summary: MDNI/18+, bee freaking out over fucking coffee bc they’re literally me. if the coffee date goes well MAAAYBE he’ll get the ‘jackie’ title back.
summary: MDNI/18+, mira means well but it still pisses bee off (tbf it would piss ME off too) if you have not read the other parts they are on my page!! <3
summary: MDNI/18+, reader’s nickname is bee, y/n used, reader has a FAT crush on jack, roommates with trin, dennis and victoria, and more details to come as it comes out!!
summary: Jack and Robby move in together. The young neighbor catches their eye. Everyone seems to learn a little something from it.
tags: neighbors & roommates, poly, medical inaccuracies, not canon compliant, autism spectrum (asd), idiots in love, mental health, age gap, mourning
third person pov; no y/n; nameless reader insert
a/n: my first Pitt fic <3
“You shouldn’t be carrying such heavy boxes, old timer.”
Jack turned slightly toward Robby, looking at the man with a half smirk. He picked up a moving box pointedly, acting as if the kitchen supplies weren’t making his back hurt slightly. “Tough talk for someone who isn’t that far behind me.”
Robby beamed. “A couple of years is a long time. I still got it in me.” As if to prove his point, Robby took the heavy cardboard out of Jack’s hands. His legs wobbled slightly under the weight, and his smile faltered— things that were not lost on Jack. The older man patted Robby’s back as he nodded.
“Yup, still got it.”
This would, hopefully, be a nice change of pace. After the passing of his wife, Jack figured it was about time to get out of that house. Every room and routine held remnants of her that felt too painful to live out every day. Oftentimes, he’d catch himself smiling at the television and turning to tell her about the program, only to find nothing but an empty seat next to him. His smile would drop as reality quickly kicked back in, reminding him every moment that she was really, truly gone.
Robby helped, for the most part. Took his shifts, came over for dinner. Made sure he didn’t kill himself in the meantime. Jack appreciated his old friend having his back. Moving out had been Robby’s idea; something about building a new life instead of sulking in the old. Having realized neither of them had anything besides each other, Robby decided to pitch in on an apartment just outside the city limits and move into the second bedroom.
While Jack would never admit it to the man’s face, he appreciated the offer more than he let on. Living alone wasn’t his style— too much quiet, too much time to dive into the darkness. Something he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. He’d never admit it, but being alone scared him deep down.
“Hey,” Robby’s soft voice drew Jack out of his head. He looked up as Robby nodded his head towards the next-door neighbor’s window. “Cat.”
In the apartment window sat a fat calico cat. She peered through the crack, pressing her face up against the screen as if to say hello to the duo. Her tail swished around in the blinds; Jack noticed a suspiciously cat-shaped hole where the blinds had broken.
Jack smiled fondly. “Hey, little kitty!” He cooed, making noises as if to entertain a baby. In return, the cat made a quiet chirping noise— something between a meow and a purr.
“The window’s open, Jack,” Robby laughed, fixing his grip on the box. “The owner can probably hear you babbling at it.”
Shaking his head, Jack gently chided the man. “Just move your ass inside. You’re obviously losing to a damn cardboard box with that posture.”
Jack grabbed a smaller box ominously labeled ‘important’ and followed Robby through the open door. The apartment was rather spacious, with two bedrooms upstairs and access to the basement. White walls and cream carpeting practically begged to be decorated and personalized, leaving the open space feeling very… lackluster.
Setting the box down in the living room, Jack groaned as he straightened back up. Being in a cramped car after a long shift wasn’t exactly kind on his back. He looked down the hall just as Robby left to bring in another box.
Watching the man roll up his sleeves, Jack felt something flutter in his chest. It wasn’t the heart attack that he’d been long overdue for, but something more domestic-feeling. Like this scenario— this new lifestyle— was something he desperately needed.
The midmorning sun peered over the roof, basking Jack in warmth as he grabbed another box. He looked over at the window again, hopeful to see two little yellow eyes staring back at him. This time, however, two human eyes peaking through the blinds stared back at him.
In a blink, the blinds closed. Jack brushed it off as just a nosy neighbor who just happened to own an adorable, obese feline.
By the time the last box had been dragged in, both men were thoroughly exhausted. The apartment looked less like a home and more like a storage unit. Cardboard boxes occupied every corner, some neatly stacked while others had been abandoned wherever they thought appropriate. For the most part, the labeled boxes reached their designated rooms. The mystery boxes remained scattered about without a home or place to belong.
Robby dropped to the floor with a dramatic groan, spreading himself out on the carpet as though he intended to become one with it. “That’s it,” he said, “I’ve decided I’m just gonna die here. Don’t move me.”
Jack stepped over his legs with a snort. “Good. Saves me the trouble of finding a burial plot.”
“Love you too.”
A comfortable silence settled over them. Jack propped his hands on his hips as he surveyed the living room, proud of his and Robby’s work. A small smile lingered on his face despite feeling gross with sweat.
He wandered slowly through the apartment, taking in the foreign space. The silence was different here; not any better, but not plagued with memories. It was empty. For once, that didn’t seem like a bad thing.
A fresh start, as Robby said.
In the kitchen, a bottle of whiskey sat on the counter with a glass next to it— Robby apparently snuck in a drink sometime between the boxes. Shaking his head, Jack rinsed the glass cup out before placing it in the sink.
Above the sink was a window with a perfect view of the small patch of trees behind the parking lot. Living within a stone’s throw of nature felt like a nice and gentle calm he knew they both needed. ER work wasn’t for the weak, and setting up a hammock between tree trunks sounded like the perfect way to relax after shifts from hell.
“Mikey,” Jack’s voice carried through the empty halls, echoing back hollowly. “We gotta get some furniture. At least a couch or something.”
From the living room, Robby grumbled. “We can hit up Goodwill later.”
“I’m not getting a second-hand, probably semen-stained couch, Michael.”
Jack dried his hands on his pants before leaving the kitchen. He walked around the maze of packed boxes until he found Robby, still unmoved from his spot on the ground. “Let’s go. Before you lose any more momentum.”
“Oh-ho,” he huffed out a deep laugh. “You’re far too late on that, brother.”
Nevertheless, Robby stood up with an over-exaggerated groan. He stretched high enough to almost knock his fist into the ceiling fan. “Alright.” A yawn escaped him, interrupting his words. “Let’s get going so I can take a nap.”
Robby had taken a double shift the day before, working well into the night so he could take today off to move. Jack knew the man was exhausted, running on fumes, and tried his hardest to be gentle to his old friend. But things needed to be done; he’d rather have at least one surface to crash on in the morning after his shift tonight.
Despite his complaints, Robby followed Jack outside. The breeze had picked up since they started moving in, rustling the bushes lining the concrete porch. Jack fished the keys out of his sweatshirt pocket while Robby trailed behind him, looking one minute away from falling asleep standing.
Just as the lock clicked, the neighboring door opened. Both men glanced over automatically as a young woman in pink sweatpants carried a laundry basket down her porch steps. Jack immediately clocked her as the owner of the calico cat. She kept her eyes down, but he noticed the way her grip tightened slightly on the laundry basket.
“Hi,” he called out, hoping to win over the neighbor next door.
She paused just as she stepped off the sidewalk. Her fingers flexed anxiously on the basket before she finally looked in their direction. “Hey.”
Her voice was soft, getting slightly lost in the wind. Jack noticed the way she looked at them— or, the lack thereof. While she occasionally made eye contact, she kept her gaze primarily downturned. A shy one, he thought.
“Laundry day?” Robby asked, stepping off the porch and walking to Jack’s truck. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms, trying to look as unintimidating as possible.
The woman looked down at the basket with wide eyes as if she had forgotten what she was doing, or was surprised that it was so obvious. “Uh, yeah. My machine’s been down for a week now.”
“That’s shitty,” Jack joined Robby by the car now, rounding the other side near the driver’s side. “Landlord won’t fix it?”
She bitterly laughed as she shook her head. “Been trying to get maintenance to do it for a while. They say I’m on the waitlist, but I don’t entirely believe them.”
When she hiked the basket higher up on her hip, her tank top lifted slightly with it, exposing a small section of her midriff. The woman was attractive, Jack would admit that, but far too young for him— she hardly looked over thirty.
Sensing his eyes on her, she walked behind her car to put the basket in the backseat. “You were talking to my cat earlier,” she said bluntly. It caught Jack and Robby off guard.
“Yeah,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry if it disrupted you.”
“He can’t help but coo at cute things.” Robby turned to wink at Jack— apparently, he had the same perverse thoughts as him.
Not having picked up on implied flirtation, the woman stared at them with a kind smile. “Well, she’s an attention whore, so I guess it’s fine.” She waved toward her window and the broken blinds. “She’s desperate to be seen, if you couldn’t tell.”
The two men glanced toward the window instinctively. As if summoned by the conversation, the calico’s face popped up between the bent blinds. Two yellow eyes stared them down with intensity.
“There she is,” Robby said, pointing a finger.
The cat’s pitiful meow was lost in the wind, though they could see the small nose scrunch. The young woman sighed at the sight.
“See? Whore.”
“What’s her name?” Jack asked, finally glancing back at the woman.
“Toaster Strudel, but I call her Toastie for short.”
The answer came with obvious affection, despite the insult she had just thrown at the animal. Jack tilted his head with an amused smile while Robby laughed out loud.
“Toaster Strudel? There’s gotta be a story about that,” he inquired, wiping a tear from his eye.
The woman looked back toward her window. Toastie had somehow managed to twist her body through the blinds, paws and whiskers peaking out at awkward angles as she seemingly tried to escape through the glass.
“Eh, not really.” She said with a shrug. “It just seemed fitting.”
A smile tugged at her lips as she looked away from the cat and back at the two men. It was the most relaxed they’d seen her since stepping outside. Jack found himself smiling as well at the noticeable change. The longer they talked, the more obvious it became that she initially hadn’t wanted to run into them while running errands. But now, she seemed more open to small talk.
The nervous energy was still there, but she seemed to shove it down easily enough. It amused Jack more than it should have.
No one seemed eager to end the conversation now that the earlier awkwardness had faded into an easier, more comfortable feeling. Jack watched as the breeze blew strands of the woman’s hair across her face. His gaze always seemed to linger longer than he intended, but he easily brushed it off as just curiosity.
“You live alone?” Robby asked casually. Jack’s eyes darted toward the man as he glared at his back. That wasn’t a good question to ask a woman you hardly knew; he didn’t want them to come off as too invasive and creepy.
Thankfully, she took no visible offense at it. “I live with my cat. She contributes nothing financially.”
Jack smiled again at her natural comedic timing. She seemed young and naïve, but had a very endearing personality and humor that made him want to keep her around.
She looked down at her phone, checking the time. “I should get going— I have errands to run and laundry to clean.”
She finally closed the backseat door before rounding the hood of the car. Now closer to Robby, her eyes widened slightly as she realized just how tall the man was. Her cheeks flushed a pale shade of pink as she quickly opened the door.
After a quick exchange of goodbyes, Jack and Robby watched as she pulled out of the parking lot. Robby looked back at Jack with a cocky grin and raised eyebrows. Immediately, Jack shook his head as he opened his car door.
“Don’t even—”
“She’s cute.”
Jack said nothing as he got behind the wheel, though he had similar sentiments. The woman was cute, both in mannerisms and physically. But, he felt like a filthy old man the more he thought about her. He was old enough to be her goddamn father. That alone should’ve put an end to whatever curiosity he had.
Somehow, the perverse thoughts made him want her more.
sorry that this is long!! all good if you’re not interested in writing it, i love ur writing btw, it’s so rare to see chronic illness rep it makes my heart sing, спасибо 🫶🖤
maybe something angsty, reader has HSD or hEDs and their joints are getting worse, not full dislocations but close enough that it’s terrifying. reader has joint issues, migraines to the point of normality, and stomach issues to the point of acid reflux.
reader is a nurse, and a dancer. reader starts losing their functionality, and is afraid, something happens maybe a patient tries attacked them and they can’t move fast enough to get away.
that feeling of your body giving up on you, you know better than to push but you do because it’s the thing you know. reader doesn’t want to give up nursing or dancing but it’s there, in the back of their mind.
Jack finds you collapsed leaning against a wall to keep yourself up, and he recognizes a feeling he sees in himself. cue some self destruction on your end and he decides that you belong on the night shift so he can keep an eye.
you both get closer, you help each other, because both of you are like stars, you like to fizzle until you can’t burn anymore. keeping each other company, until it just becomes domestic naturally, maybe you just spend so much time at his you just .. stay. maybe a kiss scene after a hard day, holed up on the couch together.
Summary as above + this: Being a ballerina and a nurse wasn't easy, but you loved both jobs too much to give either up. For a while, everything seemed to be working out. Then a diagnosis you'd never known about turned your world upside down. And through every setback, every bad day, and every moment of doubt, Jack Abbot was there.
Word count: 6.6k
TW: mature content, mention of injury and assault
@devotedogdays thank you for sending this through!
Your feet dragged on the studio floor, a heavy, unfamiliar feeling. An ache in your joints that slowly feasted on any last bit of energy you had left in you. You needed to get through this class so you could go home and collapse in your own bed.
“And now it’s time for a pirouette!” The teacher clapped.
Everyone tapped into position, and with one swish movement, everyone spun.
Except you.
You had done the pirouette a million times, but you weren’t sure if it was your knees, coordination or your eyes that betrayed you, but you hit the floor hard.
You didn’t get up quickly — not because of embarrassment or fear but because you physically weren’t able to.
A loud ringing noise pierced through your ears. You tried to look around at the crowd of feet around you, but everything had gone blurry.
The instructor rolled you over onto your back.
“Can you hear me?” She gently tapped your face a few times.
You frowned at her, not hearing what she was saying.
“Shall we call an ambulance?”
“Give her a second” she said softly. “Squeeze my hand” she held your hand, but you didn’t hear the command.
It was like your body had gone limp.
A few seconds later, you said weakly, “I’m fine. I can hear you now.”
The instructor helped you sit up, and the movement had made you nauseous. You didn’t know what had happened or why you felt that way, but you knew it was about time the symptoms you had ignored for so long caught up with you.
The instructor dropped you off at PTMC, insisting you’d get checked out. Embarrassed and in pain, you stepped into triage, dressed in pink leotards. The day shift would have gone by now, and you weren’t too familiar with all the night shift staff, so you hoped no one would notice you.
You sat down, put on your headphones and waited for the long night ahead.
🩰
Jack Abbot was used to women flirting with him.
He noticed the lingering stares whenever he walked into a room, the way heads turned as he passed by, and the smiles people sent his way. Not the polite kind, either; the kind that came with intentions written all over them.
The thing was, none of it interested him because Jack wanted mystery. Why? Because everyone knew everything about him, and it was all pretty obvious.
So imagine his surprise when the dayshift nurse, whom he rarely ever saw, and had a crush on since he met, showed up in triage, wearing a ballerina outfit. Jack knew they would have a specific name or whatever, but he couldn’t think of nor didn’t want to think about it longer than he should.
He wasn’t supposed to be working the night shift, but when they needed spare hands, he of course, said yes. He told Shen that he had to deal with something and then walked into the triage to find you.
“Dr Abbot” you smiled softly, “Hello.”
“Hey, are you alright? What happened?”
“I uh… fell during ballet class. And I can’t risk an injury on the job, so…” Your voice cracked slightly on the last word
He gestured for you to follow him. “C'mon, let’s go.”
You whispered, “But I only just got here.”
He leaned in and whispered back, “And you work here, so you get VIP access.” You felt as though his voice wasn’t laced with his usual charm — it was more concerned.
You got up slowly, and Jack immediately noticed that you were in pain.
“Hold onto me.”
You nodded, nerves and humiliation burning in your throat.
He stepped in without hesitation, wrapping one strong arm securely around your waist while the other hovered in front of you. “Do you want a wheelchair?”
“No, I’ll be okay, thank you” You leaned into him more than you wanted to, hating how much you needed the support. Hating how safe he felt.
He opened the door and led you into a triage room. Jack tried his best not to think about how incredibly good you looked in the little pink dress that hugged your figure perfectly. He hated himself for noticing. You were hurt and scared, and he was your doctor tonight.
“Take me through what happened.” He said as he helped you get into the bed.
“It’s silly, really.” you started, voice small. “I was doing a pirouette — it’s where you balance on top of your toes and spin. I lost my balance and fell, face down”
He nodded, but was not fully convinced. “Anything else?”
You stayed quiet, trying to think of how much you wanted to share.
Jack’s voice dropped, soft and serious. “Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not just because you lost your balance, so tell me… You can trust me.”
The kindness in his tone nearly broke you. You nodded shakily, fidgeting with your hands as tears already burned behind your eyes.
“I couldn’t hear anyone for the first few minutes — all I heard was a ringing noise. Then I tried to move but…. My body went limp. Like I was paralysed. And it was really scary not being able to move.”
He watched his reaction as it went from curiosity to concern. You felt the exact emotions in your chest too.
“How long did that last for?”
“A few minutes.”
His voice softened even more, nothing like the authoritative tone he used when working. “Anything else?”
That’s when you let your tears run. You had been holding it in for weeks, maybe months. But it finally came crashing down. And now here you were, crying in front of someone you’d worked with but never been this close to, or this vulnerable with.
“It’s okay, come here, it’s okay” Jack immediately stood up and took you in for a hug as you sobbed.
You sobbed harder against his chest. “It’s stupid, I shouldn’t even be here. But I’m so scared of going home and the same thing happening again.”
“It’s not stupid at all” He said quietly, “not at all. You need to get checked out, and you did the right thing”
You felt calm and safe in his arms and mourned the loss as he pulled away.
“Let’s start with the basics, we’ll do bloodwork, too. If your neuro checks all work out, we can order scans. Might be cheaper to go through your primary physician for the checks. For now, tell me more about your symptoms, starting with when they first appeared”
You told him everything — the growing number of times you’d lost your balance, the dizziness that came out of nowhere, the way your vision sometimes blurred during rehearsals. How you’d been pushing through it for months, terrified that admitting it would end your career.
He asked if you were flexible, and you shrugged and said, “Of course, that’s why I did ballet. You can bend me in half like a piece of paper.”
Jack, despite every ounce of professionalism screaming at him, let out a silent, barely audible whimper at the image.
He cleared his throat and nodded.
You felt heat flood your cheeks and bit down hard on your lip to stop the small, embarrassed smile. Even now, broken and terrified, some stupid part of you liked the way he reacted. You knew that someone like Abbot shouldn't be doing any of this, that a med student could, but you knew he wanted to be here in the room with you. And so did you.
He did his checks, which all checked out. You waited for bloods, and he found every excuse to come back into your room.
“Why don’t we try and do the pirou—thing movement again?” he said as he paced around the room.
You let out a small laugh at his attempt to say the word. “Seriously?”
“I want to see if there’s an imbalance or if you go dizzy again.”
“What if I fall again?”
“I won’t let that happen.” His voice low, almost a promise.
You nodded slowly.
He helped you slip your ballet flats on and off the bed.
You cleared your throat and prepared yourself for the spin. You felt incredibly nervous, more nervous than performing on stage.
Jack crossed his arms against his chest and watched you. Keeping his distance for you to spin not too far away so he could be there in case you fell.
You did the spin perfectly, but as you stopped, you lost your balance again, and the ringing noise slammed your ears like a siren. You stumbled forward, and Jack caught you against his chest instantly.
“Shit” you mumbled. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He put you on the bed and gave you an emesis bag, then you pointed at your ears as he you saw him speak.
He pulled out his phone and typed
ringing?
you nodded
pain?
you shook your head.
dizzy?
you gestured maybe.
You didn’t throw up, but spent the rest of the night lying sideways on the bed, hugging the bag tightly to your chest. The fear that this was something permanent — something that would steal ballet, your job or your whole identity — sat like a knife in your chest.
“I can hear now” you said quietly as you heard his footsteps around the room. “You’re pacing”
“I’m worried”
“That’s not the words I want to hear from my doctor” you tried to joke but your voice broke instead.
He smiled kindly and quickly said, “Sorry.”
“Are you certain your pain isn't because of exhaustion? burning yourself out?’
“No, it’s definitely not because of that.”
Jack’s favourite nurse, whom he doesn’t get enough of, is now under his care, and he has no clue what was wrong.
“How about this — let’s keep you here for the whole night, and order scans hmm?”
You shook your head. “I’ll sort it with my doctor. And I don't want the day shift to know I’m here”
“Okay, but do you live with anyone?
“No, but i’ll be fine”
“I don't know how I feel about that” he said quietly, “I don't think I can let you go home, what if something happens?”
“Dr Abbot, you’re a terrible doctor” you joked and sat up in bed, “ leaving me with no options.”
“How about this — I take you home, make sure you get there safely. You stay in bed the whole day, got it? We’ll try to get the scans booked and an appointment with neurology tomorrow.”
“I won't get an appointment that quick.”
“I know many people” he said, giving you a small smile, “I’ll get you an appointment, don't worry”
You nodded.
“No spinning at home, no moving quickly. Don’t try to shower unless someone's there. Keep your phone on you at all times, and if you fall again, you call 911”
“That’s a lot…” You said anxiously, “I can't be bed-bound. I’m expected back here in two days.”
He sighed. Jack wanted to help and keep an eye on you. Maybe his emotions were clouding his judgment; maybe having you close to him would explain more of what you were feeling. “Do you want to come over to my place? Just until you see neurology?”
“Are you going to be anxious if I say no?”
“You shouldn't be worried about me” he said. “But yes, I probably will be.”
“Okay then.”
He smiled and nodded. “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go home”
Your stomach flipped at the way he’d said it so casually. Going home with one of the attendings was never on your to achieve list but here you were. You, of course, couldn’t sleep, a mixture of anxiety, mainly and worry, but also anticipation of seeing Abbot outside of work. And not just anywhere — at his place.
“Hey, you’re up.” Jack walked into the room. He looked tired and could do with sleep.
“You look tired.” You said shyly, “Was it a bad shift?”
He nodded. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, I think. Or the same, it’s confusing me.”
Jack asked a lot about you on the drive over to his — he asked about your dancing, what made you pursue both careers. He asked a lot. You wanted to know more, and you didn’t hesitate to ask him too. But you were more anxious and nervous and struggled to keep up with the conversation.
He showed you the spare bedroom and gave you a spare change of clothes and toiletries.
“Dr Abbot — I uh, I need a shower, so am I okay to just…”
“Of course, yeah,” Jack blushed “it’s through my bedroom. Do you think you’ll be okay in there?”
“No spinning” you smiled, “and no moving quickly, I remember.”
And you remembered the third command: no showering unless someone is there.
“Okay, shout me if you need anything.”
You followed him into his bedroom and couldn’t help but take a quick look around. Everything was impossibly tidy, like someone had designed it to feel more like a high-end hotel than a home. The bathroom was no different — spotless and luxurious, but clearly built to suit him perfectly.
Jack hesitated for a moment, thinking of so many worst-case scenarios that could happen.
“I’ll be fine,” you said softly as you felt his mind tick. “I won’t be long.”
He smiled and nodded and closed the door behind him.
🩰
Your joints always hurt, but you didn’t think about it too much. You thought that with working long shifts and then spending your days off performing, it was normal.
But it turned out that it wasn’t.
Abbot indeed helped you get an appointment quickly, and you met with the first consultant, then the second and before you knew it you were being referred to different people until you received a diagnosis.
Your diagnosis was not terminal. It was not heartbreaking.
It was life-changing.
To be told that you had hEDS was not an easy diagnosis to accept.
You thought that you were a good dancer because you practised well, and performed even better. But you didn’t anticipate that you had a medical condition allowing you to be this flexible. A medical condition that explained your pains.
A medical condition that gave you a lifetime skill of performing brilliantly, but also might take away your ability to perform altogether.
It all made sense. Why your ‘growing pains’ never went away, why you bruised up so easily.
You might never know why, now all of a sudden your hEDS worsened, but you were suddenly terrified of your future.
You hadn’t seen Abbot since you last spent the day at his house. It wasn’t as awkward as you thought it was going to be; in fact, it was casual, and your conversation flowed easily.
You didn’t have his number, so you wrote him a note and popped it into his locker.
Thank you for everything. I am getting used to my new norm.
You told him what the diagnosis was in your note and that you were figuring things out.
Your new norm was different and exhausting.
You continued attending ballet sessions as usual, fought through the dizziness and the pains. And you performed brilliantly. No one suspected anything because you hid it well.
You were working towards a performance of a lifetime, and a diagnosis was not going to stop you.
You occupied Jack’s mind a lot of the time. He wasn’t sure if it was coincidental that he hadn’t seen you since you were last here as a patient, or just simply bad luck.
But he enjoyed the back-and-forth notes you left each other in your lockers. He wanted to ask for your number, but couldn’t risk anyone else getting hold of the note.
So he picked up a day shift, hoping you would be there but you weren’t. So he picked up another one and another one.
Until one day but he wished he had after what he saw, right in front of his eyes.
🩰
Your mind repeatedly told you that you weren’t good enough. That you couldn’t keep up at work, and fell behind during ballet practice.
It played tricks on you — why didn’t you get checked out sooner? Maybe your body wouldn’t be shutting down this early on in your career.
Your headaches were not just headaches; they were migraines.
You worked in healthcare, and you missed all the signs.
You wiped your tears and opened the bathroom stall, promising yourself you were not going to let self-pity and anxiety get the best of you.
What should have been a simple job of taking bloods turned into something much more serious.
The patient was agitated, understandably so, as he had his face smacked with a baseball bat.
With pain comes fear, but also comes delirium.
Robby and McKay were already trying to pin the patient down for you so you could give a sedative injection. What you didn’t expect was the patient to throw a punch, followed by multiple punches.
“Fuck!” Robby yelled as he dodged another one.
“Robby, we need more help in here, he’s twice our size, both combined.” McKay protested.
You opened the door and yelled at Dana, asking for help but it was too late.
You heard Robby yell and McKay scream.
You turned around, and her face was covered in blood, and you then saw the patient launch himself at you, throwing you out of the room, landing on top of you.
You remembered hitting your head and the heavy feeling of him on you.
But you had no energy to fight back or get him off you.
Then the Pitt became a circus.
People screamed, someone yelled and people were running towards the chaos.
And you stayed limp as the patient grabbed your scrub top, picked you up and slammed you into the ground again as he screamed in fear.
Jack witnessed a horror scene in front of him.
A body is being thrown out of a room.
But not anybody, yours.
In less than a second, he body slammed you into the ground not once, but twice.
He watched as everything slowed down, stopped, and then chaos erupted.
Langdon was the first one to tackle the patient off you.
Then Abbot crouched beside you, assessing in seconds. Your body was still and your head rested at an awkward angle.
You were moved onto a bed.
"I've got airway." Dana attached a pulse oximeter to your finger while another nurse clipped cardiac monitor leads onto your chest.
"Heart rate 88. Blood pressure 128 over 76. Oxygen 99%."
"Good." Jack said.
He shone a penlight into one eye. "Pupils equal."
The light moved to the other. "Reactive."
Robby was already running gloved hands along your scalp.
"Any skull deformity?" Jack asked.
"No obvious depression."
"Good," Jack repeated, almost trying to convince himself.
Jack continued his neurological assessment. "Can you hear me?" he called, although you remained unconscious.
No response.
A cervical collar was fitted around your neck.
Jack said anxiously, “Let's keep c-spine precautions until imaging clears her.”
The room quieted slightly until Jack said, “Robby, check on McKay, I’ve got this. Dana, let's move." The bed began rolling toward imaging.
🩰
“It hurts” you said quietly, “my head hurts”
“Hey, hey, you’re up” Jack quickly shifted off the chair. “You’re okay.”
“What happened?”
“There was an incident… with a patient”
“Shit” you said quietly. “Am I injured?”
“Other than a bruised head, it’s all clear,” Jack said firmly, working hard on not letting his voice break.
You tried to smile at him, reaching for lightness you didn’t feel. “Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
He didn’t smile back — he looked miserable.
“Abbot, I’m okay.” you whispered and put your hand out to him. “I’m okay.”
You were trying to convince him more than yourself.
All he managed was a nod as he took his hand in yours.
“Is McKay okay? And Robby?”
He nodded again.
You nodded back then, let your tears run. It had taken a few minutes for reality to sink in — he could have changed your life, he could have injured you beyond repair. You wondered if you weren’t how you were, could you have reacted faster?
Dana knocked on the door, and Jack shot up, quickly moving away.
“Hey trooper” She said, “how are you feeling?”
“Fine, I think…” you said quietly, “Can I go home?”
Dana's eyes bounced over at Jack, who was staring at the floor.
“Abbot?”
Jack blinked, startled. “Huh?”
“Can she go home?”
He answered too fast. “Uh, check with Shen. I’m off the case.” Then he walked out without another word, shoulders rigid, not sparing you a glance.
You managed to get dressed despite the amount of pain you were in, and headed home. You didn’t see Abbot or hear from him for days after the incident.
Jack kept a distance because he felt guilty for not being there. For not protecting, for not keeping an eye on you.
The image of you being body slammed onto the ground repeated in his head, over and over again.
Two weeks. That’s how long passed since last seeing Abbot, since last being attacked. Two long weeks of confusing emotions. One minute he was on the verge of tears; another minute, he rushed out of the room, never to speak to you again.
You didn’t leave him any notes in his locker and neither did he.
Your body was covered in bruises, and it was becoming difficult to try and hide them all.
Robby was on your case on how you were feeling, and you kept saying you were fine. But in fact you weren’t.
You were worried and tired. Your body had given up on you, the brain fog was becoming difficult to deal with, you no longer slept through the night, and you felt as though you were shutting down.
Someone said to you that you were becoming too clumsy. And that’s when it hit; you no longer felt coordinated.
But you had two jobs to think about, two jobs you loved, two jobs you thrived at. Or so you thought.
Jack noticed that you were working the day shift, and he knew you’d be around, so he found any excuse to speak with you. He watched as you walked slowly, the heavy feeling of dragging your limbs was too obvious. It was obvious for someone who was disabled; for someone who was not, it was subtle.
He then noticed it, how upset you looked when you rushed out of the room and ran towards the stairs.
He couldn’t wait any longer without speaking to you so he followed. He found you sitting in a quiet corner, crying silently. The moment your eyes met his, your expression changed.
It wasn’t panic or the fear of being caught; it was hurt more than anything because he had ignored you for two weeks.
“Dr Abbot” you said quietly as you wiped your hot tears and looked away from him.
He crouched down to your level “I don’t think I need to ask, do I?”
“Is it that obvious?
“Not to anyone else, no” He sat next to you on the floor.
“I’m in so much pain… and I feel like I’m losing myself. I’m struggling to keep up with basic tasks, and my final straw was dropping equipment.”
“Have you started physical therapy yet?”
You said quite, “no…”
“It’ll help. I promise you it’ll make a difference.” he gave you a shy smile, “It helped me”
“I’m sorry I’m sitting here complaining when you’ve got your own thing to worry about”
“Not at all” he cut in “I’m just saying I somewhat see where you’re coming from.”
You nodded and hugged your knees to your chest.
“I’m sorry we haven’t spoken in the last two weeks”
“Why haven’t we?”
His jaw tightened, and you saw how he held back words. “It was difficult, seeing you like that. Someone should have been there, or reacted faster. I should’ve been there.”
“Dr Abbot, you can’t be there with me every time I speak with a patient”
“I know but that’s why it’s upset me. That this could happen to anyone”
“And it could happen again, to me” you said, reality sinking in. This time, you definitely won’t be able to move fast enough. “I can’t give up my job.”
As the words left your lips, panic then set in. “Dr Abbot I can’t quit! I can’t quit both of my jobs! I love both of them, and I’m good at both of them and —“
Jack reassuringly said, “Hey, hey I’m not asking you to. I was thinking more on the lines of moving to the night shift”
“I’m the only one who truly knows what’s going on, and I can keep an eye on things. We can make some adjustments”
“You’d do that for me?”
Jack would do a lot more than that.
🩰
Being healthy was a privilege; only a sick person can see it, and a healthy person can live it.
You weren’t healthy, but for a long time, you weren’t labelled, so you assumed you were fine.
Then your diagnosis became a label that defined your life.
And suddenly you became sick.
And to realise that the privilege you had was long gone, was devastating in so many ways.
🩰
Moving to the nightshift wasn’t as difficult as you thought it would be, and it certainly helped that Jack was supportive. He made adjustments for you — very subtly but enough for you to be comfortable and get through it. The friendship between the two of you also grew stronger, without pushing it or thinking too much about it. It simply just flowed.
“Okay, this is from my last performance” you said to Parker holding your phone, “but don’t… make fun of it please.”
“Girl why would you think that,” she nudged you as she watched the video. Her lips parted in admiration as she watched the performance. She whispered, “Damn…”
“Is that… you?” Jack had now joined, standing behind you.
That’s when you instantly blushed. He hadn’t seen you perform before and his opinion of you mattered.
You looked up over your shoulder and nodded. He held your gaze for as long as you did — you noticed how his eyes softened every time he was around you, how he smiled but also blushed. How his shoulders relaxed.
He muttered to himself, “beautiful”, before even watching the rest of the video.
That’s when you felt comfortable enough to simple just lean into him. It was subtle, not too obvious for anyone who didn’t know about your friendship. But you simply allowed your skin to touch his, and Jack instantly leaned into it too.
It didn’t stop there. As time passed, with long and exhausting shifts, you two found each other always. Jack would pull you in for a hug when he thought you needed one, you’d give him a neck massage when he’s charting. People figured out you two were close but to your surprise, the night shift was a lot less gossipy.
But despite all the arrangements Jack made at work, your pain was getting worse. He was on the case about completing your physical therapy exercises which you lied and told him you were indeed doing every single one of them.
“Hey Parker, any idea where Jack is?”
She smirked, which you rolled your eyes at, “on-call room taking his break.”
You said quietly, “okay”
“Maybe you give him a neck massage there.” She teased but then noticed you weren’t yourself and not in a playful mood. “Trouble in paradise?”
“No” you shook your head, “I’ve got a migraine and I’m struggling. I might need to go home.”
“Have a sit down, let me get you something.” She said and quickly rushed off. You sat on the chair, put your head against the desk, and closed your eyes.
Then a set of hands found your back and you turned over to see Jack over you.
“Parker said you’re not feeling well” he said quietly.
“And you are the something she went to get?”
He smiled and nodded before sitting down next to you. “What’s wrong?”
“Another migraine. I feel so sick and the pressure in my head is only getting worse.” You rested your head again on the desk. “I keep going dizzy, but that seems to be the new normal.”
“Shall we start an IV?” He said softly, resting one hand on your shoulder, “Give you the best mix in the house?”
“I’d rather not, thank you. I’m gonna head home if that’s okay?”
He let out a sigh. “Would you at least stay here until the end of my shift?”
“Please can I go? I’ll be careful, I promise.“
He wasn’t convinced — you saw it all over his face. “I don’t know how I feel about letting you go home like this.”
“Jack…”
Jack hated that he loved how you said his name so softly and quietly.
“Please go back to my apartment. At least this way I can check in on you? Please?”
“Okay, I can do that.”
After making it over to his place, the migraine had gotten much worse and all you needed was sleep. You took another set of meds and walked into the spare bedroom.
“Oh Jack why would you do that?” You said to yourself, looking at the bed which was unmade and had no bedsheets on.
You groaned and walked into his bedroom. You texted him to say you’d made it back safe.
You set an alarm to be out of his bed by the time he came home from his shift. Although you were close, you weren’t sure if Jack finding you in his bed would be appropriate.
“Morning sleepyhead,” Jack said quietly as he saw you toss and turn.
“Oh my God” you sat up straight and pulled the sheets higher onto you. “I-uh. The bed- it’s uh-l-“
He let out a tired but gentle laugh, “it’s fine. Robby stayed over and I was too lazy to put the bed sheets back on. I’ll take the couch.”
“I can’t let you do that” you said as you quickly got up, but the movement instantly made you dizzy and you stumbled. Jack immediately got a hold of your arm to steady you.
“No, I’ll take the couch.”
“I won’t let you do that.” He said softly.
“You’re repeating what I’m saying,” you mumbled. His hands were still on you. “Why don’t we both take the bed?”
“Okay sweetheart” he whispered, “I’ll shower and change first”
You nodded and got back in bed, fell back to sleep, not noticing that you were tangled in Jack’s arms the whole time.
You opened your eyes slowly, taking a few seconds to remember where you were and who with.
You were asleep on his chest, one of his arms draped over you. Your own arm had slipped under his shirt, your hand resting lightly on his stomach.
You realised what was happening, and slowly moved away from him, careful not to wake him. This was all too comfortable.
He grumbled as you moved away from him. “I was enjoying that”
“Sorry I didn’t mean to… touch you.”
He said, voice gravely and half asleep, “Please never apologise for that.”
You turned your back to him, pulled the sheet higher, tried not to think too much and went back to sleep.
And that interaction became a regular occurrence. Although you didn’t sleep in Jack’s bed anymore, you stayed over a lot. You came up with any excuse to go over, and Jack also did the same.
He even helped with your physical therapy exercises. He insisted you’d get them done. He would stand and watch you do them, ready to steady you whenever you needed a helping hand.
He naturally started picking you up from ballet lessons. He watched all your performance videos, even when you weren’t there with him.
🩰
It had been a whole 24 hours of him not answering your texts or calls. No one at work heard from him either, You had a spare key, but out of respect, you didn’t want to use it.
You knocked on his apartment door. “Jack, open up,”
You knocked again, and opened the door when he didn’t answer.
His apartment was dark, all the curtains were shut.
“Jack?” You said quietly. “It’s me.”
You walked into his bedroom slowly and he was in bed, laying flat on his stomach wearing nothing but boxers.
“Jack? It’s me.”
He grumbled something.
You walked over to him and sat on the bed, trying your best not to look at his naked body. “Are you okay? what happened? No one heard from you in a whole day.”
“It’s bad” he muttered.
“What’s bad?”
“Everything.”
You lay next of him, gently brushing your hand through his grey curls.
“Talk to me”
“It’s been a bad few days” he said quietly, “pain, memories, anxiety. All of it.”
You muttered softly, “How can I make it better?”
He finally looked up at you and gave you a small sad smile.
“Have you taken your pain meds?”
“It’s not physical pain” he said quietly.
“Okay. Go back to sleep I’ll hang around for a bit.”
“Will you stay here with me?”
You quickly nodded. “I may have bodily fluids on me so might need a shower first.”
“I don’t care.” He grumbled as he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer. You didn’t protest the movement, didn’t move as he pulled you against his bare chest and linked your hands in his.
The feeling of being safe and loved, in someone’s arms was comforting. When everything else was falling apart in your life — your ballet career which might end soon, your nursing career which you might never be able to keep up with. This was the only thing you felt that you could keep safe.
Jack was restless the whole time. He fidgeted, tossed and turned, and had constant nightmares.
You tried to soothe him, talk to him, gently brushed his hair but nothing helped.
He didn’t need to tell you why he was feeling this way, because you just knew.
Another nightmare woke him up and his time he was mumbling no,no no no.
“Jack wake up” you gently shook him, “it’s another nightmare wake up.”
“No”
“It’s not real” you moved closer to him and whispered, “none of it is real.”
He mumbled again “no, it keeps happening.”
“Nothings happening,” you cupped his face with your hands, his eyes squeezed shut. “It’s not real I promise you.”
He shook his head and sweat was dripping down his forehead. You leaned in a bit more, forehead resting on his. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere okay?”
He nodded.
“Are you awake now?”
He nodded again.
“Okay” you whispered against his lips, feeling his warm breath on your face, “we’re okay”
“I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore” he said voice breaking.
“This is what’s real” you said and gently kissed him, pouring all your love into him.
He kissed you back gently, slowly, devouring every second.
“You’re okay, baby, you’re okay” you whispered again. “I’ll be right here.”
He pulled you against his chest and mumbled, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Little did Jack know that he was indeed, one of the best things to ever happen to you.
The next day, you packed your bags, said goodbye to Jack and headed to the airport to fly out with the team for the performance you had been preparing for.
Your last ever performance before your big break.
You refused to call it a retirement, despite what people may have commented.
The decision was not easy to make, but your ballet teacher constantly reminded you that one day you might injure yourself and that’s when retirement will be forced on you.
You left an envelope for Jack with a ticket to the performance tucked inside. He'd already told you he probably wouldn't make it because of work, and you understood. Still, a small part of you hoped he'd find a way to come.
You flew out with the team, and you held back tears until you made it to your hotel room. You were filled with sadness and anger at how cruel it all was.
You told the team you won’t be joining them for dinner that night — an excuse of getting an early night before the performance tomorrow.
You texted Jack, Made it to my hotel safe.
How was the trip?
Long and boring.
How are you feeling?
Sad.
How can I make it better?
I wish you were here.
I can make it there before the performance tomorrow.
I highly doubt it… but thank you anyways for offering.
You wiped your tears away as you unpacked your bags, laying out all your clothes and accessories to the side. You looked at your costume all hung up and nodded to yourself. If anyone could do this, it would be you.
You opened the door to whoever was knocking and there stood Jack.
“What!”
“Surprise” he said softly, “did you really think I going to miss out?”
You jumped up in excitement, and he took you in for a hug. “I can’t believe this!”
“I wasn't going to let my favourite girl perform without me cheering her on.”
You titled your head playfully. “I’m your favourite girl?”
“You’re my favourite everything.” He pulled you closer. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me too.”
Jack let his lips crash on top of yours, and you two were too hungry for each other. You waited too long for this.
It was hot and messy as you undressed one another.
Jack’s fingers found you and you let out a gasp, burying your face in his neck.
“I’ll be gentle I promise” he whispered, “but after your performance I can’t promise I’ll do the same.”
You giggled shyly and rocked against his fingers until he swapped them for his erection. You had waited far too long for this.
He stuck to his promise. He made love to you, gently and slowly.
“You weren’t lying when you said you can bend in half like a piece of paper.” He murmured.
“You remembered?”
“I thought about it everyday since” he smiled, “it was torture. But it’s all worth it now.”
You sat up against Jack’s chest, staring at your costume hanging from the door. You said quietly, “They're announcing my break at the end of it.”
“You’ll be back stronger.” He traced his fingers down your arms, “and I would say better but my God you’re already perfect at it.”
“I don’t know if I ever will be back.”
“One step at a time, okay? You can do this.”
“Says who?.” You said voice breaking.
“Says me,” he replied, “and I’m never wrong.”
🩰
You stepped onto the stage, feeling heavy with sad emotions. There was a hint of excitement, but you gave yourself grace for not being too happy.
You were allowed to be sad and disappointed.
But it didn’t mean you didn’t excel in the performance.
It was a performance of a lifetime.
Jack was the first one to stand in the crowd. He cheered, whistled, and clapped louder than anyone else. He was certainly the rowdiest one there.
You let out a nervous laugh as you bowed.
Your friends hugged you and cried, but your focus stayed on the one person in the crowd who had gotten you through it all.
🩰
Notes:
I've written onther fic about a reader with POTS and EDS here and one with CFS and I hinted at EDS too here.
I have also written other fics focusing on chronic illnesses - my masterlist is here.
Pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x lover!reader
Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, blood, injury, gunshot wound, knife wound, graphic descriptions of medical procedures, emotional breakdown, guilt, established relationship.
Summary: You begged Andrew to let you go on a job, but when things go brutally wrong, you are used against the Cody brothers. Left severely injured and bleeding out, Andrew is forced to stitch you back to life.
A/N request + my first bloody angst andrew fic !!
🎀 based on this request🎀
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
Andrew had told you no.
He’d told you no at least a dozen times, trying to keep you in the safety of the house. “I don't have a good feeling about this, baby.” he’d muttered into your hair the night before.
But you were tired of being left behind in the house.
You begged. You told him you could handle it.
Now, you were choking on your own blood, tied to a chair as Andrew’s worst nightmare was playing out in real time.
The plan was simple, or as simple as a Cody job ever got. A quick exchange, a lockbox of clean bonds, and out. But the crew they were dealing with wasn't looking to trade; they were looking for revenge since they noticed the Cody's were at his territory.
When you woke up, the metallic taste of blood was thick on your tongue. The room was dark, standing in the shadows was a man whose face you couldn't see, holding a burner phone.
And on the other end of the line was Andrew.
"I don't give a shit about the bonds," Andrew’s voice came through the speaker. It didn’t sound like him. The usual calculating edge was entirely gone, replaced by desperation. "You touch her, and I will personally dismantle every single person you’ve ever spoken to."
"She's alive, Cody," the man holding the phone drawled, stepping closer to you. He drew a hunting knife from his belt. The blade caught the weak light. "But the price just went up. You brought your own weakness to a job… not so intelligent of you, isnt it? That costs extra, I know you would give everything for her. Poor she. She's really beautiful, you know? Looks like an angel… such a shame I have to make her bleed."
"Name the place." Andrew roared through the phone. You could hear the screech of tires in the background. "We’ll bring the cash. All of it. Don't fucking touch her."
"I don't like your tone, Andrew," the man said smoothly. Without breaking eye contact with you, he drove the knife down into your thigh.
The scream that tore from your throat didn't even sound human. It was an agonizing tear as the blade sliced deep, dragging through muscle and severing a major artery. Dark arterial blood instantly began to pump through your denim.
"No! NO!" Andrew shrieked over the line, the sound of his voice breaking completely. "Stop!"
"Relax, man, I'm just making sure you understand the stakes," the man said. He pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch. The room started to spin. You started losing blood, very fast.
"I'm going to kill you," Andrew whispered, a shaking promise. "I am going to rip your fucking throat out."
"Bring the bonds to the docks. Container 42. Then I will tell you where she is. You have… ten minutes maximum before she bleed out. And Andrew? No brothers. No help. Just you. You were the only one who knew about the lockbox."
The man hung up the phone. He looked down at you, tossing the bloody knife onto a table. "Let's make sure you don't try to run, pretty thing."
He pulled a gun from his waistband. You couldn't even move to cringe away. A bullet pierced your leg and shattered your calf muscle. The force of a kick to your side knocked you and the chair down completely. You hit the ground hard, the pain so blinding that your brain simply shut off the signals, leaving you floating in a numb void.
You couldn't breathe. You couldn't scream anymore. You could only watch the blood expand toward the floor.
You have no idea how much time has passed. Your body was cold, beginning to tremble slightly. The pain in your leg had disappeared; you could barely feel you lower body. Exhaustion was taking over your body when the door was kicked open.
Through the haze of your fading consciousness, you heard gunfire. Rapid, deafening, and relentless. There were no shouts, no warnings, just the execution of the men in the room.
Then, hands were on you. Untying you and then on your face.
"Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me, baby, please."
Andrew dropped to his knees in the puddle of your blood. His face was pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He looked entirely broken. The fierce Andrew Cody was gone; this was just a man watching his world end.
He ripped his flannel off, his hands shaking so violently he could barely manage it, and shoved it hard against the gaping wound in your thigh.
You let out a pathetic whimper, your fingers feebly twitching against his vest.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, pressing his weight into the wound to stop the bleeding. He took your face in his other hand, his thumb smearing blood across your cheek as he tried to keep your eyes locked on his. "Stay with me, fuck, baby, please. Do not close your eyes. You hear me? You gotta stay awake for me."
"Andrew..." you breathed, the word barely a puff of air. "C-Cold."
"I know, I know, baby, I'm right here." He looked up, screaming toward the doorway. "Baz! She's bleeding out!"
Baz appeared in the doorway, his face grim, already calling a dirty backalley doctor. "All clear. Car's running. Move."
Andrew scooped you into his arms, lifting you gently despite the horrific injuries. As he pulled you against his chest, your blood soaked entirely through his shirt. He ran out into the pouring rain, holding you like you were made of glass, pressing his lips against your forehead over and over again.
"I shouldn't have let you come," he whispered fiercely into your hair as he threw you into the back seat of the truck, climbing in right after you to keep pressure on your wounds. "I should have locked you in the house. This is on me. This is all on me."
A deep agony appeared in his chest when your eyes started closing. "Baby, hey, open your eyes, don't do that," he desesperatly tried to keep you awake, and took your hand with his free one. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, please give me a sign, anything." You moved your fingers, interlacing them lightly with his, pressing gently. He sighed and screamed Deran to hurry.
The truck screeched away into the night and Andrew held you tight, his tears mixing with the blood on your skin, begging god to let you open your eyes one more time.
Andrew's hands were glued to your thigh. They couldn't go to a hospital, not with gunshot wounds, not with a Cody job gone loud. It had to be the house.
Andrew carried you in. When he laid you down on the hard wood, the bright lights showed the true horror of it all: the deep slice in your leg and the bloody mess of your calf.
"Get out," Andrew rasped after some seconds, not looking at his brothers. "Everyone out. Leave."
"Andrew, you need help with—" Baz said after starting an IV, but Andrew whipped his head around, his eyes were wild.
"Out!" he roared.
The brothers backed away, closing the doors to the room, leaving only him and the sound of your ragged breathing.
Andrew tore open the medical kit, his hands fumbling with the bottles of antiseptic, local anesthetic, and heavy nylon sutures.
He knew how to patch a wound, he’d done it for his brothers a hundred times, but this was you. Every touch felt like he was breaking you further.
"I have to numb it, baby. I have to clean it first," he whispered, his voice cracking.
The moment the antiseptic hit the open laceration on your thigh, your body convulsed. An agonizing shriek tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at the edges of the table. Your hips buckled from the sheer, burning agony of it.
Seeing you twist in pain broke whatever fragile hold Andrew had on his emotions.
A choked sob escaped his chest. As he prepped the needle to start stitching, tears finally spilled over his eyelashes, hot and fast. He looked so broken in that moment, his massive shoulders trembling as he tried to thread the needle through his blurred vision.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he wept openly, a sound so raw it made your heart hurt worse than your physical wounds. "It’s my fault. I should’ve been faster. I should’ve kept you in the house. I did this to you."
The local anesthetic was finally starting to dull the sharpest edges of the pain into a throbbing ache. Through the haze of exhaustion and blood loss, you looked at him. You had never seen Andrew look so defeated. He looked like a terrified child trapped in a monster's body.
Slowly, weakly, you lifted your uninjured arm. Your fingers were trembling, but you managed to reach up, pressing your palm against his wet cheek.
Andrew froze at the sensation of your skin. He leaned heavily into your hand, closing his eyes for a brief second as if your touch was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.
"Andrew..." you croaked. "B-baby." He looked down at you. "N-not your fault," you whispered, trying to force a smile through your trembling lips. "I... S-stop. Don't c-cry."
"You almost died," he choked out, his voice a broken whisper. He took a ragged breath, trying to steady his hands as he lowered the needle to the edge of the knife wound on your thigh. "I can't... I can't lose you. If you die, I don't survive it. I don't."
"'m here," you promised softly. "Fix m- me up. I t-trust you."
Hearing those words, knowing you didn't hate him, knowing you still trusted his hands to put you back together, gave him the focus he needed.
Andrew wiped his eyes on his shoulder and started working. He was meticulous. Every pull of the thread was agonizing, and you still cried out, your grip tightening on the table. Every time you gasped, he would mutter a soft "I've got you, I''m sorry, almost done, baby," using his voice to soothe you.
By the time he finished stitching your thigh and packed the gunshot wound in your calf with clean gauze, the sun was just beginning to peek through the sky.
The table was a mess of blood and medical waste, but the bleeding had completely stopped. Your breathing had evened out, a faint color returning to your body as the IV fluids Baz had quickly started before leaving the room took some effect.
Andrew gently lifted you from the table, carrying you into his bedroom. He laid you down on the bed with agonizing care, supporting your body as your head hit the pillows and placing the IV bag in an IV pole.
Baz and Smurf had already been inside. While Andrew was finishing the stitches, they had silently gone to work turning his bedroom into a makeshift recovery ward. On the nightstand sat a fresh IV pole, lines, and bags of O-negative blood, the benefit of having a dirty paramedic on the Cody payroll. Smurf had even left a clean, damp washcloth and a bowl of warm water resting on the dresser.
Andrew didn’t say a word, he felt a grim wave of relief that, for once, his family had anticipated exactly what you needed to survive.
You were entirely spent, your eyes half closed, skin still holding a pallor of someone who had lost far too much blood.
"I'm going to take very good care of you, I promise, I love you so much, I can't lose you," Andrew whispered.
He still didn't want anyone else touching you right now, so he did it himself. His hands were steady now as he spiked the blood bag, hanging it from the pole where the already started fluids where. He knew exactly how to find the veins, next to the other line.
"Small pinch, baby, I'm sorry," he murmured.
You let out a tiny hiss as the needle slid in, but you kept your half closed eyes locked onto his face. He taped the line down securely, and within seconds, the blood began to flow down the clear tubing and into your system.
Andrew let out a long breath and grabbed the warm washcloth Smurf had left and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. With gentle strokes, he began to wipe the dried blood from your forehead, your cheeks, and your collarbone, cleaning away the horror of the night.
"The blood will help. It'll make the cold go away," he whispered, pressing the warm cloth to your cheek.
As the transfusion did its work, a faint warmth began to creep back into your skin. You felt the freezing numbness in your limbs slowly begin to lift. Weakly, you curled your fingers around the edge of her t-shirt.
"Thank you, baby."
Andrew closed his eyes when he heard your voice again, then leaning down to give you a soft kiss.
"Don't thank me," he muttered against your lips, his arms wrapping around you as he carefully climbed into the bed, mindful of the IV lines and you injuries. He pulled you against his body, his eyes fixed on the plastic bag as it slowly dripped life back into your body. "Just stay. Stay here with me. Don't leave me."
You were going to be okay. The road to recovery would be long, and Andrew would likely never let you within ten feet of a Cody job ever again. As he held you in the quiet safety of his room, the crushing guilt finally began to ease.
You were alive. And he was never letting you go.
-'🖤⛓ *.‧₊˚
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˚˖. angel𓏲🪽 @fallenangeldustxx - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
