Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Robby learns about Lizzie's birthday plans and reacts with the... um... calm rationality everyone expects from him.
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 102: You don't have to cry for me
--- --- ---
Jack was asleep in the bedroom. Deeply asleep to be precise. That kind of sleep that only happened after a brutal night shift where he came home looking vaguely haunted, kissed your forehead on autopilot, checked on Lizzie, muttered something about loving you very much before collapsing into bed.
This time he had thought about taking his prosthetic off before falling asleep.
Progress.
You sat in the living room with a cup of coffee - and Robby, who stood on your doorstep twenty minutes ago with coffee and pastries. And immediately had taken over baby duty once you let him in. Now he sat on the living room floor with Lizzie in his lap while he helped her stack blocks with concerning levels of commitment.
“Okay” he said gravely, adding another block. “This feels structurally unsound but if you insist…”
Lizzie shrieked delighted. “RARA!” Then slapped the whole tower sideways.
You smiled.
Robby stared at the blocks then sighed deeply. “Uncle Rara loves you so much.” He cuddled her against his chest, kissing her hair. “I can’t be mad at you, kid.”
Lizzie squealed, then jumped up and down, laughing hysterically.
“You see - I’m the godfather so this child and I have a sacred bond” he said towards you.
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’m serious.” He shrugged. “I hope there is any kind of legal document just in case you idiots die one day.”
You stared at him in horror for a moment, before laughing. “Can you not say it like that?”
“What?” He rolled his eyes. “I just like being prepared.”
“Okay.” You still chuckled softly when you took another sip. “Oh, by the way - did Jack tell you we booked the flights for her birthday?”
“Flights?” he asked, already frowning.
“I told you.” You gave him a stern look. “We’re flying out to see my family.”
“Ah. Yes. You mentioned that.”
“Yeah, we’re gonna stay for a week.”
“Excuse me?” He sat up straighter, pulling Lizzie - who wanted to crawl away - back into his lap. “So let me get this straight. You’re taking my goddaughter across the country and have the audacity to leave me out of her very first birthday?”
You could only blink. “Um-”
“No.” He shook his head once. “Absolutely not.”
“Robby-”
“No.” He gestured at Lizzie. “This child? She’s like my own daughter so, no, thank you very much, I’m not missing her birthday.”
You started to laugh. “Robby, we’re visiting my family.”
“And?”
You blinked. “My family” you repeated, slower this time.
“Yeah, I heard you. So I’m coming.”
“Um - what?”
“I’m coming with you.”
The laughter stuck in your throat. “Um, no, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Michael, you can’t just invite yourself to our family gathering.”
“Oh, watch me.” He looked genuinely offended now. “I’m her godfather. I’m important.”
“Yes but you see her nearly on a daily basis.”
“She gets one first birthday. No way I’m missing it.”
“Robby, she won’t remember!”
“But I will remember” Robby shot back, then went silent. He looked down at Lizzie for a second, brushing hair back from her forehead automatically. Then shrugged like he hadn’t gotten emotional. “I just don’t want to miss this.” He narrowed his eyes. “Also Jack’s meeting your family for the first time. He needs all the backup support he can get.”
You snorted. “He served in the army. I’m sure he’ll survive.”
Robby looked deeply unconvinced. “Big family birthday in a rural town? That man’s gotta get emotionally overwhelmed in like ten seconds.”
You tried to look offended. “That’s my family you’re talking about.”
“And you moved hundreds of miles away from them, so you’re just proving my point.”
You laughed despite yourself.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway and both of you looked up instinctively. Jack’s sleep-rough voice drifted over.
“Why do I hear Michael fucking Robinavitch in my apartment?”
Robby started grinning while Lizzie let out a delighted shriek. “Good morning heartthrob!”
You cackled.
There was a moment of silence. Then - “Get out of my apartment, you psycho.”
“Watch your language, Abbot, your daughter is here” he shot back without missing a beat.
Jack appeared in the doorway looking devastatingly exhausted - his hair a mess, his shirt wrinkled, still half-asleep. He stopped and looked at Robby. Then at Lizzie, who was trying to wrestle herself free from Robby's embrace.
“Why are you here?”
Robby raised his eyebrows. “I want to spend time with my goddaughter on one of my rare days off.”
“DADDA DADDA DADDA!” Lizzie made grabby hands in Jack’s direction and his face softened immediately.
“Hey Bean.” He blew her a kiss.
She giggled delighted.
Robby snuggled her a little closer. “By the way we just decided I’m coming to her birthday.”
Jack blinked once, glancing over to you. You held up your hands. “I’m innocent. He decided this. There was no we in that decision.”
“Traitor” Robby muttered under his breath, then added louder: “No way I’m missing my goddaughters first birthday.”
Jack looked horrified for a moment, then something else crossed his face. Immediate defeat. He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face. “We created a monster” he mumbled.
Robby shrugged. “Yep. It’s your fault. Now let’s talk logistics…”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
This is my reaction when I find a cool fanfic but don't look at the header. And then I realise it's unfinished and the last chapter came out several years ago.
Summary: A casual lunch accidentally reveals a secret you never mentioned. You're married to Dr. Park, leaving your coworkers completely shocked.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
Lunch breaks in the emergency department were practically non-existent. Between the hustle and bustle of trauma and patients cycling in and out, it was hard to find a moment to breathe, let alone to eat.
Today was a rare day.
Robby had practically ushered the four of you out of the ED the moment things settled down, arms crossed like a proactive dad who ensures his children eat their supper. He promised to page if a rush happened or if the med students screwed something up.
It wasn’t slow, but it was the closest thing the ED would ever see.
You sat down at a small table in the corner of the cafeteria with Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi, finally excited to eat.
The second the food hit the table, the conversation that was once flowing slowly turned into a debate.
“This is insane,” Whitaker said, staring at his receipt like it had offended him. “Why is a sandwich seven dollars? In a hospital, of all places.”
Javadi leaned over to look. “It’s literally bread and ham. That’s it.”
“Don’t forget disappointment,” Santos added, already halfway through hers like she had accepted defeat.
Whitaker huffed, leaning back in his chair. “How are residents supposed to survive on this? My salary barely covers my loans.”
“They expect you to run on spite and caffeine,” you said calmly, taking a bite of your sandwich.
Whitaker leaned back in the plastic chair. “And don’t even get me started on families. People sitting here stressed and grieving, trying to eat, and it costs this much?”
Javadi scoffed lightly. “Sorry, your father has heart failure, but would you like to buy a six-dollar coffee to cope?”
“Hospital capitalism is its own disease,” Santos muttered.
A round of tired agreement followed, chairs creaking, and wrappers crinkling as the exhaustion lingered over the table.
Santos turned to you. “Okay, but you're weirdly calm about this. Don’t you care about our wallets?”
Three pairs of eyes landed on you at once.
You blinked, then shrugged slightly. “I don’t really think about it.”
Whitaker frowned. “How do you not think about it?”
You took another bite, unbothered. “I just charged it to my husband’s account.”
There was silence.
You couldn’t tell whose jaw dropped first, Santos or Javadi's, but for two people who never stopped talking, they went completely quiet.
Whitaker looked between the two, trying to process exactly what you had just said. “Did she just–”
At the same time, Santos blurted, “You're what?”
“My husband’s account,” you repeated casually. You hadn’t paid for your lunch since you started working here.
Javadi blinked. “You have a husband?”
“Yeah,”
Whitaker slowly sat forward in his chair, as if the world had shifted slightly. “Since when?”
“A couple of years now.”
Santos was still in a state of shock. “We work with you every day.”
“I know,”
“And you never mentioned a husband?”
You tilted your head. “You guys have also never asked.”
Whitaker let out a short laugh. “You don’t even wear a ring.”
You lifted your hand briefly. “Work hazard.”
Javadi leaned in now, curiosity fully activated. “So your husband just pays for everything?”
“Well, no,” you corrected. “I just forget my card sometimes, so it’s easier. He’ll handle it.”
Santos slowly leaned back in her chair, processing. “Okay. I need context.”
You hesitated just a fraction too long, and that was enough.
Santos narrowed her eyes. “Oh, my god. Don’t tell me it’s someone here.”
“No freaking way,” Whitaker shook his head. “We would totally know if it was someone here.”
Javadi frowned slightly. “Would we though?”
Whitaker opened his mouth, then paused, glancing around the cafeteria like he was suddenly reconsidering the entire staff list. “I mean… There are tons of doctors who work here.”
“Exactly,” Javadi said. “Half of them barely come down to the ED. We wouldn’t know.”
Santos, however, didn’t look convinced.
She was staring at you now, like really staring, as if she was trying to piece something together in her mind. “Oh no”
You tried very hard to keep your expression straight, but you couldn't help but the small smirk that crept on your face.
Santos leaned forward, pointing her fork at you. “Oh, we definitely know him.”
Whitaker blinked. “What?”
“I’ve seen that face before,” she continued, gesturing vaguely at you. “That little—” she squinted, mimicking it poorly, “smirk you do when you’re hiding something.”
Javadi’s eyes widened. “She’s right.”
Santos didn't take her eyes off you. “Who is it?”
You hesitated, glancing between the three of them, already knowing exactly how this was about to go. It’s not like you haven't heard them complain about him before.
“...Promise you won’t hate me?”
Javadi leaned in. “Please don’t say, Robby.”
Santos made a face. “Oh my god, if it’s Robby, I’m transferring.”
You snorted. “It’s not Robby.”
Whitaker let out a breath. “Okay, good.”
Santos waved her fork at you. “Alright, then who is it?”
You exhaled, already bracing for impact. You looked between them.
“...Brendon Park.”
The table went silent.
Whitaker froze. “No.”
Javadi blinked. “Oh, my god.”
Santos didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. “You’re married to Dr. Park.”
You nodded.
Whitaker ran a hand over his face. “The ortho surgeon who hates everyone?”
“Not everyone,” you teased.
They all stared at you.
“He’s not like that all the time. That’s just work.”
Santos blinked. “A work thing?”
You nodded. “He’s like an ortho god here. At home, he's just Brendon.”
Whitaker shook his head. “That man barely tolerates people.”
You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, well. He tolerates me.”
There was a moment where you searched for the right words, something that might help them understand. They only knew one side of him. You knew both. Normally, you didn’t feel the need to explain it, but here it felt necessary.
“‘Park the Shark’ is for here,” you said lightly. “That’s him in the OR, in the hospital, doing all that intense surgical work.”
Santos snorted. “Park the Shark is insane, by the way.”
You smiled. “Well, yeah, he got his name somehow.”
Whitaker leaned forward slightly. “And at home?”
You shrugged, but your voice softened just a little.
“He’s just Brendon,” you said, “He’s normal. He lives on coffee and reality television and steals my food even when he is not hungry. He’s there for anything that I need.”
Javadi tilted her head. “That sounds like a different person.”
“It’s not,” you said simply. “I just get the better version.”
Santos studied you for a second. “So you’re telling me Dr. ‘I intimidate half the hospital’ Park is just completely different at home.”
You shrugged again, but there was a small, fond smile you couldn’t quite hide.
Whitaker was staring at you like he was trying to rewrite everything he thought he knew.
Javadi’s brows were slightly furrowed, like she was mentally replaying every interaction she’d ever had with him.
Santos just leaned back, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t believe you.”
You only smiled.
Before anyone could say anything else—
All of your pagers went off.
The moment shattered.
Whitaker groaned, already pushing his chair back. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Break’s over,” Javadi muttered, grabbing her things.
The ED had settled back into its usual rhythm of controlled chaos.
Lunch break seemed far behind in your mind as you went from treatment room to treatment room.
You were at the nurses' station, finishing up a chart while Santos, Whitaker, and Javai lingered nearby, pretending to be busy while the conversation from lunch was still very much alive in the air.
Santos was mid-sentence when she suddenly stopped.
Her eyes shifted past you.
“..Oh?”
Whitaker frowned. “What?”
Javadi followed her line of sight in the elevator and immediately went quiet.
You didn't even look up; their reaction had said it all.
Brendon Park walked in like he owned the place, his cold and controlled composure completely unaffected by the noise around him.
He stepped up to the station. “Room?” he asked.
One of the nurses answered, pointing down the hall to one of the trauma rooms.
He gave a short nod and continued without another glance.
Whitaker leaned in slightly. “Yeah… she’s really married to that guy.”
Santos shook her head. “Still don’t get why.”
You just kept typing.
The hallway was less chaotic than the rest of the ED.
Still, staff were walking through, and patients were waiting on beds, but it settled enough that you could relax momentarily.
You leaned back against the wall, chart in hand, exhaling slowly.
A door opened.
Brendon stepped out, already pulling off his gloves, attention still half on the patient he’d just seen.
He was focused. Clearly thinking ahead of the upcoming surgery, he was about to perform.
He started walking, but when he noticed you, he slowed his pace until he was next to you.
You pushed off the wall, a smile already forming. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw three heads pop up.
“Hey.”
Everything about his demeanour shifted.
“Hey,” he said, lighter, just for you.
He stepped closer, close enough that your hands brushed.
“You okay?” he asked, scanning your face.
You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that didn’t fully convince him.
“Just a long shift.”
His gaze lingered, reading you like a chart.
“Did you eat?”
You huffed. “Yes.”
He didn’t believe you.
You rolled your eyes a little, reaching up without thinking to fix the collar of his scrub top as it had folded in on itself. “I had a sandwich."
His brows lifted slightly.
“I promise,” you added.
Brendon held out his pinky.
“Are you serious?” You couldn't get over the ridiculousness of your husband wanting to pinky promise over a sandwich.
You laughed under your breath, hooking your finger with his. “My friends are watching.”
He leaned in just slightly, voice low.
“Oh, I know,” he murmured. “I can feel them staring.”
And sure enough, when you turned three heads, you immediately ducked out of sight down the hall.
When I'm looking at my x reader tags to see if there are any new fics for like the 5th time today (there aren't) and then remembering that maybe the reason is that it's christmas and most people are probably spending time with their family and are not super preoccupied with tumblr at the moment like I am.
☆ SUMMARY: In a final and desperate attempt to try and revive your love life, you turn to the a dating app– only to have every attempt sabotaged by your boss.
☆ CONTAINS: Younger, fem!reader, dating apps, a patient that can’t take a hint, and a jealous Jack.
☆AUTHORS NOTE: I guess I have one more Sabrina Carpenter titled fanfic in me…No, I'm just kidding, I’m so thankful that you guys like the fics. Anyways, here’s to manifesting away the bums in your life and getting an actual man/woman/other that respects you!
☆ PAGE DIVIDERS BY: @angeliicide
01:27 AM
You were tired of the dry spell you had been going through and as embarrassing as it was to admit, you needed to get laid.
So yes, you have downloaded Hinge once again .
Unfortunately, being on your phone at work meant you had to be sneaky– which you had clearly failed at, since John and Parker were currently crowding you as you scrolled through the app.
“Okay, what about him?” you say, turning the screen towards them. Two equally disturbed looks are sent your way and you wordlessly swipe left. “I’m never getting laid at this point,” you whine, letting John take your phone as he starts swiping for you.
Parker sighs, leaning back in her chair as she crosses her arms, giving you a confused look– like it's your fault nothing is happening in the romance sector of your life.
“Quit moaning– see, this is why you should date women,” she shrugs, as if you hadn’t thought of that either.
“Don’t you think I would if I could?” you retort, feeling less hopeful with each piece of advice given to you by your colleagues.
Parker raises her hands in defeat, though you don’t miss the amused smirk on her face, clearly finding entertainment in your despair.
“Yeah, these guys ain't it– everyone is either a republican or holding a fish in their pictures–” John finally speaks up, grimacing in disgust, “Also, this guy is thirty, who can’t use ‘there, their and they're’ at that age?
Just as he’s about to hand your phone back, someone intercepts the action.
“Is there a reason three of my residents are huddled around like a football team instead of, you know, actually working?”
Jack quirks an eyebrow, looking between the three of you– looking like you were caught with your hands in the cookie jar.
Squinting down at the screen of the phone, he’s confused when he’s met with the picture of a man, standing shirtless on what seems to be a fishing boat.
He glances up at John, before humming in surprise.
“Didn’t know you swung that way Shen– but hey, all the power to you. I’m, uh– what’s it called? Right– an ally!””
“It’s not mine!” John exclaims, though you suspect he’s more offended over the fact that Jack thought he was into guys that fish, rather than assuming he's gay.
You hold back a laugh, shaking your head as you stretch your hand out towards Jack.
“It’s mine,” you say weakly, embarrassed that your boss caught you in such a vulnerable, degrading state.
Actively trying to score a date.
Jack’s expression shifts, not in a dramatic way, but you catch it– that flicker of surprise that later turns to interest.
“Oh,” he says, looking back down at the phone in his hand, then back at you. “Didn’t peg you for the fishing-boat type,”
“I’m not,” you deadpan, reaching a little more insistently for your phone. “That’s why he was getting rejected,”
He doesn’t hand it back right away, instead tilting the screen again, eyes darting across like he’s assessing injuries on a patient.
You can feel the judgement radiating off him.
“Okay, enough about my non-existent love life– can I have that back?”
“Doesn’t seem that non-existent from here,” Jack mutters, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he turns to show you the DM section– filled with messages you hadn’t bothered replying to.
Oh, so he can’t figure out how to lower the brightness on his phone, but he can work the Hinge DM’s?
“Hey, that’s private!” you blurt, making another grab for it, but Jack just lifts it slightly out of reach, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Give it back, Abbot–”
“No, I think I’ll be keeping this actually,” he muses, promptly putting your phone into his pocket.
You blink, looking at Parker and John for help, but when you turn around, their chairs are empty.
Traitors.
Whirling back, you turn around just in time to see his retreating figure making its way towards the medicine dispenser.
“Are you serious right now?” you call after him, already moving to follow.
Jack doesn’t even slow down, only stopping to press his pincode into the tiny screen on the automated medicine cabinet.
“You can’t be tindering’ while on the clock–”
“It was Hinge, and I’m on my break!” you counter, annoyance growing at the way he won’t even look at you. Stepping between the cabinet and his frame, you cross your arms, hardening your gaze as much as you possibly could. “Do you want me to end up alone forever?”
Jack rolls his eyes at your hyperbole before glancing back at you. You’re close– close enough that he can see the leftover from your lunch on the side of your mouth. Without thinking, he reaches up, wiping the corner of your lips with his thumb, then stepping back as if nothing had happened.
“I doubt that’s going to happen.” he mutters dryly, his large hands landing on your shoulders as he gently pulls you out of the way. “You can have it back once you’ve assessed at least three patients in triage,”
Your brain short-circuits as his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, the stroke quick, almost absentminded, followed by the warmth of his hands touching your body– and fuck, you just realized how touch starved you actually are– because your boss being…well, himself, should not have this effect on you.
“Three patients?” you confirm, breaking out of your spiraling thoughts.
You’d rather run the entire ER completely by yourself on Christmas, than to try and figure out why you were having fanny flutters after a glorified shove from your attending.
02:45 AM
Jack stands in the breakroom, pouring himself his third cup of coffee for the night when it vibrates again.
He tries to ignore, he really does– that insistent buzzing in the right pocket of his scrubs. It’s almost 3 AM– who in their right mind is texting at this time?
He knows it’s not his phone, no one texts him. Well, besides Robby, his psychologist, and at times, the pharmacy with a reminder for him to pick up his prescriptions.
Still, his curiosity gets the best of him, and before he knows it, he’s making sure the coast is clear and quickly digging your phone out of his pocket.
Just as he expected– several messages on your lock screen and all of them from Hinge. Jack’s eyes dart across the screen, each message sending him reeling further.
“R u up?”
“Ur sooo hot,”
“Did it hurt when you–”
Yeah, okay, that's enough. Jesus, who are these douchebags in your phone?
Jack shakes his head, going to stuff your phone back into his pocket and try to ignore the weird pit that formed in his stomach at the thought of you actually giving any of these guys a chance.
Or anyone in general, his mind echoes, but he shakes the thoughts before they can take any actual form.
Instead, he’s staring at the influx of shitty pickup-lines and decides to do you a favor. His thumb swipes over the screen, deleting the first message. Deciding that he liked the feeling of “helping” you, he keeps going and only stops when he’s content– which coincidentally happens when your lockscreen is clear again. Holding back a smug grin, he takes a long sip of his coffee leaning back against the countertop.
Oops.
03:18 AM
Parker Ellis does a double take when she finds you ducking behind the counter in the hub. She leans over the counter, peering down at you suspiciously.
“…Why are you crouching on the floor?”
You jump, only relaxing when you look up and see that it’s just her.
“Shit, you scared me. I…” you huff, hesitating as you look over your shoulder before answering. “I’m hiding from a patient,”
Parker hums, not as fazed as you expected her to be at the revelation.
“Yeah, been there, done that,” she reminisces, before looking at you incredulously. “But you don’t do that, so spill,”
Deciding against having to pay orthopedics a visit, you stand up straight again, still eyeing the surrounding area warily.
“Well…there’s this one patient that–”
“There you are, doc!”
In an almost comedic timing, a voice loudly interrupts.
You stiffen, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend not to hear him he’ll leave you alone?
“Doc!” the voice calls again, closer this time. “Been lookin’ for you everywhere!”
That clearly did not work. You inhale slowly through your nose, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile onto your face as you turn around.
“Mr. Williams–”
“Hey, I told you to just call me Henry,” he smirks, sauntering up to the counter and leaning against it– awfully confident for a man currently dressed in a hospital gown. “Anyways– you left before we could pick a day that works for you,”
You laugh awkwardly, briefly glancing at Parker, as to signal help with your gaze.
“Uh– I would, I just– I think Dr. Ellis here needed a second opinion–”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. By all means, go ahead and finish up here!” she chirps, stifling a delighted grin, as she looks between you and Henry expectantly.
You make a mental note of her betrayal, vowing to never cover her shifts again.
Henry perks up immediately, sending you what you can only assume is meant to be a sexy smolder.
…It’s not.
Henry leans in a little more, like he’s expecting you to meet him halfway.
“I’m pretty flexible,” he adds, lowering his voice like it’s supposed to be charming. “You just tell me when you’re free, and I’ll make it work”
You laugh again and it comes out strained this time.
Fuck, is this the life you’re doomed to live? At this rate you’re going to end up alone. Maybe you should just suck it up and say yes–
“Is there a problem here?”
Your saving grace appears in the form of Jack Abbot, and you have never been more relieved to hear his voice.
Parker, the snake, chooses right now as her moment to chime in, placing a firm hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“Come on, Mr. Williams, let me take you back to your bed,”
“Wait a minute, I still need to–”
Henry’s protests fade away as Parker leads him back to his room, thankfully in the west and furthest wing of the department.
Sighing in relief, you turn to Jack with a bright smile, right up until he speaks up.
“Seriously? I take your phone and you pounce on the first patient your age?”
Your smile drops instantly, an offended expression forming.
“What? I was not–”
“Well, you sure as hell didn’t shut it down, did you?” he grunts, eyebrows raised and a cynical look in his eyes.
Your mouth snaps shut, a sheepish look crossing your face, because yes, you did have a slight moment of weakness and debated hooking up with a patient.
A girl’s gotta eat, though!
“Robby’s always nagging about patient satisfaction scores anyways,” you joke, but it falls flat, Jack’s unamused face making you have second thoughts. “That was a joke,” you clarify, thinking it was just the late hour getting to him.
“It wasn’t very funny,” he counters, rolling his eyes.
Jesus Christ, he's sassy tonight–
Sighing, you dig the heel of your palms into your eyes while you speak up, voice laced in exasperation. You’d fight this battle another time. “Sure, whatever– I’ve cleared three patients, can I have my phone back now?”
Jack purses his lips, and you’re confused about what the hold up is about. When he still doesn’t reach into his pocket, you speak up again.
“Okay, have I done something?” you ask, eyes flitting across his hardened face and closed off body language. Everything screams annoyed and you have no clue why he would be angry with you.
“No, I just think you have terrible taste in men” Jack mumbles, pointedly avoiding your gaze.
“Really?” you scoff, face twisting in disbelief. “This is about my dating choices?”
“It’s about you bringing it into work when you should be clearing beds–”
“We have like, five rooms empty–” you retort easily, which only seems to further agitate Jack.
“Well, we should have more– we would have more, if you would just focus and get to work!” he barks, before turning away and storming off.
You stand in the middle of the ER, mouth slightly ajar as you try to understand what just happened. And despite everything that had just transpired, you still haven’t gotten your phone back.
03:36 AM
Jack regrets it as soon as he says it, but it's too late by then– he’s already stormed off and turning back and apologizing would probably reveal what he’s doing a terrible job of trying to hide.
He doesn’t understand it, why someone as brilliant, beautiful and kind as you would settle for those…disappointments.
You needed someone who would take care of you– to make sure you ate something proper during work, an actual hearty meal, instead of those protein bars you claimed sustained you.
Someone who could understand where you were coming from when you complained about work and your patients– not an insecure idiot who would whine about the late hours you worked.
You definitely needed someone who would spoil you. Maybe pick you up and drop you off at work, someone to wine and dine you, run you baths after a particularly grueling shift, to sit by the tub and rub your damp shoulders and neck, before slipping further and–
Jack shakes his head, swallowing hard. Fuck, he was getting out of hand.
“Get it together, man” he mutters under his breath. A passing nurse gives him a quick glance, and Jack quickly sends her a charming smile, like he wasn’t just staring into nothing, thinking about you.
04:30 AM
You stretch your arms up, suppressing a yawn as you settle down in front of an available computer, tapping your ID badge on the card reader and logging in to finally start charting. The screen flickers alive and you momentarily just stare at the blank page, thinking about the events that had unfolded.
Jack took your phone. Then he cockblocked a potential hookup. Then he yelled at you, and even though you’d cleared more than three patients, you still hadn't gotten your phone back, which was throwing you completely off your game.
You hadn’t even been able to do your five-minute doomscroll while on the toilet earlier.
A cup lands on your desk, stopping your train of thoughts. Blinking, your eyes snap towards the culprit.
Jack is already looking at you, before his gaze shifts to the empty screen in front of you.
“...You looked like you needed some caffeine,” he mumbles and lingers, despite his action being finished.
A snort slips past your lips, and you cover your mouth in horror.
Jack’s eyebrows raise in surprise, unable to resist the smile forming on his face.
“What was that?” he wheezes out through breathy laughter.
“What was what–” you say, voice unusually high pitched as you feign ignorance, though the way your cheeks turn red betray your words.
“That– you just– did you just snort?”
It’s not loud, he’s clearly trying to keep it contained for your sake, but it breaks through anyway– a sharp, surprised laugh that he clearly didn’t plan on letting out.
Your cheeks redden further and you huff, standing up and quickly logging out of the computer.
“I’m leaving!”
Jack moves before his mind registers what he's doing, his hand shooting out and grabbing your wrist. You freeze at the touch, stiffening just a bit.
He’s not too bothered about it, having a sudden surge of confidence, which was evident in the way he tugs you closer to him.
“Hey– it was cute,” he says softly, a teasing glint in his eyes that makes your heart pound faster in your chest and your hands grow clammy.
“You’re just making fun of me,” you shake your head, muttering weakly, though a bashful expression still sweeps over your face.
“I’m not,” he says and it comes out too fast. Then, like he hears himself and doesn’t like how insincere it sounded, he tries to soften it. “I’m not making fun of you,”
Reluctantly, Jack lets go of your wrist and grabs the coffee cup he brought you earlier. He easily identifies the look on your face as hesitation, motioning towards the cup in his hand with his chin.
“You laugh at everything when you’re tired,” he reasons and only relaxes once your fingers wrap around it.
“Good girl,” he says, and turns around at the sound of his name being called, leaving you to overthink every decision you’ve ever made in your life that's led you here, tonight.
To a reality where Jack Abbot flirts with you, then leaves like it’s nothing.
06:00 AM
You’ve spent the last hour and a half of your shift avoiding Jack, going as far to write your charts on the other end of the ER.
It’s your own fault, really. Clearly being deprived of love and affection has left you overthinking everything– as if there’s any actual chance that Jack Abbot has been flirting with you.
No– there’s no way.
If you knew, you’d have done something about it way sooner, not wasted your time on dating apps, entertaining guys that eventually end up calling their exes when wasted, and ruining any chance they had with you.
All the good guys were either deceased or taken– and the only exception to that could not be your boss.
Because if there was something there– anything real, anything intentional– you would’ve seen it. You’re not oblivious, you’ve dated enough, survived enough disappointments to know what interest looks like.
And Jack?
Jack is just…
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, because the list that comes to mind doesn’t help your argument.
He’s attentive. Annoyingly so, at times.
Well, he has to be, he’s the attending, you reason.
But then you think back to the coffee he brought you, exactly the way you liked it and the pretense in which he had brought it over. He noticed that you were tired– that you laugh at things that aren’t even funny, when that’s the case.
Also, your phone. When he eventually gave it back, you had no notifications. Not that you’re that popular anywhere, but you specifically remember there being some texts you were purposefully ignoring, from some sleazy guys on Hinge.
Did he delete them because he…
You sit up straighter, now racking your brain for every interaction you’ve ever had with the older male.
When he first realized it was your phone, the one opened and active on dating apps.
Henry– the way he was unreasonably upset after that whole fiasco, snapping at you then storming off like a petulant child, throwing a temper tantrum.
The brief, casual touches, like it’s second nature to him to take care of you.
The final nail in the coffin is when you decide to look up, searching for him– just to end this once and for all, to convince yourself that the sleep deprivation was getting to you– when you lock eyes with him from across the department.
He blushes, before fumbling with the ipad in his hands, and then just…takes off, leaving you to stare at the spot he had just occupied.
Holy shit.
Jack Abbot liked you.
06:57 AM
The last few minutes of a shift are always the worst ones. It’s like time moves in slow motion, wanting to prolong the suffering for as long as possible.
Your phone buzzes, and you don’t think about it when you dig it out of your pocket, blinking sluggishly as you try to read the notice.
Huh, guess there’s a warning for heavy rain–
“Are you serious right now?”
You flinch at the sharp tone of voice that’s suddenly directed at you.
Jack stands at the opening of the locker room, jaw clenched and hands on his hips as he takes in the sight of you on your damn phone, yet again.
“It’s not even seven yet, and you’re still entertaining those…losers?”
Now that you knew what his annoyance stemmed from, you could have some fun. You shrug, grabbing your jacket from the locker, and zipping it up as you speak.
“What? It’s the perfect time to go on a breakfast date–”
“You’re not going on a fucking breakfast date,” he scoffs, walking towards you.
You smile innocently, tilting your head slightly as you blink up at him.
“Give me a better offer, then,”
Jack falters, stopping just a few feet away, annoyance slowly fading at your words.
You don’t back down, looking at him expectantly.
“Well? If you’re going to reject everyone for me, then you might as well take me out as well,”
He gapes, eyes widening in realisation.
You knew.
He clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets, then taking them out again and crossing his arms.
Come on, man– you're fidgeting like a dork!
“I– yeah, sure,” he splutters out, wincing at how he sounds.
“That doesn't sound very convincing, Jack,” you tease, enjoying the fact that he was a blushing mess because of you, far too much.
“Go out for breakfast with me,” he says instantly, voice breathless and hands falling to his sides, like he's ready to reach out and stop you if you try to leave now. “Please,” he adds quickly.
The last bit of control he’s been holding onto all night slips, and Jack was ninety percent sure he would beg if you asked him to.
Luckily enough, you don’t. Instead, you smile at him– that radiant smile that makes his stomach flutter with what can only be described as butterflies– just to walk right past him.
He feels his heart drop, closing his eyes as he curses internally.
Of course you were only messing with him–
“Are you coming or not?” you call out from where you’re leaning against the doorway, still sporting that same smile.
Waiting for him.
Jack has never walked faster in his life.
In the parking lot, he opens the passenger side door of his car for you, only to stop before he shuts it– searching your gaze.
summary: jack abbot, after hypothesizing that you might be a little touch-starved, decides to take matters into his own hands and change that. (or: the three-ish times jack abbot holds you, and the one time you finally hold him back). (2k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, michael robinavitch, parker ellis, crus henderson
contents: part 2 to this fic but can be read on its own, friends in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, jack abbot being a d1 yearner yet again, not proofread cw for medical inaccuracies, medical procedures, mentions of grief and trauma
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
Jack had not yet forgotten the way you melted into his touch. The way he held your face in his hands on that rooftop, and the way you heavied into his palm as he tricked you into staying alive for him. He can still feel the weight of you against his fingertips; a phantom sort of pressure that hurts him far worse than the one in his leg.
Maybe that’s why he can’t seem to stop touching you — a feeble attempt to relieve him of that ache. It’s usually nothing more than faint nudges of his shoulder against yours, or gentle pats on the back after a job well done, or sympathetic brushes of the hand after a job done not-so-well.
It’s swift and always subtle; just enough to stop his aching, but never enough for anyone else to notice.
Most of the time, anyway.
When Jack comes up behind you at the busy workstation, he splays a wide hand along the base of your spine to squeeze through the growing crowd there. The quiet of his touch gets lost beneath the relentless bustle of the afternoon rush, but makes you forget how to breathe for a half second or more all the same.
Sometimes you think your body has grown so unaccustomed to tenderness that any touch registers immediately as terrifying.
You blink the fleeting shock away and force yourself to keep typing when Jack’s steady hand never wavers on your spine. “Are you sure about this?” you hear yourself ask.
“Of course I am,” he shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You glance back at him with an expectant gaze, wide eyes glimmering with worry. “Because we could get in trouble if someone found out— serious trouble.”
Jack exhales hard through his nose in place of a laugh, because this wasn’t the first time he’s low-balled a few measurements to help a patient get an abortion they want, and it probably won’t be the last.
His mouth flickers upward in a soft smile, but his eyes stay stern as he tells you in a calm and unwavering voice, “Well, I’m the attending here, right? So, technically, I’d be the only one getting in trouble.”
“That’s worse,” you agonize in a sharp whisper, fingers trembling over the keyboard. “I don’t want any of us getting in trouble— not her and especially not you.”
“Good thing no one’s gonna find out then, huh?”
Jack arches an expectant brow.
Your eyes soften around the edges with apprehension.
Robby’s gritty voice cuts through the never-ending noise and the tension between you as he drops off a clipboard at its assigned rack. “What are you two whispering about over here?” he quips drily.
You flounder instantly at the simple question.
Jack takes it in stride. “Oh, nothing— Just, you know, conspiring against you. Figuring out the easiest way to overthrow your authority. That’s all.”
“If you wanna take over, then by all means…” Robby jokes with his hands splayed in surrender before stalking off in the opposite direction. “Put me out of my misery.”
You exhale a wavering breath when he’s gone and turn back to the computer in front of you. You adjust the girl’s gestational sac and biparietal diameter measurements to meet the mandated eleven-week cutoff.
Jack’s warm hand never leaves your back.
You fail to notice that your fingers no longer shake.
Trauma 2 swells with heat — both from the increasing temperature of the unconscious burn patient rushed in by the EMTs, and from the rising tension as the young man’s sats begin to plummet without warning. An unrelenting beeping noise fills the tense air, along with the sound of shuffling as you all scramble to throw on disposable PPE.
You fumble with a pair of gloves like it’s your very first day in the ER, while Jack helps tie a paper gown around your neck and spine.
“What’s your call, Doc?” he asks from behind you.
“I-I don’t know,” you stammer breathlessly. “Maybe a— a lung injury from the fire?”
“Explains the sudden respiratory distress,” Jack nods affirmingly, warm fingers brushing the base of your neck. “But doesn’t explain the high peak pressure or the low tidal volume.”
“Okay… Uh…” you waver and swallow hard. It takes a long moment for your brain to finally click. “Then it’s a— A restrictive pattern. The burnt skin is losing elasticity. The chest wall’s getting too tight.”
You miss the proud smile Jack gives you in response.
“That’s right,” the older man praises as he finishes knotting the tie in your gown. He turns to announce to the rest of the room: “Let’s get these dressings off and prep him for an escharotomy, shall we?”
A nurse readies a medical tray. You freeze when Jack passes you the scalpel in a gloved hand. Your wide eyes flit wildly between it and him.
“I… I’ve never done one of these before. I wouldn’t know how to—”
“That’s okay,” Jack nods, with a voice much softer than the chaos surrounding you. “You hold the blade. I’ll cut. We’ll take it slow. I promise.”
When he steps in behind you, you can smell the musky cologne on his skin and the coffee on his breath — beneath the bitter scent of charred skin and antiseptic. His right hand rests firmly on top of your smaller one, warm like a furnace, and guides your fingers to the man’s blistered side.
“Start at the lateral clavicle…” Jack instructs lowly in your ear. “And then down the anterior axillary line…”
“How much pressure?” you ask, fighting off a shiver.
“Just about… this much.” He applies the slightest bit of guidance. The scalpel pierces the skin. Fatty tissue blooms underneath, tainted by the deep scarlet blood that spills out. “Now just go around to the lower rib margin…. Yep, that’s it… You’re doing great…”
Your chest warms at his praise.
The rapid beeping quietens shortly thereafter.
“Peak pressure’s already down in the thirties,” Ellis comments from the opposite side of the room, dark eyes steady on the monitor. “And tidal volume’s already coming up.”
“See?” Jack lilts in your ear, a smile audible in his voice. “There we go.”
You exhale a wavering sigh; a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
Jack finds you in the break room afterward, when the patient is finally stable again. Your back is facing him as you make yourself a coffee, all slow and methodical — ‘cause this is the only place in the PTMC where you’re truly allowed to take your time.
“Hey…” the man greets gently to keep from startling you. He smiles when you glance over your shoulder to look at him. His chin bows in a nod of approval. “You did good in there.”
You shake your head and turn away, ripping open three square sugar packets in one fell swoop. “No. That was… That was all you, Dr. Abbot…”
You tap the pink wrappers with your pointer finger. White granules come spilling out, dissolving instantly in the steaming liquid — a little like you do, when Jack towers suddenly at your side, leaning back against the counter with his arm brushing yours.
His freckled biceps strain against his scrub sleeves when he crosses them over his chest. His scruffy chin ducks softly to flash you a stern sort of look.
“You did the left side and the horizontal incision,” Jack reminds you. “So just take the win, kid.”
You peer up at him from beneath your lashes. A reluctant smile tugs at the edges of your mouth. “Thanks…”
His kind eyes drop to the mug in your hands. “Though, to be honest, I’m not sure how much of a good idea that caffeine is. I know your adrenaline’s spiked— always happens when you get to do something new in here.”
“I know. I just… needed a second to breathe,” you confess. “I was actually making it for you…”
Jack’s brows lower in a dubious look. “…Really?”
You nod, smiling quietly but still wider than you realize. “Two creams, three sugars, right?”
His expression softens as something red-hot burns through his chest. He nods once, with a shy smile, and with calloused fingers that brush yours when he takes the mug from your hand.
“Yeah…” he hums, breathless for a reason he can’t name. “That’s right.”
The MCI hits the PTMC like a tidal wave.
The emergency department turns into a blur of blood and bustling bodies and bellowed commands as a series of GSWs are rushed in from a shooting at a local concert. The day shift is called in despite the late night for extra hands, while the rest of the bottom floor is cleared out to make room for incoming patients.
A young boy is carried in, limp and bloodied. His concert tee is two sizes too big and ripped at the stomach from where a bullet had torn through his skin and wedged into his abdomen.
You’re reminded immediately of the boy who was rushed in the same way, some months back, with differing injuries but on the brink of death all the same — Barry, who now lives with his grandmother, and had just celebrated his fifth birthday, and is going to start kindergarten in the fall.
You don’t have time to think about all that now — not about the child from before, or how the sight of this one reawakens a trauma you thought you’d gotten over. You just move.
Your hands move fast and steady despite your racing mind. You’re wrists-deep in the boy’s small, round stomach when sudden intestinal failure causes his sats to drop. You work fast to stop the hemorrhaging and to repair the rupture in his small intestine before he’s taken to the OR for more intensive monitoring.
“Sats are stabilizing,” you hear Crus say from beside you, as the rapid beeping of his monitor begins to slow. “Heart rate’s normalizing. Blood pressures trending upwards— Let’s get him to the OR.”
You don’t realize Jack had been with you the whole time until the room is cleared out.
You remain in place, covered in bright red blood that isn’t yours — with your gloved hands limp at your sides and your glassy gaze focused on the crimson footprints smudged on the linoleum below.
Jack steps into your tunnel vision then, silver head bowed and light eyes swimming with concern behind his safety glasses.
“Hey…” he coos. “You with me?”
You blink hard, trying to clear the haze of adrenaline from your vision. You nod on muscle memory, until the words catch up with you, “Yeah. Y-Yeah, I just—”
Your voice breaks, betraying you instantly.
“It’s okay,” Jack murmurs. “You did good, kid. You did everything right— He’s okay…”
He reaches out for you, weathered hands tense with hesitancy. Your wide eyes are filled with lingering fear as you watch him inch towards you, but you don’t stop him when his fingers brush your wrists.
He peels your bloodied gloves from your trembling hands with a warm and steady touch. Your paper gown goes next, and then your glasses. You stay still, letting Jack take care of it all, while your brain struggles to catch up to the current moment — still stuck somewhere in the chaos from before.
“I thought—” Your breath stutters in your chest. You struggle to tear your eyes off the blood on the floor. “I thought he was— that he was going to—”
“I know,” Jack hums, more distant now. “I know. But he’s okay. That’s what matters.”
Your head swivels over your shoulder. You find him standing at the bin across the room, chucking away your PPE gear before tossing in his own — his gloves, then his gown, then his glasses. The two of you are left in your heavy black scrubs, unstained, but still smelling of the heavy metallic blood in the room anyway.
His eyes are narrow and attentive as they flit across your face — the beads of sweat on your forehead, the glazed-over look in your eye, the bite marks of worry etched into your mouth. He hasn’t seen you like this since the day he found you on the roof.
“Go ahead and take a breather, kid— I’ll come find you in a second.”
Any other time, the thought of a break would’ve terrified you. But now, you catch yourself nodding before you’ve even really considered it.
“Okay…” you hear yourself waver in a faraway voice. “But can you, uh— Can you check— Make sure he’s… that he’s okay in the OR—”
“Yeah,” Jack nods instantly. “Of course.”
His words hang in the quiet, heavy, blood-soaked air for several long moments — the weight of them more so — the notion that no one has ever cared for you in your whole life the way Jack Abbot has cared for you in the past few months.
You feel your feet moving before your brain has truly processed it.
The steps you take towards him are not planned; they’re not all the way thought through, either. You gravitate towards him with all the same instincts as the tides to the moon. You don’t even realize you’re hugging him until your arms are already wrapped around his waist — until your warm cheek is pressed to the soft fabric of his scrubs, until you can hear his heart beat thudding in your ear.
You hold him tight — scared that he’ll sleep away, or maybe that you will.
Jack freezes for half a heartbeat. Because, even though he’s made a habit of being next to you in every room he’s in, it isn’t lost on him that this is the very first time that you’ve touched him without him initiating it first.
Once the fleeting moment of shock has passed, his strong arms wrap just as tight around your form — one hand firm between your shoulder blades, and the other cradling gently at the back of your head. He keeps you close while you bury your nose in his chest, breathing him in, grounding yourself in his warmth.
“You’re okay…” he coos. “I got you, kid. You’re okay…”
You can feel the words humming in his chest.
And for the very first time, you start to believe them.
summary: not even a baseball game could be a simple date for you and Dr. Abbot, but it gets even more complicated when it's the reason the rest of the ER guesses you two are dating.
pairing: jack abbot x nurse!reader
warnings: none? mention of violence and some typical ER things
note: its funny that as an ER nurse of 3 years i have yet to write anything for this show (perhaps the scaries are too real to remember i can dissociate into the fandom) but after our unit just went to a baseball game, i couldn't resist! hope you all enjoy!
"Are you still up for the game?"
Your eyes widened at the text as you stood in the middle of your cluttered bedroom that reeked with the burning plastic of your blow dryer, minty mouthwash, and a cloud of your perfume.
"Of course! I'm almost ready." you texted back with sweaty palms.
You threw your phone on the bed and spun in a frantic circle towards your bed where your outfit choices were laid out: a classic Pirates jersey your dad gave you, a very fitted white tank top with a Pirates hat, or a plain t-shirt with the team logo plastered on the front.
In all honesty, you woke up thirty minutes ago and even after your cold shower, time still felt strange in your foggy mind, hence the lack of clarity you had when it came to picking an outfit and trying not to fry your hair.
Finally, you settled on fitted white tank top but opted for the jersey overtop, sporting denim shorts and your sneakers to keep it casual. You've been to dozens of baseball games, it was practically in your blood at this point...but when you were going with Dr. Jack Abbot, you suddenly forgot how to be a normal human.
Your phone buzzed.
"Sure you're not just waking up?"
You let out a faint scoff.
"Nooo. I woke up thirty minutes ago."
Jack sent an eye roll emoji, and you were glued to your spot in the middle of your room, feeling your lips drill more into your cheeks. It wasn't until you caught yourself in the mirror that the giddy feeling was suddenly pushed down.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, Abbot. Pick me up in twenty?"
The doc liked the message and now, you were on the clock.
Night shift was cruel at first, especially as a new nurse two years ago. But you learned fast and by the time you were offered to go on dayshift, you were already too consumed by the dark side. It didn't have anything to do with Dr. Abbot either, that came much later and much more recently.
As you got more experience, charge kept putting you in higher acuity assignments, taking on more responsibility that honestly scared the shit out of you some nights. You feared coming your shifts for a while and left even more anxious than you were coming in.
But you must have caught a particular attending's attention.
It started as a simple commendation for handling the care of a critical patient, quickly building into anticipating his orders if he was working that night and being one step ahead of him, which got you more praise. But that wasn't what you were looking for; it was the smiles that lingered after, the small check ins after a tough shift, and somehow no one else picked up on it.
The anxiety dwindled. It was always there, since it was still the ER after all. But if Abbot was working, you knew there would be something good hopefully waiting on the other end of it...and sometimes a coffee (that he would scowl at once he knew how much sugar was in it when he ordered it).
Any shift with Abbot put your mind at a little bit of ease.
It had to be discreet though. Dr. Shen almost got you to slip up when he asked if you wanted to Doordash some coffee, to which you said you already had some, and then he was quite offended that you got it without him. But you couldn't tell him it was Abbot, so you made it up to him by bringing in coffee the next time.
Discreet was hard though, the closer you two got and when he came up to you in the break room, two Pirates tickets in hand, your eyes widened.
"I have an extra ticket,' said Dr. Abbot, taking a seat in front of you. "If you'd like to come with me."
You stared at him, mid chew of your lunch, eyes scanning the room. It was almost three in the morning now and your eyes were barely open, making up his presence for all you knew.
"Just had two tickets lying around?" you asked, raising a brow.
Abbot tilted his head, squinting at you. "No, smart ass. I got them from a friend who has season tickets, and you were the first person I thought to ask."
You mirrored his expression, tilting your head and smiling at him with a hint of mischief that compelled you to tease him further.
"Wow, I'm the first? Can I know who was the second?"
His jaw tightened ever so slightly. "YN." he sighed, shoulders sagging as he looked at you through tired eyes. "Just say yes."
A deliriously exhausted giggle you couldn't contain escaped and you nodded your head.
"I would love to go with you, Jack. It'll be a nice treat after these shifts."
Agreeing to go with him didn't quite hit you until after he left the breakroom and your lunch became harder to swallow. You sat and stared blankly at your phone, heart racing at the realization that this was probably going to be a date. Abbot and you had tried a few times now to do something outside of this hell hole, but things fell short--not for a lack of interest but out of sheer tiredness and other errands that tied them up.
It dawned on you then that this was finally the date.
Abbot called when he was downstairs, and you couldn't help but peak out of the window to get a look at his truck. A fluttering feeling consumed your stomach, glossed lips pulled taught like a child who was about to go to Disney. You ran downstairs, taking a moment to compose yourself before going outside.
The sunlight hit you the second you stepped outside. It was probably the nicest day they've had this spring so far with not a cloud in sight and a gentle breeze that sung a particular tune with the trees that lined your street.
To your surprise, Abbot was waiting by the passenger side door, arms folded over his broad chest. His eyes immediately scanned you, going down to your legs and back up to your eyes, making your stomach flip.
"I know, it must be crazy not seeing me in scrubs and a hospital blanket around my shoulders." you teased, trying to approach him calmly and not ogle at him.
Abbot opened the door for you and as you slid by, all you could notice was the way his jersey fit across his chest and arms. Something warm fluttered in your chest, making your heart skip a beat.
"It certainly is, but I like it." Abbot said, shutting the door and flashing you a smirk before running around to the drivers side.
At first, you had to hide your face as he got in, so as not to show the way the heat crept up your neck at his words. You made a mental note that the shorts and tank top underneath your jersey was the right move.
"How did you sleep today? I know you didn't get home til late." you asked, trying to change the subject as he pulled off.
It was hard not to stare at his side profile and the one arm that was extended towards the wheel. He had his window down so you rolled yours down slightly, careful not to mess with your hair still. When you looked back, he was already looking at you and you quickly averted your eyes to your lap, trying not to grin.
"I slept like shit but mostly because I was nervous about this."
You snickered and looked at him incredulously.
"Dr. Abbot? Nervous about a date? I couldn't even fathom of it."
His lips curved and he glanced at you. "Tell anyone I said that and I'm ordering orthostatics on all your patients for a week."
You laughed, head dipping back into the head rest. "God, you really know how to torture me. A resident kept ordering those once and both me and the tech were ready to stuff him in a closet."
Abbot shook his head at that and turned on his radio.
"What do you like? I can never tell based on the Spotify station you guys have on at the nurses station."
Heaving a sigh, you shrugged. "That's because everyone gets an hour to put on a station. But I like anything. Oldies if your ears can bare it."
He looked quite offended at that actually. "Oldies? What's old to you, huh?"
But you tried not to laugh as you stared at him, him holding it as long as he could before having to look back at the road. The radio settled on a station that was playing a song from Bowie and he left it on with a simple nod of approval from you.
Abbot was definitely older than you, but age was strange when you worked in a setting like they did; it didn't matter how old you were when you were able to work as a team to take care of a patient. Your mind probably fell for him before your heart truly did.
When you two arrived to the stadium, you had told Abbot more about your life growing up in Pittsburgh and how you would always come to the games with your parents growing up. It was hard not to be a little bit passionate about sports in this city, to which he understood and said he's got more tickets with her name on it then.
As you brushed shoulders walking to your seats, eventually you held hands when it came time to squish through crowded concession lines and fans getting to their seats. Everything was less calculated now, your breathing a little more relaxed and heart no longer ready to jump out of your chest. You were calm and content with staring at the back of Abbot's head as he lead the way.
While you were much more energetic out of work, Abbot was mostly the same except for his ability to joke around more. You sipped on a seltzer and he had a beer, laughing all the way through nine innings when you weren't cheering--or yelling.
Abbot leaned back at one point, eyes wide, when you yelled with the rest of the crowd about a bad call from the ump.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side." he said as you settled back into your seat.
You smiled at him, sipping your drink.
"I don't think that's possible."
After a hot dog and another round, the game was almost over with sunlight still to spare. The Pirates won which kept the morale up for the night so as you two held hands back to the parking lot, an idea lingered on your tongue.
"If you're not too tired, I have a shifty rooftop set up we could hang out on if you're not ready to go home? But seriously, no pressure. I know you didn't sleep well today."
The calculations started to come back as your hands grew a little more clammy and heart started to race again. It wasn't even a guarantee that Abbot wouldn't ditch you after this date, let alone want to spend any more time together after it. You weren't sure whether to study his face for any hint of an answer or keep looking at your feet, but his hand suddenly lifted around your shoulders, making your knees go weak.
"I think that's a wonderful idea, as long as you're not secretly planning to throw me off of it."
Giggling, you leaned closer into his hold. "Dammit, you spoiled the surprise."
As you crossed the long stretch of parking lot though, the crowds from leftover tailgates were hardly thinning out, especially for that of a win. But up ahead, your gut told you to keep your eyes peeled on the dense crowd, something far beyond your senses reaching out before you could fully understand it.
It was loud and voices grew more heated, not in an exciting way, and the way Abbot stilled beside you made you understand he saw it too.
"Let's cut through--"
But the voices quickly escalated, and with that, several popping sounds that made your heart stop in place.
You didn't have time to register Abbot's body completely swallowing yours as he pulled the two of you down behind a car, and it was then that your heart started to race.
"God, how many bullets was that? I lost count?"
Abbot remained crouched over you, back facing the aisle between the cars still, and his entire face changed and suddenly, you two were back at work where he made that same expression when completely immersed in critical care.
"I counted at least fourteen shots. Stay low and get back to the truck. There's a first aid kit and BLS bag in the back seat." he commanded, handing her the truck keys.
You frowned at him. "What are you going to do? It's not safe!"
But Abbot pointed at her. "YN." he said, firmly. "Do as I say. Please."
There was the subtle begging look to his eyes that broke through his sternness. But you understood. With his background in the army and whatnot, this was his nature and you were both products of the ER so you knew you had to do what you had to do.
The panic that initially flooded your lungs melted away as you ran back to the truck. It was all adrenaline to you now as you grabbed the bookbag and little red box, hurrying back to the scene.
It's been a while since you were in the field as a paramedic in college, your only recollection of this level of trauma being in simulations. It was different when they were brought to you in the ambulance bay. But Abbot immediately came into your vision, dropping down to open the bags.
Your eyes were still stuck on the five bodies that were on the ground, some moving, some not.
"YN." Abbot spoke, breaking through the trance your racing heart was putting you in. "Take care of any walking wounded, look for exit wounds." he said, hanging her some bandages and saline.
Up ahead, police were speeding towards them and you could hear ambulance sirens in the distance. A wave of despair came over you briefly, wondering how you were somehow able to draw in the forces of work on your one day off this week.
But it quickly faded as you came to the first man, probably in his forties, leaning against the hood of a car in hysterics, angrily shouting and seemingly in shock.
"Sir, my name is y/n and I'm an ER nurse. Where are you hurt?"
He threw his hands up to his face, crying and still muttering to himself about how crazy and terrible this was and other incoherent words. You stepped closer into his eyesight and asked him again.
But he just sniffled and said he was fine.
As he turned away though, your eyes widened at the gaping gash in the fat of the back of his neck, seemingly grazing it and going into the windshield of the car he was found leaning on.
"Okay..." you exhaled.
~
When the medics arrived, you had managed to bandage only a few of the walkie talkies who were less severe in their injuries, allowing the medics who recognized you and Abbot to tend to the more severe cases.
There was already one dead.
In the meantime, Abbot hopped on one rig and you the other, following the man who had gone into cardiac arrest while you were assessing him.
You dragged yourself out of the rig, feet hitting pavement a little heavier than you expected, and turned to face her—hands on her hips, eyes already scanning you head to toe like she was triaging you herself.
"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Dana, standing at the foot of the truck with her hands on her hips.
Taking a deep breath, you mustered up the energy to stand and meet her on the driveway. "Trying to enjoy a baseball game, how about you?"
Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes did. Then she really looked at you and suddenly all the blood on your hands, shirt, and legs felt sticky.
“Oh, kid…” she muttered, the edge softening immediately as she stepped forward, hand coming to your back. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Princess and Perlah were the first one to gasp at the sight of you, causing an embarrassing amount of other heads to turn your way.
"Please tell me you're just clocking in early and not checking in?!" Princess cried, scurrying out from the nurses station.
Smiling, the fatigue hit you like a rock as the adrenaline started to waver.
"Neither, thankfully. The game ended and some drunk idiots decided that it was a smart idea to bring guns to a tailgate."
They shook their heads and Dana muttered something under her breath about men and shorter life spans. Perlah circled her to make sure she wasn't actually hurt before being called to help in a room. By the time you turned around, Dana was already placing a towel and some of the good soap in your hands with a PMC shirt on top.
“I got the water running hot for ya in the locker rooms. Call me if you need anything.”
Nodding sharply, you walked off to the shower and in your wake, Dr. Robby emerged from a room looking at the path you took down the hall.
“Did I just see…?”
Dana put her hands up before Robby could even finish his sentence. “Yep.”
The doctor’s face scrunched in confusion as he took a glance around the chaos around them, something tearing deep across the inside of his mind.
“What the hell, man,” he exhaled, shaking his head.
Some of the other residents emerged asking if it was you they saw in the blood stained jersey walking to the lockers. Dana barked at them to all get back to work, saying that you were fine but to still mind their businesses. The residents cherished you though and had night shift not been so detrimental to their health, they would have stayed on it just for you.
As Dana and Robby commanded the flow of the department, night shit started trickling in and as did another rig, revealing Dr. Abbot in a baseball jersey and holding the ambu bag connected to the patient.
"Abbot was there too?” Robby asked, turning just as the stretcher came through.
Abbot didn’t even look up, already mid-report, hands steady on the ambu bag like nothing about another employee showing up manning an ambulance was abnormal.
Dana’s eyes narrowed slightly and something clicked.
“Shh,” she hissed suddenly, throwing a hand up between Robby and Shen, who had just wandered in with his iced coffee and absolutely no awareness of the storm he’d walked into. They were both oblivious to what Dana was onto, but then, Robby held his gaze onto the other attending just a little longer.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Dana asked.
Shen froze mid-sip. “I’m not thinking anything. I just got here.”
“Oh, get out of here.” she scowled, waving him off.
“So… Abbot went to the game,” he said slowly. “Didn’t invite me. That’s fine. Whatever.”
From the nurses station, Santos finally looked up, exhausted but clearly done watching them struggle.
“Abbot and Y/N went to the game together.”
The words stopped the others surrounding them in place, fellow nurses and residents alike turning their head to follow Abbot’s yellow jersey. Princess emerged, sliding over on a stool.
“She did say she had a date tonight,” she added. “Wouldn’t tell me who. I’ve been stalking her Instagram all day.”
Shen leaned in, frowning. “Yeah, but, no offense, that doesn’t mean it was Abbot.”
Every single woman in the vicinity looked at him like he had just failed a dosage calculation and Mateo walked in just in time to feel the tension.
“…why does it feel like I missed something important?” he asked, dropping his bag.
Shen gestured vaguely. “They think Abbot and Y/N are dating because they both showed up from the same shooting.”
Mateo scoffed immediately. “No way. She doesn’t like Abbot—”
But his confidence wavered as he spoke, looking unsure at his feet.
It was almost worse than a problem that couldn’t be solved; a case where the H’s and T’s were all ruled out and they were left dumbfounded with the mess. But it was so much more simpler than all of them realized, and as you emerged from the locker rooms, PMC t-shirt over your denim shorts and free of blood, everyone watched you like they were waiting for the crash.
You faltered slightly under the attention, hands tugging unconsciously at the hem of the oversized shirt.
But just as you walked alongside the trauma rooms, a figure tore through the curtains to exit, and you nearly collided with Dr. Abbot.
“Oh, I’m sorry—“
Thankfully, you skidded to a stop in time, hands rushing up and bracing for the imaginary impact, just to gently push against his arm and chest. He turned, startled too, and stabilized you at your shoulders.
“Don’t be, I should have looked both ways.” he said, almost in all seriousness, his hands slowly leaving you but his proximity remaining.
It put you in a bubble momentarily, one that made it a little hard to catch your breath and smile like a fool depraved of oxygen.
“You can’t possibly be a crossing guard on top of all this, no one will blame you.”
Everyone’s gaze followed you both now, some jaws slacked open as beliefs were changed or formed in that moment alone.
“What’s everyone staring at?” Ellis asked, stepping in mid-shift.
Shen, without missing a beat, nodded toward you both. “Everyone thinks they’re dating.”
Ellis blinked once, realizing people still didn't understand she was serious, then snorted.
“Well… yeah.”
The room shifted all over again, this time louder, more reactive; a mix of disbelief, laughter, groans from the people who definitely lost money to Ahmed.
Robby turned away with a half-laugh, shaking his head like he’d just solved a puzzle he didn’t know he was working on.
“Alright, alright, cupids! Get back to work. Shoo!” Dana barked, not really able to phase Princess and Perlah who gushed over it in their own language.
You finally pulled yourself away from Abbot, the realization that your date was abruptly cut short making you feel heavy with disappointment. It didn’t seem fair to be disappointed though, not when something so terrible happened. How could you not be though when he was standing there so calm and collected, wondering how he could look less tense on your roof?
Abbot crossed his arm, looking down at you.
“I can tell you’re upset.”
But you tried to straighten up what you could. “No, I’m not. It’s totally fine.” you assured.
“I can tell you’re upset,” he said quietly.
You straightened. “I’m not.”
“You get that look,” he continued. “Same one you get when the cafeteria’s out of your favorite Celsius.”
You rolled your eyes, but it broke you. “…okay, maybe a little.” His mouth curved.
“I’d offer to fix it,” he said, “but I think I’m out of my depth here.” he sighed, glancing around the emergency room.
You hesitated, but there was very little guard within you at this point in the day.
“You can still come over,” you said, softer now. “Days still young.
You saw the moment he wanted to say yes and your heart started hammering against your chest in anticipation because you also saw the hesitation that came with it.
But something in him relented, with the smooth and unwinding deep breath her took and the way his eyes softened at their edges when he looked down at you.
“…we just need to get back to my truck,” he said.
It took everything in your power not to jump with excitement and run outside to call an Uber, but you nodded curtly, beaming under your composure.
“There is the issue of being covered in blood, though…”
Shrugging, you slowly walked around him. “Cloths are optional.”
Before you turned away fully, you caught the way his lips pulled, heat creeping in its path. As you straightened out, Dana was waiting for you with arms crossed and eyes darting between you and a certain doctor, and everything felt exposed.
“So how longs that been going on?” she asked, pointing.
Your hands came to your face as if you could hide. “Would you believe me if I said it was the first real date?”
Dana’s smile cracked through that motherly gaze she tried to hold over you, and that’s when you noticed the others who whispered and giggled behind her. Clearly it wasn’t much of a secret anymore.
“Thanks, Y/N,” Dr. Shen frowned, perking up mid report from another resident. “I’m out twenty bucks to Ahmed.”
You threw your hands up, shaking your head.
“No one told you to bet on my dating life.”
“Or mine, for that matter.” Abbot emerged from behind, hand resting on your shoulder.
But it was all smiles, and slightly more empty wallets, as you and Abbot finally managed to slip away.
“Oh hey, lovebirds!” Robby called out as you passed through the ambulance bay doors.
Of course, you wouldn’t be in the clear without Robby’s input, and you two shared a knowing glance before fully turning back around to face him.
“Next time,” he added, “try a date that doesn’t end here.”
Abbot flipped him off and you laughed, ducking your head as you reached for his hand again.
“Don't listen to him. I think we set the bar pretty high,” you gleamed, glancing up at him.
He looked down at you, exhaustion finally creeping through.
"The next three dates are takeout,” he decided firmly. “Minimum.”
summary: when jack catches you spiraling after a taxing double shift, his worry for you spikes when he discovers that robby has been less than sympathetic with you, and that the ptmc is your only emergency contact on file. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, michael robinavitch, dana evans
contents: friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, protective!jack, so much yearning, not proofread cw for medical inaccuracies, mentions of patient death, abuse and sexual assault, heavy talks of suicidal ideation, brief mentions of jack abbot's ptsd
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
The refrigerator door seals shut with a suctioned click under your trembling hand, far too quiet for all the horror it holds. The worst night of a person’s life, reduced to the evidence in the collection fridge — to labels and barcodes and detailed forms.
Two boxes lie inside when there should only be one: the kit you logged two weeks ago, which should’ve been picked up the day after, is still there. Still waiting to be seen, still waiting for someone to notice it, but still ignored all the same.
It feels like a metaphor for your own life, and it starts to strangle you before you can help it.
Because you’d spent three hours in that room with Ilana — three hours of talking her through every step, every swab, every scan — three hours of telling her how much her being there mattered. And now her kit sits there, just as forgotten as the one before, just as forgotten as you.
Something cracks.
A sob sputters from your chest before you can choke it down. Your hand shoots up to your mouth in a feeble attempt to shove it back inside. And then the door opens.
“Oh, shit—” a familiar voice calls from the doorway.
You flinch so hard your shoulder hits the fridge. You swipe your palms over your wet eyes and cheeks, rapidly scrubbing the evidence of your misery away, before turning in the direction of the masculine voice. You find Jack Abbot lingering in the threshold, eyes wide and attentive, with one weathered hand still wrapped around the silver handle.
Neither of you says a word for several long moments. It could’ve been three seconds or three years; you can’t quite be sure.
“Are you… okay?” the older man presses.
“No. Yeah. I’m—” Your voice breaks, betraying you instantly. You shake your head despite yourself. “I’m fine.”
Jack’s head lowers. His light eyes squint. He doesn’t try to argue; he just looks at you, really looks at you.
“I know I seem crazy,” you laugh through a quiet sniffle. “But I’m fine.”
He steps further inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The chaos of the crowded ER goes muffled in an instant.
“Did something happen?” the attending asks lowly. He’s visibly on edge from the Code Hula Hoop from earlier that day — silver head bowed to keep your gaze, strong arms crossed over the chest of his thin black tee.
“No. Nothing like that,” you assure him quickly. “It’s just… It never gets easier, you know?”
Jack’s expression shifts when you turn away to lock up the small fridge behind you. His alarm ebbs into something more sympathetic. “Yeah. I get it…” he mumbles. “Go take a breather, if you need it.”
You shake your head, dismissing the thought immediately. “Robby’s been on my ass all week about taking too much time with my patients as it is. If I don’t pick up a few before I go, he’ll—”
“I’ll deal with him,” Jack cuts in, firm but not entirely unkind. “You go take a break.”
You turn back around, looking half-shy as you cross your arms tight over the chest of your wrinkled scrubs. “I… I can’t…” you mumble.
“…You can’t?”
“I’m like a shark— if I stop swimming, I’ll die.”
Jack would’ve laughed at that if you weren’t so solemn about it; if he hadn’t remembered, in that moment, that you’ve been working since seven the evening before. Almost twenty-four hours ago. “You haven’t slept today, have you?”
“I was going to,” you tell him, a little too quickly. “And then we got all those patients from the waterslide collapse, and then the systems went down, and then Ilana came in, and…”
His brows knit together. “So you haven’t slept since you started your double?”
“No,” you shrug. “I’m just… I’m not tired.”
Jack studies you for a long moment — your wet eyes, your worry-bitten lips, your arms crossed like you’re trying to make yourself as small as possible. You wear the long day all over, along with the grief you’ve been trying to hide all day. Jack knows the signs; he’s seen them in his patients, in his staff, in himself.
It usually starts with a double, and then a patient or two that spikes the adrenaline like a triple shot of espresso. That’s when the mania sets in, the belief you don’t need sleep despite the obvious, which inevitably leads to a crash. And that’s exactly where you’re heading.
“Can I ask you something?” Jack wonders lowly, taking a slow step forward and never once taking his eyes off of you. “Something kinda… personal?”
You hesitate, brows lowered, then nod despite yourself. “Yeah?”
“Do you… Do you see someone?”
You blink owlishly at him. “See someone?”
“Yeah. You know, like a… therapist,” he clarifies. “It’s good, you know, to have someone to talk to about… all this.”
He motions vaguely all around him, to the muffled chaos outside.
“No,” you shake your head, almost amused by the thought. “I’m fine. I don’t need a therapist—”
“Everyone needs a therapist,” Jack huffs a faint laugh. “Especially the people who choose to work here. We’re all lunatics.”
“Well, I’m fine,” you shrug and look away. “It’s everything else that’s so… fucked up.”
Jack exhales hard through his nose, nodding sympathetically. “Yeah, I… I heard about Barry. And his mom. I’m sorry…”
That’s what does it. The reminder of the memory — only from earlier that morning, which you had not forgotten but had tried hard to bury anyway — does it. You feel the dam break, crumbling into nothingness under the weight of an unrelenting pressure.
“See, that’s— that’s what I’m talking about,” you start with a wet, maniacal sort of laugh. “I spend two hours coding a pre-school teacher, then another two treating her four-year-old, all while trying to get him to talk about what happened. And then I have to act like none of it fazes me, or else I’ll get that whole spiel from Robby— again. And then I do a sexual assault kit that no one will pick up because nobody gives a shit!”
Your voice rings through the quiet room.
You don’t seem to notice it, though, so Jack pretends he doesn’t either. He knows you need this, knows you’ve spent the past near twenty-four hours keeping all of this trapped inside.
“Barry’s dad won’t see the inside of a jail cell for what he did to them, and Ilana’s abuser won’t either, because the police won’t do their job— because nobody fucking cares—”
Your breath comes out sharp, like the air is being punched out through a tight chest. Your words spill from your mouth faster than you can stop them.
“And I’m supposed to help them, right? But how can I when nobody else gives a shit?”
“Hey— Hey…” Abbot coos, taking another step closer when he catches you starting to spiral. “Take a breath, kid…”
His voice is grounding. Steady, almost. A firm sort of comfort you’ve been searching for all day — a tenderness that feels like proof that you’re broken. Suddenly, you feel like you’ve said too much.
“I’m sorry,” you huff with a shake of your bowed head. “I-I have to go— I’m sorry.”
You storm past him to the door, and don’t stop when he calls your name.
Jack looms over the monitor of the now-functioning workstation.
While the rest of the PTMC scrambles to scan their paper documents into the system, Jack peruses your file. His narrowed eyes flit across the screen, searching for your emergency contact. He holds his phone in his free hand and prepares to dial the number — to tell whoever is on the other line that you need them.
Because someone did it for him once upon a time, and sometimes he thinks that’s the only reason he’s standing here now.
He’s got his thumb hovering over the green button to call when Robby catches his eye — the same way a dark black storm cloud swirling overhead would catch his eye. The older man tilts his head to glance at the overhead monitor and scratches at the grey patch in his beard.
“Who’s supposed to be overseeing the kid in pedes?”
“I’ll do it,” Jack tells him, half-distracted.
“I have a senior resident who’s supposed to be doing it,” Robby scoffs.
“I told her to take a break.”
The older man’s head snaps in his direction in an instant. His brows lower as his lip twitches into a faint smirk, looking half-offended as he crosses his arms over his chest. “And why would you do that?” he squints.
“She’s had a hard day,” Jack shrugs.
“We’ve all had a hard day,” Robby laughs. “And if we all took off because of one bad shift, none of us would be on this floor right now.”
“And if you had a little bit more basic human empathy, maybe your residents wouldn’t be falling apart, brother.”
He flashes the older man an unamused glance. Robby flinches slightly at his words, chin jerking like he feels them physically. Jack would’ve apologized for being so harsh any other time — if he hadn’t almost gotten shot today, and if he weren’t already slightly angry at Robby for mistreating you.
“Excuse me. I gotta take this,” he mumbles and brings his phone up to his ear.
Robby scoffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head as he walks off in the opposite direction.
Jack watches him go with an unblinking stare as his phone starts to ring. Once, twice, and then—
A sharp, grating chirp fills the crowded ER, swelling over the droning chatter and distant beeping. Jack’s eyes snap to the red phone on the other side of the work station, while his own stays pressed to his scruffy jaw.
Dana peers at the man over the top of her glasses. Her eyes flit from his shocked face to the ringing telephone at her side. She picks it up with a lazy hand and holds it to her ear.
“PTMC charge nurse,” she greets without taking her eyes off Jack. “You mean to call this number?”
“Yeah, I was just—” Jack clears his throat and glances at the monitor below. “This was the emergency contact on file.”
“Well, sorry to get your hopes up…”
She flashes the man a sympathetic smile before hanging up the phone.
The dial tone beeps in his ear for several long moments. He tries to guess why you would’ve made the E.D. your emergency contact — because you don’t have anyone outside of work, maybe, or because all of your closest friends work here, or because you’d want the ER to know first if something ever happened to you.
It makes his chest hurt either way.
He exhales a slow, heavy breath and shoves his phone back into his scrub pocket. He turns on his heel and makes a beeline for the stairs, hiking up to the roof despite the distant ache it puts on his prosthetic. Because he knows that’s where you are.
Because it’s where he would’ve gone, too.
“Y’know…” a familiar voice cuts through the quiet of the roof, lit only by distant streetlamps. “You’re in my spot, kid.”
You don’t turn to look at him. You’re too tired to take your eyes off the pitch-black hills rolling in the far-off distance, further away from the PTMC than you’ve been in months. Years. You get lost in your own head, and only vaguely register the sound of Jack’s nearing footsteps scuffing against the concrete rooftop.
“It’s getting pretty late…” the man continues, all casual, like you’re not standing on the very edge of the hospital roof. “If you’re hungry, there’s this DoorDash guy. Name’s Marco. He’ll trek up here for an extra ten—”
“Twenty if you want beer,” you finish for him, voice weighed down by something heavy.
“Ah…” Jack hums, closer now. “You come up here often then, huh?”
You exhale a heavy breath that he thinks is meant to be a laugh, though it comes without a usual smile. “I guess you could say that…”
He reaches the metal railing just a few feet from the ledge, where you stand on the other side, with only a thin glass pane keeping you from the roof’s edge. Even though you aren’t looking at him, you can feel him just beside you. The silken summer breeze carries the scent of his cologne as he bends at the waist to rest his elbows along the barrier between you.
“You wanna talk about it?” he wonders quietly, after a few beats of not-quite silence, filled by the sound of passing cars and chatter from the city below. “It’s good to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shrug with a shake of your head. “I just… I thought I was doing some good, you know? By showing up here every day…”
“You are,” Jack insists, firm and immediate. His stare hardens as it flits across your emotionless profile, silently begging for you to look back at him. You avoid his gaze at all costs. “Those people down there— They need you. They need all of us.”
“But what’s the point?” you scoff. “If I can’t help him, then what’s the point?”
“You do help them.”
You scoff a teary laugh.
Jack burns from the inside out.
“You may not see it, kid, but I do,” he tells you. “That little boy in there— He’s still alive because of you.”
“But his mom’s not,” you argue in a detached tone of voice. The starry sky above you starts to blur as you blink back the warm tears gathering at your waterline. “And when Barry grows up, he won’t remember his mom— what she smelled like, what kinda music she liked to listen to in the car— but he’ll remember how the system failed her… Both of them…”
You trail off. Jack stays silent, letting you say all the words that have been raging in your head all day — untrue or otherwise.
“And it’s the same with Ilana, too, you know? I spent three hours with her in that room, doing something I know was triggering for her, and… for what? For the kit to sit in that fridge for two weeks because no one else gives enough of a shit to actually pick it up?”
The dull amber streetlights turn your unshed tears to gold when you finally turn to look at him. Your features are largely emotionless, fixed into the sort of automatic deadpan you train yourself to do as a doctor. But your eyes are wide and glittering with emotion despite yourself when you turn to the man beside you.
“I tricked myself into thinking I was actually doing some good for these people, but…” Your jaw clenches to stave off a sob as you shake your head at yourself. “Turns out, it’s all just… bullshit.”
The corner of Jack’s lip flickers upward into a sympathetic smile, because he knows exactly how you feel. “It’s not, kid…” he murmurs lowly.
“It is,” you insist, still stern despite the way your features crumble. “What I do in there doesn’t matter— None of this shit matters—”
Jack can sense you spiraling, can sense you about to turn away from him before you’ve even done it. He reaches out for you, catching your chin between his thumb and pointer finger to keep your eyes on his.
Your gaze flickers with surprise at first, stunned momentarily by the warmth of his touch, before it softens around the edges with something tender — as if you’d been craving this kindness all day. Your glitter irises follow Jack when he rises to full height, towering over you from the other side of the thin metal railing.
“Hey,” Jack snaps, firm but still strikingly soft with you. “You saved a life today, kid. That matters.”
Your eyes sting.
“You helped a girl through the hardest day of her life,” he continues, with a stare just as merciless as his words. “That matters, too.”
You shake your head against his calloused hand, trying and failing to repel his words. You need them more than anything, and still, you can hardly stomach them.
“The officers will pick up that kit, I promise you that. And the asshole who hurt her will pay for what he did, I promise you that, too.”
“But you can’t,” you whimper. “You can’t promise me that. You can’t promise anyone that.”
“Well, I am,” Jack says. “Because I’m gonna make sure it happens. Because I believe it— Because I believe in Barry and Ilana, just like I believe in you. And without you… If you weren’t here for them today… Who knows what would’ve happened?”
His gentle grip on your chin softens when he knows you aren’t going to turn away from him again, but he still doesn’t let you go.
“That’s the point,” Jack tells you, so softly you could cry. “That’s why it matters. That’s why we need you here, understand?”
You sniffle quietly and nod despite yourself, if only to free yourself from this suffocating moment — from Jack’s unrelenting tenderness, which you feel hardly deserving of now.
He clicks his lips against his teeth and smiles softly as he murmurs, “Yeah, I’m gonna need to hear you say it…”
Your wet eyes are stern with unsaid protest, with lashes all clumped together from unshed tears. Your voice is small and more fragile than glass as you abide him anyway. “I understand…”
“Oh, c’mon…” Jack lilts drily. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, kid— At least try to make it sound like you believe it.”
You roll your glassy eyes, more in embarrassment than annoyance.
Jack grins wider. “Yeah, I don’t know if you know this about me, but I can get real annoying if I need to…”
A faint smile pulls at the corners of your mouth despite yourself.
“…I understand,” you repeat, slightly steadier this time.
“Yeah…” Jack praises with a slow nod. “There we go…”
There’s a lingering beat thereafter, where you think he’s about to let go of your chin. Only he doesn’t.
And it isn’t till then that you realize how intently he’s looking at you now, with eyes heavy and glittering beneath the dim starry night. Your heart lurches in your chest when you think he might kiss you — a fleeting, irrational thought that makes your breath shudder and your mouth fall gently agape.
A sudden boom cracks suddenly through the air.
You flinch hard as a blue-pink firework crackles in a navy black sky.
“Shit…” you huff, clutching at your racing heart. “That scared me…”
Jack’s chest aches with a similar fear. He reaches for you on instinct as his own hands start to tremble.
“Here. C’mon,” he mumbles to himself, calloused hands firm on the outsides of your elbows. “Come back on this side before you give me a damn heart attack, kid…”
He assists you over the railing. You swing one leg over, and then the other, in a motion that feels practiced. Familiar. Until your left foot catches slightly on the edge, that is, and sends you stumbling into the older man’s chest.
“Whoa—“
“I got you,” Jack murmurs, steadying you with firm hands.
For a second, you’re closer than you’ve ever been. You can feel his heart racing against your palms. He can feel your breath fanning across his scruffy cheek. You can see his heavy eyes flitting wildly between yours, and again, you think he might kiss you — you want so desperately for him to kiss you.
Then the heavy door to the roof swings open, and the two of you jerk rapidly apart.
Laughter and muddled conversation come spilling out as a handful of the day shift emerges, with Donnie and Princess leading the charge, carrying a square blue cooler between them. The former smiles when he finds the two of you standing there together.
“You guys are early to the party, I see,” the man shouts over another set of booming fireworks.
“You kinda have to be when you’re the life of one,” Jack shoots back. “It’s more polite that way.”
“Here,” Princess says, handing the man a chilled beer. “Figured you could use one after getting shot today.”
“Shot at,” he corrects drily and takes the can from her grasp. “But I’m not drinking— I’m still on the clock… But she’s not.”
He turns to you, holding the beer out expectantly between you.
“I-I still have a few rounds to finish up,” you shake your head.
“I’ll do ‘em,” Jack shrugs. “You take a load off, alright? You deserve it.”
You hesitate for a moment, swallowing hard before reaching for the can with trembling hands. “…I deserve it,” you repeat under your breath, as though you were trying the words on for size.
“Yeah, you do,” Jack squints.
The can cracks faintly when you open it. You bring it to your mouth and take a slow sip, watching as the fireworks continue raining down overhead.
The day shift gathers around you at the railing with their own beers, while sparkling rainbow hues decorate the dark rooftop. You lean against the cool metal, now on the other side of it, and a little bit better than you were before.
Jack lingers just next to you, and forgets to watch the show playing overhead.
He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you turn to look at him, eyes wide with worry.
“You’re okay, right?” you mutter sheepishly, licking the sheen of alcohol from your mouth. “It’s not too loud out here, is it? ‘Cause we can go back inside if you want.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth lifts in a smile at your concern, and at your use of ‘we.’ The warmth you put in his chest far outweighs the lingering panic settled there.
He shakes his head with a glassy-eyed gaze, “I’m right where I wanna be,” he assures in a honeyed voice.
You turn away, face flaring, and hide your smile behind your beer.
i feel like some are not understanding why people have a problem with what he's saying here. yes, i’m aware that there are doctors (as well as plenty of citizens) working in israel that speak out against their government.
yet there is still incredible amount of inequality within the israeli healthcare system that include ethnic-based separation (particularly in maternity wards), hospitals in the west bank that are purposefully underfunded which forces palestinians to travel to hospitals where they are discriminated against (if they’re even allowed to travel there in the first place), patient referrals for palestinians that HAVE to be approved by authorities that do not view them as equals (several of which are often delayed or denied), and israeli doctors that have harvested the organs of dead palestinian’s (and fellow israelis). it feels insincere because he and the creative team are taking inspiration from a system that is flawed because of the ideologies of zionism and palestinian extermination for a show whose aim is to shed light on the failures of healthcare and plights faced by the workers, most of whom in palestine have been systematically killed.
my critiques of this, noah wyle, the creative producers of the pitt is not to tear apart or burn down the fandom. it's okay to watch and enjoy things that aren't perfect, and we shouldn't expect them to be. i just think it's better to have conversations about these things instead of sweeping them under the rug for the sake of comfort, hurting anyone's feelings, or interrupting one's personal fixations...
annaxmalina
stormborns
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
kianamaiart
snowghoul
