After reading your pope and jack fic, I was wondering if you could do one where reader is a student doctor at the Pitt but is married to Pope who in this case could be like..jack’s nephew or smth..and he just gives off such Doberman energy when he comes to pick her up at the end of her shift oh and and you best believe he kind of just stares Robby down cos he knows how mean he can be to his wife in shifts.
Also I think Dana would be such a nice person to pope.
A good husband protects without biting
tags: andrew cody x fem!doctor reader, jack abbot x cousin-in-law!reader, jack and andrew are cousins, doberman energy andrew, guard dog andrew, andrew cody doesn't mess around, mean robby, protective jack, the pitt doesn't think andrew exists, 18+ MDNI
notes: thank you @mei-vis for requesting! I hope I did this ask justice! I chose for jack and andrew to be cousins instead of an uncle/nephew since I believe they look a bit too similar for that familial relationship!, like always if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment here! please enjoy!
word count: 2.6k words
The end of your shift couldn’t come soon enough.
In the span of twelve hours, you’d been doused in bodily fluids twice, hit on by a creepy old drunk who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, passively dismissed by Robby after he deemed you “too slow” for a trauma (when in reality, the med student next to you was the one who wouldn’t hand you the damn tube), and had your lunch stolen when it clearly had your name written on it—four times might you add.
To top the whole very bad day off, your husband hadn’t responded to the messages you had sent hours ago asking if he’d be back in time to pick you up because the forecast called for rain, and like all bad days had gone, your car basically gave up the ghost the moment you parked it in the employee lot.
So, you were almost scrub-less, uncomfortable, embarrassed, and so starving you almost thought about paying an insane price for a small Uber-ed meal before you also realized that the app hadn’t saved your information and your card was currently sitting on the kitchen counter.
Just what you needed.
The groan, along with the rumbles of your stomach, caused many heads to turn.
“Is there a stampede in here? Or is your stomach in the process of eating itself,” Dana asked, though her eyes didn’t leave the nurses’ board.
Your head landed next to the keyboard with a loud thunk. “I think my stomach tried to eat itself a couple of hours ago before realizing that it was completely empty.”
“I saw you brought lunch. Where’d that go?”
If glares could put someone six feet under, the one you were giving your computer should have imploded it. “Currently being digested in the stomach of a med student.”
“Good Lord. You poor thing.”
“Tell me about it. I’d been dreaming of those leftovers since last night!”
Dana gave you a knowing look. “Did your husband cook it?”
“Yep.” Your chair squeaked as you leaned back. “And I didn’t even get to enjoy it for the second time. He’s going to be pissed.”
“Who’s going to be pissed?” Trinity asked, already leaning on the counter like getting closer to you would make the gossip flow over. “Cause if you’re talking about Dr. Robby, that ship sailed around 2:30.”
You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your face. “Trust me; I already know he’s pissed off at the world. I’ve been on the receiving end of that way too much today.”
She gave you a sympathetic wince. “I heard about that.”
“Who hasn’t,” you muttered with a harsh snort.
That was the other thing that had added to your humiliation. Robby hadn’t just quietly dismissed you or corrected you after the trauma, no, he rather loudly decided to spew his personal thoughts about your work ethic in front of not just your coworkers but also the patient’s family who were there for moral support. Blatant strangers had a front seat to watch your attending rip into you all while it hadn’t even been your fault.
Just thinking about it brought another heated flush up your neck.
“To answer your question, her husband’s the one who’s going to be pissed,” Dana filled her in while rewriting a name. “He’s very particular about who gets to eat his food.”
Another groan rumbled your chest. “Med student didn’t even return the Tupperware. Now he’s going to be extra pissed at that.”
For a small second, Trinity looked almost nervous. “Will you be okay?”
Her concern made a small feeling of comfort and pride bloom in your chest. If there was one person you could count on other than your family and Dana, it was Trinity, never hesitating to step in if she even thought someone didn’t feel safe. You shot her a grateful smile.
“Oh, I’ll be perfectly fine. He’ll be mad sure, but not at me. We’ll just pray that he won’t spot the student that did it.”
“Amen to that,” Dana muttered. “He’s like your personal guard dog.”
“Are we going to add that guy who tried to touch your ass earlier?” Trinity teased, and your eyes widened.
“Definitely.” You nodded along. “Might as well add Robby to it too. My husband isn’t that fond of him already. I just wish he’d respond to my messages.”
Dana gave you a knowing look. “He at work today?”
“Yeah. There was a problem with one of the houses a few hours out, and he left before I was even out of bed. Said there was a contract breach, kissed me good morning, and drove off.”
“That’s oddly sweet,” Trinity added.
You couldn’t help the fond smile that grew on your face. “Even made my coffee for me. I found it with one of those little post-it notes stuck to it.”
“Didn’t know he was into doing stuff like that,” Dana said with a small laugh.
“You know how he is,” you replied. “The man’s love language is acts of service.”
Trinity smiled. “What does he do for work?”
Your fingers found the keyboard again while you answered. “He’s a relator and contractor. Usually, he works from home, but like today, he sometimes has to go out and inspect the houses or make sure the paperwork is in order.”
“Sounds like you got yourself a stay-at-home husband.”
You couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah. He actually really likes to do the house work. Plus, when I’m home, all I’m doing is sleeping.” Your eyes caught your wedding band. “He’s really good to me. Plus, he’s Jack’s—”
“Ladies, if we have time to chat, we have time to work,” Robby’s voice interrupted the conversation, loud and on the very edge of condescending. “Especially you, Dr. Cody. Let’s focus on getting patients in and out instead of sitting around, yes?”
You swallowed down an annoyed sigh, instead choosing to stand up without a word. Hating the way you felt under Robby’s glare almost made you want to put in a two-week notice and move departments. However, emergency medicine was your life; it was the sole reason you met the people who quickly became your family, the reason you met your husband. Your fingers quickly found your wedding band, specially made of the number of diamonds that symbolized how long you and your husband had been dating before he proposed.
Grabbing another tablet quickly, you forced yourself to hold your head up high as you passed him. Robby wasn’t worth your fear or submission. Plus, it wasn’t like he never talked around; you’d caught him and the hospital’s case manager making small talk way too many times to count. The man was a hypocrite that couldn’t see past his own faults and projected them onto his employees.
By the time you rounded the corner, and Robby had vacated the station, Trinity leaned in toward Dana a bit more.
“Is there any way to contact her husband? She mentioned her car died, and it’s raining.” Trinity looked in the direction you had disappeared down. “If I were married and my boss talked to me like that, I’d want my partner to know.”
Dana had already picked up her personal cell after Trinity’s first question. “Oh, I’ll make sure he knows.”
_______________________
When you exited the patient’s room, you paused a few feet into the hallway, rubbed your eyes, and continued to stare at the nurses’ station.
Dana being there with Trintiy and Dennis was nothing out of the ordinary. However, the added presence of Jack Abbot and your husband was. You hastily crossed the gap between you and the station, concern etching itself in your eyebrows and lips.
“Andrew?” you called out. “What are you doing here?”
At the sound of your voice, Andrew Cody turned his head so rapidly that it added another wave of worry that he might have pulled something. He stayed still, even when you stopped in front of him, as your hands gently ran up his arms and stopped at his face all while the small group watched on with small smiles (from Jack and Dana) and genuine curiosity (from Dennis and Trinity).
“You’re supposed to be in Altoona right now. Did you get hurt?” you questioned when your eyes couldn’t find any visible injuries.
He stayed silent while his hands quietly found yours, fingers threading between the gaps and holding you steady.
“I’m fine,” he finally said, hazel eyes boring into yours. “Just missed you.”
A relieved exhale escaped from your lips. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second.”
His crooked teeth poked through a smile. “I could tell.”
You softly pushed him before taking his hands again. “Shut up. You went hours without responding and just show up at the end of my shift. God forbid I’m concerned for my husband.”
“See, man, I told you she’d do this,” Jack grumbled, patting Andrew slightly on the shoulder.
“Um, not to interrupt, but did Dr. Cody marry someone who looks exactly like Dr. Abbot?” Dennis squeaked out a question, obviously trying not to step over a boundary.
But like a sister, Trinity nudged him harshly with her elbow. “Use your brain, Huckleberry. It’s obvious they’re related somehow.”
The two continued looking between the Pitt’s night shift attending and your husband who looked like Jack if he were ten years younger.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you early, Trinity,” you said. “My husband is Jack’s cousin on their moms's side. Andrew, this is Dennis and Trinity.”
Andrew didn’t reach out to give them a handshake, but the appreciated nod he gave them was somehow enough. “She talks about you two a lot.”
Trinity looked smug by the news. “All good things I hope.”
“Definitely,” he answered. “I can tell she likes working with you two.”
“Which is more than he can say about Robby,” Dana muttered.
The change in Andrew, just by mentioning Robby, was so visceral that Trinity and Dennis were both shocked.
In the few moments, the two could see how soft this hunking-fridge-of-a-man was for you. They saw it in the way he was quick to hunch over slightly when you looked him over with worry. They noticed it in the way he held onto you when he reassured you that he was only there for her and not because he had gotten hurt. They noted the way his soft smile was only for you and not even for when his cousin jested with him.
Dana’s words from earlier rang in Trinity’s mind as she watched Andrew’s muscles tense beneath his polo.
He’s like your personal guard dog.
Andrew shifted his weight, shoulders now seemingly broader than they had been. “Did something happen today?”
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “It was nothing. He’s just being Robby.”
Surprisingly, Andrew’s eyes flitted over to Trinity like he knew she’d tell him exactly what he wanted to know. “What’d he do?”
Trinity looked at you once, and when you looked toward the floor, she answered. “He blamed her for a med student’s slow pace. Practically yelled at and belittled her in front of the other doctors in the trauma room and the patient’s family.”
Even Jack couldn’t hold back the wince splashing across his face at the news, mind already knowing that in five seconds, his cousin might be on a war path for his friend. However, all Andrew seemed to do was take in a deep breath and hold onto your hands like a tether.
“All right,” he finally said, body still tense. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”
“Someone took her lunch,” Dana added, drawing your eyes from the floor to her, hues flooding with betrayal.
Et tu, brute?
“Dana,” you hissed.
Andrew’s grip on your hands tightened.
In an almost attempt to throw more gas onto an already raging fire, Trinity ended with, “And she had a patient try to grope her earlier this morning.”
Andrew’s eyes closed slowly like he was bracing for a fit of rage to overtake his senses, his mind already racing with the fact that you probably hadn’t eaten, because when he stopped by the house to change, he saw your forgotten card. Add in you almost getting assaulted, and he was one wrongly pulled Jenga block from collapsing.
You closed your eyes and braced for impact, already feeling the brunt of the day push down on you. They only fluttered open when Andrew didn’t move, his chest the only thing heaving in an out and in motion. Somehow, that didn’t ease the queasy feeling bubbling beneath your skin. And at that moment, Robby decided to round the corner. Like most men, you guessed that he hadn’t picked up on the tension cloud that was currently circling around the station and—more importantly—Andrew’s head.
When Robby walked into his field of view, you swear you saw the lovely hazel of his eyes darken. It should have scared you how quickly Andrew could go from your sweet and doting husband to a very possessive animal, but instead, the change had you relaxing and relieved. If there was someone you could count on for anything no matter what, that person would always be Andrew.
And maybe (finally) Robby sensed enough tension, because his body went stiff after he looked up from the tablet in his hands and met Andrew’s eyes.
Trinity and Dennis really thought that your husband was going to stalk over there, throw a punch, menacingly bark curse words and insults at Robby (a man who had a few good inches to tower over Andrew), and walk back over like nothing happened. But when he stayed put, only giving a beady stare that never wavered, they realized that he didn’t even have to talk to Robby or punch him for his words to get across.
They knew that Andrew was making Robby uncomfortable by the way Robby shifted, the way he broke eye contact first, and the way he left the station looking like a dog with a tail between its legs.
Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn, that never gets old.”
Dana smirked. “He ever use that on you?”
“All the fucking time.” Jack scoffed. “Do you know how many family gatherings I spent trying to get away from those eyes.”
“We have the same eyes, asshole,” Andrew grumbled.
“But yours are scary as hell,” Jack shot back. “Might be a good time to say that my night shift needs another resident.”
“Fuck no,” Trinity instantly said. “You can’t have her, or we’d be left with him.”
Dennis nodded. “I’m in full agreement.”
Jack looked over at you expectantly but visibly deflated at the apologetic look you were giving him.
“Sorry, Jack, but I enjoy getting to spend my evenings at home.” You paused and smirked. “I know Samira’s been looking for a change of scenery if you want to ask her.”
The small crowd couldn’t help but smile or chuckle at the now vivid flush across Jack’s face as he tried to sputter out an answer.
“All right, get out of here kids before it looks like you’re staging a mutiny,” Dana said with a wave of her hands.
“Aye, aye, captain,” Trinity responded with a salute of her own.
Andrew grinned widely, finally showing the smile around more people than just you. “If we’re turning into pirates, Jack already has the missing-leg thing down.”
“Hey!”
You giggled loudly while Andrew wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you into his side. Your hand gently rested against his chest as you hugged him back. He felt your body melt into his after he pressed a quick kiss to your temple.
“Ready to go home?” he quietly muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “Dana already gave me your bag.”
“Yeah,” you breathily sighed. “Let’s go before a trauma comes in, and I’m stuck in here until I wither away.
Andrew hummed. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
“Absolutely not. I still want to have leftovers at least one more time before I’m buried. And this time, I’m putting a padlock on the container.”
Summary: Because of bad experiences with men, you don't think that someone could actually like you in a romantic way, and because of that, you don't notice how your attending is down so bad for you.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.
You were always that friend that men didn't ask out or ask for your number, but they did for your friends. Since high school, you liked a boy and they just approached you to talk about your friends, if they were single, what they liked, or if you thought they would accept going out with them. You wanted to scream every time it happened, but instead you smiled and answered back even if it broke your heart every single time.
So now, as an adult, when a man flirts with you or compliments you, you don't think they are actually flirting or meaning the compliments, because…
Why would they?
It's something that has grown in your head, with time and more men that have dismissed you for someone else or asked to date one of your friends. So when your attending, Jack Abbot, starts to flirt with you very subtly, you actually don't notice because, in your mind, no one would do that and you just thought that it was him being friendly.
How he always knew when you needed coffee at a specific time on your shift and he always got that for you on time when you were just thinking about getting one. How he always got it right, the way you liked your coffee.
Also, Jack could be a little grumpy sometimes, answering a little sharply to anyone but you. He was always sweet and talked to you with a half smile and a shine in his hazel eyes that everybody noticed.
Everyone except you.
And you wouldn't have if it wasn't for Ellis.
She approached you in the middle of your shift as always, you were doing your charts and she probably just wanted to mess around. After some chat, she dropped it, no warning or anesthesia.
“But Abbot is in love with you.” She just said it like it was common knowledge.
You froze, your fingers stopped answering you, you looked at her trying to find out if she's joking and when you saw how totally serious she was, you panicked, that couldn't be true, it wasn't possible, all his gestures were friendly, what would he even look at you for? Definitely not more than friends, you told yourself that you didn't fit with him, he was too handsome.
“You know it, right?” Parker asked after seeing your stunned face.
You just looked at her, wide eyes and red faced.
“Girl… that man is on his knees for you.” She was as stunned as you but for a different reason.
You actually didn't know.
“Have you ever seen him bring coffee to any of us? Let alone get our preferred order right? Give us a soft tone when he's instructing or annoyed. And I can go on and on all night long.”
She left you there because a trauma was coming in. You weren't able to move or think straight. You just repeated to yourself that it wasn't true, that Ellis was messing around with you. But every time you looked at Jack, her words repeated in your mind and you wished they were true and that couldn't happen.
Every time you let yourself have a crush or fall for someone, it ended up with you being rejected, hurt in the most painful way. And when Parker's words wouldn't leave your mind, you started to avoid your attending, running away from every room where he was before he could approach you or direct a single word at you. You presented your cases to Shen or Cruz until it became evident that you were avoiding him.
You didn't leave Jack a choice, not knowing what he did for you to not let him go near you; it was killing him. He made sure to follow every move you made until you grabbed your things and said goodbye to everyone except him. He followed you quickly to the parking lot and didn't give you a chance to run away from him.
“Hey, can we talk?” he stopped you before you could reach your car keys.
“I've got to go…”
“Did I do something?” he asked nervously.
You didn't look at him, trying to stop the butterflies in your stomach and Parker's words repeated in your mind.
“No,” you mumbled.
“Then why are you avoiding me?” he insisted, trying to understand what could have possibly happened to make you avoid just him.
“I’m not,” you whispered, trying not to focus on the warmth of his hand on your arm.
“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”
The pet name made shivers go down your back and again you tried to convince yourself that he could possibly say that to any other woman.
“I’m not.”
“Did I say something?” he was more desperate this time. “Whatever I said to hurt you, I didn't mean it that way, I–”
“You didn't say anything wrong,” you assured him, stopping his rambling.
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing.” You tried to go away but he didn't let you.
“Please,” he mumbled your name, not knowing how much you loved hearing it coming out of his mouth.
He shifted his weight from leg to leg nervously given your lack of response.
“Did someone say something?” Again you didn't answer but the shift in your expression answered for you.
Jack sighed defeated.
“I’m so sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable–
“It doesn't,” you said so quickly that you realized what you had said after you did it.
Jack frowned, confused. “Then…”
“Do you actually?” you whispered, unable to look him in the eyes, preparing yourself for the rejection.
“What? That I'm in love with you, sweetheart? Because I totally am.” he said it with such confidence and like it was something so obvious.
You looked at him confused.
“Why?”
That caught him off guard, he didn't understand why you were asking, but if that was what you needed to finally believe him.
“Because you're amazing, you're beautiful, smart, kind, the best under pressure, I love all the gestures that you do when you focus on something or you're excited, how you jump to help people that you don't even know, and I can continue all night long.” He kept getting closer to you, watching how your eyes started to tear up.
“I can't believe you,” you mumbled more to yourself than to him but Jack was so close to you by this point that he heard it anyway.
He sighed desperately.
“Why? It's the truth, honey, the real question is why wouldn't I be in love with you?” he whispered, taking one of your rebellious strands of hair and moving it away from your face.
“Because nobody has ever wanted me that way,” you confessed, holding back a sob but he could clearly see it in your eyes.
How you actually believed that.
Jack felt his heart ache and the need to take you away from everything that could hurt you or have made you think that way because, in his mind, you were the most beautiful woman ever and he would feel very lucky if he could ever have you one day. He couldn't stand that you thought about yourself like that.
Before he could say something, you said something more.
“During my whole life, it's never been me, when I was a teenager the boys would be interested just in my friends, they wouldn't care about me. Now it's no different, something is wrong with me, Jack, you don't actually love me." The pain in your voice when you actually believed your own words made Jack want to cry.
How had nobody ever told you how pretty you were?
How had nobody seen in you what he saw?
How did they not see you for who you really were?
He didn't understand but he didn't care either, because he saw it, and he’ll make you see it too even if it takes him years. He'll make sure you know how pretty, intelligent, and beautiful you are. An incredible person that anyone in their life should be grateful to have.
“Then they are dumb as fuck, they don't understand the incredible girl that they are losing.” he cupped your face with his hands and cleaned the tears with his thumbs. “How lucky they could be to have you in their life.”
“You don't mean it,” you whispered, trying to convince yourself, starting to sob in his arms.
“I do, sweetheart. You don't understand how bad I do,” he insisted, looking deep into your eyes with that intensity that only he had. “I know what I want.”
“What do you want?” you mumbled.
“You.”
He leaned into you, nose touching yours, he waited for you to step back, to give him a sign for him to step back, a glimpse from you that told him you didn't want that. And when he didn't find it he pressed his lips into yours, you took your time but you returned his kiss letting yourself go, letting yourself be loved.
When he pulled away you found yourself wanting more.
“Nothing is wrong with you, I truly love you and if you need me to repeat that to you every single day I will, I don't care, sweetheart.” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours and brushing his nose against yours.
You smiled at that contact and the way he called you, you loved hearing that word coming out of his mouth. You had started to believe him and he could see it in the way you relaxed under his touch, stopping your tears.
“I love you too, Jack,” you said shyly in a quiet mumble that made his heart warm. “I just… I–”
He captured your lips in another sweet kiss before you could say something that was going to make his heart ache again and the anger for whoever had made you think that you couldn't be loved could crawl into him.
I actually didn't like this, but I wanted to publish something 🫠
hiii !! i was wondering if you would do a jack abbot imagine. i saw a tiktok where a group of friends did the trend where they all take a pregnancy test and a couple of them were positive. i was just curious on how jack would react to just witnessing all of this take place. if you aren’t comfortable with writing it, i completely understand
💞Tags/Warnings💞: slight age-gap marriage, protective!Jack Abbot, unplanned pregnancy, fluff, comforting!Jack Abbot, Husband!Jack Abbot in ALL his glory lol
💞Plot💞: Y/N is still writing thank you notes to all that sent a wedding gift to her and Jack. But after a funny little trend reveals life changing news, Y/N heads to the ER to make sure. She just has to keep it from Jack…
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: Oh Baby…
💞A/N💞: All good, my love. I don’t mind a Pregnancy AU lol. Hope you enjoy!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
~ ~ ~ One Hour Earlier ~ ~ ~
“I don’t get it.” Y/N laughs as she happily relaxes on the couch. Her group of friends laugh along. It was a crisp Tuesday afternoon, and Y/N was happily in attendance to one of her friend’s baby shower.
“It’s a trend on TikTok!” Jane says simply. “Pregnancy test roulette.” She smirks as she points a playful threatening finger at the other women sitting around the living room.
The party had already died down about an hour ago, but Y/N and the three other girls had stuck around for a silly little ‘after party’ of their own. All five women were just enjoying the leftover cake and conversations.
“Okay, I’ll explain it one more time..” The main girl of the hour, Megan, giggles as she sits up more in her chair, hands resting comfortably on her four month baby bump. “We all take a test, and when the timer is up, we flip em and see who else is spending their summer inside like me.” She jokes.
The others laugh as she playfully pouts. “What?! I want a pregnancy buddy.” She defends jokingly as Sarah gets up and grabs the five tests.
“I’m not playing.” Rachel says as Sarah hands them out. The living room is filled with playful ‘boo’s and Jane even tosses a small throw pillow Rachel’s way. Y/N snickers from her spot on the soft couch.
Rachel laughs, tossing the pillow back. “Hey, I’m trying to save you guys the time. I haven’t gotten some in almost a year!” She explains with a simple shrug. “If I take that test and it’s positive, then I must be the new age Mother Mary…” she snickers as Sarah rolls her eyes playfully before skipping Rachel and holding the test out for Y/N.
“Oh. No.” Y/N giggles shyly. “Jack and I are extremely careful. I’m not gonna give anything juicy to this.” She tries.
“Humor us.” Sarah shrugs and Y/N stares at the box for a moment before carefully grabbing it. She can’t help but fidget with it, absentmindedly really.
Y/N never paid them much mind whenever she did her shopping. It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids, but it was more so the fact of… Not knowing when she’d have them.
For a long part of her life, Y/N went from wanting them to telling herself she didn’t need them, to then wondering when she’d have them.
And then she met Jack.
And he made it so much worse.
Because Jack Abbot would make an amazing dad..
Not only is he soft spoken, patient, and warm. But he’s a loving partner on top of all that. Now it was just a matter of not why or how.
But ‘when’.
More specifically, ‘when it does happen’. Because it would. And until then, there’s no rush..
~ ~ ~ Currently ~ ~ ~
Or… That’s what Y/N thought.
But life can be funny.
Because one minute, you’re buzzing from an amazing honeymoon and trying to juggle being back at work while also sending out ‘thank you’ cards for wedding gifts given by your closest friends and family. And the next… You’re pregnant.
Just so. Fucking. Funny.
Y/N fidgets with her fingers as she catches the eye of Lupe Perez. The older woman smiles warmly at the sight of her. “Hey, Honey. Want me to call for Abbot?” She asks, already going for the walkie talkie.
“No!” Y/N says fast, head still spinning. She stiffens as she realizes that sounds bad. “Uh.. No, that’s okay. He’s.. Probably busy working. I…” Y/N sighs softly as she shifts on her feet. After staring unblinkingly at the positive symbol on her pregnancy test, Y/N had rushed over here.
Was it to see Abbot? Maybe at first.
But, honestly, Y/N needed confirmation. Hard cold confirmation that life was moving fast and she’d have to jump on this train now or get run over by it.
“I just… I have a weird.. Wrist.” Y/N lies. Terribly lies.
How the hell could she be a parent if she couldn’t even lie right?!
Lupe pauses at that, eyeing her. “Huh?” She asks.
“I mean… I think I sprained my wrist.” Y/N finally settles. “I just.. I need to get seen.” She says gently. She had to settle on something. Telling the truth would more than likely end with Jack finding out. And she just wanted to make sure.
“I can get you back there right now..” Lupe assures as she nods at the security guard hanging out behind her to let Y/N into the back.
With a deep breath, Y/N walks in to the ED, eyes moving around the chaos that was her husband’s world.
Dana is first to notice her. The head nurse was in the middle of packing up to go home. All of day shift was. But she stopped her movements when she sees Y/N..
“Well, hello blushin bride.” She jokes as Y/N walks over to the nurses station fast.
“Here for Abbot?” She asks as Y/N opens her mouth, only to have the security guard answer for her.
“Sprained wrist.” He says. Dana pauses in concern.
“It’s not that bad. I uh.. I just needed a doctor to check it out..” Y/N begins and then leans in a bit closer. “A-And maybe get a tes-“ Y/N is cut off from her attempt when she hears her nickname called.
Looking over, she sighs in relief involuntarily.
Even when the plan was to not see Jack, seeing him brought relief to her that made her realize she definitely married her right person..
“What’s going on? You okay?” Jack asks as he walks right over.
“It’s her wrist.” Dana answers for her.
“Your wrist?” Jack asks.
“Her wrist.” The security guard confirms, still standing near her for some reason.
Y/N presses her lips together as she gives the guy a look. He puts up his hands to show he was just trying to help before he walks off back to the front of the hospital.
“I slipped at the party earlier. It feels funny. I just.. I want it checked out.” She assures as Jack eyes her before nodding.
“Okay. I’ll take you.” He assures.
“Oh uh… You can’t.” Y/N tries fast. Jack pauses at that.
“What?” He asks softly.
“I.. You know. HIPAA? All that.. Legal stuff? I’ll get checked by someone else.” Y/N assures before looking around. Who wouldn’t tell? Who wouldn’t tell?
Her eyes land on one Dennis Whitaker.
Perfect.
“He can see me.” She points to him. Dana and Jack look over too and Dana hums.
“Sold. You’re in good hands..” She assures Y/N before calling out to Whitaker. Jack crosses his arms a bit.
“Everything okay?” He asks lowly.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Y/N tries back as she looks at Jack gently.
“Because you aren’t looking me in the eyes..” Jack says, mind already rolling with different possibilities.
“Jack. Honey. I’m fine, but.. wanna get this cleared up.” Y/N assures fast before pecking his cheek just as Whitaker walks over.
“Mrs. Abbot?” He asks politely. “Follow me.” He says as she nods fast. She gives Jack’s bicep one final squeeze of assurance before she leaves with Whitaker to an empty room.
Her breath is faint.
No.
It’s the air in this room.
It’s thin.
She sits on the examination table as Whitaker signs into the computer to begin. “It’s just the wrist, righ-“ Y/N cuts Whitaker off.
“I need a test!”
The statement is rushed out in a wave of panic she’d been holding back for a good 30 minutes or so now..
Whitaker freezes at that moment as he slowly looks up from the computer. A deer caught in headlights.
“A… Test test?” He asks to clarify..
*
*
*
Jack Abbot was a good husband.
The very best, actually.
He took pride in that. In knowing the little things.
Like.. Whenever Y/N was stressed or overly excited or scared. She’d always do something. Give him a sign that made it well known what was going on in her head. And right now, as just watched through the glass door from afar, Y/N was showing all the signs of anticipation.
Fidgeting on the examine table, eyes moving around the room with nothing holding her attention for longer than a few seconds, and not to mention the way she moved her lips. Firmly and then pursing them out before repeating the movement.
Jack’s attention snaps from the scene across the hall from him and instead goes to a power walking Whitaker. Jack gets into step with him.
“Dr. Whitaker. How’s your patient?” He asks as Whitaker keeps his eyes downwards.
“Uh.. I’ve got six of them. You’ve gotta be a little more specific, Dr. Abb-“ Jack cuts him off.
“My wife, Whitaker.” He says firmly. “How’s my wife?” He asks as he somewhat steps in front of him to stop their walking. His hands go behind his back.
“Oh. Uh… She’s okay..” He tries to assure, and Jack hums.
“Yeah? Cause… She came in for a possible sprain, but I haven’t seen her leave to get x-rayed. What’s the hold up with that?” Jack asks.
“Just… You know, making sure we stay by the book.” Whitaker tries. Jack slowly steps a bit closer.
“Dr. Whitaker. I appreciate you taking my wife because I can’t, but… Hey, I’m a husband. I worry.” He chuckles a bit to try and come off lighthearted. “So… If there’s anything I should know…” He trails off, trying to sound nice as he eyes whatever forms are being gripped in Whittaker’s hands now.
“I… Really wish I could help you. But… HIPPA…” Whitaker points out.
Jack slowly nods. “Oh. Okay..” He mumbles as if understanding. Whitaker sighs in relief, trying now to just walk around him only for Jack to get in his way again.
“Give me the fucking order forms, Whitaker.” He states with no aggression or malice in his tone. Just authority. The nice guy act was officially dropped. Whitaker sighs softly, knowing under that order is fear. Fear over not knowing what’s wrong with his wife.
Whitaker looks around the hallway before handing over the order forms so Jack can see what is being done.
It’s silent as Jack sees all the orders being filled out for specific tests. “What’s all of this for?” He asks as he rubs his chin a bit while skimming the paper over and over again. It couldn’t be what was slowly coming to mind. A seed that wanted to plant itself into the forefront of his brain.
“Just… Protocol.” Whitaker tries. “You know before we can do an x-ray we need to make sure all is.. Safe. It’s… necessary.” Whitaker shrugs, but he watches Jack, knowing he’ll get it soon enough.
“Protocol? If she doesn’t remember her last period, protocol is a simple urine test. A blood test too? That’s only needed if…” Jack slows his talking as he lets the seed fully sink in now and grow a garden in his mind..
“She’s not here for her wrist. Is she..” Jack whispers finally as he looks at Whitaker who just watches him with cautious eyes.
“Surprise…” Whitaker tries softly.
*
*
*
The minute Jack walks into her room, Y/N knows he knows. She doesn’t have to even question how. She just lets out a shaky breath that’s contained all her fears and stress as he moves over to hold her.
“What are we thinking? What’s the plan?” Jack whispers as he strokes her hair while she nuzzles into his neck, breathing a bit easier now.
“I just.. I wanted to know before I told you. I know this came out of nowhere, but-“ Jack cuts her off with a soft laugh.
“One thing I learned about life? Everything good usually comes out of nowhere. Meeting you came out of nowhere.” He points out with humor in his eyes. It makes Y/N chuckle a bit as she pulls back to fully face him.
“I’m… So scared.” She admits. He watches her closer, trying to maneuver his way through this conversation.
“Like… You’re not.. Ready..?” He says slowly.
“What? No! No, I want this..” Y/N assures fast and he sighs in relief.
“Thank god.” He mutters before kissing her tenderly. “Because I’m so fucking excited..” He admits finally against her lips. Y/N can’t help but giggle at that, all her panic fading away as she realizes that no matter what the test says, she’s married her best friend. Someone who will always support her and back her up. No matter his personal opinion.
Whitaker walks in at that moment, smiling a bit as he holds the lab results in his hand. “I can.. Let you read them..” He offers Jack gently.
“You know..” Jack begins. “I never get to be on this side of the results.” He jokes. “Go ahead.” He nods at Whitaker to do it. Y/N snuggles more on to Jack’s shoulder and nods for Whitaker to read the results. She focuses on her husband’s smell. His breathing. How warm he is. She doesn’t even hear the results until Jack begins to laugh happily.
She smiles at the joyous laugh. Like a kid realizing they got exactly what they wanted on Christmas morning. He grabs her face and kisses her excitedly. “Thank you, baby…” He whispers, making her blush at the appreciation he has over her positively being pregnant with his child.
“Anytime..” She jokes back against his lips as Whitaker bashfully leaves to give them a minute.
“I’m gonna be a dad!” Jack cheers as Y/N watches on in stunned amusement, laughing as Jack begins to pace a bit. “I’m gonna be a dad!” He repeats a bit louder as she giggles, covering her face as she hears him step outside her room.
“Jack!” She squeals as he announces it.
“NightCrawlers! I’m gonna be a dad! Hoo-Rah!” He says proudly as she groans playfully at that.
Request: It's for pope. Reader is having a bad day at work (unspecified profession) and asks pope for a selfie cause seeing his face would make her feel better. But pope has never taken a selfie and doesn't think he's photogenic so he says no, but he can feel reader got sad (though she tried to be understanding and nice about it) and ends up trying (from multiple angles to see which one is better) and sending one anyway just because he loves her so much
By three-thirty in the afternoon, you were seriously considering homicide.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not even in a particularly emotional way.
Just a calm, exhausted certainty that if one more person interrupted you to ask a question they absolutely could have answered themselves, you might actually climb onto your desk and start throwing office supplies.
Your head hurt.
Your coffee had gone cold two hours ago.
Someone had cc’d the wrong person into an email chain and somehow made it your problem.
Your boss had used the phrase “quick favor” six separate times today, each one somehow translating into at least forty minutes of extra work.
And to make things worse, you missed Andrew.
Which was stupid.
You’d seen him this morning.
Barely.
Half-awake and shirtless in your kitchen, standing in front of the coffee maker with sleepy eyes and messy curls while he silently handed you your favorite mug before you left for work.
You’d kissed him goodbye quickly.
Promised you’d text him later.
Rushed out the door already stressed.
Now it felt like years ago.
You slumped lower in your chair, staring at your computer screen with dead eyes.
Then your phone buzzed beside your keyboard.
Andy: U okay?
Your chest softened instantly.
You smiled despite yourself.
The thing about Andrew Cody was that he always knew.
He noticed tiny shifts in your mood like they were alarms only he could hear.
You could walk into a room pretending everything was fine and Andrew would look at you once and quietly ask what happened.
Sometimes it unsettled you how observant he was.
Mostly it just made you feel loved.
You picked up your phone.
You: rough day
Andy: bad rough or annoying rough
You: annoying rough
You: everyone at work suddenly forgot how to do their jobs apparently
Andy: hm
Andy: want me to come get u
You smiled faintly.
Because he would.
Without hesitation.
Middle of the workday.
No questions asked.
You: no baby im okay
You: just tired
Andy: u eat today
You: pope
Andy: thats not an answer
You: ...half a granola bar
Andy: jesus christ
You laughed quietly under your breath.
The woman in the cubicle beside you glanced over curiously.
You ignored her.
Another message appeared almost immediately.
Andy: i can bring u food
You: i’ll survive
Andy: debatable
Warmth bloomed slowly in your chest.
Andrew wasn’t romantic in obvious ways.
He wasn’t flowers or poetry or grand speeches.
He was remembering how you took your coffee.
Replacing the gas in your car before you noticed it was low.
Standing slightly in front of you in parking lots without even realizing he was doing it.
He loved through action.
Through attention.
Through the quiet certainty that if you needed something, he would handle it.
You stared at your phone for another second before typing impulsively:
You: send me a selfie
Andy: what
You: a picture of u
Andy: why
You: because seeing your face would make me feel better rn
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then nothing.
You frowned slightly.
That was… odd.
Usually Andrew answered quickly when it came to you.
Finally another message came through.
Andy: no
Your face fell before you could stop it.
Not dramatically.
Not because he owed you one.
But something inside you had already pictured it:
Andrew half-scowling at the camera.
Messy hair.
Probably confused about the entire concept of selfies.
You’d wanted that little burst of comfort more than you realized.
You swallowed the disappointment immediately.
Because Andrew sounded uncomfortable.
And the last thing you ever wanted was to push him into something he hated.
You: that’s okay
You: you dont have to
You: sorry lol
Andy: i dont know how
You blinked.
Then immediately softened.
Oh.
You: baby 😭
You: you’ve never taken a selfie?
Andy: no
Andy: feels weird
Andy: and i look bad in pictures
Your heart physically hurt a little.
Because you knew Andrew meant that.
You leaned back in your chair slowly.
Andrew had never understood what people saw when they looked at him.
Even now.
Even after years together.
Even after you loved him openly and stubbornly and repeatedly.
There were still moments where his self-worth vanished into old scars and old wounds.
You typed carefully.
You: you absolutely do not look bad in pictures
You: but it’s okay if you don’t want to
You: i understand
You added a little heart.
Then locked your phone and tried very hard not to feel sad about it.
Back at the apartment, Andrew stared at your messages like they’d personally insulted him.
Not because of anything you said.
Because he could tell you were disappointed.
Most people wouldn’t have noticed it.
But Andrew noticed every tiny shift in you.
The “it’s okay” came too fast.
The “i understand” too careful.
You were trying not to make him feel guilty.
Which somehow made him feel worse.
Craig wandered through the living room halfway through a protein shake and stopped dead when he saw Andrew glaring at his phone like it owed him money.
“…You good?”
Andrew ignored him.
Craig stepped closer.
“What’re you doing?”
Andrew held the phone out abruptly.
Craig squinted at the screen.
Then barked out a laugh.
“Oh my God. You won’t send her a selfie?”
“I don’t know how.”
“Jesus Christ, old man.”
Andrew frowned harder.
“I look weird in pictures.”
Craig nearly choked.
“No you don’t.”
Andrew looked unconvinced.
Craig snorted.
“She’s literally obsessed with you.”
Andrew's expression softened immediately at that.
Just for a second.
Then he looked back at the phone again.
Your little heart emoji sat at the bottom of the conversation like a bruise.
Craig saw the exact moment Andrew caved.
“Oh no,” Craig grinned. “You’re gonna do it.”
Andrew looked deeply annoyed about it.
“I can make her feel better.”
“By taking a selfie?”
“She asked.”
Craig started laughing harder.
“This I gotta see.”
The first selfie was terrible.
Andrew held the phone too close to his face, accidentally catching himself from below at an angle that made him look vaguely threatening.
He stared at it in horror.
“What the fuck.”
Craig howled from the couch.
“You look like you’re about to interrogate somebody.”
Andrew deleted it immediately.
The second one somehow cut off half his forehead.
The third was blurry.
The fourth was accidentally taken with flash and startled him badly enough that he nearly dropped the phone.
“Jesus Christ.”
Craig was crying laughing now.
Andrew glared at him.
“Shut up.”
“You’re forty years old learning selfies like a grandpa.”
Andrew ignored him and tried again.
This time he leaned back slightly against the kitchen counter.
The lighting was softer there.
His curls were messy from running his hand through them repeatedly.
Gray shirt stretched across broad shoulders.
Expression uncertain but calmer now.
He took the picture.
Looked at it.
Paused.
Craig leaned over.
“…Okay, annoyingly enough, that one’s actually good.”
Andrew frowned suspiciously at the screen.
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
Andrew stared at the photo for another long moment.
Then quietly took three more from different angles just in case.
Craig nearly lost consciousness laughing.
“Oh my God, you’re trying to look pretty for your girlfriend.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You’re in love.”
Andrew's ears turned slightly pink.
Which only made Craig laugh harder.
Finally Andrew picked one.
Not perfect.
Not polished.
Just him.
Real.
And because he loved you more than he knew what to do with, he sent it immediately before he could overthink it.
Your phone buzzed while you were pretending to listen during a meeting.
You glanced down absently.
Then froze.
A picture message.
From Andrew.
Your heart jumped so hard it hurt.
You opened it immediately.
And there he was.
Messy dark curls.
Serious blue eyes.
That soft, uncertain expression he only got when he was being vulnerable with you.
He looked devastatingly handsome.
Warm.
Safe.
Yours.
Your entire awful day cracked apart instantly.
A second message came through right after it.
Andy: took like 7 tries
Andy: craig wouldn’t stop laughing at me
Andy: this one okay?
Your eyes burned unexpectedly.
Because you could see the effort in it.
Andrew hated pictures.
Hated attention.
Hated feeling awkward or exposed.
But you’d been sad.
So he tried anyway.
Just for you.
You stared at the selfie again, zooming in slightly.
You could literally see where his hair stuck up on one side.
God, you loved him.
You answered immediately.
You: baby :(
You: you’re so beautiful
Andy: dont start
You: no seriously
You: this genuinely made my whole day better
You: thank you
Andy: yeah?
You: yeah
You: also tell craig i said thank u for emotional support during your selfie journey
Three dots appeared.
Then:
Andy: he’s being an asshole
You: naturally
Andy: when are u coming home
You: another hour probably
Andy: okay
Pope: ill make dinner
Your chest ached painfully with affection.
Because that was Andrew.
Not loud.
Not showy.
Just steady.
Constant.
Loving in a way that rooted itself deep into your bones.
You spent the rest of the meeting secretly glancing at the selfie whenever nobody was looking.
And every single time, you smiled.
By the time you got home, the apartment smelled like garlic and butter.
You barely got the door shut before Andrew appeared from the kitchen.
His eyes scanned you automatically.
Checking.
Assessing.
“You okay?”
You dropped your bag immediately and walked straight into him.
Andrew caught you without hesitation.
Strong arms wrapping around your waist as you buried your face against his chest.
“You sent me a selfie,” you mumbled.
“I did.”
“You’re cute.”
“I’m literally not.”
You leaned back enough to look up at him.
“You took seven pictures for me.”
Andrew looked mildly defensive now.
“The first ones were bad.”
You started laughing immediately.
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth.
“There it is,” he murmured quietly.
“What?”
“You laughin’.”
Something in your expression softened instantly.
God.
This man.
You reached up and touched his face gently.
“You know you make everything better, right?”
Andrew looked at you for a long moment.
Like he still didn’t fully understand how someone could love him this much.
But he leaned into your hand anyway.
“You make stuff better too,” he said quietly.
Then, after a small pause:
“I saved the other pictures.”
You blinked.
“…What?”
Andrew looked suddenly embarrassed.
“In case you wanted ‘em.”
Your face broke into absolute delighted disbelief.
“You have multiple Andrew selfies?”
He immediately looked like he regretted admitting that.
You grabbed his shirt, grinning.
“Oh my God. Show me.”
“No.”
“Andrew.”
“They’re bad.”
“I wanna see them.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
“You’re makin’ fun of me.”
“I’m absolutely not.”
“You are.”
You kissed him before he could keep arguing.
Slow.
Warm.
Lingering.
Andrew melted instantly, hands tightening around your waist.
When you pulled back, he looked dazed for a second.
“You’re really pretty,” you informed him seriously.
He stared at you.
Then huffed quietly through his nose, almost embarrassed by the sincerity of it all.
But after a second, he reached into his pocket anyway.
cw: suicidal ideations mentioned, not much else tbh?
a/n: final chapter! yippee! ty guys for all the love and support on this story ilysm 🥹 it's a bit short i fear, but i love it sm
The labor and delivery floor was quiet tonight, save for the occasional cry of a baby that was quickly hushed. It seemed as if the floor had slowed down time just for Robby, and the universe was celebrating this adorable yet inconvenient addition to the world in silence. He asks the nurse at the station where your room was, and he was greeted with a room number and a quiet ‘congratulations, Dr. Robby.’
He looked through the window of your room, as if opening the door meant altering his life. To him, it felt like it. If he opened that door, his whole plan was ruined. There was no more motorcycle, no more fucked up idea of a vacation for him. Instead, he’d invite himself to a new responsibility, something to add onto his plate. If he didn’t open the door, he could act like none of this ever happened. You never happened, Jack never happened, this baby never happened. He could get on with his plan and never have to set foot in this hospital again.
Michael Robinavitch rarely hesitated. But now, he did. His hand sat on the metal doorknob, unable to subconsciously push it down. His brain spirals between the choices that he currently has.
He hasn’t seen your face in a few hours.
His hand pushes down the doorknob.
You’re sleeping peacefully, the blanket you kept in your car for cold drives home was across your lap, and the baby was in the bassinet next to you. She was awake, not making a sound, just staring at the room around her.
He approaches silently, an almost pained look etched in his expression. He had no idea. There wasn’t a symptom or sign, at least not that he noticed. Should he have noticed something? He looks down at the baby, her eyes and nose were a spitting image of you. He’d never seen something look so much like you before other than yourself.
The way she peered up at him with curiosity, and that blank baby stare pulled at his chest. Tears filled his eyes once again as he fought with himself internally. Should he even be in here? Does he deserve it?
The baby begins to stir softly, making small coos and grunts as if she was about to start crying. Her arms reach through the swaddle she was in, attempting to break free.
“Shh,” He shushes her softly. “No, don’t wake your mom.” He mutters, picking her up with gentle hands.
He cradles her in his arms and she seems to calm as he instinctively rocks her. Her eyelashes were long, full, and soft, big eyed and watching him. “It’s alright,” He mutters, walking over to the window away from where you were in fear of waking you.
He sits in the recliner, facing the city skyline outside. “I know, you just want to be held, don’t you?” He hums in a whisper. “I wish someone would hold me like this.”
Robby sits back, letting a breath as he took in the sight outside.
Fireworks lit up the skyline, sparkling into hundreds of different colors. It was quiet from the room, but he’d imagine that it was much louder if he wasn’t on this floor specifically. “Look at how beautiful that is,” Robby tells her, tilting her slightly towards the window. “Those are fireworks. We don’t play with those, do we? No, we don’t.”
“You snuck up on us, didn’t you? Causing your mommy so much trouble. She must’ve been feeling so sick all day, hm?” He talks to her naturally, like he was meant to do it. It wasn’t much, but it was a soothing gesture.
“It’s the fourth of July,” He explains. “Independence day, and your birthday. You’re gonna have quite the celebrations, won’t you? Yeah… so many things to see once you can. You’ve got the best mommy, she’ll take you around and show you all of that beautiful stuff. And your daddy Jack, he’s strong and smart, he’ll teach you so many great things.”
The baby doesn’t blink once, the lights from the fireworks reflecting in her eyes as he looks down upon her. It’s like she was enamored with him, maybe seeing the lights reflecting in his own eyes.
It feels like an injustice to himself. He knows damn well that without him, you and Jack could be a textbook, beautiful, functioning family. You don’t need him there physically, although you’d both beg to differ emotionally. But suddenly, for the first time in a long time, looking down in his beautiful babies face, he wants to be here.
“... and I’ll be there too,” His whispering voice cracks softly. “I’ll teach you how to ride a bike, but not a motorcycle just yet. And I’ll get you whatever Barbie Dreamhouse that your little heart desires. And I’ll be there at every dance recital, every school event, prom, your wedding-” He hiccups quietly.
Her eyes blink slowly, closing as he spoke. Her breathing softens, relaxing into his arms. Robby lets out a trembling sigh, his chest tightening at the sight. In this moment, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this. Like he had shoes to fill, not just things to check off a list. Like he had a reason to keep going. He wasn’t drowning anymore, no, rather finding something to keep him afloat.
cw: real birth this time, mild-ish robby crashout, medical jargon, swearing, suicide mentioned.
a/n: late night double post. happy mothers day to u, reader.
Outside, Jack had finished up with his patient quicker than he realized, handed it off to Dr. Ellis and moved onto the next. For a moment, he didn’t question all the heads moving around in the room as he looked on. He figured that it was a run of the mill, nothing to do with him, but figured that he’d poke his head in anyway.
“Need any help in here?-” He’s cut short when he realizes what’s going on.
For a moment, it looked like a poorly rehearsed play, like you were doing some sort of training. You pretending to be a patient, doctors and nurses pretending to deliver a baby from a clearly not pregnant woman, yet the sight was very real. He feels his head practically spin like he’d gotten a firm backhand.
Jack Abbot wasn’t one to freeze. He never had and he never thought he would. However, in that moment, he did. His girl, delivering a baby that he didn’t even know existed. By the look on your face, you didn’t either.
“Dr. Abbot-” Dr. Al-Hashimi attempts to speak, but is cut off by you.
“Jack,” You cry, holding out a distressed hand.
His feet are moving before his brain tells him to, coming to your other side and grabbing your hand. He’s speechless, for once in his life.
“Jack- I don’t- I don’t know why-” You stutter though painful contractions, feeling the worst type of pain you ever could.
“Shh, baby, I’ve got you,” He says, not knowing what else to say in this moment.
He’s suddenly a father, or something. He wasn’t sure who’s kid it was, in all seriousness. He wasn’t sure if it would even matter right now.
You push again, squeezing Jack’s hand so hard he thought it would break.
You’d never talked about kids before. Hell, none of you had even brought up the prospect of something long term. It was long term enough. You’d all been together for years, a silent understanding between you all that it just existed. You all loved each other, lived together, and that was that. It never went any further.
“Crowning,” Frank calls out, hands busy as nurses and a few of the residents were handing him things and keeping themselves busy with other tasks. None of them, and I mean none, had ever seen something so fascinating.
Frank considered for a moment; his usual script when delivering a baby was to ask the mom if she wanted to feel the hair, but he wasn’t so sure you’d appreciate the sentiment right now. He quickly scrapped the idea as it came.
“Keep pushing, you’re doing great,” He says instead, which falls on deaf ears.
You still do it, though you were distracted by the pain and practically forcing this foreign body out of your own.
It’s a painful, scary sight, but less than five minutes later, the pain dissipates for just a moment.
“And she’s out,” Frank announces, standing up, a baby in his hands and a shrill cry sounding out through the room.
“You did it, sweetheart,” Jack says, kissing your sweaty temple. It was the last of his worries.
You sit back, out of breath, sobbing and trembling. Your medical brain was off right now, and you were pretty sure that your entire brain would turn off soon. After a shift like this and a surprise like that, you couldn’t even fathom existing as a functional human.
You open your eyes, seeing Frank holding your baby out to you. She was beautiful, perfect in every way. She looked perfectly healthy, too, all of her fingers and toes present and an insane set of pipes.
Like you were meant to do it, your arms come out instinctively. He sets the baby on your chest, cord still connected, and your hands fall to her back.
“She’s absolutely gorgeous,” Dana whispers to you, standing up to grab something that you don’t bother to look at.
Jack sits there, astounded. He was a witness to a creation of his own, even if he had no clue he’d done it. Or maybe he didn’t, but that wasn’t his concern. Frank looks at him with an expression that held as much question of ‘did that just happen?’ as his did. As everyone moves quickly around you, Frank hands him a pair of scissors.
He knew, of course. Everyone had a slight idea of the relationship between the three of you, but it was unspoken. Just something that everyone understood.
The two men share a look.
Jack takes the scissors from him, and cuts the cord.
The next fifteen minutes are a blur to you. The baby is taken from your arms and brought into the pedes room by Frank. Al-Hashimi tends to you now after insisting that Frank could handle the baby rather than her. You deliver the placenta, and you’re looked after for a while. Jack stays with you. The mystery baby was pushed to the back of his mind as you calmed down.
“Did you know?” He asks you softly, taking your hand again after Al-Hashimi had given you two space.
You swallow, your throat raw. “Barely. You found out less than an hour after I did.” You smile, a weak attempt at humor.
Jack just shakes his head. “...This is…” He mutters, trailing off.
“A lot. I know.” You reply in the same tone.
You’re both in the same boat, one of confusion, fear, and uncertainty, and Robby didn’t have a clue about it.
“What even do we do?” He asks you, looking up from your intertwined hands.
“...Live with it.” You reply. “...Is this… something you want?”
Jack doesn’t know how to reply. After his wife died, he couldn’t imagine he’d be here today, much less in a relationship such as this one.
“...Never thought about it,” He says honestly, his voice low.
You nod, looking up at the ceiling.
“But..” He continues quietly. “I’m here for you. I’m here with you. I’ll be up to the floor if I get a free second, alright? Don’t go running anywhere.” Jack kisses your forehead softly as a few people come in to move you up to L&D.
“Yeah.” You mutter with a small smile. “Can you-” You clear your throat. “Tell Robby.. for me?”
“...I’ll find him.” He smiles, letting go of your hand and standing up.
Jack finds Robby standing outside the trauma room he was in with the car accident victim not too long ago.
“Almost out?” He asks, walking up with his hands behind his back.
Robby lets out a breath, nodding. “Yep, just about.”
A silence falls over them as Jack stands next to him, only the sounds of the hospital filling their ears.
“... Is this where you try to talk me out of going?” Robby asks after a moment, a clear displeasure in his tone.
“Me?” Jack raises an eyebrow with a pursed lip expression. “No, not a chance. Though I’m sure Y/N would right about now. Why, are you having second thoughts?”
“Nope.”
“No?”
“Nope.” Robby says firmer this time.
“...Don’t have to convince me.” Jack looks over at him. “I mean, it is a little strange that the only place you talked about going is the place where they used to drive buffalo off a cliff to die.”
“Here it comes,” Robby sighs, irritated.
“I looked it up, and as far as summer vacations go, it’s not exactly a holiday hotspot. I mean, what’s in the fucking gift shop, man?”
“It’s just one place I’m going.”
“As long as it’s not the last.” Jack says finally. He doesn’t exactly remember the reason why he came over here.
“I am minutes from taking a three-month-long vacation. When’s the last time you took any time off, Jack?” Robby was clearly deflecting.
“Yeah, but I’ve dealt with my demons.” Jack says, making Robby roll his eyes and walk back into the trauma room. “It’s a process.” He continues, following him.
“Do you wanna know why I never killed myself?” Jack asks rhetorically as the door closes. “After all of the shit I’ve seen, after losing my leg, after.. losing my wife?” He fidgets with his hands, where his wedding band used to sit. “Because it comes for all of us, man. You and I know it more than most. We see it every shift, but we can’t let ourselves succumb to it.”
Robby looks at him silently, yet not trying to hide the fact that tears were filling his eyes.
“Yes, life can suck. It can be unbearable, and- brutal,” Jack continues. “Ugly and heartbreaking. But it’s also beautiful, and hilarious. And now, after what’s going on with Y/N?”
“Y/N- what about Y/N?” Robby asks tearfully, almost irritated that you were brought into the conversation.
“Nobody came to tell you? Jesus Christ,” Jack mutters under his breath, sighing heavily. “Cryptic pregnancy, man. She– she’s fine, the baby’s fine. Everything's– okay, I guess?”
Robby stands there in disbelief, a hundred emotions passing through his face before he lets out a tearful laugh. “That’s not– That’s not funny. Don’t joke about shit like that.”
“I’m dead serious, man. Go see for yourself. Baby and Y/N are being moved upstairs.” Jack shrugs, having mostly processed it. At least that’s what he was telling himself, though he hadn’t even scratched the surface of it.
“Jesus fucking christ,” Robby says, pacing for a moment as he rubbed the back of his head and holding the back of his neck.
Now it was Robby’s turn to be in the boat. He was already grasping at straws, trying to find something other than the hospital to hang onto. He wasn’t sure if this was a sign to do it, or a straw handed to him on a silver platter.
“Listen to me,” Jack starts, trying not to let his voice sound as unsure as he was. “She needs you right now. She needs both of us. Go on a cruise, and knock off this helmet-less motorcycle shit.”
Jack doesn’t let Robby speak up. “Yeah, people talk. That is death-wish behavior.”
“I’m tired of not feeling like I can get ahead, tired of being a role model, tired of feeling like I’m drowning every day. All of it.” Robby says, shaking his head and keeping his gaze fixed down.
“We can help you,” Jack says, almost pleading, though his voice hid it well. “It’s what we’re here for. You need to get away and get help. You need this place, just as much as it needs you. We need you.”
Robby takes a deep, trembling breath. “...Am I fucked up?”
“One hundred percent,” Jack says honestly. “But no one works in this place as long as you and me and doesn’t get screwed up. You have something now. Someone to help you… dance through the darkness.”
“...Did you just make that up?”
“...Maybe it’s a song lyric,” Jack admits softly, making Robby laugh. “Or- maybe my therapist said it, I don’t know.”
Robby wipes his eyes with a sigh.
“Just go see her, man.” Jack says as the door to the trauma room opens.
“Some dude just pulled up,” Toomarian rushes in. “Looks like he blew half his face off.” She rushes out just as quickly, back to the ambulance bay doors.
“How can you not love this place?” Jack asks with a sarcastic smile. Robby just smiles, shaking his head. “Look, don’t make me look stupid. If you’re still going, come back to us in one piece.” He pulls Robby into a tight hug. “We’re still your emergency contacts, and we do not want to be contacted.”
Robby just nods, hands behind his back, and Jack walks out.
fun mothers day fact: i was a cryptic pregnancy baby! my mom didn't find out until she just happened to six months in. i still haven't gotten the whole story from her yet. give your mamas a hug tonight.
cw: time passes suspiciously cause idc, mama dana, labor, birth, pregnancy talk, reader spiraling, not telling robby or jack cause i think its funny as HELLL, non-canon events happen cause i said so
a/n: this ones shorter than the others, it's still important to the story tho lowk. i feel like it's one of those filler episodes but if you don't watch it, u will never know what's going on in the rest of the show. hope u enjoy anyway, lol!
You’re back up within a few minutes. That brief period of unconsciousness was not nearly enough to process what was going on, and what had gone on this entire shift.
“There she is, good morning sunshine,” Dana says, leaning over you as she tries to gauge your level of consciousness.
“Fuck,” you mutter, your hands going up to rub your face as soon as you make out that it’s Dana standing over you. There’s a slight tug in your hand, and you realize that they’d used that period to get an IV in you.
“You’re havin’ a baby, kid,” Dana leans the head of your bed up again and sits down next to you.
“How? I mean, how could I not have noticed? Normal… everything. No symptoms, I just—“
“Hey, don’t spiral. This kinda thing, it— it happens. We don’t know why but it does. That kid’s gonna give you a run for your money, that’s for sure.” She smiles, taking your hand reassuringly as she could at this point.
You let out a shaky breath and nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “God— I mean, could today get any worse? Is this even a bad thing?—” Your cries are promptly cut off by, now confirmed, a contraction. You lean forward, hunching over and whimpering, although you try to save some face.
“Breathe through it, you’ve got it,” Dana says, rubbing your shoulder softly, letting you squeeze her hand.
It passes after nearly 45 seconds of hot, stabbing pain. You’ve never felt anything similar, and it’s too hard to describe with how your mind is reeling.
“Honey, listen to me,” She says softly, rubbing your shoulders as you lay back, your heart rate lowering slightly on the monitor. “You need to tell Robby.”
“I— I can’t, Dana, he’s supposed to leave tonight ‘n I’m scared he’s gonna do something— what if he leaves because of this?” You panic, your heart rate increasing again as tears fill your eyes.
Everything was so overwhelming. Robby was broadcasting that he was going to drive his motorcycle into a tree without a helmet, Jack had gotten shot at today, a kid died and you believed it was your fault because you’re now having a magic baby.
“Y/N, stop, slow down,” She pushes your shoulders down against the pillow behind you. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. I don’t know what that man is thinking, advertising it the way he is. I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s not gonna listen to me. It’s either gonna be you or Abbot who gets through to him. And by God, that man loves the two of you more than himself right now. If you tell him, he’s not going anywhere.”
You take shallow, shaky breaths as you try to listen to her. nodding along.
“Everything will fall into place, alright? All these people here, they love you, and I guarantee they’ll all jump in to help out. You’re not alone in this.”
You nod, finally taking a deep breath. Her word was the only one you knew right now. Another contraction plows through you, only two minutes apart.
“I’m gonna get some people in here, we’re gonna check how dilated you are and go from there, alright?” She pats your shoulder again and stands up, closing the door behind her.
You clutch the bed rails, breathing through the pain, trying to listen to what was going on in the hall outside your door. Dana, yelling at someone with an unusually distressed tone. A male voice that sounds familiar enough, but the pain won’t let you pinpoint it.
It was clear that Dr. Michael Robinavitch hadn’t a clue what was actually going on in his ER. Night shift had started to filter in, Dana was losing her mind in silence, and you. He hadn’t seen you in hours, but your patients are all being discharged or admitted, and you hadn’t taken any new ones in. He needed to find you and ask what the fuck—
“MVC, two patients, two out,” Princess calls from the nurses' station, making him sigh in frustration and nod. Guess his motorcycle escapade was going to have to be delayed.
Trauma bay one and two were filled up quickly with doctors and nurses and supplies flying every which way. That familiar organized chaos. It’s so easy to get sucked into.
“I’ll take this one,” Jack calls out as he gowns up, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and sliding right into trauma two.
They notice the absence of a few of their favorite nurses, but neither of them comments on it. Neither of them noticed the baby warmer being wheeled into the room right across from both trauma bays, or the groans and yells that were being let out any time someone opened the door to file in.
You were nine centimeters and progressing fast; you learn quickly. It was a matter of time before a baby that you didn’t know about thirty minutes ago would come literally flying out of you. You couldn't care less about the fact that your favorite people were around you, actively trying to give you support, because your legs were spread and over half of them had already seen your vagina. Also, Mel had broken the news to you that you had progressed too far to receive an epidural.
You knew that already, and it made you even more irritated.
You were trying your best, really, but your best wasn’t very nice. “What’s going on in here…?” You hear a voice from the door, making you almost sigh in relief, though you’d rather have anyone else right now.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi,” Mel looks up, hands fidgeting as she produces a brief report in her mind. “Cryptic pregnancy. Nine centimeters dilated, contractions less than a minute apart.”
Al-Hashimi looks distressed in her own right and is slightly disheveled, and the shock on her face doesn’t exactly help. “Oh, okay.” She nods, looking even more shaken than she did five seconds ago.
It doesn’t ease your nerves.
“Dr. L/N, I didn’t know you were… involved,” She says as she puts a gown and eye protection on, trying to distract you from the fact that people were lining up to deliver your baby.
You let out a humorless laugh, feeling like you were somehow the calmest doctor in the room. “Didn’t exactly plan on this being my after-work activity.”
“Alright, Y/N, I know that this is absolutely terrifying for you, but you’re crowning, and you need to push on the next contraction.” It’s Frank. Y’know, why the hell not? You knew Robby would lose his absolute mind if he had found out, but it’s a come-and-go thought in your mind right now.
You nod shakily, giving it your best, exhausted try on your next contraction. You’d imagine that this might be easier for expectant mothers, ones who took lamaze classes and weren’t currently in a tense relationship with two men. Terrified is an understatement for you right now.
“You’re doing great, honey,” Dana tells you, rubbing your shoulder softly between your screams, thankfully muffled mostly from the outside.
“Fuck,” You sob, leaning back as sweat and tears rolled down your face, which Dana wipes away with a small towel. You hadn’t even asked for her to be your birthing coach-adjacent, yet she was there. You were glad it was her.
cw: anxiety/panic attacks, fainting, medical jargon, dana & mel cameos! yay!, reader finally clocks it
a/n: i lobe this chapter sm. it's so good but like sad and scary? my life actually. also send me requests! i'm bored!
The comedown always feels worse than the panic attack itself. Your body is exhausted, your brain is overworked and pounding against the inner walls of your skull.
You look around as you walk, the familiar chaos only making you feel worse. Your ears ached from the pressure in your head from crying. You sit down at a computer, gaining a few weird looks from your coworkers who had just witnessed your public freakout.
Your body moves on autopilot as you log in to the computer and begin charting. Your ears ring, colors look oversaturated, and your fingers are moving without you even thinking about what you’re putting in.
“Doctor?” A meek intern says to you, clearly having been trying to get your attention for a moment.
You fix your face, putting on a stressed smile. “Yes?” You look up at them, feeling like you were talking to someone in a dream. Everything felt so surreal right now as your chest pounded.
“My patient is requesting an... adult?” They gulp, as if you were about to bite their head off. They hand you the tablet for you to look over the chart.
Now, there’s not much you can do to de-escalate if your patient is that insistent, but you can absolutely see why this patient wanted an adult. You weren’t even sure if this intern was old enough to drink.
You take it and clear your throat, glancing over it. “Okay,” You nod after a moment of reading. You stand, another sharp pain rushing through you. It makes you pause, wince, and lightly punch the desk.
“Are you… okay?” They ask, concerned, a hint of fear in their eyes.
“Fine. Just– give me a second.” You choke out as you brace, eventually letting out a breath. “Okay. Yes. I’m fine, let’s go.” You stand back up straight and start walking in the direction of the room.
“Oh– okay,” They nod, still concerned for you but following on your heels anyway.
Upon reaching the room, you pull back the curtain and look down at the tablet. “Mr. Gonzales,” You look up, meeting the man’s eyes.
“Finally,” He huffs in a grumpy tone.
The intern clears their throat, shakily giving you a report. “45-year-old male, presenting with epigastric pain and tenderness in the upper right quadrant upon palpation, started at 2 am and woke him up out of a dead sleep. We’ve tried pain meds, ondansetron, pantoprazole, pepcid, but nothing has worked. Vitals and labs all came back unremarkable.” They tell you, nervously yet not missing a beat, as you grasp the table, reading whatever labs came back earlier.
You pretended like you weren’t in the worst pain of your life.
“It’s like you have kids running this ER– I mean, are any of them even certified to be here? I want everyone's credentials right this second–”
“How much do you drink in a day, sir?” You ask, a less-than-kind glare in your eyes.
“Drink? Hah, pssh, I don’t drink–” He laughs, but you cut him off.
“You’re lying. Your face is red at baseline, your nose is clearly impacted by rhinophyma, and your belly is distended. So don’t lie to me– how much do you drink in a day?” You ask firmly, not in a physical state to deal with his bullshit.
“I- uh…” He looks nervous now, clearly knocked off his high horse as he looks between you and the intern. “Y’know, a couple beers and some whiskey shots, nothing crazy–”
“Right.” You sit back up, push off the table, and hand the tablet back to the intern. “Get a full LFT and CMP. Then ask your resident next time.”
“And also–” You turn back to the man. “Don’t speak to my staff like that. We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior around here.”
You walk out briskly, letting out a breath as you scan the hallway. Your brain is reeling as your breathing quickens, squeezing your hands into fists and then unclenching them to ground yourself. Your mind keeps telling you to just take the damn test, get it over with, maybe get an ultrasound to find out if you have a cyst. Or maybe it’s just food poisoning or a stomach bug.
“Hey, are you okay?” You hear a voice from behind you, making you whip around quickly.
“Mel,” You let out a shaky breath of relief, but your heart rate doesn’t slow. “Yeah. I’m.. okay.”
“A-are you sure? You don’t… look okay.” Her brows furrow in concern as she scans you over.
“Yeah, I… actually–” You swallow. “You might be able to help me with this.”
“Of course, what is it–” You cut her off, ushering her to a storage room.
“I just need– a girl to hold my hand for a second.” You say shakily, running your hands down the back of your neck.
“Is this... a girl problem? Or a problem that requires a girl?” She asks curiously, watching you scurry around the storage room in search of something.
“Both? I’m not sure yet?” You say, finding the box of pregnancy tests.
You pull out three. They were the cheap hospital brand, so you weren’t sure how reliable they were. Two out of three would probably convince you.
Mel stood awkwardly outside the bathroom, rocking back and forth on her heels and silently wondering why she had accepted your request. I mean, a girl needs a girl’s support sometimes, I guess, but why me? She wonders, jumping slightly as you open the door.
“Okay,” you say, handing her a disposable cup with all three of the rectangular tests in it. “Just wait five minutes, and let me know what they are.” You barely make it another step before she speaks up again.
“Has it… Been five minutes already?” She looks down at the tests, then up at you, with an unsure expression on her face.
“What? No. I just took them.” You smile nervously, not sure if she was trying to joke around.
“Oh, um, wow. Okay. Uh… hooray?” She smiles awkwardly, her face changing as she tries to gauge your reaction.
“What?” You take the cup from her hands quickly, looking down at all three tests.
A bright red line, not yet even finished soaking up the urine, darker than the control line. “No fucking way.” You say incredulously, then wince again as you lean on the doorway of the bathroom.
“Oh, wow. Um, can I get a wheelchair over here?” Mel calls out, reaching out to support you.
You’re wheeled into a room with a portable ultrasound machine, and a few nurses help you onto the bed. “What’s goin’ on in here?” Dana walks in, grabs a pair of gloves, and has an expression that says she had watched your public freakout just an hour or two ago.
You hand her the cup of tests, your face contracting in pain as Mel quickly, yet respectfully, lifts up your shirt.
“Jesus, kid,” Dana sighs, putting her glasses on. You weren’t sure how many judges of your pregnancy tests you needed, but the line had grown even more definite in the past few minutes.
She reaches to close the door to give you an ounce of privacy, crossing her arms as she looks down at you. Mel apologizes quietly as she puts the gel on your lower belly, and your face has nothing but distress written on it.
“This have anything to do with how you’ve been all day?” Dana asks, leaning on a cart.
“Probably,” You say quietly, sniffling.
She sighs upon hearing your sniffle, walking over to you and patting your arm. She rubs it softly, looking over at the screen of the portable ultrasound.
“What is it?” You ask nervously.
You aren’t sure what to expect. An ovarian cyst? A torsion? A miscarriage? Maybe a high-risk, early-stage pregnancy?
Your heart pounds in your ears as the ideas swim around.
How would you tell Jack or Robby?
What if neither of them want a kid?
What if this breaks your relationship for good?
Oh God, Robby is leaving tonight. You’re never gonna see him again. What if he finds out and breaks up with you first?
What if–
“Happy birthday!” Mel exclaims, smiling at what she sees on the screen. Dana smiles as well, although it’s more in amazement if anything.
Your head shoots up, all thoughts going out the window. “What…?”
Mel turns the screen towards you, and your mouth goes dry at what you see. A fully gestated fetus. Inside your uterus. Right now. “About forty weeks, one day, and absolutely perfect. Is… is this.. a good… thing?” Her face drops slightly as she grows more unsure, like she doesn’t know what the vibes are in the room.
You go pale and faint promptly. No warning, just pure shock.
“Not a wonderful thing, that’s for damn sure.” Dana says, shaking her head as she lowers the head of your bed, raising the knees.
summary - your break up with jack causes more than just emotional scars
warning - angst, medical inaccuracies, medical trauma, cardiac arrest, reader has hair long enough to curl and breasts big enough to put in a bra
part two
an - this was originally a robby fic but changed to jack. inspired by the condition takotsubo syndrome. i will make a part two!
masterlist
The break up had come out of nowhere. Sure, you’d had some arguments but you were under the assumption that the conversations that followed, the compromises and tender affection had corrected the issues you were fighting about in the first place. He’d come home after work. You’d prepared a breakfast, choosing all of his favourite dishes to surprise him after what you knew would have been a horrific shift. He’d come in, completely drenched from his walk home in the morning rain. Shoving his bag on top the wooden table to his right, head falling against the door as he pushed it closed. You’d already got out a dry set of clothes and towels ready for him, the items laying neatly on your shared freshly laundered bed.
You stepped into the hallway, heart faltering at the way he was carrying himself.
“My love, I’ve laid out some stuff for you, why don’t you go have a shower whilst I finish getting dinner ready?” He didn’t reply, just continued staring up at the ceiling.
“I think I need to step back from this. From us.” Those statements caused the first pang, like an invisible hand reaching into your chest and gripping your heart tightly. You stumbled back, gripping onto the doorframe. Your actions caused the vase he’d got you on your first anniversary to clamber to the floor, glass splintering around your bare feet. He’d immediately looked towards the sound, eyes flittering from yours, which were now filled with tears to the blood now erupting from your skin, small shards sticking out.
“Shit-“ he walked towards you. You took another step away, wincing as the glass crunched under your soles. “Stop moving.” he pleaded. He could see the way your chin had begun to tremble, the way you were trying to hold it all in.
“I think you should leave.” you managed to spit out.
“Please, sweetheart. Let me help you clean up.” He went to reach for you again but you stood your ground.
“I’m a doctor, Jack. I know how to clean myself up.” You turned the best you could, gently staggering over the broken vase into the kitchen, a trail of crimson following behind you. Every step you took caused a sting to flood over you. You could hear him following you, the glass nothing against his combat boots.
“I want to talk. I don’t want this to be like this. I-“
“Like what?” You took a seat at the breakfast bar, bringing one of your feet into your lap the best you could. “You have clearly thought about this a lot and have already decided what you wanted. So why bother?” He took it upon himself to reach into the medicine cabinet, pulling out all the necessary equipment.
“I just want a break. I don’t want to be in a relationship right now. I can’t give you what you deserve.” He hands over the kit. You snatch it away, beginning to lay it out against the granite side.
“So after two and a half years you’re just done?”
“Things have changed.” he sighed. You ignore him, choosing to don the latex gloves and start cleaning the wounds that littered your skin. He watches you flinch as the antiseptic brushes over the cuts. He wants to help, wants to take over and give you all the love and care you deserve. But he knows he’s not in a place to. Not permanently.
He’d silently observed you wrap the bandages over your feet, taking the plush pink socks he’d dug out of the clean washing basket in the laundry room. You hadn’t said anything as you gently got down from the bar stool, reaching for the dustpan and brush to begin sweeping the broken glass. He’d chosen to leave you to it, going to the bedroom to sort out the bag he didn’t want to pack. He could hear your sobs, his heart breaking at the sound. He knew he was doing this for you. He needed help. He needed to be better for you, free from the terrors of his past that plagued his mind. That meant letting you go. Maybe the universe would bring you back together again when he was in a more solid place.
“I’m staying at Michael’s. If you need anything.” He mumbles, bag straps tight in his grasp. You were sat on the couch, staring at the photo frame that sat above the fireplace. The fireplace that made you want to buy the place when you first discussed living together nearly a year ago. Dana had ordered a blown up version of your favourite photo of the two of you. You’d been at some medical gala not long after you got together. You were looking towards the camera, however Jack’s face was turned towards you, love and adoration flooding his eyes.
When you didn’t acknowledge him again, he hesitantly took a step towards your side, pressing a gentle kiss into the soft curls you’d done earlier that night. You were still in the soft satin skirt you’d put on especially for him, however it was now creased and crumpled. His action caused the tears to begin falling again, shoulders shaking as the sobs took over.
“Please get out.” you begged, clutching against your chest as it ached. He obliged, grabbing his keys he’d dropped earlier before quietly shutting the door behind him.
That was 8 weeks ago. The pain had persisted. You were a senior resident and had been for years. You knew the red flags your body was presenting but you didn’t have the energy to give it space in your mind. He’d kept the distance and you’d respected it. Limiting your interactions at work. Switching to the day shift much to the chagrin of Michael Robinavitch, who was trying to stay out of the situation the best he could.
Parker had called out, an issue with a family member she needed to sort out, leading to Dana asking if you were free to work a double or at least until they could call someone else to cover. You’d hesitantly agreed, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest as you prepared to work with Jack for more than 20 minutes.
You’d done well, remaining professional during assessments and always ensuring there was at least one other person in your conversation. However at hour 18 of your shift, you’d crumbled. Your eyes gazed over the department, stopping on the two figures stood by the scrub machine. They were deep in conversation, head thrown back in laughter. The pain erupting across your chest deepened. The night shift attending and the day shift senior resident looked as natural as anything. Her hand rested against his bicep, his lingering just beside her hip. You could see even from your position nearly 10 metres away that she was slowly clenching her fingers around his flesh. If he was bothered, he didn’t make it known.
You tried to tear away from the display, returning your attention to the tablet in your grasp. The 45 year old female presenting with severe abdominal cramping had been discharged nearly 12 minutes before. A simple case that needed a simple chart, however your brain could not do its job. Instead running a hundred miles an hour at the sight of the love of your life and the girl everyone thought he wouldve ended up with getting chummy .
“Sweetheart, you don’t look the best. You feeling ok?” Dana’s shoulder gently nudged yours, already reaching up to rest her palm against your forehead. “You look a bit pale.” She moves her hand down to feel your cheeks, before returning it back down to her side.
“I’m fine.” you mumbled, trying to block the spreading agony. “I just need a minute.” Her face fell into a softened expression, sliding the device across the desk towards herself.
“Go take a break, you clearly need it.” You look up to observe the cause of your discomfort, noticing they had taken a step closer to one another, torsos only inches away from each other.
“Dana,” the tears had formed quickly. She followed your line of sight towards Jack and Samira, an angry huff leaving her lips.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” she muttered, throwing her arm around your back, beginning to lead you away. You made it to an empty room across the floor without drawing attention to the mascara running down your face. “You’re going to stay in here until I say so. Got it?” you nod at her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Thank you,” you sniffed, accepting the tissue box she’d pulled from the inventory drawer. “I’m just being dramatic. I’ll be fine in a bit.”
“I know you will,” she patted your knee, giving you a quick wink. “I’ll try and snag a sandwich on the way back to you. No tuna, right?”
You’d sat in your own thoughts for another 10 minutes before you realised Dana had probably got side tracked. The heaviness on your chest had increased, your pulse racing and you swear you could feel the way your heart was beating in your ears. You’d been tempted to hook yourself up to the EKG machine that had been left in after the last patient had been discharged. You’d reached for the electrodes when a loud crash sounded behind the closed curtain. You stood just as wave of dizziness hits, and you can feel the sweat dripping down your face despite the cool air of the ED. You sway, gripping the nearest surface, fighting the urge to collapse. Your stomach churned violently, and a nauseous panic began rising in your throat. Time stretched. Each second a fight. Each breath a battle.
You grasp for the blue scratchy fabric separating you from the chaos of your workplace. It gives, revealing everyone going about as normal. You can vaguely make out a number of your colleagues, however your vision is going as quickly as your balance. The pain is no longer just in your chest, you can feel it everywhere. Your body was screaming, and in that moment, you’d never felt more desperate and utterly powerless at the same time.
Langdon notices you first. You’re clutching the sliding door 10 metres away, figure hunched tight towards the metal. He taps Mel’s shoulder, getting her attention before sprinting over towards you.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, looking you up and down for injuries. You can’t catch your breath enough to reply, mustering up just enough energy to snatch the fabric of your scrubs that sat against your chest. He doesn’t even think before he throws his arms under your knees, lifting you up onto his torso and spinning on his feet. “Dana, I need a trauma room!” he yelled, running towards the desired room. His raised voice alerting numerous other people to the situation.
“Trauma 1 is open!” she’s already stepping along side him, watching as he lowered you onto the gurney. Hands instantly reach towards you, clipping various devices to your paling body.
“I want an EKG now.” Langdon demands, shears heavy in his hands as he cuts up through your black scrub top. He spoke a silent apology to you, continuing to slice through the lace middle of your grey bra, leaving your chest completely bare to your colleagues.
“BP is 179 over 102, O2 is 89% and heart rate 112.” You can hear Princess relaying your vitals. You can barely focus, your thoughts scattered, racing between fear and confusion.
“She’s been having chest pains for weeks. She’s been trying to hide them but I can see it in her face. It’s ever since-“ Dana’s voice trails off at the body now stood in the doorway.
“EKG reads a STEMI.” The rest of the room continues.
“Ok, aspirin and heparin now. It’s going to need a PCI. Someone call Cardiology.”
Jack’s gaze falls to your shaking frame, watching as his colleagues work above you. He hears you gasping through the oxygen masks. Mel is already beginning to insert the tube in your arm for the treatment.
“Abbot, you can’t be in here if you’re going to be biased.” Robby’s voice cuts over the noise of the machines as he takes over from his resident. Jack hadn’t even noticed he’d come past him. Jack’s eyes flicker up to his friend’s, wincing when he’s already looking directly at him.
“She’s-“ he mumbles, hands getting sweaty under the grip of his cargos. “Is she going to-“ his words get caught in his throat.
“We’re going to do everything we can,” Robby nods.
A loud continuous beep rings out, flooding the room with anxiety.
“Asystole!” Princess yells. Frank doesn’t wait for a command, immediately locking his hands and positioning them over your bare chest, pumping up and down.
“Fuck,” Jack mutters, his body taking a step towards the scene.
“Get him out of here.” Robby yells to anyone who would listen. Jack feels Dana’s grip on his arms, pulling him backwards. Her quiet words of attempted comfort go in one ear and out the other, he couldn’t care for what she was saying. His mind fills with the sound of your ribs cracking under his colleagues hands as he attempts to get your heart working again.
“Please,” his balance falters and he stumbles towards the ground, falling into the charge nurse’s embrace. “Please save her.”
Summary: You pass out at work. Jack already knew that was going to happen. Still scares the shit out of him.
Word count: 2.2k
Warnings: Fainting, light angst, medical inaccuracies perhaps
a/n: Small bedtime fic based on this request because who doesn't love knocking out in public and having Jack come to the rescue yayyy <3 love you enjoy sweet dreams
Masterlist
It started as a headrush as you got out of bed. Nothing serious. Nothing too alarming. You figured it was from poor sleep or standing up too fast. The black spots in your vision dissipated after a few hard blinks, and you went on about your day. You ate breakfast at 4 pm, because that was normal on a night-shift schedule, and got to work just fine.
The hospital florescents were a little more jarring than usual, and maybe the noises in the Pitt were grating on your ears, but you chalked it all up to a really terrible night’s sleep. You were tired, fatigue settling into your bones as your shift began, so it made sense that everything felt off. People were known to have off days, on occasion.
Jack Abbot was very attentive to your off days.
His eyes narrowed the second you stepped into the Pitt—or, rather, stumbled into the Pitt. You were favoring your left side just a hair, your toe catching on the vinyl tile, and he could tell it wasn’t on purpose. Jack scanned you for injuries and found none.
Patient presents with an unsteady gait. Unknown etiology.
Stumbling into the first shift of four was not inherently unusual. Jack filed the information away. He met you in the hall after rounds and pretended he wasn’t double-checking the amount of weight you were putting on your right leg.
“Good weekend?” he greeted, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Saw on Instagram that you went to that fancy coffee shop downtown. Thought we were supposed to go together.”
You huffed out a laugh, knocking your head to the side. “You actually go on Instagram?”
“You told me to follow you.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were keeping it up with it.
“Only yours,” Jack hummed out. “But I am very with the times.”
“Right. And I’m Oprah,” you laughed.
“I can get with Oprah,” Jack nodded, arms crossing over his chest. “Very wise.”
You started to roll your eyes and offer Jack the slap on his arm that he was vying for, but you blinked too hard instead, a quick squeeze to settle yourself. Jack’s expression faltered, his hands reaching towards you. Not too close—not obvious—but enough to do something if he needed to.
You focused back in on him before he could point it out.
“I’ll let you know if I hear Oprah is on the market,” you breathed out, patting Jack on the chest as you continued down the hall.
Patient demonstrates periods of inattention and difficulty focusing, possibly due to fatigue, weakness, presyncope, etc. Differentials to be assessed.
He was trying not to hover. You hated hovering, and Jack could tell he was pushing it. He was letting his gaze linger a bit too long when he caught you across the room and stood too close every time you got up from your chair. He was analyzing the depth of your breaths through subtle counts because he was pretty sure you weren’t taking full ones, but he couldn’t quite confirm it.
Something was up.
But he was pushing it.
“I ordered repeat labs for our guy with jaundice. And the tox screen in South 15 came back clear, so we have to re-evaluate the cocaine hypothesis,” you prattled off, hands on your hips as you gazed up at the board. “Anything else I should—okay, what?”
Jack had forgotten to look away as you turned your head and looked at him. You had caught him having a staredown with your well-being and did not seem amused by the analyzing gaze. The attending righted his posture and blinked.
“What? What’s up?” Jack asked, trying and failing to feign innocence. He raised his hands in mock surrender when you gave him a hard look. “I was listening to you. What, is it illegal to look at you while you talk?”
“You were not just listening to me! You’ve been all… assessing all shift. So quit it.”
“I have not been assessing,” he lied, trailing after you down the hall. Damn, you were moving fast. “You’ve just been a little off, is all. I’ve been keeping an eye on it.”
You waved him off and changed course for the bathroom. “Well, don’t. I’m fine, Jack. Don’t be weird.”
Jack pressed his hands against his chest. “I’m not being weird. You’re being weird. That’s why I was concerned.”
You spun to face him, arms crossed and expression fixed into an oncoming lecture. When you and Jack began exploring your obvious feelings for each other, you made it clear that you didn’t want anyone to know. Not until things were sure and you were more established in your role as a doctor. You didn’t want people to think you were messing around with an attending just for the relationship to crumble and your career to be lost in the aftermath.
Jack was fine with waiting. He had absolutely no plans of letting your relationship crumble, but he was fine with the cautious approach. Things were still new, and if you wanted to wait until you felt more secure with him, he was going to do a damn good job providing that.
But your breathing was off; he finally caught it as you eyed him down in the hall, and that was concerning. He was officially entering concerned doctor territory, and you were officially entering leave me the hell alone territory. The combination was not ideal.
“Just—keep your distance, okay? People have been eyeing us all shift. I want to continue pretending there isn’t gossip flying around the day shift nurses, but that can’t happen if you give them something to gossip about.”
“But if you just—”
“Jack.”
He raised his hands again. “Alright, my bad.”
You pushed into the bathroom, door swinging shut behind you, and Jack let his head hang, sighing into the abyss.
Patient with ongoing dyspnea that cannot be assessed in a medical setting. Patient resistant to treatment and going AMA.
It came to a head three hours in. Jack saw the way you kept blinking and pressing your hands against your head, shaky fingers threading by your scalp and creating pressure. A headache—you had a headache, you kept stumbling, and Jack knew you were having trouble breathing. He tapped his palms against the counter in a nervous tic and listed out every differential in his head.
It didn’t help that you kept glaring at him. And avoiding him. Jack couldn’t keep an eye on you if you were hyperaware of his presence, but he couldn’t exactly slink around the ED unnoticed, so he did what he could. He tracked the movement of your shoulder as you stood with your back to him, and he kept a ready stance when he saw you stumble in the hall. He was one more hand flex and grimace away from telling Lena to keep another eye on you, but then you caught yourself against a wall, expression pained, and he figured his action was warranted.
He jogged across the Pitt, hands immediately finding your shoulders and head lowered to search for your eyes. They were unfocused when he got there, blinking again—he was trying to catch you amidst the blinking.
“Hey, you alright?” he stressed, tracking the way your hands shook as he steadied you.
“Yeah,” you affirmed, trying and failing to push away. A small group of nurses had gathered, concerned faces looking on. “Yeah. I’m just—maybe I need to eat something or—”
You went limp, effectively stopping Jack’s heart in the process. He hauled you against him with a long “whoa” that sent the entire ED on alert and cradled your neck as he tried to get your eyes back open. Your head only rolled in his hand, and his breathing felt punctured.
He said your name and did not get an answer. “Okay. Okay—someone get me a bed and a room cleared,” he calmly ordered, gaze never leaving your face, arms secure around you. He turned his head to mirror each time you lopped over. “I need you to try and open your eyes, y/n. Can you do that?”
A bed was wheeled into the hall, and Jack lifted your legs from the ground to lay you in it, quickly walking alongside the small team that had formed. He swiped his flashlight from his chest pocket, assessed your pupils, then moved down to your lymph nodes as you were settled into a room.
“Okay, vitals and get an IV for stat labs—y/n? Come on, let me know you can hear me, sweetheart,” Jack called out, checking your pupils again, flashing the light too many times than was necessary.
It was the third pass that got you to respond. You groaned, bringing your shaking hands up to push his flashlight away. Jack felt all of the air leave his lungs, a weight dropping to his feet and keeping him rooted to the ground. His head hung again, and he glanced up after a steadying sigh. You were wincing at the overhead light in the room, face an unnatural shade, but more alert and conscious.
“Fuck. Okay, you scared the shit out of me,” Jack accused. He cupped your face and raised his brows. “You’re fine? Really?”
You let out a muffled sound. “Sorry. That was weird.”
“Yeah, you think? Weird—told you you were the one being weird.” Jack glanced at your vitals on the screen. “You’re tachy and your blood pressure’s pretty low. Any ideas?”
“My mouth hurts,” you mumbled out, gaze blearily trying to focus on the screen. “Maybe… ow, Jack.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. Okay, yeah, not counting on your medical opinion right now. Let’s get some ibuprofen on board and push fluids until we get the labs back. I want a head CT to rule out—” Jack paused as he looked around the room. Half of the nurses were honing in on Jack’s hands on your face, the other half were smirking at the man himself. Jack looked back down at you, at how hard you were trying to focus on him, and he figured he would deal with the rest later. “Hey, we’ll get this all sorted, alright?”
About twenty minutes later, you were sitting upright and much more cognizant. Jack had the lights dim in the room and a bag of pretzels glued to your hand even though your blood sugar came back normal, and he found you just as he left you as he pushed back inside. He hadn’t really been able to focus since you went down, so stalking the lab for your results was easy.
“Labs came back,” Jack revealed, sitting on the edge of your bed. You’d given up on making him leave you alone after his second visit to your room. “Wanna take a wild guess?”
You groaned, shoving another pretzel in your mouth. “No. Just tell me.”
“Iron-deficiency anemia. You honestly might need an iron infusion with the levels you’re at. How long have you felt like this?”
“Seriously?” you sighed. “I fainted because I don’t eat enough legumes?”
“Hey, this is serious,” Jack chastised. He leaned in closer and took your hand in his. “It’s not just a little deficiency. You were down for the count for a while there. We gotta get this figured out.”
“We?”
Jack took in the color returning to your face and intertwined your fingers with his. “Yeah, sweetheart, we. Unfortunately, I think I kinda gave us away when you passed out. Forgot I was supposed to be playing it cool because you looked almost dead.”
“That’s a little dramatic.” You puffed out your cheeks with a loaded breath. “So… everyone knows?”
“There’s about a 95% chance it’s made its rounds. And been sent out to many day shift nurses who have probably sent it to—”
“Okay, okay. Everyone knows.”
You slumped back against the bed, pretzel bag crinkling as it fell beside you. Jack hadn’t let go of your hand, and with the clammy pallor it still resembled, he didn’t have it in him to let go. He had been right to worry this morning, and his slow action was eating at him.
“I’m serious, though,” Jack began. You cracked an eye open. “Your ferritin levels are alarmingly low. We’ll have to think about infusions and then go to supplements after we get you more regulated.”
“I can just call my PCP and—”
“I’d like to help. I can help.”
You paused, lingering humor and frustration wiped from your expression. Jack watched emotions flit across your face and saw each settle as your hand twitched in his. Just slightly. Enough to almost be a squeeze.
“You don’t have to do that,” you softly said. “I know it freaked you out that I fainted, but you don’t have to take on some huge responsibility when it comes to me. We only just started seeing each other.”
Jack smiled, brows coming together. He patted your hand as it rested in his. “Yeah, well, I’d like to continue seeing you for a long time. So let me have some responsibility.”
Summary: Jack comes pick you up when your stupid friends leave you stranded outside of the city. The drive finally makes you confess your feelings(1.8k)
Warnings: use of y/n, implied age gap, use of pet names, cheek kiss, mentions of alcohol, mentions of swat, mentions of food, a few swear words
Going out with your old group of friends seems to be a mistake. It's late, you are in the middle of nowhere like 20 minutes away from central Pittsburgh in some kind of fancy bar.
All of your friends, even the ones that drove are drunk, and uber costs way more than you can afford. Being a medical resident doesn't pay as much as you would like with all the university debt.
And to think you ditched the ER get together at your local pub for this? Pathetic. You are on the verge of the tears as you dial Trinity's number. Maybe her or Whitaker could come get you. Anyone will literary be better than your stupid 'friends'.
"Y/N? You okay?" Trinity says when she finally picks up. Your hope of a ride back home gets slowly crushed as you hear her slurry greeting.
"Shit. No, I mean yeah, but I need a ride." You mumble into the phone, breathing through the burning behind your eyes.
All you wanted was a fun night out with your former friends, and here you are anxiously waiting outside in the dark for somebody to get you.
"A ride? I can't come, I've been drinking." She shouts drunkenly into the phone, it's hard to make out what's going on there over the music.
"I figured." You sigh heavily. "What about Whitaker?"
"Nah, he's even worse than me. Everyone's been drinking tonight. You should call an uber." She suggests lightly, like her drunk self doesn't know about your financial situation. And like she can't hear your panic over the line.
"O-Okay." You stutter out.
"Share your location though. I can't have you disappearing on me. I'd loose my mind in the ER. Oka-" Suddenly, she gets interrupted and you hear her yell 'hey, that's my phone' in the background.
"Y/N?" A deep voice replaces Trinity's, and you wish it haven't.
"Jack?" You whisper into the phone, afraid your voice might finally break if you speak louder.
"Share your location with me, I'll be there as quickly as I can." And then the call ends. He doesn't give you a room for argument so all you can do is send your location to him with shaking hands.
-
Fifteen minutes later the headlights of Jack's truck illuminate your sitting form. You've been sitting on the curb outside of the bar, shivering as you waited for him with shame weighing down on you.
You like Jack, but the problem is you like him way too much. But you can never be more, you are...well you and he is a hot attending with successful career. Even when Trinity's been trying to convince you that he likes you. That he always looks at you across the room, and even flirts with you. You know, she can't possibly be right.
"Hi, angel. You okay?" Jack rounds his car quickly. He is in front of you in the matter of seconds, looking all worried.
"Yeah...," you lie, "you didn't need to come all the way for me here."
"But I wanted to. Now c'mon, let's talk once you are inside the warm car." He offers you a hand to help you stand up, and you take it without hesitation.
He ushers you inside his car with a gentle hand on the small of your back, and even helps you buckle in like you are some kind of porcelain doll ready to break any second.
Once he's sitting down too, he turns completely to you, eyeing you once more. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Let's just go, I don't want to bother you anymore than I already have." A lonely tear races down your cheek as the warmth and safety of the car make the anxiety leave. You hastily wipe it away, looking away from Jack.
"Hey, look at me, please." You feel so stupid for acting so dramatic around him, but this evening's been nothing but stressful. "You could never bother me. I came here because you needed someone, and I wasn't drinking tonight. So here I am. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, trust me."
And something about the way he's looking at you and his soft voice break down your stressed wall, and you nod.
"My friends, "you scoff at the word, "got drunk. Yes, even the drivers, and the uber... it's just a lot." You confess, embarrassment heating your cheeks.
"Thank you for coming for me. B-but I'll pay you for the gas, Jack. I promise." You quickly add, you don't want him to think you are trying to take advantage of him like that.
"Sweetheart, you won't pay me a dime. And I'm glad you called Trinity, but next time call me first. And please, ditch those assholes for some real friends." And with that he starts driving home, leaving you a mess. Because his stern and slightly annoyed voice at your friends doesn't make sense to you. There's literally zero reason for him to be agitated on your behalf.
You sit in tense silence for a couple of minutes and you stew over how you can ever thank him for driving this far away. Your mouth keeps opening and closing as you try to think of what to say.
"Why weren't you drinking tonight?" Instead of thanks, you settle on this.
"I have swat early in the morning, can't be drunk for that." He explains, giving you a quick look. Your face warms from the weight of his eyes, it always happens when he's around.
"Oh, right, drunk around guns wouldn't be ideal." You deadpan sarcastically, and that earns you a deep belly laugh from Jack.
He wasn't expecting your quick comeback. It makes you giggle too, and the remaining tension from the whole messy situation finally slips away.
"I'd probably be thrown into jail if that happened." Jack teases, and you shake your head at him.
"Well, we can't have you doing that. I can't have my favourite attending in jail." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
The embarrassment heats your cheeks once again today, and you fumble with your hands, avoiding his gaze at all cost.
Jack has a smirk on his face, because he's thought that he's your favourite, but this confirmation feels great.
He, kindly, decides to bring you out of the misery of embarrassment. "Hey, you hungry, angel?" He sees your cheeks go even more red at the pet name, and it brings him such a satisfaction that he has the same affect on you as you have on him.
"I could eat." You mumble out sheepishly, giving him a thankful smile for throwing you that helping line.
"Great." It's all he says. You drive again in silence for a few minutes, but this time it's comfortable. Somehow, you come to the same conclusion about each other. Ones, you aren't ready to speak aloud just yet.
Jack pulls up into McDonald's drive through, and grins at you. "What do you want, angel?" He asks while you wait in the car line.
"Dr. Abbot, I didn't peg you for McDonald's guy." You tease him. You've seen the way his biceps flex under that tight black shirts he wears, you think that a guy like him will only eat healthy.
"I let lose once in a while." He banters back easily, making you chuckle.
You eye the menu and the prices, unsure what to order. Jack notices your hesitation.
"It's on me. So feel free to order whatever you want and however much you want. " You shake your head at him. You really can't ask that from him, not when he's already gone to the trouble to drive you home.
"I'll just have the fries, please." You say politely to him, and Jack just gives you a look that says 'that answer won't do'.
But when you stay quiet. He sighs, and orders the menu offer with everything twice. One for him and one for you.
"Jack..." you start.
"Look, if you won't be able to eat all of that. I'll finish it for you, yeah? No pressure, just eat how much you want."
Fuck. Jack is way too nice. Way too fucking nice to be driving you around and buying you food in the middle of the night. And it's way too fucking easy for you to fall deeper into the feeling for him.
-
After you eat the food messily in the parking lot with the conversation flowing easily, Jack drives you home. Even though you'd much rather stay with him for a little more.
Is it healthy for the crush you already have on him? No. Is it in your will power to stay away? Also no.
So as he parks in front of your apartment complex, you sit in his car for a few seconds too long. "Umm, thank you so much for this, Jack. I don't know how will I ever repay you for this."
You angle your whole body towards him, wanting his whole attention. But you don't even need to try, you have it all. His attention has been on you ever since you walked into the ER.
"Nothing to repay, but if you really want to... how about a second date tomorrow?" Yup. That's it. You've officially gone mad from this evening. Because there's no way that Dr. Jack Abbot is asking you out.
"A-A date?"
"Yes. But feel free to say no, please, I'm not trying to pressure you into anything you don't want to do." Jack scratches his head, suddenly self-conscious that he misread this whole thing.
"Wait... Did you say second?" You squint at him at confusion.
"Yes, sweetheart. A second date." He states, eyeing the empty food boxes, hoping you'll catch up. And you do.
"Oh." You just say, and it does nothing to ease the nerves for Jack. It only makes him feel like a bigger fool.
"Shit. Forget I said anything. I just-" you interrupt him when you lean across the console, hands braced on his muscled thighs, and kiss his cheek quick.
"I'd love to." You say shyly when you pull away. And Jack misses the heat of you immediately.
"Really?"
"Yes, I like you." You confess.
"I know, sweetheart." He says, and the exasperate look you give him makes him laugh. "What I meant to say is that I know because I like you, too."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh." He teases your response softly. You need to get out of the car before his damned smile will pull out any more confessions out of your mouth. "So tomorrow? After your shift? I'll come pick you up."
You nod. And with one more sweet smile you leave the car. The whole time you walk to your apartment Jack watches you go. Only when the light in your home turns on does he leave.
"we love to mistake butterflies for cardiac arrest."
a rabbot x female!reader fic
chapter four of "my man on willpower"
playlist - spotify
previous | next
cw: child death. you've been warned. gory descriptions, medical jargon, stress, yelling, swearing, robby still being a bitch. a lot of feelings all around.
a/n: oh i'm so excited. this gonna be my favorite chapter to write by far.
The ED had spiraled into chaos within the few minutes you were gone. Everyone was running around like chickens missing heads, patients from the Westbridge shutdown were spilling from the halls, and traumas were flying in from the ambulance bay. You step up, already putting on a gown and gloves as you try to push your personal life to the side.
“What do we have?” You ask, walking up to a crew who were pulling their stretcher into trauma bay 2. You can practically hear the clock ticking in the back of your mind.
“Seven-year-old male, self-inflicted gunshot to the head. He and his brother were playing with their father’s unsecured, loaded gun. He keeps crashing, we have a norepi drip running through a tibial IO, started ten minutes ago with low improvement. We’ve also started…” The paramedic continues to speak as you move him over.
“Shit…” You know where it’s going already, and the black hole in your gut begins to turn into a vacuum. This is an injury not sustainable with life. You’ve seen blood in your time, but even this makes you sick.
Tick, tick, tick.
“Where are the parents?” You ask the EMT, who was helping you move the kid over.
“Um, not on scene. At a party, it sounds like. We’ve been attempting to contact them with no luck.” She answers. She’s sweating, her eyes are bugged out, and you can tell that this little girl is brand new and is in shock.
“Thank you. Keep trying.” You try to muster up a reassuring smile, but you aren’t exactly sure how it looks. Your chest grows tight as you look back down at the patient on the gurney below you. You know exactly where this is going.
It’s just something you do for pediatric patients, you work them even if you know what the fate would be. It’s a reassurance for the parents and for yourself.
EMS clears out, the nurses and residents crowd back in, filling up the space around the patient.
“Page surgery, neuro, and another doctor with a free hand,” You call out. “Let’s get blood started as well, O-neg.”
Tick, tick, tick.
Your heart pounds in your ears, and you feel the sweat building on your brow, but you don’t falter. It’s normal, yet your heart feels heavy as you look down at the small face on the gurney. You glance up at the monitor, which the team had hooked up. His pressure remained low, unaffected by the norepinephrine and fluids he was being pumped with.
You swallow down a heavy lump in your throat, your breath escaping you as your judgement falters for a moment. His GCS was three, fully unresponsive, and his heart rate was dropping into the high forties.
Your only choice was to manage until surgery got down here and hope that this kid had a chance.
The team was hooking him up to a unit of blood and more fluid as you attempted to find out where the bullet had entered, suctioning the blood out of the region of his head that seemed almost cratered. “No exit wound,” You say, your throat growing tight as you try not to let your vision tunnel.
Tick, tick, tick.
“Let’s get him intubated before we lose his airway,” You say to a resident, you don’t even register who you’re actually speaking to. “Ketamine and sux, please.” You let out a pained breath, your lower half tightening up painfully once again.
“Fuck–” You grunt, trying to push through it and try to intubate. Now is not the time–
“I’ve got it,” Someone with a slightly concerned, yet urgent tone bumps you out of the way lightly with their hip. You hand over the laryngoscope, stepping back a few feet with your hand on your chest. Your clothes began to feel foreign on your body, and your hands were sweaty inside the gloves.
Tick, tick, tick.
The monitor begins to beep rapidly, making you look up at it. “He’s in V-fib, start compressions and push epi,” You call out as someone throws the pads on.
The next thirty minutes are hell, tunneling into your brain like a train you can’t stop. The ticking hasn’t stopped, and you can’t make it stop. You’re breathless after your own few rounds of compressions, and you can’t seem to catch your breath as the pain in your abdomen is persistent.
The ticking slows to a stop.
“Time of death, fourteen thirty-two.” You mutter breathlessly, tears of frustration building in your eyes as the dread settles in your chest.
People clear out as you stand there, hands on the table, as you panted. You hear the door open as someone comes in, clearly in a rush, and looks at you.
He lets out a breath after a bit, realization washing over him. “Y/N,” Robby mutters, but you don’t let him continue.
“Don’t– fuck. Don’t try.” You choke out, pushing off the gurney and standing up straight.
It’s clear that you’re distraught and in pain, but he can’t tell if it’s more physical or mental at this point. You’re flushed, unable to catch your breath, crying with frustration.
You rip your gloves and gown off, chucking them forcefully into the bio-waste and stepping out into the hallway. He follows you with careful steps, making peace with the fact that he was about to invade your warpath.
“Talk to me, don’t just walk away.” Robby stands there as you pace. He knew that the pediatric cases always hit you harder than they did most, but he didn’t know the full extent.
“It’s my fault–” You sob quietly. “I’m not– My head’s not in the game, I can’t–” You run your hands through your sweaty hair.
“Alright, alright,” Robby sighs, seeming almost irritated that he had to deal with this twice in one day. “Calm down, take a breath.”
“I’m in so much pain, I can’t take my mind off of it– now that kid is dead because of me–” You grunt, hunching over as it racks through you once more, forcefully, enough to knock anyone off their feet.
You hear Robby call for a wheelchair, telling whoever it was to get a room for you. You can’t protest because you can’t hear most of it. The walls are closing in on you, your chest is tight, and you can’t take in a full breath without sobbing first.
They drop you in psych one, leaving you curled up on the gurney.
You could’ve helped that boy, you continuously tell yourself, but you’re too worried about your own problems.
Robby’s probably leaving because he can’t handle you anymore. He doesn’t want to deal with this. Your baggage isn’t his problem anymore.
Maybe Jack will leave you next, now that Robby won’t be around. Then you’ll be alone, just like you’re afraid of.
You'd better stop Robby before he does something he’s gonna regret later.
The pain won’t stop, coming in horrendous waves that leave you nauseous and gasping for air.
You cry until nothing is coming out of your eyes anymore. A sort of fullness has filled the air around you, though it felt heavy rather than comforting. It felt like a calm before the storm, your heart still pounding in your ears. You brush off the pain in your body, and the complicated feelings of guilt and grief in your mind.
You sit up from your lateral position on the bed, the only one that lessened the pain to a manageable level, wiping your face and trying to collect yourself. You still have too many hours left of your shift to be breaking down. You take in a breath through your nose, and let it out through your mouth.
You wince as you stand, some sort of heaviness in your gut that feels abnormal, but you can't bring yourself to think about it for more than a split second. Your legs feel like jelly due to the pain, but you walk out anyway, calmly opening the door.
lord have mercy. i thought this chapter would be longer, but i guess not? i also feel as though there's a lot of things that i didn't capture very well in the last chapters in my rush to get them posted and i may go back in and edit them. idk.
'Wait no you can't cry because then I'll cry and-- oh shit you're crying.'
The first thing you notice is how loud everything feels.
Not actual volume—no one’s shouting, no alarms blaring—but the kind of noise that crawls under your skin. Too many voices, too many footsteps, too many things happening at once. It presses in on you until your chest feels tight and your thoughts start slipping over each other.
You hadn’t meant to stay this long.
It was supposed to be quick. In and out. Manageable.
But now you’re here, stuck in the middle of it, trying to keep your breathing even and failing just enough that it scares you.
You don’t realize you’ve started looking for her until you see her.
Trinity Santos.
She’s across the room, half-turned toward someone else, listening with that focused expression she gets—brows slightly pulled together, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one leg like she’s ready to move if she needs to.
Grounded.
Steady.
Safe.
Your feet move before you fully decide to.
You weave through people, barely registering the way shoulders brush yours, the way someone says something you don’t catch. Your vision tunnels slightly, narrowing until it’s just her.
Just Trinity.
She looks up at the last second, like she felt you coming.
Her expression shifts instantly.
Concern replaces whatever she was just thinking about.
“Hey—”
You don’t say anything.
You just step into her space and wrap your arms around her.
It’s not graceful.
It’s not subtle.
It’s desperate in a way you don’t usually let yourself be.
But she doesn’t hesitate.
Her arms come around you immediately—strong, secure, one hand settling at your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head like she’s done this before. Like she knows exactly what you need.
“Hey, hey,” she murmurs, voice dropping, softening just for you. “I got you.”
That’s when it hits.
The overwhelm cracks open into something deeper, sharper. Your throat tightens, your eyes burn, and before you can stop it—
You tuck your face into her neck.
It’s instinctive.
Pressing into the warm space just below her jaw, where she smells like clean soap and something faintly citrusy. Safe. Close. Shielded.
Your grip tightens in the fabric of her shirt.
And then—
Tears.
You don’t even realize they’ve started until Trinity stiffens slightly.
“Wait—” she says, pulling back just enough to look at you.
Her hands come up to your shoulders, gentle but firm, trying to get a read on your face.
“Wait no, you can’t cry because then I’ll cry and—”
She pauses.
Her eyes widen.
“Oh shit, you’re crying.”
There’s a beat.
A very small, very fragile beat—
And then her entire expression crumples in sympathy.
“Okay—no, nope, abort, I’m not—” she inhales sharply, blinking fast. “I’m not crying. I’m not doing that. I’m the strong one right now.”
You let out a shaky, half-laugh, half-sob against her shoulder.
It doesn’t help.
Her grip tightens.
“Don’t do that,” she mutters, voice wobbling just a little. “That almost got me.”
But she pulls you back in anyway.
This time, she doesn’t try to look at your face.
Just wraps you up again, one hand rubbing slow, steady circles into your back, the other pressing your head gently back into her neck like she’s decided that’s exactly where you belong.
“I got you,” she repeats, softer now. “You’re okay. Whatever it is—you’re okay.”
Your breathing stutters.
Her thumb drags lightly along your spine in a soothing rhythm.
“Too much?” she guesses quietly.
You nod against her.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Figured.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“Wanna get out of here?”
You nod again, more firmly this time.
She doesn’t let go.
Not fully.
One arm stays around your shoulders as she guides you through the crowd, her body angled just slightly in front of yours—shielding, clearing space without making a scene.
“Excuse us—sorry—yeah, thanks,” she mutters to people as you pass.
Her hand squeezes your shoulder every few steps.
A silent check-in.
I’m here.
Still here.
Not going anywhere.
By the time you make it outside, the noise drops away like a weight lifted off your chest.
Cool air hits your face.
You suck in a breath that actually feels like it reaches your lungs.
Trinity finally pulls back just enough to look at you properly.
Her eyes scan your face—quick, assessing—but gentle.
“You with me?” she asks.
You nod.
Your voice is still stuck somewhere behind your ribs, but you manage a small, “Yeah.”
Her shoulders drop in relief.
“Okay. Good.”
She hesitates for a second.
Then reaches up and wipes a tear from your cheek with her thumb—careful, like she’s afraid of being too much and not enough at the same time.
“Scared me a little,” she admits.
You huff a quiet breath.
“Sorry.”
“Hey.” Her tone sharpens just enough to stop that thought in its tracks. “No apologizing. Not for that.”
A beat.
Then, softer again—
“You came to me. That’s… kinda the opposite of something to be sorry for.”
Your chest tightens.
In a different way this time.
She studies you for another second.
Then, with a small, lopsided smile—
“Also, for the record,” she adds, nudging your shoulder lightly, “I almost cried, which means you’re banned from crying without warning me first.”
You blink at her.
“…That’s not how that works.”
She grins.
“Too bad. New rule.”
Another pause.
Quieter now.
Her hand slips into yours.
Warm. Steady.
“You okay if I stick with you for a bit?” she asks.
You squeeze her hand in response.
Her smile softens.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Thought so.”
And when you lean into her again—less desperate this time, more…seeking—she doesn’t hesitate.
Just wraps an arm around you and lets you tuck your head right back into her neck.
I love your blog so much but not as much as I am painfully in love with Andrew Cody. Jkjk I love you both. But omg ugh I just want to show him the love he deserves.
I feel like prompt 6 and 13 are both soooooooooo Andrew. Imagine he comes home late at night after doing some dirty work for his family. What he does not expect is to find his girlfriend awake and waiting to clean him up and take care of him. Maybe even add some of prompt 27 and 32. *chefs kiss*
Andrew 'Pope' Cody x fem!reader
“Don’t touch me. I’m filthy.” “I don’t care.”
“i am not an easy person to love.” “i think i’ve got the hang of it.”
lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise
Holding your/their face so gently in the cradle of your/their palms and smattering kisses all over your/their pretty face until you're/they're giggling and grinning wide
The door slams harder than it should.
You flinch before you can stop yourself.
Andrew doesn’t even seem to notice.
He’s breathing heavy, shoulders tight, pacing once—twice—before dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to scrub something off that won’t come clean.
There’s blood on his knuckles.
Not all of it his.
Your chest tightens.
“Andy—”
“Don’t.”
The word is sharp.
Immediate.
You go still.
He turns toward you then, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your stomach drop—too much adrenaline, too much anger still simmering under his skin.
“Don’t touch me,” he says, voice lower now but no less tense. “I’m filthy.”
The word lands heavy.
Not just about the blood.
About everything.
You step closer anyway.
Slow.
Careful.
“I don’t care.”
His jaw clenches.
“I said—”
“I heard you.”
You’re right in front of him now.
Close enough to see the split in his lip, the bruise already blooming along his cheekbone, the way his hands flex like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
He doesn’t step back.
Doesn’t step forward either.
Just…stays.
Like he’s bracing for impact.
“I don’t care,” you repeat, softer this time.
And then you reach for him.
He tenses the second your fingers brush his wrist—but you don’t pull away.
You let your hand settle there.
Warm.
Steady.
Real.
Nothing about it recoils.
Nothing about it hesitates.
Something in his expression cracks.
Just slightly.
Like he didn’t expect that.
Like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“I’m not—” he starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I’m not an easy person to love.”
There’s no self-pity in it.
Just fact.
A warning.
Your heart squeezes.
You step closer.
Close enough that your hand can slide up from his wrist to his cheek, your touch slow, deliberate—giving him time to pull away if he wants to.
He doesn’t.
Your thumb brushes lightly under his eye.
Careful of the bruise forming there.
“I think I’ve got the hang of it.”
His breath stutters.
Just for a second.
Like the words hit harder than anything else could have.
His gaze drops—then lifts again, searching your face like he’s trying to find the catch.
There isn’t one.
There never was.
“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it now.
Just something tired.
Something worn thin.
“Too late.”
You tilt your head slightly, studying him.
The tension is still there.
Still wound tight under his skin.
So you do the only thing that feels right.
You lean in.
Slow enough that he can see it coming.
And then you press a soft kiss against the bruise on his cheek.
He freezes.
Completely.
Like his brain short-circuited.
Your lips linger just for a second.
Gentle.
Careful.
Not avoiding the hurt—but not adding to it either.
When you pull back, he’s staring at you like you’ve just done something impossible.
“Why would you—”
You don’t let him finish.
Your hands come up, cradling his face between your palms.
Warm.
Steady.
Holding him in place without trapping him.
“Because it’s you,” you say simply.
Something shifts.
Deep.
Visible.
And then—
you kiss him again.
Not his lips.
His cheek.
His jaw.
The corner of his mouth.
Light, soft presses of your lips scattered across his skin like you’re trying to rewrite every harsh edge he’s carrying.
At first, he doesn’t move.
Doesn’t react.
Like he doesn’t trust it.
Like he’s waiting for it to stop.
But you don’t.
Another kiss.
And another.
Your thumbs brushing lightly along his cheekbones, your fingers curling just slightly at his jaw.
“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters weakly, but there’s no bite to it.
“Maybe,” you murmur, pressing another kiss just under his eye.
His hands finally move.
Hover.
Then settle lightly at your waist.
Tentative.
Like he’s asking permission without saying it.
You don’t stop.
You kiss the other side of his face.
His temple.
The faint crease between his brows.
And then—
he huffs out a breath.
Half a laugh.
Surprised.
Unsteady.
You pull back just enough to look at him.
There it is.
Small.
But real.
You grin.
“Got you.”
“Shut up,” he says automatically, but his mouth twitches.
So you do it again.
Another quick kiss to his cheek.
Then another.
And another—
until he’s actually laughing.
Quiet at first.
Then a little louder.
Disbelieving.
Like he doesn’t remember the last time something felt like this.
Your hands are still framing his face, holding him there, your thumbs brushing softly over his skin as his laughter fades into something lighter.
I'm not going to lie, I was having the HARDEST time trying to write this. I really need to rewatch the movie... NO ONE COME FOR ME
Also, tsmuke is sister, and I will be calling Grace 'Sa'nok' during a portion of the fic, mostly because it is canon that the Na'vi children of the Omatikaya called her that.
Dividers by @the-voice-beckons-below
Sa'nu: Reader
Sa'nok: Neytiri
TW:
English: bold
Na'vi: regular
Jake: blue
Neytiri: pink
Reader: purple
You watch as Tsu'tey is granted the rightful Olo'eyktan title that he was always supposed to have. He looked proud and sad to have the burden. He's regal and looks the part, but you can tell. His eyes tell a different story. He's sad that the family has to leave.
You watch him raise the knife, and given his and Jake's history, you would not be surprised if he landed it in Jake’s flesh.
But you also know he now respect’s Jake enough to let him live. So you give him a nod goodbye as you herd your children to the ikrans. You try to comfort Neytiri as you feel the waves of sadness rolling off her, knowing this is harder for her than you.
You had made a life out here. Neytiri had settled and was happy. And if she wasn’t happy, at least she had her family. Jake seemed to thrive in these war-like conditions, despite his wives almost falling apart at having to leave everything they’ve called home.
“Grace… we have to go.” You pull her from her greenhouse lab that you had built for her to continue her work in a not-so-cramped space. She has kept herself busy with her research with Spider taken by Quaritch.
"Grace... come on, ma'am," You hold her arm as you walk her out of the greenhouse.
"I'm here. I'm still here," Grace tears up as you guide her to the ikrans, where the family was getting ready to take flight for Uturu.
"Sa'nok! No! Don't go!" A Na'vi child cries as they grab onto Grace's legs, who stops and tries to comfort the child.
"Tsmuke! You won't leave too! Please don't go!" Another little girl grabs onto Kiri's poncho, trying to get her to stay as well. The tsmuke makes your heart hurt, and it only feels like a stab as they tug on you too.
"Tsmuke... promise you wont go..." A little boy tugs on your clothes, making your heart hurt more. Tears threaten to fall as you comfort him as best you can, knowing you'd choke on your words if you tried to speak.
Kiri looks at her mom, also not wanting to leave but knowing that they need to. As she looks at you, she no longer sees the monster, but the Na'vi she's always known.
"We will be back as soon as we can, sweet children," Grace gives them all a big hug as they hold onto her.
"You swear?"
"I swear," Grace makes the promise, knowing she may never fulfill it.
Neytiri walks forward with Tuk's hand in her own before placing her hand on Grace's shoulder, reminding her of what they must do.
Grace rises, taking Neytiri's hand, and silently crying as they leave their home behind.
Neytiri, crying for leaving behind the life she has known forever. To leave her mother and the memory of her father. To leave the forest, the connection to Eywa she knows and understands.
Grace, crying for leaving behind the life she loves. To leave her son behind, but to also leave her other children behind. All of her students, the grown and the little ones.
And as she mounts Kiri's ikran, letting her daughter 'drive' it, she steels herself and waves as the group takes off.
"Ma'Tiri... are we sure about this?" You quietly ask your wife who has Tuk in front of her as she handles the ikran.
"No... but Ma'Jake is," Neytiri steels herself, trusting in your shared husband to do what is right for your family.
Author's Cup of Tea: Yo, I am so sorry this has taken so long. I honestly lost all motivation to write before I remembered that just writing a sentence a day helps and now I'm getting back into the rhythm, so the next chapter may be out sooner than the last break we had. I'm so sorry, my caffies. I love you so much! Thank you for reading my trash.
You Did Everything Right {Dr Michael Robinavitch x F!Reader}
You are a cop and end up having to shoot a suspect. Robby is there to comfort you.
Morning came slowly.
Soft light filtered in through the blinds, cutting warm lines across the bed, across tangled sheets, across skin that hadn't quite cooled from the night before. You were half-awake when you felt it. The shift beside you. The weight of him. Then—his hand. Warm. Familiar. Sliding slowly along your side, unhurried, like he wasn't trying to wake you… just remind you he was there.
You exhaled softly, still half buried in the pillow, your body already leaning into him before your eyes even opened. "Morning," his voice came, low, rough with sleep.
You smiled faintly. "Too early."
"Yeah."
His arm slipped more securely around you, pulling you back against him, your back settling against his chest, skin against skin, no space left between you. You didn't question it. Didn't need to. Your hand found his instinctively, fingers lacing loosely with his where it rested at your waist.
"You leaving soon?" you asked, voice quiet, still soft with sleep.
"A little."
You sighed quietly at that, shifting in his arms, turning just enough to face him. The movement pulled the sheet further down, neither of you bothering to fix it. Your leg brushed his. Stayed there.
"You could call in," you murmured, not entirely serious.
"Could."
You raised an eyebrow slightly. "But you won't."
A faint hint of a smile touched his mouth. "No."
"Rude."
That earned a quiet breath of a laugh. You leaned in then, slow and easy, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Familiar. His hand shifted at your side, pulling you a little closer as he kissed you back, his thumb brushing lightly along your hip, absent, like he wasn't even thinking about it.
You let it linger. A second longer than necessary. Then another. Your hand slid up to the back of his neck, holding him there just slightly, your fingers curling lightly. There was no urgency to it. Just warmth. Comfort. Something that felt like it had already been happening long before you'd woken up.
When you finally pulled back, it wasn't far. Your foreheads brushed for a second, your breath still close enough to mix.
"I love you," you murmured, like it belonged there. Like it always did.
He didn't hesitate. "I love you too."
Simple. Easy. Certain.
"You're going to be late," you added quietly.
"So are you."
You huffed softly. "I have time."
"Yeah?"
You nodded once, then leaned in again, stealing another kiss—quicker this time, but just as sure. That one made him exhale quietly, his hand tightening slightly at your side.
"Okay," he said, like he was trying to regain some control of the situation.
You smiled faintly. "Okay."
But neither of you moved right away. Eventually, he did pull back, sitting up slowly, running a hand over his face. The sheets shifted with him, and the cooler air followed. You stayed where you were for a second, watching him. Taking him in. Normal. Easy. Safe.
"You're staring," he said without looking at you.
"Yeah."
A small pause.
"You gonna do anything about it?"
That got a real reaction—a glance over his shoulder, something caught between amused and unimpressed.
"Get up," he said.
"Bossy."
"You're the one running late."
You sighed, but pushed yourself up anyway, reaching for the nearest thing—his shirt—and pulling it on without much thought. He noticed. Of course he did. Didn't comment. Also of course.
You crossed the room toward him, catching his arm before he could move past you. He looked at you. You didn't say anything right away. Just reached up, smoothing a hand lightly over the front of his scrubs, fingers brushing where the fabric had shifted, straightening it more out of habit than necessity. Your hand lingered there for a second longer than it needed to. Then you leaned in again.
This kiss was softer. Quieter. Shorter. But it meant just as much.
"Be careful," he said when you pulled back.
Simple. Automatic. But something in it made you pause, just for a second.
You smiled faintly. "I always am."
He held your gaze for a moment, like he didn't fully believe that. Then nodded once.
"Yeah."
You gave his arm a light squeeze before letting go. "Go. You're going to be late."
"You too."
"I said I have time."
He didn't argue with that. Just gave you one last look before stepping away, heading for the door. You listened as he moved through the apartment, the quiet routine of keys, shoes, the door. Then it opened. Closed.
And just like that—the morning moved on. Like it always did. Like it was just another day.
The shift had been normal. Which, in itself, was rare enough to be noticeable. No major traumas, no chaos spilling out into the halls—just a steady flow of patients, the usual rhythm of the ED moving without tipping into anything unmanageable.
Robby stood near the nurses' station, flipping through a chart, half-listening to the conversation happening around him.
"I'm telling you, it was not a sprain," Santos said, leaning back against the counter. "You don't cry like that over a sprain."
"You absolutely do," Dana replied without looking up from what she was typing. "People cry over paper cuts. That means nothing."
"That was not a paper cut."
"That's not the point."
"You didn't even look at it—"
"I did look at it."
"You glanced at it—"
Robby huffed quietly under his breath, not looking up from the chart. "If it was broken, you'd know by now."
Santos turned toward him immediately. "Thank you."
"That's not validation," Dana cut in.
"It sounded like validation."
"It wasn't."
Robby finally looked up, closing the chart loosely in his hand. "It was swelling?"
"Yeah."
"Any deformity?"
"No."
"Then it's probably not broken."
Santos gestured vaguely. "See?"
Dana didn't even look up. "You're both wrong."
"That's not how that works," Santos shot back.
"That is exactly how that works."
Robby shook his head slightly, setting the chart down. "You'll get imaging either way."
Santos pointed at him again. "That's what I said."
"You didn't say that."
"I implied it."
"You did not imply it."
A quiet breath that might have been a laugh slipped out of Robby before he reached for another chart. "You're both exhausting."
"Yet you stay," Dana said.
"Questionable decision," he replied.
"That's on you."
Santos leaned forward slightly. "You love it."
Robby didn't answer that. Dana glanced up again after a second.
"Aren't you off in a couple days?"
He nodded once, scanning the chart. "Yeah."
Santos perked up immediately. "Oh, what are we doing? Beach? Cabin? Something dramatic?"
"We?" Robby said flatly.
"Yeah, we. I assume I'm invited."
"You are not."
"That's rude."
Dana smirked faintly. "Please don't bring her."
"Wow," Santos said. "I'm being bullied."
"You started it."
"I did not—"
Robby closed the chart again, setting it down. "I was thinking about going away for a couple days."
That got both of their attention.
"With her?" Dana asked.
"Yeah."
Santos leaned in slightly. "Okay, that's actually cute."
Robby gave her a look.
"I'm allowed to say that," she added quickly.
"You're really not."
"Where are you going?" Dana asked.
He shrugged. "Haven't decided yet. Somewhere quiet."
"Cabin," Santos said immediately. "You're a cabin guy."
"I'm not a cabin guy."
"You are absolutely a cabin guy."
Dana shook her head. "Ignore her."
"I'm not wrong."
"You're always wrong."
Robby rubbed a hand briefly over the back of his neck. "Just a few days. Get out of the city."
"That's good," Dana said, softer now. "You should."
Santos pointed between them. "Wait—are we talking relaxing getaway or…" she gestured vaguely, "romantic getaway?"
"Stop talking," Robby said.
"That means yes."
"It doesn't mean anything."
"It absolutely means something."
Dana huffed. "Please don't ruin this for him."
"I'm not ruining it, I'm supporting it."
"You are not supporting it."
"I'm emotionally invested now."
"That's unfortunate."
There was the faintest hint of something softer in Robby's expression, brief but there. Normal. Easy. Safe.
"Just a couple days," he said again, quieter.
Dana nodded once. "Good."
Santos pointed at him again. "If you come back with a sudden appreciation for hiking, I'm calling it."
"That's not happening."
"It might."
"It won't."
"We'll see."
Robby reached for another chart, flipping it open, already moving on as the conversation drifted back into the usual rhythm of work and noise and familiarity.
The doors to the ED opened. Dana's attention lifted first. Subtle, but enough. Robby followed her line of sight a second later. Recognition hit immediately.
"Dale," he said, already stepping forward.
Dale Charles didn't look like he usually did. Still composed, still standing straight—but there was something tighter in it. Something held too carefully in place.
"What is it?" Robby asked.
Dale hesitated. Just for a second.
"There was an incident."
Too careful. Too measured.
Robby's expression shifted. "What kind of incident?"
Another pause.
"Officer-involved," Dale said. "She was attacked. Suspect is down."
Everything narrowed.
"…is she hurt?" Robby asked quickly.
"Minor. She's conscious."
"How minor?" Robby pressed immediately. "Head injury? Gunshot? Did he—"
"Robby," Dana said, low.
But he didn't look at her.
"Was she alone?" he asked, sharper now. "Where was her backup? What happened out there?"
Dale held his gaze, steady but firm. "She followed procedure."
"That's not what I asked."
The edge in his voice was there now. Not doctor. Not calm. Something else.
"Robby," Dana said again, more pointed this time.
He dragged a hand over his face, pacing once, then back, like he couldn't stay still. "What kind of weapon?" he asked. "Did he get close? Did she take a hit? You said attacked—what does that mean?"
Dale didn't flinch, but there was a flicker of understanding there now. He knew what this was.
"She's walking," he said. "She's talking. She's alert."
"That doesn't mean she's okay."
"No," Dale agreed. "It doesn't."
That landed. Robby stilled for half a second. Breathing. Trying to pull it back.
This time, Robby looked at her. Just for a second. And she saw it. Everything he wasn't saying.
"Yeah," he said.
And just like that—he switched. The change was immediate. Complete. The edge gone. The emotion locked down. Not Robby. Doctor. Because whatever came through those doors next—he didn't get to be anything else yet.
Dale lingered for a second, like there was more he could say. There wasn't. He stepped back. And just like that, the normal day was over. Before you even arrived.
They heard the doors before they saw who came through them. Not unusual. But something about it shifted the room anyway.
"PD," someone called from the desk, not alarmed, just noting it.
Robby's attention lifted without him meaning it to. Dana's did too. Two uniformed officers stepped in first. Then—you.
Walking.
That was the first thing he registered. Not the blood. Not the tension. Not the way the room seemed to narrow around you. You were walking. But it wasn't right. Too stiff. Too controlled. Like every step had to be thought through instead of just happening.
Your uniform was a mess. Blood smeared across your sleeve, your hands, the front of your vest. Some dried, some not. It stood out too sharply against you. Not yours. That part hit him immediately.
Robby stepped forward. Then stopped. Because he had to. Because he didn't get to meet you halfway. Didn't get to reach for you. Didn't get to do anything except stay where he was and let you come to him.
"Officer-involved shooting," one of the officers said, voice even, procedural. "Suspect deceased. She needs medical clearance."
Like you weren't standing right there.
Robby didn't take his eyes off you.
"Is she—" he started, the question slipping out before he could stop it.
"Robby."
The voice was low. Close. Dale Charles stepped in beside him, not blocking, not intervening—just there. A quiet line drawn.
"You know how this goes," Dale said, just as low.
Not harsh. Not unkind. Just firm. Necessary.
Robby's jaw tightened. He dragged his gaze away for half a second, forcing himself to reset.
"Yeah," he said.
Then he stepped back into it.
Dana moved first. "Trauma two," she said, already clearing space, her tone calm but firm. "Let's move."
You followed automatically. No hesitation. No resistance.
Robby fell into step beside Dana, not beside you, close but not close enough. His eyes didn't leave you. Up close, it was worse. There was a mark along the side of your face. Faint, but there. Your hands—he saw it now—were shaking. Just slightly. Barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. He was.
Behind them, the room hadn't gone back to normal. It never did when something like this came through. Santos had gone quiet, watching.
"That's her, right?" someone murmured low.
"Yeah," another voice answered. "That's Robby's girl."
It wasn't loud. Wasn't meant to be heard. But it was. Robby didn't react. Didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge it. But his jaw tightened.
You reached the room and stopped just inside like you were waiting for direction, for someone to tell you what came next. Dana stepped in first, already setting things up. "Go ahead," she said, nodding toward the bed.
You sat. Exactly where you were told. Hands still. Posture straight. Controlled.
Robby stayed at the edge of the space for half a second longer. Then stepped in. Not as him. Not as the man who had woken up beside you that morning. As your doctor. Because that was the only role he was allowed to take right now.
He stopped just short of you, close enough to see everything, not close enough to touch.
"Alright," he said, voice steady, controlled. "We're going to check you over."
Dana moved beside him, already pulling on gloves.
"Any loss of consciousness?" Robby asked.
Your eyes flicked to him briefly, then back. "No."
"Okay," Dana said, calm, efficient. "We'll go through everything."
And just like that, the distance between you held. Not by choice. But by everything that came with what had just happened. And neither of you crossed it. Not yet.
Dana worked first. She always did when things needed to stay steady.
"Let's get the vest off," she said, tone calm, like this was routine. Like you weren't sitting there covered in someone else's blood.
You nodded once. Didn't move until she stepped closer. Didn't reach for anything yourself. Procedure.
Robby stood just off to the side, pulling on gloves, the snap of them louder than it should have been. Barrier. Necessary.
He stepped in then. Close. Closer than before. Still not close enough.
"Arms up," he said.
Your eyes flicked to his for half a second. Then you did it. Slow. Controlled.
Dana moved carefully, unfastening your vest, easing it off without rushing. It was heavier than it should have been, weighed down with everything that had happened in it. She set it aside.
Robby's gaze dropped immediately. Scanning. Assessing. There were marks along your arms now that hadn't been as obvious before. Red where fingers had grabbed too tight. Faint bruising already starting to form. His jaw tightened. He didn't comment. Didn't let it show anywhere but there.
"Any pain?" he asked.
"Just sore."
"Where?"
"Arms. Shoulder."
"Head?"
"A little."
Dana glanced at him briefly.
There it was. Now it mattered.
"Okay," she said, already moving to grab what she needed. "We'll check that properly."
Robby nodded once, but his focus didn't shift. Not from you.
"Can you follow my finger?" he asked.
You did. No hesitation. No delay. Your gaze steady, even if everything else wasn't.
"Good," he said quietly.
His voice was still controlled. Still clinical. But it was thinner now. Closer to breaking than before.
Dana stepped in again, gently tilting your head just enough to check the spot along your temple. "That's going to bruise," she said.
You didn't react. Didn't even flinch.
"You clean this up?" she asked, nodding toward the blood on your hands.
You shook your head once.
"No time."
Of course not.
Robby reached for gauze. Paused. Then—continued. He stepped closer again, carefully taking your hand in his. Gloved. Controlled. Professional. The contact was brief. Necessary. Nothing more. But it still felt like too much. And not enough.
He started wiping the blood away slowly, methodically, his movements precise. Not rushed. Not rough. Like he could take his time. Like this was something he could fix. Even if it wasn't.
You watched him for a second. Not your hands. Him. He didn't look up. Didn't break. Didn't let himself.
Dana moved around the other side, helping, passing him clean gauze, saline, whatever he needed without saying it out loud. They worked like they always did. In sync. Efficient. Normal. Everything about it was normal. Except it wasn't.
"Any nausea?" Dana asked.
"No."
"Dizziness?"
"A little."
"Okay."
"Vitals are stable," Dana added after a moment. "We'll monitor for concussion, but she looks good."
Good.
The word didn't sit right. Not like this.
The door opened. Robby didn't turn immediately. But Dana did.
Dale Charles stepped inside, knocking once against the frame out of habit more than necessity. He took in the scene quickly. You on the bed. Robby and Dana working. The remnants of what had happened still visible, even with the blood being cleaned away.
"You alright?" he asked.
Not as an officer. Not fully. Something else underneath it.
You nodded once. "Yeah."
Dale gave a small nod back, like that was enough for now.
"Internal Affairs is on their way," he said, voice shifting back to procedure. "They'll want a full statement."
There it was.
Robby's hands slowed slightly. Not enough to be obvious. But enough.
"They said I could give it here," you replied.
Dale nodded. "Yeah. We'll keep it contained."
Contained. Controlled. Documented.
Robby finished cleaning your hand, his grip steady even as everything else tightened.
"How long?" he asked, before he could stop himself.
Dale glanced at him. Not surprised.
"Couple of hours," he said. "Standard."
Standard. Nothing about this felt standard.
Robby gave a short nod. Didn't say anything else. Didn't push. He knew better. Had to.
Dale's attention shifted back to you. "You did everything right."
Simple. Firm. Certain.
You didn't react much. Just nodded once. Like you'd already told yourself the same thing. Or were trying to.
Dale lingered for a second longer, then stepped back toward the door. "I'll be right outside."
Procedure. Always.
The door closed again. And just like that—the room felt smaller. More contained.
Robby finally looked up again, meeting your eyes properly. Everything still there. Everything still held back. His hand hovered for just a fraction longer before he let go completely, stepping back into that necessary distance.
"Alright," he said, voice back where it needed to be. "We'll keep you here. Monitor for any changes."
You nodded once. "Okay."
And just like that—the next part of it was already waiting. Even before this one was done.
The door closed behind Dale Charles, and for a second, no one moved. The room felt smaller without him there. Quieter.
Dana glanced between you and Robby, reading the space in that way she always did—quick, precise, understanding more than was being said.
"I'm going to grab the neuro kit," she said, already pulling her gloves off. "I'll be back."
It wasn't really about the kit.
Robby gave a short nod. "Yeah."
She stepped out, the door swinging shut behind her. And just like that—it was only the two of you.
The silence settled immediately. Not empty. Just… full.
Robby stayed where he was for a second, like he wasn't sure if moving would break something. Then he stepped forward. Careful. Measured. Not crossing anything. Just… closing the distance enough. Enough that he wasn't across the room anymore. Enough that if you looked up—he'd be there.
You were still sitting exactly where they'd left you. Blanket wrapped around your shoulders, hands resting in your lap, still and controlled like you were holding yourself together piece by piece.
He picked up the chart again. Didn't look at it. Just held it.
"You comfortable?" he asked.
Same question. Safer.
You nodded once. "Yeah."
Your voice hadn't changed. Still steady. Still too even.
He shifted a little closer again. Not much. Just enough. Enough that his presence felt… closer. Grounding.
"You need anything?" he asked.
You shook your head. "No."
A pause. The words sat there. Not enough. Never enough.
He nodded anyway. "Okay."
Another stretch of quiet. You adjusted the blanket slightly, pulling it tighter around you, your fingers lingering in the fabric like you needed something to anchor yourself.
Robby noticed. Of course he did.
His hand lifted. Just slightly. Instinct. Then stopped. Lowered again. Because he couldn't. But instead of stepping back—he stayed there. Closer now. Within reach. Even if he couldn't use it.
Your eyes lifted then. Slow. Deliberate. And found him.
He was closer. Not touching. Not crossing anything. But there. Present. Yours. The difference was small. But it mattered.
His gaze held yours, steady, quiet, something firm underneath it. I'm here. I've got you. Even if he couldn't say it. Even if he couldn't show it the way he wanted to.
You blinked once, slow, your shoulders dropping just slightly under the blanket. Not fully. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough. Enough that he saw it. That it worked.
Your gaze dropped again after a second, but it didn't feel like before. Not as far away.
Robby exhaled quietly, setting the chart down behind him without looking, his focus still on you. He didn't move any closer. Didn't risk it. But he didn't move away either. He stayed exactly where he was. Close enough to matter. Far enough to follow the rules.
The hallway noise filtered in faintly, voices moving past, the world continuing just outside the door. Neither of you looked toward it. Neither of you broke the quiet. Because for now—this was enough. A few feet of space. A line neither of you crossed. And him—just a little closer than before. Where you could feel it. Even without touch.
The knock came sooner than either of you wanted it to. Firm. Official. The kind you couldn't ignore.
Robby's head turned toward the door immediately, his jaw tightening before he could stop it. It opened without waiting. Two people stepped in—plain clothes, badges, clipboards. Internal Affairs.
The air shifted instantly. Colder. More controlled.
"We'll need to take your statement," one of them said, already looking at you.
Not unkind. But not soft either. Procedure.
You nodded once. "Yeah."
Steady. Like everything else.
"We'll need the room."
There it was.
Robby didn't move at first. Didn't say anything. Even though everything in him pushed forward.
"I'll be right outside," he said instead.
Controlled. Measured. Not what he wanted to say.
Your eyes lifted to him. Held. Just for a second longer than before. And this time—there was something else in it. Something heavier. Something closer to breaking.
He held your gaze right back. Didn't look away. Then—he stepped back. Turned. Walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The hallway felt wrong. Too open. Too far away.
Robby didn't go far. Just a few steps before he stopped, like he couldn't make himself go any further. His hands came up to his hips, then dropped again, restless, unsure what to do with themselves now that he couldn't touch you, couldn't fix anything, couldn't even be in the room.
He dragged a hand over his face. Hard. Like he was trying to reset. It didn't work. His chest rose sharply on a breath that didn't quite steady, his jaw tightening as he stared at the floor for a second before forcing his gaze back up to the closed door.
That was worse. Because now all he could see was it. Closed. Between him and you.
"Hey."
Dana's voice was softer this time. Careful.
Robby didn't turn right away. But she stepped up beside him anyway, close enough to be there without crowding him.
"You okay?" she asked.
He let out a breath that caught halfway through, something unsteady slipping into it before he could stop it.
"Yeah," he said.
It came out rough. Not convincing.
He swallowed, hard, blinking once, then again, like he was forcing it back, forcing everything back into place where it was supposed to be.
Dana didn't call him on it. Didn't push. Just stayed.
Dale joined them a second later, stopping on Robby's other side.
Dale Charles didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, watching the door.
"She'll be alright," he said after a moment.
Robby nodded quickly. Too quickly. "Yeah."
His voice was tight now. Thinner than before.
Dale glanced at him, taking in the tension, the way he was holding himself together by inches.
"She did everything right," Dale added. "Textbook."
Robby let out a quiet breath that shook slightly on the way out, his hand coming back up to his face, pressing briefly against his mouth like he was trying to hold something in.
"I know," he said.
But it didn't help. Not when he could still see it—The blood. The marks. The way you'd been sitting there like you were holding yourself together by force.
Dana shifted slightly beside him, arms crossing loosely. "They won't keep her long," she said. "It's straightforward."
Robby nodded again, but his eyes didn't leave the door.
"She shouldn't have been alone," he said, quieter now.
It slipped out before he could stop it. There was something raw in it. Something closer to anger—to fear.
Dale shook his head slightly. "Sometimes it happens like that."
"That doesn't make it okay."
"No," Dale said. "It doesn't."
Silence settled again. From inside the room, voices murmured faintly. Low. Clinical. Distant. Robby stared at the door like he could see through it, like he could check on you from here if he just looked hard enough.
His eyes burned. He blinked again, slower this time, his jaw tightening as he forced another breath in, then out. He didn't move. Didn't sit. Didn't step away. Just stood there. Waiting. Holding it together as best as he could—even as it kept slipping. Bit by bit. Until that door opened again. And he could finally see you.
The door opened quietly. Not dramatic. Not sudden. Just enough.
Robby's head lifted immediately, his body already moving before his mind fully caught up. Internal Affairs stepped out first, speaking low to Dale as they passed—something about follow-up, about reports, about next steps—but Robby didn't take any of it in.
Because you were there. Standing just inside the doorway. You looked… cleaner. No blood. No vest. Just you. But something had shifted. The control you'd been holding so tightly all day—it was thinner now. Fraying at the edges.
Dale stepped aside, giving you space, his hand brushing your shoulder briefly—not official this time, just human. "You're clear," he said quietly.
You nodded. Didn't speak. Didn't move right away.
And then—you stepped forward.
Robby met you halfway.
There was no hesitation this time. No line. No protocol holding him back. No one stopping him.
His hands were on you immediately, pulling you into him, solid and sure, like he needed to feel that you were actually there.
And that—that was it.
The second you felt him—really felt him—everything you'd been holding together just broke.
Your hands fisted in his shirt as you buried your face into his chest, your breath catching hard, uneven, like it had been waiting all day for permission to fall apart.
"I've got you," he said instantly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, the other wrapping tight around your back. "I've got you. You're okay."
You shook your head against him, a small, broken motion, your grip tightening.
"I—" your voice caught, breath hitching. "I didn't— I didn't want—"
"I know," he said quickly, softer now, steady even as his hold tightened. "I know."
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes glassy, everything finally breaking through.
"I shot him," you said, the words quieter than anything you'd said all day. "Robby… I shot him."
It landed differently like that. Not procedure. Not report. Just real.
His hands didn't move from you. Didn't loosen. Didn't hesitate.
"You had to," he said, just as quietly.
You shook your head again, more frantic this time. "I didn't know if— I thought he was going to—" your breath caught again, sharper. "He wouldn't stop. I told him to stop, I did everything right, I gave him the warning, I— I did everything they tell you to do and he just—"
Your voice broke completely.
"And then he was just… gone," you finished, barely above a whisper.
Robby's hand tightened slightly at your back, grounding, steady.
"I know," he repeated, softer now.
"I didn't want to," you said again, your voice trembling now, the control slipping further. "I didn't— I didn't go in there thinking— I just—"
"I know," he said again, gentler this time, his forehead almost brushing yours. "I know you didn't."
You looked at him, searching, like you needed him to say something else, something more.
"I killed him," you said, quieter now, like the words themselves weighed too much.
Robby's expression shifted just slightly, something deeper moving through it, but his hands stayed steady on you.
"You defended yourself," he corrected softly. "He attacked you. You did what you had to do."
You shook your head again, weaker this time. "It doesn't feel like that."
"I know," he said.
And there was no argument in it. No dismissal. Just understanding.
Your grip on him tightened again, your forehead dropping back against his chest, your breathing uneven, shaky.
"I keep seeing it," you admitted, your voice muffled now. "It just— it keeps replaying."
Robby's hand moved slowly against your back, steady, grounding, like he could anchor you in something real.
"You're safe," he murmured. "You're here. It's over."
Your shoulders shook slightly, not full sobs, not yet, but close enough.
"I thought he was going to kill me," you said, the words quieter, more fragile now.
Robby's hold tightened instantly.
"He didn't," he said firmly, but not harshly. "He didn't. You're here."
You nodded against him, even if it didn't fully settle.
"I did everything right," you said, like you were trying to convince yourself. "They said I did everything right."
"You did," he said without hesitation. "I know you did."
You went quiet for a second, your breathing still uneven, your hands still gripping his shirt like letting go wasn't an option.
"I didn't hesitate," you said after a moment, softer now. "That's what's messing with me. I didn't even think, I just— I just did it."
Robby's hand stilled briefly, then resumed that same slow, steady motion.
"That's your training," he said gently. "That's what it's there for. It kept you alive."
You swallowed, your grip loosening just slightly, your fingers curling against the fabric instead of clutching.
"It doesn't feel like it," you murmured.
"I know," he said again.
And this time, it felt different. Not like he was trying to fix it. Just… sitting in it with you.
Your breathing began to steady, slowly, unevenly, your body still close to his but not as rigid as before. He didn't move you. Didn't rush you. Just stayed exactly where he was, one hand at your back, the other still resting against your head, keeping you close.
"I've got you," he said again, quieter now.
Your grip loosened just a little more. Not letting go. Just… easing.
And for the first time since it happened—you weren't holding it all on your own. And Robby—he wasn't going anywhere.
They didn't move you straight away. There was still paperwork. Still clearance. Still someone somewhere signing off on something that said you were allowed to leave. So for a little while—you stayed.
The room had gone quiet again. Not tense like before. Not heavy. Just… quiet.
At some point, sitting upright stopped working. You didn't say it. Didn't announce it. You just shifted, slow and tired, letting yourself ease back against the bed.
Robby noticed immediately. Of course he did.
"Hey—easy," he said quietly, one hand coming up instinctively before he caught himself—then finishing the motion more carefully, guiding instead of grabbing.
You let him. You just let yourself lie back, the tension in your body easing slightly as your head settled against the pillow.
Robby hesitated for half a second. Then made a decision. He kicked his shoes off and shifted onto the bed beside you, careful, slow, giving you time to stop him.
You didn't.
So he stayed. Lying on his side, facing you, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting near you—not touching at first, just close enough to be there.
You turned your head slightly toward him.
"You're not supposed to be up here," you murmured.
"Probably not," he said.
You huffed faintly. It wasn't much. But it was something.
A small pause.
Then you shifted closer.
Your hand found his chest first, resting there like you needed to feel something steady.
He didn't hesitate this time. His arm came around you, pulling you in carefully, slowly, giving you time to stop him.
You didn't.
You curled into him instead, your head tucking under his chin, your body fitting against his like it always had. His hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading lightly through your hair, holding you there.
Neither of you spoke. Your breathing slowed. Matched his. For a moment—it felt almost normal.
"I'm tired," you said quietly.
"I know."
"I don't want to think about it anymore."
"You don't have to right now."
A small pause.
"Is that bad?"
"No."
Simple. Certain.
You nodded faintly against him.
The door knocked. Then opened.
Robby didn't move immediately. Neither did you. Until—
"Hey."
The voice was familiar. Steady.
You pulled back slightly, enough to sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you did. Robby followed, shifting off the bed but staying close, right there beside you.
Dale Charles stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He took one look at you. Not just a glance. A proper look. Checking. Making sure.
"You're good to go," he said.
Simple. But it landed.
You nodded once, pushing yourself up properly this time, your feet finding the floor.
There was a slight hesitation as you stood. Not obvious. But there.
Robby noticed. Dale did too.
He stepped forward, closing the space, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. Not formal. Not procedure. Just… grounding.
"Hey," he said, a little quieter now. "Don't start tearing yourself apart over this."
You didn't answer straight away. Your eyes dropped slightly.
He gave your shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he continued. "You followed your training. You walked out. That's what matters."
Your throat tightened slightly at that. You nodded. Once.
Dale studied you for a second longer, then softened just slightly.
"I know someone," he added. "Good with this kind of thing. Talking it through. Doesn't have to be today. Doesn't have to be tomorrow. But… when it hits—and it will—you don't have to sit in it on your own."
That landed differently. Quieter. But deeper.
You nodded again, a little more this time. "Okay."
He gave your shoulder one last squeeze before letting his hand fall away.
"Go home," he said. "Get some rest."
You let out a slow breath. "Yeah."
Dale stepped back, giving you space again, his gaze flicking briefly to Robby—something unspoken passing there—before he turned and headed for the door. He paused just long enough to glance back.
"You did good," he said.
Then he was gone.
The door closed. And just like that—it was over. Or at least—this part of it was.
You stood there for a second, not moving. Then Robby stepped closer again. Not rushing. Not overwhelming. Just there.
"You ready?" he asked softly.
You looked at him. Really looked at him. Then nodded. "…yeah."
But you reached for him anyway. Just for a second. And he was already there to catch you. Of course he was. He always would be.
And this time—you were allowed to hold on.
The apartment felt different when you walked in. Too quiet. Too normal. Like the day hadn't happened at all.
You paused just inside the door, keys still in your hand, your eyes scanning the space like you were expecting something to be out of place. Everything was exactly how you left it that morning. That somehow made it worse.
Robby closed the door behind you gently, not rushing you, not pushing you further inside. Just there.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
You nodded. It wasn't convincing.
"I think I just… need to wash it off," you said after a moment, your voice quieter now, more tired than anything else.
He understood immediately. "Yeah. Okay."
The bathroom filled slowly with steam, the water running hot, the room softening around the edges. You stood in front of the mirror for a second, staring at yourself. Cleaner than before. But not clean. Not really.
Robby stayed just behind you, not crowding, not stepping in until you needed him.
"Hey," he said gently.
Your eyes flicked to him in the mirror.
"You don't have to do this on your own."
That was all it took.
You nodded once.
You moved slowly, stepping out of your clothes without much thought, your movements heavier now, like everything was finally catching up to you. Robby turned slightly, giving you space without making it a big deal. Still there. Just not watching.
When you stepped into the bath, the heat hit your skin immediately. You exhaled softly. Not relief. But something close.
Robby knelt beside the bathtub, one knee pressed into the tile, the other braced as he leaned in slightly—bringing himself level with you instead of above you. His hand dipped into the water first, grounding himself before he reached for the cloth.
"Okay?" he asked.
You nodded.
He started with your arm. Slow. Gentle. The cloth moved over your skin, washing away what was left—water running pink for a moment before clearing. You watched it happen. Didn't look away.
He didn't rush. Didn't try to talk over it. He just stayed with you.
For a while, the only sound was the water.
Then—
"He wasn't random."
Your voice was quiet. But different.
Robby's hand stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing.
"What do you mean?" he asked gently.
You swallowed.
"They knew who he was," you said. "Or they were close."
A pause.
"Four other women."
That made his hand slow.
"Attacked?" he asked.
You nodded faintly. "Yeah."
Your fingers curled slightly in the water.
"Same pattern. Same approach. He'd wait until they were alone. Follow them. Corner them."
Robby's jaw tightened.
"He didn't take anything," you continued. "Didn't want anything. He just…" your voice faltered slightly. "He liked it. The control. Scaring them. Humiliating them."
The word lingered. Heavy.
"One of them didn't make it," you added after a moment.
Robby's hand stopped properly this time.
"How?" he asked quietly.
"Head injury," you said. "She hit something when he shoved her. Walked away. Thought she was fine."
A small pause.
"She died a few days later. Different hospital."
Silence settled. Thicker now.
"I knew it might be him," you said quietly. "When the call came in. I just… didn't think—"
Your breath caught.
"I didn't think it would be like that."
You stared at the water again.
"I didn't hesitate," you whispered. "I just… did it."
Your hands curled tighter.
"I killed him."
The words sat heavier this time.
"I'm a killer."
Robby moved immediately. Not abruptly. Not harshly. But firm. He shifted a little closer on his knees, bringing himself fully into your line of sight, one hand coming up to your arm, grounding, his voice low but steady.
"No."
You didn't look at him.
"I shot him," you said.
"You defended yourself," he corrected.
You shook your head slightly. "It doesn't feel like that."
"I don't care what it feels like right now," he said, still gentle but stronger. Certain. "That's what it was."
That made you pause.
His hand tightened slightly, making sure you felt it.
"You told him to stop," he said. "You gave him the chance."
You nodded faintly.
"He didn't stop," you whispered.
"Then you didn't have a choice," Robby said.
You stared at the water.
"I keep thinking… what if I could have done something different."
"You couldn't," he said softly.
You looked at him then.
"What if I ended up like her?" you asked. "The other girl."
Robby didn't hesitate.
"That's exactly what would have happened."
Honest. Not softened.
"You said it yourself," he added. "She walked away. Thought she was fine. And she still—"
He stopped. Didn't need to finish.
Your throat tightened.
His hand moved from your arm to your shoulder, steady, grounding.
"You're here," he said. "Because you didn't hesitate."
You held his gaze. Barely.
"And now he can't hurt anyone else," he added quietly. "Not you. Not anyone."
That landed differently. Your shoulders dropped just slightly.
"I don't feel like I stopped anything," you admitted.
"That'll come later," he said.
No false reassurance. Just time.
You nodded faintly. The tension in your hands eased just a little, your fingers uncurling in the water.
Robby reached for the cloth again, slower now, gentler, like the moment had shifted. He didn't say anything else. Didn't push. Just stayed. Right there. Level with you. Steady.
And when his hand settled lightly against your shoulder again—you leaned into it. Just a little. But enough. Enough to show—you heard him. Even if you didn't fully believe it yet.
The apartment was quiet again. Not the same kind of quiet as before. Softer. Dim.
The lights were low, the city outside muted through the windows, everything slowed down into something gentler—like the world had decided to give you both a little space.
You were in his bed. Not under the covers yet. Just sitting at the edge at first, wrapped in one of his hoodies, your hair still damp, skin warm from the bath.
Robby moved around the room quietly, grabbing things without making a big deal of it—water, a blanket, your phone placed within reach like he was thinking three steps ahead without saying it out loud.
"Here," he said softly, handing you the glass.
You took it, your fingers brushing his briefly. You didn't pull away right away this time. Neither did he.
You drank a little, then set it aside, your movements slower now, heavier. Tired. Everything had caught up.
Robby sat down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed.
"You wanna lie down?" he asked.
You nodded. Didn't say anything.
You both shifted at the same time, easing back into the bed, the blanket pulled up around you as you settled. For a second, you stayed on your side of the space. Then—you moved. Closer. Instinct. Need.
Your hand found his shirt first, curling into it lightly as you shifted into him, your head resting against his chest.
Robby didn't hesitate.
His arm came around you immediately, pulling you in, one hand settling at your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head like he needed to keep you there. Safe.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
You nodded against him.
"…yeah."
It wasn't fully true. But it was closer than before.
His thumb moved slowly against your arm, a soft, absent motion, grounding.
"I keep thinking about what you said," you murmured after a moment, your voice low, almost lost in the quiet.
"Yeah?"
"That he can't hurt anyone else."
Robby's hold tightened slightly.
"Yeah."
You were quiet for a second.
Then—
"I don't think I would've walked out of there if I hesitated."
The words were softer now. Less frantic. More real.
Robby pressed his lips briefly to the top of your head.
"You wouldn't have," he said honestly.
No hesitation. No sugarcoating.
You nodded faintly. Your fingers tightened slightly in his shirt, then relaxed again.
"I still hate it," you admitted.
"I know."
"I don't think that part's going away."
"Probably not," he said gently.
You let out a quiet breath.
"…okay."
Another stretch of silence settled between you. But it wasn't uncomfortable. Not anymore.
Your breathing slowed again, your body finally starting to give in to the exhaustion pulling at you. Robby felt it. The way your weight settled more fully into him. The way your grip loosened just slightly.
"You should sleep," he murmured.
You didn't argue. Didn't push back. Just shifted a little closer instead, your leg brushing his, your face tucked more securely against his chest.
"Stay?" you asked softly.
It was barely above a whisper.
Robby didn't hesitate.
"Always," he said.
Simple. Certain.
He adjusted the blanket slightly around you both, tucking it in just enough to keep you warm without moving you too much. His hand moved back to your hair, fingers threading through it slowly, rhythmically. Grounding.
You let out a soft breath, your eyes finally slipping closed. For real this time. Not forced. Not held. Just… closing.
Robby watched you for a second, making sure. Making sure your breathing stayed steady. Making sure you were actually drifting. Actually letting go. Then he pressed another soft kiss to your head.
"I've got you," he murmured.
You didn't answer. You didn't need to.
Your breathing evened out. Your body fully relaxed against his. And for the first time since it happened—you slept.
Robby stayed exactly where he was. Didn't move. Didn't shift. Just held you. One arm wrapped around you, the other resting lightly against your back, like if he let go, something might break.
He didn't sleep right away. Not yet. His eyes stayed open a little longer, staring into the dim room, listening to the quiet, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing against him. Grounding himself in it. In you. In the fact that you were here. Safe. Alive.
Eventually, his eyes slipped closed too. Not fully at first. But enough.
Scenario: Reader who is a normal civilian that Jack matched with on tinder but he accidentally meets them firsthand in the ER because they have a heart condition hmm….
Tags/warnings: mentions of medical condition (heart problems), gender neutral reader, just fluff !!
Word Count: 809
Jack thought that this, like the others, would be a normal, grueling shift. Another one to deal with, another set of patients to get to, another day to survive without thinking of going on a sabbatical (Just Robby in a different font).
“Hey Jack, got a new patient on room 4, went here with complaints of chest pain.”
Jack nods, going to the room after reading the patient chart. He skims over the important details, noting that you've been here about 3 times these past few months on the day shift—and this was your first on nights.
Your name rings a bell to him, suddenly thinking about that tinder date he set up with someone he matched with when he downloaded it from a dare made by Shen last week.
It was a stupid, borderline unprofessional dare that almost got him and the rest of the nightshift crew on the HR waitlist, but luckily Shen took cover and Jack paid the price by following his request—which was to try tinder and go on a date with your first match.
And that match unfortunately had the same name as the patient he's about to go meet in room 4.
The door opens, and he's greeted by the sight of someone in their pajamas—pink ones that are covered with cat prints on them. He mentally chuckles at the drastic difference of color from the ER to your outfit.
“Good evening, Y/N. I'm Dr. Jack Abbott-”
He pauses for a few seconds, looking at your face. He then realizes that you were indeed the person he matched with on tinder—and that you were unfortunately about to meet him before your scheduled date.
And by the look on your face, he definitely realized how you knew it was him too.
He coughs to clear his throat (and thoughts), continuing and maintaining professionalism.
“-your doctor for tonight. It says here in your patient chart that you went here by yourself due to chest pains? When did this start?”
You nod and shift slightly on the bed, sitting down to at least bare some decency to save face. You were embarrassed to even rush in the ER at this hour, and you didn't expect to see your date as your doctor.
“I- yeah, I drove here since I don't usually get chest pains at this hour. I live alone so I decided to bring myself here instead.”
He notes the “at this hour.”
“So this must not be your first time?”
You nod, telling him your condition.
“I usually have my mom helping me out, but it's late at night so went here instead.”
He nods and reads the rest of your patient chart.
“Your condition is written here, along with the medicine you take. Have you taken it today?"
You nod.
“I did this morning. Thought it would cancel out my stuff since I went and did some strenuous activities with my friends this afternoon, but then I woke up with chest pains.”
He chuckles and sets down the chart, grabbing his stethoscope and begins the examination.
“Can you sit up for me? Thank you.”
You do as you're told, feeling his hands guide your shoulder and back as he listens to your heartbeat.
“Okay, now slowly breathe in for me—then out.”
“Relax, there's nothing to worry about.”
How do you even calm down when your doctor is unbelievably hot—and he's about to be your date this weekend? You just hope he doesn't cancel everything once this is all done.
The examination ends, and he grabs a pulse oximeter from the drawer beside you.
“This checks your pulse rate and oxygen saturation. I'll leave it here, then I'll ask for a nurse to check your vitals and order an EKG. I'll be back to check on you after.”
Nodding, you slowly ease up any tension left from you worrying about the entire situation.
“Uhm- Dr. Abbott?”
He stops before he opens the door and leaves, looking back at you with a small smile. He knows what you're about to ask, given how he's been observing your anxious expression the entire time.
“Need something, sweetheart?” The nickname rolls off his tongue naturally—like he's been using it all this time, crossing his arms as he looks at you entirely.
“I uh- I hope this isn't awkward. Are you going to cancel the date?”
He chuckles and holds the door, pausing for a moment before answering.
“Of course not. This just gives me another reason to see you again. Also, nice pajamas, I love cats.”
You look at him with a shocked expression as he waves and leaves the room.
In a way, you both really did look forward to that date—especially now with your unexpected encounter.
Bee
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