thinking, like he was compelled.
Santos made a move. Get ahead of it while you still can.
No fucking Grey's Anatomy on my watch.
He didn't wait for a reply before throwing his phone back in and locking the door afterwards like nothing happened.
•••••••••••••
“So there's nothing you can do?”
McKay sighed and shook her head. She also knew Ms. Greenberg well, and while she would have loved to be able to intervene, it was out of her reach.
“Sorry Sweets” She said as reluctantly as she felt. “She's still technically living in a home. I cannot use the street team to shortcut her. I would if I could”
You leaned back on the empty medical bed in the unused room she had brought you to to speak in private about the incident report.
“I'm worried about her” You said as you dragged your hand down your face. “She's got no one visiting anymore. Only the mailman is kind enough to stop and chat. And I know the paramedics are already tired of her, I'm afraid that if she calls on a day I'm not there or already dealing with something else, she might get overlooked. They'll rush her and she'll keep quiet any other issues that might be grounds for concern”
She squeezed your shoulder in support as she leaned beside you. “I know that you know you can't think like that babe” She began, tone all too understanding. “That's how you get burned out”
You sighed, rolling your head back slowly and feeling the small cracks of your neck. “I know”
You did know, but for some reasons, Ms. Greenberg really stuck out to you. You had no idea why, out of the thousand of people you had assisted, she was the one to haunt you, but she did, and it was like your entire sanity depended on her getting the care that she deserved.
“Tell you what” She began, giving you a smile that was meant to be encouraging. “It's quiet today. Why don't I go upstairs with you to declare the welfare check and hopefully trigger the state taking charge of Ms. Greenberg?”
You paused the movement of your head and raised your eyebrows at her. The ED staff hated dealing with the suits from the eight floor and their judgemental sneers just as much as you did. They saw the world in figures and numbers and quotas instead of in actual impact on human lives and dignity, and you avoided them as much as you could.
“I can't—”
“Not up for debate” Her lip curved a little higher at the annoyed stare you gave her. “I'm not letting you go to war alone”
“You're lucky I just finished an 18 hours” You grumbled as her expression turned triumphant. “I'm not in the mood to argue”
She bumped her shoulder into yours. “Not argumentative? That would be a first. Mark the day!”
You rolled your eyes, but your amusement was clear.
“C'mon” She pushed back on her feet, and after a few seconds staring her down, you did the same. “To the suits we go”
You followed her to the elevators. “Five words horror story”
The sound that came out of her as she called the lift was half a scoff and half a snort. It took a few seconds before the doors opened and you stepped in, quiet music filling the background.
She sighed. “Don't worry Sweets”
You eyed her from where you were standing on her side. “Hm?”
“We'll make sure Ms. Greenberg is taken care of. I promise”
You nodded as the elevator doors opened on Dante's eight circle of hell. With a synchronized deep breath, you dived right in.
•••••••••••••
You were already pissed off as it was, and the long line at the bank certainly didn't help to ease your mood. The rational part of you supplied all the usual arguments, that these people had as much right as any other to take their time and ask question and solve their own issues.
But the sleep deprived, irritated version of you, the one that had been inflated by spending nearly an hour arguing with a delicately perfumed bureaucrat in his AC controlled room about a elderly woman's right to medical supervision was whispering in your ear that none of these assholes had any business standing in line ahead of you.
Still, you bit the inside of your cheek and fidgeted with your helmet, shifting from sore foot to sore foot and cursing the latest Phenix pay system crash that forced the city to deliver your paycheck through an actual, physical check that had to be deposited at the bank.
You had tried on your phone, but of course there had been in internal error that made it impossible for you to access mobile deposit at that time.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, the out, the repeated a couple of times, trying to ease the tension across whole body. You shook your free hand, then switched your helmet to the other and did the same. Slowly, you reopened your eyes.
The blur took a few seconds to clear, revealing the scene unfolding in front of you. You tilted your head as you noticed strange, hurried movement that part of your brain had already understood but not communicated to your conscious just yet.
Any other day, you'd have caught the clues. The nervous figures by the door, the twitching man in the line, the people consistently scanning the room.
Your eyes widened as it finally registered, a fraction of a second before it actually happened.
From the hurriedly slipped on balaclavas to the raised semi automatic weapons and the bags.
summary: it's been a few days since the happenings of last chapter; jack has stopped by a few hours early to check in on day shift before he clocks in. what he doesn't expect is to take on a few extra hours as an attending, especially not while you're on the job. he also doesn't expect to make you cry more times than he ever has, but he does that, too.
content warnings: f!reader/afab, angsty angsty angsty, reader is an R3 at PTMC, hucklerobby, dennis & reader are besties asf, mean jack, negative self-talk from reader, jack is 49, reader is 29, y/n used
find part 1: here
"shit," robby curses. "abbot, brother, i've gotta go. can you cover?"
jack frowns. the idea of taking over as attending for day shift when he has a night shift ahead of him would intimidate most, but not jack. "sure, man. what's going on? you okay?"
he nods. "fine, yeah. jake needs me for something, though, and i completely forgot."
jack nods back, making his way to the scrub dispenser to change. "not a problem, i got it. you go take care of things, kay?"
with that, robby grabs his belongings from the locker room and makes his way out. "alright, everyone! listen up!" he calls. "i've got something to handle so abbot's your senior attending for this shift; you will present your cases to him, not me. find him in the next couple minutes to catch him up on your current patients. sound good?"
there's a murmur of 'yeah's and 'not a problem, doc's from the rest of the doctors and nurses, then everyone goes back to whatever they were doing.
but against his will, jack's eyes dart to you. unlike everyone else, you're frozen, in the middle of handing dennis a stack of returned labs. you glance down at dennis, who's sat at a computer, charting. "so does that mean i...need to talk to him?"
dennis sighs, "i'm afraid so.."
to his left, trinity snorts. "good luck with that, chica."
20 minutes have passed since jack began his first day shift in quite a while. you watch from your computer as resident after resident approaches him, presenting their current cases to put him in the loop.
until every resident has done so but you.
every few minutes you tell yourself that you're just going to do it. it's not like it's personal; just walk up to him, explain your patient status as clinically as possible, do not look into his stupid eyes, and then walk away.
just as you're about to get up to do exactly that, the shadow of a muscly, curly-headed shadow darkens your workspace.
and, of course, you look up and make direct eye contact with the aforementioned stupid eyes. rule number one already broken.
"why is it that every. other. resident in this damn ER has explained their cases to me but you?" his gruff voice asks, tone flat and unfeeling.
jesus, here comes the heartache. the heartache you thought you'd gotten rid of in the 2 whole years you had away from him.
you sigh, gathering all the energy necessary to maintain a professional tone. "i've been busy charting, dr. abbot, i apologize.
he snorts. "dr. abbot, huh?" he quips. "that's rich."
arching a brow, anger bubbles somewhere in your guts. but it all quickly fades after a wave of sadness washes it away. why is he being like this?
"is something wrong with 'dr. abbot'?"
"nope," he shrugs, acting as if you're the unreasonable one in this conversation. "you never used to call me that, is all."
you blink. "well, no shit," you blurt before you can think better of it. "w-we were dating before; i obviously had more affectionate things to call you. but that's all behind us, so it shouldn't matter."
if jack felt anything akin to heartbreak from that statement, he didn't show it. instead, he just pasted on his typical smirk and retorted, "so, what, you're saying you don't feel anything for me still?"
his smug tone, so teasing in such a familiar way, hits you harder than you want it to. so, you steer the conversation in a safer direction. "do you want me to present my cases to you or not?"
he nods. "considering that all the other residents had half the mind to do it and you didn't, yes, i'd appreciate that."
the blatant dig at you doesn't go unnoticed, and you immediately feel like crying. jack's never spoken to you so offhandedly, not even he broke up with you.
"o-okay, let's go."
even with your sudden lack of confidence, you take him to each of your patient's beds and present the case to jack. by the time you get to your last patient, your speech is quiet and timid. because after every other patient, jack always had something to say. "let's stick to real medical terminology, yeah? it's an MI, not a heart attack." or "i'm your attending, not your little friend. don't joke about your patients."
you finish presenting your last case, standing there staring at the floor and bracing for jack's last set of cruel words. when you finally look up, however, you realize he's already walked away; he did so the moment you finished presenting.
"i- what the fuck?" you mutter to yourself, approaching him. "so, no feedback or anything i should look out for?" you ask, keeping your tone cordial.
he responds with a mere shake of his head. when you try to intervene and coax something out of him, he cuts you off with a harsh "really, dr. y/l/n, i'm busy here. not everything in this ED revolves around you."
tears pool quickly in your eyes, and jack's heart clenches as he watches you blink them back. he wishes he could just smack himself for disregarding you so cruelly, but he just couldn't stand to be around you.
watching you function as an R3, moving confidently through the ER and assessing patients quickly, it's too much for him. it highlights just how much of the important parts of your life he missed. he never got to see you grow up because of your age gap, and once he finally met and dated you, you were a measly, mousy MS4 who was afraid to say the wrong thing.
and now, after the breakup, he never got to admire as you grew into your role as a doctor, from an R1 all the way to an R3. he never got to watch you become increasingly sure in your diagnoses, never got to see how quickly you began to request labs for patients, easily identifying what they need.
it hurts, realizing how much of your life he was absent during.
"okay, i-i'm sorry, dr. abbot," you murmur quickly before hurrying to the on call room, missing the way dennis's eyes follow your figure before he closes his charts and follows you.
"i think he hates me."
dennis sits beside you on the on call room floor, feeding you a sandwich--his sandwich for lunch, really--from the break room. he's calmed you down from crying by now, but you're clearly still so... sad.
"he doesn't hate you, y/n, cmon."
you shake your head, vacantly staring at a spot on the floor. "he definitely does. he was so mean to me today... i bet he never thought he'd see my stupid face ever again, but here we are; he's already had to see and talk to me twice this week."
"don't.. don't talk about yourself like that, please," he sighs, reaching out to wipe a tear falling down your cheek. "cmon, y/n, please..."
"i deserve it," you mutter. "maybe he thought i was a bad girlfriend and a bad doctor. i mean, he didn't want to be my husband and he didn't want me to be on night shift when we were dating."
"or maybe he wanted to protect you. from what, i don't know, but i don't think he hates you, y/n," he rubs your shoulder. "cmon, let's get back out there."
"i don't wanna see him."
"do... do you want me to text robby and ask if you can go home?"
absentmindedly, you nod. who knew that your first two conversations with jack after two years would be such shitshows. "yes, please, den. and make sure to really butter him up; offer to give him head tonight or something!"
"jesus-" he pinches the bridge of his nose, texting robby. "well, at least your spirits are lifted."
"barely. be thankful you cheer me up, huckleberry."
once you get the okay from robby, who makes you promise you'll text him a check-in later that day, you go to the locker room to gather your things. you've shifted all your patients to trinity after she offered, and you're just about to make it out of the ED when...
"where are you going, exactly?"
your heart drops to your ass at the hard tone of jack's voice. you'd never heard him speak to you that way before this week, and you wonder if you'll ever get used to it.
"i- robby told me that i could go home-"
"what, because i didn't prioritize you over everyone else in the room?" he scoffs, gaining the attention of dana, dennis, and mckay from around the floor. "i have like- 6 residents to get to. get used to it, y/l/n. i may only be on day shift for this very rare occasion, but that doesn't mean i'm going to treat you all like the apples of my eye.
"i don't know you very well, so i'm not sure if you're just a bad doctor or if you lack basic human decency, but at PTMC we don't leave mid-shift just because an attending raised his voice at you, or because something didn't go how you wanted it to."
by now, nearly everyone in the ER--doctors and patients alike--is looking between you and jack. against your will, wet hot tears coat your cheeks. your chin remains high, but your spirits certainly does not. damn you, dennis, for jinxing it.
you nod weakly, feeling so detached from both your body and mind in this moment. jack's words replay in your mind on loop.
i don't know you very well.
i don't know you very well.
i don't know you very well.
what does he mean by that, exactly? was it some sort of deflection tactic, or just aimed to make you feel like absolute shit?
once he's done tearing into you, you flee to your car, eager to get away from him. you'd never imagine how heavy his heart feels, how the twisting of regret in his stomach makes him want to vomit. he stands there for a bit, eyes staring holes into where you stood moments ago.
well, shit.
later, around 8PM...
dennis and trinity approach the apartment door as dennis fumbles to get his key for the door.
"he seriously said that to her?" trinity snarls, face twisted in disgust as dennis recaps the afternoon's events to her.
he nods. "yep. yelled in her face in front of the whole ED. you're lucky garcia let you scrub into that surgery; you wouldn't have wanted to see that, believe me. i wanted to cry, i felt so bad for her."
he finally unlocks the door, pausing to listen to the sound of sniffling, but is met with none.
"y/n, honey?" trinity calls out softly. "we're home."
"in the kitchen!" you call back, making them frown.
you smile at the sight of your best friends, but dennis notices instantly that it doesn't reach your eyes. "i baked cookies," you say, and he also picks up on the hint of sadness behind your tone.
you'd always gush to him about if jack loved a new baking recipe you tried. dennis knew from enough conversations with you during those years that jack's all-time favorite were your blueberry lemon cookies--a little tart, a little sweet, he'd said.
"yeah, what kind?" he asks, setting his backpack down and coming over to grab one off the sheet to indulge you.
"uhh, blueberry lemon," you reply, and his heart clenches as he looks at you sympathetically. trinity's on standby, oblivious to how symbolic those stupid cookies are.
"yeah?" he inquires.
"yep. they good?"
he takes a bite. "perfection, sunshine," he smiles softly at you, doing anything he can to distract your mind.
"do you think i should bring some into work tomorrow? will anyone else like them?"
dennis frowns. "jack won't be there again tomorrow, y/n."
"...he wasn't supposed to be there today either, but look how that turned out," you retort sadly, chest aching with a wincing pain at the memory of your argument today. well, arguments--plural.
"okay, yeah. maybe you should bring some in, then," he nods, sighing. "but... i just don't want you to be disappointed if he doesn't eat them or something-"
"i'll be okay, den. don't worry," you chirp a bit too happily as you begin to pack some dozen cookies into some Tupperware.
dennis can only hope that's the case; he doesn't know how much longer he can watch you tiptoe around all things jack.
P.S. thank you for all the support on part 1! i appreciate it. i'll tag those who asked, but i'm not going to make an official taglist because i don't want to be term'd.
Hey :) Part 2 of Timebomb is now live. From the bottom of my heart.... I apologize.
... is what I would say if I was truly sorry. Hehe. Enjoy guys.
Reblogs and comments are very appreciated ♥
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 3,070
Chapter warnings: Hurt no comfort, talk of dead loved ones, Jack is an asshole who is afraid of his own feelings and takes it out on reader, Jack and Reader's dead spouses haunting the narrative heavily, reader is a prone to do stupid shit as Jack lmao.
Chapter Summary: What started to be a soft day of recovery following the PittFest shooting turned into ashes in your mouth when you decided to heed Robby's advice and confess your feelings to Jack.
< Previous
Your dreams were plagued with automatic weapons, screams and blood. Nothing to want to stay in, nothing to stay asleep for. Yet, when a hand gently shook your shoulder, you woke up with a startled gasp, unwillingly tearing yourself away from the haven of your subconscious.
“Hey, easy”
Your heartbeat calmed down a few notches as your registered the voice speaking, soothing and grounding you in reality. Your eyes found Jack sitting on the side of your bed, sweatpants and cotton tshirt that smelled like fresh laundry and antiseptic.
“What's going on?”
He yawned. “You've been sleeping for a while, I just wanted to check in”
“Oh come on” You breathed out slowly. “Okay, what time is it?”
“Noon, almost. Just got back from my half shift”
“Jack” You groaned. “Go take a nap. You have a full shift soon”
He shrugged.
“Unbelievable” You mumbled. “I'm fine. Go rest”
“I'm not tired”
You leveled him with an unimpressed stare, which he answered by laying down next to you, resting his hands on his stomach. This in itself wasn't a rare occurrence—Jack and you were no stranger to this kind of intimacy. It was, you might even say, what most likely allowed the both of you to got through the death of Sienna. From movie nights cuddled up, to sleepovers in either bed, always respectful and platonic. It was comfort through proximity, knowing that there was always someone next to you to hold on to when seas got rough. It was an ear ready and willing to listen to any quiet confession made in the dead of the night when the world around you stood still.
But this time was different. You had dangerous ideas getting louder in your head, and being shot at on the line of duty rattled your feelings enough to feel like it was now or never. Your eyes trailed over his form, still sharp and firm after all these year, kept in absolute pristine condition like a vintage car. Even in those plain clothes, he looked painfully attractive, and you had to resist the urge to touch him all over.
“I'll tell you what,” He began, forcing your stare away from his chest back to his face. “I promise I'll take a nap once you eat and move around a bit. Deal?”
You blinked. “Do I have any say in it?”
He scoffed. “No”
You'd hit him in the chest if either of your arms weren't actually very sore. Apparently, he figured the same thing because the smug laugh that came out of him was made of pure triumph at your helplessness. You hated how much it impacted you, and you hated the realization you'd be willing to do pretty much anything to hear it again.
You realized you hadn't felt that way about someone in a long, long time.
“C'mon, I'll make you something for breakfast” He said, but made no move to leave the bed. “You hungry?”
You closed your eyes and snuggled deeper in your pillow. “No”
Your stomach, however, clearly digressed, because as soon as you were done talking, it rumbled like thunder. You could feel Jack's shit eating grin on you.
“I'm maybe a little bit hungry”
“Need help getting up?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
He breathed out a quiet fair enough and sat up straight again, then grabbed his crutch and pushed himself up. You took care to rise up slowly to help your brain as much as you could, then gradually made it to your feet. By the time you were up, Jack was already rummaging around in the kitchen, busying himself with the breakfast he promised.
You changed from your shorts to long sweatpants and put on a clean tshirt, then joined him. He had the presence of mind to leave the blinds partially shut to reduce the brightness of the sunlight in the apartment, and the kitchen lights were left on low setting.
You made a beeline for the fruits to cut on the kitchen island while he was busy on the stove.
“Sit” He ordered before you even reached for the cutting board, not even turning to face you. “I've got this”
You yawned. “You don't have your leg on and you've been on your feet enough--you're gonna be on your feet for twelve hours soon” You stated the obvious, still advancing towards your objective. “Lemme help”
Before you could even understand he moved, he spun around on his crutch with a level of agility that usually only happened in movies and snatched both the cutting board, then the knife from the island, hiding it around the stove where he could physically block you from accessing.
You blinked once, then twice. Damn concussed brain making you slow.
“Sit.” He repeated, slower and more pointedly this time. There was no room for negotiation.
“Ay ay Captain” You mumbled, painfully climbing on an island chair.
He chuckled and shook his head, his back still to you. “Lieutenant” He corrected. “And I believe that's Retired Lieutenant”
“Noted, Retired Lieutenant Abbot” You corrected. “What's for breakfast anyway?”
He looked over his shoulder, smiling. “Nothing too flashy”
You put your elbows on the island counter and very gently laid your chin on your hands, careful not to strain your injuries. “Nothing to flashy,” You repeated. “My favourite”
You watched as he multitasked the hell out of that breakfast, trying not to let it visibly affect you. Competence was extremely attractive, and well, Jack Abbot happened to be a very competent man.
Seemingly at everything, ever.
“Ha ha. Funny” He hummed as he cut the fruits, periodically pausing to take care of the pans on the stove top. “Patience is a virtue, you know?”
Yeah, so is kindness Jack, but you're killing me over here.
“Alright” You clicked your tongue. “Waiting patiently then”
He then mumbled something under his breath you didn't quite catch.
“What was that?”
You watched as a bolt of tension traveled up his back and into his shoulders, and the tips of his ears turned pink.
“Nothing”
“O-kay”
You fell into a comfortable silence after that, watching him move around like it's the most natural thing in the world. Before long, Jack slid a plate in front of you.
“Turkey bacon and eggs with pain doré”
You raised an eyebrows, amused. “So he's french now”
He grinned. “Juste un peu”
“Thank you” You smiled back at him. “For being my personal chef and looking after me”
His smile didn't fade, but a curious expression fell over his face. Like it was strange that you'd ever feel the need to thank him for it. “… Of course”
You ate in silence after that, until your plates were clean, and then some time after.
Were you stalling?
Maybe!
But with every stretching minutes of silence, you could feel your heartbeat get louder and faster. You knew what had to come, and it was as dreadful as it was exhilarating.
“Jack”
No turning back now.
“Yeah?”
Damn, you really should have thought about it for a little bit longer.
“Do you…” You began, then took a deep breath and doubled down. “Do you ever think about what's next?”
He frowned. To his credit, he really did seem like he tried to actually find an answer to your intentionally vague question. “How do you mean?”
Great start.
“Like… I don't know” You laughed nervously. “In life. Work. Social… Dating”
He tilted his head. That last word turned on a lightbulb in his eyes, but the general confusion remained. It was easy to catch where you were trying to steer that conversation with your legendary subtlety, but the why still remained a mystery to him.
“Are you…” He began with the caution of a man handling a time bomb. “… Seeing someone?”
He told himself the sudden pressure in his chest was unrelated to whatever your answer might be.
“No” You quickly replied.
He pretended that the subsequent relief was a trick of his mind.
Already hating himself for his next words, he managed to push out a semi strained “… Are you looking to date?”
You paused.
Uh oh.
You were too busy spiraling on your own drama to notice the strike of panic in his eyes.
You were taking too long to answer.
You were aware of that.
He was aware of that.
This was a bad idea.
Your stomach began to cramp that the cortisol being generously pumped in your system. You'd take being actively shot at over this any day.
“…Maybe?”
It came out strangled and pathetic. Still, you couldn't have predicted the hardest part was yet to come.
“Anyone in mind?”
He said it so nonchalantly, it took you off guards. You gaped for half a second, shutting your jaw shut when you noticed nothing about his expression was relaxed or teasing.
“Okay, don't do that Jack” You frowned in disbelief. “Don't mess with me now, I'm serious”
His expression matched yours as he crossed his arms against his chest. “I'm not messing with you”
Your heart plummeted in your chest. You'd have thought you'd be on the same page for that one, but this? This was devastating and you hadn't even gotten to the confession part yet.
“Jack” The way you said his name set alarm bells in his brain. “I'm talking about us”
Then, the worst that could happen, happened. You watched in real time as Jack shut down, pulled the plug on anything remotely resembling an emotion.
“I can't—” His voice was robotic, detached. Yet, for the trained ear, each word dragged its baggage of pain with it. “It's not right, I can't…”
A new type of embarrassment overcame you as you felt your face warm up like the sun. In all of your 15 minutes planning, incredibly but mostly stupidly, you hadn't thought that Jack might not be emotionally ready for a relationship yet. His loss was a bit fresher than yours, and everybody grieved at a different pace.
“Oh my god” You mumbled. “Jack I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to put you in this position—” You scrambled words for thoughts and thoughts for words.
Your justification was spoken at the same time as his.
“It's too soon since Sienna… Fuck I'm sorry—”
“Damian died for me, how could I go ahead with this?”
You froze. He didn't use your silence to correct his assessment.
“What?”
Your voice felt so fragile, like it was gonna break any second now. You barely recognized it as your own--usually carried by strength and steadiness.
He passed a hand over his face.
“This isn't about her” He mumbled, looking at anything but you.
You were too stunned to speak for a moment.
“You know this is wrong”
“No, no I don't” You slowly shook your head. You could feel the faint throbbing of the concussion, but it quickly faded into the background. “Why would it be wrong?”
“Because I ruined your life” He admitted in a mutter. “He'd still be there if it wasn't for me, you'd be happy together. You're willing to taint this?”
You couldn't believe your ears. How could he even think that? You had never blamed Jack for it, because you respected your husband enough to know he made his own decisions. His own stupid, reckless decisions that got him killed, but his nevertheless.
“Jack” The pain in your voice was enough to make him flinch. “I grieved Damian, I—”
“Clearly not enough” He crossed his arms against his chest. “For fuck's sake, you still wear his name”
It was like he had slapped you in the face. You stood there, mouth agape, shocked that he went that far. He had been well aware of your reasons for not changing your name back to one associating you with violent parents and a childhood of neglect, even if it meant clinging to the name of someone long gone. Jack had seen the scars, he had known the whole story, even things you'd hidden so deep you hadn't even had gotten to tell Damian.
You couldn't believe he had used that against you.
He seemed for a fleeting second like he wanted to take his words back, regret clouding his expression.
Yet he didn't.
“Wow” You mumbled, taking a step back. “That's low, Jack”
“Doesn't make me wrong”
You let out a dry chuckle as you felt shock being replaced by anger. So, so much anger all at once that overflew like milk on an unattended stove top.
“Actually, you know what? How dare you” It came out strained, but you you were determined not to cry. Not now. Not when you still weren’t done with this conversation. “How fucking dare you. You know I grieved him every night and day for years. I grieved him until I ran out of of fucking breath and will to live. The name's got nothing to do with where I'm at now—”
You took a deep breath to hide the sob that threaten to wreck over your body. You calmed your breathing down and looked down at your hands, shaking your head.
You spoke again when you regained control over your emotions, or as much of it as you could given the circumstances.
You had that conversation in depth with Damian. You knew there was a possibility that one day he wouldn't come back, and he insisted to talk about it before he was deployed. His wishes had been clear that he'd want you to pursue happiness and find that special someone again.
“I know he would have wanted me to be happy—he'd want me to move on, you know that— you know all of that”
… You told me that, too.
He chuckled humourlessly. “But not with me” Each word felt heavier than the last. “I'd be disrespecting his memory”
Rip my heart out of my chest while you're at it, yeah?
The words rolled out of your tongue before you could stop them. “What about respecting what I want?”
No answer.
Not even a glance your way.
The pain in your chest churned into bitter storm, reawakening the embers you had barely snuffed already.
“Damian's dead. He's gone and he isn't coming back” Each of your words hit the nail deeper. “You'd care more about a dead man's hypothetical feelings than mine?”
Jack held fast. “In this situation, yes”
You felt the ground give up under your feet. Everything you thought you knew had been dragged into the mud by the person the closest to you. You felt humiliated, infantilized, patronized. Like you were a silly girl with a crush instead of a grown woman with her own thoughts and feelings.
“Then what have we been doing?” You couldn't help your voice raising again. “What is this? What's been this?”
He kept his composure in the outside.
On the inside, however, he was unraveling faster that he could slow down the rope. You had caught him blind with this, he hadn't expected this discussion to happen today. He hadn't been prepared at all for it. He wanted to say the right thing and be the person you needed, he really did, but he couldn't.
So he did the only thing he could now.
Let you down before you got your hopes up.
“Nothing” His voice was so low that you almost missed it. “This was nothing”
He finally met your eyes. The light from him was gone, snuffed behind the mask that allowed him to lie to you in such a cruel way. It took everything in him to keep it up as he took in your absolutely shattered expression, deepened with his betrayal. He'd have to live forever with the knowledge he had done that.
“Fuck you Abbot”
He flinched.
It was all he'd return you on the matter.
You took another step back, tripping on the chair and almost sending yourself flying on the ground, but steadying yourself on the counter top with a hiss of pain before you could. You recoiled when he instinctively, most likely subconsciously reached out to help, as if he had any right to touch you at all. You grabbed your bag in the entrance and your key from the hook on the wall, opening the door. You paused in the doorstep, turning around one last time.
“Go to hell”
You slammed the door on your way out, leaving Jack alone inside. He hated to break you heart, fuck, he broke his own heart too in the process. There would be no coming back from this, he made sure the matter was closed and over with for good. It would be for the best, he kept telling himself.
No need to remind me, I already know this is where I'm going.
•••••••••••••
In retrospective, driving your motorcycle back to your apartment had been the stupidest thing you could do.
Between the bright midday light sensitivity, the concussion throwing your balance off, both of your arms injured and the angry tears blurring your eyes, you probably came closer to death than yesterday while you were faced with an active shooter. It was a miracle you even made it to the indoor parking lot, and even more up to your studio apartment you still had an active lease for on the fourth floor.
You were already exhausted, ready to collapse by the time you crossed the threshold. You took in the tidy space that had been left to collect dust for months as a nasty feeling of emptiness washed over you. For years now it had been used as a quiet space to go to when you or Jack needed to be alone with your thoughts, a space to meditate and calm down. Yet, the silence now had never been so suffocating.
And while cozy and homey, your studio lacked the warmth of a home…
Lacked the warmth of Jack.
Like a zombie, your feet took you to the couch, not finding the strength to open up the pull out bed from it. You crashed on the cushions, face down and let it all out.
You began crying, feeling the last ten years of your life catch up to you. Without Jack to hold it all at bay, all that grief came crashing down upon you, tearing your heart apart all over again.
You cried, and cried, until the darkness took you over and plunged you in the cold prison of your subconscious.
Summary: You loved Azriel long before you knew what betrayal felt like. Centuries later, with Feyre Archeron at your side and the Spring Court crumbling around you, you begin to realize that love and freedom rarely bloom together.
Or: A series of moments inside the life of Tamlin's sister, and the love story between you and Azriel, told in fragments.
Warmings: Yearning. Like, so much. Tamlin (he’s a warning in himself). One-sided love (but not really). Loneliness. Complicated family dynamics. War. Death. Slow burn. Angst. Eventual fluff. Eventual hurt-comfort. One-sided love (or is it?). Slight canon divergence.
Please let me know if I missed anything!
a/n: SO! first story in tmblr and first story I had ever written. I have to confess that at first I was only gonna focus on Azriel x reader, but then I started writing, and before I noticed it, I had rewritten all the books from the sisters' perspective. This part doesn’t have much Azriel, but I promise he becomes much more present in the next chapter. This is a very slow-burn story, and I hope you enjoy the ride!
Words: 12K (I got excited)
──── 𓆩✧𓆪 ────
Part 1
1.
The first time you met Azriel, it was shortly after your 150th birthday.
At that age, you used to follow your brother wherever he went, desperate to taste even a sliver of freedom, and pestering him and Rhysand whenever the young lord visited the Spring Court. When they walked through the gardens, leaves crunching beneath their feet, and flowers swaying at the rhythm of the wind, you followed behind them like a small shadow. And when they trained, you stayed at the side, rocking on your heels and admiring the strength they both exuded without even trying.
You always begged your brother to train, to be instructed in the art of self-defence. And the answer would always be the same:
"No." The word always cut you deeper than any knife could.
And then, as if remembering who he was talking to, he would soften his gaze and apologetically lower his tone. "You know, Father will kill us if he finds out. "
You found that argument ridiculous--wasn't he always angry anyway?
You would puff and stomp your feet. And they continued to ignore you, as if you were just a child and Tamlin's nagging little sister. Due to their lack of acknowledgment, strong vines would grow on your arms and hands, as if they were protesting on your behalf.
Your powers always expressed your feelings better than you ever could.
Rhysand, already far too observant and charming for his own good, would look at you with a gleam in his purple eyes.
"Come on, Tam. Look at her, she's fiercer than even me on my worst days. Some training won't hurt anybody."
Rhys knew about the iron grip that your father had over you. Even now, looking back and replaying those years, you were sure that's what brought the princes so close in the first place, both connecting over long conversations and shared stories whispered on the outskirts of your garden.
And Tamlin would consider it, even when you all knew what the outcome would be.
"And he doesn't have to know." You would add, hopeful and already seeing the doubt in his face.
"Fine. But, you have to listen to us in everything we say."
You would nod eagerly, half listening to his words and already gathering your hair into a ponytail.
"I'm serious, Y/N."
"Yeah, yeah. And don't tell anything to father, blah, blah, blah. Where's my sword?"
And Rhysand would let out a full-bellied laugh, with his white teeth glinting in the sun. "For the Mother, she's restless."
And Cauldron, you loved training. Your technique was dreadful, and you swallowed more grass than anything. However, the thrill of breaking the rules always brought a smile to your face that lasted for days, even when your father inevitably found out from a servant and grounded you by making you re-read that horrible book about decorum and social conduct for noble women.
But none of that compared to the feeling you had the first time you saw him.
You weren't sure if it was because of the countless romance novels you devoured by moonlight, or because your mind tended to idealize every little detail that your daily life lacked, but from the moment Azriel set foot in your court, you were pretty sure that feeling in your stomach was love.
He was so beautiful, the kind of beauty that was almost painful to admire, like the marble statues that decorated the hallways of your house. His sharp features and almost dark aura drew you in like a ship drawn to a lighthouse, and the small, endearing shadows that always hovered around him were as hypnotic as they were charming.
He never spoke much, not to anyone, and certainly not to you. Most days, you got a half-smile from him, and you were pretty sure he found you annoying every time you started talking and didn't stop. But it didn't matter, because you could carry the conversation for both of you, as long as it allowed you to be closer to him, even if it was for only a second.
"Am I boring you?" You asked him one day, after you'd been passionately talking for almost an hour about the incredibly tedious classes you'd had the previous week. The shadowsinger hadn't uttered a word during your ridiculously long speech, though his gaze remained fixed on you. Always on you.
He quickly shook his head. "No. No. I'm just listening." And then, as if sensing the doubt in your eyes, he added quietly, "Your stories always entertain me. Please, continue"
The compliment had affected you far more than it should have. Something you tried to hide with even more words and your endless chatter.
And who were you to refuse him?
On other rare occasions, he was the one who shared stories with you. Small fragments of his life, like his awful family or the origin of the wounds on his hands, which only made you love him more, something you had deemed impossible. He spoke timidly, as if simply speaking about himself were taking up too much space. And whenever he did, you remained silent, listening to him as attentively as he seemed to listen to you.
Being with him felt like free-falling, and it always left a sweet taste in your mouth.
The seasons kept passing, the trees kept growing, and you counted the days until Rhysand would return with him by his side. It was somewhat embarrassing, the way his presence had such a strong hold over you, the obvious way you looked at him as if the answers to all your troubles lay in his arms.
You were convinced he knew it, that everyone did, because without realizing it, you found yourself mesmerized, staring at him even when all he did was stand there motionless.
Cassian, funny, shameless Cassian, said one day, without an ounce of hesitation:
"Tamlin, can you tell your sister to stop drooling over my brother?"
He and Rhys laughed, and your brother rolled his eyes at their antics.
Flowers bloomed across your body as if trying to hide you from the humiliating moment. But even then, your gaze didn't leave him. The shadowsinger didn't react, but you thought you saw a soft blush on his ears.
For the Mother, he was perfect.
Whenever you trained, and he was present, you made sure to push yourself harder, trying to impress him even though your form was, at best, mediocre. And when you fell harder than usual and struggled to get up, he was always there, extending his scarred hand.
"Let me." His words were clipped, lacking any outward affection.
He always seemed surprised when you touched his bare hands as if it were nothing.
And so you continued like that for a century, watching and hoping for a moment that you didn't know if it would ever come.
But then the world you knew tilted, and everything changed. From one day to the next, and without knowing why, because no one in that house ever told you anything, they stopped coming so suddenly it almost felt like a dream.
A cruel and devastating dream.
The death of your mother, the only one who, along with Tamlin, gave you space in the family and didn't treat you as if it were a duty. The arrival of Rhysand's father, the blood, the wound in your side that threatened to take your life, and that robbed you of the normality you had known until then.
Your father's funeral, which stirred as many conflicting feelings within you as the man had stirred in life.
When you were finally able to get up again after months in bed because of the wound, you had tears in your eyes and a feeling of emptiness that almost made you fall apart completely.
Tamlin never spoke to you clearly about what had happened. He didn't explain the true sequence of events and became even more secretive than before.
So you drew your own conclusions and decided the Night Court must be responsible.
Your brother never corrected you.
And you understood, then, the phrase you had always read and heard throughout your life: that there's only a thin line between love and hate. Because where there had once been an entire garden, every time you thought of those hazel eyes and that impossibly black hair, there was only a barren field filled with ashes.
Had he laughed at you and your humiliating crush? Every time you spoke about your life, your difficult relationship with the court, your monotonous classes just to be another ornament of the court, was he thinking about how to betray you?
Had he enjoyed watching your family fall from grace?
You didn't know, and you wouldn't know for many more years.
Until the curse arrived and the mask adhered to your face.
2.
If you thought living with your father meant living in shackles, you had no idea how much worse it would get once the curse descended upon the court.
Where before you barely left the court, only on those occasions when the entire family had to attend some diplomatic dinner, now you never left your home.
It was almost as though your whole world—your reality— had been reduced to those stone walls, covered in vines and the constant scent of lilies.
The beauty of nature had never felt so suffocating as it did then.
Not even books or Lucien's stories could console you anymore. That incessant flame you'd had since childhood, the one that had made you fight for your right to move wherever you wanted, dimmed a little more each time you argued with your brother.
"I want you safe." He would say with some kind of finality after every argument.
Safe. What an insulting, insignificant word.
No matter how much you shouted at him, you could never convince him. Because Rhysand was no longer there to soften him, because, even though Lucien agreed with you, he never spoke in your favor, as if getting angry with your brother was far more terrifying than the reality you were all living now.
And because Tamlin had learned that the world was dangerous, and losing each other was a risk neither of you was willing to take.
So you kept quiet. You stopped fighting with your brother. You forced yourself to keep the peace with him, even though you knew he wasn't telling you the whole truth about the curse, and even though it meant giving up a fundamental part of yourself that would always yearn for freedom.
You were convinced that you would spend the rest of your days in this cursed court.
Until Feyre Archeron arrived, and that flame of hope not only ignited, but swept away all conformity within you.
At first, Tamlin prohibited you from seeing her, arguing that she was dangerous and that "don't worry, Lucien and I have it handled." You found it funny, in a way: how bad Tamlin was at lying, and how, apparently, a mere human posed such a threat to him, even though they had always been considered weaker beings compared to your kind.
And Cauldron, the Mother would surely damn you if she ever heard your thoughts. Because what a horrible person you must be if the death of a fae, the brute your brother considered a friend and one of your most loyal guards, didn't bring you any sorrow, but, instead, an excuse to entertain your days with a new mystery.
The first time you saw her, you were behind a column, hidden from prying eyes and most of all, from your brother's. She had been beside Lucien, shackled and with her head bowed down as if her fate had already been written. She was a fragile thing, you noticed, so thin and deprived of basic food that you feared that the winds would blow her away. But in her blue eyes shone some determination that you had rarely seen in the last decades.
You didn't speak to her until a week later.
After confirming that both Lucien and Tamlin were asleep, you went out at night with the stubbornness of a woman on a mission. The light beneath her room shone in the darkness of the hallway. In your hands was a bowl full of dinner stew, leftovers you'd found in the kitchen and knew she hadn't eaten after overhearing your brother mention it.
When you knocked on the door, the little noise that could be heard behind it ceased instantly, and you knew almost immediately she was pretending to be asleep. But it didn't deter you in the least, and you knocked again, louder, until soft footsteps approached.
Your hands were slightly shaking with the forgotten excitement and giddiness that came with breaking rules.
The door opened only a crack, and the human— Feyre— you corrected yourself in your mind, studied you with suspicion written all over her face.
Admittedly, you hadn't planned so far ahead and, for a moment, you didn't know what to say.
However, you quickly gathered yourself and squared your shoulders.
"Hi!" Your voice came out more high-pitched than you wanted. Squeaky, even.
Feyre only arched her eyebrows.
You passed your weight from one foot to another, gripping the plate tightly, and cleared your throat.
You told her your name, and she blinked as if it didn't mean anything to her.
"Tamlin's sister. The…the princess of the court. " The last phrase came out more like a question.
A moment passed, and after a second, Feyre opened the door more. You could now see she was wearing a thin sleeping gown, and you felt a tinge of embarrassment at the clear intrusion that you were committing.
"He hasn't spoken about you. At all."
You let out a strained laugh, hiding the hurt that her words wrung.
"Yeah, I feared as much."
Silence fell again, somehow more awkward than the last. You looked at the plate, a thin veil of smoke coming from it, and then at her.
"I know it's late, and you must be exhausted after this horrible week. But I wanted to present myself since my dear brother refuses to do so. And," you extended your hands, putting the plate in front of her almost aggressively. "I thought you must be hungry, considering you haven't eaten at all. It tastes better than it looks, I promise."
It seemed as though you had forgotten every lesson of diplomacy and social skills that you had. But you couldn't find it in yourself to care because you were so desperate to connect with someone new.
"So…may I enter?"
She didn't answer. Again. You were sure she was going to close the door in your face. But then, almost reluctantly, she opened the door completely and stepped aside to let you pass with a barely perceptible nod.
You glanced down the hallway, making sure no one was around, and stepped inside before she could think twice.
You placed your plate on one of the cabinets and looked around as she closed the door again.
"You are lucky. This is one of the most beautiful rooms in the entire castle."
She chuckled, but the sound lacked any warmth.
"I don't know if 'lucky' is the word I'd use right now, princess."
Your whole back tensed.
"No. Yeah. Of course. I just meant..." You chuckled slightly. "I don't really know what I meant. Sorry."
Feyre pressed herself against the door and stared at it as if she regretted letting you in. You did the only thing you could think of to break the tension that had settled between you: keep chatting.
"So!...you are human."
You couldn't tell if it was your tone or the way you said it, but Feyre crossed her arms.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
Cauldron, this was going terribly wrong. You really had forgotten how to interact with another living person, hadn't you?
"It's just that I've never seen one of your kind before, and I'm just...I don't know, excited." You scratched the back of your neck. "You come from the human lands, right? All this must seem very strange to you. New, even."
That seemed to relax her, though only a little.
She just nodded.
"And what are they like? The human lands, I mean. Are they as boring as they're murmured around here?"
That seemed to elicit a reaction from her, because Feyre uncrossed her arms and studied you with a kind of challenge in her eyes.
"And what do they say about it?"
And so you talked. You told her that here, in Prythia, the human lands were considered a boring place, devoid of any magic. That it was nothing but poverty and death. And she corrected you, as if insulted, and told you about her village. Her small house and the incredible forests that surrounded it. About the strange culture of her people, and how, even though life might be short and less magical than yours, they still found ways to celebrate it as if it were the greatest gift they had ever received.
You listened to her almost hypnotically, your eyes wide with wonder.
Then she told you about her sisters, her deceased mother, her absent father, and the complicated relationship she had with all of them. About the cold, the hunger, how she had killed a wolf that turned out to be a fae. And you realized, almost with shame, that there were far more horrible fates than being locked in your gilded cage.
Apparently, loneliness had been a familiar feeling throughout her life, just as it had been for you, and you found a warm calm in finding someone who understood you. An understanding that you had only been able to achieve before with a single person who was already in the past.
You told her about the Court, how much you loved Tamlin, and how lately he felt more like a stranger than a brother. How you longed to shed this mask that never left you, and how you wanted to see the whole world that unfolded behind these walls. How, more often than not, you felt the title of princess was too big for what you did, and how you often thought you were an imposter.
You talked so much and for so long that, without even noticing, the sun had risen through the windowpane and your throats were dry. Feyre had even eaten the stew you had brought her without you having to say a word.
And that's how you became friends with that strange human who would soon become the infamous curse-breaker of Prythia.
3.
Feyre slipped into your routine almost imperceptibly, as if she had always been a part of your lives.
You didn't know if it was because of your conversation that night, or because you suspected your brother was more smitten with her than he cared to admit, but shortly after the first week, Feyre started having dinner with you, began trusting your fractured family more, and suddenly laughter and smiles had become a part of your days.
"If you think he has long hair now, Feyre, it's because you didn't see him when he was younger. He was obsessed with it. I'm sure he owned more hair products than my mother and me combined. And once, he didn't speak to me for an entire day—an entire day, Feyre!—because I broke one of his ridiculous tonics." You exclaimed, gesturing widely, one night after dinner.
The empty plates, still stained and covered in crumbs, were scattered across the table. Lucien, Feyre, Tamlin, and you found yourselves on your third glass (or was it the fourth?) of wine, but even though it was getting late, none of you seemed inclined to leave the table anytime soon.
Feyre snickered behind her hand, and Tamlin glared at you from his seat. But it lacked any real bite, not with the small grin pulling at his mouth.
"You're embarrassing me in front of our guest, sister."
You arched your eyebrows, relaxing into your chair. You felt full, but not only from the indecent amounts of food you had consumed, but because of a quiet sense of warmth in your chest.
"Oh? Am I lying? I just think Feyre should know what she's getting into before it's too late."
Feyre looked down. A soft blush crept across her cheeks.
"She's not wrong, Tam," added Lucien, who was watching the scene unfold with a gleam in his eyes. "I always thought you'd be capable of selling us out for your hair."
Tamlin groaned, putting his face in his hands. "Not you too."
"I mean..." mused Feyre. "He does have great hair."
Both she and Tamlin shared a quiet smile from their respective seats. And the sight was so intimate that you felt you were intruding on a moment that didn't belong to you. Lucien gave you a funny look, as if he were thinking the same thing.
"You want to play this game? Fine," said Tamlin with mock offense.
You whipped your head toward him, so fast that you felt a slight pain in your neck. "Don't you dare..."
But your brother ignored the threat and pointed a finger at you.
"This girl right here? With her powers and her flowers?" he asked, looking at Feyre, and she nodded, moving a little closer to the table. "Well, when she was little, she was scary. Once, she got so angry with our father that her whole room was covered in thorny vines. She couldn't sleep in it for a week."
You gasped. "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone!"
Lucien chuckled. "Oh, I remember! Since then, we've always been very careful not to make her angry. You never know what monstrous plant she's going to conjure up."
"No, no. You're being unfair!" You looked at Feyre, who was trying, in vain, not to curve her lips at your embarrassment. "Don't mind them, it wasn't that bad. I was just little and could barely control them, okay?"
And then your brother threw back his head, letting out a laugh so full of joy and carefree abandon that any trace of annoyance you might have felt vanished in an instant.
Because it had been so long—decades, hundreds of years—since you had seen him like this, that you hesitated to do anything to break the spell. You caught a glimpse of the sweet, energetic boy he once was. That boy who read to you at night and hugged you when your parents' arguments became unbearable. That young man who let you follow him like a shadow because he understood how alone you were and how suffocated the court made you feel.
There was still pain, of course, a pain that only comes after centuries of betrayals and losses. But he hadn't disappeared yet, and you were immensely grateful to Feyre for bringing him back.
Perhaps not all was lost.
Witnessing them fall in love was both gross and beautiful.
They fell into each other naturally, amidst longing glances and shy smiles, surrounded by red roses and dense gardens. The romantic and idealistic side of you appreciated the ray of light that had descended upon your court, and watching how each day, with each touch of their hands, your brother's tense shoulders relaxed, and how his smile appeared more easily than anger.
Perhaps you were all recovering fragmented pieces you had left behind.
Feyre told you all about it during your walks through the garden. Whenever she did, there was a sparkle in her eyes and a special glow to her skin. She was no longer as thin as when she had arrived, and despite her human constitution, her lack of noble blood, she seemed far more like a princess than you could ever have been.
"And then he kissed me and..."
"Now, hold on." You stopped her with a hand in the air. "Please, Fey. Spare me the details. Even though I'm incredibly happy for both of you, hearing how my brother gets it is disgusting."
Feyre laughed faintly. "I'm sorry. It's just... I'm just so happy. I never thought I'd feel this way in my life. Much less with a fae."
At that, your gaze softened.
"I know. Just…don't tell me everything. Please."
That day, the sun was brighter than usual. Or perhaps it was you, more sensitive to the small gifts of everyday life. You were both lying on the grass, a damp, natural scent enveloping the air, and a gentle breeze caressing your bare arms.
"But enough about me! I feel as though I'm monopolizing the conversation," Feyre concluded, sitting up and looking at you. "What about you? Any hidden lover I should know of?"
She made a funny thing with her eyebrows that you couldn't help but chuckle at.
"No. No. I'm afraid I'm as alone as the first day I was born."
You couldn't meet her gaze, your eyes much more interested in the white petals that you were conjuring with your fingers.
"Oh, come on! There must have been someone! You are perfect, and what are you? Four hundred years old? I don't believe you for a second."
You ignored the heat that rose in your neck at her compliment and glared at her.
"I'm just three hundred, mind you," You corrected. "But no, there's no one. My life is as boring as it could get."
"Not even in the past?"
The white flowers in your hand withered in an instant and vanished in a small cloud of magic dust. For a moment, you didn't answer, hesitating to open that little drawer you kept hidden in your mind, the one you refused to bring to the surface.
But it was Feyre you were talking to. Your first true friend. And she had been brave and vulnerable with you. Shouldn't you do the same? Wasn't that what friendship was all about?
"Well, there was someone," you finally said, your voice more subdued than before.
Feyre looked at you expectantly, her eyes wide, and you sat up with her.
"It was nothing, really. Nothing happened between us, and I think it was more in my head than anything else." You let out a chuckle full of regret and shame. "Just a stupid crush."
Feyre tilted her face to the side, seemingly noticing what a sore subject it was to you.
"And what was he like?"
At her question, a flood of memories you thought had vanished surged through your mind. The most elegant hands you'd ever seen, scared and marred by hurt, helping you to your feet. Hazel eyes listening intently as if what you were saying were precious. Hair as black as night, swaying in the morning breeze.
You hated how you could still remember it all, as if you were still that innocent young woman desperate for the gaze of someone who clearly didn't feel the same way. But you hated even more how his face, his features, continued to awaken in you that uncomfortable, exhilarating tingle, almost like a pull that would never go away.
Stupid, foolish girl, you were.
"It's not important. Like I said, just a stupid crush."
Feyre seemed to want to add something else; however, before she could speak, you stood up, brushing off imaginary dirt from the hem of your dress.
"I think we should go. My brother will have a fit if we're late for lunch again."
Feyre didn't ask again.
But during all that time, everything was simple, even easy. Walking through the gardens was no longer as overwhelming as it once had been. And grief no longer stained all the colors of your life black and white; instead, it had expanded, making room for a much more positive range of emotions for all of you.
However, life doesn't always offer respites, and perhaps you should have been wiser. Should have asked more about that curse your brother refused to tell you about. Because the final hour arrived, Feyre disappeared without you noticing, and that wide range of colors vanished again, leaving a black even darker than before.
4.
You learned that Feyre had returned to the human world the night before Amarantha arrived at your court and wreaked havoc.
Your brother didn't want to tell you. In fact, you were sure that if it had been up to him, you would have remained as oblivious as before.
But you were angry. No, furious and tired of people making decisions around you without even consulting you. Fed up with your brother still treating you like a little girl.
You thought everything was changing, that you had finally reached an understanding with him without having to talk about it directly. But it seemed some habits refused to die.
For The Mother, he hadn't even let you say goodbye to her.
So you marched to his office, where he was having a heated conversation with Lucien, which you didn't hesitate to interrupt, and shouted until he had no choice but to listen to you.
And confessed, much against his will and with a scowl on his face. He recounted everything about the curse, the prophecy that could save you, and the necessity of a human girl falling in love with him. That Feyre hadn't confessed her love, and that the little time you had left had run out. That Amarantha, that name that generated panic wherever it was mentioned, would arrive tomorrow to destroy all of Prythia.
By the time he finished, Tamlin was breathing heavily, as if saying it had damaged a part of him inside.
But oh, you were fuming, thick tendrils climbing up your arm without you even realizing it.
"And you didn't think, for a second, that Feyre should have known what she was getting herself into? That I should have known?"
Even Lucien had half a mind to keep his mouth shut, watching the scene unfold with furrowed brows.
"She had to fall in love with me freely! I wanted her to choose us because she wanted to, not because she felt obligated to!"
"No one can make decisions freely without having all the information, Tamlin."
His fists, which he had kept clenched, opened, and his tense demeanor relaxed in an instant.
No one knew what to say for a few minutes.
With an exhale, Tamlin slumped in his chair, clutching the strands of his hair tightly.
"I just wanted to keep you all safe. To keep her from harm."
The words were barely a murmur.
You said nothing. Because, as always, you understood him. And you hated him even more for it, but it did nothing to soothe the rumbling thunder within you. Those words had stopped being a good excuse long ago.
"So what now?" you asked. "We just let Amarantha come and wipe us all out. Is that your plan?"
"It seems so, yeah," Lucien said, crossing his arms.
Tamlin raised his face and glared at him before looking at you.
"Well, that's what we were trying to talk about before you came here and started yelling at me."
You ignored the quip and raised your chin.
"Well. I want to help."
Before you'd even finished talking, your brother was already shaking his head.
"Not a chance. I'm not going to..."
"No." You interrupted, your voice cold and sharp. "Don't you dare finish that phrase. Don't you dare imply that I sit here waiting for your return. This is my court as much as it's yours, and I'm going to fight for it just like you. It's my decision, my choice."
"I would prefer to know that you are safe."
"Oh, stop with that nonsense, Tamlin!"
Lucien let out a low whistle.
You were being mean, you knew. But anger had always been a much stronger guide for you than guilt ever was.
You walked towards the table and leaned on it, putting both hands on the surface.
"I'm going to help you whether you let me or not. So what are you going to do? Do you want me to do it behind your back, or do you want me to do it together, where you can watch me closely? It's your pick, brother."
Tamlin groaned, looking back towards the window and thinking hard. You were about to talk, to insist more, before he turned again.
"Fine." He agreed. "But you have to listen to us."
His words brought back memories of secret training sessions and lost innocence.
You hid the happiness that surged beneath you.
"Always."
That night, back in your room, you were so nervous you couldn't sleep. The silk sheets felt uncomfortable, and the moonlight, filtering through the window, was more bothersome than usual. But exhaustion seemed to win the battle, because without realizing it, you drifted into a soft, fragile slumber.
You woke up to steel clashing and shouts of agony behind your closed doors.
Your body was flooded with so much adrenaline, so many thoughts overlapping one another, that you didn't have time to wonder why no one had come to warn you sooner.
You dressed quickly and clumsily, trying to recall the carefully laid plan you had been discussing with Lucien and Tamlin the night before. But when you went to open your bedroom door, your hands already trembling with the prospect of a fight, it was closed.
"What...?" you breathed out.
But no matter how hard you pulled on the doorknob, it didn't budge, as if someone had shut it from the outside.
And that's when you felt it. The magic of your brother that filled the air, the sound barrier that blocked you from the outside world. Like a bubble impossible to burst.
"No," you said, your voice rising as more seconds passed. "No, no, no, no..."
He had never planned to let you go with them, you realized. He had never truly considered your words.
He had done what he always did.
"Open the door!" You screamed, fighting with the handle until the joints on your fingers started to burn. Banging on the door and pushing it till your shoulder hurt from the impacts.
Vaguely, you felt the dampness of tears trickle down your cheeks.
"Tamlin, Lucien, please!"
But your pleadings fell on deaf ears.
It took you a few minutes to realize that there was no one behind the door, that the cries and shouts had ceased, and that you had been left alone.
The silence that followed was deafening.
5.
What followed the aftermath of Under the Mountain was ugly and filled with words left unsaid. Broken pieces of a reality that wouldn't come together again.
No one talked about what happened, even when you asked. No one celebrated the win; instead, they mourned at their own pace and in their own chambers.
You had never felt more useless than you did in those horrible months.
You watched with a tightening heart how Feyre withered away each passing day. How she ate less and less until what was left of her was barely a shell of the bright girl she once was.
You tried to be there, to make her talk, cry on your shoulder—anything that might help her forget even a fragment of what she had endured. You clenched your teeth whenever you heard the fights she had with Tamlin, and listened as he dismissed her thoughts and feelings just as he had once done with you.
In all that time, you hadn't talked with your brother properly. Whenever you did, you could barely look him in the eye, and the space between you only grew wider.
He hadn't even tried to apologize, although you caught glimpses of regret in his face every time he looked at you when he thought you wouldn't notice.
And you hadn't tried to talk to him either. Maybe it was because the wound of his betrayal was still open and festering with each passing day. Or maybe it was because you could no longer recognize your brother, and you were afraid the ugly truth would slip out: that he was starting to become the person he hated most in the world.
Your father.
So the Spring Court remained cold. You helped Feyre plan the wedding because, apparently, your brother couldn't even do that. You brought her food and stayed with her until she at least managed a bite. You held her hair back every time she vomited, as if her body could no longer bear anything but pain. You stood by her side even though you knew it was not enough because you'd be damned if you let these walls suffocate anyone else.
When the wedding arrived, no one celebrated. That day you and Feyre had talked and daydreamed about for hours on end, had become just another cage of glamour and white.
As you helped her finish brushing her hair, and as she turned away from her own reflection in the mirror, you were on the verge of telling her to leave: to run away from your brother and seek the happiness she so richly deserved.
But, cowardly, you didn't. Because, even though your brother was no longer your brother, or anyone you recognized, he was still family. And going behind his back like that left a sour taste in your mouth that you could not get rid of.
And, even more selfishly, because if she left, you would lose the only true friendship you had.
So you finished brushing Feyre's hair in silence. You tried to smile at her even when she wasn't looking at you.
"Everything's gonna be okay, Fey." You murmured, brushing a stray tear that fell from her cheek.
Both of you knew it was a lie.
When you saw her stop in her steps at the altar, her gaze fixed on those damned red flowers she had so desperately begged to be removed, you felt that in an attempt not to betray your brother, you were abandoning her.
Perhaps that's why, when Rhysand, much older than you remembered, appeared in a puff of shadows in the middle of the celebration and took Feyre with him, you did nothing. Maybe a silent part of you had already begun to suspect the truth before you even knew it.
And despite your concern for her, despite her leaving with a man you had until that moment considered a villain, you kept quiet. You endured your brother's fury, the almost self-destructive way he had of destroying everything he had ever loved. Because she was free, and because at least she wouldn't have to live that life devoid of freedom.
That life that you were condemned to live for the rest of your existence.
6.
Feyre had arrived in the same way she had the first time: like an unstoppable wave heralding change itself.
But instead of arriving as a weak, jumpy, and stubborn human, she came as though she had been a fae her entire life. There was something about her you couldn't quite grasp, that you didn't recognize.
It felt as though you were watching a house of cards collapse in slow motion, powerless to stop it.
And that included the Spring Court.
That beautiful, terrible house that had driven you to despair your entire life, and yet had also shaped everything you were today. Because, despite all the bad things, despite spending more time daydreaming about escaping the gardens than staying, watching it being destroyed in slow motion had felt as if they were incinerating a vital part of your identity.
Everyone had begun to distrust Tamlin and look at him as if he had truly lost his mind. Even Lucien, one of the most loyal people you had ever known, could barely hold a complete conversation with him without it turning into a shouting match.
And while all this was happening, Feyre watched everything unfold with a gaze so cold it froze you to your core.
It was clear she hadn't come for you, nor for your brother, nor for the well-being of the Spring Court. Her mind was elsewhere, her loyalties already belonging to another court, and you could do nothing but accept it with your familiar resignation.
So, you remained watching from the sidelines.
You watched your brother transform into that hideous beast, and instead of using it to protect, all he left in his wake was death, the metallic scent of blood and torn flesh. Even with the passage of time, with the distance only years could provide, you still thought you could hear his razor-sharp claws slicing through the air.
His heavy form trampled the camp as if his own soldiers were nothing more than ants to him.
You had tried to reason with him. You had screamed with all your might until your voice turned hoarse and your vocal cords hurt from exertion.
And for one second, Tamlin, or the beast, had looked at you. Your hands were raised in front of you, trembling so violently that you could barely grip the dagger between your fingers.
"Tamlin, please."
And, if only for a moment, the beast hadn't moved. Instead, it tilted its face to the side and watched you with distant eyes. And you had thought, foolishly, that you had done it, that you had finally reached the breach to recover your brother.
But then, without warning, the beast raised a paw, and it was only because of Lucien's quick reflexes that you weren't crushed beneath its claws.
And that's when you had understood with crushing clarity everything, an epiphany of sorts. That a part of you had never truly left that garden. Never truly grown beyond the frightened girl who clung to love as though it could save her from herself. The one who followed Tamlin and Rhysand with wide eyes. The one who had accepted her father's rules, even if they sounded absurd.
The young woman who had loved with all her heart a quiet, beautiful boy, and that came out more fractured than ever before.
The realization hurt more than the complete distrust everyone had towards your family since the arrival of Feyre.
But had it really been like this since her arrival, or had you been so preoccupied with your own self-made worries that you hadn't been able to perceive the needs of your own people?
It was always much easier to shift the blame than to accept it as your own.
After all the chaos and fighting, the crowd began shouting and booing Tamlin. They accused him of being a traitor and of allowing the Hybern attack. And yes, your brother might not have been acting right, but the accusations were so far removed from the image you had of him in your head that you didn't hesitate for a second before stepping in front of him and trying to calm the masses.
"That's not true! He would never do anything to endanger any of you."
But your voice had never been strong or resolute like Feyre's. Your role as a princess had been nothing more than an ornament, and so the people didn't listen. The idea had already formed in their minds.
You'd be lying if you said that a part of you wasn't beginning to doubt, just like them.
But the final nail in the coffin was when you found Lucien and Feyre sneaking behind the camp with bags in hand.
"You are really going to leave without saying goodbye?" Your voice came lower than a whisper, but it was still enough to halt both figures in their tracks.
Slowly, almost afraid, they turned and watched as you stood on trembling legs.
"Y/N" It was Feyre who had spoken. In her gaze, there was no longer the hard, calculating look that she had during all those weeks, but instead the warmth that you had always known her for.
You didn't give her a chance to explain herself.
"You don't love him, right? I would even wager you hate him." There was no need to clarify who you were talking about. You both knew. "And you certainly didn't come back to help us. You planned all of this to happen."
She said your name again, but you interrupted her again.
"Am I wrong?"
Her whole body deflated, and both arms felt limp at her sides. "No."
You already suspected as much, of course, but hearing her admit it was far more painful than you had expected. The dread that had been pulling at your heart since that damned day when your brother had locked you in the room began to expand until it left nothing in its wake but an emptiness impossible to ignore.
" I never wanted to hurt you."
The words were meant to comfort you, but they only made things worse. Weren't those the same words, the same excuses, that the people around you had been using your whole life? Right before they hurt you?
You didn't know what to say. You didn't even know if you could.
Lucien took a step forward.
"He's been lying to us all this time." And then, almost ashamed, he added, "You know he's dangerous. That he's not the same person we knew anymore."
You shook your head. "No, no, don't..." You raised a hand, but it was shaking. "Don't do that. Don't talk about him like that. We both know you already had one foot out the door long before Feyre arrived. So please, just...shut up. Because you were both going to keep leaving without saying a word to me."
The silence that fell was awkward, and although you were only five steps apart, the distance between all of you seemed immeasurable.
"Come with us," Feyre said after a bit.
You recoiled back, as if slapped.
"What did you just say?"
"Come with us," she repeated, this time much more confident and convinced. "You've always told me how much you want to get out of here. How suffocated you feel within these walls. If you come with us, you can be free, Y/N. Like you've always wanted."
"And what? Leave everyone behind? Leave him alone so that he can finally destroy himself?"You looked to the side, trying to keep your tears at bay. The night air felt like thousands of needles on your skin.
"Do any of you realize what you are asking from me? Who are you asking me to betray?"
Lucien looked to the ground, something akin to guilt, to conflict, dancing on his face.
Feyre took a step closer, and you immediately recoiled back, shaking your head. You saw her gulp before continuing.
"I know this is difficult, that I'm asking the impossible from you, but," Feyre took a sharp breath, clenching her fist. "You know he has turned into a monster, Y/N. You watched the horrible man he became; we all did, and, honestly, I doubt he will ever change. I doubt there's anything left to save here."
A tear fell from your face at her choice of words and splashed on the collar of your shirt.
"For you." You whispered.
"What?"
"There's nothing to save for you." Your voice was harsher than ever before.
Feyre must have realized she'd messed up, because she glanced at Lucien with a furrowed brow. But he was only looking at you, as if he wanted to embrace you and carry you away with everything.
If you weren't so angry, so utterly exhausted, you might have found it almost funny how the roles had reversed between you. The memory of how you, so clumsily, had called Feyre human, almost as an insult, tasted like ashes in your mouth now.
It was kind of ironic, really, how everything, even the most precious memories and relationships, could be redefined in a single moment.
"I bet it must be easy, Feyre, to come here and make decisions for everyone as if it were that simple," you continued. "But where you see nothing to save, I see an entire population exhausted by all the violence they've endured. And where you see Tamlin as a monster," your voice hitched, and you had to shake your head to clear the lump in your throat.
"Where you see Tamlin as a monster, I only see my brother, lost, yes, making terrible decisions for everyone, but my brother."
She was speechless, both of them were, and you used the silence to continue. Because you had so much to say, because the anger was giving you the courage you rarely possessed, and because you needed to get it all out at once.
"This is my home. My life. And I'm truly glad you've found your place, even if it's not with me." You looked at Lucien. "And I'm glad you're going to find yours, too. But no, Feyre, I can't leave him. Because leaving this court would mean leaving everything that I stand for behind. And I can't. Not like that."
It was the first time you had referred to the Spring Court as your home.
Feyre kept silent, and you swore you heard her sniffing.
Perhaps in that moment, you were both mourning the life you could have had if the circumstances were different.
Lucien was the one who took a step forward. "The offer still stands," he said, sending you a fragile smile. "If anything happens, if you change your mind, come find me. Us."
He said, pointing at both of them, and Feyre was quick to nod, wiping her eyes.
Neither of them hugged you before leaving. Perhaps because they knew you would reject it. Instead, they stared at you as if you were already something that belonged to their past.
They turned away, but after two steps, Feyre looked at you one last time.
"I really hope you're right and that you get your brother back. You deserve to be happy, too."
You didn't know what to say to that.
You watched them until their figures barely became more than black dots in the distance.
7.
Spring Court didn't take long to empty itself.
Little by little, like a dropper, people silently left until only you and your brother remained in the castle.
The halls, once filled with laughter and the bustling footsteps of sentries and inhabitants, were now plunged into a permanent state of silence. Due to the lack of workers, the rooms were deteriorating more and more, until you both began coughing from the accumulated dust, and until the absence of light in the halls became the norm.
Tamlin wasn't well. Neither were you, but you supposed you'd always been better at pretending than he ever was.
For the first few days after Feyre and Lucien left, he only seemed angry. Not at you, but at the objects and walls you heard him banging on through the closed door of his room. And when the last worker left, all that remained in his eyes was sadness. He didn't eat, he didn't go out, and, just as you had done with Feyre, you had tried to stay by his side for fear he would fade away too.
And just as it had happened with Feyre, you felt your help wasn't enough.
So you stayed moving; you forced yourself into action. You had attempted to restore diplomatic ties with the few nobles you knew, to mediate with the sentinels who no longer trusted your family. But you had never been given, nor properly instructed in, the art of diplomacy, so your attempts were in vain.
And there you remained, the two siblings, trapped in the abandoned house, surrounded by withered and dead flowers, until you both resembled ghosts haunting the stone walls more than the nobles you once were.
One night, as you were eating a bland potato stew (the only food you could afford), Tamlin seemed more animated than usual. He spoke a lot, almost as if he had taken some kind of stimulant, and in his eyes there was a quiet conviction difficult to dismiss.
"I'm going to solve this. You'll see, sister."
You kept staring at him, cutting the potatoes you never really ate, and raising your eyebrows in doubt.
He was talking about Hybern and the war they were waging against the Night Court. For some reason, he was convinced he could help them.
"And what's this grand plan you have?" Your tone was dry, bordering on cruel; you knew it, but your patience had run thin long ago.
He didn't seem bothered. He kept chewing until he leaned across the table and rested his elbows on the surface.
"I'm not sure yet. I still have to talk to more people, but... I think this is it."
And as always, he didn't tell you anything.
You sighed.
"You'll tell me, right? Before doing anything rash."
The question caught him off guard.
"Of course."
You hesitated before uttering the next words, afraid he would retreat into silence again.
"Tamlin... You know she's with Rhysand now, right? That they're mates. And even if this mysterious plan goes well, it doesn't mean she'll forgive you."
The silverware Tamlin held clattered against his plate.
"I know. I'm not doing this because of her."
You shook your head with a wry smile, cutting the already mashed potatoes into smaller pieces.
"I'm serious. I just want to make things right. With her, with our people." He lowered his head to meet your gaze. "With you."
You shrugged.
"If you're so sure."
"I am." He replied.
You didn't speak for a while.
Your mind was elsewhere, debating whether or not it was a good idea to ask him the question that had been haunting you since the last time you saw the now-future High Lady of the Night Court. But it was the first time you'd seen your brother with such enthusiasm, with anything but emptiness in his expression, and if you knew that if you didn't do it now, you might never build the courage for it.
With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, you carefully, almost delicately, placed your silverware beside your plate and looked at him again. His eyes were bloodshot, surely from lack of sleep, and his movements were clumsy and exaggerated.
"Tamlin... Can I ask you something?"
He nodded, stopping eating as well.
Suddenly, the loose threads on your sleeve were very interesting.
"It's about Father. About his death, really."
Tamlin stiffened. You weren't sure if it was the question or the mention of your father that had made him freeze.
You forced yourself to keep talking even as your voice began to tremble.
"There was something... Something Feyre said that has been on my mind."
He snorted, running a hand through his dirty hair. "Of course she did."
You snapped your eyes to him, lowering your hands. "No. No. It's not just because of her. You've never talked much about it, and... and I know that after the attack I wasn't very well, but...there's always been something that doesn't add up about everything that happened."
He just kept looking at you, his gaze turning somber by the second.
"I've never understood why Rhysand and his family would suddenly attack us like that. I mean, we spent our whole youth together."
"What are you implying?"
You let out a shaky breath, speaking the next words slowly.
"What happened that made them betray us in that way?"
He clenched his jaw and fists as if the mere mention of the High Lord was unbearable for him.
"You know what happened."
That made you snap.
You threw your napkin down on the table and jumped up. The chair scraped uncomfortably on the parquet floor.
"No, I don't! That's what I'm asking, Tamlin!"
He let out something like a grunt and stood up as well.
"That happened a long time ago, Y/N. It's best not to think too much about the past."
Your eyes widened as you watched him stride toward the door, deciding for you to end the conversation.
Oh no. You were having none of that.
You ran to him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look at you. "Don't you dare walk away! Tell me! Tell me now!"
He jerked your arm away.
"There's nothing to tell."
You moved even closer to him, raising your chin. "If there's not much to tell, then you surely won't have any problem telling me."
He let out a sharp breath and turned around, shaking his head with closed eyes.
"Tamlin!"
"Stop it. Just...stop, please." He was breathing deeply, as if trying in vain to calm himself down.
"I have every right to know. He was my family, too. They were--"
He turned sharply towards you, his voice booming in the empty hallways. "Father killed Rhysand's family, okay?! That's why they came after us."
For a moment, all you could do was gape at him like a fish out of the water.
"Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?"
But you didn't answer his taunts. His voice sounded distorted, as if you were underwater, and you could almost feel the ground beneath your feet cracking and you beginning to fall and fall... into a dark, bottomless void with no signs of stopping.
You placed a hand on your chest as though you could somehow ward off the pain that had settled in your insides.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Your whisper broke mid-sentence.
The rage that had ignited in him died like a flame deprived of oxygen.
"I... I thought you knew."
"No! Of course I didn't!" You screamed. "I would never...I would've never..."
Your breaths had begun to come out rapidly, and the pain in your chest increased from the lack of air.
"Oh no..." You whimpered.
Tamlin tried to comfort you, to turn you around so that you would look at him.
"Sister--"
"Don't touch me!" Now it was you who pulled your arm away from his grasp, and you walked unsteadily to the other side of the room. When you reached the wall, you turned again, pointing a trembling finger at your brother.
"You lied to me! You--"
He shook his head emphatically, approaching you as if he were talking to a wounded animal.
"No, no. I never lied. I never told you that they--"
"But you didn't correct me!" You screamed and let out a manic laugh.
Tamlin looked at you, scared. As if he were now realizing what the absence of truth could cause.
"For the mother, you--you let me blame them. You let me think they were the villains when--" You let out a wimper, full of anguish and hurt. "When it turns out we were the horrible ones all alone."
"No, don't think like that. You didn't--we didn't do anything. It was father, he was the one--"
"That's the same!"
For the first time in your entire life, you saw how your brother didn't know what to say.
He called your name in a thin voice, trying to fix everything, just like he always did. But it wasn't enough anymore. Something fundamental had broken inside you, and there were no words that could repair it.
"Stop. I need—I."
And without finishing speaking, you stumbled out of the room.
You ignored your brother's pleas for you to come back. You ignored the shortness of breath that barely allowed you to move properly.
Because he had allowed you to hate them. To blame them for something that hadn't been their decision in the first place. He had allowed you to think that that relationship, that incredible boy with a heart of gold, who listened to you like no one ever had and who had made you feel like you had found your place in the world, had been the worst betrayal of your life.
He had allowed you to hate the only completely pure and beautiful thing you had ever had in your life.
You had defended him from everyone: from Feyre, from Lucien, from all the citizens of Spring Court, and you had lost the only chance you had to pursue what you truly wanted.
And all because of a lie.
Because Tamlin wasn't becoming your father, as you had feared for some time now.
He already was.
8.
You weren't surprised when it was revealed that your brother had made a pact with Hybern.
The war had been devastating. The whole Inner Circle was badly wounded, each bearing a thick layer of scars as if they were mere decoration.
It was strange to be back among those who had once been your friends. You were in two completely different parts of the room, on opposing sides, and you had the eerie feeling of reliving the past. They had all cursed your brother, hurled insults when the King of Hybern revealed that "ingenious" plan he hadn't told you about, the one he'd been so certain would work.
But none of them said a word to you. They didn't even seem angry.
You didn't know what to do with that reaction.
So you avoided their gazes, even though your chest felt a thread pulling you hard to look at one person in particular. Your heart sank at Feyre's desperate cries, at the way Rhysand tried to hold her back from falling into danger. And you noticed that, even in his desperation, his grip was infinitely soft compared to your brother's.
You tried to help when you saw Feyre's human sisters being dragged to the edge of the cauldron. The ones you'd heard so much about and now had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting, albeit in these horrific circumstances. But your fighting technique had never been good, your powers were nearly depleted from the long day, and not even Tamlin's fury seemed able to stop fate.
You watched as the blonde sister--Elain--you thought her name was, was grabbed and thrown into the cauldron as if she were nothing more than a sack of meat.
A scream of her name echoed through the room.
Your head turned almost instinctively, and there you saw Azriel, beautiful and unreal even with the wounds on his back, reaching a hand toward the cauldron as if he had witnessed the worst thing that could ever have been done to him.
A part of you died inside at the sight, irrational and unwelcome.
And then, as if he could feel the weight of your gaze upon him, Azriel turned, and your eyes met. Those eyes you feared you would never see again in your life.
Impossibly, and without any explanation, the world seemed to stop. The screams died away, the people vanished, and there it was, just you and him, looking at each other amidst all the chaos as if you were the only people left in the world.
And something snapped.
You staggered back, clutching your chest. The rope wrapped around your heart tightened even further, if that was possible, and you felt as though you couldn't breathe.
But what you were sure of was that he didn't seem as affected as you were. Because his perfect features were carefully neutral. The only indication that he had noticed you was his mouth opening in a small exhalation, and his shadows, his constant companions, moving slightly toward you before being pulled back into his body.
However, before you could stop to reflect on what on earth had happened, Feyre's second sister was thrown into the cauldron, and a light so bright it momentarily blinded you was emitted from it.
Your body was flung to one side of the room. Your back hit the wall painfully, and for a moment, you couldn't breathe. When your ears stopped that annoying ringing, and when the fog in your eyes lifted, everything returned with tremendous intensity. The screams, the cries, every silhouette of the people in the room, and you were unable to move, overwhelmed.
A hand closed on your shoulder, trying to get your attention, before it pulled you to your feet.
"Hey, look at me." It was Tamlin. His clothes were covered in dirt, and his eyes tried to find your own in panic. "Are you okay?"
You nodded, not fully understanding what he was saying.
"Good. Good." He looked back at something behind him. "We have to go."
And without waiting for your reply, he began to drag you through the smoke and rubble.
Outside, the situation was no better. People were running aimlessly, searching for their friends, family, comrades, without success. Tamlin guided you through them all, relentless. And in the distance, you could see Lucien, his gaze fixed on both of you, waiting.
Finally, your mind managed to catch up with everything.
"Tamlin, wait," you said. But he didn't hear you, not over the chaos around you.
You planted your feet firmly on the ground and pulled back to stop him.
"Wait--stop."
Tamlin sent you a confused look.
"What are you doing? We have to go. Now."
He tried to drag you again, but you planted your feet even harder, shaking your head.
"No."
Your brother snapped his head towards you, hand still encircling your wrist in the soft hold.
"What do you mean, no? We can't stay here! They are going to—"
"I mean that I'm not going back with you, Tamlin."
He stopped talking, opening his mouth one too many times until he closed it again. The hand on your wrist fell to the side.
"What…what are you implying?" His voice sounded small, almost like a lost child in a big, empty world.
You took a deep breath, because this was it, wasn't it? The moment that had been brewing for so long, without either of you being fully aware of it. You were terrified, and you were pretty sure that a part of you would always doubt whether you were doing the right thing, but even beneath all that, there was certainty.
So you forced yourself to keep talking, even knowing that this would finally break your brother.
"I can't go back with you. Not to Spring Court. Not again."
He looked at you with big, wide eyes. You still felt sore from your fall after the explosion, and around you, the world was plunged into absolute chaos. People were running past you, bumping your shoulders in their hurried exits and making you momentarily lose your balance. But neither of you seemed to care. Not now.
"Is it because of what happened here?" He gestured widely, and you took advantage of that moment to really look at him. His blond hair was tangled and disheveled. The dark circles that now permanently covered his eyes. The weariness that never seemed to leave his bones. Looking at him tasted like goodbye, and it was a strange feeling to miss someone even though they were still right in front of you.
"Because I didn't want any of this to happen. I...I just wanted to help. I never meant to--"
"To hurt me. I know." You finished for him. "I know you never want to hurt anyone, Tamlin, but you did. You hurt me."
A sound, like a wounded animal that you'd never heard from your brother before, echoed in your ears. He lowered his head as if you were the one who had inflicted all those wounds on his body, and the little resolve you had managed to build crumbled in an instant.
You ran to him, and with your hands full of cuts and scratches, you took his head, forcing him to look at you.
"I'm horrible," he muttered, still resisting your gaze.
And you quickly shook your head. "Hey, no, no, Tam. You...You are not horrible, okay? You are not--Please, Tam, look at me."
And he did. His eyes were covered in mist, and you had to gather all your resolve not to backtrack on your decision.
"You are not horrible. I don't hate you, I don't even blame you. I just-- "
"But you wanna leave too," he interrupted.
You shook your head again, ignoring the pain in your skull. "No. No. I would never leave you, you hear me? Never. You will always be my brother, and nothing is going to change that. Ever."
He let out a shaky breath.
"Then why?"
You looked down and let your hands fall to his shoulders. Now it was you who couldn't bear to look at him.
"Because I'm not happy, Tam, and I think I haven't been in a long time." You finally said, and the words loosened the knot you'd felt inside you for so long. "It's not just because of you, it's not even about anything specific, but-"
Your breath hitched, and thick tears fell from your waterline. Cauldron, you had promised yourself you wouldn't cry, but it seemed this conversation was never going to be easy.
"I need to get some space. From everything. To—To clear my head and think for a bit. And I'm sorry I chose this exact moment to tell you, but I really can't take it anymore. You understand, right? Please, tell me you understand."
For a long moment, all you could hear were the cries of pain from the people around you. Smell the metallic scent of blood that lingered in the air.
You were convinced he wasn't going to say anything else. That he was angry with you and that your relationship was beyond repair, until a huge hand encircled yours and lifted it almost gently, like when you were children.
"You really need this? To get away from me? From the court?" he asked.
You just stared at him.
"To be happy, I mean," he clarified. There was no judgment in his tone, no fury. Just softness and the echoes of the boy he once was.
You nodded, smiling faintly. "Yes, Tam. I really do."
He looked at your joined hands for a second, as if he, too, were saying goodbye.
And then a thought crossed his mind.
"But I can't leave you here. You are hurt and--"
"Tam," you interrupted, fondness in your tone. "I'll be okay. Really."
"Right. Fine."
And he hugged you. He held you so tightly you couldn't breathe, but his hold no longer felt suffocating. Even amidst all the grime that enveloped you both, you could still detect the scent of lilies and forest in the background.
The smell of home.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I will get better, I promise."
Your laughter was muffled by his chest.
"I know. I know you will. And I'm sorry too."
Goodbyes were never silent, but noisy and chaotic, and it seemed yours always ended in apologies.
When he let go, he left quickly, as if he stayed even for one more second, he would undo his decision. And when his figure--that familiar figure that had been by your side during all your life--disappeared into the sea of people, you let out a sob and fell to your knees.
And you cried. Cauldron, you cried so much, so harshly, that you could barely take a breath of fresh air. You cried because, for the first time, your brother had let you choose completely, even though it devastated him. And you cried because he had done it now, of all moments.
You mourned him, but above all, you mourned yourself. Because you were leaving behind everything you once hated, but also loved. Because, for the first time, you were being selfish, and it felt as painful as it was liberating.
You didn't even notice when the bond, the one you had momentarily forgotten, and that was constantly pushing against your chest, began to cry out at Azriel's proximity. You didn't hear his calls, and you barely felt the touch of his hands closing around your cheeks. You didn't notice the trembling of his fingers, nor did you stop to wonder how he had found you so quickly amidst all the chaos, or how he had been able to move toward you with his terrible injuries.
"Y/N, hey, what--" He looked at you, over your body, trying to search for any fatal injury. "For the love of-- you are hurt."
You weren't able to explain to him that you weren't crying from battle wounds, but from very different ones.
"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm here." When you didn't calm down, he tightened his grip on your cheek. "Wheres hyour brother? Did he leave you alone? Did he...?--"
"I left," you said. The words were barely intelligible, and they came out between hiccups and tears. But he understood you, just as he had all those years before.
Time moved strangely after that.
He seemed to make a decision, because suddenly he was scooping you up in his arms, ignoring his own hurt, and moving with difficulty and grunts, through the chaos until he found the rest of your family. No one seemed too surprised at the sight of you.
And without you even realizing it, in the blink of an eye, you were all being transported through black smoke to what you would later know to be the Night Court.
You never imagined that the freedom you had longed for so much would feel so bittersweet.
Summary - Feyre was a High Lady. Nesta was a Valkyrie. Elain was a Seer.
And she was the sister the Cauldron ruined and forgot.
Invisible in a family of legends, haunted by nightmares no one noticed, she learned to stay quiet... to expect nothing.
Except Azriel noticed. The Shadowsinger who never spoke too much saw everything—her pain, her loneliness... and the bond between them she didn't even know existed.
When the world decides she is the easiest one to break—Azriel will make them suffer for it.
A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.
This is my very first Archeron sister fic! For the sake of the story, I've had to make the sisters a little harsh at times but that's purely for plot reasons, not an invitation to throw shade at them x
Expect healing, found family vibes, and basically an overlooked girl x quiet boy kind of story. There will be heartbreak, angst and eventually fluff :)
Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3
summary - your break up with jack causes more than just emotional scars
warning - medical inaccurancies, angsty af, medical trauma, mention of suicide, takotsubo syndrome, panic attacks
an- im so sorry this has taken so long to write and upload, its been a bit of a crazy few weeks for me. i'm thinking about doing a lil epilogue about these two but thank you for reading x
part one
part two
masterlist
Jack could feel the pain radiating through your body towards his.
“Dr Abbot, let her go.” John’s voice finally enters his ears. He looks up and notices a number of his colleagues standing over him, hands all reaching towards the pair. He looks down at your unconscious face, weakly smiling as the tears fell down his cheek onto yours. His arms are tight around you, preventing people from taking you from him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” he presses a light kiss to your forehead before his grip loosens. Michael and John immediately swoop in, lifting you up onto the awaiting gurney before pushing it off across the floor.
Nazely is now stood beside his kneeling body, palm placed softly against his shoulder.
“Dr Abbot?” her open question makes him peer up again. Her expression was warm, a gentle smile across her mouth. She extends out her hand, waiting patiently for him to accept it. He does eventually, using his other free hand to press against the floor. His knees cracked as he stood, prosthetic sending an aching pain through his leg. He shook his pant legs down back to his ankles where they had risen up slightly before beginning the trek down to where you had been taken. The first year resident remained by his side as they progressed further towards their destination, arms held out in anticipation of her boss potentially stumbling over.
The shouting had began instantly. He could hear his fellow attendings yelling instructions and vitals to everyone else crowding around you. He caught a blur of army green scrubs rushing past him, heading straight for the same place.
“We need to get her stable.” he heard her command. “There’s a heart on it’s way here from New York for her.” Jack’s boots tripped on the air as the words left the cardiologist’s mouth, hands reaching out towards the whitewashed walls to stabilise himself. Nazely immediately placed her palms against Jack’s back.
He could feel it in an instant. The silence. In the usually loud and hectic ED, he could hear none of it. Not the machines registering your heart rate or the medical professionals all rushing to bring you back. His vision tunnelled. His breathing became erratic. He’d been around trauma enough to recognise the signs.
He kept trying to tell himself that it was going to be ok. That his body was reacting in a completely valid way considering the situation. But that didn’t stop the panic rising up into his throat at the sight of you, lifeless on the gurney. Wires and tubes coming out of your body.
“Jack.” he could vaguely make out Lena’s figure in front of him. He could feel a pressure now clenching tight against his biceps. “You need to breathe, Jack.” He read her lips, trying to nod in agreement, willing his body to comply.
The redhead had been stood at the other side of the trauma rooms at the main hub, watching the incident unfold. Her line of sight had moved past the scene straight through the other set of doors, right at Jack Abbot.
They’d worked together on the night shift for over a decade. She’d like to think she knew her colleague reasonably well. So when she noticed the way his eyes were glazing over and his breathing had deepened, she had to do something. She’d reached him within seconds, already extending her arms out to ground him.
After nearly a full two minutes of his hyperventilating, she noticed his chest finally taking deeper inhales. She let out a heavy breath of her one, one she didn’t even realise she was holding in.
“She’s-“ Jack struggled to get his words out, mouth dry from his panic attack.
“She’s going to be heading up to surgery for the transplant as soon as she’s stable. Dr Paulson is going to be there with Dr Barrett, who will be leading.” He nodded in agreement with her words. His vision, now returned reasonably back to normal, fell over the trauma room. There was a calming atmosphere now flooding the space. The beeping from the monitors had evened out, there was less shouting and he noticed the amount of people surrounding you had reduced.
“Dr Abbot,” he noticed the cardiology stepping out towards him. “She’s going up now if you want to see her.” He looks back at her with a shocked expression. Jack was surprised he would even be allowed in the room with you, let alone being given the chance to actually speak to you. He truly believe he didn’t have the right anymore. However, he was not going to waste the opportunity given to him.
Regina steps aside to allow him entry, his gaze now on you fully. Your colouring had somewhat returned back to a healthier tinge than it had been and he could hear your heart rate getting as steady as it could be with every beat.
“Hey sweetheart,” his hand rested gently on your forehead, pushing a few strands of hair that had become slick with sweat away from the oxygen mask covering your face. He notices your eyelids flicker briefly before opening just a sliver. You let out a shaky breath, fingers moving across the sheets to reach any part of him. The crinkle of the fabric forces him to look down, using his free hand to grab yours. “I’m here.” A soft moan leaves your lips.
Jack feels the stares against his back from his colleagues, who are either stood at the edge of the room or looking in through the glass doors from various parts of the main hub. He couldn’t care about them. All he could focus on was your eyes lingering on him.
“They’re going to be taking you up soon.” His palm pressed against your now rosy, warm cheek. “I don’t really know what to say to you. I feel like nothing I say will ever be enough. I assume you found out about what I was going to do and that’s why you were here. You’re very determined when you put your mind to something. I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you. I thought it was the only way to fix what I’d done.” he felt your fingers tighten ever so slightly. “I will never forgive myself for what I did to you.”
“Jack-“ you mumbled against the clear plastic.
“It’s time to go.” Michael’s voice cut through yours, already reaching for the side rails, his voice stern. He catches the way his friends lip begins trembling.
“I love you, sweetheart.” Jack presses a kiss on your forehead, shuddering as he feels the way your face moves up slightly towards his touch. He allows himself to take a step back, watching as his colleagues start wheeling the bed through the open door. “You’ve always had my heart. Always and forever.”
“Jack?” Dana called out across the silent house. She’d been collecting some more personal belongings of yours into the lilac suitcase, grabbing anything she think you’d need for the continuous stay at PTMC. You’d been in the transplant surgery for nearly two hours, with many still expected.
The case had been packed for the last few minutes, zipped and placed by the front door.
Jack had been upstairs, having immediately headed up when they’d first got there. Nobody knew the reason why he had elected to accompany the charge nurse on her quest. Now 20 minutes later, she hadn’t heard anything from him since.
She took the steps two at a time before heading down the softly lit landing towards the main bedroom at the end of the hall.
“Hey, we ready or what?” she catches his frame sat in the middle of the illuminated walk in closet, with his back facing her.
He remembered when he’d first shown you the addition. You’d told him when you first started dating that it had always been your dream to have one when you eventually had your own place. A big one like Mia’s in the second Princess Diaries movie. When you’d both made the decision to move in together and found the perfect place, he’d secretly got planning permission and paid extra to have it done before you’d began bringing your possessions into the new home. You’d nearly cried when he’d shown you. When he questioned your tears, you’d mumbled about finally having a partner who saw every part of you and who wanted to celebrate them.
Now he was sat surrounded by all your clothes and shoes he remembered helping you put away. You’d both drunk far too much wine that night and ended up having to redo it over the next few days.
“Jack?” he doesn’t respond to her, just keeps his attention on the small item he was clutching in his hands.
“This was still exactly where I hid it when we moved in here. Right inside the hiking boots I’d got her, thinking she’d ever use them.” Dana could hear the shakiness in his voice. She moved around the cream carpet to place herself in front of him, crouching down on her knees. She finally was able to identify the red leather box sat in his palms. “I got this about six months in. Knew I was going to do it at some point so wanted to be prepared. Every time I wanted to, I chickened out. Thinking it was the wrong time, it needed to be more special.”
“You know she wouldn’t have cared. She would have been happy regardless.” She watches as he opens the box, revealing an golden ring, set with a solitaire design. Right in the middle, a larger oval diamond. Jack had seen it on your pinterest one night as you were both laying in bed, his eyes gazed subtly as he watched your fingers hesitate over the image. You quickly pinned it to a board with the heart eyes emoji as a title, before swiping off the app completely.
“Still, I was a coward. Now, I won’t get the chance to give it to her.”
“You don’t know that, Abbot. The world works in complicated ways.”
“I broke her heart, Dana. Both figuratively and literally. How can she ever forgive me for that?” the box falls from Jack’s hands onto the plush flooring.
“You earn it back. She’s having the transplant and she’s going to be ok. You can’t undo what you’ve done but you can try to learn from it.” Her arm weaves across his shoulders, pressing gently into his bicep. “Now if I know this girl, and I feel like the many, many years I’ve worked along side her mean anything, I know that she will forgive you. It may take time, and a hell of a lot of grovelling but she will.”
“You think?” Jack reaches up to rub away the tears that had began falling down his cheeks. “Lord knows I don’t deserve her forgiveness. But I’m going to work my hardest to earn it back. Even if she doesn’t want to be my wife. I’ll settle for just having her in my life.”
“Look at you.” Dana gave one of her signature smirks. “Talking in rhymes, you’re getting back to your old self already.”
Jack takes in her expression, returning a small smile. He lets out a deep breath, before pocketing the ring box in his grey slacks.
When the day shift pittlings turned up, they were greeted by the news from John that you were in recovery. They had all let out a quiet blessing in their own ways, before heading towards the lockers. When they returned back to the central desks for handovers, they noticed a collection of greeting cards littering the side. Some cheesy saying on the front with a obscene amount of positive messages written inside, covering both sides. All well wishes for you.
Mel quickly grabs the closest pen before scribbling something in one of the last available spaces.
“Right, everyone.” Michael’s voice cuts across the hub, gaining everyones attention. “Now, I’m going to address this once so everyone can concentrate on helping the mass amount of people out in chairs. The surgery and transplant were successful. There were no complications. She’ll be up for visitors when she’s awake but once she’s a bit stronger. All of you know that she will be on very powerful immunosuppressants to prevent the heart from rejecting. If you have even the slightest cough or you feel even slightly rundown, you will not be seeing her until you are feeling better. Even if you are feeling fine and are going upstairs, you will still wear a mask and sanitise as much as you can. If you have also dealt with an infectious patient, wear a gown or if you have them, change clothes. We all want her back to her usual self as soon as possible so please take these precautions to ensure her recovery is as smooth.”
A murmur of agreements fell over the crowd now gathered around the chief.
“I will try and update you all when I can but please try and put all your energy into help keeping this ED running. Let’s go!” he threw his arms up in enthusiasm.
“Do you think Abbot knows?” Trinity asked, line of sight already leering towards the illuminated patient board.
“Of course he does. He’s probably still up on the surgical floor waiting room.” Dennis answered. “He’s usually there if he’s not on shift.”
“At least he’s attempting to fix what he’s done.”
“Yes, he is.” They hear Dana scold beside them makes them all jump in surprise. “Now get to work.” They all scramble away, all turning off in different directions. The nurse lets out a chuckle, content with the power she still holds, before returning to her work.
Jack stands awkwardly at the ICU room door, contemplating his next move. Whether he should cross the threshold. The blue mask sat comfortably on his face, hands already washed and sanitised extensively before he even thought about approaching. You’d been brought down from recovery nearly an hour ago. He’d hesitated to approach when he saw you being wheeled past him as he paced the waiting room.
“I think she’s going to be ok, Abbot.” Emery Walsh knocks him out of the deep place he’d sunk into. She’s takes off her matching purple scrub cab, scrunching it into her palm. “We all worked hard to get her that heart. Don’t go breaking it again, ok?” She gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder before stalking off back towards the elevator.
He knows she meant it in jest, however the comment hits straight into his chest. He’d finally gained a sense of confidence in himself to actually talk to you properly to express his feelings. Emery’s words had sent him tumbling down again.
“Fuck. Pull yourself together, Jack.” he mumbled, finally dragging himself off the uncomfortable chair to the bathroom. He’d washed his hands as good as he could, sanitising one last time for good measure before pulling a face mask from the dispenser on the wall.
He would’t ever get used to the sight of you with an endotracheal tube coming out of your mouth. He knew it was breathing for you, it was one of the things keeping you alive right now. The multiple machines surrounding you all continued to sound out different noises, all indicating that you were ok.
“Hey sweetheart.” His body took him over to your bedside, choosing to stand to look over you. From this angle, he can see the large white gauze placed vertically down the centre of your chest peeking out from the collar of the hospital gown. The chest tube also rests through the hole, disappearing down the other side of the gurney.
“I had a whole thing prepared, what I was going to say to you but bloody Emery put me off. You would have had a go at her if you were there.” He lets out a small laugh, trailing off when you didn’t reply. “I’m sorry that I hurt you so much. It was never my intention and I know now how wrong I went about everything. I should have just spoken to you. I don’t know why I didn’t in the first place. You wouldn’t have been mad. I just got too in my own head about everything. I knew you deserved better than what I was giving you. I just hate the way I did it. I’m trying to learn to forgive myself but that’s going to take a lot of time. I just want you to know that I won’t be angry or upset if you don’t want me in your life anymore. I’ve hurt you in more ways than a person should and I would never hold it against you. I love you more than life itself and if you still want me, I will spend the rest of our time together proving it. Proving how sorry I am.”
“Dude, that is gonna be such a sick scar.” Trinity watches in awe as the cardiology nurse examines your incision. You give her a smile in return, before thanking her as she stalks out the room.
“Trinity, you are here for important reasons. You’re my informant and you’ve currently given me nothing. Come on, I’ve been awake for a week and a half. There has to be have been something happen.”
“You’re all people can talk about right now. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to any of us in a while.”
“I mean, I am the life and soul of the ED but surely there has got to be other stuff.” She takes a second to think, shuffling her phone around in her hand. After nearly a minute, she yelps.
“Princess hooked up with Nick!” You let out a loud gasp, wincing as the action irritates your sore throat.
“From radiology?” she nods. “She’s been trying to sleep with him for ages! Nice one, girl!”
“I know! I caught her and Perlah talking about it yesterday. It’s honestly great knowing Tagalog because those two know everything.”
“And that’s why I come to you, Trin.”
You both settle into a comfortable silence, both scrolling through random crap on your phones.
“How is he?” you ask, causing her to gaze up slightly. She takes a deep breath, locking her phone and placing it on the table beside her.
“He’s ok. He just comes to work and that’s it. He doesn’t stay longer than his shifts anymore, only comes in if he’s called. I even heard from Dana that he’s quit the SWAT team.”
Your immediate reaction slips from your lips.“What the fuck?”
“I know, right. I take it he hasn’t been to see you?”
“Not on his own. He always just lingers by the door when other people are here and when I try to speak to him privately, someone or something happens and he takes the opportunity to leave.”
“Well, he’s a shithead.” You nod in agreement. “Are you going to forgive him?”
Her question halts your actions, fingers hovering over the keys of your MacBook. You let out a deep sigh, running your hand across your face.
“I still love him. Even though he was doing it all for both our benefits, he still hurt me so much. Like I have to take medication for the rest of my life now and that’s all because of him. I think deep down though, I know I will.”
“You’re going to make him sweat though, yeah?” You give her a unamused look. “Oh come on. You’re not gonna give in immediately, are you? I know for a fact that he will do anything to get you to forgive him. Why not try to get something out of it?”
“Trinity. That’s not nice.”
“He fucking broke your heart! Literally broke it! You have the scars to prove it.” Her hands gestured to your incision.
Her words made you pause. You love Jack and even after everything you still wanted to be with him. But she did have a point. You’d spent the last near 3 months in consistent pain all due to him. You wouldn’t be able to let him off that easy. He had to work his way back into your new heart.
“I’ll think about it. I don’t think I could ever be mean to him like that, Trin. He means too much to me.”
“Who are you going to get to look after you when you get home? I know your parents can’t come.” You give her a guilty look, gaze falling down to the webpage you’d been scrolling. “Oh come on.”
“I don’t have anybody else, Trinity.”
“Honestly, if I was in your position, I wouldn’t want him anywhere near me.”
“But you’re not. And you don’t know what he means to me. I haven’t even asked him so he could still say no.”
“You know he won’t.” She stands, shrugging her scrub pants back down her legs where they had risen up. “Is there anybody else you wanna see?” You take a chance to stare out the window, watching as the sun began rising across the skyline.
“See if he’ll finally come see me. His shift should be over soon. Even if you have to trick him and say someone else is still here.” Trinity’s face falls into a smug smirk.
“You literally just said you’d never be mean to him like that. Such a hypocrite.” She jokes, grabbing her hoodie from the back of the chair before heading towards the door.
“Just do it.” You quickly grab a plush pillow, throwing it directly at her.
“Take it easy!” Her hands swiftly chuck it at the end of the bed, laugh echoing through the corridor as she stalks away.
“Jack Abbot. As I live and breathe.” His figure halts in the doorway, eyes trailing over the room. He notices the lack of his colleague instantly. “How nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.”
“Is Ellis here?” His head turns back down towards the hallway.
“No, I made Trinity do anything to get you up here.” He let out a deep sigh, already reaching out to spin on his heel. “Jack, please don’t leave. You at least owe me that.” He stops, realising you were right. It was the least he could do. “It was either this or I come down to the ED again, and we know how that ended.” you let out a nervous laugh, fingers already picking at the IV tape on the back of your hand.
“Please don’t say that.” His gaze falls to the floor. “Don’t make me think about how I continue to ruin your life.”
“Jack, you-“
“Why do you still want to see me?” a mixture of anger and sadness flooded his voice. “When I have done nothing but hurt you consistently for the last 3 months.” He looks up at you, tears already streaming down his cheeks. “You deserve better than this! Than me! This is why I left in the first place. Because I can’t give you what you need. You should-”
“You’re not allowed to be angry,” you mimic him, cutting his words short. You could feel your new heart thumping, causing your breathing to pick up ever so slightly. “I am the only person allowed to be pissed off right now.”
“Then do it! Shout at me. Curse at me. Tell me you never want to see me again!” He takes a step towards your bed, hands reaching up in exaggeration. He expects you to yell back, continue fighting with him like the determined person you were.
However the room fell into silence, bar your now heavier breathing. He takes a moment to fully look at you. Your skin had paled, lip quivering, hands shaking. “Sweetheart.” He continues to your side, already reaching to place you in his grasp. His face quickly leaves your line of sight to look at your vitals.
“I can’t do that, Jack.” you whispered so quietly, he nearly didn’t hear it. “Even after everything.” he turns back to you, placing his palm against your warm cheek. You press your face into his touch further.
“How can you still love me after everything?”
“I-“ The words caught in your throat. “I just do. I have since I first saw you all those years ago, even when I didn’t think you felt the same. It’s like I was bound to you, something was tying us together when we didn’t even realise. My heart doesn’t know how to function without you, Jack.”
“Maybe,” his hand falls down to your chest, resting softly over your left side. “With this new heart, it’s time for a change. For both of you to love someone who will give you everything.”
“I don’t want to. I want you, Jack.” You beg. He pulls back from your body, choosing to continue the conversation in the middle of the room. “Please, don’t do this again. This heart in my body doesn’t know anything but loving you. Please don’t leave me again.” You throw back the soft blankets, swinging your frame around to stand. His arms flinch ever so slightly, ready to catch you if you should fall. He let’s you find your balance, feet slowly padding over the tiled flooring towards him.
You immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him tight against you. He could feel the droplets falling onto his scrubs.
“I let you go too many times. I’m not doing it again.” you mumble into his neck, fingers grasping into the black fabric. His own arms weave around your waist, scrunching the gown up.
“Ok, sweetheart.” his head turns slightly, pressing his lips into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
SUMMARY: A trip to the ED, a retirement meal, and a phone call with Robby. One leaves you up close and personal with your neighbor, one has Phoebe spilling secrets like it's an Olympic sport, and another has Jack realizing he's got a fucking crush on the single mom in apartment seventeen.
WARNINGS: medical inaccuracies (IUD removal and replacement), a very awkward encounter, Phoebe being a blabber mouth, some very inappropriate and unprofessional thoughts, small amount of alcohol consumption, everyone thirsting over Jack, talks of Robby and his sabbatical (aka his mental health crisis), swearing and flirting!!!!
A/N: I had the best time writing this chapter!! It is another long one but I promise every word and encounter is necessary. First person to spot the hidden reference wins a big old smooth from me <3 Also, next chapter is Phoebe's birthday party so be prepared for a whole lot of chaotic toddlers and a bunch of moms thirsting over Jack.
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 7.1k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
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You’ve been trying to ignore the pain for the last two hours.
Bubble baths, heat packs, even yoga as a last-ditch effort to try to relieve the intense ache and stabbing in your lower abdomen. But the pain has grown exponentially, almost crippling you into a fetal position in the middle of your bed.
In hindsight, you know you should’ve taken yourself to the ER hours ago, had them check you over to make sure it’s nothing serious. But you assumed it was just a heavy period making its appearance for the first time in three years. Now, you have a sneaky suspicion that your IUD has either shifted or embedded itself into your uterine walls.
Not ideal. A bit scary, to be quite frank.
And of course, it’s something that has to happen on one of the only real nights you get off to yourself. Not a night where you expect a call or text because Phoebe wants to come home. A night where, if anything, Phoebe has most likely begged your mom to just move in with her.
You have to laugh at the thought, but the movement and contractions of your stomach only heightens the pain. You’ve bled through two pads and pairs of pyjamas, soiled your sheets well enough that you’ve had to throw them out.
Perhaps it’s dramatic to call an ambulance to get you to the ER, but you’re unsure you’ll be able to stomach getting up, let alone driving yourself the short ten minute trek to PTMC. You consider leaving it, just ride it out for as long as you can. But the thought of Phoebe coming home tomorrow afternoon to a crippled and possibly bleeding out mother…
A pathetic groan follows your movements as you force yourself to sit up on the bed, allow yourself a moment for composure and a silent prayer to the Universe to just make it stop.
Much like all other times, the Universe doesn’t listen. And the moment you stand, you’re met with that horrifying sensation of blood pooling between your legs and soaking into three pads you’ve stacked in your underwear.
What should take you fifteen minutes to get ready and arrive at PTMC actually ends up taking you almost an hour. The only reprieve you are offered is a slightly quiet waiting room. Twenty to thirty people at most occupy the chairs, all too exhausted or pain-ridden to offer up much conversation between each other.
You don’t look much better than them. Pyjamas, messy hair, face bare of anything other than a grimace. Every step toward the check-in desk takes you back to when you first had Phoebe. When, for two weeks, you could only just shuffle your feet across the floor to get around after the emergency surgery.
You’re clutching your abdomen when you finally reach the desk. An older woman sits on the opposite side of the protective screen, dark hair pulled back into a bun, kind eyes that assess you and a soft voice that asks for your name and what’s brought you in.
“I think my IUD has moved or embedded.” You manage to get out through gritted teeth, hunching slightly over the tall ledge as you take in her name badge.
Lupe’s head tilts sympathetically to the side. “Can you describe your symptoms and pain for me? When did it start?”
“Uh, about four hours ago. Very heavy bleeding, the pain is both an ache and a stabbing sensation. Feels kind of like someone’s got a chainsaw on my uterus.” You try to laugh through the pain, but when your stomach tenses you’re met with a blinding sensation of agony that you struggle to blink away.
Lupe types on the keyboard of her computer, side-glancing you as if checking you’re not about to pass out and smack your head on the ledge or marble floor. “Any nausea or dizziness, hon?”
You nod, swallowing on a dry throat. “I think that’s only due to the pain, though.”
Lupe finishes typing before the printer beside her begins to rumble and she’s slipping you a write-up through the small gap beneath the safety screen. “There’s free sanitary products in the restroom. Take a seat, hon. Someone should be with you shortly.”
You offer a weak smile in thanks and she returns one with understanding.
It’s painful to sit but even more so to stand. After ten minutes, you’re slouching in the most uncomfortable chair you’ve ever had the displeasure of using. Another ten minutes and you’re shuffling to the public restroom before you can leak through yet another article of clothing.
It’s only twenty minutes later, when you’re trying to remember labor breathing techniques that the door opens and a gentle voice is calling your name. It takes you a moment to reach her but she waits patiently, an understanding look on her face through pursed lips.
She introduces herself as Dr. McKay as she slowly guides you to a curtained off section in triage. It’s not until she’s helping you onto the bed with steady hands that you take notice of two other doctors standing behind her.
Dr. McKay follows your line of sight. “We’re typically a teaching hospital, if you’re okay with two of our students observing tonight?”
You wave her off. “I’m a mom, I lost my dignity a while ago. The more the merrier.” You manage to joke but when a laugh slips from your lips, your face scrunches in pain and your body curls involuntarily.
Dr. McKay grins through a sympathetic look, sitting at the stool to the side of you. “Trust me, I know all about that,” she reassures, turning back to the students at the foot of the bed.
“This is Kwon and Ogilvie. They’re in their third and fourth year as med students and getting a little taste of the night shift. We’ve read through your patient intake report, but do you mind explaining again what’s going on? You think your IUD has moved or embedded?”
You nod on a sigh. “Yeah, the pain and bleeding started around four hours ago. I’ve leaked through pads and clothes maybe three times since it started.”
McKay hums, snapping on a pair of gloves and lifting your pyjama shirt to expose your abdomen. “Copper or hormonal IUD?”
“Hormonal. I only got it about three and a half years ago. A few months after I had my daughter.”
She hums. “Any dizziness or nausea?”
Your head bobs, a wince slipping from you when she pushes slightly lower on your mid-section. “A little dizziness, a lot of nausea. I think it’s just because of the pain, though.”
Kwon moves to your side, as she slips her hands into a pair of blue gloves and reaches for the thermometer. It beeps, flashes green. “Temp is steady at 98.96.”
McKay moves back, discards her gloves into the trash and slides back over to you. “Are pain and bleeding usual for you?”
You shake your head before she can finish her question. “No, my cramps and monthly periods stopped a month after I got it inserted.”
She nods, a distant look growing in her eyes for barely a moment. “Alright, we’ll do a pelvic exam to check if we can identify the device to rule out any embedding. If it has shifted, we’ll get you ready for an ultrasound to find out what’s going on before attempting removal.”
You nod with a wince when Dr. McKay stands, reaching over for a robe that she hands to you with a sympathetic smile. “We’ll step out for a moment while you change and get comfortable and then we’ll be back shortly.”
You hear her speak with the students as they pull the curtain closed behind them, questioning something about initial assessments but you zone out when the pain begins to grow. It’s five minutes later when you're situated in a gown on the bed when the three of them return.
“Our student doctor Kwon is going to conduct your pelvic if you’re okay with that?”
You hum at McKay’s words, not really caring who is going to be all up in your vaginal canal so long as the issue is resolved. You weren’t lying when you said your dignity left when you fell pregnant almost five years ago.
Joy Kwon doesn't offer any pleasantries as she slides her hands into a pair of gloves and positions herself on the stool between your legs at the foot of the bed.
Ogilvie stands behind her, looking anywhere but at your parting thighs. You move silently, without guidance. Knees up, dropping them to your sides, heels together. McKay grins at the sight when you fist your hands and shove them beneath your back, in line with your coccyx.
You catch her amused look and offer an exhausted grin in return. “I know my way around these exams.”
Kwon cocks a brow as you meet her gaze again, a flicker of amusement washing across her eyes. It’s fleeting, but you catch it nonetheless. She reaches for the speculum, applying the translucent lubricant to the equipment.
Your eyes are closed, an overwhelming wave of pain washing over and you crippling any sense of peace you had begun to find. It’s so intense that you miss the voices from outside the curtain, only just catching McKay informing you that an attending is going to observe Kwon’s exam.
“Yeah, no worries. Let’s call it a party.” The words are rushed on a pained laugh from your lips before McKay is slipping outside before returning with another.
When your eyes flicker open and a shaky exhale leaves your lungs, the air gets suddenly stuck in your throat at the sight before you.
“This is Dr. Abbot.”
Jack stares at you with wide eyes and raised brows, his gaze involuntarily trailing down to your parted knees before snapping his eyes to the wall on the other side of the room. Your cheeks feel hot, your heart is thumping against your ribs and you feel like you can’t fucking breathe.
There is no fucking way this is happening right now. Jack is barely able to meet your gaze again as he tries his hardest to offer the most professional nod and tight-lipped smile you’ve ever seen.
“Fancy seeing you here, neighbor.” You can’t help it. The words fall from your lips before you can think twice, the tension in the room that the others are only now privy of is too much to remain silent under.
McKay’s eyes dart from you to Jack, lashes hitting her brows in shock. “Neighbor?”
Jack clears his throat, scratching at the nape of his neck in a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. He blinks at you, lips parting and closing again. You never imagined him to be anything other than confident and composed.
Bored with the conversation, Kwon moves closer and lines the speculum with your entrance, a hiss falling from your lips at the cool contact of the lubricant.
“Take a deep breath, you’ll feel some pressure.” She advises, a bit dully. Like she’d rather be anywhere but here. You feel the fucking same.
Ogilvie frowns at the speculum, eyes darting from the tool to between your legs. Like he’s assessing the physics of the exam. “Is that going to fit?”
“I can get Shen, instead.” Jack offers abruptly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. Perhaps he’s trying to find a way out for himself, maybe he’s the one that’s uncomfortable with the situation he’s accidentally walked into. But the thought of yet another doctor staring between your legs is the last thing you want right now. Your eyes squeeze shut in pure mortification.
Your hot, widowed neighbor has just seen you in the most unappealing way you could ever imagine.
“Nope. Four doctors getting an eyeful is enough. I don’t need a fifth.” You keep your eyes closed, unable to bear the thought of meeting Jack’s gaze right now and a wince passes through your teeth when Kwon slowly pushes the instrument into your vaginal canal.
You blink up at the ceiling through quick breaths, discomfort turning into pain as you struggle to stretch around it. Kwon peeks up between your parted knees, noting the discomfort in your expression, can feel the resistance of the instrument and casts a quick glance to McKay.
“Did you have a vaginal birth?” she asks you softly.
You laugh through gritted teeth. “Emergency caesarean, baby.”
Kwon sighs, slowly retracting the speculum and placing it back on the tray. You don’t need to look at it to know it’s covered in blood. “I thought it felt a bit tight.” She comments.
Your eyes bulge open at that with another mortified laugh. But when your gaze snags on the tool she originally tried to use, you blink rapidly. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside of you before. Including any and all speculums you’ve had the displeasure of being examined with. “You thought that was going to fit!?”
“I didn’t think it would. I’m happy to try instead with a Pederson.” Ogilvie offers with a wide smile and you’re far too quick to shake your head for someone who was, at the beginning, happy for students to observe and conduct the exam.
“No! That’s okay, Dr. McKay—”
“Dr. McKay, there’s a phone call for you. An officer from the PPD.”
“Are you fucking kidding me!?” She doesn’t excuse herself. Just tears off her gloves and stomps through the curtain. Leaving you with two student doctors and Jack fucking Abbot.
Wearily, your gaze meets his again; your cheeks aflame and a stillness in his shoulders that makes you slightly more uncomfortable than the idea of Ogilvie spreading you open. Ultimately, you know Jack is your best option out of the three.
More experience, kind and compassionate. Familiar, but maybe that’s not a pro in this situation. No. Definitely not a pro to have your fucking neighbor inspect your cervix. Yet you don’t look away from him. You don’t mean for your gaze to be pleading, don’t mean to ask the silent question that you do but Jack hears it anyway, answers it with a subtle dip of his head and he’s slipping into a pair of blue gloves and clearing his throat before taking Kwon’s position.
“Asking the patient what birth they had should always be asked before conducting a pelvic exam.” Jack notes, eyes flickering to Kwon in a brief moment of silent scolding before he reaches for the other, much thinner probe.
You don’t miss the way Kwon shoots a glare at Ogilvie with slightly threatening eyes. He has the right to look sheepish and a little scared before slowly stepping on foot closer to the foot of the bed.
“That would be my fault, Dr. Abbot,” he admits nervously. “She said she was a mom, so I assumed the birth was vaginal and the largest speculum would be most appropriate.”
You don’t mean to scoff when you laugh, but you do. Partly in offence for all women across the fucking world that this guy assumes all moms to have loose vaginas. The other part because if he had been watching Dr. McKay when she was checking your abdomen, he would’ve seen the small but visible scar just above your pubic bone.
Jack blinks as he unwraps the sterile tool and smears a small amount of lubricant over it. “In that case, I highly recommend you brush up on your knowledge of a woman’s anatomy.”
Ogilvie takes the hint. He tears off his gloves and slips past the curtain to do exactly what Jack has said. A wave of guilt begins to ride over you but it’s also quite quickly replaced with a bigger wave of relief.
Kwon turns to you with a thin grin, like she’s pleased with his lack of presence. “Sorry about him. I don’t think he’s seen a vagina since he came out of one.”
You almost choke on your laugh at that, wincing quickly after as your body locks up with another crippling cramp of pain. Jack’s gaze flicks up to your face, assessing the furrow in your brow, the flush to your clammy skin.
“You doing okay, neighbor?” His voice lacks its usual flirty tone; gravelly now and laced with a thickness he can’t quite shift. But you can hear the lightness he tries to offer, the reassurance he doesn't speak that this is okay and you are okay and you don’t need to be embarrassed that he’s seeing you like this.
“Oh, just peachy.” You snip back through gritted teeth, fisting the thin cotton sheets beneath you.
Jack blinks his way to go between your thighs, jaw clenched and having to remind himself to separate any personal sensations right now from his professional responsibility. It’s one thing to think about you being laid in the position, but it’s a completely other thing to have you like it for an entirely different reason.
Jack tries to block out the actual sight of you. Because in truth, there isn’t anything erotic about this, not even in the slightest. You’re in pain and bloody and hurting, and you’re trusting him to fix the issue. He feels sick with himself for how much he’s internally struggling at the situation.
“I’ve done this plenty of times, promise you’re in good hands.” He clears his throat, lines the speculum with the entrance of your vaginal canal and very slowly eases it between your walls.
There’s no pain this time, only a slight hint of discomfort but that’s mostly at the cold gel. You can’t help the cock of your brow at Jack’s words. “You examine a lot of your neighbor’s cervixes?”
He laughs at that, breathily enough that you can feel it ghost the side of your thigh. You swallow, blink up at the ceiling. His laughter helps ease this fucking awkwardness and embarrassment of having to dig around in his neighbors vagina. Doesn’t do enough to stop it from haunting you moving forward.
“No, you would be my first.” Jack promises, and you’re foolish enough to let yourself believe that comment has a double meaning to it.
“I’m honored.” You mutter it sarcastically and brave the thought of looking down to the foot of the bed.
You’re met with the sight of Jack peering between your legs, eyes slightly squinted as he works. Kwon looks just as invested as Jack does, handing him another tool when he silently opens his palm toward her.
“You said you bled through clothes and menstrual pads?” Kwon asks.
You nod, trying to remember not to tense or hold your breath. “Yeah, why? I’m not haemorrhaging or something am I?”
“No.” Jack assures you with a firm tone, catching the lick of anxiety growing in your voice. He doesn’t move his head but his eyes flick up to meet yours and your entire stomach turns molten at the sight.
You can’t look away and despite your best efforts, you do find yourself holding your breath.
“You’re not haemorrhaging and it’s definitely not embedded, which is good. Looks like it’s just shifted slightly which has caused the pain and the bleeding. Did it start tonight?”
You nod, watching Jack slip into a fresh pair of gloves and reach across the room for a small machine. “Well, I’ve felt a little uncomfortable for a couple days. Just light cramps that I usually get when I should be due on my cycle. But the bleeding and pain started tonight, yeah.”
Jack nods as he approaches your side, a look of reassurance on his face as he turns on the ultrasound screen and reaches for the gel. Kwon moves silently, offering you a large sheet and gesturing to cover your lower part and pull up the hem of the hospital robe to reveal your abdomen.
“I’m just gonna check everything is okay internally and then Kwon should be able to do a quick removal and replacement.”
You nod, loosing a breath as you try to relax yourself as Jack presses the transducer to your lower abdomen. He moves it slowly, tenderly with his touch; not using too much pressure or pushing on your bladder like the midwives did when you were pregnant.
He keeps his eyes on the screen and you realize you definitely have a thing for doctors. Or more specifically, this doctor.
“You bring Pheebs with you?” He asks softly, offering a brief glance to your face before returning his attention to the screen again.
“No, she’s having a sleepover with my parents tonight.” You say softly and you don’t miss the fond grin that spreads across his lips. It warms your heart so much that you can’t help but subtly mirror it.
“How’s her tummy now?”
A laugh bubbles up your throat. The irony of him being the one to check you over when only a week ago he was checking your daughter. “Yeah, good. Back to shitting like a pro again.”
Jack huffs in laughter, taking one more moment to assess the ultrasound before removing the probe from your skin and cleaning it off.
“Your uterine walls are thicker than usual. They're shedding, which is why you're bleeding the way you are. Totally normal. Other than that, ultrasound is clear,” he concludes with a smile that you can finally meet.
That awkwardness and tension has finally begun to ease and disappear. Right now, you’re not neighbors. He is your doctor and you are his patient.
“So, everything looks okay?” You ask. Jack nods, eyes on you again with that intensity you’ve started to grow used to.
“Yeah, you look perfect.” It’s slightly raspy when he speaks, both the tone and his words causing a flush to burn across your entire body.
It feels like air has trapped itself in your lungs and Jack’s shoulders stiffen as if he’s just realized the words he’s used and the tone he’s spoken them in.
From the foot of your bed, Kwon’s slightly uncomfortable eyes flicker between you and Jack, blinking as if that’ll clear the air as to what the fuck she’s witnessing right now. Before she can open her mouth with a remark, before Jack can splutter an apology or a distraction, the curtain moves and McKay is slipping back into the area.
Jack steps away from the bed, lips pursed into a firm line and he’s tugging off the gloves and moving toward the curtain. “She’s all cleared for removal and replacement.” He tells McKay, voice slightly strained.
You can’t help the amusement that starts to curl within your lower belly, a grin stretching across your face and Jack meets your gaze, mirroring it a bit bashfully before slipping past the curtain. Leaving you with your legs spread, heart thumping, and delusional thoughts in your mind that he found this procedure just as eye-opening as you did.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
It’s late Sunday morning by the time Jack’s done with his shift, exhausted and almost limping with how sore his leg is. He stayed late. Again. And his knee is protesting at the idea of potentially having to do it once more on his next shift.
It’s been a slight struggle now that Robby is on sabbatical. Jack’s left with the responsibility of staying later or starting earlier to aid Al-Hashimi with the influx of patience as the weather has gotten hotter. The sun comes out and people grow stupid. And Jack has to work through the pain of his prosthetic growing sweaty and unstable.
On top of that, he’s been riddled with something he can only compare to high-school level anxiety. Every time he’s walked through the main doors of the apartment complex for the past week, Jack’s been fucking nervous. Anxious that he may stumble into an awkward encounter with you after performing your pelvic exam.
It’s stupid, he knows. You’re both adults and Jack’s a professional, for fuck’s sake. He offered to get you another attending, and you declined. You had smiled—grinned—at him when he left you in McKay’s capable hands. And yet he had not heard from you since.
No text, no collisions in the hall. Not that you owe him anything, he knows that. And it’s not even like you texted religiously before your night in the Pitt. But Jack can feel something strained between you. Perhaps you’re embarrassed by the situation. That your neighbor had pried you open to check for an embedded IUD. Or maybe he had made you uncomfortable with that stupid fucking slip he made when he said you looked perfect.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
Jack takes the elevator to the third floor, his leg far too achy to brave the stairs after being on his feet for the past nineteen hours. When he makes it inside his apartment, he’s not sure what’s worse. The deafening loneliness or Robby’s contact popping up as an incoming call on his phone.
He answers before he even closes his apartment door.
“You’re alive, then.”
Robby scoffs a breathy laugh down the line at the greeting, something Jack can’t help but smirk at. He makes his way straight to the couch and falls into it, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear while he works to remove his prosthetic.
“Yeah, well… who would’ve thought nature could be so refreshing.”
Jack hums, half listening with a grunt until he slips the metal from his knee and exhales a breath of relief. “You doin’ okay, though? Haven’t heard from you for two weeks.”
“What? Miss me already?” Robby snides.
It pulls at the corners of Jack’s mouth in the form of a gentle smile. This is good. He’s cracking jokes, his voice doesn’t sound strangled and pained. He sounds better than he did when he left two weeks ago, but Jack is not a fool. He’s all too familiar with what Robby is experiencing, he’s danced toward the line one too many times himself.
“What are you even doing with yourself out there?” Jack says instead.
He can almost hear Robby shrugging through the line. He’s quiet for a few moments, likely contemplating, deciding how much or how little he wants to share. “How’s the hospital?”
Jack scoffs, shakes his head and leans back into the couch, allowing his eyes to close for a moment. “Work is not your concern until you’re back from sabbatical. Not a day sooner.”
Robby grows quiet again and they stay like that for a little while. No words spoken, just breaths shared down the line; both basking in the quiet comfortability of one another. Calming, familiar. Like moments shared on the roof after a particularly long shift.
“Spoke to McKay yesterday.” It’s Robby that breaks that silence. “Said you performed a pelvic exam on your neighbor.”
Jack can hear his smirk, the teasing churn in his voice. He takes a deep breath and then a laugh is spluttering from his chest; exasperated and exhausted.
“Brother, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” Jack admits roughly.
Robby doesn’t push, gives him a chance to add more if he wants to. He doesn’t. So Robby approaches carefully.
“You like her?”
The question makes Jack pulse skip. “Barely know her.”
“Not what I asked.”
Jack hesitates. It’s a lie, really. He does know you. Perhaps not in the most stereotypical way, but he does. He knows your love lost, your hatred for the way your ex treats your daughter, how your mind works when you create the excellence that you do.
Deeper than that, he knows your heart beats solely for your daughter. He knows Phoebe. Her chaos and easy charm, knows how you’ve bled your personality into her unintentionally.
Jack swallows. Robby waits.
“I don’t know what it is. There’s just—there’s something there. Something about her…”
“It’s not just her, though, Jack. She has a daughter. Package deal. Big deal.”
Jack hums, an involuntary smile curling on the corners of his lips. “She’s the coolest kid I’ve ever met, man. She makes her mom sing her AC/DC as a lullaby.”
Had they been on the roof, Jack would see the softness that smoothes the worry on Robby’s face. He’d see the quiet understanding in his eyes as he listens to every word, as he understands why there’s a certain dullness in Jack’s voice. A reservation.
Robby takes a heavy breath. “You don’t have to feel guilty about that, Jack.”
It makes Jack wince. Because he does feel guilty. Whenever his mind wanders to the thought of you, he’s crushed with an immense wave of guilt. Like he’s betraying his wife, like he’s losing sight of her in the fogginess of his memory.
Maybe that’s what scares him so much. He’s been with people since. One night stand, casual flings to keep the loneliness and demons of the night away. Physically invested and emotionally detached. It’s different this time. With you. Because there’s no physicality there, just this undeniable pull he feels whenever he looks at you, thinks of you.
It’s deeper than a surface level attraction. It fucking terrfies him because he hardly knows you. Not truly, not in the ways he wants to.
“You’re allowed to find happiness somewhere else. With someone else.”
The phone slips to rest on Jack's shoulder as his gaze falls down to the hands resting in his lap, the silver band that still wraps around his ring finger.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time just lets you grow around them.
Jack changes the subject fairly quickly. They spend the next ten minutes talking about nothing much before Jack forces Robby to promise he won’t leave it two weeks to reach out again. He showers, changes, takes some time to tend to the ache in his knee before brewing a coffee and making some eggs and taking them out to the balcony.
He hears it the second the door opens.
Music. Singing. Laughter. Loud and carefree and happy.
It pulls a smile to his face immediately as he sits at the table and watches across the gap between your balconies. Jack sips on his coffee, admires the sound he’s blessed enough to hear, the fleeting catches he gets of you and Phoebe running around or dancing on the kitchen island.
The sun is warm on his skin, the breeze soothing the ache of his tight skin where a limb once was and he feels himself slowly beginning to relax.
“Morning neighbor!”
His eyes peek open, a palm out above his eyes to cover the blinding sun. Jack blinks and you’re there. Standing on your balcony, one hand on the railing and the other is waving above your head. Calling out to him, like that night last week didn’t happen.
So you’re not embarrassed and he hasn’t made you uncomfortable. He can’t see you properly, too far a distance but he can make out the wide grin you offer.
Jack throws a hand up to reciprocate your wave and you jab a thumb over your shoulder. “What do you think!?” You call back, and it takes Jack a moment to realize you’re asking about the music.
His hand drops from the air and moves to cup the side of his mouth. “I love The Smiths!” He calls back.
You lean closer, he’s sure he can see your brows pinching as you call out to him again. “What!?”
Jack huffs a laugh, leaning forward in his seat and sitting up straighter. He cups both hands around his mouth now and bellows across the space. “I said I love The Smiths!”
He watches you throw your head back in laughter and suddenly wishes Robby never called. Because then he wouldn’t be so aware of the feeling in his chest whenever he looks at you. He wouldn’t have had to acknowledge and verbalize the turmoil that’s been brewing in his head from the moment he first laid eyes on you and Phoebe.
You don’t say anything else. He watches you retreat back inside and you don’t come back out. The balcony door is closed sometime ten minutes later. And within thirty minutes, the music stops completely and Jack’s left in that horrible, aching silence again.
After his eggs and coffee, he too is returning inside, leaving the dishes in the sink. He only allows himself a quick shower when the coffee begins to perk him up and decides it’s probably best to run some errands and grab some groceries before he inevitably crashes and sleeps for the rest of the day.
He dresses in a black t-shirt and a pair of beige chino shorts. It’s not something he’ll ever really admit outloud, but Jack hates the summer. He hasn’t always, but in more recent years, especially since losing his leg, he does. There’s a choice he has to make every time the heat begins to pick up in Pittsburg.
Wear trousers and ignore the sweat and swelling on the tight skin of his knee, or wear shorts and ignore the lingering stares of the general public. He should be used to it by now, it’s been well over a fucking decade since he lost his leg. But in recent years, without his wife’s reassurance that they’re curious glances and not judgmental stares, Jack can’t seem to decipher a difference between the two anymore.
Still, he knows he has to take care of himself. And with the ache still settling deep in his bones from his earlier shift, he’s aware that shorts are his best bet. It’s just after he clips his prosthetic back on again that there’s an uncoordinated knocking at the door.
The short relief of letting his leg breath allows Jack to move a bit more fluidly now, limp barely noticeable as he makes his way to the front door and slowly eases it open. He’s not offered much of a chance to check who his visitors are before a small body is barrelling into limbs.
Jack only just manages to catch himself by gripping a hand on the doorframe as he blinks down at a small head of curls of a three-year-old who is blinking in wonder at his prosthetic. He faintly hears your voice, soft but firm and scolding Phoebe for barrelling into him.
The child beams up at him, excitement laced in her chubby features as she points to his leg. “I like your leg.”
It makes Jack blink, pulls him back to the present where a throb begins to form around his knee and he grins at her, reaching down to readjust the prosthetic that the kid has somehow almost displaced.
He misses the way your brows raise as you look at him. You’d never realized he had a prosthetic and you can't help the way your head tilts at the sight of his arms straining when he readjusts the straps.
“SWAT?” you ask, voice thick as his veins pop and muscles flex beneath freckled skin.
Jack huffs out a laugh, pretends he can’t hear his heart in his ears and the fact that you’ve seen his fucking leg and you’re not being awkward about it. “Military.”
Phoebe watches him intently as surprise flickers across your face. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises, Dr. Abbot. Thank you for your service.”
He rises to his full height at the flirty tone of your voice, letting his eyes rove over your body from the painted toes to the hair on your head. A beautiful sage green summer dress kisses your skin. Cinched at your waist, short but puffy sleeves, a neckline that teases the swell of your breasts and the hem stops just mid-calf.
Jack swallows, admires your face. Hair pinned back in a flaw clip, messy and yet presentable. Your lashes look fuller and darker, a brightness to your face with makeup that doesn’t hide but accentuates your natural features. It momentarily knocks him breathless.
He’s never seen you like this before.
“I could say the same about you.” Jack’s voice is low and raspy when he speaks. It prickles your skin in buzzes of excitement, spreads a warmth beneath the flesh that charges your blood.
Of course, Jack notices. The way your lashes flutter, how your lips part. How, despite the warmth, goosebumps prickle your skin. A smirk kicks at the corner of his mouth and he looks away, back down to Phoebe.
She wears something similar, a blue summer dress that stops below the knee. Her hair is twirled up into a bun, little white sandals on her feet. It’s the most presentable he’s ever seen the kid look. And from the way she pulls at the dress and rolls her shoulders, he can tell immediately that it was a fight getting her to wear it.
The fondness in that crevice of his heart aches at the thought.
“Where are you two off to, in your pretty dresses?” He directs the question at Phoebe, who offers a twirl despite her hatred for the clothing.
“Grandma is dying.” She chirps.
Jack’s brows shoot to his hairline at the same time as you whipping your head down to your daughter. “What? No. Grandma is retiring, baby. We’re going for brunch with her company.” You correct her quickly, blinking profusely and both you and Jack are confused as to how she got those two words, of all things, mixed up.
You clear your throat, taking a step closer to the threshold that Phoebe has occupied. Jack notices the movement from his peripheral and sets his burning gaze on you again. You smile at him, a bit sheepishly and push your arms out to offer him the tray of cupcakes he had missed.
They’re decorated with multiple colors of messy frosting, some smothered in sprinkles and others decorated with some diced fruit. Jack blinks at you.
“We made cupcakes for Phoebe’s birthday tomorrow, and we made you some as a thank you. You know, for helping her tummy and then… well—mine.” You finish on a nervous laugh, one that Jack reciprocates.
But he takes the dish from your open palms, a revert thank you falling from his tongue and he lets his finger tips brush against yours as he does. So this was a peace offering of sorts, a way to clear the air. He offers a glance to Phoebe. “It’s your birthday?”
Phoebe nods. “In the morning, and I’m having a birthday party at my house, Jack! Will you come?”
His eyes widen slightly at the request, casting a quick glance to you. You shrug a shoulder, pursing your lips to hide a smile and when he looks back down at Phoebe, she’s got her palms together in a prayer-like position with far too convincing pleading eyes.
Jack breathes through his nose, smiles fondly at the young girl. “Absolutely, I wouldn’t want to spend my day off doing anything else.” he promises.
You smile at the sight, at how Phoebe brushes a sprinkle off Jack’s prosthetic that fell from the tray. He watches her just as intently, but when she returns her attention to the chipped polish on her nails, it’s like he loosens a breath.
“Everyone’s coming by at like 5 ish. But come whenever.”
Jack nods, allows his gaze to drift over you again. “You both look beautiful.”
There’s a reverence in his tone, like it’s a physical need that you believe him when he says it. All you can do is smile; soft and shy. You reach for Phoebe, tell her to say goodbye and slowly guide her away from Jack’s door and down the hall.
Of course, he watches you both go. Phoebe’s hand in yours, your slow steps and her quick skips. He’s about to go back inside when Phoebe halts abruptly, tears her hand from yours and turns to race back to Jack, giggling his name like she needs to tell him something exciting.
She stops by his feet again, he watches as you wait for her with a sigh at the other end of the hall.
“Jack! I told Mommy I want to be a doctor when I grow up, just like you!”
He blinks down at her, feels his throat constrict as she admits something that causes so much turmoil within him. “Yeah?” he rasps, clears his throat and bends slightly at the waist. “I think you’ll make a fantastic doctor, Pheebs.”
Her toothy smile is wide and excitable, it’s almost impossible for Jack not to mirror it.
“Before, I wanted to be a pop star so I could marry Harry Styles. But now, I wanna be a doctor.” She states it so matter-of-factly, like she’s discussing something as simple as the weather.
It makes Jack chuckle. “You don’t wanna marry Harry Styles anymore?”
Phoebe shrugs, makes a small noise of contemplation. “Mommy said she’d fight me for him!” She giggles.
Jack cocks a brow, dares a glance down the hall to you where you’re texting someone on your phone as you wait. “Oh, so Mommy wants to marry Harry too?”
Phoebe steps closer, looks a bit conspiratorial as she whispers her next words. “She said Harry will be a silver fox when I’m old enough to marry him… What is a silver fox?”
He blinks at that, unsure as to how they’ve crept into this territory and why the kid even knows the saying of a silver fox. He blubbers momentarily. “Um… it’s someone who’s old but….pretty.”
Phoebe grins, chin tucked to her chest with wide eyes and raised brows. The conspiratorial look has morphed into something far too mischievous for Jack’s liking. This kid is going to be so much fucking trouble when she’s older.
“Mommy said you’re a silver fox.” There’s a slyness to her tone, like she knows what she’s doing. That she absolutely should not be repeating whatever it is she’s heard you say.
Little shit.
Jack stills, lips parted into a soft O shape and he blinks at Phoebe. An amused huff of hair slips past his lips “Oh, I don't think Mommy meant for me to know that.”
“Why not? She told my Aunt Bella so. It's a compromise.”
Jack’s brow raises again, though this time in amusement. “You mean complement?”
Phoebe nods at that, moving even closer now. She reaches on her tip toes and cups her small hands around Jack’s ear. “My mommy is a silver fox.”
He laughs harder at that, pulls away to get a look at her face and he shakes his head, rubs at his eye. “Your mommy isn’t old, kid.”
“But she is pretty.” It’s a statement, not a question. And she looks about ready to fight if Jack even dares to argue otherwise.
Not that he would. He couldn’t ever. He lets his eyes drift across the hall again, finding you standing in the same place. Jack feels his heart rate pick up, feels his skin grow warm and a rush of pure adoration and fondness overwhelms him.
“Yeah, Diva. Your mommy is very pretty.”
It makes him realize something very, very sobering.
Jack’s got a fucking crush on you.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
Ahhh okay, the flirting is beginning, Robby is trying to knock a lil bit of sense into him and Pheebs is just well... she's doing her thing LMAO. This is where things start to get super juicy and I promise you the next chapter will have lots and lots more of flirty playfulness. I would love to know your thoughts so far!! <3
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
in which jack abbot accidentally fucks huckleberry's twin sister
smut, age gap (reader is mid 20's - jack is late 40's plus), slight daddy kink (though daddy is never used) lets assume she's on birth control. no real smut in this chapter, but still smutty themes
chapter one
"dennis, i'm so sorry," you say as you rush through his front door. his front door. the front door to the house he shares with his husband to be. it's not the apartment you're used to seeing him in, the one he shared with trinity santos once upon a time. but it suits him.
michael robinavitch suits him.
"it's fine," dennis says and shuts the door behind you. he looks tired, but he usually does. "worried about you last night," he says and pushes a plate of food towards you. once upon a time it was probably warm. but it's not now. still, you're grateful.
your face feels hot. "i found somewhere to sleep," you say coyly and dennis rolls his eyes.
you might be twins but you can't be more different.
he grabs his bag from the couch in the living room attached to the kitchen. "i gotta go," he says and kisses your head. your littlest big brother, but still protective. not as protective as the other three, though. that was too much, that's why you're in pittsburgh instead of nebraska.
"are we still on for lunch later?" you call and begin cutting up for food. it would have been lovely to have breakfast with jack. can jack even cook, you wonder as you eat. he looks like he can. he looks like he'd put every ounce of effort into it, as precise with everything as your brother is in the er.
breakfast would have been a nice way to go before you parted ways forever.
you nearly choke on your breakfast when you realise he still has your underwear. discarded somewhere on his floor for him to find and enjoy later. the thought makes things worse, but it's not exactly a bad thought. the hunky silver fox with your underwear wrapped around his cock as he strokes himself to completion.
"uh, i'll text you if it looks like i won't get a lunch," he says and backs towards the door. "michael is gonna give me a ride home so take my key-" you think about your brother on that death trap as he points to the hook holding his keys. "-and help yourself to anything from the fridge."
you call out quick love you's to each other and dennis leaves the house. the door clicks shut behind him and, for the first time since your arrival in pittsburgh, you feel truly alone.
loneliness is a new feeling for you. back in nebraska, you were never truly alone. you had your twin, and then your overprotective older brothers. even when you were alone, you would be taking care of whatever pet you'd asked your dad for that month.
its quiet being alone. thats the first thing you notice. the house that had been so full of your brother's and his fiancé's muttering is now dead silent. even last night, when you woke up for a few moments, you could hear his steady breathing. a comforting noise in the unfamiliar house.
God, loneliness sucks. being alone with nothing but your thoughts sucks. but your only thought is why. why didn’t you ask for his number, to try and see him again.
your fork makes a noise as you put it on your now empty plate. you look around as the perfectly clean apartment. Michael and Dennis are so rarely home they have no chance to get it messy. you clean up after yourself and head up to the guest room.
gosh, you feel like you stink. you bet you smell like jack, you hope you do.
your day is decided. a shower and then you'd explore pittsburgh. the place your brother has called home while you were utterly lost with yourself in nebraska. you'd explore, shop, find a cute little cafe to sit in before you grab the sandwiches for you and your brother.
and, who knows, if you run into the hottest man you've ever seen again, so be it.
no, you're desperate to run into him. it was quite possibly the best sex of your life. better than the dirty romp in the hay you had on allan jacobs farm back in nebraska. who knew riding a man nearly twice your age would be the thing that does it for you?
you want to see him again. this time, you won't let him go so easily.
okay, so maybe your day of exploring pittsburgh has turned into operation: find the sexy man.
back in nebraska, you took such great pride in your outfits. something fun, something pretty. something to set you apart from being dennis's twin or another one of those whitaker kids.
you fished a little brown skirt and a pink sweater from your bag. a perfect outfit for the spring weather. a little bit of time for hair and makeup, a spritz of perfume and the nebraska farm girl is gone.
with your brother's keys in your pocket, you leave their house. neat and tidy, just how michael and dennis like to keep it. you check your shoes on the front porch and make your way down the street. you have no idea where you're going, just walking. you check your google maps once, just to make sure you're going in the right direction, and keep walking.
operation: find the sexy man is a bust. but you still have a nice morning. looking at what the pittsburgh thrift stores have to offer and drinking a too sweet coffee. your favourite. dennis would tell you its bad for your health. but his coffee tastes like dirt.
you check your phone. the er is likely to get so crazy that you can't have lunch together, but Dennis hasn't texted you. so you get the sub sandwiches and make your way to ptmc.
hospitals. you've never ever liked them. the white, bright, sterile environment was the furthest thing from comfortable. you dread getting sick, but only because the thought of going to a hospital makes your head spin.
now here you are. in the overcrowded waiting room, sandwiches on your lap, waiting for your brother. your throat is dry as people cough around you, waiting for a doctor. and here you are, stealing the attention of one of those doctors.
you wait patiently. far more patiently than anybody else surrounding you. but you can't fault them. they're hurt and they just want some help. you'd probably be impatient too, if you were left in the emergency room waiting area.
you don't expect dennis to come get you. several people try talking to him, all of them with anger lacing their every word. hey doc, why haven't we been seen yet? hey doc, i've been here for a fuckin' hour. hey doc, pull your head out your ass and see some goddamn people. god, it's horrible. and it's not even directed at you.
"you made it okay," dennis says quickly, checking you over. you must have all kinds of fear written across your features. dennis grabs your arm and pulls you after him, through the throngs of people, through the white doors and into the emergency room.
you hold the sandwiches against your chest. not so tight that you're squashing them, but enough that they're safe. "are you sure you have time for this?" you whisper to your brother, trying to avoid the gaze of his colleagues. colleagues you met last night, but you still don't know that well.
but nobody is looking at you. it's a relief, in one way. in another, less so. your cute outfit, perfect makeup and hair, and not even one hot doctor is looking at you. of course, you don't really mean that. they're too busy saving lives and that's more than okay in your books. fucking superheroes, every single one of them.
"it's fine," dennis says, but he doesn't sound very sure. "two of the student doctors are covering my patients while we have lunch and hopefully they'll get me or one of the attendings before they do anything."
you nod. "okay, sure," you say as he leads you into the staff lounge. a nice little area, a coffee machine with a table and chairs. a nice break from the chaos outside, you guess as you sit down.
dennis sits beside you. "what did you get?" he asks, nodding to the white plastic bag in your hands.
you pull out two sub sandwiches, carefully wrapped by the deli. both the same, how you and dennis always have them back in nebraska. it doesn't hit you until this moment that his taste might have changed, that he might not like the same thing as you anymore. it's a selfish, horrible feeling that bubbles up inside of you as he takes the sandwich and unwraps it.
getting what you want. no consideration for him. does that make you horrible?
"my favourite," he says, a little cheer in his voice. you immediately relax and grab your own identical sandwich. pride sparks in your chest. because you know your brother so well, because deep down he's still that kid from nebraska that loves the same things his twin loves.
you eat and dennis tells you about his day. he doesn't go into detail, giving vague names and descriptions of what he's done so far. it's still enough to put you off your food. but you wear a grimace with your smile and power through, nodding your head like you know what he's talking about. he doesn't bring up last night, the fact that you disappeared mere hours after he said yes! and his then boyfriend slid a ring onto his finger.
you watch the plain band. your twin brother has found somebody to love, somebody he wants to spend the rest of his life with. you're sure most of the girls from your high school are on the same path as him, some already with a babe on their hip.
what does that make you? left behind, still a child compared to them. hell, your brother is a doctor and you'd never even left the family farm until now.
dennis nudges you with his elbow. "you okay?" he asks.
"fine," you say and unfurrow your brows. "just lost in thought."
dennis doesn't push. you don't often get lost in thought, usually the life of the party, the loudest one in the room. sometimes you don't even let the thought linger for a moment in your brain before it comes spewing out.
"what did you do this morning?" he asks and takes another bite of his sandwich. salad and sauce comes spilling out onto the wrapping.
you tell him, sandwich forgotten as you launch into an explanation of your thrifting, your cafe stop, and your visit to the sandwich shop.
***
he's here too early. he should be in bed, smelling you on his pillow, but he was restless after you left. unable to stop thinking about you. so, he did what he does on any other day he's got nothing to do. his hobby, if you will.
swat gear on, bag full of supplies. but one of his men goes down, and jack abbot ends up at the pitt far earlier than he's meant to be. it's not a bad injury, at least it's not by the time mohan and robby and king and the rest of the doctors and nurses in the room sort it out.
now, jack can breathe.
everything is okay. he can nap before his shift or change into his scrubs and work for far longer than he should.
it's an easy choice. it's one he makes regularly. working far longer than he schedules himself. if he ends up in pain, he doesn't say it. no, he works out regularly, used to do tours (for crying out loud), he can handle a few extra hours on his feet.
jack walks past the staff lounge. it's not crazy crazy in the er, he expects to see at least somebody sitting in there, enjoying a moment before shit hits the fan. because it always does. there is rarely a calm day in the er.
whitaker. huckleberry, he'd heard santos call him. the nickname doesn't entirely make sense to jack, who'd read the adventures of huckleberry finn when he was in school. maybe it's because he hardly remembers the book, had been through so much since then, his brain filled with other things.
whitaker has a sandwich. one that looks friendly and lovely. damn, he'd kill for one of those right about now. he looks to whitaker's left, at the pretty pink sweater and the carefully curled hair and the makeup that was slightly sparkly.
at you.
his breath catches in his throat. why the fuck are you here? with whitaker, no less? he didn't take whitaker as someone to make friends so easily during a night at the bar. but you're here. you're beside him. you're eating the exact same sandwich as him.
jack disappears before you can see him. yeah, you're pretty, but you found him at work and that's kind of terrifying.
he rushes over to robby at the nurses station and grabs his arm. "who's that with whitaker?" he asks, leaning against the desk with his back to the staff lounge.
robby looks up through his glasses, looks towards his husband to be. a smile graces his features, as it usually does when it comes to dennis whitaker. michael robinavitch is a man in love, and he'd never deny it.
he looks at you. it's the first time he'd properly seen you since last night. he'd been worried, sure, but spent most of the night trying to calm dennis down. you're a smart girl and your brother has no reason to worry. you'll get yourself home, robby told him again and again.
the ache disappears from his chest. he's grown quite fond of you in the few days you've been staying with them. if he and robby ever have children, he's glad they'll have an aunt like you.
robby says your name and jack nods like he knows it. "whitakers sister?" he asks.
jack thinks he's gonna stop breathing when robby says that. whitaker's sister. he didn't even know whitaker had a sister. but he does and jack abbot slept with her. slept with you. you, whitaker's sister.
fuck.
well, that explains how you two met. you weren't some girl he picked up in the bar and ditched his best friend's engagement celebration for. whitaker probably introduced the two of you at some point in the night, but he'd been too distracted by you, desperate to get you back to his place.
and he did just that.
"why?" robby asks and goes back to looking at the chart in front of him. something he's reviewing for a medial student, jack guesses.
jack shakes his head and robby's eyebrows go up. he looks back towards you and prays you don't look at him. you're not here stalking him and he lets himself be relieved. pretty and not crazy, as far as he can tell.
it's like the universe plucked you up and placed you right here in his lap. in his work place and its entirely natural. this is a sign, and jack abbot doesn't really believe in signs. this is a sign that he should introduce himself properly, get your number, find some way to get into contact with you, to ask you out again.
but he can't bring himself to go over there, while you're sitting beside your brother. he's a grown man, counting down the years to his fiftieth birthday (it's really not that far away and that's terrifying), and he can't go over and ask you out.
but he can't.
"she's cute, huh?" robby asks, watching for his reaction.
jack's throat bobs. yeah, you're cute. but he knows you so much better than 'dennis whitaker's cute sister'. you knows what lies beneath, how you feel wrapped around his cock. he let you become more than just a quick fuck. he let himself yearn for you.
jack abbot can't remember the last time he yearned for a woman. he met you less than twenty-four hours ago.
"yeah," he manages. "yeah, she's cute."
jack pushes away from the nurses station. he ignores the way dana smirks at him and walks to get changed into his scrubs.
but he stops in his tracks when he hears your voice. god fucking damn. it hasn't even been that many hours since you left his bed. but just your voice has him freezing, unable to take a step forward. remembering the underwear stuffed in his bedside table.
pink and lacy and you.
"trinity!" you squeal and jack turns to see you run out of the staff lounge. you run towards santos, your arms outstretched.
as soon as you reach her, you pull her in like old friends. it makes sense that you know her in a different way to how you know your brother's other colleagues. they lived together and jack can imagine your pretty face on a tiny phone screen as whitaker and santos sit on the tiny sofa they used to share.
"hucklebaby!" santos seems to cheer.
hucklebaby. hucklebaby! an unsteady breath leaves his lungs when he hears it. hucklebaby. not huckleberry 2.0, like jack expected (well, he didn't expect you to already have a nickname). but hucklebaby. santos is goddamn good a nicknames, he realises when he looks at you. hucklebaby. it suits you in a way he can't describe.
hucklebaby. jack abbot loves it for you. but he prefers his own names for you. princess, good girl, baby. while you're whimpering, digging your nails into his skin. but hucklebaby has it's own layer of sweetness and softness for you.
santos has her arm around your waist. it looks comfortable, natural, and jack wonders if she was holding you like this last night. jack would have been too distracted to notice.
"welcome to the er, hucklebaby," santos says and gestures to everybody around her.
jack included.
he thinks he imagines the way your eyes light up when you spot him. but you stay rooted in your spot, not even raising your hand to wave at him. oh, so this is how you're doing it.
you say something to santos and giggle to yourself, hiding your face in her shoulder. jack notices you don't actually touch the material, not getting her scrubs dirty with your makeup.
but santos is looking at him, mouth open and eyebrows raised. jack swallows.
he's so fucked.
a/n: i'm feeling the urge to write more andrew cody fics icl, but i'd love some hucklebaby asks now we're learning more about her
established!Rabbot X Reader, Jack Abbot X Reader, Michael Robinavitch X Reader
Summary: Robby ‘hates’ his new resident so much that he notices something very interesting about her
Warnings: Praise kink, BDSM in a non-sexual setting, non-sexual submission, non-sexual intimacy, very soft jack abbot, small bit of an asshole michael robby robinavitch,so many pet names, mentions of workplace bullying, mentions of suicide and medical procedures
Wordcount: 4,021 words
A/N: This is all disgustingly self-indulgent. I am writing this while very sleep deprived and very lonely and just in need of a little comfort. Please let me know if anyone is too OOC!! Also i stole samira's case from ER 😭😭
Robby wanted it to be known that he really, really, really did not want to like you.
You, who was headstrong, stubborn and particular. You were a Presby transfer, one of their prized senior residents who just didn’t get along with their team. It was hard and impacted your ability to work and after one too many cruel schoolyard jokes, you jumped ship. You took to the teaching hospital’s ways and its momentum quite quickly. You didn’t hesitate to correct an intern or med student. You never gave a second thought to questioning an attending or fighting a call someone made that you didn’t agree with.
You, who was also patient and kind. You took extra time with struggling interns, calling them into labs to practise sutures or to go over procedures they couldn’t seem to crack after your shift - time you knew you wouldn’t be paid for. Any mistake a student made during procedures was gently amended, be it by putting your hand on theirs to guide them or just by giving additional verbal instructions.
This was all mostly fine to Robby. Really, he told himself he could handle it for someone Presby was borderline crying over losing.
It was all fine until you walked in on him absolutely whaling on Samira Mohan.
You stood at the door, expression changing immediately. You gawked at him when he told you he was busy, and to ask Dana if you needed something.
Mohan’s case was not too complicated, all things considered. A lady came in after being hit by a car. The car wasn’t going all that quickly, so she wasn’t too badly injured. You had overseen Whitaker doing some of her sutures and knew they had it handled. No internal bleeding, great GCS level, maybe a minor concussion at most.
Nobody had accounted for her general melancholy throughout the procedure. She was lamenting about how late she’d be for work. There wasn’t much anyone could say to that, she needed treatment and she was getting it in a very busy, very understaffed ER. Mohan ran it by you afterwards and you approved the discharge.
She was back in maybe an hour later. She had jumped from a three-storey height. It was hopeful when she first arrived, but things turned complicated and she never even made it to surgery. Time of death, 6:12PM.
Robby’s brows were so furrowed they were pretty much touching. He was going on and on about missed signs and how the car accident had clearly been a suicide attempt. You stood up and argued back - how could she possibly have predicted someone would do that? Her sadness was chalked up to the adrenaline leaving her system, and why wouldn’t that have been the answer? She was just in a car accident!
You sent Samira out, and he reminded you that you had absolutely no authority to do that. You told her to go, anyway. The two of you went back and forth and back and forth until he finally relented. This wasn’t anybody’s fault. You’re doctors, not mind-readers.
After that ‘blatant disrespect’ he had suffered, he was doing everything he could to try and find fault with you. He needed something to write you up, to ride you about. He needed to even the score, and remind you he was top-dog around here.
He followed you from case-to-case, watching how you spoke to everyone and did everything. This was when he noticed something about you.
You were very, very quick to dole out praise.
Whitaker assisted you in a really clean intubation? “Good man, that’s exactly what we want.”
Javadi catching a small symptom that could have turned fatal? “Amazing catch, we’d be lost without you.”
None of it was sarcastic or felt over-the-top. It was warm and fond and real. You loved teaching them, you loved seeing them gain their confidence.
You were shy, too. Not usually, but sometimes. When you got a taste of your own medicine with a ‘good save’ or a ‘nice job’, you got so bashful. All red and quiet, for once. He filed this information away, although he really didn’t know why.
You weren’t warm to him. You were strictly professional after you caught him with Mohan. You seemed to be good friends with her. He liked Samira, he really did. She was talented and could be brilliant if she applied herself like he wanted. Maybe he pushed too hard, she seemed to perform perfectly with you.
Abbot really liked you as well. You worked a double in your first week and you - unsurprisingly - got along just as swimmingly with the ‘night crawlers’ as you did with the day shift. It was starting to piss him off at this stage.
Every time he and Abbot met up at home, you were the first topic of conversation. He ranted and raved about what you did and what you didn’t do and why it annoyed him and why he didn’t think you were gonna be a good fit in the long run.
His husband listened, of course, and empathised with him. It’s hard to work with someone you don’t seem to like at all. But days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. This time, when Robby started, Abbot had to intercept.
“Mike, baby. This is becoming an obsession." When Robby opened his mouth to argue back, Abbot couldn’t help but take notice of the slight flush on his cheeks. The same flush he had had every time he brought her up recently.
At first, he had assumed that he was just getting worked up about you, but now…
“Honey, I think you might have a little crush.” Abbot said softly. Robby scoffed in response.
“Well, I’m hardly gonna leave you at this stage.” He put his palms on his eyes and pressed hard. Abbot leaned over and gently lowered them before he hurt himself.
“She’s fake as fuck, brother. You should hear how she talks to the others. It’s like a fucking kindergarten.” He groans, squeezing Abbot’s hands.
“What, all this ‘cause she won’t call you a good boy?” He joked, but he smiled when Robby blushed harder.
“Ohhhh, brother.” He laughed, scooping Robby up into his arms and squeezing him. “You got a crush, it’s okay.”
“I’m married.” Robby whispered into his shoulder.
“Yeah, I know, champ. I was there.” Robby raised his head to glare at him.
“I wouldn’t want her to be anywhere else. I mean…” Abbot looked down at Robby, wiggling his eyebrows emphatically. “I wished she’d have preferred nights for a while.”
Now, Robby’s head flew up.
“You’ve thought about her?” He asked.
“Not as much as you, hon. But, yeah, I have.” Abbot squeezed him gently again.
“W- why?” Robby’s question was fair. They’d swung for a bit, yeah. But Abbot didn’t go for women. Not after his late-wife. Robby fiddled with Abbot’s blackened out band, resting underneath their matching ones.
“Well, she’s pretty. Seems like she’s a good girl, too.” Abbot said, shrugging off his concern.
“Don’t tell her that.” Robby huffed, rolling his eyes. “It fucks with her flow.”
“Does it now?” Abbot intoned. He found that very, very interesting.
It had been a few weeks since you last ran into Jack Abott. Robby was off and Shen had covered the day. He did a hand-off and ran for the hills. Abbot is secretly glad he doesn’t prefer the days. He’s a pretty vital part of his crew. Abbot met you just as you were surveying the board for the last time.
“Anything you need to warn me about?” He asked. You laughed, this guy was a sucker for gossip.
“Nothing too interesting. Central 12’s a biter, though. Relative distance is recommended.” You supplied, lips thinning even with your smile.
“Doin’ anything for the night?”
“Nothing, just sleeping.” You responded, sighing. This little tell was the closest to complaining he’d seen you. Abbot nodded. You looked like shit.
“Eat something nice and go straight to bed.” He didn’t quite order you to do it, but it definitely wasn’t a suggestion either.
“Sir, yes, sir.” You gave him a mock salute, standing up straight.
“Good girl.” He said, patting your shoulder and walking away. He looked back after a moment to look at you and sure enough, you were short-circuiting.
Like Robby had been doing for you, you very much actively tried to avoid him. Which didn’t typically work. You couldn’t seem to stop running into him.
Your frosty demeanor didn’t waver with him, but his had softened greatly with you. He had taken to sticking around for your procedures again, nodding affirmatively when you did the right thing, or offering a gentle “ah-ah” when doing something he thought wrong.
He often went to you after a tough patient, asked if you needed anything or if you wanted to talk. You tried to be open to it, you really did. But he got under your skin. You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
You had spoken to Samira about how Robby was when first started, kind and encouraging. How quickly he turned cruel and empathetic when he found a new ‘star student’. You didn’t want to be his star student, but you seemed to have had most of his attention recently.
You knew he’d turn on you again, and when he did the others would follow. It happened at Presby, and it’ll happen here. You could feel it in your bones, you wouldn’t let them get the leg up on you like that.
The day finished up and like always, you searched the board. You wanted any reason to stick around for a bit, to chat to someone, to be useful to someone else. Robby walked over and prattled on about his weekend plans. Him and Abbot were both off, something that almost never happened.
“C’mon, you got here early. I’m not gonna let you do any overtime.” Hands on your shoulders, he gently steered you towards the exit. You hadn’t brought in anything other than your worn hoodie and your phone, both of which were in your possession, so you had no excuse to not follow.
“You got a ride?” He asked, eyeing your lack of keys.
“Car’s at the shop.” You admit sheepishly. “I’m walking today.”
Robby frowned.
“No, you’re not. I’ll give you a ride.” He shook his head, hand going to your shoulder to hold you in place before crossing the road. He used the same hand to lead you across the road. You couldn’t help but relax a little at the action. You liked just following along with whatever people wanted at the end of the day. I mean, your whole job revolved around making choices to save lives, who would want to make a decision about themselves after that?
“You really don’t have to, Dr. Robby.” You murmured.
“He’s not, I am.” A gravelly voice caused you to look up. Jack Abott stood by their car, dangling the keys until they made a jingleing noise. You clearly weren’t the only one surprised. Robby’s eyebrows shot up. He went over and kissed Abbot on the cheek.
“We actually had a question for you.” Abbot spoke, hand rubbing Robby’s back.
“If you don’t have plans tonight, would you have dinner with us?” Your brows shot up this time.
“But- you…” Your eyes shifted between Abbot and Robby several times.”
“Want you to have dinner with us? Yes.” Robby finished off what he assumed your sentence would have been.
“I- I’d hate to intrude.” Was all you could think to say, because one part of your brain immediately wanted to say ‘yes!’.
“Good thing you wouldn’t be, then.” Abbot smiled at you, winking. “Look, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. We want you to, but your word is final. We won’t be offended.”
“We can pretend this never happened. We drive you home and we don’t talk about it again.” Robby confirmed softly.
“No, I- I don’t have any plans. Dinner would be nice…” You admitted, stomach starting to grumble. Robby’s did too, causing Abbot to laugh.
He ushered both of you in the car and drove to what you could only assume was their house. A real nice, big townhouse a little ways outside the city. It was quiet, but thoughtfully decorated. The lawn was stunning and the colour pleasing to the eye. You were invited inside to see the gorgeous interior. The kitchen was a mix of modern furniture with retro colour schemes - reds, blacks and blue used interchangeably. The house seemed to be lit according to mood, with the kitchen lights on full whack and the dining room a little dimmer.
“I actually have it all ready, just sit down anywhere.” Abbot instructed, not caring that he admitted he assumed you were going to say yes.
“Can I help?” You asked.
“Yes, by sitting down.” Robby replied, pointing to one chair in particular. Right to the head of the table.
Abbot’s voice rang out again - “Do you drink wine?” - Upon hearing your affirmative, his head popped through the doorless frame.
“White or red?”
“Red, please. Will I help set out the drinks?” You asked for the second time.
“You can stay right where you are, please.” You are told for the second time.
After what feels like an eternity (it was 5 minutes), a small bowl is placed in front of you and your wine is topped up just slightly. Robby took the seat in front of you and Abbot beside you, at the head.
All three of you ate in relative silence, before you broke it to compliment the soup. It was potato and leek, so creamy and starchy that you didn’t even feel the crunchy onion-y texture.
“Thank you, you’re very sweet.” Abbot smiled at you. You tried to control your blush, ducking your head modestly.
“Isn’t she just?” Robby agreed, as you hurriedly spooned another mouthful of soup into your gob.
The first course passed quickly after that. Robby collected the bowls, pushing you down in the chair when you got up to help him. He disappeared into the kitchen.
“You don’t know when to give up, do ya?” Abbot asked, laughing slightly.
“I’m not good with being idle.” You admitted, laughing along. He stared at you for a bit.
“You can relax, you look so tense. Did you have a bad day?” He asked kindly.
“No, no. Everything went very well. I’m just… I’m just like this.” You laughed again, albeit a bit more nervously this time.
“Uh-huh, well, I want everyone who walks in here to feel better when they walk out. Is there anything I can do for you?” His gaze followed yours, ducking his head to look you in the eyes. It’s hard to ignore the husky undertone in his voice.
“Look up at me, please. It’s not good to slouch.” He gently corrected and you rushed to remedy yourself.
“Sorry, Dr. Abbot.”
“You’re okay, I just don’t want your back to get sore. And, call me Jack when we’re not working.”
“Yes, sorry Jack.”
“Good girl, you’re okay.” He doesn’t miss the way the tension leaves your shoulders. You stare at him for a moment, your eyes almost glazing over before Robby returns.
“Roast should be ready in 20.” He murmured, squeezing Abbot’s shoulder as he passed him. Him and Abbot exchanged a few looks before Robby began again.
“You’re a very smart girl.” He stated simply, you couldn’t help but whip your head over to him.
“Settle.” Abbot huffed a small laugh.
“I’m sure you can see we didn’t call you just to eat with you.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You simply hummed and nodded for him to continue.
“Jack and I have a particular… void that needs filling. And you seem to be the perfect candidate.” Robby continued, watching your face very closely. He saw your brows furrow.
“We aren’t asking you to have sex with us.” Abbot spoke very quietly, “That isn’t what we want.”
“Then what is this ‘void’?” You asked cautiously, not sure if you felt relieved or disappointed you attendings didn’t want to have sex with you.
“We’re old men, who make a lot of money and don’t have family to look after. We want someone to take care of.” Robby informed you.
“You want me to be your sugar baby?” You asked, a bit incredulously.
Simultaneously, you heard a ‘no’ and a ‘sort of…’. Abbot glared at Robby.
“Are you familiar with BDSM dynamics, honey?” You tried not to react when Abbot called you honey but judging by the way he looked at you, you failed.
“I-yes, I am.” You mutter, looking down again.
“Ah-ah, look up.” Abbot couldn’t help but remind you. Robby gawked at him, but you looked up automatically. Abbot tipped your chin encouragingly.
“Have you had any experience with it?” He asked and Robby turned his attention back to you.
“Uh, a bit, yeah.” You admitted in a whisper. God, this was so fucking embarrasing. Robby reached across the table for your hand, which had clenched around itself. He unwinded your fingers and placed his hand on top of yours, rubbing circles onto it.
“Can you tell us what you were doing?” He asked softly. Suddenly, it was hard for you to remember why you didn’t like Robby.
“I was- I was a submissive. Sometimes for sex, but usually domestically.” You murmured, feeling a bit lost in his gaze.
“Thank you for answering. You had a regular dom then?” He asked. You blinked up at him slowly.
“No, I was a part of this, like, group. You texted in and someone usually responded. I knew a few of them well but not all of them. I just… I just needed to be out of my head.” You shared, feeling a bit like a common whore. You went to look down again, but Robby clicked his tongue.
“I believe Jack asked you not to do that.”
“Sorry, Dr. Robby.”
“Michael, please.”
“Sorry Michael.” You murmur automatically.
“No apologies necessary, sweet girl. That must have been hard to tell me.” You nodded without thinking. Abbot piped up again.
“That’s exactly what we want. A submissive. You don’t have to fuck us. We want to feed you, bathe you, dress you up. We want you to listen, and do as you’re told, and to feel free.” Abbot took your other hand, thumb rubbing up and down your wrist.
“You don’t have to even try it. If you’re not interested, we eat dinner, drop you home and pretend none of this happened.” Robby promised, squeezing your hand.
“No pressure. If you want to think about it, then same thing.” Abbot assured.
“I… I do want to try. I haven’t done it in a bit, I might be a bit shit at it.” You admitted, feeling a bit exposed.
“You have been doing absolutely wonderfully.” Robby reassured you quickly.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, we’d do that for you.” Abbot added.
“Okay, I’ll try it with you. But if I don’t fall deep, don’t be upset.” You warned
“Stop getting in your own head about this, we’ll take it as we go, babe.” Robby brought your hand to his lips, kissing each finger between words. You revelled in the attention for a moment, and you knew they knew. You felt yourself settle down, the weight rolling off your shoulders.
You didn’t notice Abbot getting up beside you, so you jumped when a plate was placed in front of you. Abbot petted your hair soothingly.
“Hush, it’s only me. Here, Mike…” As he passed Robby his own. He placed his own down and quickly plucked the cutlery from your hands.
“Would you like it if I fed you, hon?” Abbot asked quietly, waiting for your response. You nodded slowly.
“Brave girl.” He noted you must have been wrecked to give in so easily.
The plan had initially been to just ask you tonight. Talk to you a bit about it, get to know you. You’d talk about expectations and fears and all of you would set a schedule. Which would still need to be made, but tonight was not the night. Abbot really hadn’t meant to start domming you before you’d even discussed it, but you were plain irresistible. It irritated him how you couldn’t see it. He could see you needed it tonight, Robby could too. You were barely hanging on.
“Do you like to try everything separately first or do you usually go straight in with your meal?” Robby asked before Abbot began.
“Separately, if it’s not too much trouble.” You disclosed, reaching to take the fork from Abbot’s hand preemptively. Abbot gently lowered it.
“Hands on your thighs or on the table, please. Thank you for telling me, I’d like to feed you.” They had a feeling you would need more than a simple instruction. You seemed to be a lot more insecure in yourself than they originally thought.
Clear instructions, easily-won praise often, and many reminders of the initial order or rules. They could remedy that, if you would let. They could only hope you would.
Abbot handfed you every bit, stopping every few to take some himself. When he was eating, Robby took the opportunity to feed you some of his own.
“You are taking this so very well.” He murmured, rubbing your cheek after a bit.
You had cleared the plate before you knew it, and Abbot smiled wide.
“Very, very good. Do you want anymore?” You shook your head lightly, muttering a small ‘no thank you’.
“Thank you for being so polite, sweet girl. You are doing so well. It’s hard to let someone take care of you, isn’t it?” Abbot asked empathetically, taking both of your hands in his own and kissing them. He turned to Robby, who was only watching.
“Mike, could you…” He asked Robby something, but you didn’t quite catch it. You watched him stand up and walk around to you.
“C’mere… That’s a good girl.” Robby spoke, bringing you into the living room. He plopped himself down on the middle of the couch and when he went to pull you into his lap, he was surprised to find you on the floor. You knelt between his legs, not needing to be told to get into position and falling into total habit for the first time tonight.
“Aren’t you a high achiever?” He crooned into your ear, petting your hair. He grabbed a pillow from the end of the couch and quietly ordered you to move for a moment. He could see the panic in your eyes and dropped the pillow. He brought his hands to your hips and looked up at you.
“I just wanted to move this underneath you so you’re not in any pain. You’re not in trouble, we’re all okay.” He assured quickly, thumbing circles onto your hip bones. You nodded and lowered yourself onto the pillow when he had it placed.
“Is that much better, honey?” He cooed at you from above.
“Mhm-hmm. Thank you, Michael.” You instinctively leaned against his left leg. He continued cooing at you until Abbot came back in. They said something to each other, but you weren’t listening. You didn’t feel like you needed to. You weren’t told to pay attention to anything.
“Feeling okay, baby?” Abbot looked down at you, gently tugging your chin upwards to meet his eyes. He was sitting on Robby’s left side. You nodded slowly, eyes glazed over. You smiled softly at him and he released his hold, letting your head fall back to where it was.
“Best girl.” He said, scratching your scalp, while Robby’s leg supported your body weight.
In the morning, you would hope and pray tonight was not a fluke and that you impressed them. But tonight, you weren’t worried about that. You weren’t worried about a thing at all.
Summary: Six days after the parking garage, you return Jack’s things. His charger. His toothbrush. His deodorant. His shirt. The coffee beans. You tell yourself it is practical. Clean. Necessary. But Jack knows what it means the second he opens the bag. Because you managed to do what he still can’t. You packed him out of your life. And he still can’t move a single trace of you from his. Meanwhile, a last-minute conference opening puts you, Jack, and Robby on the same regional emergency medicine trip — and when the updated roster goes out, there is no pretending he doesn’t know you’re coming. Forced proximity begins now.
Warnings: angst, heartbreak, emotional fallout, casual relationship aftermath, workplace tension, forced proximity setup, implied sexual relationship, references to previous smut, Jack being emotionally repressed and bad at using his words, Robby being the MVP, no smut in this chapter
Author's Note: This chapter is the breath after the breakup and before the forced proximity arc fully kicks in. It is not loud, but it is one of those chapters where the smallest things are doing the most damage. Jack and Reader are both trying to be “fine.”
They are not fine. Robby knows they are not fine. And now they have to go to a conference together.
Good luck, everybody.
Xoxo, Del
MDNI 18+
Previous Part(s): | Chpt. 1 | Chpt. 2 | Chpt. 3 |
Chapter Four: The Things That Counted
Six days after the parking garage, you brought Jack Abbot his things in a paper bag.
Not a gift bag.
That would have been ridiculous.
Not a plastic grocery bag either, because that felt too careless for items you had spent the last week trying not to look at. Just a plain brown paper bag from under your kitchen sink, folded over once at the top, because you had apparently decided to make heartbreak neat.
One bag.
A whole life you were trying to return before it could keep pretending it belonged with yours. You had packed it that afternoon after sleeping badly and waking too early, your apartment gray around the edges from the kind of winter light Pittsburgh seemed to specialize in. The smoke detector stayed silent above the hallway. It had not chirped once since Jack fixed it.
That felt unnecessarily cruel.
The first thing you put into the bag was his charger. It had stayed plugged into the outlet beside your bed for three days after the breakup because you could not bring yourself to touch it. You had slept beside it like a ridiculous little shrine to every morning he had stayed over, every time his phone had lit up on your nightstand, every time his arm had come around your waist in the strange quiet after night shift. You wrapped the cord around your palm, secured it with a twist tie, and dropped it into the bag. Next came the deodorant from your bathroom cabinet.
Then his toothbrush.
That one took longer.
It stood in the cup beside yours, angled slightly toward the sink, ordinary and awful. You stared at it until your vision blurred, then hated yourself for crying over a toothbrush like there were not better, more dignified things to break over. You put it in a plastic sandwich bag first.
Because you were a nurse.
Because you were practical.
Because if you focused on hygiene, you did not have to consider that you were removing him from the place where your mornings happened.
His black T-shirt was next. Clean. Folded. You had washed it because it had been in your laundry, and apparently, devastation had not made you a monster. It still smelled faintly like your detergent when you folded it, soft cotton over soft cotton, sleeves tucked neatly in.
You almost left it on top of the dryer.
You almost kept it.
Not to wear.
Not even to smell, though God help you, for one awful second you wanted to.
Just to avoid the finality of putting it in the bag with everything else.
But keeping it would have been another kind of reaching.
So you folded it once more, even though it did not need it, and set it gently inside the bag.
The coffee beans were last.
They were clipped shut in your cabinet, shoved behind the tea you never drank, because apparently hiding them had been easier than deciding what to do with them.
You stood there for a long time with the cabinet open.
They were just coffee beans.
Not a toothbrush. Not a shirt. Not a charger from the side of your bed.
Coffee.
You could have kept them. Finished the bag. Told yourself it was practical, that good coffee was good coffee, and heartbreak did not need to make you wasteful.
But you could not keep waking up and making something he had chosen for you.
You could not keep letting your mornings taste like him.
So you took the bag down, clipped it once more, and put it on top of everything else.
By 6:43 p.m., you were walking into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center with Jack’s things in a bag against your palm and your heart trying to climb out through your throat.
You had timed it carefully.
Too early for full night-shift chaos. Late enough that he would likely be on the floor or reviewing the board, the physician's workroom would be busy enough to make lingering awkward, empty enough to make leaving the bag possible.
You hated knowing his routines well enough to weaponize them against yourself.
The ER at PTMC was already loud when you stepped through the staff entrance. Monitors. Phones. The wheels of a stretcher are cutting too fast around a corner. Someone laughing near the med room with the delirious edge of a day shift, trying to escape. Normal noise. Useful noise.
You held the bag tighter.
For the last six days, normal had become something you could perform if you concentrated hard enough.
You had worked two shifts with Jack since the garage.
Both had been professional.
That was the word you used because it was cleaner than saying awful.
He spoke to you when he had to. You answered when you had to. He did not set water beside you anymore. You did not bring coffee in the travel mug if there was any chance he might see it. You called him Dr. Abbot once in front of a patient, and something in his face had gone so still you almost apologized.
You didn’t.
That felt like progress, too.
Or punishment.
You were not sure there was much difference yet.
At the central desk, Robby was arguing with the printer. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just standing in front of it with his arms crossed, wearing the expression of a man being personally disrespected by office equipment.
“You look busy,” you said.
Robby turned his head, one hand still braced on the printer. “I am engaged in psychological warfare.”
You glanced at the machine. “With the printer?”
His expression darkened. “It knows what it did.”
You almost smiled.
Robby’s gaze dropped to the paper bag in your hand.
His face changed. Only a little. Enough.
You shifted the bag behind your leg like you were twelve and hiding evidence.
“Don’t,” you said softly.
Robby looked back at your face. For once, he did not joke. “Okay,” he said.
That almost undid you more than if he had pushed.
You swallowed. “Is he—”
“Workroom,” Robby said, just as quietly. “But he just went to radiology.”
Your fingers tightened around the folded top of the bag. Of course, Robby understood immediately. Of course, he did not make you explain.
“He left his backpack in there,” Robby added. “By the lockers.”
You nodded once. “Thanks,” you said.
Robby stepped aside without turning it into a moment. Then, because he was still Robby, he tilted his head toward the bag. “For the record, if that contains a cursed object, I need to know for departmental safety.”
Your mouth twitched despite everything. “No curses.”
His brows lifted. “Emotional damage?”
You looked down at the bag. “Definitely.”
He nodded gravely. “Worse. Harder to bill.”
That got half a laugh out of you. Barely. But it counted.
You walked to the physician's workroom before you could lose your nerve.
The room was empty.
Thank God.
A half-finished cup of coffee sat near one keyboard. Someone had abandoned a protein bar wrapper beside a stack of consult notes. The whiteboard on the wall had three names scribbled under ‘callbacks’ and one passive-aggressive reminder about signing charts before leaving the department.
Jack’s backpack was exactly where Robby said it would be. Leaning against the bottom locker.
Ordinary.
You stood in the doorway for a second too long, staring at it.
Then you crossed the room and set the paper bag beside it.
Not on top.
That felt too pointed.
Beside it.
Close enough that he would see.
Far enough away that you could pretend you had not wanted to touch anything that belonged to him.
The bag looked small on the floor.
Too small to hold everything, it meant.
Your hand hovered over the folded edge.
For one stupid second, you considered taking the coffee beans out.
Keeping one thing.
Leaving one thread between you.
You pulled your hand back. No.
You stood.
You were almost to the door when you heard footsteps in the hall.
Your body knew before your brain did.
Jack.
You turned too late.
He stopped in the doorway.
The whole room went quiet around him.
He was in dark scrubs, badge clipped to his chest, a tablet in one hand. His hair was damp at the temples like he had showered before shift and then run his hand through it too many times anyway. He looked tired. He had looked tired all week.
You hated knowing that.
His gaze found you first. Then the bag.
Something moved across his face so quickly you almost missed it.
Almost.
You wished you had.
“Hey,” he said. The word was careful. Everything about him was careful now.
That was the problem. Or one of them. There were too many to count.
“Hi,” you said.
He looked at the bag again. You saw the moment he understood. Not fully. Not the contents yet. But the shape of it. The purpose. His hand tightened around the tablet.
You forced yourself to speak before he could. “I didn’t want to leave it at the desk,” you said.
His eyes came back to yours.
For a second, the workroom felt smaller than it had any right to.
“You could have given it to me,” Jack said.
No accusation. No anger. That almost made it worse.
You nodded. “I know.”
You did not say, “I couldn’t.”
You did not say, “If I handed it to you, I might have apologized for taking you out of my life even though you were the one who made me feel like I had no place in yours.”
You did not say, “I washed your shirt and cried over your toothbrush, and now I need you not to make this harder.”
You said, “I have to go check in with Lena.”
Jack’s mouth tightened. Just a little. “Okay,” he said.
You stepped toward the door.
He moved back to let you pass. Careful. Always careful.
There was enough room between your bodies.
Not much. Enough.
You could smell him anyway. Soap. Coffee. PTMC hand sanitizer. Jack.
Your chest hurt so sharply you almost stopped.
You didn’t.
You walked past him. Your shoulder did not brush his.
You made sure of it.
In the hall, Robby glanced up from the printer. You shook your head once before he could ask.
He nodded and looked away. Bless him for it. You made it to the nurses’ station, picked up your assignment sheet, and tried very hard not to turn around.
You lasted nine seconds.
When you looked back, Jack was standing inside the workroom with the bag in his hand.
He had not opened it yet. He just stood there, looking at it. Then slowly, he folded back the top.
The coffee hit him first. He knew the smell before he saw anything else. Dark roast. The brand he had bought because you hated yours, and he had been arrogant enough to think fixing your coffee counted as nothing. His hand went still on the folded edge of the bag. Then he saw the charger. The deodorant. The small plastic bag with his toothbrush.
His hand froze there.
Completely.
Even from across the department, you saw it.
He looked down into the bag as if it had opened a hole under him. Then he reached in and pulled out the shirt. The black one. Washed. Folded.
For a second, Jack did not move at all.
You felt your own throat close.
He touched the folded cotton with his thumb. Once.
So small no one else would have noticed.
Then his gaze dropped back to the coffee beans.
Returned.
That was what did it.
Not because they were his.
Because they had been yours after he gave them to you.
Jack’s hand tightened around the bag. He had not touched any of your things.
Not one.
The hair tie still sat on his nightstand where you had left it, a small dark loop beside the lamp. Your shampoo was still in his shower. The creamer was still in his fridge, unopened now because he did not use it and could not bring himself to throw it out. The chipped blue mug still sat on the second shelf, untouched, waiting for hands that were not coming back for it.
He had told himself he was busy. Tired. That it did not matter. That moving those things would be dramatic. Unnecessary. A reaction.
But the truth was uglier than that.
He could not do it.
He could stand in trauma rooms and make decisions with blood on the floor. He could intubate a child with shaking parents at the bedside. He could hold steady through a night shift that tried to break everyone in it.
But he could not pick up your hair tie.
He could not pour the creamer down the sink.
He could not move the mug.
And you had packed him into a paper bag. Washed his shirt. Wrapped his toothbrush. Clipped the coffee shut. Returned every quiet, ordinary way he had lived in your apartment and set it beside his backpack with his name written on the front. Like you were doing the thing he had been too much of a coward to do. Like you were surviving.
Like you were leaving.
You turned away before he could look up and see you watching. Your assignment sheet blurred in your hand.
“Room eight’s yours,” Lena said beside you.
You blinked down at the paper. “Chest pain?”
She pointed toward the hall. “Troponin pending.”
You nodded. “Got it.” Your voice sounded normal. That felt like a betrayal. Across the department, Jack stepped out of the workroom with the bag folded closed in one hand.
He did not come toward you. You did not look at him.
For the next hour, the ER did what the ER always did.
It moved.
Patients arrived. Patients left. Someone yelled about parking validation. A resident dropped a stack of discharge papers and swore under his breath. Robby finally defeated the printer and announced it to absolutely no applause.
You worked. Jack worked. The bag disappeared. You did not ask where he put it. He did not ask why the coffee beans were inside. That was the kindest thing either of you managed.
At 9:12 p.m., you passed each other outside room five. He held a chart. You held a tray of supplies. Both of you stopped at the same time to let the other pass. It should have been nothing.
Two people in a hallway.
Two coworkers negotiating space.
But there had been a time, not long ago, when your bodies moved around each other like habit. When his hand would have found your lower back in your small kitchen, or your hip in sleep, or the edge of your sleeve as he reached past you for coffee.
Now you both stood still.
Careful.
Polite.
Bleeding all over the space neither of you crossed.
“You first,” Jack said.
You nodded. “Thanks.” You stepped past him.
This time, your shoulder did brush his. Barely. Accidental.
The contact was gone almost before it happened.
Your whole body remembered anyway.
So did his.
You knew because his breath stopped, just for a second.
You kept walking.
Behind you, Jack did not say your name.
That was good.
That was what you wanted.
Probably.
By the end of the night, you had gotten through another shift. You had returned his things.
You had not cried. You had not reached for him. You had stood six feet from Jack Abbot under hospital lights and survived it.
At 6:49 a.m., Robby found you near the central desk, finishing the last of your charting with a half-empty coffee beside your elbow and the dead-eyed focus of a person who had forgotten what blinking was for.
“Hey,” Robby said.
You glanced up. “If this is about the printer, I’m emotionally unavailable.”
Robby’s mouth twitched. “It is not about the printer.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds like something the printer would want me to think.”
He leaned one hip against the counter, administrative folder tucked under his arm.
“I need to ask you something,” he said.
You sat back slightly. “Okay.”
Robby tapped the folder once against his thigh. “Dana dropped from the regional emergency medicine conference.”
You blinked. “Dana?”
He nodded. “Her husband’s knee scope got moved up.”
You winced. “That sucks.”
“Apparently, he needs a ride home after anesthesia,” Robby said. “Medical professionals continue to frown upon patients driving while legally high.”
Despite yourself, you almost smiled.
Robby watched your face carefully. “Her nursing rep spot is already paid for. Lena can’t go,” he said. “Hotel included. Leadership asked for a replacement.”
Something in your stomach tightened before he said the rest.
“I recommended you,” Robby said.
You stared at him. “Me?” you asked.
He gave you a look. “Yes, you.”
You looked down at your charting screen. “Why?”
“Because you’re good,” Robby said.
The words landed too cleanly. You looked down at the keyboard.
Robby’s voice softened, just a little. “You’re good in a room.”
Your throat tightened.
He shifted the folder under his arm. “You’re good with patients.”
You blinked hard.
Robby kept his voice steady. “You’re good when everything goes sideways, and everyone else starts pretending they aren’t scared.”
You looked up at him.
“You should be there,” he said.
Your throat tightened. “Robby,” you said.
“I know,” he said. The words were quiet. He did know. That was why he was standing there like this, careful but direct, offering you something without pretending there wasn’t a catch.
You looked past him before you meant to. Across the department, Jack stood at the board, head bent toward a tablet. Dark scrubs. One hand braced on the counter. Professional. Contained. Close enough to hurt and far enough away to make it worse.
He glanced up once.
Not long.
Just enough to see Robby beside you, the administrative folder tucked under his arm, his face more serious than usual.
Jack’s gaze moved from Robby to you. You looked away before he could read too much.
Robby followed your line of sight for half a second, then looked back at you. “Jack’s going,” he said.
Your fingers curled against your thigh. “Yeah,” you said.
“And I’m going,” Robby added.
You looked at him.
He held your gaze. “I understand if you don’t want it.”
That almost broke something in you.
Not because of Jack.
Because Robby did not say it like you were weak for needing the out. He did not say it like you were making things awkward. He said it like he understood there was a cost and wanted you to know you were allowed to count it.
You swallowed. “Would it be bad if I said no?”
“No,” Robby said immediately. “It would be human.”
The answer sat between you for a second.
Then his expression shifted, just enough for the familiar Robby shape to come back.
“Annoying for admin, obviously,” he said. “But spiritually? Human.”
You let out a small breath that was almost a laugh.
Robby tapped the folder against the counter again. “But I didn’t recommend you because we needed a warm body in a chair.”
You looked down again.
“I recommended you because you deserve the spot,” Robby said.
Two days.
One conference.
One hotel.
One professional opportunity you should have been excited about.
A week ago, you would have wanted it without hesitation.
You still did.
That was the worst part.
You did not want to be the kind of woman who said no to something good because Jack Abbot had broken your heart in a parking garage.
You looked back at Robby. “When do they need an answer?” you asked.
“Today,” Robby said.
You closed your eyes briefly. “Of course they do.”
“Administration thrives on urgency and stale muffins,” he said.
You opened your eyes and stared at the folder in his hand.
Then you nodded once. “I’ll go,” you said.
Robby’s face softened. “You sure?”
No.
“Yes,” you said.
He held your gaze for a beat longer, searching for the lie.
He found it, probably.
But he also found the part of you that meant it.
So he nodded. “Okay,” Robby said.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb moving over the screen. Across the department, Jack was still at the board. Still pretending not to watch. Still not knowing.
That was almost worse.
Because for one brief second, the decision belonged only to you. Not Jack. Not the hurt. Not the arrangement.
You.
Robby’s phone made a soft sending sound. “There,” he said. “I’ll tell admin you’re in.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
A minute later, your email pinged.
So did Jack’s tablet across the department.
You looked down first.
PTMC Regional Emergency Medicine Conference — Updated Attendee Roster
Your stomach tightened. You opened it even though you already knew what it would say.
Dr. Michael Robinavitch
Dr. Jack Abbot
Then your name followed by RN. There it was. Your name under his. Not emotional. Not personal. Not anything anyone could accuse of meaning too much. Just an updated attendee list. Across the department, Jack looked down at his tablet. You knew the exact moment he saw it. His shoulders went still. Not dramatic. Not obvious. Just stopped, like the whole ER kept moving around him, and he had forgotten how to follow.
Robby noticed too. Of course he did. His mouth flattened for half a second, but he said nothing.
Jack read the email. Dana’s name is gone. Yours in its place. Slowly, he lifted his head. His gaze found Robby first. Robby gave him the smallest shrug, not apologetic. Not guilty. Just honest. Then Jack looked at you. Now he knew.
The arrangement was over.
You had returned his toothbrush.
You had given back the coffee.
You had learned how to stand beside him without reaching.
Now, PTMC was sending you to the same conference hotel and calling it professional development.
A brilliant ER doctor thrives in chaos, saving lives under pressure while keeping her own carefully controlled world intact—until Bruce Wayne crashes into it with his secrets, intensity, and undeniable pull. As their connection deepens, she finds herself entangled in a life far more dangerous than the emergency room. Caught between her oath to save lives and the man who risks them nightly, she must decide how far she’s willing to go before his world consumes hers completely.
Jack abbot x kid reader whose constantly in the er and only really likes hack and Robby and gets Avondale’s by guardians at the hospital chase they don’t wanna deal with health issues
A New Home
Pairings: Jack Abbot & child/young teen!reader
Imagine: one of Jack’s favourite patients ends up abandoned in the waiting room
Warnings: reader is sick, parental neglect, abandonment, reader has hair bc I couldn’t resist jack ruffling readers hair, use of y/n, probably inaccurate medical things, sorry if I missed something
A/N I hope this is somewhat what you meant
I may do a part two already have half of part two written, maybe even a part three if anyone is interested, maybe about the first day? Week? living with Jack and then a skip forward to Jack adopting the reader
Around 2700 words (not proofread, literally wrote this in the middle of the night so it may suck, sorry about that)
Main Masterlist | The Pitt Masterlist
Jack hadn’t been able to catch a break throughout the whole night so far. After Robby had finished handover it was as if every idiot in Pittsburgh needed a doctor. It was a Friday so he wasn’t all that surprised that a lot of the patients were drunk.
Reading through the symptoms on the tablet Ellis had given him on a patient who’d come in with a seizure he stopped to lean against the nurses station. Right before he could agree to Elli’s words his head snapped up at the sound of a commotion.
Head moving to his right he watched as one of his residents, one of the newer ones who’d started just a week ago, tried to reason with two parents.
He watched the resident fumble over his words as he tried to get the parents to not take their kid home. Glancing down at the kid, his breath stopped for just a second. Fuck.
Jack recognized you. Of course he did. You’d been to the ER ever since you were four years old. They could never find an actual reason for why you were sick all the time but you were. Usually you’d come in with a way too high fever. Sometimes you’d throw up so much blood started to come out too. You’d always been a sick kid and they just hoped that, eventually, your immune system would kick in so you could start living a life without getting sick every other week.
He could still remember the first time he’d met you. It’d been during shift change. Jack had just walked into the ER when he heard the crying from one of the rooms. A nurse had been trying to take your blood. But every time you’d flinch away and practically scream at her like she was trying to kill you. Back then your parents still cared, it was the first time your fever had been that high. They’d tried to console you, tried to get you to cooperate. It wasn’t until Jack had walked into the room with a certain energy to him that made the room go into a stand still. He’d asked the nurse what was going on, eyes ever so often moving to your crying form on the hospital bed. Way too tiny for a hospital bed. He always did hate when kids came in sick. Everyone did.
When he’d gotten the clear picture he’d shifted his stance to try and be at your level before he explained exactly why they needed to take your blood. Your cries had eventually slowed down. Jack had taken your blood after softly explaining that if you let them do that they could maybe find out what was wrong and you could go back to playing with your friends.
Ever since then you’d only ever let Jack treat you. Much to your parents dismay, who were already sick with all the hospital visits. But you liked Jack, still do. He’d sometimes let you borrow his pen to fiddle with while he examined you. He always tried to talk to you about your interests to keep you distracted.
Your parents had brought you in once when Jack wasn’t working. As much as every nurse who passed by had thought the sick kid with a pout and crossed arms was adorable, it had been messing with the patients waiting for a room. Everyone had tried to examine you and everyone failed until Robby had tried. You’d liked him too. He acted kinda like Jack. But Jack was still better.
He stared at you for a moment before he automatically gave the tablet back to Ellis and strode over to you. Jack hadn’t seen you in two months. He’d hoped that you’d stopped getting sick, but that was clearly not the case. Your eyes were red from rubbing them too hard. Snot ran from your nose even with how much you tried to keep it in. As he stepped closer he also saw the way your eyes had a slight gloss over it. The way you get when you have a fever. Or when you’re about to cry. Both very much possible.
“What do we have here?” Jack’s lips moved up in a smile as he glanced down at you. His hand moving up to your forehead. Ruffling your hair as a disguise as he felt for a fever. He did not like how hot your forehead felt.
“Kid refuses treatment” the resident started. “And the parents wants to take y/n here, home”
“That right?” Jack looks down at you. Your fingers were fiddling with the hem of your pyjamas shirt. Feet dangling back and forth over the hospital bed. “Didn’t we talk about this last time?” His head tilts slightly back to look down at you. “I can’t be the one to treat you every time” Jack’s eyes soften as you give him a sheepish but tired smile. It was the middle of the night after all, and you were sick, he didn’t fault you for being tired.
He glanced back at your parents who’d he’d noticed, as of lately, seemed to care less and less of your health. Their once worried gazes had flickered into one of reluctant care. Of course he knew having a sick kid was tiring, he’d seen many parents exhausted. Parents who for example had kids with leukemia who were in a state of early grief and hope. Any good parent worried when their kids were sick but lately your parents whenever they’d come in with you looked more like they wanted to drag you home than to get you help. They didn’t console you and rub your back when your blood was drawn. Where once both had worriedly hovered now there was a distance between parent and kid that Jack wasn’t comfortable with seeing. He didn’t know what had shifted but something had.
“Since you’re already here it can’t hurt for us to just give y/n a checkup, make sure it’s nothing serious” it never was serious, but still he always wanted to check to make sure. It wasn’t exactly good for a kid to be as sick as often as you were.
Your parents held a silent conversation before they reluctantly agreed.
He sat down on a stool so he could be somewhat closer to your height, rolling it forward to get closer to you. He held up a thermometer he’d grabbed on the way. “Alright kid, the usual, I’m gonna check your temperature and then we’ll take your blood, sound okay to you?” He gives you a reassuring smile, like always. “Then when the results come in we’ll see if we have to do any other tests”
You rub your eyes, trying to get rid of the irritation in them. A headache had started to form too and all you wanted to do was snuggle into your bed at home with your favorite plushie and sleep. Nonetheless you gave Jack a nod.
“Hard to breathe?” You shook your head before he took your temperature. He frowned at the result, it was higher than usual. “Cough?” You nodded. “Headache?” Another nod. “Have you been able to eat like normal” a shrug, he raised a brow at your answer urging you to continue.
“Don’t like eating when sick, mom and dad make me eat though, they say it’s good to eat when sick”
“Yeah? They say that?” You nod. “You have very smart parents then, it is good to eat when you’re sick, it gives your body energy to fight the infection” he took your arm. Careful to be gentle when he took your blood, he didn’t want a repeat of the first time when you were scared and screaming at anyone who tried to take your blood.
Tears appeared in your eyes. But you did your best to keep it in. You hated when they had to draw your blood.
“You know, I happen to know they restocked the cookies you like from the cafeteria” he watched the tears slowly disappear. “Maybe I could get a nurse to get you one” he glanced up at your parents. “Is that okay?” At their nod he quietly told Mateo to get one for you. Mateo had brought you to the cafeteria before so he knew what you wanted.
Finishing the blood tests, he gently wiped your skin where the needle had been before letting you pick a band aid. Of course you picked the silliest one. Gently placing the band aid on your arm he gave it a little love tap before he glanced up at your parents again. “I’d like to keep y/n for observation during the rest of the night, I don’t like how high the fever is, we’ll know more when the results for the blood test comes in, hopefully it’s like the other times and it doesn’t show anything serious” though sometime he wished the blood tests would show something. If he could place a diagnosis he could help you from getting sick again.
“Can’t we come back tomorrow?” Jack tried his best to hide his frown at your dad’s words.
“Like I said I’d like it if y/n stayed overnight, at the very least until I get of my shift in the morning”
“We can’t stay, can’t we just come back in the morning and you can do a check up then”
“I could but like I said-“ he trailed off as he realised he wouldn’t get anywhere. After the blood test came back clean he reluctantly watched your parents walk out with you after he’d given instructions on how to treat your fever. A frown that wouldn’t disappear for the rest of the night covering his face. It only worsened when your parents never brought you back for a check up.
Two days later Jack’s life changed forever.
He’d just walked out of a trauma, an idiot had started a bar fight and had somehow ended up with half a glass bottle in their stomach, when one of the residents wanted a consult before he sent them off to prescribe the medication for said patient.
Taking off the nitrile gloves and throwing them into a trash can he rounded an incoming gurney with a screaming patient on it that had what looked like a screw in his shoulder. The shift had been far from calm so far. He came to a stop in front of Lena who was talking to Ellis. Leaning against the nurses station subtly listened into the conversation. While he logged into the usual computer he used.
“I think there’s an abandoned child in the waiting room, Mateo says the kid’s been there since he clocked in”
Jack's head slowly turned to the side to look at the nurse and resident. “What?” That was at least four hours ago, how had no one noticed a kid alone in the waiting room for four hours. There was also no knowing if said kid had been there longer than that.
“Kid’s just sitting there, looks sick too” Shen walks up then. “Tried to take the kid back here, safe to say it did not work”
Jack slowly processed the words. There was only one kid he knew that protested that much. And who was currently sick. But a lot of kids protest, your parents wouldn’t abandon you would they? Even with the struggle of the many hospital trips.
“Kid say anything?”
“Kept asking for the nice doctor, whoever that is” fuck. You always called him the nice doctor when someone else would try to examine you. Eventually whoever had taken your case would end up going to Jack talking about a certain kid who refused treatment.
“I’ll deal with it” was all he said before he made his way into the waiting room. And there you were. Body sluggish as you sat curled into the stiff uncomfortable chair. You looked worse off than when your parents had come in with you two days ago.
His steps faltered in front of you. Waiting for your head to lift. “Hey kid” Jack’s voice was softer than usual.
You snivel as you look up at him. Rubbing your eyes before wiping your nose with your sleeve.
“You okay?” You nod, even if Jack sees through it he doesn’t comment on it.
“Come on” he hold his hand out for you, waiting for you to grab it. “you hungry?” Another nod. He always did hate how silent you were, then again he’d only ever met you when sick. And most kids he’d met were far from loud and babbling when sick.
He led you into the break room, getting a nurse (once more) to get you some food, not wanting to leave you alone.
Sitting in the chair opposite of you he leaned his arms on his knees as he looked at you. He would have smiled as you went for the cookie before the sandwich if it wasn’t for the situation.
“Y/n?” He watched your eyes move up to meet his. “Where’s your parents?”
You swallow slowly, fiddling with some crumbs from the cookie. “Don’t know”
His brows furrows. “Did they say anything when they dropped you off here?”
“They gave me a hug and told me they loved me”
“They didn’t say where they were going?”
You shook your head as you took another bite out of the cookie.
Right. Of course they hadn’t. “How’s your fever? Your head still feeling fuzzy?”
A silent nod leaves you again. “Light hurts too”
“Yeah? The hospital is bright, isn't it?” Another nod.
Silence fell over you both as he watched you sip through the straw to your favorite juice. Jack didn’t know what to do with you. On one hand he didn’t want to fear the worst that your parents had actually abandoned you. Despite everything pointing at it. For your sake he didn’t want it to be true. On the other at least he could examine you now, and keep control over your fever, make sure it didn’t get worse. Third, if they had abandoned you it meant he had to make a lot of calls, calls he had no interest in making any day, but he still had to.
He let out a sigh and looked back out towards the coordinated mess in the ER. The noise is somewhat muffled by the closed door. His eyes fell back on you again. You were only a kid.
A kid who’s parents had just left. Abandoned at a hospital. Jack watched you curl into the chair. The way you shivered from the fever, and the way you kept your eyes closed.
A thought struck. Maybe he was stupid for it. He certainly wasn’t a dad. But he couldn’t just leave you here alone when his shift ended. Couldn’t just let you go with cps alone, scared and sick. Besides he did have emergency foster care as a doctor, he could take you for the day until CPS and the cops found your parents and a home for you. And since he was a doctor he could also monitor you from home. “Y/n?”
You cranked an eye open towards him.
“What would you say about going home with me? After my shift?” His head tilted to look at you more properly. Eyes searching both your eyes that had opened again.
Your brows knitted together in slight confusion. “Live with you?”
“For a day or two, yes”
“Okay” you nod. You liked him. He felt safe.
“You wanna stay in here or come out with me?” He had to get back to work eventually. Either way he’d come check on you every time he could, and when he couldn’t he’d have a nurse check on you.
Glancing out at the chaos outside the door you curled more into the chair. “Here”
He nodded, hand going to your forehead again. Still warm. Seeing as you still shivered he wrapped a blanket, even if it was the stiff hospital ones it still did the job of keeping you from shivering.
An hour or so later he gave you something for the fever. You didn’t know what it was but it made the headache go away. And as you curled further into yourself on the chair you felt his hand once more on your forehead, but before his hand had even left you were fast asleep.
Jack would make sure you got a home by the end of this, even if it was his home. You were cared for, at least for now.
Summary: You perfected the art of pretending you were okay. Until pretending almost killed you. Now the team that once relied on your smile watched helplessly as you drowned in your own blood. The man you loved, held your face, begging you to stay, while your DNAR hung over all of you like a death sentence. In the end, you had to do the hardest thing of all: look into Jack’s broken eyes and let him go.
Trigger warnings: self harm, blood, accidents, swear words, mature content, sad ending, probably lots of medical inaccuracies,
Notes: part 2! i truly don't know how to end this story, i feel like they both might be too broken for each other but maybe they can be broken together??
--
I love you too
Four short words, eleven long letters. Enough to stop your run. You saw his beautiful eyes again but this time they weren’t filled with anger or hurt, they were full of love. He looked happy and you felt it too.
But the words were said a second too late.
And he never told you he loved you too. Your mind had lied, like it always did.
You opened your eyes slowly to the nighttime sky. First, you felt pressure on your abdomen, then on your chest, then you registered the noises and screams. You didn’t feel pain initially, no. You felt cold, like your body had been cut wide open.
Your mind screamed telling you to get up, run, scream or cry.
But all you did was lay on the ground, and stared at the dark sky.
And then your mind reminded you of some things. Memories. Feelings.
It reminded you that when someone self-harms, it isn’t always because they want to die. Sometimes it’s because they want control over the pain. Pain chosen by them feels easier to survive than pain forced onto them by everyone else.
Being depressed never meant you wanted your life to end. It never meant you truly wanted to disappear.
You wanted to live life, but not this version of life.
And somehow, the same mind that had betrayed you all these years, it reminded you that maybe you should live too and create a better version for yourself.
So your panic set in and you then felt everything all at once.
HOUR 1
You wanted to move or get up, but there was pressure on your chest. You couldn’t move your head so you gently lifted your hand up and there was something on you, crushing you painfully.
You heard screams but they weren’t yours.
You then heard cries of someone that you knew very well. “I’m here, i’m here sweetheart” a small, broken whisper. “I’m right here but I need you to not move okay?”
You couldn’t see him but you heard him. Why couldn’t you see him?
“J—Jack?”
“You’re alright, just keep listening to my voice okay?”
Jack couldn’t do anything. Nothing.
You weren’t actively bleeding on the ground, no.
You leg and hip were slowly getting crushed by something heavy.
You said weakly, barley able to get your words out “whatever is on me… is making it difficult to breathe”
No one responded. You heard cars, chatter, beeping but you didn’t hear sirens. You wondered if you should be hearing them.
Your vision had finally adjusted to who was around you. You saw Jack’s face hovering over yours, and Robby was now kneeling next to you on the other side. Everyone was now around. There were too many people just staring down at you.
Why wasn’t anyone doing anything?
“I can’t breath” you muttered “something’s on me”
“I just need you to hold on for a few more minutes okay?” He held onto your face and he looked like he was crying “Keep your eyes on me, please don’t move”
You heard more chatter — you tried your best to understand it but all you got was a few words.
“… I’ll keep the head still” was that Santos?
“… hematoma…. Internal bleed”
“Don’t move it!” You knew that was Robby’s voice.
“Crush syndrome” someone else said quietly.
There were too many hands on you.
“I can’t breathe” you muttered but no one listening to you.
“Sweetheart just a few more minutes”
“Talk to me” you cried “please someone …. talk to me”
“I’m here, we’re waiting for more help okay?” You heard him let out a small sob “there was an accident but you’re fine. Just stay with me”
“I can’t…feel my leg”
“Just a few more minutes. I’m not leaving your side and I need you to stay awake for me” Jack’s eyes were full of panic as he looked around at everyone, standing there hopeless.
You then realised that nothing could be done at this exact moment.
You whispered again but he couldn’t hear you. You felt the energy slowly drain out of you, leaving your limbs weak and heavy.
Jack leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “Say that again for me sweetheart?”
“I said I cant breath” you coughed. Suddenly, the pressure in your chest had now eased. But Jack’s face was now covered in blood.
You gave him one last look, the same fear reflected back at you, before everything faded to black.
“Robby!!!” Jack yelled as you coughed up blood, slowly choking on it.
“Robby, she’s choking” Santos yelled — she wanted to move your head to the side, but her hands hovered uselessly in the air.
No one moved.
Everyone was too drunk and intoxicated to make any clinical decisions.
Everyone was too emotional for this.
You were surrounded by people who saved lives for a living, but not tonight.
It was a decision between crushing syndrome, being paralysed or choking to death on your own blood.
And no one was able to make a single decision.
“Robby” Jack’s breath was shaking, he was also too drunk for this. “It’s uh... It’s not been more than 15 minutes so let’s move it off her, then move her onto her side”
“Jack she could die” Santos cut in
“She’s choking on her own blood” Jack cried, looking at Robby, waiting for someone else to make a decision.
“If we move her she could be paralysed”
“She’d dying anyways!” Jack yelled and the words hit him the second they left his mouth. His face crumpled as the horrifying reality sank in.
Everyone was too drunk, too emotional, too slow to try and save you.
“Paramedics are here” Whitaker said, the calmest one out of all of them.
“No… no, no, no—” Jack kept repeating, leaning over you, his face inches from yours. His hands were covered in your blood. Robby had to physically pull him back so the paramedics could get to you.
“I fucked up,” Jack sobbed as Robby dragged him away. “Robby… what have I done?”
“It was an accident,” Robby said quietly “It was just an accident”
Jack muttered gibberish as Robby tried to steady him. Santos and Whitaker, along with everyone else stood still, watching a horror scene, live in front of their eyes, and the worst thing was, none of them could do anything about it.
HOUR 2
“What the fuck happened!” Lena was now rushing across the floor to the paramedics, followed by Abbot who was covered in blood, Robby crying, Santos consoling Whittaker. “Oh my God” she slapped her hands over her mouth the second she saw your face.
Every doctor on the nightshift was now in the trauma room.
Paramedic said as they rushed into the room “Female crushed by motorbike. Suspected crush syndrome but ruled out on arrival. Internal bleeding. Extent of spinal injury unknown. BP is tanking and we gave O-negative en route.”
Jack stood in the corner, watching his colleagues work. He watched Parker rip your clothes wide open, watched her reaction as her eyes widened and jaw dropped open. He watched everyone else’s reactions to your scars.
Small, perfectly spaced cuts ran along your left hip bone and down your thigh — deliberate, precise, hidden. The kind of scars no one would ever see unless they saw you completely naked.
His mind replayed all the memories of you and him. All the times you guided his hands away from you, how you kept the lights off, all the times you avoided taking your dresses off that perfectly hugged your figure. He was played like a damn fool.
He watched Crus fight tears as he sliced your chest open for a tube.
He watched Shen yell orders — Shen never yelled.
And most importantly, Jack watched as they all worked while he stood paralysed, time standing still, knowing he was the only one to blame.
“….stats are slightly improving”
“OR…. Move… up”
You’d opened your eyes and everything was blurry. The road was bright — not as noisy. Except you weren’t on the road anymore but back in the ER.
“Parker” you whispered but your voice was too tired. Your eyes flicked between your colleagues working. You saw Crus, wanted to tell him something, but no one was looking at your face.
“She’s awake” You heard Jack’s voice. “She’s waking up!” He said again, voice closer.
You then saw Parker looking at you.
“Parker” a broken whisper.
“I’m here. You’re okay, you’re doing good” she sounded confident but her eyes didn't lie. Eyes never lied.
You cried “Parker I can’t feel much”
She shot Shen a panicked look who was now hovering over you. “And that would be the pain meds” he said casually although you weren’t convinced “we gave you the best cocktail, on the house”
No, you couldn’t feel much in your left leg but you nodded slowly.
“We’re taking you up to the OR shortly but you need to stay awake got it?” Shen said.
You saw Jack’s face to your right, and Parker’s to the left.
“Parker” you whispered again “if I crash—“
“No, no you won’t I’ll make sure you won’t” she gave you a small, forced smile.
“DNAR” you whispered, too weak to talk.
Parker’s head snapped toward Crus, her face filled with panic. “What?”
Crus shouted “check her fucking chart!”
“No” Jack muttered and shook his head frantically “no, no, no”
Robby was now next to him getting him to move away from you.
“No!” He yelled “double check the chart!”
“She has a fucking DNAR” Crus let out a broken whimper “it’s right fucking there”
Jack fought Robby’s hands off him.
“Please no… sweetheart, don’t do this to me,” he begged, his voice raw. “Please.”
“Parker” you whispered again, not answering Jack.
“I’m here” she sniffled, her hand finding yours “I’m right here”
You coughed up again but this time there was no blood.
You felt yourself drift off to sleep.
HOUR 3
“The longer she stays here the higher the chances of her dying!” Garcia was yelling at everyone.
You were unconscious but barley stable.
“She has a DNAR” Robby said quietly from the corner, knees drawn to his chest.
“She’s not going under until we revoke it” Jack said.
“Are you fucking crazy!” Garcia yelled again “she has a DNAR if she goes, you have to respect that”
“Don’t you dare say that again” Jack growled, lunging forward only to be held back by Crus.
“Who’s the next of kin?” Santos asked, sitting on the floor beside a sobered-up Whitaker.
“Me” Lena said in a broken voice.
“Can —“
“No, Jack. She can’t. Are you all fucking crazy!” Garcia was angry “the longer she stays away from the ER the more chances she will die! Do you hear me!”
“We can’t let her die” Robby whispered.
“I’m taking her up,” Garcia said firmly “She’s the OR’s responsibility now.”
“The hell you are” Parker was now standing by your bed.
“Ellis what the fuck are you doing?” She hissed.
“She mentioned the DNAR for a fucking reason, Garcia. We’re not gonna let her die”
“She has scars all over her fucking self Ellis!” Garcia was now breathing heavy, in absolute disbelief whilst he looked at everyone “She chose this decision for a reason!”
“She’s right” you whispered.
Parker’s head whipped towards you, rushing to your side “say that again”.
“I take it back” another whisper.
“Did you hear that? Did anyone hear that?” Parker asked.
Jack was by your head again “you— you want to take it back?”
You gave an exhausted nod.
“The DNAR, you want to take it back?”
You nodded again.
Garcia threw her hands up. “You know that’s not how this works! She’s on morphine, she’s critically injured, and she is not competent to make that decision right now!”
You felt tears slipping down your temples. You knew she was right. You were too weak, too foggy. Fighting sleep was becoming impossible.
“Can I have a minute with her please” Jack said calmly.
Everyone reluctantly left the room.
“Jack…I can’t feel my leg” you said quietly.
“Sweetheart they need to take you up to surgery. You should have been there an hour ago”
“I can’t feel anything” you cried softly.
“What is it you want? Tell me and I’ll do it”
“I’m angry at you” barley a whisper “so fucking angry”
“I’m angry at me too” you noticed that his face now looked a bit cleaner “but you gotta stay with me so we can finish our fight okay?”
You shook your head “I’m tired”
“We’re running out of time” he whispered against your forehead.
“Garcia’s right”
“No, no she isn’t. Garcia isn’t right” he muttered.
“I don’t hate you Jack”
“You don’t hate me, but”
You let a small broken laugh “you got it”
“What shall we do about the DNAR sweetheart, you gotta tell me”
“Garcia’s right”
“No, please don't say that”
“Abbot, move” Garcia had now stormed in, with more back up from the OR, along with security “She’s ours now”
“No, no, no, no” he tried to fight them off, but security, the same security he worked with, was now holding him back.
“Jack” you tried to whisper “I don’t hate you, I promise I don’t”
You were too tired to fight again so you closed your eyes and as you began to doze off you heard Jack’s screams again.
“She’s crashing” someone yelled and Parker was now by your side again, shooting Shen a look, waiting for an order
“Shen, she’s in VFIB” Parker shouted.
The room suddenly felt too tight. What was a second felt like it was a lifetime.
“Shen please” Jack’s broken voice said “please don’t let her leave me”
Everyone in the room suddenly understood.
They saw it in the raw desperation in Jack’s eyes, in the way he begged, in the broken way he fought for you. No one had known. Not a single soul had suspected the two of you were together. Not even Robby, until the night Jack had told him everything.
Jack’s eyes said a million words. He was a broken man, everyone knew that. But he was a well loved, well respected, broken man. He was PTMC’s broken man.
He was always so strong for everyone. Never for himself. Always the one checking in, keeping spirits up.
“I’m begging you, she said she takes it back”
The beeping of the monitor was getting louder.
This was going to break Jack beyond repair.
But this wasn’t done for Jack, this was done for you.
“Start compressions” Shen ordered.
Parker was straight on the chest and Crus immediately ready with the defib.
“Is the OR ready?” Shen asked calmly.
“Of course it fucking is!” Garcia’s jaw was dropped wide open.
“Shock please” another calm order.
One, painful jolt.
“Still in VIFB”
“Shock again please”
Another painful shock, against the DNAR’s wishes.
“You’re all fucking insane!” Garcia, along with her team, stood there staring at the mess.
“Still in VIFB Shen!” Parker was now crying.
“Shock again please. Once she’s back she’s the OR’s responsibility. No buts.”
The rhythmic beeping on the machine had now filled the room.
“All yours Garcia” Shen said then stormed out of the room. She shook her head in disgust, grabbed onto the bed and charged towards the elevator.
HOUR 4
“Jack drink this” Robby joined Jack on the floor by the OR.
“If she dies Robby—“
“She’s not going to die, she’s in good hands”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Both I think”
“I fucked up. All of this is my fault, Robby.”
Robby didn’t have anything to say back to that. He was well aware that Jack may have pushed you towards the edge.
“She’s not going to die”
“How are you so fucking sure”
“That girl’s got some fight in her. She’s not letting you off this easy” He tapped him on the shoulder and walked off.
HOUR 5
“Jack there’s someone here to speak with you” Robby shook Jack gently, who was asleep against the wall.
He blinked slowly, then froze when he saw the hospital chaplain standing a few feet away. For a second, he thought he was dreaming. Then reality crashed into him.
“What the fuck is this”
“Jack he’s here to talk”
“What the hell is he doing here!” His yells echoed the empty corridors “Did Garcia come out — did Garcia say something?!”
“She’s still in the OR but Jack just hear him out”
“Get the fuck away from me” he yelled again.
His chest was now hurting him and he felt awful stabbing pains. He tried to hold onto the walls, but they kept moving away from him.
He muttered to himself get away from me, get away from me, get away from me as he tried to get away himself.
HOUR 6
“….said they might be done soon”
Jack was staring at the walls, hearing a distinct conversations between Robby and Parker.
“How long has he been like this for?”
“For the last hour or so….since the…”
Jack was zoned out. He was thinking of you, and every part of you. He was thinking of every way to make this right. He thought of every wrong thing he’s done , which was a lot. And then he felt it.
He felt the pains — the stabbing pains in his chest and the aches in his joints and then thought to himself….
He deserved the pain.
He deserved the misery.
He deserved to be hurt.
He felt what you’d felt — what he’d inflicted on you too.
He closed his eyes and let his tears run again.
HOUR 7
Jack was now pacing along the corridors. “I’m going insane here Robby, I need an update!”
“Jack you’re limping”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” He snapped, voice sharp and heavy.
“Just sit down”
“Robby fuck off”
“Hey first of all, language, this is still a hospital. I get you’re angry man but no news is good news”
“You don’t know that” he winced his pain — he’d realised he’d had his prosthetic on for almost 12 hours.
“Sit. Down” Robby bit down.
“I swear to God I will go in there myself!” He was yelling again.
“Sit the hell down!”
“Language, boys” Garcia walked out of the OR “she’s stable, bleeding’s controlled but we have to wait and see”
“Can I see her?”
She sighed. “I don’t think that would be a good idea”
“Why the hell not!”
“Because you’re not next of kin Jack. I don’t know how you cowboys do things in the ER, but up here we have rules” she snapped, then quietly said “and we also respect DNARs. She’s being moved to the ICU, until she’s awake, she’s under my care and my rules. Go home.”
HOUR 8
Jack didn’t go home. He walked, and paced, and cried, then walked some more until his leg gave out. Robby had no showered, sobered up and went back to the ER.
“You sleep with one my nurses then break her heart…” Lena’s voice snapped Jack out of whatever imaginary land he was in “… what am I supposed to do now Jack?”
“I fucked up, Lena. I know I have. And I will pay the price for the rest of my life”
“If she makes it out of this” her voice was anything but gentle, kind, loving.
He cried “please don’t say that”
“Let’s pray that she’s strong enough to pull through, and I don’t mean just this” she sighed, another angry sigh. She held back yells and screams “let’s hope she doesn’t cut too deep when one of us isn’t around”
With that, she turned and walked down the long corridor, leaving Jack sitting broken on the cold floor.
He waited by the ICU, for a miracle that didn’t come.
He thought that maybe he should have spoken to the chaplain.
Maybe he should’ve prayed with him.
Maybe he should have asked him for a miracle.
He thought of a million maybes.
Maybe he should have told you he loved you before you walked out into traffic.
Maybe he could’ve held you back before you ran away.
Maybe he should have never agreed to this. Maybe then he still would have his favourite, happy, nurse by his side.
Maybe he should have been a better person.
The stabbing pain was now back and he embraced it with open arms.
He deserved the pain.
HOUR 9
Your mind was quiet, too quiet.
You felt detached, as if your body no longer belonged to you, as if the pain living in it was something foreign, something that should never have been there.
How could you be in this much pain but your mind was not screaming?
Where was the little voice telling you how fucked up this is?
HOUR 10
Maybe the voice died at the accident. Maybe the voice had given up and moved on to haunt someone else.
Or maybe you realised that you’d do anything to not lose Jack.
You’d do anything to not hurt anyone else, including yourself.
You would do anything, including letting go.
HOUR 11
“Dr Abbot?” Someone was shaking him. “Dr Abbot?”
He jolted awake then tried to stand up but leg had given up “yeah?”
“She’s asking for you” a nurse smiled kindly at him.
“Sh—she’s awake?”
“Yes and asking for you, come with me”
He limped all the way to the room, nerves and guilt eating at him. He didn’t know what he’d be walking into. In that moment, all he knew was fear.
“I’ll leave you two to it” she smiled and left the room.
“You’re limping” you said quietly, despite your dry throat protesting.
Jack was standing there, tail between his legs. He didn’t need to say how sorry he was— his entire demeanour was screaming it. “You’re seriously worried about me?”
“Not really” you joked. At least the sense of humour didn’t die at the scene of the accident.
“Can I sit next to you?” He asked quietly.
You nodded.
“Jack I need you to listen to me” you reached over for his hand and he quickly too it and held it like something that was so fragile and precious.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole and I don’t deserve this and you can hate me all you want but—“
“I don’t hate you, and I never will” you cut in.
“There’s a but coming” his lips trembled.
“But you need to move on, Jack. I don’t hate you, but I can’t have you in this life”
“No” he spat out, shaking his head “sweetheart no, I can’t lose you again”
You closed your eyes, not wanting to see his sad eyes anymore and bit on your lip to try and stop your tears “you’re gonna have to do this for me, okay?”
He looked so different from the Jack you had fallen in love with. The bright, steady, loving man from the last few months was gone. All that remained was guilt and pain.
He shook his head in protest. “I’m not letting you go, not again”
“I’m letting you go Jack. I don’t hate you but I need you to move on. So I can do that” tears were now slipping down your cheeks.
“This is all my fault, all of it”
“That’s not true, you know it isn’t?” You said weakly, fighting sleep.
He started pacing again, limping with every step. You felt his pain like it was your own.
You loved him too much to drag him down with you. The road ahead was going to be ugly, sad, miserable, exhausting. And he shouldn’t be party of it.
“Jack listen to me”
“I said no!” Another loud yell.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t —“ he let out a sigh, voice quieter now “I don’t know whats wrong with me”
“You’re hurt…you’re in pain”
“And I deserve every ounce of it. I deserve more. There’s this—” a small sob “— pain in my chest and it’s agonising. It’s breaking my fucking heart but it’s not killed me yet. Why hasn’t it killed me yet”
The ugly whispering voice may be gone, but the stabbing pain in the chest was still there. He had now felt your pain.
“I deserve every bit of pain” he cried out “all of this, is because of me”
“This isn’t just because of you Jack, you know that” your tears were running much quicker now.
“What did the doctor say?”
“That’s not for you to worry about anymore,” you forced a small, sad smile.
“Please” A plea. A whisper. A cry.
He was now beside you again, his lips were trembling and hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“I don’t hate you, but you need to leave” You pulled him closer, cupped his face, and gave him one last kiss. Soft. Slow. Heartbreaking.
Jack looked over his shoulder as more people entered the room — Robby, Garcia, and others. Robby’s face said everything.
“Jack” Robby said firmly.
He looked between you and them, panic in his eyes. He shook his head and took a few painful steps back.
“Come with me” Robby said much gentler now.
“Please don’t do this” he looked at you and you gave him another small smile.
“Jack she’s being transferred and you need to move” Garcia was now back in the room.
It would have taken eleven letters to save you.
Instead, it took Abbot eleven hours to lose you.
TAG LIST
@maxinebxrnes @nosebeers @emma8895eb @robin-the-enby
Ok so i just read your no going back with Abbott. And its got me thinking abt smth along the same lines but slightly different.
Reader notices the ring is gone. And asks him a out it and he gives a similar answer to how he does in the fic. But reader responds with how she likes how he wears it because it shows just how deeply he loves and cares. And that she feels honored to have a place in his heart alongside his late wife. Seeing his ring is a visible reminder to reader that he is a devoted person and that he chose to love her while still caring for his late wife.
Maybe they decide he will wear it on his right hand going forward because she likes him carrying his late wife with him. (She woukd also insist on having pictures from his first marriage up at the house becuase she is apart of him maybe more so than reader ever will and it feels right to acknowledge her) (them having a cupcake and candle for his late wifes birthday)
i love this! can be read as a continuation from this blurb<3
“jack,” you say softly, “i love that you wear it.” his eyes flick up to yours, surprised. you squeeze his hand lightly. “i mean it.”
he’s quiet, waiting. “when i see that ring, i don’t think there’s less room for me,” you tell him. “i think the opposite.”
his brow furrows slightly. “it reminds me what kind of person you are,” you continue. “how deeply you love. how fully you commit to the people who matter to you.”
his expression softens.
“it reminds me that loving someone doesn’t just disappear because they’re gone.” you step a little closer. “and honestly?” your thumb brushes over his knuckles. “i feel honored to have a place in your heart alongside her.”
his breath catches slightly.
“you loved her,” you say. “you built a life with her. she’s part of who you are.” your voice softens further. “why would i ever want you to erase that?”
for a moment, he just stares at you. like he’s trying to process what you’ve said.
“i don’t want to replace her, jack.”
his jaw shifts. “that was never—”
“i know,” you cut in gently. “and i’m not replacing her either.” you smile a little. “if anything, seeing your ring reminds me that you chose to love me while still carrying that love for her. that says more about your heart than anything else ever could.”
his eyes glisten slightly.
you can see it—the emotion he’s trying not to show too openly.
“you really mean that,” he says quietly.
“i do.”
his fingers tighten around yours.
“i like that she’s part of this,” you admit. “part of us.”
he lets out a slow breath, shaking his head just slightly like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “you’re something else,” he murmurs.
you smile. “i’ve also been meaning to talk to you about something.”
that gets a small laugh out of him. “should i be worried?”
“probably.”
he raises an eyebrow.
“i think you should put pictures back up.”
he blinks. “pictures?”
“from your first marriage.”
his expression shifts immediately—surprised, almost hesitant.
“you don’t have to say that.”
“i’m not saying it because i think i have to.”
you move closer still, your free hand settling against his chest. “she’s part of your story. probably more than i ever will be.”
his mouth opens immediately. “don’t say that.”
“you know what i mean.” you smile softly. “she helped shape the man i fell in love with.”
that lands hard—you can see it in his face.
“pretending she didn’t exist feels wrong.” you tilt your head slightly. “i’d rather honor her with you.”
he’s completely quiet now. so you keep going.
“birthday cupcake every year.”
that one makes him blink. “what?”
you grin. “one cupcake. one candle.”
he stares.
“we celebrate her. quietly. just us.”
his eyes shine openly now, all that careful restraint slipping. “you’d do that?”
“of course.” your thumb brushes lightly along his jaw “she mattered to you. that means she matters.”
for a second, he can’t seem to speak. then his hand comes up to cradle your face, his touch careful—almost reverent.
“come here,” he murmurs. he kisses you softly.
slowly. with so much feeling behind it that your chest aches. when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “you have no idea what that means to me.”
“i think i do.”
he smiles then—small, emotional, completely real. after a moment, he glances down at his hand.
“what if…” he starts.
you wait.
“what if i wore it on my right hand?”
you smile instantly. “i’d like that.”
he slips away for a moment, heading toward the bedroom. when he comes back, the ring is back where it belongs—just shifted.
right hand. still there. still part of him.
you reach for it immediately, brushing your thumb over the band before looking back up at him. “perfect.”
jack’s expression softens. then he leans down and kisses you again, smiling against your lips.
and months later, on a quiet evening, the two of you sit at the kitchen table with a single cupcake between you.
one candle flickering softly.
a framed photo nearby.
his hand finds yours as the flame dances. and somehow, it doesn’t feel like looking backward.
Jack Abbot has had a terrible eighteen months. Truly one for the books. Losing his mother, and then you, sometimes he wonders what the point is. If things will ever look up. Until you turn up at the Pitt, with a little girl who looks exactly like him.
warnings: this blog is 18+, mdni! this fic deals with grief, difficult births, depression, anxiety, and canon medical gore. it will also eventually contain explicit sexual content. nothing specific in this one.
main masterlist // transatlanticism masterlist
Gwen is in the hospital for four days. Four days of worrying yourself sick, of being at the hospital around the clock, and using up a good chunk of your annual leave for the year on being able to stay with her.
Jack does the exact same. Having spent the last eighteen months working around the clock to avoid dealing with emotions, he’s accrued more PTO than he’s ever had before in his life. God bless PTMC’s rolling days policy.
Whenever he’s not at Gwen’s bedside, he’s with one of the hospital case-workers, pouring over each and every bill you’ve accumulated over the past few days.
Five hours in the ER racked up almost ten thousand dollars alone, from the bloods, X-Ray and treatment.
Each day in the NICU set you back a further twelve thousand for the private room, leaving almost sixty-thousand to be paid now.
In an ideal world, Gwen would be on Jack’s insurance, and everything would be paid for already. Unfortunately, in the few weeks he’s been in her life, neither of you had quite gotten onto the paperwork yet. Despite an appeal filed the day she was admitted, with both of you acknowledging that had Jack known about her, she would be on his insurance, you were denied.
So, he’s left to work the numbers.
It’s a burden he takes on entirely by himself - if you won’t let him at the delivery bills, he wants to cover this. Through haggling, favours, and even trying to invent a physician discount for doctors who work at the hospital.
Eventually, he gets it to thirty-thousand. Still not ideal, by any stretch, but he writes a cheque without complaint. It’s the least he can do.
Returning to Gwen’s room, he’s glad to see you relaxing for once - curled up in the corner with some book about Carolyn Bessette. All is quiet from Gwen’s crib, and Jack drops onto the couch beside you, letting out a heavy sigh. His back is categorically not happy with the fact that he’s slept in an upright chair the past couple of nights.
But he wasn’t about to make you sleep in a chair, and there’s definitely not enough room on the couch for both. Sleeping at home was also out of the question - he’s going to be there for both of you even if it kills him.
“She okay?” He asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” You reply, shooting him a glance. “The doctor said we can go home whenever the discharge forms are filled out. I was just waiting for you.”
Home.
The word leaves a sour taste in Jack’s mouth. Home, to you and Gwen, is a crappy apartment on the bad side of town, with a broken lock on the front of the building, and a bathroom that’s falling apart at the seams.
Meanwhile, Jack’s townhouse is sitting mostly empty, allowing him to live in a luxury that feels almost shameful. Who is he to sleep on a silk-covered king-sized bed, while you’ve spent the last three months on a pull-out couch?
He’d considered moving, briefly, after you broke up. Didn’t seem like much point having such a huge house, with not a single other soul to share it with.
But after spending the last decade or so remodelling it for his disability, he simply didn’t have the energy to start over. Finding a place with an elevator had been hard enough in central Pittsburgh.
The most he’d managed was moving out of the primary bedroom, and into one of the smaller ones. Not the one his mom had stayed in during her final weeks - that one has remained almost entirely untouched since her death.
Since finding out about Gwen, all his time not spent at work or with you has been dedicated to getting a nursery ready for her. Initially, it had been with the hope that you would one day trust him enough have her overnight. But as time has gone on, as he’s reconnected with you, and begun building a relationship with his daughter, he’s been thinking more and more about the idea of you both moving in with him.
You would have your own space - bedroom, bathroom, nursery. He’s even gone so far as to put a desk in one of the guest rooms, so that you could work from the house in peace.
He’s considered it far more than he would ever let on. In the quiet mornings, thinking of how you might lounge about in your pyjamas, Gwen in your arms while he cooked you breakfast before your classes.
How, even if you weren’t together romantically, you could be a family. A proper unit. He would be able to look after you both properly. Take care of you the way he should have been this whole time.
“Listen, I was thinking - with Gwen being sick and all-”
Potentially manipulative, Jack knows. But he truly cannot stand the two of you living in that unsafe dump anymore.
“-That maybe you’d be better off living with me for a while.” Upon seeing your expression shift into something unreadable, he stumbles on. “Not forever, obviously. But for as long as you wanted, until you were back on your feet. You wouldn’t have to pay rent or bills, so you could save properly. Get somewhere nicer.”
You fall into a silence, and Jack can practically hear his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. After the whole argument about bills, he knows that bringing up money is potentially a terrible idea. Especially when you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days (or months, really, if he’s being honest), and you’re worrying yourself to death over Gwen.
Lip between your teeth, you glance over at the crib, before meeting his gaze again. “Can I think about it?”
That’s not a no.
Jack’s not sure he’s ever been more relieved in his life. He’d been fully expecting a firm no, tossed in his direction and inviting absolutely zero discussion.
Maybe there’s hope yet.
*****
It pains Jack to leave you both that night, but you make plans for the following morning. He can work with that.
What started as plans for ice cream and a walk in the park is quickly dashed when it rains all night. Instead, it shifts to a museum and brunch. Gwen’s still about two years away from appreciating anything in a museum, but you figure she might like the colours.
Jack insists on driving, and picks you both up half an hour early, as usual. The militaristic internal timing still hasn’t left him.
He gets her stroller out while you get Gwen out of the car-seat that’s been in Jack’s car since the day after he found out about her. Cooing softly, you settle her, glancing up at the sky as you do. It’s grey and gloomy, but you’re hoping it’ll last the day without another downpour.
You tuck Gwen’s hat down a little more snug over her ears as you step up onto the curb, the stroller bumping lightly behind you. She makes a small, offended noise at the interruption, then settles again.
“Sorry, sweetie,” you murmur, glancing down at her.
Jack’s beside you, one hand on the stroller handle now, the other shoved into his coat pocket, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.
“You’ve got her zipped in like she’s going to summit Everest.”
You shoot him a look. “It’s thirty-eight degrees.”
“She’s fine.”
“She’s four months old.”
He huffs, but there’s no real argument behind it. He knows that you’ll be feeling protective after the hospitalisation. You fall into step beside him, and it strikes you how real this all looks. Sure, you and Jack are a family, courtesy of Gwen, but most passers-by will assume you’re together. Maybe even married.
You try not to think about it too much.
*****
The museum’s already busy - families shaking out umbrellas, kids dragging parents toward the entrance. Warm air hits you as soon as you step inside, a welcome change from the cold outside.
Jack pays for the tickets, despite your protests.
“My treat,” said in a voice so low and gravelly that it makes you a little dizzy.
You start at the dinosaur end, figuring it may be slightly more stimulating for a baby than the paintings. Granted, it’s much more of an outing for you and Jack than Gwen, but after the past week, you’re just glad to be out with her.
Jack steers the stroller carefully through the crowd, one hand on the handle, the other occasionally reaching down to tuck the blanket back around Gwen when it slips. As usual, he’s vigilant - arm ready to pull you into his side whenever a group of kids bustle past, entirely unaware of where they’re going.
“Reckon she’s impressed?” He murmurs, nodding toward the towering skeleton ahead.
Gwen blinks up at the ceiling, completely indifferent.
“Overwhelmed, clearly,” You say dryly. “I’m sure she’ll remember this experience for all of four hours.”
A kid barrels by, nearly clipping the stroller. Jack shifts it out of the way without breaking stride, his shoulder brushing yours as he does.
“Watch it,” He calls after them, not sharp, but enough to make the parent turn and mutter an apology.
You drift toward the massive dinosaur skeleton, its ribs arching overhead like a cathedral. Jack stops just off to the side, giving other people space, rocking the stroller gently back and forth with his foot. You start to murmur random facts to Gwen, as if she can even comprehend what a dinosaur is, much less care, when a lady approaches.
“You three are such a lovely little family,” She smiles, cooing down at Gwen. “Is she your first?”
Jack tries not to think about a world where this could have been your reality years ago, had he not been selfish and terrified. Maybe you would have had more than one. Gwen, and then maybe a boy, who looks just like you.
“She is, yeah,” You reply, reaching out to stroke Gwen’s cheek with your thumb. “It’s been an adjustment.”
“Oh, I remember the early days well. The days are long, but the years are short. You’ll have a stroppy teenager on your hands in no time.”
You let out a small laugh. “I’m trying not to think that far ahead.”
“Enjoy this bit, even when you’re exhausted. It goes quicker than you think.”
Jack shifts his weight, still rocking the stroller, eyes down on Gwen. “We will.”
The woman gives one last look at the baby, softens, then moves on with the flow of people.
*****
You don’t make it through much of the museum.
A couple of exhibits, slow wandering. You pause more than you move - adjusting Gwen’s blanket, checking her bottle, trading the stroller back and forth when one of you gets tired of pushing.
At one point, you duck into a quieter gallery, dimmer lighting, fewer people. Gwen’s eyes start to droop, her fussing tapering off into soft, uneven breaths.
Jack lowers his voice automatically. “She’s about to crash.”
“Don’t jinx it.”
“She is. Look at her.”
You glance down. He’s right - her lashes flutter, and she yawns up at you.
“Okay,” You whisper, easing the stroller to a stop. “Okay, yeah.” You tuck the blanket around her more carefully this time. She sighs - tiny, content - and drifts off.
“How much time do you think we have?”
“With this much stimulation? At least an hour.” You pause for a second, then, quieter, “Coffee?”
“Please.”
In Jack’s words, the museum café is “overpriced and overrated”, so he takes you to another, leading you to a quiet booth in the corner. “Your usual?”
“Yeah, that would be great-”
He’s already standing again before you finish speaking, shrugging out of his coat slightly as he heads for the counter. You watch him go, the way his muscles shift and flex with each movement.
Swallowing slightly, you turn your attention back to the sleeping baby. “Your daddy’s never been able to buy t-shirts in his own size. Always has to go one too small. If we’re being honest, it’s probably one of the reasons why you even exist. But you can’t tell anyone I told you that. Especially not your dad. Don’t want him getting a big head, do we?”
All too soon, Jack is back, carrying a tray of two of the largest coffees you’ve ever seen, and a whole array of pastries. “I uh, I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a selection.”
“This has got to be like $30 worth of cakes,” You reply, but a smile tugs at your lips anyway.
“Try $47,” He winces, and your jaw drops. Before you can reply, he holds up a hand, shaking his head. “Which is totally fine, because today is my treat.”
There’s no sense in arguing with him. Even before Gwen, he’d always been old-fashioned that way. Never in an expectation of gendered stereotypes, but he liked to pay for things. A by-product of Gwendoline Abbot Sr. raising her son well.
You lift the cup, wrapping your hands around it, letting the heat seep in. For a minute, you both just sit there, watching Gwen breathe, the small rise and fall under her blanket.
“It’s nice seeing little hints of her personality. She did good today,” You say eventually.
“Yeah,” He replies. “So did you.”
You glance up at that, a little skeptical. “For… walking around a museum?”
“For getting out of the house.”
You look back down at Gwen instead. “It’s easier with… help. I like spending time with you both - makes me feel like I’m doing right by her.”
Jack’s expression is different now, less guarded. “I know this isn’t… simple. And I’m not trying to-” He exhales, a small shake of his head like he’s resetting. “I just… wanted to say thanks.”
You blink, caught a little off guard. “For what?”
“For letting me be here.” His gaze flicks down to Gwen, then back to you. “With her. With you. You would have been well within your right to tell me to go to hell - a-after what I did. But you didn’t, and I’m more grateful than you could ever know.”
“I thought about it,” You admit, casting your eyes down. “Disappearing. But… I think deep down, I wanted you to meet her. All those times during my pregnancy, whenever I was going to PTMC, a part of me hoped and prayed so desperately that I would bump into you. That you would have to talk to me.”
When you look back up at Jack, you’re shocked to see a tear roll down his cheek. “God, I wish I’d seen you. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“I’m not pretending it’s all fine,” You say slowly. “I’m still… working through it.”
“You should be,” He adds quickly. “I don’t expect…” He cuts himself off, reins it back. “Take whatever time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
*****
Jack’s expecting a call from you after your classes the next day. Normally, you let him know when you’re finishing up for the day, and he meets you back at your place with dinner made.
When his phone rings at 13:15, he’s more than a little concerned.
He answers on the first ring. “Is everything okay?”
“The heating is totally fucked. My afternoon classes got cancelled, and when we got home it was freezing. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Your voice drops when you swear, and Jack has to bite back a smile. It’s the teacher in you. Never cussing in front of the baby. “Are you at work?”
“No.” A lie. “You want me to come over? See what I can do?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to-”
“Give me like half an hour,” He replies. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Jack Abbot has never fixed a heater in his life, but in November in Pittsburgh, there’s no way that you can do without one. Suddenly, he’s very glad for Al-Hashimi insisting on there being multiple attendings on every shift.
There’s no way he’d be able to slip out otherwise, but he figures Robby can handle himself for an hour or so, until Jack can get back. He’s out the door before you can finish whatever you were about to say next.
“Half an hour,” He repeats, already grabbing his coat. “You might want to bust out that fluffy coat thing for Gwen.”
“I think I have that part covered,” You say sarcastically. “Drive safe.”
*****
The door opens before he even knocks.
You’re standing there in a jumper that looks like it’s doing nothing against the cold, Gwen bundled against your chest in what might be three different layers.
“You are such a liar,” You gasp, upon seeing his scrubs. “Jack, I wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d known-”
“It’s not a problem,” Jack dismisses. “Really.”
“It’s your work.” You stare at him.
“It’s handled,” He murmurs. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t.”
Gwen shifts against you, letting out a small, impatient sound. You adjust her automatically, but your eyes stay on him.
“That’s not the point.”
“It is, a little,” He says. “You needed help.”
“I could’ve called someone.”
“You called me.”
A silence settles over you both, full of something you don’t want to try and unpack.
“Kitchen,” You say finally. “Cupboard.”
Jack follows you through, and pulls up a chair so he can look at the boiler without worrying about his leg. He turns one dial, then the other, to no avail.
Not a great start.
A hollow click. Then nothing.
From the doorway, you shift Gwen against your chest, rubbing small circles into her back. “That bad?”
He glances over his shoulder. “I mean… it’s not good.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He huffs a quiet breath, sits back on his heels, and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. There’s a beat where he just looks at the thing, like he might be able to will it into working. He starts googling, trying everything he can think of that might be wrong, but it stays stubbornly silent with every intervention.
You watch him for a second. “You don’t have to stay. I know you’ve got work. I can call someone,” You say. “Just - not until payday.”
He fights every urge to offer to pay for it, and just nods. He has a better idea anyway. “You thought any more about what I said?”
You frown slightly. “About…?”
“Coming to mine. Just for a few days. However long you need.”
You shift your weight, instinctively tightening your hold on Gwen. “Jack-”
“I’m not saying move in,” He adds quickly. “Not like that. Just - until this gets sorted. It’s warm, it’s closer to the hospital if anything comes up, and you won’t have to deal with this.”
He can tell you’re still unconvinced, so he presses on.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” He adds after a second. “You can bring what you need, stay a couple nights. If it’s weird, you leave. No questions.”
You look down at Gwen, her little face scrunched slightly from the cold. “I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not.”
“It feels like I am.”
“Do it for Gwen. Even if you don’t want to do it for yourself. She can’t be in a freezing house at the best of times, much less when she’s recovering.”
Gwen lets out a sharper cry this time, and you bounce her slightly, trying to settle her. The cold’s getting to her now. You press your lips together, thinking, then exhale. “Okay.”
Jack looks up.
“Okay,” You repeat, a little more certain. “Just for a few days. Until I can get someone in.”
He nods once, offering you a small smile. “Yeah. That’s all.”
*****
The drive over is quiet. Not awkward, exactly - thankfully you both seem to be past that phase, but you’re deep in thought.
You keep your eyes on the window more than anything else, watching familiar streets come into view a little sooner than you expect.
“Here we are,” Jack says, softer than usual, like you didn’t almost live here once.
The door clicks open and it hits you straight away.
Warmth, for one. Proper, steady heat that seeps into your skin almost instantly. And then everything else - familiar in a way that makes your chest feel a little tight.
Jack steps in first, flicking on the light and hoisting Gwen’s carseat up into his arms.
“Watch the step,” he says automatically, glancing back at you.
You don’t need the warning. You remember it. Still, you step over it anyway. The house hasn’t changed.
Not really.
Same worn spot in the rug near the sofa. Same coat hooks by the door. Even the smell - always faintly of coffee - it’s all exactly the way you remember it. You’ve only been in here once in the six weeks Jack has been back in your life, but you were so exhausted after work that you don’t even really remember it. Today, you’re struck with the prospect of living here again, however briefly.
Jack immediately busies himself, setting up a travel cot in the living room, and transferring Gwen as quietly as possible. “I have something to show you,” He mumbles.
“Me?”
“No, the sleeping baby. Of course, you. I mean, well - it’s for her too, but I thought you should see it first.”
He leads you upstairs, and you try to ignore the way your chest tightens as you pass the primary bedroom. Thankfully, Jack continues on to a room at the end of the hall.
You don’t understand what you’re looking at at first.
The door creaks open under Jack’s hand, slow and hesitant. Where you’d been expecting a bare room, or maybe a crib in the corner, you’re instead met with colour.
Soft, gentle colour. Pinks, yellows, greens. Warm light spilling across freshly painted walls, a fully built crib, and a changing table - all in matching tones. There’s a wardrobe in the corner, largely empty, but with a few little dresses.
In the corner sits a rocking chair, topped with a zoo full of animal teddies.
The shelves aren’t full - yet - but it’s almost like they’re waiting.
For Gwen.
This is the kind of bedroom she deserves. Your hand comes up without thinking, pressing against your mouth like you can hold the sound in, stop yourself from crying. “Oh my god,” You breathe.
You glance over at Jack, who appears to be equally misty-eyed, and the distance between you closes before you even realise you’ve moved. One second you’re standing in the doorway, and the next you’re crashing into him, arms wrapping tight around his torso, fingers clutching at the back of his shirt to ground yourself.
The impact makes him stagger half a step, caught off guard, and then his arms come up around you - strong and enclosing. One hand spreads wide against your upper back, the other anchoring at your waist, pulling you in closer against him. It’s the closest you’ve been since before you broke up.
You press your face into his shoulder, breath shuddering out against the fabric, and it’s warm - he’s warm, solid, safe - and suddenly that’s too much too.
“Thank you.”
It’s barely audible, mumbled directly into Jack’s ear. His hand starts a circular motion, rubbing softly at the tension in your shoulders.
“Don’t need thanks,” Jack murmurs. “It’s what you both deserve. A proper space. ”Room next door is for you. I’ll get an office space set up for you too.”
“Jack, you don’t need to do that-”
“I want to,” His voice is firm, and you finally start to pull back. His arms loosen, almost a little reluctantly. “I uh, I also have this-”
He trails off, disappearing into a closet in the hallway for a second, before he emerges with a box.
Your brow furrows, before you realise that you recognise every single thing poking out of the top.
“You kept my stuff?” A tear trickles down your cheek as you reach for it. Most of it is menial, random books and a few sweaters. A bracelet you forgot you had. Earrings he bought you for your birthday one year. Anything you didn’t take with you when you left is here in this box.
And really, you’d never assumed Jack would be so petty as to throw it all out, but you hadn’t really thought about what he would do with it either.
Jack shifts his weight, watching you take the box. “Figured you might want it at some point.”
Your fingers brush over the top - spines of books you half remember reading here, a jumper you used to steal from him more than wear your own clothes.
“I thought about dropping it off,” He adds, a little quieter. “A few times.”
You glance up. “Why didn’t you?”
He swallows. “Scared, I guess. Of seeing you again. Of realising I made the biggest mistake of my life.”
You nod slowly, blinking the tears away as you pick up the bracelet, turning it over in your fingers. “I forgot about this.”
“Yeah,” Jack smiles softly. “You wore it all the time.”
You let out a small breath that almost turns into a laugh. “Clearly not enough to remember to take it with me.”
“It was a rough day,” He says, before he can stop himself.
You set the bracelet back in the box. “Yeah. It was.”
Without thinking, you reach for his hand. His thumb rubs over your skin soothingly, and he presses a small kiss to the back of it. “I should probably get back to work before Robby kills me. But you’re welcome to anything in the fridge, and I’ll sort dinner tonight too. Just focus on getting settled. I can take the night-shift with Gwen, too.”
“This is like, hotel level service,” You reply. “Not sure I could tell you when I last had a full night’s sleep.”
In his house that night, knowing that Jack is tending to Gwen, you sleep for thirteen hours straight.
Billie notices it more now, she thinks to herself as she stares up at her bedroom ceiling. Whether it’s because of the bet or because she’s now consciously looking for it. Quiet conversations, heads ducked together, Mohan stepping into his space in a way she, herself, would never dare to at work. But even Billie admits they look good together. Samira is beautiful, smart, an incredible woman and doctor. It makes sense. Mohan probably wasn’t the kind of woman you walked away from, she was the one you kept around, the one who you took home to meet the family. Whereas Billie was in a relationship that went unspoken about, it stayed easy as long as neither of them turned it into something more. Temporary. Convenient.
“You alright? You seem distracted.” Jack’s voice comes from beside her. They are laid together, naked apart from the thin blanket he had pulled over them from the foot of her bed.
Billie knows it was a mistake, letting him walk her home after their nightshift together. But a small part of her wants to make the most of whatever time they have since she is aware that there is an end date at some point, their colleagues are literally betting on it. Rolling onto her side, she props herself up on one arm. It causes the blanket to slip down, revealing some of her skin she’d hidden away after they had finished. She watches his eyes follow the blanket line, and takes a deep satisfaction in knowing that he still wants her.
“M’good. Just wondering if you got another round in you, old man.” She jokes trying to deflect, “I don’t think I’m done yet.”
“I hate to disappoint you, baby, but I haven’t been able to get it up twice in one night since I hit 40.”
“Is that a challenge, Dr. Abbot? You just going to lay there and let me take of myself.” Billie flirts, pushing all thoughts of him and Samira to the back of her mind for now.
“There are still other ways I can take care of you.” His hand pushes up the blanket over her leg, baring a thigh, Jack has strong hands, roughened from years of hard work. It contrasts with the softness of her own deliciously.
“Oh really?” She smirks, knowing all too well his skill set. Billie moves, uncovering both of them to straddle him again. His hands come to grab her thighs as she takes him in - curls now untamed by her hands tangling in them, his body relaxed in ways that only come from a good fuck. His prosthetic is propped against the side table, his clothes and cell phone in a pile on the floor next to it.
“What you want? Huh?” Jack asks, leaning up to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Sucking and nibbling it to a stiff peak before moving to the other side. “You want my fingers? My mouth? You wanna ride my face?”
Billie leans down, pulling his mouth to hers. “Hmm, none of the above. You’re going to lay there like a good boy and watch me.” She explains, pushing him to lay backwards again. “No touching until I say so, got it?” She tucks his hands under her knees where they are pressing into his hips, it’s enough to stop him reaching out but also not restricting enough where if he wasn’t enjoying it he couldn’t get free.
Jack laid there, watching as Billie teased herself on top of him. She ran her fingers gently over her skin, over her breasts. Nipples hard enough to cut glass as she took them between her fingers before stroking down over her stomach. She braced herself back on his thigh with one hand as the other came between her legs, she was wet - evidence of him just being inside her leaking out over where she was perched on his lower abdomen. She circled around her clit, hips twitching up as she played with herself. Moving away from the overstimulated bundle of nerves, she pushed two fingers inside of herself, gasping at the feel. Looking down at Jack, his dark eyes pinned to where her hand was between her thighs, she watched his jaw clench tightly as she started riding her own hand. Billie wasn’t even sure if he was aware that he was already half hard, pressed against her ass, he was so fixated on watching her pleasure herself.
She could feel the heat building in her cunt, the way her walls were starting the clench around her fingers but she pulled away before she came, moving her hips back so she could wrap her hand around his cock. She used the slick on her fingers to lubricate him before slowly working her hand up and down. Jack’s head fell back against her bed as he gasped then let out a groan that had her clenching around nothing. He was smooth in her hand, hardening further in her grasp as she stroked him, thumb coming over the tip as precum beaded there, spreading it down and over his length.
“Fuck,” He murmured out, “Billie.”
“Thought you couldn’t go again,” She taunted, “or is this not for me?”
Before she could go any further, he had pulled his hands free and flipped them on the bed, his weight coming to settle on top of her.
“That’s what you wanted all along isn’t it? Not my fingers, not my mouth, you wanted my cock inside you.” He whispered against her cheek, using one of his now freed hands to nudge her own out the way between them, grasping a hold of his erection and guiding himself into her. There was no pause, no allowing for adjustment before he was moving inside her. Billie threw her head back with a gasp as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, his thrusts deep and hard. She had worked herself close to the edge so she knew it wouldn’t take long for her to cum again, and Jack knew how to play her body like a guitar at this point, fingers circling her clit just how she liked it.
He pressed kisses up her neck before his lips find hers, kissing her deeply before pulling away to bury his face against her shoulder. She wrapped her legs around him, one settling round his hip and the other coming up further so Jack could thrust deeper into her, making them both groan at the new angle. It only took a few more thrusts before she fell over the cliff - clenching around him so tightly he had to pause, her nails digging into his shoulders as the heat burst through her. He was still pumping into her as she was coming down from her high, his face still buried in her neck but she could feel his rough warm pants against her skin, could hear his muffled groans as he chased his own ending.
“Jesus, fuck.” He moaned, it didn’t take many more thrusts before he tensed over her, hands tightening on her body as he lost his rhythm and she could feel his warmth filling her up, already starting to spill out over his cock. He collapsed against her, but Billie found the weight comforting rather than suffocating, closing her eyes to enjoy the buzz running through her body.
Eventually he moves off her, rolling to lay on his back beside her where he had originally been. They share a comfortable silence as they caught their breaths, before Jack slowly sat up, grabbing his prosthetic from the side of the bed and starting to attach it back onto his residual limb.
“I’m going to freshen up before I head home and shower. I’ve got a SWAT thing later on today.” He explains as he pulls his underwear and pants back on, standing from the bed.
Billie nods, suddenly feeling cold and exposed. Pulling the blanket back over herself she replies, “Yeah, no problem.”
She knows he can’t shower here, he doesn’t have any crutches and her bathroom definitely isn’t equipped for him like his master is with a built-in bench and modern grip bars for him to get in and out without wearing his prosthetic leg. But he heads towards her bathroom anyway, pulling his shirt over his head as he leaves. Billie just lays there, she’ll shower after he leaves then get something to eat and hopefully try to catch some sleep.
Buzz
Buzz
Billie lifts her head slightly, looking towards the edge of her bed. It’s Jack's cell phone vibrating, he’d obviously picked it up along with his clothes when getting dressed and left it there. She hesitates, debating to herself that it’s a massive invasion of his privacy to check his phone but also, she can still hear the water running from the sink in her bathroom so if it’s the hospital needing him in an emergency she could tell him. She pushed up onto one arm, the other reaching for the device on the other side of the mattress.
S. Mohan
She let the cell phone drop back onto the bed, and she rolled to face away from it, as if that would erase what she had seen. Rationally she knew Samira could be calling about work - about a patient or a second opinion on a treatment, but that side of her brain was quiet in comparison to the other side, which was loudly telling her that she already knew this was coming. There were literally people at their work betting on it. She had bet on it.
A knot formed in her stomach when she heard the water turn off and then her bathroom door opened but Billie closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Slow and steady she counted her inhales and exhales, not faltering when she heard him come back into the bedroom, his weight settling onto the mattress beside her. Jack sat for a minute, she was unsure what he was doing, only hearing a slight rustle of fabric as he gently moved. She kept counting her breathing as he stood, honestly wishing to herself that he would just leave so she could pull herself together privately.
She only moved when she heard the click of her front door as Jack closed it behind himself. She had bet 2 months before him and Mohan ended up together, but Billie knew it was going to be sooner than that.
