Hey there, I’m a bisexual nerd caught between two worlds — the busy hospital ward and the quiet Swedish forest. When I’m not working or wandering, I’m usually on here, appreciating my favorite MILFs or reading fanfics. I enjoy reading books as well and have been writing on and off since childhood, though rarely in English.
I have OCD, and while it’s well-managed these days, it can still create a persistent internal friction where I don’t feel like my writing is sufficiently settled in every detail and okay to actually post. I’m trying to prioritize my love for literature over those thoughts, so bear with me as I experiment and share my work.
The characters I write for are:
Criminal Minds: Emily Prentiss, Alex Blake, Aaron Hotchner.
Law & Order SVU: Rafael Barba, Olivia Benson.
The Pitt: Dana Evans, Jack Abbot.
Requests are open and so is my askbox.
Masterlist? Tap the book! 👉🏻📖
I’d love to make some Tumblr friends! If we share a fandom, my DMs are always open.
god I'll never be over this. dana who instinctually uses touch to comfort, but stops herself, pulls back. realizing that the last thing ilana needs is another pair of hands on her without her consent. ilana sighing out some of her tension right after. ily dana :(
Summary: After months of shameless flirting and undeniable chemistry in the ED, Jack stops fighting the pull between you and gives in to his buried feelings — finally admitting just how badly he wants you.
Tags: Fluffy idiots in love, Mutual pining between colleagues, Workplace romance, Power dynamics, Slow burn, Endless banter, Flirting, Kissing.
Word count: 5.7k.
The night shift started the way it always did, with controlled chaos. Monitors chimed in uneven rhythms, stretchers rolled through the ambulance bay doors, and somewhere down the hall someone was already asking where Dr. Abbot was.
You found him exactly where you expected. He was standing in front of the patient board, coffee cup in one hand, tablet in the other, with his reading glasses perched low on his nose.
“You know,” you said, walking up beside him, “those make you look old.”
Without looking away from the board, he replied, “And you’re late.”
You checked the clock. “I’m three minutes early.”
“You were supposed to relieve McKay seven minutes ago.”
“Are you counting?”
That got his attention. His eyes flicked toward you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “…Yeah.”
You grinned. “That’s kind of cute.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“No?”
“No.” He took a sip of coffee, finally looking you over. “Did you eat yet?”
You blinked. “Good evening to you too.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I had a coffee.”
“Caffeine isn’t a meal.”
“It’s close enough.”
Jack sighed through his nose. “You’ve got about twenty minutes before it’ll start getting busy in here. Go eat something.”
“Are you giving me orders now?”
“I’m your attending.”
“Only in here,” you said, gesturing around the department.
He looked at you for a beat, then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Go.”
“Bossy.”
“And yet, you’re still standing here.”
You held his gaze for another second before turning away. “You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll page you if I change my mind.”
⸻
An hour later, the ambulance bay exploded, just like Jack had predicted.
“Incoming trauma! Male, twenty-three, high-speed MVC. Hypotensive en route.”
The doors burst open, and everything else disappeared.
“Trauma Two,” Jack barked. “Move.”
You were already moving. The room filled in seconds with doctors, nurses, and trauma surgery on standby.
Jack snapped on a pair of gloves. “You with me?”
“Always.”
He didn’t even look to see if you were ready. He knew you were. “Airway?”
“Secure.”
“Pressure?”
“Eighty systolic.”
“FAST-exam?”
“Negative.”
“Hang the second unit.”
“Already running.”
Every order was followed before he finished saying it. Every instrument he reached for was already in your hand. You worked perfectly in tandem with barely any verbal communication. At some point your shoulder slammed into his as you switched sides of the bed. Neither of you apologized. There wasn’t time.
Then, the patient’s pressure tanked.
“He’s crashing.”
“I know.”
“No pulse.”
“Start compressions.”
The room blurred into muscle memory. Minutes stretched. Then, time stopped. A heavy silence settled over the trauma bay. Jack looked at the clock. Nobody spoke while he called it. Not until the family liaison quietly asked for the time.
⸻
The room had slowly emptied. You stood at the sink, scrubbing blood from your hands harder than necessary. The water was almost too hot.
“You’ll take your skin off.” Jack’s voice was quieter now.
You didn’t look up. “I missed something.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
“I should’ve caught the bleed sooner.”
Jack stepped beside you, washing his own hands. “You did catch it. It was a hard one. ”
“It wasn’t enough to save him.”
“No.” His honesty made you finally look at him. “It wasn’t.” He dried his hands. “But that doesn’t mean you missed it.”
You hated when he did that—refused to sugarcoat anything. Somehow, it always made you feel better anyway.
“You okay?” he asked.
You shrugged. “I will be.”
He studied you for a second too long, then reached over without thinking. His thumb brushed across your cheek.
“What—”
“You had blood on you.” His hand dropped immediately.
“Oh.” You touched the spot yourself.
Neither of you moved. For one suspended second, the noise of the department disappeared.
Then, someone called Jack’s name from the hallway.
He cleared his throat. “I need you to finish the chart.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
“And eat something.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You almost had a nice moment.”
He huffed a laugh. “Don’t push it.”
You watched him leave, trying very hard not to think about the warmth of his thumb against your skin. Over at The Hub across the corridor, Dana, who was working a double, watched the entire exchange.
She caught your eye and raised one eyebrow. You immediately looked away.
“Oh, shut up,” you muttered.
“I didn’t say anything!” she exclaimed, her accent thick as usual.
“You didn’t have to.”
She smirked. “You two are getting worse.”
“We’re coworkers.”
“Mhm.”
“He’s my attending.”
“Mhm.”
“Are you done?”
She picked up a chart. “When one of you finally kisses the other, I expect flowers for putting up with this for ages.”
You scoffed. “As if.”
On the other side of The Hub, Jack was observing the patient board again. He looked away for the briefest moment, and his eyes met yours. He smiled. Small. Barely there. It was enough to make your stomach tighten. You smiled back before you could stop yourself.
Dana groaned loud enough for both of you to hear. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
Neither of you acknowledged her. Neither of you stopped looking.
You walked over to him with the intent of joining him on his next case. You were both staring at the board when another patient popped up.
“Central Eight,” he said without looking at you.
You glanced over his shoulder. “Abdominal pain?”
“Seventy-two-year-old. Spiked a fever in triage.”
“You always give me the fun ones.”
“You always steal the fun ones.”
“I learned from the best.”
He snorted. “Doubtful.”
You bumped his shoulder as you passed. “That’s almost a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
⸻
Mrs. Alvarez smiled weakly when the two of you walked into the room.
“Good evening,” you said, pulling the curtain closed. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N, and this is—”
Jack shot you a look.
You smiled innocently. “…my attending.”
Mrs. Alvarez laughed. “So you’re the important one?”
Jack sighed. “Unfortunately.”
You finished taking the history while Jack listened, occasionally jumping in with a question you’d missed. By now, the rhythm between you was automatic. He knew when to let you lead, and you knew exactly when he wanted more information without him having to ask.
By the time you stepped back into the hallway, he’d started putting orders in.
“CT, standard labs, lactate,” he said.
“Already did that.”
He stopped typing. “You did?”
“I was standing next to you. I’m good at multitasking.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You look surprised.”
“I am impressed.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“I'm pretty sure that was an actual compliment.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You make a terrible liar,” you said smugly, nudging him lightly in the side with your elbow.
“I make an excellent attending.”
“You can be both.”
Before he could answer, Dana waved the two of you over. “Abbot, EMS just called. Two minutes out.”
“What’ve we got?”
“Possible overdose. Found unresponsive. Given Narcan on scene with no effect.”
Jack nodded once before looking at you. “You with me?”
You looked back at him like he’d asked something ridiculous. “Since when am I not?”
For the briefest moment, something softened in his expression. Then it was gone. “Let’s go.”
⸻
The patient rolled in, still unconscious and with blue lips. The room shifted instantly into motion.
“One, two, three.”
Transfer.
“Bagging?”
“Respiratory’s got it.”
“IV access?”
“Working on a second line.”
Jack moved around the bed with practiced calm, calling out orders as the team responded around him. You were half a step behind, anticipating what he needed before he said it.
“I have the naloxone,” you said, already connecting the syringe to the patient’s IV.
“Push it.”
A beat. Nothing. Another. Then the patient jerked, coughing violently. The room collectively exhaled.
“Welcome back,” you muttered under your breath.
Jack heard you anyway. “Professional.”
“I am.”
“You absolutely are not.” The corner of his mouth lifted.
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“I saw it.”
“You imagined it.”
“You smile at my jokes all the time.”
“I tolerate them.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
He looked at you for a long second. “My face doesn’t say anything.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The monitor stopped chiming as the patient’s oxygen saturation climbed. Jack turned back toward the bed, but you caught the ghost of a smile before it disappeared. You counted that as a win.
⸻
The next couple of hours refused to slow down. A toddler with a febrile seizure. A college kid who’d managed to dislocate his shoulder trying to impress his friends. A chest pain that turned out to be anxiety. The board filled. Emptied. Filled again.
By two in the morning, the department had settled into that strange rhythm only the night shift understood—everyone exhausted, nobody slowing down.
You were finishing a note when Jack’s voice carried across the station. “I need another set of eyes.”
You rolled your chair over. “What’ve you got?”
He turned the monitor toward you. “EKG.”
You studied it. “…No STEMI.”
“No. But something’s off.”
You leaned closer. “So that’s why you called me.”
“I called you because you’re good.” His words came so matter-of-factly that they almost slipped past you. Almost.
You looked up at him. “Wow, Abbot, again with the compliments?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The grumpy old man.”
“I’m fifty.”
“I didn’t say ancient.”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did.”
He shook his head, reaching for his coffee. Empty. He frowned into the cup like it had personally offended him.
“You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re about to steal mine.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was considering it.”
You slid your coffee across the desk before you could think better of it. He looked from the cup to you.
“I’ve had half,” you stated.
“I know.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I’ll survive.”
Jack hesitated for just a second. Then he picked it up and took a sip.
“You know,” he said, setting it back down, “that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever done.”
You scoffed. “I covered your shift last month.”
“That benefited you too.”
“It did not.”
“You got overtime.”
“I got yelled at by Robby.”
“He told me.”
“And you didn’t even thank me.”
“I bought you breakfast.”
“You bought everyone breakfast.”
“I bought you an egg sandwich without mayonaise.”
“…You remember my go-to order?”
“I remember everything.”
The sentence hung there a second longer than either of you intended. Jack looked back at the computer.
“Abbot!” Dana poked her head over the monitors. “EMS. Three minutes.”
Jack stood immediately. “What’ve we got this time?”
“Industrial accident. Crush injury.”
His expression changed in an instant. Focused. Calm. Professional. “Trauma Two.”
⸻
The patient came in awake. That almost made it worse. He was young, early thirties, gripping your wrist hard enough to hurt while you cut away the shredded sleeve of his work jacket.
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“I know,” you said evenly. “Stay with me.”
Jack arrived at the bedside a short while later. “Walk me through it.”
You rattled off the vitals while the nurses worked. He listened without interrupting.
“Compartment syndrome?” you asked quietly.
“Maybe. Call ortho.”
You nodded once. “They’re already on their way.”
Everything moved fast after that. X-rays, pain control, consults, phone calls. The room gradually emptied as the patient was stabilized for transfer upstairs. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
Jack was stripping off his gloves. “You called ortho before I asked.”
“You were going to.”
“I was.” He looked at you for a second. “You’ve started anticipating me.”
“I’ve worked with you long enough.”
“It’s getting annoying.”
“You mean helpful.”
“I mean annoying.”
You laughed. “I’ll try to be less competent.”
“Don’t.” The answer came too quickly. Too honestly.
Jack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I think I do.”
Before either of you could say another word, Dana leaned through the doorway. “There you are. I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”
You both looked at her simultaneously. “What happened?” Jack asked.
She folded her arms. “The vending machine ate my five dollars.”
You blinked. “…That’s why you interrupted us?”
“I need an attending,” she said, winking at you.
Jack stared at her. “For the vending machine?”
“It’s a crime scene.”
You giggled. 'Way to cockblock, Dana,' you thought to yourself.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. “I went to medical school for this…”
Dana nodded toward Jack and pointed at you. “See? She laughs at your jokes.”
“I didn’t make a joke.”
“You exist. Close enough.” As she walked away, she tossed one last look over her shoulder. “And if you two are done making heart eyes at each other, Central Nine’s waiting.”
You and Jack answered at exactly the same time. “We’re not.”
Dana just laughed and kept walking.
Jack sighed. “This department is unbearable.”
“You could transfer.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re the problem.”
You stepped backward toward Central Nine, walking in reverse. “And yet you keep asking for me.”
His eyes followed you all the way down the hall.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “I do.”
You didn’t hear him. He was almost glad you hadn’t.
⸻
By four in the morning, the crowd in the waiting room had thinned. It wasn’t empty—that never happened. But for the first time all night, the department felt calmer. There weren’t any ambulances backing into the bay or trauma pages overhead. The lull lasted exactly eleven minutes.
Jack was halfway through signing off on an admission when you dropped into the chair beside him.
“Tell me you’ve got something interesting.”
He didn’t look up from the chart. “You volunteering?”
“Depends. For what?”
He swiped the screen of his tablet. “South Twenty.”
“What is it?”
“Foreign body.”
You groaned. “No.”
“Yep,” he said, popping the final p.
“Please tell me it’s a kid who swallowed a Lego.”
“You wish.”
You closed your eyes. “…It’s not.”
“It is not.”
“You can go by yourself.”
“I’m the attending.”
“So attend.”
He finally looked over at you, fighting a smile. “You scared?”
“I’m tired. It’s four in the morning.”
He stood, grabbing the chart from the printer. “C’mon.”
You stayed exactly where you were.
Jack stopped after a few steps. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “You coming?”
“You can’t make me.”
“I can.”
“You literally can’t.”
“I’ll assign you to hallway admits for the rest of the shift.”
Your eyes narrowed. “…You fight dirty.”
“I learned that from you.”
You pushed yourself out of the chair with an exaggerated sigh. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You sound awfully confident.”
“I am.”
⸻
By the time the patient had been evaluated, reassured, and referred to the appropriate service, nearly half an hour had disappeared. You stripped off your gloves and stepped back into the hallway.
“I don’t get paid enough.”
Jack fell into step beside you. “You got to tell someone not to put random objects where they don’t belong.”
“I’d rather not have that conversation ever again.”
He laughed. A real laugh—the kind that made the fine lines around his eyes crinkle in that way you adored. It was rare enough to make you glance over at him.
“What?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“You laughed.”
“And?”
“So you usually don't.”
“I laugh.”
“You smirk.”
“I laugh.”
“You exhale slightly harder through your nose.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
He looked genuinely offended. “I laugh.”
“Do it again.”
“I’m not performing.”
“Coward.”
“You done?”
“Never.”
The Hub came into view again. Jack had stopped by the break room to pick up two fresh coffees while he waited for you to finish up with the patient. He held one out.
You blinked. “I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
“You got this for me?”
“I got two.”
“You hate this roast.”
“I do.”
“So…”
“So take the coffee.”
You accepted it, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. The touch lasted just long enough to notice, but you didn’t want to pull away.
Then, a monitor alarm started blaring in Central Eleven, breaking the spell.
“I’ll get it,” you said, chugging the lukewarm coffee as you went.
Jack nodded. “I know you will.”
⸻
Central Eleven turned out to be nothing more than a loose lead. When you stepped back into the hallway, Jack was standing at The Hub, elbows braced against the counter, tablet in front of him as he scrolled through lab results.
You walked up beside him and nudged his arm with your shoulder. “Crisis averted.”
“The ECG lead survived?”
“Barely.”
“I’ll notify its family.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That was terrible.”
“You laughed.”
“I pitied you.”
“Sure.”
He was still smiling when he pulled up the next chart. Before he could read it, you reached over and turned the tablet your way. You quickly skimmed through the information while Jack still held onto the device.
“How come you’re always stealing my patients?” Jack asked, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
“I read the chart first.”
“I was literally holding it.”
“Possession isn’t ownership.”
“You making legal arguments now?”
“I’m making winning arguments.”
For a second, neither of you let go of the tablet. It was stupid. Childish. Completely unnecessary.
Jack looked down at your hand over his, then back up at you. “You planning on letting go?”
“Are you planning on asking nicely?”
“I’ve never asked you nicely.”
“I’ve noticed.”
His head tilted just slightly. “You like pushing my buttons.”
“You have so many.”
“And one day that’s going to get you in trouble.”
You smiled. “With you?”
His gaze held yours. “Yeah.”
The answer came low and easy. Not a joke, but not quite a warning either. Before either of you could decide what it meant, the overhead speaker crackled: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”
He let go of the tablet first.
“Saved by the pager,” you said.
Jack didn’t answer. He just looked at you for one lingering beat before turning toward the ambulance doors. “You coming?”
You fell into step beside him. “Always.”
The doors opened before either of you reached them. “Incoming.”
Jack’s expression changed immediately. The teasing disappeared. That was the thing about him—no matter how much you pushed him, no matter how much you got under his skin—the second someone needed him, he was exactly who he was supposed to be. Calm. Focused. Unshakable.
“Give me your report.”
The paramedic rattled off the details. Forty-five-year-old female. Found unconscious at home. Unknown downtime. Family on scene. You moved into position beside Jack without thinking. The two of you had done this enough times that there was no hesitation. You just knew where you belonged.
“On my count.”
The stretcher moved.
“One, two, three.”
The room filled. Orders, numbers, questions, hands moving, voices overlapping. Jack stood at the center of it all, directing the chaos into something controlled. You watched him do what he did best, impressed as always by his skill.
“Pressure’s coming up.”
“Good.”
“Glucose is low.”
“Treat it.”
“Getting a response.”
The patient’s eyes fluttered. The room exhaled. Not relief exactly—not yet—but enough to keep going.
⸻
When the patient was finally admitted, you found yourself standing at the sink again. Same place as earlier. Same fluorescent lights. Same exhaustion settling into your bones.
“You have a favorite spot in this department or something?” Jack’s voice made you look over.
“You just keep finding me here.”
“Because you keep coming here.”
“Maybe I like the sink.”
“Interesting choice.”
“Are you judging my taste?”
“I am.”
“Rude.” You smiled despite yourself.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The shift was catching up with both of you now. The adrenaline had worn thin, the jokes were quieter, and the space between you felt different.
Jack leaned against the counter beside you. “You were good tonight.”
You looked over. “That’s thrice.”
“What?”
“You’ve complimented me three times this shift.”
“I compliment people.”
“Not like that.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you mean it.”
A beat. Then another.
“I do mean it.”
The answer was simple. No teasing, no deflection. Somehow, that was worse.
You looked away first. “You’re dangerous when you’re tired.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You get honest.”
“I’m always honest.”
“No.” You glanced back at him. “You’re careful.”
Something in his expression shifted, because he knew you were right. Jack Abbot was careful. With patients, with decisions, with people. Especially with people.
“Maybe careful is a good thing.”
“Sometimes.”
“And sometimes?”
You shrugged. “Sometimes it just means you spend a lot of time not saying things.”
The silence after that was louder than the department. A monitor beeped down the hall. A nurse laughed somewhere near triage. The world kept moving.
Jack looked at you. “You always this difficult?”
“Only with you.”
There it was. The thing neither of you acknowledged. The line—the one you kept walking toward and then stepping back from.
His mouth twitched. “That’s what I thought.”
“You think you know everything.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you?”
His gaze stayed on yours. Long enough that your heartbeat picked up. Long enough that you remembered exactly how close you were standing.
Then, someone called his name. Again. Always again.
Jack looked toward the sound, then back at you. “I have work to do”
“You always have work to do.”
“That’s because I work here.”
“Convenient excuse.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Central Six.”
“Are you assigning me?”
“Yes.”
“Bossy.”
“Yes.”
“Enjoying it?”
“Maybe.”
The honesty surprised both of you. His smile faded slightly, not because he regretted it, but because he realized you knew he meant it.
“Careful, Abbot.”
His eyebrows lifted. “With what?”
“Getting honest.”
For once, he didn’t have a comeback. You walked away before he could find one. And you hated how much you wanted him to.
⸻
Five-thirty came around without either of you noticing. That was the dangerous part of the night shift. Time stopped meaning anything. There was only the next patient, the next call, the next thing that needed doing—until suddenly there was a clock on the wall telling you the sun was going to come up soon.
You were finishing a chart when Jack appeared beside the workstation.
“You’re still alive.”
You looked up. “So are you.”
“I’m the attending.”
“You say that like it’s a personality trait.”
“It might be.”
You smiled. “That’s actually concerning.”
He ignored that. “How many charts left?”
You glanced at your screen. “Three.”
“Three?”
“Don’t sound so offended.”
“You’ve been here all night.”
“So have you.”
“I finished mine twenty minutes ago.”
“Congratulations.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No one thanked you.”
“They should.”
“For doing your job?”
“For doing it efficiently.”
“You mean quickly.”
“I mean efficiently.” Jack shook his head. “You tend to complicate things.”
“And yet you keep talking to me.”
The words slipped out easily. Too easily. Neither of you laughed this time. Jack looked at you for a second.
Then, the familiar voice of the overhead speaker filled the space once more: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”
He looked toward the doors, then back at you. “You’re enjoying this.”
“What?”
“Winning arguments.”
“You make it very easy.”
“One day that’s going to backfire.”
You leaned back in your chair. “Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
His eyes held yours. “No.”
Something about that answer made you forget your next smart remark. Thankfully, the ambulance bay doors opened before you had to find one.
⸻
The final case of the night was never really final. There was always something standing between you and going home.
This time, it was a woman in her sixties with shortness of breath, a husband who wouldn’t stop apologizing for bringing her in, and a room full of worry. You took the lead on questions while Jack examined her. Between the two of you, the diagnosis came together piece by piece. Medication history, recent symptoms—you caught the detail everyone else had missed.
Jack saw you catch it. He didn’t interrupt or step in. He just let you work. That was one of the things about him that you appreciated. He never needed to prove he was the smartest person in the room.
After the patient was stabilized and admitted, the room finally emptied.
You exhaled. “Done.”
Jack checked the chart one last time. “For now.”
“You ruin everything.”
“It’s the ED. ‘Done’ isn’t really a thing.”
“Let me have my moment.”
“Fine.” He stepped back.
“Done.” You looked at him.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.” You laughed.
And there it was again. That look—the one where he forgot to look away. The one where the attending disappeared for a second and he was just Jack. Tired. Human. The man you adored.
“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re not as intimidating as everyone thinks.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It’s an observation.”
“Even worse.”
“You have a reputation.”
“I know.”
“And then you do things like buy people breakfast and remember their coffee order.”
He shrugged. “People work better when they’re well taken care of.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He knew. You could tell by the way his expression changed, the way he looked down briefly before looking back at you.
“You can head out. I’ve got it covered,” he said.
“You’re avoiding the conversation.”
“I’m telling you to get some sleep.”
“You should too.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The silence stretched. Jack looked away first. It was a small victory, but you took it.
“You do that a lot,” you noted.
“What?”
“Change the subject when something gets too close.”
His jaw tightened. “You do that too.”
That caught you off guard. “What?”
“Make a joke,” he said, pausing. “Make it easier.”
You didn’t have an answer. Because he was right. He always was.
Dana walked past the doorway. “Either of you planning on leaving today?”
You both stepped back at the same time. The moment broke.
“Eventually,” Jack said.
Dana looked between you. “Sure.” She walked away, but not before flashing you a knowing grin.
You grabbed the chart from the counter. “People are annoying.”
“People notice things.”
“People should mind their own business.”
“Maybe.”
You looked at him. “Maybe?”
“Maybe they’re not wrong.”
Your heartbeat kicked. But before you could answer, Mateo called out from nearby, “Abbot, your sign-outs.”
He sighed. “Saved by paperwork.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound tired.”
“Liar.”
He looked at you with a tired smile on his face. A real one. “Finish your charts.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“And eat before you leave.”
“You’re ridiculously bossy.”
“I am your boss. You’re welcome.”
You watched him walk away. For the first time all night, you didn’t make a joke. The truth was becoming harder to ignore. The shift was almost over—and somehow that felt more dangerous than anything that had happened inside the ED.
⸻
Six-fifteen. It was the hour where everyone started moving slower. Not because they were lazy, but because hours of alarms, trauma calls, admissions, and impossible decisions had finally caught up with them.
The ED was still alive, but the edges had softened. The waiting room had almost emptied, and the board was finally cleared—a miracle.
You finished your last note and leaned back in your chair. “Tell me we’re almost done.”
Jack was at the workstation beside you, signing off charts. “We’re almost done.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That was suspiciously easy.”
“It was a simple question.”
“You never answer simple questions simply.”
“I just did.”
“Exactly.”
He glanced over. “You always this paranoid?”
“Only when you’re involved.”
A small smile pulled at his mouth before he caught it.
“There.”
“What?”
“You smiled.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Jack.”
His eyes flicked up. Not doctor. Not Abbot. Jack. It was a tiny reaction—barely anything—but you noticed. And judging by the way he looked away, he noticed too.
“Your chart is missing a medication list,” he said.
You stared at him. “That’s your move?”
“My move?”
“Changing the subject.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re such a coward.”
That got a quiet laugh out of him. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because one day you’ll say something you can’t take back.”
You leaned back in your chair. “Maybe I already have.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. Jack looked at you. Really looked. Then, the printer started up—loud, obnoxious, and perfectly timed. You both looked away.
“Saved by office equipment,” you muttered.
“Apparently.”
⸻
By seven-fifteen, the last sign-outs were done. You grabbed your bag from the locker room while Jack finished his handoff to Robby in front of the board. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave. That should have been the first sign.
“You leaving?” Jack asked.
“Eventually.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Because you avoid answering my questions.”
“You’re good at noticing things.”
A pause.
“Yeah,” he said.
The quiet honesty of it made you look over. Jack seemed to realize what he’d said. Neither of you moved.
He looked toward the hallway. “You should go home.”
“So should you.”
For once, neither of you laughed. The supply room door stood open down the hall—empty, quiet, and private. Jack noticed you looking. You nodded toward the door and began walking without turning around to check if he was following.
You knew he was.
The door clicked shut behind the two of you.
“You know this is the part where we’re supposed to make the smart decision,” Jack murmured.
You stepped closer. “Are we?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m trying to be.”
“Trying?”
A tired laugh escaped him. “You really don’t make anything easy.”
“You like that.”
His eyes met yours. “I do.”
The answer was immediate. Too immediate. The silence afterward was different—not awkward, just honest.
Jack shook his head. “You know how long I’ve been trying not to?”
You tilted your head. “Not to what?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me say it.”
You held his gaze. “Maybe I want you to.”
That was it. Not some dramatic moment, nor some perfect confession. Just the last bit of restraint finally wearing thin.
Jack looked away for a second, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
“Yeah.” He paused, looking back at you. “Yeah, I am.”
The supply room light hummed. The hospital carried on around you, but for once, nobody needed anything from him. No patients, no decisions. Just this.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” he asked.
“Noticed what?”
“Every excuse you find to come by the board. Every argument you drag out longer than it needs to be. Every time you look at me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Your mouth curved. “Maybe I do.”
His eyes dropped briefly before finding yours again. “That’s the problem.”
“Why?”
When he answered, there was no teasing left in his voice. “‘Cause I want ya.”
The words were quiet, but they were everything he’d been refusing to say.
You didn’t move.
Jack exhaled, almost like admitting it had taken something out of him. “I want ya, and I’ve been trying not to.”
The space between you felt smaller.
“Because you’re my resident,” he added after a pause. “Because I’m supposed to know better.”
You looked at him. “And now?”
His eyes stayed on yours. “Now I think I’m tired of pretending.”
Neither of you said anything after that. You didn’t need to. The kiss happened because there was simply nothing left to argue about. Months of almost. Months of looks across the department. Months of pretending the pull between you was just banter. Gone.
His lips were soft against yours, and you couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped you. Finally.
Your hand came up to tangle in the graying curls at the nape of his neck. His hands were steady at your waist, keeping you grounded. For a moment, neither of you moved, like you were both waiting for the other person to realize what was happening and pull away.
Neither of you did.
The kiss deepened slowly, carefully. Not rushed, but not exactly uncertain either. More like both of you were trying to memorize something you had spent too long pretending you didn’t want.
One of his hands left your waist, coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed along your jaw with a gentleness that almost undid you more than the kiss itself. Jack was always steady, always controlled. But here, with you, there was something softer. Something honest.
You leaned into his touch without thinking. His forehead rested briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe. His eyes stayed closed for a second longer than they needed to.
For a moment, the ED disappeared. The noise, the exhaustion, the rules you had both been so careful about—all of it vanished.
When you finally pulled back, Jack stayed close. He took a quiet breath, a small, disbelieving smile touching his lips. “This is still a bad idea.”
You smiled. “Probably.”
“You’re agreeing?”
“Absolutely.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you were right.”
He shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
This time, he didn’t argue.
The sound of footsteps outside the door reminded both of you where you were. Reality came back. The hospital was still there, and the shift was still ending. Jack stepped back first, because of course he did. Control. Always control.
But the look in his eyes said it wasn't as easy as it used to be. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice a quiet invitation.
I love how so many movie characters take off their glasses during their "glow up" meanwhile emily prentiss put on her glasses and everyone has lost their clothes over it
