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Surrender - Jack Abbot

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Former Seattle Grace!Female Reader

Summary: You’re building a life here - that's what Meredith had said when she saw you in Pittsburgh. She was right, you just still hadn't found the words to tell Jack you wanted more than one date, or the courage to surrender to the inveitable. Warnings: None, I think. Unless something major changes, this will likely be the last part. I've loved writing this but I don't have any more big ideas for it.

——————————————————————————————————— As soon as you’d walked through the door that night, Samira had been there waiting. She wasn’t mad that you hadn’t told her about Seattle, not really, but she wanted to be someone you could tell things to. So you had. The two of you had sat up in your bed all night and you’d told her everything. Including that you’d agreed to go on a date with Jack. She was pleased for you, she thought you were making a good choice and you agreed, but you’d still sworn her to secrecy.

You might have realised that you didn’t have to make your friend’s mistakes, and that Jack was a much more emotionally mature man than most of those you’d known before, but this was new and you didn’t want the pressure that would come with having everyone in the Pitt analysing the two of you for signs of it going well. Or not going well.

If the lack of sidelong glances and blatantly obvious chatter in another language when you were anywhere near Princess and Perlah were anything to go by, Jack hadn’t said a word either. Or maybe that was the tiny hint of awkwardness they seemed to feel now the reason you’d left Seattle was common knowledge. Princess had cornered you first thing on your next shift back after PittFest and dropped the pool money onto the desk in an envelope. 

“We wouldn’t have been so in your face about it if we knew,” she had said. It wasn’t really an apology but it felt too much like one for your taste.

“I know,” you’d told her, holding her eyes with your own so she could read the honesty in them. “If I was upset about it, you’d have known.” You picked up the envelope and waved it at her, grinning. “I’m keeping the money though.”

It didn’t surprise you, really, that Jack hadn’t made a thing about your date because you were starting to settle into the feeling of trusting him to follow your lead without hesitating, but it did make you feel a little soft and euphoric. 

Actually getting to the business of having said date, though, was another matter entirely.

Between your shifts and his, you hadn’t overlapped a day off since PittFest. That didn’t mean you hadn’t noticed the slightest change in your dynamic. It was subtle, something nobody noticed except the two of you. You both still sometimes showed up with coffee for the other, but now his fingers grazed yours every time in a way that couldn’t be accidental. You still flirted, casually and borderline sarcastically, but whole silent conversations passed between his smirk and your eyes. 

When Jack came in for his shift today — early, obviously — he was treated to the very entertaining sight of the other residents popping up at your side at random intervals to pepper you with hypothetical medical scenarios. It was something you’d been doing all day, it was a great way to fit your studying into the little time you could dedicate to it while on duty. It was also fun and brightened everyone’s day. The others had made a game of who could sneak up and surprise you the most. Santos was winning, she’d had you paged for a consult and leaped out at you from behind the door when you’d stood puzzled at the lack of a patient in the room. Absolute fucking menace. Jack thought it was pretty genius, actually, because it got the younger residents competing about who could ask the most obscure question, which got them researching and improving their own education. 

Still, impressed as Jack was, he made very sure to check there were no wayward residents lurking around when he finally got a chance to speak to you. “Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night what?”

“I’m off work tomorrow night, Shen’s gonna cover me,” he clarified. “Have dinner with me, let me cook you dinner.”

Well, if he was going to get anyone to cover for him, Shen was the way to go. He was a great doctor, but he was so laid back he was practically horizontal and didn’t have a single gossipy bone in his body. He would have asked exactly zero questions.

“You cook?” You looked at him in surprise and then shook your head. “Don’t answer that. Of course you cook. Okay then, tomorrow.”

If you spent the rest of the day feeling like you might float away, that was no one’s business but your own. 

———————————————————————————————————

Jack’s building was nice, far nicer than yours. Obviously, that made sense but it was an odd thing to be so focused on when you knocked on his door.

Jack had texted you the address, because texting was apparently something the two of you did after that night in the park. Just random messages about nothing at all, good morning and goodnight and Code Gloria, Robby’s on the warpath, just talking for the sake of talking. You’d showered and paced and changed your outfit four times before settling on your favourite jeans — the ones that you knew made you look good — and a top that was nice but didn’t look like you’d tried too hard. It was ludicrous, really, you’d had men look at you before, in various states of undress, but the idea of sitting across a dinner table from Jack made you jittery.

When the door opened and he appeared, all that went away. Dressed in jeans and a loose, navy button down shirt with sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, he looked good. He looked relaxed. And suddenly being here and seeing him this way felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

“Hi,” you breathed. Seriously, ‘hi’ all breathless and sappy is the best I can do?

“Hey,” he smiled – and yeah, breathless was all you had – stepping aside to wave you in. “You look great.” The way he looked at you, your jeans may as well have been a ballgown.

As Jack guided you through to the kitchen, hand just barely skimming your lower back, you could see that his apartment was blessed with huge windows, making it open and light, it felt modern without feeling soulless. 

“I brought wine,” you said as he moved to the stove. 

“Great. Glasses are in there,” he waved at one of the cupboards. “I hope pasta’s okay?”

“I’ve spent the last three years of my life surviving on coffee, cereal and old takeout food,” you told him as you poured two glasses of wine, “I’m pretty sure whatever you make will be like a Michelin star meal to me.”

He laughed more freely than you’d ever heard him do inside the hospital, and you couldn’t control the smile that lit your own face in answer. 

It turned out, dinner with Jack was effortless. The two of you had talked idly while he cooked and then you set the table and poured more wine. As you ate, conversation came easy. He confided in you that he was quiet and unassuming as a child, bordering on shy and it made you laugh a little because you couldn’t imagine him being anything other than the man he was today. The man who was calm and confident and who could cut a difficult patient or arrogant resident down with a single look. The Army was what made him that man, he confessed. He’d joined up because he didn’t see another way of putting himself through medical training, but he’d never anticipated the things he would deal with to reach that goal. He didn’t linger too long on the tough parts, instead sharing good memories from his time enlisted, because despite everything he’d suffered, they did exist, times he had spent in the company of good men and women that had become family to him. You told him how you’d worked two jobs all through college and med school and still came out the other side with more debt than you dared to think about most days, but that you’d never once regretted taking that path. You loved your job; you loved the challenge, the way no two days were ever the same and seeing someone come back from the brink of something awful and knowing you were the one who did that was a high like you’d never known. 

You’d finished eating long ago and had cleared the table together, talking all the while. Now you were settled on the couch, which was comfy in a well loved way, a blanket thrown across the arm and you could so easily picture him falling onto it after a long shift, too exhausted to even make it to bed. You’d kicked off your shoes and you sat facing him the same way you had on that bench in the park

Your wine glass waved in your hand as you gestured while you spoke, him watching you like you were the most interesting thing he’d ever known, as you told him some of the most outrageous stories from Seattle. The Dead Baby bike race and the biker who kissed Meredith, the time the Chief’s assistant had to give the entire surgical staff a safe sex demonstration because half of them had shared STDs, the time Izzie ‘operated’ on a deer in the back of some guy’s truck in the parking lot. 

“That place doesn’t sound real,” Jack laughed, eyes warm, arm draped languidly across the back of the sofa, fingers almost-but-not-quite brushing your arm where it rested against the cushion. “It’s like a TV show.”

“Thank you! I’ve been saying that for years.”

When you softly declared it time for you to leave, Jack tried his level best to insist on walking you home. Never mind the fact that you’d walked here all by yourself, or that you walked back and forth from the hospital almost daily. He’d mumbled something about it being after dark and you having had a few drinks. You were having none of it, no matter how charming you thought it was, and you both knew why. As the evening had gone on, you hadn’t missed the way he’d moved a little slower on his feet. How by the time you’d settled on the couch, he shifted in his seat, adjusting the position of his leg every few minutes, almost subconsciously. You hadn’t said anything, because if he wanted you to know his leg was bothering him then he’d have told you, but you both knew you’d noticed because noticing each other was just a thing you did now. So no way you were letting him walk all the way to your apartment and back. As he went with you to the front door, you compromised on texting him as soon as you got home. 

“This was really nice, thank you.” You hesitated for half a second before leaning up to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Jack.”

“G’night.” Jack’s voice was as soft as that kiss had been.

The walk home felt weightless, like you’d drifted the entire way without realising it. You were glad Samira had gone out with Mel and Santos tonight, because you wanted to spend as long as you could without breaking the bubble of the evening. You’d never really done the whole dating thing before. You’d done cheap beer in cheaper bars and tequila shots and dancing in clubs where you could barely hear yourself think, never mind hold a conversation, but you’d never done dinner and wine and dating. Did it always feel like this? No wonder people did crazy things when they were dating. 

As promised, you texted Jack.

You: I’m home. You can stand down the SWAT team. 

Jack: You can joke all you want, but I have connections and I’m not afraid to use them. Gotta keep you safe if I’m gonna sell you on the idea of date number two.

———————————————————————————————————

One week out from your boards, and you were going insane trying to fill your head with knowledge. Knowledge that you knew you already had, but suddenly felt the need to remind yourself of constantly. You had the week off, Robby told you it was tradition for any resident undergoing their final boards because otherwise they’d all be driven mad by the incessant studying and quizzing. You could see the wisdom in that. 

Of course, you’d been using the Hub as a study station any chance you got since long before this week, so it didn’t stop you. You thought it was kind of perfect actually, because you got all the noise and anarchy you needed to hone your mind and you could badger Robby for his medical genius. In fact, you thought calling it that was the only reason he hadn’t kicked you out yet. Or killed you. 

He had called in reinforcements, though, because Jack had showed up, asked what you’d done to break Robby all of a sudden and then taken up quizzing you like he had all those weeks ago on the night shift. You figured it was as much to save his friend’s sanity as it was to help you out, but you’d take what you could get. Dana laughed at all of you, and told you that you absolutely had to take a break. You promised her you planned to. You hadn’t told anyone here, except Jack and Samira, that you had friends in town. Mark, Derek and Arizona had been asked to fly out to separate a set of conjoined twins that were admitted up on the surgical ward. Alex, Meredith and Lexie were coming along as the residents to each of their respective attendings. They were currently upstairs, conducting pre-op labs. You were going out for drinks tonight, and they’d operate tomorrow before flying home.

Despite not officially being on duty, Javadi had pulled you away for a second opinion on a case she was handling, Jack and Robby had both offered to go but you told them to let you have it in the name of education. You had finished with the patient and were standing outside the room when you saw it out of the corner of your eye. Alex was propped up on the Hub desk with one arm, leaning in close to one of the nurses, Kim, in a way that could only mean he was hitting on her. Meredith was standing close by with her arms crossed and rolling her eyes. Oh, what fresh hell is this?

“One minute,” you muttered to Javadi. Then you raised your voice obnoxiously as you walked over to them. “How’s the syphilis, Dr. Karev?”

Kim pulled a face before scuttling away and Alex turned to you with a look of thunder on his face. “That was one time! And it was like a million years ago.”

“One time is enough,” you shot at him. “Happy as I am to see you, I will not have you coming in here and messing up things in the place that I work. I swear, Alex, keep it in your pants or I will cut it off.”

“Friends of yours, I take it?” Robby asked, looking torn between amusement and irritation. He couldn’t really reprimand you, since you weren’t technically working, but you imagined he wished this was happening anywhere that wasn’t his ER. Jack looked more entertained than you’d ever seen him look inside this place and you knew he was thinking of all the stories you’d told him on your date and since, placing faces to the names of the people in them.

“Robby, Jack,” Robby raised a single eyebrow at the familiarity with which you said Jack’s name, “this is Alex and Meredith,” you gestured between them all. 

“Hi,” Meredith said. Then she whispered to you, although loud enough for everyone to hear, “McHottie, in the flesh. I see the appeal.”

Shaking your head with a long-suffering sigh – one filled with equal parts love and exasperation – and diligently ignoring Jack’s preening, you asked, “Why, exactly, are you here and not upstairs with your patient?”

“We missed you,” Meredith answered, the picture of innocence. Which was, in itself, suspicious. Meredith only cared about appearing innocent when she was most decidedly not. 

“They kicked you out because you wouldn’t stop arguing, didn’t they?” You had been a little bewildered to see Alex and Meredith together, without sparks flying, because you knew what had been going on back in Seattle. Meredith and Derek were on the outs, again, because she’d tampered with his medical trial and he’d kicked her out. She’d done it for a reason you could understand, but it was still unethical and would prevent Derek from conducting any more trials in future. Alex had tattled on Meredith, but not for the right reasons, and then she’d kicked him out. If not for this surgery requiring both Pediatrics and Neurosurgery, they likely wouldn’t deign to be in the same room as each other. When neither of them answered, you knew you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Jesus, okay,” you started. “I’m guessing Cristina took Meredith’s side because it’s Meredith and Lexie took Meredith’s side because it’s Alex so let me offer a different approach.” You pointed at Meredith. “What you did was stupid and unethical and I know, I know you did it for a good reason but the only reason you kept your job and your licence is because of the Chief and he wouldn’t have done what he did if you were anyone else.” Next, you pointed to Alex. “You didn’t turn her in because it was the right thing to do, you did it because you wanted an edge in the race for Chief Resident. You went full on Evil Spawn. You’re both in the wrong. Now, go upstairs and be grown ups!” 

There was a heavy silence between you for a minute, in which Jack and Robby got the impression that all of you were well versed in refereeing conflicts between the others, before Meredith gave that little eye roll she did when she was about to give in and said, “Fine.”

“We’re still getting drinks later?” She asked on their way to the elevator.

“Yes, and I don’t care if you hate each other, you will be there and if I hear the words ‘medical trial’ or ‘Chief Resident’, I will hurt you.”

“Bitch,” Alex called over his shoulder.

“Ass,” you called back, as was tradition.

———————————————————————————————————

After Meredith and Alex’s visit to the Pitt, word had gotten around that the people they’d heard you talk about were here and you’d decided to just extend the offer of drinks to anyone who wanted to come. 

You’d left soon after, ducking out with Jack just because you didn’t have to be there. The two of you had stayed together without really discussing it. First you went to his apartment, where you teased him from the living room about all his medical journals while he changed. Then you went to your – much smaller, much less nice – apartment, where Jack let you probe his brain for information like he himself was a medical journal. Which he may as well have been, you supposed.

The afternoon passed in a haze of laughter and teasing, an easy back and forth you were starting to think you never wanted to lose. 

Showing up to the bar together felt natural, like you’d done it a hundred times before and would do it a hundred times more. By the time you got there, most everyone else was there, the day shift having come right from the hospital and the Seattle residents’ hotel being close by already. 

You weren’t surprised or offended that the attendings from Seattle hadn’t come. Derek was avoiding Meredith, Mark was Derek’s best friend and Arizona had a child at home, you assumed she was relishing in the peace and quiet of a hotel room all to herself. The fact that Alex and Meredith were both there, making an effort not to look like they wanted to kill each other, with Lexie sandwiched between them, was enough. 

For a while, you all sat with beers across three or four tables you’d pushed together, and the two halves of your world got to know one another. 

Then the beer turned to spirits and everyone spread out across the bar. You and Alex played darts with Donnie and Mateo, the two nurses holding their own against Alex’s caustic wit. You sang karaoke with Mel, Santos and Lexie, stumbling your way through lyrics until there was more laughter than singing. 

You and Samira dragged Robby and Jack into a game of pool in the back corner of the bar. You knew Robby had probably only come because Jack had but you were glad to see him out having fun anyway. That man took on entirely too much stress and tried to bear it all alone. You worried for him some days. You worried for him most days.

Emboldened by the shady corners, the gentle buzz of alcohol in your veins and your suspicion that Robby was the one person besides Samira who already knew about your date with Jack, you let yourself be drawn into him that little bit more than usual. You let him guide your hands on the pool cue, let him whisper instructions directly into your ear even when you didn’t need it just to feel the way his voice dripped, thick and sweet like honey, down the length of your spine. In return, you pressed back into him just enough to tempt him when he leaned over you, you dragged fingertips softly over the line of his shoulders and across the back of his neck teasingly between turns. Robby and Samira won the game, but neither you or Jack cared.

Eventually, you found yourself sitting alone at a table with Meredith. She was watching Whitaker argue animatedly with Santos about something, eyes narrowed slightly. 

“You see it, right?” She asked. “He’s…”

“He’s Bambi,” you said quietly.

“Doesn’t it hurt you? It hurts me a little.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But mostly it feels like George’s way of telling me I’m right where I need to be.”

She hummed, then her eyes drifted to where Jack was still hiding out by the pool table with Robby. “He’s not just McHottie. You showed up here with him, I saw you earlier when you were playing pool. You really like this guy.” She paused and then she said, in that way she did when she boiled some big realisation down to a few simple words, “You’re happy here.”

“I am.”

“You’re not coming back to Seattle.”

“No. Actually, I found out this morning that there’s a junior attending job waiting for me as long as I pass my boards.” You hadn’t told anyone that yet, not even Jack. You’d quietly interviewed with Gloria earlier this week, and she’d called you this morning to say they’d be thrilled to have you. You were capable and efficient, knew the inner workings of the place, had a good relationship with the staff and had great patient satisfaction scores. Plus, both Robby and Jack had written you glowing letters of recommendation. You were the obvious choice, apparently.

“We all thought this was your version of bartending at Joe’s, but you’re building a life here,” Meredith said, her eyes meeting yours.

“They’re my people,” you said, eyes roving over the room. Santos and Whitaker bickering like siblings. Samira and Mel laughing with Lexie as they picked out another karaoke song. Princess acting as both cheerleader and heckler as Donnie and Mateo competed at darts. Jack, in the corner with Robby, eyes already on you. “You’re my family but… they’re my people.”

“Well, okay then.”

Across the room, Robby stepped away to the bar, and Alex seized the opportunity to take his place next to Jack. 

“Don’t hurt her,” he said without making eye contact, watching you chat with Meredith.

“Excuse me?”

“She likes you. She doesn’t do dating or relationships, never has, but I’ve never seen her like someone the way she likes you.” Alex paused. “She saved my life, so don’t hurt her.”

Jack considered Alex for a moment. You’d told him everything from your time in Seattle, so he knew your relationship with Alex had been forever changed by tragedy on the bloody floor of a hospital supply room. He also knew Alex would be the hardest of your friends to read and to win over if they got off on the wrong foot. While he didn’t personally care whether this man liked him or not, and he knew it would never stop you from making whatever choice you wanted, he did want to be part of your life in every way and Alex was only asking him not to do something he’d never had any intention of doing anyway.

“Easiest promise I’ve ever made,” he said, holding his hand out for Alex to shake. 

———————————————————————————————————

The day of your boards, the anticipation dragged you from your bed far too soon. You spent the early hours of the morning curled up on the couch drinking tea — not coffee, you were too amped up already — watching the day splutter to life, the light battling to filter through clouds so grey it was as if someone had sucked all the colour from the world. 

By the time you were dressing to leave, in the very same clothes you’d worn to your interview with Gloria the previous week, those heavy grey clouds had burst open, rain cascading against the windows in thick sheets. Some people might have considered it a sign, a bad omen, but you felt most alive during a storm, real or metaphorical, so it was actually kind of calming.

Either by cosmic design or by sheer luck, the boards were taking place right here in Pittsburgh so while you had to contend with the weather, at least you got to sleep in your own bed and didn’t have to travel across the country. 

The morning passed in a fog, a strange mix of unyielding confidence and unshakeable anxiety. You were now in the hands of the examiners with their clean cut trousers and pencil skirts, their pressed blazers and dull, professional ties, their probing eyes and pointed questions designed to make you wonder whether the answer you just gave was the single most foolish thing anyone had ever said even when you knew it wasn’t. Before you knew it, the building was spitting you back out onto the street, pavement damp under your feet and air still heavy with the scent of rain. 

Robby had offered you the full day off, but you’d told him you would only end up climbing the walls of your apartment. So you went home, changed into your scrubs and headed right to the hospital. You probably could have gone to Jack’s apartment, but despite the casual intimacy the two of you shared without question, neither of you had broached the subject of a second date. You knew Jack was waiting on you, you weren’t so oblivious as to be unaware that he was afraid you would bolt if he moved too fast, but something had stayed your tongue whenever you thought about bringing it up. It seemed realising you wanted to stop keeping him at a safe distance and actually doing the thing were very, very different. 

As the afternoon dragged on, the other staff seemed to watch you and whisper more frequently than usual, because you hadn’t once mentioned how your boards went. 

“Someone should just ask,” Javadi whispered to Princess and Perlah, watching you move around the Pitt. 

“You will do no such thing,” Dana told her firmly.  They had a rule on exam days, ever since a couple of years ago when Robby had asked one of the senior residents how they thought they’d done and the guy had promptly burst into tears. Nobody needed that. 

A couple of hours later when the night shift started trickling in, the first thing each of them did was stop by the Hub to find out if you’d said anything yet. You’d never quite given up your semi-regular appearances in the Pitt during night shifts when you couldn’t sleep, and Ellis and Shen had both come to enjoy your visits and the entertainment they got watching their normally closed off colleague crack wide open in your presence. The results came by email the same day, given how early in the day yours had been done, you surely must have heard by now. 

“Any news?” Jack asked Robby when he arrived, whispering so you wouldn’t hear from the desk you were using, only for Robby to shake his head. 

They were so distracted, neither of them made a run for it when Gloria came striding down the hallway. The two of them and Dana had been avoiding her all week as if that would get them out of the annual PTMC fundraiser happening the following night. 

You listened from where you sat, putting all your effort into not letting your emotions show on your face. 

After she’d finished lecturing Jack, Robby and Dana about the importance of them not just showing up, but putting in an effort to increase donations if they wanted her to do some of the things Robby was always hounding her about, she crossed to stand in front of the desk where you could see her. “Congratulations on your certification, Doctor. And welcome aboard. Don’t think you’re getting out of making an appearance at the fundraiser because you haven’t yet done your first shift here as an attending.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you promised her. You both knew you were already aware that you’d have to be there, she’d made that abundantly clear when she called to offer you the job, but she couldn’t resist driving the point home.

When she left, you counted to five in your head before you spun around in your chair finally sporting the huge grin you’d been holding back ever since you’d checked your phone an hour ago to find your board results waiting in your email inbox.

“You didn’t feel like, I don’t know, saying something?!” Santos asked, sounding incredulous.

“And put you all out of your misery? Surely not.” You patted her shoulder as you passed her on the way to your locker. “A girl has to be allowed to have some fun.”

———————————————————————————————————

Jack really hated this event. He hated the way he was trotted out like a show pony; the veteran amputee meant to garner sympathy or evoke guilt in the wealthy and entitled so they’d hand over money like that would absolve them of their sins. He hated the extravagance, the politics, the inane small talk and the fact that any part of his ability to save lives depended on people who had no idea how it felt to shoulder that responsibility.

He was also a man who knew the realities. He knew that, despite how difficult things were in the Pitt because of lack of funding, it could be far worse. If no one from the Emergency Department showed up to this thing, they’d get none of the funding that might be handed out here tonight. So every year, he shackled himself into a suit, made the rounds and tried not to look as blank behind the eyes as he felt. 

This year, he’d at least have the pleasure of your company. The date you’d had had been one of the most pleasant nights he’d had in a long time and if he wasn’t so worried it would scare you off, he’d have told you right there at the door that he was half in love with you already. 

You hadn’t said a word about a second date, but you hadn’t pulled away from him either. He was taking that as a positive sign, especially now the issue of your residency was resolved.

When you walked into the room, Jack’s entire world narrowed on you. Samira had styled your hair for you, your makeup was flawless and the dress you wore fit like it had been made with only you in mind. It curved and dipped and clung along the lines of your body in a way that sent heat curling along his every nerve. Eyes from all over the room were drawn in by the gravity of you and Jack found himself something he wasn’t often; jealous. Not in the sense that he wanted to hide you away and keep you for himself, but that he wanted to stand at your side, bathed in the glow you were emitting, and have everyone know he was yours. 

“Close your mouth,” Robby muttered to him as you caught sight of them and headed their way, snagging a glass off the tray of a passing waiter. “You look like a simpleton.”

Jack hadn’t even registered that it was open, but he managed to snap it just as you reached them and was thankful that Dana was far too classy to tell you it was him she’d been laughing at.

“This thing is obscene,” you said. “They could staff us with the extra nurses we need for months with the money they spent on all this.”

“Amen,” Dana clinked her complimentary champagne against yours.

“Welcome to the other side,” Robby said sarcastically. “Knowledge can be a curse.” 

“What, no sage words or glib remarks from you?” You asked Jack when he remained uncharacteristically unopinionated.

He didn’t get the chance to speak before Gloria swept over with an air very reminiscent of his Army Commanders and insisted she make your introductions as this was your first event. 

For a while, you allowed her to parade you around the room, introducing you to various potential donors whose faces all melded together in your mind. You knew she was trying to capitalise on the fact that you were new and shiny and better practiced at the niceties that Jack and Robby, and even Dana to a lesser extent, had long since stopped pretending to engage in. You talked medicine and your move from Seattle, danced with one or two people and politely removed one particularly wandering hand.

When you managed to slip free, you hadn’t even made it off the dance floor before Jack was there, extending his hand. “Wanna hide out for a few minutes?”

Your hand slid into his without hesitation. “More than I want air to breathe.” 

His laugh was as warm as his hand in yours as he guided you out onto a terrace overlooking sprawling, professionally manicured gardens. The night air was fresh and cool, stars scattered across the night sky like spilled diamonds.

“Have I told you yet that you look beautiful tonight?” Jack asked.

“No, you haven’t.”

“A nearly unforgivable oversight,” he said, dragging his hand up and down your arm in a way that was most distracting. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“You look pretty incredible yourself,” you said. He really did. You’d seen many versions of Jack. You had seen him in the hospital in scrubs, in his home relaxed in jeans, you’d even caught a glimpse of him in his SWAT uniform once, just for a second, and every version of him was beautiful. Jack in a suit, though, was something else entirely. It was like he’d been plucked from your wildest dream and presented dressed in sin.

“So, you’re staying at the Pitt now, probably be running rings around Robby and me in no time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you said quietly. “I wish I could say it was just that I didn’t want to jinx it, but the truth is I’m not good at the sharing part.” “You don’t have to apologise to me, and you don’t have to tell me things.” 

Ever since you’d seen Meredith, you’d been playing her words over in your head. You’re building a life here. She was right in a sense. You wanted to build a life here, and you had started to. You’d formed a fantastic bond with everyone at the Pitt, a wonderful mirror to the bond you had with everyone back in Seattle – the same, but different – and you had finally achieved the next step in your career, a hard won victory that you’d been almost singularly focused on for the last four years. You had always thought your career was it for you, you’d never felt the pull to someone enough to rival that which you felt to medicine, but now you found yourself wanting more. Wanting not just your people but your person, the one person who understood you better than anyone else, the person who felt like home and safety and all the things you thought you’d never have again.

“I want to tell you things,” you said, stepping in close until your hands were braced on his strong chest and he was all that existed in your world. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be good at this part, but I’m trying. I want…”

“Tell me,” Jack implored, holding you gently by the chin so you wouldn’t shy away from his eyes piercing into your own. “Tell me what it is you want.”

“You,” you breathed. “Not just for one date, or two. I want you for all of it. For anything, for everything. I want you.” “There it is,” Jack whispered, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip. “I’ve been yours for months, sweetheart, just been waiting for you to catch up.” You leaned up and when your lips finally met his, it was complete and total surrender. The kiss wasn’t soft or tender or any of those gentle things, it was months of build up cresting on a wave of fiery hunger and the velvet slide of his tongue against yours. His arm banded around your waist, drawing you in so you were flush against him, pressed deliciously against the full length of every toned inch of muscle. Your arms wound around his neck, fingers finally sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck the way you’d imagined a thousand times since the first time you saw him. They tightened of their own accord when his tongue twisted exquisitely around your own. You felt the low rumble he gave vibrate in his chest and your answering sound of approval was delicate and desperate and entirely involuntary. Jack pulled himself away from you as though it was physically painful to do so.

“You can’t make noises like that, baby,” he told you. You were so beautifully dizzy that you almost didn’t hear him, but his next words hit like a bolt of lightning. “Not here when I can’t do anything about it.” 

“You better take me somewhere else then, because if you kiss me like that again, I’m not sure I’ll care where we are.” 

Jack’s eyes grew dark, and his smirk sharpened until it was a silent, wicked promise written across his face. 

The two of you were in a cab in less than five minutes, not having said goodbye to anyone at all. 

———————————————————————————————————

Jack knew you knew the second he saw you sitting at one of the computers at the Hub, fingers angrily smashing the keyboard and very obviously ignoring him.

In the two months since the fundraiser, the pair of you had barely spent a moment apart outside this hospital. You spent so many nights at his apartment that you practically lived there. You kept clothes in his drawers, you had a side of his bed that was yours, your toothbrush lived next to his. You hogged the covers, took up half his bathroom with various cosmetics and somehow his apartment now always smelled like your perfume, but you also made him breakfast — the only meal you could cook reliably — and suffered through history documentaries with him and massaged his leg after long shifts without him asking you to. He loved every single second of it. But you’d both agreed that for now, you wanted to have this wonderful thing that was just yours and so you hadn’t told anyone inside the hospital about your relationship. He found he actually quite liked it, as much as he’d be happy to have everyone know you were his and he was yours, the secrecy made it fun to flirt with you and tease you whenever you worked together. 

Samira knew, of course, because she knew you weren’t spending your nights at your shared apartment any more. Which was why he’d gone to her when he realised he wouldn’t be able to reach where the bullet had grazed the back of his shoulder, because she was the only person who might understand why he didn’t want you to know. They both knew how bad the memories it would bring up were, and there was no use in stirring that kind of panic over little more than a bruise.

He hadn’t counted on the fact that this was the Pitt and someone clearly saw them and told you about it. 

“You know, and you’re upset,” he said. 

“How could I possibly know you were injured on a fucking SWAT raid? Because you certainly never said a word about it to me. And why would I possibly be upset about that?” You sniped, now in danger of actually breaking the keyboard from how hard you were typing on it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, pulling up a chair and spinning yours to face him. “I didn’t want to worry you, but I promise I’m fine. You’re not angry, you’re scared and we both know you’ll forgive me once that passes.”

“Oh, because you know so much about me?”

“Didn’t we do this exact thing, right here, all those months ago?” Jack asked, taking both your hands in his. “And I know so much more now. I know which side of the bed you sleep on. I know how unfairly beautiful you look first thing in the morning. I know what songs you sing in the shower when you’re happy, and the ones you listen to on repeat when you’re sad.” He smirked. “I know that little noise you make when you—”

“Okay!” You cut him off before he could finish that last one, looking around to make sure no one heard and missing Princess lingering in a doorway just behind you. You were still trying to live up to your promise to be better at the sharing part of being with someone, it was something that didn't come naturally to you, so you told him the truth. “Okay fine, it scares me when you go out with them but I need you to tell me if you’re hurt because not knowing scares me more.”

“I can do that,” Jack promised, just as Princess came back around the corner with a whiteboard in her hand and clapped it down on the countertop, pointing it at you so you could see the sticky notes littering it.

“When?” She demanded loudly, drawing in the others within earshot. When you and Jack both looked at her blankly, she elaborated. “When did you get together?”

Looking more closely at the whiteboard, you saw it was covered in bets on when they thought you and Jack would finally get together. They’d obviously been more careful about setting up this pool, clearly having stolen one of the smaller patient whiteboards from upstairs to collect the bets on so they could tuck it away in a corner somewhere neither of you would find it. 

“Well shit,” Santos piped up defeatedly. “There goes my bet that they’d both be too chicken to follow through in the end.”

Jack shrugged at you when you glanced at him, as if to say tell them what you want, I don’t mind.

You leaned in, plucking a post-it from the board. “The kid takes it,” you said, handing Princess Javadi’s note that said Fundraiser - dancing, free booze and Abbot in a suit, she’ll cave. “I guess she really is a genius.” ——————————————————————————————————— Taglist: @li22ie2017 @starlitflora @kittykaylat1987 @leeemabean

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

I read both Resistance and Realization and oh my GOSH!! I was absolutely dying of laughter when Derek and Mark showed up 😂 I absolutely can’t wait for part 3 and please tag me in it when you post!

I definitely will and I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed it so far! 🥰 Much as I love my Pitt crew, I just love imagining how the reader would have fit into the gang in Seattle too and I just couldn’t imagine Mark letting a chance like that slip by him 😂

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

just read “realization” and i’m bawling my eyes out, amazing amazing work !! can’t wait for part 3 bestie 🥹💗 no rush tho xx

What a lovely compliment, thank you! 💜 I’m hoping to have it posted next week some time. It’s like two thirds written already since I was just planning it to be two parts but I have no self control and it got way too big 😅 x

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

Realisation - Jack Abbot

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Former Seattle Grace!Female Reader

Summary: As devastation rocks the annual PittFest, it cuts a little close to home for you and you realise that maybe you started running and never really stopped. This is part two to this post. I hadn't planned to write a follow up but the response inspired me and then when I wrote it, it spiralled way longer than I was intending so there's going to be a part three when I find the self-discipline to finish it! Warnings: This is going to cover elements from both the PittFest and SGMW shootings. Again, liberties have been taken with timelines to make it fit my narrative. ———————————————————————————————————

“I can’t believe he really said that,” Santos said. “Who’d have thought Abbot had game?”

A chorus of laughter rang out around your apartment. A week after Jack Abbot had left you speechless in the locker room with nothing more than a quiet promise and a few light touches, you’d decided to make the most of a rare evening spent outside the hospital. You’d remembered Dana’s words about Samira not really connecting with anyone away from work, and were determined that it was time for that to change. With any luck, you’d soon be an attending and she’d be in her final year of residency. You’d still be friends and roommates, hopefully, but it would be a change in dynamic and you wanted her to have other people she could go to.

You’d dragged her out of the hospital on time for once, over a series of weakening protests, and on your way out had told Santos to round up the other residents, by force if necessary, and meet at your apartment.

She’d risen to the occasion, and now everyone was strewn out lazily across your living room in a way that made your heart feel full. Samira was sitting in her usual armchair, knees tucked up under her, chin resting on them, with you and Javadi sitting on the floor resting your back on the base of the chair. The youngest among you, Javadi had been hesitant to accept that the invitation extended to her. When she’d arrived, you could feel the anxiety rolling off her like a tidal wave and so you’d tucked her under your arm and planted her beside you with an easy confidence you’d perfected over years of holding your own as the anomaly in your chosen family. You knew they loved you, but you were the outlier and everyone knew it. If you hadn’t learned to project confidence until you actually felt it, you never would have lasted.

She’d tried to protest when you handed her a beer to go with your own. “It’s a beer in my apartment surrounded by trained medical professionals,” you told her, “not shots in a nightclub surrounded by drunk morons. If you want the beer, take the beer.”

She had, giving a shy laugh as she took it from you.

Across from you on the couch, Whitaker was wedged between Santos and Mel, looking like he was regretting a few of his life choices as he eyed where Santos had settled in with her back against the armrest and kicked her feet out over his lap. McKay was the only one of the day shift residents who couldn’t make it, and she got a free pass because she had a child to take care of. 

“So you’re both aware that you want each other?” Javadi asked, watching as you tilted your head sideways where it was leaning on the chair, looking at her and humming an affirmative. “But he’s not flirting with you anymore? And you’re… pleased by this?”

The laugh you gave her in answer was light and completely devoid of judgment at her confusion. Behind you, Samira let loose a laugh of her own because you’d asked yourself the same question a lot in recent days before coming up with an answer for yourself. Just the other day, she’d gone out to pick up dinner and come back to find you on the phone to Lexie, tearing your hair out.

“He’s being entirely reasonable, Lex,” you said. “I don’t know what to do with that. What do I do with that? And why does it make me like him more?”

Samira had thrown herself down on the armchair and listened. She’d learned so much more about why you’d freaked out so hard when you first met Jack, and had to admit she could understand. You’d watched Cristina pressure herself to take her relationship with Burke at warp speed, even when she wasn’t ready, because he’d been convinced that if he led, she’d follow and that was what she needed. Sure he’d realised his mistake in the end but it was too late to prevent the hurt he’d caused. You’d seen Meredith tell Derek to back off for weeks, months even, when they first met and Derek had pushed and pushed. They were together now, and happier than you’d ever known them but still, the contrast you saw made you look at Jack with a new perspective.

“Look, I think you’re overthinking it a bit,” Lexie said over the sounds of the Seattle Grace locker room. “I know you’ve seen a lot of really messy examples, my own included, but you’re your own person. He sounds like a good guy. If he wants to give you room to be ready for anything more, then let him. That doesn’t mean you have to pretend he’s not there, or that you don’t like him. Let him buy you coffee and notice how great you are. You deserve that.”

“I know none of you get it,” you answered Javadi, “and trying to explain Seattle Grace to you would take way longer than we have time for, but it comes down to this; he heard me and he’s respecting my choices. It’s new for me too, but it’s actually its own kind of hot.” 

The rest of the evening passed in laughter and lightness. As the conversation rolled on, it bounced randomly from topic to topic. 

Whitaker told stories about growing up on a farm, and as he spoke about his brothers and how they had tortured him as only brothers can, you got a flash of memory. Of another gentle doctor, with soft eyes and a good heart and brothers who didn’t understand him.

Santos caught her own interrogation about Yolanda Garcia, the surgeon she was sort of seeing. 

“I’m sorry,” you said through hysterical laughter. “You scalpeled the woman you’re currently sleeping with the day you met her and you laughed at me about McHottie?”

Santos chose not to answer you because she was too busy threatening Whitaker, who’d told you that little gem, with bodily harm. 

Javadi vented about her mother and how much pressure she felt. You made a mental note to get some advice from Meredith and Jackson to pass on about dealing with a family legacy in the workplace.

Mel gushed about her sister and how well she was doing in the new facility she’d moved to. She loved Becca unconditionally and it showed in every word. 

This is what you’d missed most since moving here, besides the people themselves. It wasn’t the city, the hospital or the house you’d spent so much of your time in, it was the way you felt when you were surrounded by people you cared about. By the time you were waving everyone but Samira goodbye, you felt like some small part of you that had broken in Seattle was healing.

“Lexie’s right, you know?” Samira told you as you cleared away glasses and takeout containers. “You’re worrying about Abbot based on all the dramatic stuff you’ve told me about Seattle, but we both know he’s not like that.”

You had pondered over what Lexie and Samira had said all night. Jack had kept to his promise, never pushing you for more than you were ready for. That still took you a little by surprise, but you thought maybe it was a good kind of surprise. You hadn’t had one of those in such a long time, you wondered whether you’d lost the ability to recognise it?

You were both grown ups, he’d made it clear he would let you set the pace. So maybe a little closeness wasn’t the end of the world as long as no lines were crossed for now. 

The next morning, when you showed up for your shift, it was with a coffee cup in hand. Just as Jack had the first time, you slid the coffee across the counter of the Hub without a word. He inspected it for a moment before looking at you. “What’s this?”

“You know damn well that it’s coffee.” “But I thought coffee was forbidden?” He asked, working very hard to keep the smirk from his face. “That coffee was forbidden when I thought you were an annoying attending who would unravel my life just for fun. It’s been pointed out that I might be letting other people’s experiences cloud my expectations. You said you would back off and you have. This coffee is acceptable.”

———————————————————————————————————

Jack Abbot had always considered himself a man of discipline. For most of his life, he’d served; overseas, on SWAT teams and inside emergency rooms. When he had told you he could wait until after your residency to take you out if that was what you needed, he’d really meant it. He still did, he still would, but he hadn’t anticipated it being quite this difficult. 

He’d thought it would be easier, knowing that your hesitation wasn’t about him, knowing that you wanted what he wanted and all it would cost him to have it was a little bit of patience. He was wrong.

If he thought he’d been aware of you before, it was nothing compared to now. Because now, he knew the feel of your skin beneath his fingers and he wanted to feel nothing but that ever again. He could picture the bare expanse of your back as easily as if it had been burned into his brain, and he did. Often. He’d felt the cool silk of your hair and spent a hazardous amount of time imagining what it would be like to thread his fingers through it. He was desperate for more of you in a way that might make him embarrassed if he was a lesser man.

Ever since you’d showed up with the coffee, you’d lost most of the skittish edge you’d had around him since you first met. He relished in it, even if it made him crave more of the version of you that didn’t hold him at arms length. Between patients and codes, in precious moments at the start and end of shifts, he drank down any part of you that you were willing to give him like a man dying of thirst. It was never anything too deep or excessively personal, but it was something. He learned the names of all the people you missed most from Seattle and committed them to memory. He laughed freely at your stories of nights spent at Joe’s bar in a way that made Dana and Robby share a look of surprise. The way you talked about the dog you’d briefly adopted with Meredith and Izzie in your first year of residency told him you were a dog person and he filed that away under things he hoped he’d need to know one day in the future.

He’d followed your lead, sharing small pieces of himself when he thought it wouldn’t send you running again. Funny stories of his years spent here, things he and Robby had gotten up to before they were as weighed down by this place as they were now. The first time he told you about his time in the service, you told him to remind you to introduce him to Owen and Teddy. Casually, like it was a foregone conclusion that he’d be at your side long enough to meet the other people in your life. He didn’t think you even realised you were doing it but it did things to his heart that he was sure were dangerous all the same. 

“You’re staring again,” Robby said flatly, not looking away from examining the board. They were about ten minutes post handover, the night shift residents were clustered around the Hub finishing patient charts while the day shifters had all been sent packing in various directions to pick up where the night shift had left off. 

Jack only grunted because he knew he was, in fact, staring at where you were walking Javadi through a procedure and the younger doctor was occasionally glancing up at you with open awe. He could very much understand how Javadi felt.

“Need I remind you that she told you, in a very public and very fast paced speech, that you needed to stop with the...” Robby trailed off as he looked over and waved one hand to vaguely indicate Jack’s entire person. “You.”

“We’ve reached an understanding,” Jack said simply. “I’m even allowed coffee now.” When Robby raised an eyebrow in a way that Jack knew meant do not mess with my residents, he sighed. “I told her I’d wait until her residency’s over.”

“You’re waiting until—. Brother, you’re in trouble. You haven’t been on a single date and you watch her like she’s the last woman left on planet Earth. You realise I haven’t found you on the roof once since she started here?” 

Of course Jack knew that, but he was hardly going to stand here and tell Robby it was because seeing you flash him a smile when you came in for your shift did more for him than all the hours he’d spent on that roof combined. That truth was just for him.  

“You’ve got it real bad,” Robby laughed. 

He just shrugged, because Robby wasn’t wrong, and Jack didn’t care.

———————————————————————————————————

You’d woken up this morning feeling weird, like the world was wavering on a knife edge and you were powerless to do anything but wait to see which way it tipped.

You put it down to lack of sleep. Alex had taken to calling you at odd hours as the one year anniversary of the shooting loomed ever closer, the two of you uniquely bonded over your shared trauma. When he called in the middle of the night, he pretended it wasn’t because he was afraid of reliving the whole thing in his sleep and you pretended you believed him. 

He’d stayed on the phone with you this morning while you got ready for work, so you’d waved Samira out the door ahead of. “Can you believe she thinks I’m still hung up on Izzie?” Alex’s voice cut sharp in your ears. He’d spent the duration of the walk to PTMC ranting about how Lexie had finally had enough of the way he’d been treating her since the shooting and bitten his head off. “You are, Alex,” you told him, pacing back and forth in the ambulance bay. “I get it, okay, you think Izzie is what made you a better man, but she’s not. She made you want to be better, but all the work it took? You did that yourself. You think that Izzie being gone means that version of you is gone too, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Jesus, are you an ER doctor or a shrink?”

“I’m right is what I am, and you know it too. Look,” you sighed, “just apologise to Lexie, alright? She saved your life, you know.” You pulled your phone away from your ear to check the time. “I have to get to work. And Alex? Get that bullet taken out, for God’s sake, it’s been almost a year!”

You hoped at least some of your words got through to him, but Alex had always been a wild card and he was never more unpredictable than when he felt cornered and exposed. You wouldn’t know if he’d heard you until he dropped the flippant, prickly attitude he used to guard himself when he was at risk of falling apart. 

In the Pitt, when Robby had done his briefing and sent everyone off to prep for rounds, you lingered, looking unsure. It was so unusual that Jack, Robby and Dana all watched for a couple of moments before Jack asked, “Everything okay?”

You wanted to tell him you had this feeling, a bad feeling you couldn’t shake, but voicing it would invite questions you weren’t sure you were ready to answer. So instead you just nodded, said nothing, and hoped that giving yourself over to the Pitt would chase it off. 

Unfortunately, that unsettled feeling hovered over you all day, following you from patient to patient like a predator stalking prey. 

It only intensified when you heard McKay had had a patient who was concerned that her son had been writing lists of girls he hated. Then that son had disappeared from the hospital without his mother, never showed up at school and nobody knew where he was. 

By the time Dana wandered back in from the ambulance bay, blood running rivulets down her chin and neck, the feeling had grown into an incessant buzzing beneath your skin. 

“Jesus Dana, what happened?” You asked, ignoring her protests as you guided her into a chair and Princess dragged the cart over, digging out an ice pack for Dana to press to her face. 

“Just an unhappy customer,” she quipped, voice clogged through the blood and the ice pack and what was, if you had to guess, a fractured nose.

“A patient did this to you?” Javadi asked, horrified. “Is that, like, a thing?”

“It shouldn’t be,” you told her, “but it does still happen.” 

In your second year of residency, you had been shoved by a guy displaying drug seeking behaviour when you wouldn’t order any narcotics. You’d cracked your head off the corner of the adjacent bed on your way down and then spent almost a full shift under observation for signs of concussion. Everyone around you chimed in with their own stories about injuries caused by patients. You could see Javadi taking it all in with growing concern, but there was no point lying to her about the realities of a working emergency room. 

Dana grew increasingly annoyed as Robby conducted a thorough exam and began rattling off tests he wanted done on her. Robby, in turn, grew increasingly snappish as he barked out his orders to clear a patient room for her. Eventually, you cut Dana off as gently as you could while still being heard over Robby’s clucking. “C’mon, D, if it was one of us you’d be exactly the same way. Just get checked out, please?”

She still didn’t look like she liked the idea, but she did allow you to help her up out of the chair, and gave your hand a squeeze as you relinquished her to Mateo. 

“This day is giving me a feeling. I don’t like this day, Robby,” you warned him, watching them go. 

“Do any of us like any day spent in this place?” He scoffed with a sarcastic little laugh, but his face sobered when you didn’t join in as you usually would have. “What kind of feeling?”

“The kind that makes me flee across state lines.”

About an hour later, and the day had still not improved. McKay’s ex had been brought in for a skateboard injury — seriously? — and she’d asked you to treat him as a favour so she could get Harrison settled in the break room. You were definitely going to make her buy you a drink or something because he was just so fantastically annoying and self absorbed and his new girlfriend wasn’t any more pleasant. The feeling you’d had all day was screaming along your every nerve and you felt a rush of very undoctorly relief when you were able to leave them both behind to wait on his Ortho consult.

When you dragged yourself back to the Hub, you immediately leaned your head into your hands and let out the groan of annoyance you’d had to keep clamped in your throat for the last 30 minutes. “If someone doesn’t make those two shut up, I’m going to forget about the existence of The Hippocratic Oath.”

You lifted your head to see Jack and Robby both watching you warily. You frowned at Jack in confusion. “What are you doing back here?”

“Heard you guys were having a hell of a day, figured you could use a hand. What’s got you so wound up?” He asked. “It’s not like you. The more chaos there is, the calmer you are.”

“She has a feeling,” Robby said. 

Before you could send any snarky words his way, Dana put down the trauma phone and turned to the three of you, looking paler than you’d seen her all day. “We need to prepare for mass casualty protocols. Multiple GSWs.” She hesitated, which was so unlike her. “There’s an active shooter at PittFest.”

“Jake and his girlfriend are there,” Robby whispered. 

Jack didn’t miss the way your entire body stilled, as if you were fortifying yourself against physical blow, nor the way that Robby’s eyes strayed to you before he began calling out orders. 

“You gonna be good?” Robby muttered to you as everyone got moving.

“Like there’s any room not to be? I told you I didn’t like this day,” you shot back. “I’ll get the others. Call your son.”

As Jack watched you take off to round up the residents to be briefed, he asked Robby, “What’s that all about?”

“Not my story to tell, man,” Robby said, fingers already dialling.

When you were out of sight of them, you slipped into a supply cupboard and leaned heavily against the door, memories swimming behind your eyes.

“Excuse me?” 

Seattle Grace Mercy West’s — who the hell signed off on that mouthful? — ER was a mess of patients today, just how you liked it. A busy ER meant busy hands and a busy mind, no room for hurt or anger or the plunge into the never ending well of ‘why’ inside you. Why did Owen have to go and get George feeling all patriotic? Why did George have to be the kind of man who would throw himself in harm’s way for a perfect stranger without a second thought? Why wasn’t that strength of spirit and kindness of heart enough for whatever force that existed in the universe to let him be saved? Why did Izzie get cancer? Why did she fight it tooth and nail, over months and months only to leave her entire life, the family you’d forged in laughter and tears and loss, without a single goodbye?

When you turned towards the voice that had spoken, you found a tall man, with a serious face topped with heavy brows that were pulled down in a perpetual scowl and haunted blue eyes. “Do you know where I can find the Chief of Surgery?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” you told him. Derek was chafing against the shackles of his new position, and had been almost since he got it. Always on the move. Always avoiding his office, his paperwork, the board. Pining for the feel of scalpel to skin. “I’m a doctor here in the ER, not a surgeon, but there are usually a few of them poking around here at any one time. If you want to have a seat, the surgical residents wear light blue scrubs and you can check with one of them. If you don’t have any luck, I’ll ask around as soon as I’m done with my patients here.”

The man gave a polite nod and wandered off, and you turned back to your patient without thinking anything more of it.

You’d lost all track of time by the time you heard the bang echo down the supply hallway and into the ER. The whole room froze, exchanging looks as you all tried to place the sound that didn’t fit. The second one that rang out registered and someone asked, “Was that a gunshot?”

“Call 9-1-1.” Your feet were moving before you’d given them leave to, racing down the hallway because Alex had disappeared down there just minutes ago and suddenly you knew you wouldn’t be able to draw another breath until you could see him. 

It seemed your legs were in charge right now, not your brain, and thank God for that because they had you skidding to a shaky stop several steps away from the man from earlier before you realised the thing you were looking at was a gun. You’d never seen one in real life before, never mind one pointing directly at you.

You watched him look at you for the longest moment you’d ever lived, as if he was trying to place your face but having trouble. “You’re not a surgeon.”

You weren’t sure if it was a statement or a question. You wanted to answer it anyway, but you had to swallow thickly two or three times, the sound seeming to bounce off the walls and reverberate along your bones, before you could find the words. “N-no,” your voice came in a quivering whisper when it finally returned. “I’m not a surgeon.”

He gave a sharp jerk of the head, not quite a nod. “You should leave now.”

And then he turned, walked down the hall, and disappeared around the corner.

You steadied yourself by sheer force of will, digging deep inside you to the place where the doctor lived and forcing the woman away so it could take her place. Then, you rounded up as many residents as you could see and corralled them back to the Hub. When everyone had gathered, Robby raised his voice and gave the bad news, advising people to get ready now; clear patients, get a bathroom break, call loved ones because pretty soon there wouldn’t be time or service. 

You weren’t sure how likely it was to make national news, or whether anyone in Seattle would see it if it did. You imagined how you’d feel if it was there and you were here, and sent a message anyway.

You: Active shooter near PTMC. Trauma calls coming here. We’re safe, don’t freak out. 

As everyone spread out, Robby turned to you again. “When I assign everyone their stations, I want you with Abbot.”

“I’m not gonna have a breakdown, Robby. I don’t need him to protect me.”

This was exactly why you were hesitant to be involved with an attending outside this hospital. You didn’t need special treatment or coddling or protecting from the hard parts of this job and although Jack had pretty much convinced you he wouldn’t be the one who did that, there was always the chance everyone else would because they thought it was what the two of you wanted.

Jack, still standing nearby and organising the snap bands, wrist charts and sharpies that would be used in place of the usual iPads to triage patients, listened but said nothing.

“I don’t want you with him because I think you need to be protected,” Robby said firmly. “I want you with him because I’ve seen the two of you work together and we’re gonna need that magic today. I also know your history, you got some solid trauma training from Dr Hunt in Seattle. I need the people I can rely on to handle the worst that comes through those doors today.”

You hoped he meant that, because you liked working with Robby and it would make it hard to look at him the same way if you thought he’d sideline you in a crisis because of your past. 

As Robby addressed the gathered staff, doling out instructions and guidance for those who hadn't worked a mass casualty situation before, the sound of sirens could be heard starting up in the distance, their ear splitting shrieks growing louder as they counted down the moment of impact you were all bracing for. It felt like the second Robby stopped talking, the outside world exploded in through the ambulance bay doors and from there, the day was a whirlwind you had no chance of containing. Your only option was to steel yourself and hope you could withstand it.

It took you minutes, too many precious minutes, to unlock your knees and unglue your feet after the gunman had disappeared around the corner. 

When you did, and you crossed the threshold of the supply closet he’d been coming out of, the breath rushed out of you again immediately. You’d seen blood, you worked in an ER and you’d seen blood and bone and injuries that would make a normal person sick, and you’d never blinked. But this, this nearly undid you. The whole floor was running red in a way that looked almost cartoonish, or maybe that was your brain’s way of trying to keep you from succumbing to the mad desperation coiling itself around your limbs, snaking its way up your throat and out of your mouth on a choked sob. Time became immaterial as you stood there, unable to move either forwards or backwards or do anything at all.

Behind you, April Kepner tried to come through the door, skirting around you with an annoyed noise before stopping dead at what she saw. Her shock was enough to knock yours free. 

“Alex? Oh God, Alex!” You went to him first not just because he was your friend, your family, not just because he was closest but because one look at the red-haired resident whose name you couldn’t remember — you had to find out her name, had to know her name so you’d never forget her again — told you there was nothing anyone would be able to do for her now. Alex, however, was still breathing, but he was struggling. Every breath sounded thick and wet.

“Kepner?” You tried to call her name a couple of times. “April!” You eventually shouted at her, and finally her eyes locked on yours. “There’s a man in the hospital with a gun. You need to–” You gagged on your next inhale as your brain fed you the reminder of what the man had asked you for the first time you’d seen him. “He’s looking for Derek.” You whispered, horrified. Then, you took her by the shoulders and said, “Find someone and tell them there’s a man in this hospital with a gun and he’s hunting the Chief of Surgery!”

You didn’t wait to see if she left, just crashed onto your knees, hardly even registering the way the impact jarred your whole body or that the blood was now soaking into your scrubs too. Alex tried to say something, maybe your name, but you shushed him, trying to focus on the part of you that could be his doctor, not his friend. You couldn’t get there as much as you should have, but it was enough to get you assessing him. There was a single penetrating wound to the side of his chest, under his arm, but the blood wasn’t coming from under him which told you there was no exit wound. The bullet would still be lodged in there somewhere, it could have hit his lungs or nicked his heart or any manner of things that could make this worse than it looked.

“Alex,” you bent yourself over him so you could look him in the eye and know he heard you. “I’m gonna fix this, okay? Just keep breathing and I’m gonna fix this.”

Reed Adamson. That had been her name. You'd asked after everything was over and you'd never forgotten it since, you knew you never would. You’d seen countless GSWs since the Seattle incident, both here and before you left, but this was different. This wasn’t just a one off, a random misfortune or a case of idiots with bad gun handling practices. You knew how each of these people had felt in the moments they realised their lives and the lives of the people they loved were at risk. You remembered that terror as if it had never left you, only laying dormant and waiting for an opportunity to emerge and sink its insidious claws into you once more. 

You’d left Alex on the floor, you hated it but you’d done it, to dash back into the ER only to find it empty. You should have considered that, the ER had a direct exit and people had probably started getting the hell out — beds and all, if the empty spaces were anything to go by — as soon as they’d realised what they’d heard were shots. 

It was good for them, but bad for you and Alex. You needed help to stabilise him, supplies that you didn’t have down here in the ER. His breathing was getting worse by the minute, he needed a chest tube and that was something you usually passed off to surgery to be done under anaesthetic. 

Back at his side, you weighed up the risks for only a few seconds before you determined there was no choice, you’d have to chance moving him, trying to get him up to the surgical floor. The gunman’s words worried you, for some reason he was looking for surgeons specifically, but Alex would deteriorate fast down here without that chest tube and the thought of sitting by and watching him die was scarier to you than anything else in the world right now. 

“Hey, you still with me?” You asked him, crouching down. 

“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be,” he answered through laboured breaths. That he was still being entirely Alex was like a remedy to all the fear inside you. You gathered up as much gauze as you could manage and held it to the wound, pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding.

“I gotta move you,” you told him. “You need a chest tube and I can’t do that here, not by myself. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but we’ll do it together, okay?”

Alex agreed, knowing he had no real choice, and between the two of you, you half carried, half dragged him all the way to the elevator. 

As you ran through code after code, your mind had your vision flashing between now and then, superimposing the face of a friend over the face of the stranger on the bed. The blood on your hands was Alex’s, the overlapping voices of your colleagues were Lexie’s desperate pleas, Robby’s and Jack’s voices were Mark’s, all issuing instructions in steady, calming voices.

When you reached the surgical floor, Mark and Lexie looked momentarily stunned to see you shielding Alex with your own body, not having known what you might find when the elevator doors opened.

Mark sprung into action almost immediately though, helping you up and giving you a quick check over before focusing on Alex when he was sure the blood covering you wasn’t your own. Then, he scooped Alex up like his weight was inconsequential and herded you all towards the conference room, laying Alex flat on the table.

He sent Lexie out to gather the supplies you couldn’t bring up with you and when she came back, she’d progressed from stunned to full on panicked. You knew they’d been hooking up — honestly, you might be the only one here for the medicine and not the dating pool — but you didn’t know she’d react like this. Oddly, her panic made you calmer and you took everything from her, ripping open packets and helping Mark get a better look at the wound. 

While he examined Alex, you grabbed Lexie by the arms and held her to stop the pacing, cutting off her ranting about how the gunman might return. “You’re right, okay? He might come back, but Alex won’t stand being moved again so we need to do this fast because I don’t know about you, but I cannot lose anyone else. Start an IV.” You turned to Mark. “He’s gonna need blood, isn’t he? I tried but it was bleeding so much, so fast, I couldn’t stay on top of it. How the hell are we meant to get him blood?”

“He will,” Mark confirmed. “But for now, we need to get the chest tube in and it’s not gonna be pretty. Then we’ll worry about the blood.”

You helped Mark with the tube and Lexie tried to keep Alex quiet. It was basically impossible, he was in so much pain. She begged, she pleaded, but nothing worked and eventually, she balled up some clean gauze and forced him to bite down. 

Then came the issue of the transfusion. “I’m a universal donor,” you said. “Do you have what you need here to do a direct transfusion?”

Mark said he did, and he set it up but chances were Alex would need more than they could safely take from you, so Lexie ventured out in search, saying she’d go mad if she sat here doing nothing. Before she left, she begged Alex not to die so tenderly that you and Mark both looked away. That was a disaster waiting to happen, Alex wasn’t over Izzie and Mark wasn’t over Lexie.

It felt like each moment Lexie was gone stretched into an eternity. Alex was growing increasingly delusional, even with the transfusion underway, rambling about things that didn’t make sense like he was dying. “Stop it, Alex,” you cut him off firmly. “you’re not fucking dying. I forbid it. Lexie will come back with the blood and everything will be fine.” You finally lost the battle to your tears, and they spilled down your cheeks and raced each other down your neck in rivers. “If you die, I will never forgive you!”

Alex stopped rambling, but you found that worried you more. When Lexie eventually got back, he was barely aware where he was and what was happening and you saw it in her eyes the moment her heart cracked open after he called her Izzie just seconds before the SWAT team arrived. 

After that, it was a maelstrom of being ushered here and there, checked over by paramedics, giving statements to the police, following Alex to Seattle Pres and spending a long night in hard waiting room chairs as he underwent surgery. He was alive, you were alive, everyone you loved most was still alive, so why did it feel like some vital part of you never made it out of that supply room?

Jack watched you as you carved through the ER like a force of nature. He tended patients, performed procedures, saved lives, but some part of him was always tuned into you. Whatever Robby had thought would slow you down today, he’d been wrong. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as focused as you were right now. 

He was finishing up with a through and through GSW to the shoulder when the commotion drew his eyes back your way.

You were buzzing around a patient with Garcia, preparing to hand off to surgery, when you noticed a man in a torn, grimy jacket sweeping his phone across the width of the Pitt, recording. 

“Give me that,” you snarled, long strides eating up the distance between you and snatching the phone from his hands. 

“Hey, you can’t do that!”

“I can and I am,” your voice rose, even above the commotion, and eyes darted your way from all over. “These people are my patients, this is probably the worst day of their lives, they’re hurt and they’re scared. If you don’t get out of here right now, it’s going to take an excellent surgeon a good two or three hours to remove this phone from where I intend to shove it.” You knew this was toeing the line, but seeing him reminded you of the documentary crew who’d come sniffing around in the wake of the shooting in Seattle. The surgeons had been stuck with it, Chief’s orders, but you’d told your attending you’d quit sooner than turn your ordeal into something they could stream directly into homes the entire world over. It infuriated you. “So it’s your choice, you can go with Ahmad,” you gestured to the security guard who’d made his way over, “and leave on your own two feet or I can arrange a hot date with the lovely Dr. Garcia here. I warn you, she’s very busy right now and it’ll probably take some time before she gets to you.”

The man looked around you, taking in all the faces that were glancing over at you and correctly guessing he’d get no help from anyone here, before he huffed out something that sounded like a reluctant agreement. You handed Ahmad the guy’s phone, telling him to make sure he watched the guy delete the footage before he let him go. 

Garcia gave you a nod of respect as she took the patient upstairs. When you passed Jack on the way to receive the next trauma, he whispered, “Am I allowed to tell you how much that turned me on?”

“Not if you want to keep your coffee privileges,” you threw over your shoulder but, despite this awful day, the memories it had shaken loose in you and the words you said, you couldn’t help the smile that flickered over your lips. 

———————————————————————————————————

When it finally ended, when the tide finally ebbed and everyone was wrapping up, the Pitt felt too quiet, the usual noises seeming to echo in the vacuum left behind by the madness of the day. 

There had been some devastating losses – Jake’s girlfriend among them, and you knew that one would haunt Robby for a good, long while – and for one horrifying hour, there had been a genuine concern the shooter might be coming here, but you’d made it through the worst.

In the locker room, you grabbed your bag without even bothering to change back into your street clothes. Usually, you never left the hospital in your scrubs, it was your way of feeling like you’d actually left work behind, but today you couldn’t be bothered. 

You checked your phone for the first time in hours, and found out the news had indeed made it all the way to Seattle. You were glad you hadn’t left anyone to worry over you. They’d all sent their own messages back, but it was Alex’s that made you release the first bit of tension you were holding. 

Alex: You were right about Lexie, but she’s not the only one who saved my life. Stay safe, or I’ll never forgive you.

If he was admitting you were right, then he’d be okay too. 

Bag slung over your shoulder, you met Samira, Javadi and Mateo out front. Together, you trailed over the road to the park, finding Donnie, Princess, Robby and Jack already there. Princess tossed you a beer from the cooler, laughing when you blew her a kiss in thanks. 

“Okay, no way that thing gets a seat,” you gestured at Jack’s prosthetic on the bench between him and Robby, “when I’m about ten seconds from dropping over here.”

Jack laughed, moving it out of the way so you could plant yourself between the two attendings. It stirred something warm in him that you hadn’t batted an eye at the sight of his prosthetic. He knew you knew about it, everyone at work did, but you’d never seen him without it before. He didn’t often take it off outside the privacy of his own home, both for practical and personal reasons.

Javadi looked nervously at the beer Donnie handed her, and didn’t open it until she’d glanced at you questioningly and you inclined your head at her. She’d make a good doctor, she just needed to find her feet and stop worrying about what other people thought of her choices. 

Then Donnie asked no one in particular, “Have you ever been in anything like that before?”

There were a few vague comments batted about from a couple of the others, about how they hoped you never were again but that you probably would be, before you spoke.

“I have,” you said the words quietly, but with enough feeling that they all looked at you. Robby had a question in his eyes ‘are you sure you’re ready for this?’.

You weren’t sure of the answer, but you trusted these people and suddenly, you wanted them to know you, to have some proper, meaningful part of you. 

“There was a shooting at the hospital I worked at before here. Well, not at it, in it.” They all looked aghast. “I wasn’t,” you swallowed. “I wasn’t hurt, I didn’t lose any of my friends but it was a near thing, nearer than I’d like to admit even nearly a year later. It’s the reason I left.”

“Damn,” Princess whispered. 

“Yeah. I guess, uh, I guess that means whoever gets their sticky note on the board first tomorrow wins the pool,” you tried to shrug it off.

“I think that makes what you did today officially badass,” Mateo said, lightening the mood again in a way only Mateo could. “You didn’t so much as flinch. Oh, and that reporter, by the way? That was a thing of beauty!”

Everyone laughed, and the moment broke. 

For a while, you all sat chatting, casting off the despair and hopelessness of the shift. You couldn’t afford to take a day like today home with you, none of you would survive if you did that after every bad day.

When people started splitting off, they each gave you a hug, a brief and silent sign of support. You waved Samira off, telling her you’d meet her at home. You needed a bit longer before you were ready to go back and face the demons you knew would be waiting for you. Eventually, it was just you and Jack.

“So today,” he started cautiously, “that’s what that moment between you and Robby was about?”

You turned so you were sat sideways on the bench, cross legged so you could face him. “You noticed that? You’re still noticing things about me?”

“I doubt I could stop if I tried. Can I… am I allowed to ask? About Seattle?”

You smiled softly, a little guilty that you’d made him so obviously feel like he had to tiptoe around your emotional ineptitude. “You can ask,” you said quietly. “I think I want you to ask. I just… you remember I told you about Meredith and Cristina? They both got involved with their attendings when they were interns and so much of their careers have been subsumed by it. When I met you and I wanted to be around you, it scared me, because I’ve worked hard to be here.

“‘Letting other people’s experiences cloud my expectations’,” Jack quoted, remembering what you’d said that day you bought him coffee. “I know you’ve worked hard, I see you working hard every day. I see you in the Pitt sometimes, the way you move, and it takes my breath away. I have no desire to take that from you.” He reached up, slowly like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him, to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face. “All jokes aside, nothing happens here that you don’t want. I told you, I can wait as long as you need me to.”

Jack’s hand didn’t linger, he didn't want to push too much, too soon. He didn’t rush you, and after a couple of seconds you said, “The year before I left Seattle was one of the worst years of my life.”

And then you told him. Haltingly, hesitantly, but you told him all the same. You told him everything, every detail. About George and Izzie and how you felt like two parts of your soul had been ripped out and cast adrift without them there. About how you maybe could have gotten through that, together as the messed up family that you were, if not for Gary Clark. But he’d come into the place you spent most of your waking hours and made it feel unsafe, he’d defiled it with hate and anger and violence. In the aftermath, instead of pulling together, you were all cleaved apart by your own trauma.

“So maybe you were right, that first day I was here and you asked why I was running,” you said when you were done. “Maybe I ran, but I was suffocating and I’m glad I ended up here.”

As you talked, Jack’s heart had broken for your suffering and forged itself back together in pride for your resilience. He was no stranger to hardship, but he couldn’t remember a time in his life since he left the military that he’d suffered so many blows in such a short time. He’d always been prepared to respect your hesitance, whether he understood it or not, what kind of man would be if he wasn’t? But now, he felt like he could see so clearly the heart of it; when you’d lost everything else, when you found yourself unmoored from the people you loved and the place you called home, your career had been what kept you from drowning. He wasn’t sure if you even realised that part of it yourself, he probably only did because he’d spent far more than his fair share of time in therapy.

Jack didn’t try to tell you any of this. Instead, he said, “I’m glad you’re here too.”

After a few more minutes, he insisted on walking you home. After the intensity of your revelations in the park, the two of you kept the conversation light. You talked about insane cases, competed over who had seen the weirdest item inside a human — the Judy doll heads won you that round — and the worst dates you’d ever had and you laughed until you felt tears burning behind your eyes.

As you pushed open the door to the building, knowing Jack was waiting to leave until he saw you were safely behind it, you had this moment of sharp clarity. You’d run from Seattle, because that was what you needed then, but perhaps you’d been doing a different kind of running since you got here. Running from letting people in, from things you wanted but were afraid to have, afraid of more loss, but the only loss to be found for you right now was what you were costing yourself.

You turned, half in and half out of the door and said to Jack, “One date.”

“What?”

“One date. I’m not promising anything else, not promising that I’m ready for more than that, but I can promise one date.”

A smile — not subtle or a half smile or a smirk — a full, genuine, heart stopping smile spread across his face. “One date is good enough for now.”

———————————————————————————————————

Taglist: @li22ie2017 @kittykaylat1987

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

Resistance - Jack Abbot

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Former Seattle Grace!Female Reader

Summary: Three years of a four year residency, and you’d never so much as looked sideways at any attending, in your department or otherwise. You couldn’t believe that leaving Seattle Grace was the thing that threatened to undo all that.

Or, you laughed your way through your friend's messy relationships with their attendings because you never imagined you'd have to reckon with Dr. Jack Abbot. Warnings: This is just something I kept thinking about because I'm rewatching the early seasons of Grey's, it's not meant to take itself too seriously. A little cringy in the way the McNickname era of Grey's was. Do not think too hard about the timelines, I certainly didn't.

————————————————————————————

Three years.

You’d spent three years of your life at Seattle Grace — you never had gotten used to the addition of Mercy West to the name — where residents screwed their attendings and each other like it was a board requirement, and managed to never come even close to crossing that line. 

You weren’t a surgical resident by trade, they worshipped the order and stability of the Operating Room, whereas you lived and breathed for the noise and chaos of the Emergency Room. You’d first met Meredith when she posted on the hospital’s notice boards looking for roommates. 

You were the first person she agreed to let move in. She knew you in passing well enough to be sure you weren’t completely nuts, you wouldn’t be bothered by the odd hours she kept because you kept them yourself and, most importantly, she didn’t spend a full hundred plus hours a week with you already. Of course, she eventually caved and let George and Izzie move in too. 

George was easy to get along with in those early days, he was kindhearted and compassionate, loyal to his friends and a favourite with his patients. Sometimes it took him a few tries to get going, to trust his usually excellent instincts, but in the end he always fought for what he thought was right. 

Izzie was perpetually perky in a way that was sometimes impressive and sometimes made you want to throw something at her, but she stress baked and you stress cleaned so you often made quite the team in the kitchen in the stupid hours of the morning.

Somehow, you became the only emergency medicine resident in an inner circle of surgeons.

The surgical residents of Seattle Grace Hospital were driven, almost to the point of ridiculousness, and so when they weren’t in surgery, they were hunting for it.

They all spent their fair share of time poking about in your periphery while you were trying to treat your patients, desperately seeking something that might become surgical that they could poach before their fellow residents could. It would have been helpful always having a surgical consult on hand if they weren’t the single most competitive bunch you’d ever met. None of them more so than Cristina.

She didn’t care in the slightest how much the others liked you. She was slower to accept you, she steadfastly stood by the notion that surgery was superior to all other forms of medicine and she never let you forget it. But you didn’t go the distance in emergency medicine if you were shy and retiring so you gave as good as you got, letting her unshakeable arrogance roll off you with quick wit and dry humour. 

“She’s an ER intern,” Cristina had snarked the first time she hung out at Meredith’s house and you were there. “You heard what Bailey said, they don’t know their ass from their esophagus.”

“I guess that explains why I keep sitting on my breakfast instead of eating it,” you shot back without missing a beat. “Thank God for all you surgeons to set me straight or I’d starve to death.”

You didn’t let her walk all over you, but she spent more time trolling for surgeries than anyone else and you did respect the hustle so you gave her the occasional heads up when something particularly interesting rolled in and she in turn respected that. Eventually, the jabs traded about surgeons and their God complexes and how emergency medicine was nothing but quick and dirty fixes were more habit than heat. 

Alex wasn’t brought into the group voluntarily so much as he hung around until he became part of the fabric of life that you couldn’t imagine not being there. Like a stray tomcat who tried to hump anything that moved and hissed constantly like he hated everyone around him but still didn’t make any attempt to leave. 

The more time you spent with them, the more you realised that you’d ended up here because the eye of the storm was your natural habitat and, much as you came to love them all, these people were nothing if not tornadoes of bad personal decisions. 

The frankly insane percentage of your friends who had screwed, married or otherwise romanced their attendings became a running joke to you. 

You had watched in morbid amusement as Meredith made some choices over Derek Shepherd that would have cost anyone else their career, as Cristina got involved with not one, but two different attendings. Lexi, the surprise Grey nobody was expecting to show up, was doing some kind of back and forth dance with Mark Sloan that was borderline painful to watch. Hell, even Alex had slept with Addison. Without fail, it came with blurred lines both at work and at home and messy drama that should have been more at home on a TV screen than a hospital. You often wondered how they even found time to practice medicine at all.

Three years of a four year residency, and you’d never so much as looked sideways at any attending, in your department or otherwise. You couldn’t believe that leaving Seattle Grace was the thing that threatened to undo all that.

————————————————————————————

The first blow to your ability to be at home in Seattle came with the loss of George. He rounded your little dysfunctional family out, softened the rough edges that so many of you brought to the table. He’d lost his way there for a while after his dad passed, but he was getting himself together again. Losing him was sudden and senseless. You knew life was often that way, but you’d been so unprepared for it and it tipped your entire world sideways. 

Then Izzie leaving so suddenly had shaken those already unstable foundations. Getting on with Izzie had been hit or miss with you the longer you knew her. At least with the others, even Alex who could be the most infuriating person you’d ever known, you knew where you stood. Izzie had a habit of changing her mind on a dime and you often seriously disagreed with the choices she made when she let her heart rule her head. She was a huge part of all of your lives for so long, though, that her suddenly not being there felt like being cut off from a part of yourself. 

It was someone who was no one to you that put the final nail in the coffin that was your time in Seattle. Gary Clark — a man whose name you hadn't even known at the time — was the one who changed everything. 

The aftermath of the carnage he wrought on the hospital was clear in the turmoil it caused in every single one of you. You tried, you really did. For months, you did the therapy and all the things you were supposed to do. You got up every morning when you wanted nothing more than to disappear, you ate, slept, bathed when you were meant to, you dragged yourself into the hospital despite the dread in your stomach, but it started to feel like Seattle was haunting you. Or you were haunting it. 

So you condensed your entire life down into moving boxes and hauled them across the country to a place where there wasn’t a ghost around every corner.

————————————————————————————

The first time you saw Dr. Jack Abbot, you immediately noticed how good looking he was.

PTMC’s ER wasn’t all that different from Seattle Grace’s, in the way that all ERs felt alike.

Fluorescent bulbs glared down from the ceiling in uniform rows, brightening every shadowed corner so there was nowhere to hide. The clamour of the waiting room bubbled in over the underlying hum of machines every now and then when the main door swung open, a reminder that this place slept even less than its doctors did. Underneath it all, the whisper of sneakered feet across the floor as everyone who moved through the hallways did so with purpose, only ever a heartbeat away from a flat out run to the next critical event. 

Dr. Robinavitch, Robby he’d told you to call him, had been giving you the tour. It was wide and open, spiralling out in all directions from what they called the Hub, where patient boards hung, insistent and demanding, above a bank of desks topped with computers, clipboards and tablets for tracking the many patients you’d see over many hours spent inside. Each direction was named for the points on a compass, boasting a total of about two dozen rooms. 

He’d walked you through them all and you tried to construct a mental map to guide you until you got your feet under you in this new place. You’d so far pressed yourself flat against the wall to avoid two gurneys being wheeled around, three laser focused nurses and a couple of med students on their way back to the locker room locked in a furious debate about something or other. It felt like coming home in a way Seattle hadn’t since well over a year ago. 

Robby circled back to the Hub, introducing you to the charge nurse, Dana. She was a slim blonde woman with a look that screamed she’d never missed a trick in her life and she oozed the kind of gentle authority that told you she ran this ER far more than Robby ever had. She gave you a welcoming smile. 

“And this is Dr. Abbot,” Robby said, gesturing to the man beside Dana. “He’s our night shift attending but he just loves it so much he’s here almost as much as me in the day too. Abbot, this is our new R4.”

The man in question was broad and muscled, with gentle curls speckled with silver and an intense hazel stare. As he straightened from the computer he had been leaning over, he raked those sharp eyes over you from head to toe. “It’s not often we get new blood around here at your level. You running from something or to something?”

You might not have been hooking up in on-call rooms at every convenient moment — and some seriously inconvenient ones — but you knew an attractive man when you saw one. You processed that fact silently, with a distant thought wondering if there was some factory somewhere producing all these hot attendings as some kind of cosmic test for tired, pent up residents all over the country. 

“You can’t seriously be expecting me to give up all my secrets in the first thirty seconds?” You asked, meeting his assessing gaze and holding it with just a hint of mischief.

His eyes narrowed for several long moments before a slow smirk spread across his lips and Robby and Dana both laughed. “I like her,” Abbot told Robby. “She’ll hold her own just fine, I think.”

The rush of satisfaction that filled you was just the relief at having made a good impression on three of the most important people in an ER’s hierarchy. Wasn’t it?

————————————————————————————

The ease with which you settled into life in the Pitt, as it was affectionately known, was like coming up for air when you’d been seconds away from drowning. Every moment you spent there made you feel more like yourself than you had in a long time. 

Confident, efficient and knowledgeable, you proved yourself a worthy addition to the team. Your new colleagues responded by making you feel incredibly welcome.

If you looked closely enough, you could find echoes of all the things you missed most about your chosen family back in Seattle right here and it was more comforting than you’d have readily admitted. 

Samira Mohan’s bright and positive attitude and Mel King’s impressive recall reminded you so much of Lexi. Trinity Santos was as cutthroat, sarcastic and dedicated as Cristina. Dennis Whitaker sometimes said or did something you could so easily picture George doing that it hurt to look at him. 

As much as you appreciated the reminders of where you’d come from, you were also glad for the contrast provided by the people here who didn’t remind you of anything you’d lost or left behind.

All the nursing staff, but especially Princess and Perlah, lifted the atmosphere inside the Pitt like no one else could. They missed absolutely nothing that was worth gossiping about and you’d learned it was best not to wonder too hard what they were talking about when they stood chatting to one another in rapid Tagalog. 

You seemed to get on well enough with everyone.

One thing you didn’t do, though, was give a straight answer to the question of why you moved the length of the country half way through your final year of residency. It made you something of a mystery to the rest of the Pitt staff. Cassie McKay was the only person who’d stopped asking after the first time you gave her a vague non-answer. Sure and collected, she carried herself with the air of someone who knew what it was like to fear looking too far backwards.

Robby, having been the one to review your transfer application and interview you, was the one person who knew the finer details of your reason for fleeing Seattle and he pretended he didn’t know a damn thing. By the end of your first month, there was a pool going to discover the reason. 

It was the worst kept secret you’d ever seen, and that was saying something. So far, guesses had included that you’d been left at the altar, that you’d been the one doing the leaving, that you’d moved to take care of a family member, that you were secretly married or secretly divorced or had a secret child.

None of them came even close to being right, and you were pretty sure they never would. So sure, in fact, that you’d eventually told them all that you knew what they were up to and you wanted in. If none of them could figure it out in the six months before you completed your residency, then you got to keep the money for yourself. Maybe by then, the thought of talking about it with people who weren’t there wouldn’t be so overwhelming.

You didn't mind, really, being the subject of all their guessing. It took your mind off the real reason. It was also pretty funny to watch them all analyse anything you said about your life before Pittsburgh for clues. 

The time difference with Seattle and the fact you were all now fourth year residents made it hard to keep up with your friends there, but there was a group chat and you managed the occasional phone call. One evening, you walked out of the locker room in your street clothes and felt the attention of everyone standing by the Hub narrow onto you as you said, “Meredith, I moved to Pittsburgh, Cristina quit to bartend at Joe’s. Those are two very different things. I promise you, I’m fine.”

You had laughed as you walked out the door, watching Princess add ‘flamed out of previous program’ to the betting board and then spent your walk home regaling Meredith with the chosen pastime of your new colleagues.

It was also around the end of your first month that you’d been complaining to Samira about how hard it was to apartment hunt between shifts and that living in a hotel, especially the kind you could afford on a resident’s salary, was beginning to drive you mad. She immediately offered you her second bedroom, and you didn’t hesitate for a second before taking her up on it. 

“Sold!” You’d laughed, tucking an arm through hers as you left the ER several hours later than you should have been. “But I’m still not helping you win that pool.”

It was nice to share a living space again with someone you’d come to think of as a friend. You’d missed the noise, the feeling of having someone else just exist around you. Staying in that rundown hotel had had the noise, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Dana had told you privately that she thought it was good for Samira, too. 

“That girl spends entirely too much time at this hospital,” Dana had said. At your bemused look, the one that said we all do, she’d given a fond shake of the head. “You know what I mean, she never seems to have much going on outside here even when she can get away. I was worried she was gonna end up like Robby and Abbot.”

With the living situation solved, there was only one real problem remaining in your life. That problem was Jack Abbot. He was a problem because he wasn’t just attractive, he was also charming and in your experience, attendings who were both handsome and charming unraveled the lives of residents like kittens batting around balls of thread. 

Your paths crossed more than you thought they would because Robby wasn’t kidding, the two of them overlapped for far more than just handover each day. Whenever you did cross, he seemed to gravitate towards you. You had to admit he was an impressive physician and a good teacher. The problem was that you found yourself luxuriating in his attention, heating up under his stare instead of shrinking away from it, enjoying when he’d step in close behind you to quietly offer corrections or worse, praise, in that low, gravelly voice of his. You’d catch yourself leaning into it before you realised what you were doing and then overcorrecting with polite distance and quick exits.

Jack, meanwhile, was utterly confused by you. He enjoyed working with you, impressed by the way you looked and moved like you were never more at home than when you were in the middle of a crisis, the way you bent the mayhem to your will. Sometimes, he thought that you enjoyed working with him too. Those times when you were right there, handing him what he needed without him having to ask, making the calls he was thinking of making a split second before he made them, standing just a little taller and looking just a little more pleased with yourself when he gave you a nod or a compliment on your work. Then there were the times he worried you might actually hate him. The times when shutters came down behind your eyes, when you seemed to look through him rather than at him, when you called him ‘Dr. Abbot’ in the kind of polite, detached tone he associated with bank tellers and car salesmen and then kept as far away from him as you could until he finally left the Pitt entirely.

You didn’t create that distance with anyone else. He knew, because he watched carefully for it. You joked with the nursing staff, not once holding their gossiping against them. You’d moved in with Mohan. When you gave advice to Santos, Whitaker or Javadi, more often than not it was with good natured ribbing for the younger residents. You didn’t draw those lines with the other more senior members of staff either, Dana treated you the same motherly way she did everyone else and you let her and you clapped back at Robby as frequently as the next person.

He could have let it frustrate him, the fact that he was a grown man, a man who’d lived through combat and trauma more times than he could count, who was so very bothered that the pretty resident he felt a connection to seemed to dislike him. Instead, he decided to double down, determined to undo whatever had made you feel so uncomfortable around him.

————————————————————————————

When Jack came in for his next shift, he found you exactly where he’d expected to; sitting in front of one of the computers at the Hub, locked in on your charting. His hand slid into your peripheral vision, pushing a cardboard coffee cup — the kind from the good local coffee shop and not the hospital cafeteria — onto the desk. Your fingers slowed across the keyboard until they stilled completely and you looked at it like it had personally offended you. 

“What’s that?” 

“…Coffee?” Jack’s answer came out more like a question then he meant it to, because he hadn’t been expecting to have to explain a coffee cup to you. Your eyes flicked up to meet his for the briefest of seconds.

“I don’t drink coffee,” you said, nudging the cup to the side with one finger, as if it might be toxic, so you could continue your charting.

Jack didn’t call you a liar, as such, but he did say, “You’re an ER resident, you drink coffee. I’ve seen you drink coffee. It’s good coffee, it’s not poison.”

You hesitated, still watching the coffee cup like it might strike out and bite you. “At least I’d have the mercy of a quick death if it was,” you muttered. A quick death would be preferable to the slow, torturous demise that came with the inability to smother your overwhelming attraction to one of your bosses. At Jack’s furrowed brows, you pushed on. “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Coffee. Small talk. That’s how it starts.”

“How what starts?” Jack felt like he was losing his mind, he’d thought he couldn’t go wrong with coffee and yet he hadn’t understood half of this conversation.

“Nothing,” you snapped. “Never mind. I’m done. Bye, Dr. Abbot.” You logged out of the computer faster than you ever had before, swivelled yourself up out of the chair and were halfway down the hall before Jack knew what was happening.

He turned to Dana and Robby, both of whom had been watching the conversation unfold with confused amusement. “Did any of that make sense to either of you?”

They both shook their heads at him.

————————————————————————————

Samira was the only person outside the state of Washington who knew about your attraction to Jack, and that was only because of your bad habit of putting your phone on speaker so you could carry on with whatever you were doing when you got a chance to speak to anyone back in Seattle.

Meredith, Cristina and Lexi had all taken time out of their busy schedules to tease you mercilessly about your fall from grace and into the pits of the same inconvenient and inappropriate feelings you’d once laughed at them for. Samira, once she heard a few of the stories that made so adamantly against this nonsense, was absolutely beside herself with hilarity.

It quickly became clear that you would get exactly no moral support or useful advice, but instead plenty of mockery and requests for a picture so they could decide if you at least had good taste in attendings.

After she stopped laughing, Samira had convinced you to ease up just a little, pointing out that if you kept basically fleeing the man, someone would definitely figure out that something was amiss. So, for a good few weeks, a bit of the tension bled out of you when you crossed paths with Jack. You’d apologised for being snappy about the coffee, citing tiredness after a long shift and breathing a huge sigh of relief when he’d accepted without question. 

You still caught yourself focusing on him in ways that were not helpful. Like noticing his broad shoulders, toned biceps, strong hands (he seemed to be the only person to ever make scrubs look good, what was that all about?), the way your entire body warmed when he stepped in a little closer than he needed to or how his voice occasionally raked down your spine in a way that made you shiver, but you were determined to ignore it. 

You shoved it down as much as you could, and managed to work with him as effectively, if not more, as with everyone else at the Pitt. The rhythm started to make you relax around him a bit.

In the next few weeks, Lexi, in particular, had clicked with Samira over the course of a few disjointed phone calls. It wasn’t really surprising when you stopped to think about how similar they were as people and as doctors. They shared a generally sunny disposition, often seeking out a silver lining where the rest of you might approach with jaded cynicism, and their empathy and compassion seemed to have no limits. Until, apparently, it came to you. 

You’d walked to work with Samira today under the bright blue skies and gently warming sunlight, and you’d actually had a pretty good feeling about the day. That was, until you were dressed in your scrubs in the locker room, putting your phone in your locker and you happened to take one last glance at your notifications. Weird, you thought, seeing a lot of hits from your group chat. As you opened them, you read on with dawning horror at what you saw. 

Slamming your locker shut, phone still unlocked and gripped in your hand, you stormed onto the floor in search of Samira. When you found her checking the board, waiting for Robby to show up for rounds, you shoved the phone in her face. 

“Did you do this?” You hissed the question, but you both knew you didn’t need an answer. After recently being added to your chat, she’d decided to indulge the constant requests for a picture of who the others had dubbed McHottie. Not original, but they’d been having too much fun relishing in your downfall to care about coming up with anything wittier. Except, Samira hadn’t just sent a photo, she’d sent a link to one of Javadi’s many TikToks, one where Jack had accidentally featured in the background.

She’d already seen most of the replies on her own phone before she made it to the floor, but she read them again with a grin she couldn’t suppress. 

Cristina: I’m sorry, you’re working in a hospital where baby doctors make TikToks? That’s unacceptable, come home immediately.

Cristina: But bring McHottie with you, there’s always room for a silver fox.

Lexi: Damn, paging Dr. Biceps. You are so screwed.

Meredith: Stay away from elevators.

Meredith: Or don’t, the sex will probably be great.

You: You’re all enjoying this way too much.

Alex: Please, please stop adding me back into this chat or I’m gonna throw myself in front of the next ambulance I see.

“Do what?” You were still waving your phone in Samira’s grinning face when Santos sidled up beside the two of you, yanking your phone out of your grip before you could lock it. Her eyes scanned the messages, and when she was done she wore a grin to match Samira’s.

“You’re kidding me?” She asked, doing nothing to hide the mirth in her voice or eyes.

“This is a nightmare,” you declared, snatching your phone back and shoving it deep inside the pocket of your scrubs. “I’m having a nightmare and any second now I’ll wake up and never have met either of you.”

“What’s this about a nightmare?” Robby asked from behind you and any retort you might have had died on a slightly choked breath as you saw Jack right beside him. 

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, shooting a glare at Santos when she tried to cover a laugh with a cough. Badly. 

The morning passed as all mornings in the Pitt did; in a swirl of patient exams, ECGs, blood tests, x-rays and CT scans. You and Jack — seriously, didn’t this man ever go home? — had been treating a patient who’d been hit by a car and had just about gotten him stabilised when his spleen ruptured. You’d rushed him upstairs and had just finished handing him off for surgery.

“That was good work, quick and steady.” Such simple praise shouldn’t make you feel so pleased with yourself. You knew you were good at your job, because you worked hard to be that way. “You thinking of staying here after your residency?” He asked as you were waiting for the elevator.

“Yeah, possibly,” you shrugged, not wanting to sound like you were putting too much hope on that one option. “I kind of like it here.” 

“Good. You just say the word if you want a recommendation letter.”

It wasn’t until he was inside the elevator, looking at you expectantly, that you remembered Meredith’s wise words. Stay away from elevators. You knew you had to follow them. If Seattle Grace had taught you anything, it was that you should never get onto elevators alone with attendings you’d pictured naked. 

“You coming?”

“Uhh, I’m gonna take the stairs,” you said, taking a step back. Jack watched you go with a confused nod.

A couple of minutes and four flights of stairs later, you slid through the doors back into the Pitt. Whitaker and Santos watched you from in front of one of the trauma bays. 

“Why didn’t you just get the elevator with Abbot?”

“Rule number one Whitaker, elevators are where self control goes to die,” you said as you passed them, never breaking stride.

“I don’t— That doesn’t even make sense!” He called after you, accompanied by Santos’ laughter. 

Inside the trauma bay, snapping on gloves to begin another examination, Jack Abbot felt like every time he thought he was starting to know you, he ended up understanding less. 

————————————————————————————

As time went on, Jack was starting to think he’d got it all wrong.

He’d puzzled over your words to Whitaker about self control until he’d convinced himself that your reluctance to be around him wasn’t to do with hate at all but quite the opposite. He’d started noticing the way you responded to him and forming another theory entirely. 

When you were working, things were mostly normal. It was when the two of you started to stray away from the medicine where you changed. There were still a few odd moments where there was a glint in your eye like you had something to bat back at him in the midst of sarcastic banter that flowed back and forth and you still refused to get in an elevator if there wasn’t a patient between you. He was starting to wonder if you were as affected by him as he was by you and it was going to his head in ways that were borderline unhealthy.

As if the world was offering him an answer, proof that he was right, you started showing up on the night shifts. The first time he’d seen you behind the central desk at the Hub at 1 a.m., wearing your street clothes and tucked away in a corner where you wouldn’t be in Lena’s way, he’d been concerned. The current of the Pitt towed him from one patient to the next, but his eyes drifted over to you every time he crossed within sight of the Hub. You didn’t seem to be in any distress but he couldn’t fathom why you’d be there. A couple of hours passed before there was a lull and as he’d come over to check why, his worry had thawed into an emotion he knew well when it came to you; confusion. His eyes bounced across the books splayed out across the desk, the scattered pens and the scribbled notes on brightly coloured post-its.

“Are you… studying? In the Pitt, in the middle of the night?”

“Hm?” You glanced up at him. “Oh yeah,” you muttered, reading your most recent set of notes again. “I can’t focus at home, I need the noise.”

“That’s one of the weirdest things I’ve ever heard.” 

You smiled a little, and Jack thought it was kind of pathetic how much it felt like victory to him. “Back in Seattle, the house I lived in was kind of like the open house where people just showed up at all hours. Now, silence kills my brain and I will not fail my boards when there’s all this chaos just going begging right here.”

“Speaking of Seattle,” he said, sliding into the stool next to you and trying to focus on anything besides the way you were absentmindedly chewing on your pen, “are you ever gonna clue us in and end the mystery behind the pool?”

When you laughed, Jack felt it all the way down to his bones. “No way,” you said, abandoning your books for now and giving him your full attention, “those guesses are way too funny. Besides, another ten weeks and that money’s all mine.”

He spent a couple of minutes with you, quizzing you on your notes as you chatted idly about hospital gossip and you told him little bits and pieces of your life in Seattle. Nothing he could use to win the pool, but more than you’d given to most other people. 

Despite what everyone thought, he very much liked getting out of here after a shift, but Jack thought he could have happily spent the night there. Even with the uncomfortable chairs, the lights that were giving him a headache, and the way this place made him relive every failure he’d ever had within its walls, he thought he’d have stayed in this very spot for the rest of his life as long as you kept looking at him. Inevitably, he got pulled into a trauma call, but you were still there when he came back, armed with another coffee — hospital sourced, sadly — and a snack from the vending machine. 

“I noticed you haven’t eaten anything since you’ve been sitting here,” he said by way of explanation.

“Don’t do that, don’t notice things about me.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that. You fascinate me,” Jack’s voice pitched low and he leaned his elbows on the counter above you.

“No, I don’t,” you scoffed, sliding your stool back to create some space. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know some things. I know you chew on your pen when you’re studying in a way that’s completely maddening, I know you like it when I tell you how talented you are, I know you have weird rules about elevators that I cannot begin to understand.” He laughed a little, but you could feel the slightest hint of panic sparking inside you. “I know you’re a great mentor to the med students and your patients love you.  I know you love the chaos and can’t focus in the silence, I know you miss your friends in Seattle but I also know you’d never move back there. I’ve been noticing you since you got here, sweetheart.”

The panic had started to unfurl along your limbs, because it wasn’t funny any more. You might have bitched about it, but you could see why it was funny that you found him so attractive when you’d drawn so much amusement from the sexual escapades of Seattle Grace but this wasn’t that any more. This was too much like potential, too much like it could be the start of something real that would inevitably implode and drag your hard-earned career down with it before it even really began. 

“Why do you do that?” Jack asked, cutting through the loaded silence. He could see it happening, the way you were forcing yourself to back away from the easy, relaxed aura that had settled between you. “Why do you shut me out when you don’t with everyone else?”

“Did you ever think maybe it’s not about you?”

————————————————————————————

A month later found medical professionals from all over the country descending on Pittsburgh for a conference. You knew that Derek and Mark were flying in as speakers and you’d made plans to catch up with them before they flew back.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, to arrange for them to meet you at the Pitt at the end of your shift but as you approached the last hour of your shift, the hour that overlapped with Jack’s, you began to doubt. You realised there was a decent chance that would mean Jack crossing paths with them and if they behaved the part of the annoying brothers you never asked for, as they so often did, you would be just absolutely mortified. 

The thought plagued you through your last case, and it was what tipped you over the edge when you felt just a little too pleased at Jack’s whispered, “Atta girl.” 

As you exited the patient’s room, you turned to him with the air of someone teetering on the edge.

“Okay, this…” you gestured between the two of you, “this is not happening. Because if we do this, then yeah, it’ll be good to start with. There will be laughing and flirting and lots of great sex but then, something bad will happen. Because you’re the hot attending and I’m the resident and something bad always happens. Then the next thing you know I’m a cliché on the bathroom floor with all these feelings and a tequila hangover and my life is spiralling out of control. I refuse to become that girl over a man, any man, no matter how great he is. So I need you to stop with the hair and the voice and the noticing me and the biceps because it’s incredibly distracting!”

It was the only time you’d ever heard dead silence in the Pitt and it distantly occurred to you that you didn’t need Derek and Mark to humiliate you because you’d just done a bang up job of it all on your own. 

“I’m the hot attending?” Jack asked, smirking. He looked so good when he did it that it made you a little furious.

“Seriously, that’s what you took from that? Seriously?”

“They call you McHottie,” Santos called helpfully from somewhere off to your left and you thought you might actually throttle her. Later, though, because you remained locked still under the self-satisfied gaze of Jack Abbot.

Robby called your name, and God bless him he tried so hard not to sound like he was laughing at you. “Shift’s over.” Still, you didn’t move your eyes from Jack’s. “And you’ve got visitors.”

With a sinking feeling you turned to see Derek and Mark watching with keen interest, not trying at all to seem like they weren’t laughing at you. As you stalked past them to the locker room to change, Mark called after you. “Spectacular meltdown.”

“Screw you, McSteamy.”

————————————————————————————

Derek and Mark had laughed at you all the way back to your apartment and, as you showered and changed, you seriously considered throwing them both out and ordering takeout instead of going to dinner. Eventually, you decided you’d punish them by making them take you somewhere nice and foot the bill. Goddamn surgeons. Goddamn McAssholes, it’s their bad examples that got me in this mess in the first place.

You were glad you’d gone in the end, even if the teasing hadn’t stopped entirely all evening, because it felt so good to actually see some of the people who knew you best, who’d been around for some of your lowest moments. They updated you on all the gossip from Seattle – you all agreed how relieved you were that Cristina saw sense and gave up bartending – and you told them about how much you were enjoying being in a new place and how free it made you feel. You also confided in them, between their jokes and wisecracks, that Jack was actually a good man, which made everything so much harder because you could actually see yourself being with him but not at the expense of your residency. They, in turn, reminded you that you were not Meredith or Lexi or anyone else, Jack was not them and this was not Seattle, so maybe you were overreacting just a little. You weren’t convinced, but promised to take it under advisement. If you could ever get over your embarrassment enough to speak to him again. 

You made it all the way to dessert before your phone summoned you back to the hospital. A massive pile up a few miles away meant the night shift was likely about to be overwhelmed and they were calling in back up. Derek paid for your cab and you were thankful you kept a spare pair of scrubs in your locker because it meant you wouldn’t have to stop off home first. 

The Pitt was full to bursting when you arrived, but everyone in it had become experts at slipping their little social interactions between their procedures, it was how they kept sane, so arriving in a nice dress and makeup didn’t go unnoticed. 

Donnie wolf whistled when you passed by the Hub, followed by Mateo saying, “I feel bad for the guy who had to watch you leave, or is that for a certain night shift attending? I’ve been hearing the tension might have reached a breaking point.”

Self-consciousness prickled its way all the way up from your toes, but the laugh you gave was genuine because Mateo was too nice to be taken maliciously.

You nearly bumped into Jack leaving a trauma room as you walked by, ducking your head and hoping he hadn’t heard Mateo because one nightmarish encounter with him was enough for one day. His eyes trailed you as you dodged around him and into the locker room. His feet followed without conscious thought. 

He leaned in the doorway as you dug your scrubs out of your locker. “You look…. are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?”

Your hands paused on the zipper of your dress, and you cast a look at him over your shoulder. “I already told you we’re not doing this. Do you not listen?”

“I do, when people mean what they say.” Jack moved behind you close enough that you could feel his breath falling hot against the back of your neck. “What I heard wasn’t that you don’t want to, but that you’re scared of what happens if you do.” His hands brushed your hair over your shoulder so he could reach the zip of your dress himself. “You’re worried about your residency? Fine. It’s what, six weeks to your boards?” He dragged the zipper down slowly, the back of his knuckles scorching against the line of your spine as he spoke, voice rough and full of promise. “I haven’t wanted to date anyone in a long while, I can wait six weeks.”

As soon as your dress was unzipped, Jack turned on his heel and returned to the Pitt, as if he hadn’t left you there with your heart racing, back thrumming where his bare skin had touched yours and desire glittering in your veins. 

He might be able to wait but suddenly, you weren’t so sure you could. 

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

The Pitt Masterlist

Jack Abbot Everyone Has A Favourite The Pitt x Grey's Anatomy AU Part 1 - Resistance Part 2 - Realisation Part 3 - Surrender

[lauraneedstochill]

SHAWN HATOSY on CBS Mornings (▶ prev interviews)

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

So the problem with drowning myself in Jack Abbot fics while also obsessively rewatching the early seasons of Grey’s Anatomy is that my brain is now consumed by the idea of GA senior resident reader who transfers to PTMC and is like Absolutely Not to this hot attending because if they can survive Seattle Grace of all places then they can damn well finish their residency without becoming a statistic in the resident-attending relationship epidemic.

[geminiwritten]

you have no idea ; jack abbot

summary: even after swapping from nights to days, you just can’t seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words “never have i ever finished during sex” ever again.

notes: i really hope you guys enjoiy this! it was so much fun to write and i just feel like jack is a little easier to put into silly situations than robby, so here i am torturing the poor man! i'm sorry in advance if the smut is kind of mid, i was fighting tumblr's block limit rule with this fic so i feel like i didn't get indulge as much as i would have liked, but still! i hope you guys love it, and please, please let me know what you think! (p.s. i think i mentioned the title was originally 'unaffected' but i like this one better)

warnings: swearing, alcohol, blushing, italics, jealousy, implied age gap, jack is a yearner, reader wears a "revealing" dress (but description is very vague and there's zero detail about body-type), mildly uncomfortable male encounters, friend!santos, pittlings chaos, garsantos mention, jack gets a little possessive, reader has long enough hair to sweep off her neck, and SMUT (making out, fingering, "panties", a tiny bit of dirty talk, unprotected piv, "good girl", and jack says sweetheart a lot) 18+ only please, mdni.

word count: 18889

Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man.

Possessive, maybe. Protective, definitely. But jealous? Never.

He had never really had anything to be jealous of.

Until now.

Now there are far too many things.

Like the pen between your lips—and the way you bite down just hard enough to leave a little dent in the plastic while you read through Dana’s notes.

Or Dana herself, and the way you’re looking at her—soft, sleepy, warm in a way that twists something tight in Jack’s chest. The same way you used to look at him in the quiet hours at the end of a night shift.

Or your scrubs—God, your scrubs—and the way they fit just a little too well tonight. Too tight in all the right places. Distracting in ways that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Jack has never needed to be jealous of anything before, but now he finds himself jealous of inanimate objects, coworkers you barely glance at, and your goddamn clothes.

So, yeah. Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man—until you came along.

“Dr. Abbot,” Dana calls, peering over the top of her glasses. “You’re early.”

Beside her, you glance up from your tablet, meeting his eyes across the ER with that same soft smile.

“Dr. Abbot,” you say, like you can’t quite help yourself.

Jack squares his shoulders and starts toward the nurses’ station, determined not to let Dana and her all-knowing, all-seeing bullshit clock exactly why he’s at work almost two hours earlier than he needs to be.

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I didn’t get to wrap up this morning,” he lies.

Princess pops up from behind the desk. “I thought you said you stayed back this morning to make sure everything was sorted?”

Jack’s gaze cuts to her. “Yes. But I forgot something.”

Dana narrows her eyes. “Mhm. What’d you forget?”

“A few notes from the three a.m. GSW,” he replies quickly—too quickly.

It’s weak and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he could think of with Dana watching him like that and your warm, sleepy gaze still lingering from across the desk.

Dana nods slowly, adjusting the chart in her hands. “Right. Two hours early for a few notes.”

Jack just shrugs, avoiding her gaze as he walks past—and he doesn’t look back until he’s safely around the corner, standing in front of his locker. Only then does he risk a glance, just briefly over his shoulder, quick enough to catch a glimpse of you disappearing down the North hall.

God. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s a grown man.

More than that—he's an old man.

Yet here he is staying late at work and coming in early just to see more of you. Because ever since you swapped from nights to days, Jack doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Sure, he could barely concentrate when you were on shift together, but who knew not having you around would be even worse?

He spends the first half of his shift hating himself for being so hung up on someone so young and so impossibly out of reach—then spends the second half anxiously awaiting your arrival for the day shift.

And it’s only been two weeks.

But the absolute worst part?

He doesn’t even know why you swapped shifts. You never even spoke to him about it. You just told him at four a.m. two Saturdays ago that you were switching to day shift. No reason. No explanation. That was it.

At first he wondered if it was his fault—if maybe you’d simply decided you didn’t like working with him.

But you still greet him every morning and every evening with that same warm smile. You still look to him first whenever someone asks for an attending and he’s still around. You still text him whenever the ER cat shows up outside the ambulance bay—which apparently happens much more often during the day shift.

And Jack still buys a packet of freeze-dried liver treats every Sunday to keep in the cupboard above the break room fridge—because he knows how much you love feeding that cat.

“What’re you doing here?”

Jack’s head whips around at the sound of his friend’s voice.

“I—uh—came in early to fix up a few notes,” he says, turning back to shove his bag into his locker.

Robby’s brows lift. “Two hours for notes?”

Jack sighs, slinging his stethoscope around his neck and shutting his locker before turning to face his fellow attending. “Are you of all people really going to lecture me about not having a life outside of this ER?”

Robby chuckles quietly, lifting both hands out of his pockets in surrender. “I wasn’t judging.”

“Good,” Jack mutters, already starting back toward central. “Anything I need to know?”

Robby falls into step beside him. “North Three’s waiting on a CT for possible appendicitis. Kid in Five came in with chest pain but his labs look clean so far. Dana’s still fighting with bed control about moving the pneumonia admit upstairs.”

They both stop at the nurses’ station, glancing up at the board.

“Otherwise it’s been unusually calm,” Robby adds. “Which probably means you’re about to get slammed.”

Jack gives him a flat look. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Robby claps him on the shoulder. “Oh—and that R2 you gave me?”

“What about her?”

Robby shrugs. “She’s great.”

“I know,” Jack says, keeping his voice carefully even.

Robby studies him for a second, eyes narrowing just a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatening to lift. The man might be a disaster when it comes to his own feelings, but he has an uncanny talent for spotting everyone else’s.

“We’re alright out here if you want to catch up on your notes,” he says after a moment, already turning away. “Or go make the rounds. Get some very thorough handovers from the residents.”

Jack keeps his eyes fixed on the board. “I hate you.”

Robby huffs out a quiet laugh. “Then why are you here two hours early?”

Jack exhales sharply and steps forward, pulling one of the tablets from the rack.

“Notes,” he says, a little louder than necessary.

Robby just shakes his head, still smiling faintly as he disappears down the North corridor.

For a moment, Jack doesn’t move. He lingers at the nurses’ station, tablet in hand, pretending to analyse the board while ignoring the incredibly unsubtle looks from Perlah and Princess—both of them watching him with the kind of interest that usually means someone’s about to become the subject of a very entertaining conversation.

Then, with a polite nod to each of them, he clears his throat and steps away, turning toward the break room—trying very hard not to hope he runs into you on the way.

And trying not to be disappointed when he doesn’t.

The break room is empty when he steps inside, the noise of the ER dulling as the door falls shut behind him. He sets his tablet on the table—next to someone’s half-eaten lunch and a discarded Lean Cuisine container—and grabs a clean mug from the cupboard, pouring the last of the coffee pot into it.

Then he drops into the seat furthest from the door, his back to the bulletin board, and taps the tablet awake, pulling up the notes for the three a.m. GSW. The same notes he already finished in detail while staying back this morning—before Robby told him to get the hell out of his ER and get some sleep.

He barely makes it through two lines of the chart before the door swings open again.

“Shit, sorry,” you say quickly, stepping toward the table.

Jack’s pulse does the same stupid thing it always does whenever he sees you, making his chest feel hot and his head a little fuzzy.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks, as if it isn’t obvious.

You’ve already stacked the Lean Cuisine container on top of the half-eaten bowl of something grey and mushy-looking and are halfway to the sink with them.

“I only got, like, a five-minute break today and had to run out for a trauma, then completely forgot about my lunch,” you explain, cheeks flushed as you glance down at the bowl. “This is gross. I’m so sorry.”

Jack shifts in his chair. “I’ve seen worse in here, I promise.”

You glance over your shoulder as you turn on the tap, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

He could almost swear your smile lifts a little higher before you turn back to the sink, scrubbing hurriedly at the bowl of slop that probably shouldn’t be going down the drain anyway.

Jack clears his throat. “But—uh—Lean Cuisine? Really?”

You look back at him again, brows drawn. “What’s wrong with Lean Cuisine?”

“Nothing,” he says lightly. “If you’re trying to survive a very stressful twelve-hour shift on only four hundred calories.”

You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the sink. “I actually managed to eat lunch today. That’s already a win.”

“It’s mostly sodium and sadness,” he adds, almost absently. “Not much protein.”

You finally turn the tap off and spin around, leaning a hip against the counter. “Alright, Dr. Abbot. When I find the spare time to start meal prepping between my very stressful twelve-hour shifts, I’ll let you know.”

Jack opens his mouth—then closes it again. Because what he wants to say is ridiculous.

But it comes out anyway.

“…I cook.”

You blink.

“You cook?”

Jack clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his coffee mug.

“Yeah. Well.” He shrugs. “I’ve been told I’m reasonably good at it.”

You stare at him for a second, brows knitting slightly as you clearly try to figure out where the hell that came from.

“Well,” you say with a quick smile, “I guess your dinner guests are pretty lucky.”

Before he can respond, you grab the Lean Cuisine packet, toss it in the bin, and step toward the door.

“Sorry again for the mess.”

Then you’re gone—leaving Jack alone with his coffee, his notes, and the growing suspicion that there might actually be something seriously wrong with him.

-

“Is that Dr. Abbot in the break room?” Santos asks, falling into step beside you.

You keep your eyes fixed on your tablet.

“Yep.”

She leans closer, steering you out of the way of a gurney.

“But night shift doesn’t start for like two more hours.”

“I’m aware.”

“So, why is he here?”

You exhale sharply and finally look up from your tablet. “I don’t know, Trin. Maybe because the universe hates me.”

She snorts. “Or maybe because he likes you.”

You roll your eyes, turning toward the South corridor. “Please don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” she insists. “I seriously think that old man has a thing for you.”

“Don’t call him that,” you mutter.

“Okay, fine. I seriously think that hot, older man has a thing for you,” she says, stopping beside you at the South desks. “And we all know how you feel about him, so—”

“No,” you snap. “We don’t all know how I feel about Ja—Dr. Abbot.”

She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Besides,” you go on, dropping into a chair. “I swapped to day shift so I could stop being distracted by my attending and actually focus on being a good doctor—so could you please stop distracting me?”

She leans a hip against the desk, completely ignoring you. “And don’t you think that’s a little strange? I mean, you swapped to day shift—what, two weeks ago?”

You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “And?”

“And,” she says dramatically, “for the past two weeks Dr. Abbot has been staying back every morning and coming in early every afternoon.”

Your gaze slides back to the computer. “So?”

She sighs, exasperated. “It’s not a coincidence.”

“Actually, I think it is,” you argue.

She stares at you for a second, eyes narrowing. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re annoying.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes off the desk. “Whatever. You’re still coming out tomorrow night, right?”

Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. “Uh—I’m not sure yet.”

“Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift that’ll be there,” she says.

You let out a quiet sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” you mutter. “I’ll come.”

“Good.” She grins, already turning away. “Come to my place around six. We can get ready and pregame.”

“Why can’t I get ready at home?” you ask.

“Because,” she calls over her shoulder, “I get to pick what you wear.”

And before you can argue, she slips into a patient room, effectively ending the conversation.

“Great,” you mumble, turning back to the computer. “Can’t wait.”

It’s not like you’re not looking forward to finally joining in on a night out now that you’re no longer on the night shift.

You are. You’re just... nervous.

Nervous, perpetually stressed out, and still adjusting to life as a day-walker. And Santos knows that. She probably knows you better than anyone else at PTMC—even though you’ve spent the better part of ten months working opposite shifts.

Which is exactly why she’s pushing you to join this night out. Because she knows you need it. She knows you need to relax, forget about work, and do something other than obsess over the night shift attending who’s had you completely undone since the day you first met.

God.

Jack Abbot. The single most dangerous man in Pittsburgh.

Not only is he stupidly hot, but he’s also annoyingly competent, irritatingly attentive, and has the starring role in every single one of your most inappropriate fantasies.

He’s also the very reason you’re terrified of having to redo your second year of residency, because that man affects your focus so much you literally can’t function. Like three weeks ago, when you walked straight into the glass door of Trauma One because you were too busy watching him take his jacket off.

His damn jacket.

That was the moment you finally decided you needed to swap shifts—because Dr. Shen couldn’t look at you for the rest of the night without bursting into laughter.

Jack Abbot is a liability to your health and wellbeing—which means he is a liability to your career. And even though asking Dr. Robby to swap to day shift was one of the most ridiculously difficult things you’ve done since starting at PTMC, you stand by the fact that it was the right decision.

The smart decision. The professional decision. Even if… it might not be working yet.

Because now you can’t just glance across central anymore and see Jack leaning against the desk, talking through a case with Lena. You can’t have him step up beside you when you’re unsure about something and quietly walk you through it. He’s not the one across from you in the trauma bays. And there isn’t a coffee cup that magically appears in front of you during the three o’clock lull.

Now you just… think about him instead.

But it’s only temporary. You’re sure of it. You just need to get used to the day shift and figure out how to get Jack Abbot out of your head.

Which… you have a sneaking suspicion is what Santos plans on helping you with this weekend.

You’re pretty sure you overheard her the other day telling Whitaker that the only way to get over someone is by getting under someone else. And maybe that’s exactly what you need to do—get under someone else so you can stop thinking about the maddeningly hot man who’s nearly twice your age and most definitely does not have a thing for you. Regardless of what Santos seems to think.

You spend the rest of your shift catching up on charting and trying very hard not to think about Dr. Abbot.

When someone asks for an attending, you call Dr. Robby. When you hear his voice just around the corner, you change paths as quickly and inconspicuously as you can. And when your notes are up to date and night shift starts rolling in, you find Dr. Ellis and give her—and only her—the rundown on your patients.

By the time you shut your locker and sling your bag over your shoulder, the sky outside is dark and there are only a few day shifters left lingering around the nurses’ station.

“Did you drive today?” Whitaker asks, shutting his locker only a moment after you.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Need a ride?”

He nods sheepishly. “That’d be great. Santos left already, said I was taking too long.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I bet it had nothing to do with whatever she and Garcia were whispering about in the stairwell.”

Whitaker winces. “I just hope they’re at Garcia’s tonight.”

You huff a small laugh and hitch your bag higher. “You ready?”

He nods.

You both turn and start back toward central—but just as you reach the nurses’ station, his steps slow.

“Do you need to…?”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

You frown. “Need to what?”

He hesitates. “Don’t you normally say goodbye to Dr. Abbot?”

Your eyes widen slowly. “Uh—no. Why would you say that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought you two were close.”

“We’re not close,” you say, a little too quick.

“Sorry,” he mutters, raising both hands in surrender. “I just—I don’t know. I thought because you were his resident you two were… close.”

“I’m not his resident,” you snap. “I’m just… a resident. I don’t belong to him.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, brows drawing together. “I’m sorry, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is listening.

Thankfully, the two nosiest nurses in the ER have already gone home for the day.

“Let’s just go.”

You grab his wrist and walk quickly toward the ambulance bay doors, giving Ellis and Shen a small nod as you pass—completely missing the middle-aged attending who just overheard most of your conversation.

The car ride to Santos and Whitaker’s isn’t long. Whitaker fills most of it anyway—rambling about the shift, about the kid in Five and whether night shift is going to get slammed, about how Dana looked like she was two seconds away from strangling bed control by the end of the day. And every few minutes he circles back around to apologising for making you drive him home.

You wave him off each time.

“It’s fine, Whitaker.”

“Seriously though,” he says as you pull up outside their building. “I really appreciate it.”

He slings his bag over his shoulder and climbs out of the car, pausing on the sidewalk to give you one last wave before heading toward the front door.

The moment the passenger door falls shut, the quiet settles in. You let out a long breath, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. And immediately—inevitably—your brain drifts straight back to the same place it always does.

Jack Abbot. Of course.

You scrub a hand over your face before shifting the car back into gear and pulling away.

The rest of the night passes the way most nights do—with a quick shower, something vaguely edible scavenged from the fridge, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone until exhaustion finally drags you to bed.

When your head finally hits the pillow, you tell yourself you’re too tired to think about him. It’s been a long day—long week—and all you need right now is sleep, not fantasies.

But that doesn’t stop your brain from doing it anyway. Because sometime in the early hours of the morning, Jack Abbot shows up in your dreams. Not in the ER. Not standing beside you at the nurses’ station or leaning over a chart.

He’s in a kitchen. Cooking.

Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, moving around the stove with the same quiet confidence he carries through the hospital—like he knows exactly what he’s doing and expects the rest of the world just to trust him.

And in the dream, you do.

You lean against the counter and watch him the way you sometimes watch him in the trauma bays, telling yourself you’re just observing. Just curious. Just learning.

He glances over his shoulder eventually, catching you staring—and says something you can’t quite hear over the soft clatter of the pan. But he’s smiling.

Then the dream shifts the way dreams tend to—logic slipping sideways until suddenly you’re standing much closer than you should be. Close enough to smell whatever he’s cooking. Close enough that when he turns toward you the space between you disappears entirely.

His hand settles at your waist like it belongs there.

Your back meets the edge of the counter.

And when his mouth brushes your neck—

You wake with a sharp inhale, staring up at the ceiling, heart racing.

“Fuck,” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face.

So much for getting him out of your head.

For a while, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the first pale line of sunlight creep across until it touches the wall opposite your window.

At some point you realise you’re still replaying the dream in your head.

The kitchen. The way his hand had felt at your waist. The warmth of his mouth against your neck.

You groan quietly and drag the blanket over your face.

“Get a fucking grip.”

Then you throw the covers back and force yourself out of bed, heading straight into the kitchen in search of coffee.

Your small apartment is always quiet—but this morning it feels too quiet. Too still as you silently sip your coffee, one hip leaned against the kitchen counter. Which, unfortunately, leaves far too much room for your brain to wander right back to its favourite topic.

Jack Abbot.

After coffee, you take yourself for a long walk around the block, hoping the cool morning air might help clear the remnants of the dream from your head.

It doesn’t.

But by the time you make it back to your apartment, your legs feel loose and your mind feels a little quieter, and for the briefest moment you almost manage to convince yourself that you’re excited about tonight. That you’re going to be able to do what Santos is clearly angling for and go home with an attractive stranger so you can stop draining your vibrator battery with inappropriate thoughts of your attending.

The rest of the day drifts past in a slow blur of small, forgettable things. Laundry. Answering a couple of messages in the group chat. Half-heartedly reviewing a few notes from earlier in the week before deciding you absolutely refuse to think about work on your day off.

Eventually the afternoon light begins to soften and stretch across the floor, which means it’s probably time to start getting ready if you’re actually going to make it to Santos’ place before she decides you’re bailing and comes knocking to drag you there herself.

So you shower, change, pack a bag, and throw it over your shoulder on the way out the door—trying very hard not to feel disappointed that Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift who’s going to be at the bar tonight.

It really is for the best.

You, alcohol, and Jack Abbot in the same room is a terrible idea.

“Alright, I’m ready,” Santos announces, finally stepping out of the bathroom.

You, Javadi, and Whitaker—who have spent the last twenty minutes on the couch chatting and sipping beer—look up.

“Aw, I wish I could do winged eyeliner like that,” Javadi says. “It just doesn’t suit my eye shape.”

“Don’t look too close,” Santos mutters. “It’s super uneven, but I don’t have time. I still have to fix this one before we go.”

She tips her chin toward where you and Whitaker are sitting on the opposite end of the lounge.

Whitaker’s eyes go wide. “Me?”

Santos scoffs. “Not you, Huckleberry. God, I don’t have enough time in the world to fix whatever’s going on there.”

Whitaker frowns, glancing down at his navy-blue button-up shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Everything,” Santos says, already turning away.

Whitaker lifts his head, glancing between you and Javadi. “Is it really that bad?”

Javadi leans forward, lowering her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Whitaker. You look great.”

You pat his shoulder. “It’s fine, really. She’s just—”

The words die on your tongue as Santos reappears, holding what can only be described as a sparkly scrap of fabric on a hanger.

Javadi tilts her head. “What’s that?”

Santos grins. “A dress.”

Whitaker chokes on his beer. “That’s… not a dress. That’s a glittery napkin.”

“Oh my God.” Javadi snorts. “My mom would kill me just for buying that.”

“I didn’t buy it,” Santos says lightly. “A friend in college gave it to me, but it’s never fit quite right.”

She steps forward, extending the hanger toward you.

“But I know you’ll be able to pull it off,” she adds, her grin sharpening.

You stare at it—glinting in the low evening sun spilling through the windows.

“Santos… this is a work thing,” you mutter.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a work thing. It’s just an outing with people from work.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Whitaker asks.

Santos sighs. “No, it’s not. And are you forgetting our main objective?”

You blink at her.

“To get you laid.”

Javadi giggles nervously, trying to hide it behind a swig of beer.

“Come on,” Santos says. “Just put it on and if it doesn’t work, we try something else.”

You hesitate, staring at the glittery thing like it might catch fire at any moment. Which, given enough sunlight, it probably could.

“Fine,” you say at last, pushing off the couch. “I’ll try it on, but that does not mean I’m wearing it.”

Santos’ eyes sparkle with excitement. Or maybe it’s just the dress.

“That’s my girl.”

You take the hanger from her and trudge into her room, nudging the door shut behind you. It takes a minute for you to figure out how the glittery napkin is supposed to go on—but once you do, you shed your comfortable clothes and shimmy into the most sparkly piece of fabric you’ve ever worn.

And somehow, the shimmering scrap of nothing turns out to be an actual dress—short, sparkling, and just structured enough to stay where it’s supposed to while still feeling mildly illegal.

With a deep breath, you turn away from the mirror and open the door, stepping back out into the lounge room.

“So?”

For a moment, no one says anything.

Whitaker’s mouth falls open.

Javadi’s eyebrows lift. “Oh.”

Santos, meanwhile, tilts her head appreciatively, one hand on her hip, eyes gleaming as she looks you over from head to toe.

“I knew it,” she says smugly.

Whitaker blinks. “That is not a dress.”

Javadi elbows him. “Stop talking.”

You tug awkwardly at the hem—which doesn’t actually move much because there isn’t very much hem to tug.

“Santos,” you say carefully, “I’m not sure—”

“Relax,” she says. “You look incredible.”

She circles you slowly, like a stylist inspecting her work.

“And you’re definitely going to get laid.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” Whitaker mutters, his face bright red.

Santos rolls her eyes. “You’re only here because you live here, Huckleberry. Now go grab that bottle of tequila from on top of the fridge—we’re going to need some liquid courage before we head out.”

After two shots of tequila and Santos’ finishing touches to your makeup, you all head out the door. Whitaker calls an Uber, the four of you pile in, and you carefully keep Santos’ leather jacket wrapped around yourself for some semblance of modesty.

You don’t really plan on taking it off for the rest of the night—even if it isn’t that cold.

The ride to the bar isn’t nearly long enough. Javadi spends most of it excitedly talking about how she can finally go out drinking now that she’s twenty-one, which Santos encourages with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly intends to make the most of that milestone.

You mostly just stare out the window. Trying not to think about the dress you shouldn’t have agreed to wear and the night shift attending you definitely shouldn’t be missing right now. Because if someone asked you where you’d rather be tonight—the bar or the ER with Dr. Abbot—your honest answer would be incredibly depressing.

Who would rather be at work than out with their friends on a Saturday night?

“We’re here,” Santos announces, nudging your side a little too hard.

You all thank the driver before climbing out, gathering yourselves on the sidewalk in front of the familiar establishment Santos loves dragging everyone to.

“Relax,” she says, dropping a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t need this.”

She tugs at the leather jacket, pulling it off your shoulders until it’s bunched at your elbows.

“I feel naked,” you mutter. “Like this is some nightmare where I show up to work in my underwear.”

Whitaker snorts. “Not far from it.”

Santos rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re not at work. You’re at a bar. And this is supposed to be fun.”

Right. Fun.

That is the entire point of tonight. Go out. Have a drink. Meet someone who isn’t Jack Abbot. Ideally forget Jack Abbot exists for at least a few hours.

Completely achievable.

Right?

“Fine.”

You draw a deep breath and drop your arms, letting the jacket slide off completely. Santos grins as you sling it over one elbow, trying not to instinctively hold it in front of your body like armour.

“See?” she says. “Much better.”

“Let’s just go inside before I change my mind,” you mutter, already starting toward the door.

Javadi loops her arm through yours. “You look amazing. Seriously.”

You give her a small smile, trying not to feel quite so awkward as Santos leads the way toward the main entrance.

It’s just a bar. Just a normal Saturday night. You’ll be fine after a few more shots of liquid courage.

You glance through the front window as you approach—more out of habit than anything else, your eyes drifting lazily over the crowded room inside.

People. Low lights. Patrons lingering around the bar.

And—

Your brain stalls.

Because there’s a man leaning against the bar with one elbow braced on the countertop, his shoulders broad under a tight black shirt, head tipped slightly as he talks to someone beside him.

A familiar someone.

Dr. Ellis.

And the man—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your stomach plummets.

Jack fucking Abbot.

Your feet stop moving, your whole body suddenly forgetting how to function.

Your pulse kicks violently against the inside of your throat as a wave of heat rushes up the back of your neck, sudden and dizzying and sharp enough to make the edges of your vision blur for half a second.

Because he looks—

He looks so good.

Relaxed in a way you’ve never seen at work. One hand curled loosely around a glass as he frowns slightly at something Ellis is saying, that small crease between his brows you know far too well.

And suddenly you are extremely, violently aware that you are standing outside a bar wearing approximately three square inches of glitter.

“Hey,” Javadi says beside you. “What’s—”

“Santos.”

She doesn’t stop.

“Santos,” you say again, your voice almost breaking.

She glances over her shoulder. “Hm?”

“You knew.”

She stops, her hand hovering near the door.

Whitaker glances between the two of you. “What’s happening?”

“Technically,” Santos says slowly, “I didn’t know. I just... suspected.”

“You said Ellis was the only one from night shift who’d be here.”

She winces. “I did, but what I meant is… Ellis is the only one who actually told me she’d be here.”

You stare at her. “So you did know?”

“I knew it was his night off.”

“Santos, I—” You glance back at him through the bar window. “I can’t go in there like this.”

“Like what?” she asks. “Smoking hot?”

“Half naked.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you can.”

“I will actually die.”

“No, you won’t,” she says firmly. “You’re an adult. You can wear whatever you want, talk to whoever you want, and just because your incredibly inconvenient attending crush happens to be inside does not suddenly revoke your civil liberties.”

She pulls the door open.

“Now stop panicking and get in the bar.”

-

“He swore the chest pain had nothing to do with the seven energy drinks he’d had that night,” Ellis says, still rambling about a patient who pissed her off two nights ago, “which was a bold position to take with a heart rate of one-forty.”

Jack snorts softly. “And did you believe him?”

Ellis’ eyes go wide, and she takes a long drink before continuing her rant about night shift patients and the strange confidence people have when explaining why their terrible decisions definitely have nothing to do with the symptoms they’re currently experiencing.

Jack nods along, offering the occasional comment or question where needed, meeting her gaze now and then—but mostly keeping his attention on the door. Waiting. Because he’s not stupid enough to ask anyone if you’re going to be here tonight, but he is naïve enough to hope you will be.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight—his first night off in two weeks.

He was supposed to be at home, cooking something decent for dinner, enjoying the rare luxury of not wearing scrubs, and inevitably indulging in his favourite guilty pleasure—involving nothing but his hand and some very inappropriate thoughts of you.

But he’s not.

He’s here. In a crowded bar, sipping cheap scotch, listening to Ellis complain about the night shift patients and their weird confidence, just… waiting.

For you.

He’d wanted to ask you yesterday if you were coming to the bar tonight—before he agreed to join—but he’d barely seen you before the end of your shift. And you didn’t even say goodbye. Which isn’t unusual, given how chaotic the ER can be, but then he’d overheard your conversation with Whitaker—and something about it made his chest feel too tight.

It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. Not jealousy, either. It was just... wrong. Not because what you said was wrong, but because he hates that it was right. That you don’t belong to him. Even if Robby calls you ‘his R2’ and Whitaker thinks you’re close because you’re his resident—none of it changes the fact that he has no real claim over you.

Which is ridiculous. He knows it.

He shouldn’t feel territorial. He shouldn’t want this. Want you. And yet, his chest still feels too tight—a slow, hot coil of frustration and longing curling up into his throat, and he hates it. Hates hearing it out loud, hates how much it matters, hates that he can’t make it not matter.

“Oh.” Ellis glances over her shoulder. “Looks like Santos and the others are here.”

Jack’s gaze flicks back to the door.

He tries not to react, not to straighten, not to square his shoulders as if he’s bracing for something—but he can already feel his composure slipping.

Santos steps in first, her head turned slightly as she talks to Whitaker, who walks in behind her. Then it’s Javadi, an unusually wide smile on her face as she looks at—

You.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Jack stops breathing.

His chest burns. His stomach flips. His hand tightens dangerously around his scotch glass.

It’s you. Of course it’s you. You’re perfect.

But then—

That dress.

God.

That dress—short, sparkling, clinging just enough to make every nerve in his body snap awake. It shimmers under the low lights as you move, and he hates himself for noticing every subtle curve, every shift of fabric, as if time itself has slowed just to torture him.

It’s all too much.

He can feel his pulse in his throat, heat burning beneath his skin, blood rushing in the one direction it really, really shouldn’t be right now. In public. In front of his coworkers.

He blinks, finally tearing his gaze away from you.

And that’s when he notices the rest of the bar. All staring. All stunned.

He hates them all.

He hates that they can even look at you. Hates that the universe allows it. Hates that they might see even a fraction of what he sees—and feel a fraction of what he feels.

And he hates, more than anything right now, that you’re not his.

“Dr. Abbot,” Robby says, appearing beside him and slinging an arm across his shoulders. “What’s your poison tonight?”

Jack lifts his drink, knuckles still white around the glass. “Scotch.”

Robby claps his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You might not want to have too many of those.”

Then he slips past both Jack and Ellis and raises a hand to flag down the bartender.

“Alright,” Ellis says, pushing off the bar. “I’m going to go grab a seat before the table gets too crowded.”

Jack nods, but he doesn’t follow. He stays beside the bar, rigid now, eyes fixed on the group of men at a high table just a few feet from the front door. They’re muttering to each other, leaning in, voices low—but nothing about it is subtle. Their gazes are glued to you as you weave through patrons and tables to greet the rest of the PTMC crew gathered in a booth near the back.

One of them—the dumbest looking one, Jack’s already decided—slowly slides off his stool, nodding along while his friends murmur their advice.

Jack glances back at you, now standing beside McKay, sliding your arms into the leather jacket you’d been carrying. Santos grabs your wrist, tilting her head toward the bar as she starts dragging you with her.

And, like a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush, Jack’s pulse starts racing.

“Dr. Abbot,” Santos says, grinning as you both approach the bar. “Fancy seeing you somewhere other than the ER on a Saturday night.”

“I do have a life outside of work, you know,” he says dryly, lifting his drink and looking anywhere but at you.

“Like playing bingo at the senior centre?” Santos asks, resting both forearms on the bar.

You step up on her other side, squinting at the shelves of liquor on the back wall like they’re the most interesting thing in the room.

“Bingo’s on Wednesdays,” he says mildly. “Try to keep up.”

Santos snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for the small leather-bound bar menu. But out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees your head dip—just slightly—and you try to hide a small laugh against your shoulder.

Jack feels it like a punch to the ribs.

Because you’re listening.

And apparently… you think he’s funny.

“Alright,” Santos says, lifting a hand. “I think we need some tequila over here.”

The bartender steps away from where he’d been serving farther down the bar, but his attention quickly drifts past Santos and lands on you. He leans in, resting one palm flat against the bar while he wipes down the counter with a rag that doesn’t really need wiping.

“So,” he says to you, not Santos. “What are you drinking tonight?”

Santos blinks.

“I just told you,” she says flatly. “Tequila.”

The bartender barely glances at her.

Jack’s jaw tightens.

You look briefly confused, glancing between Santos and the bartender.

“Uh—whatever she orders is fine.”

“Yeah. Tequila,” Santos repeats, slower this time.

The bartender laughs like she’s joking—and Jack sets his scotch down slowly. Carefully.

His eyes stay locked on the man now lining up four small glasses in front of you, still completely ignoring Santos. The way he’s watching you is too much. Too close. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth makes Jack want to punch the smirk right off his face.

And by the way you shift a little closer to Santos—pulling your jacket tighter around yourself—he knows you’re uncomfortable.

His hand clenches at his side.

Robby pauses as he walks past, a beer in each hand.

“Easy, tiger,” he mutters. “She can handle herself.”

“I know,” Jack says, voice low. “Doesn’t mean she has to.”

Robby gives him a look—a brief, knowing glance, somewhere between amusement and warning. “Careful.”

Jack doesn’t respond. He just turns back to you and Santos, watching as you each knock back two shots of tequila, your nose scrunching as the burn hits. And he can’t help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth, because the face you make as you set the second glass down is ridiculously cute for someone wearing a dress like that.

“Okay,” Santos says. “I need a vodka soda before I start making bad decisions.”

The bartender nods, already reaching for another glass—and before he can even ask if you’d like another drink, someone else steals your attention.

“Hey,” the guy says, stepping up beside you. “Can I get you another one?”

He leans in, just enough to be heard over the noise—but it’s still too close.

You shift slightly, angling toward him. “Oh. Uh—sure.”

Santos presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile as she turns back to the bar, suddenly very invested in whatever the bartender is doing. The second he sets the vodka soda in front of her, she scoops it up and drops a few bills on the counter.

She lifts the drink to her lips as she turns away, pausing just long enough to glance at Jack over the rim of the glass.

Her brows lift. “You really gonna let that happen?”

Jack frowns. “What—”

But Santos is already gone, drink in hand, halfway back to the booth where everyone else is.

Where Jack should be headed too—because there’s no reason for him to stay here. No reason for him to linger, to hover, to make sure you’re okay, to stand there glaring at the guy buying you a drink like that’s going to change anything.

It’s not like he can blame him. If Jack thought he had a shot with you, he’d take it too. The difference is, Jack wouldn’t need the dress. Or the drinks. Or the crowd. He’d take that shot with you even when you’re tired and stressed out and covered in blood at the end of a bad shift in the ER. He’d take it any time. Any place.

But Jack doesn’t get that shot.

Because you’re young. You don’t have baggage. And you’re a resident—maybe not his resident, but still a resident.

It’s just too inappropriate.

Jack sets his glass back on the bar a little harder than necessary—and the bartender glances over, brows raised as if silently asking if he’d like another, but Jack just shakes his head.

His eyes flick back to you. To the way you’re smiling now—soft, not uneasy. To the way you seem to have forgotten about keeping your jacket closed, and now the idiot talking to you is looking anywhere but your face.

Then you laugh—light, easy—and something in Jack’s chest tightens again.

He looks away. He can’t keep standing here. He’s not going to stand here and watch you flirt with some idiot at the bar like he has any right to care.

With a deep breath, he forces himself to turn away and start walking back to the table.

Where he should have been five minutes ago. Where he plans on staying for the rest of the night.

Half an hour later, most of PTMC’s day shift staff are gathered in the booth, half still wearing their scrubs after coming straight from the hospital. The volume of conversation builds with the growing collection of empty glasses in the middle of the table, voices overlapping, getting louder with every round—but Jack doesn’t order another scotch. At some point, Ellis sets a beer in front of him, which he nurses until it’s too warm to enjoy.

Every now and then, he makes a point of nodding or laughing or glancing at someone across the table—pretending to follow the conversation, pretending he’s paying attention—when really, all he can focus on is you. You and your smile. And your laugh. And the way your hand settles lightly on a man’s bicep when he says something that makes you blush.

Not the same man as before, either. No—this one is new. This one swooped in when the first one excused himself to take a phone call, and now that one is back at the table with his friends, sulking.

Kind of how Jack is right now, sitting at the table with his friends. Sulking. Glaring. Plotting.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s none of his business. But he can’t stop himself from trying to come up with an excuse to interrupt you. To get you away from those men and their lingering stares.

Not that he’s any better.

“Abbot.” Robby nudges his side. “Hungry?”

Jack blinks, finally dragging his gaze away from you to where Ellis is standing, looking expectant.

“Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” Ellis asks. “I’m going to order some wings.”

Jack frowns. “Uh—no. I’m good. Thanks.”

Ellis nods once and turns away, heading straight for the bar.

Robby huffs a quiet laugh beside him. “You might want to turn your hearing aids up, old man.”

Jack doesn’t even look at him. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” Robby says mildly. “You’ve missed, what, three questions in the last five minutes?”

“I heard her,” Jack mutters. “I was just... thinking.”

Robby hums like he doesn’t believe that for a second.

Jack shifts, pushing his chair back as he sets his warm beer on the table. “I’m gonna hit the head.”

Robby’s brows lift, slow and knowing, his gaze flicking briefly toward the bar.

“Mm,” he says. “Sure you are.”

Jack does, in fact, turn toward the bathrooms first—mostly because he needs a second away from all the music and chatter to try and clear his head. To try and stop himself from doing what he really left the booth to do.

He locks himself in the accessible bathroom—not that he needs it, but it’s more private than the men’s—and stands in front of the vanity. He presses his palms into the porcelain sink, shifting his weight forward with a deep, steadying breath.

This is ridiculous, and he knows it.

He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be acting like this.

This is trivial shit, for God’s sake. Jack is a vet. A seasoned ER doctor.

So why is a goddamn crush undoing him like this?

Why are you undoing him like this?

He lifts his head and stares at his reflection—jaw tight, shoulders rigid—trying to get a grip. Trying to remember that he is a grown ass man, not some idiot who can’t keep his shit together.

His gaze drifts across his face—the day-old stubble, peppered hair—then to the reflection of the bathroom behind him. The graffitied walls, covered in stickers and spray paint, a chaotic collection of late nights and inebriated thoughts. He wonders, briefly, how many people came in here intending to leave something behind.

Then he spots something scrawled in the corner of the mirror in thick black marker.

HESITATE AND SOMEONE ELSE WON’T.

Jack tilts his head.

That’s not exactly... subtle.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

He doesn’t hesitate.

Not in the trauma bay. Not out in the field. Not when it matters. Not when someone’s life is on the line and everyone else is waiting for someone to make the call.

So what the hell is this?

This… standing back. Watching. Letting it happen.

Like he doesn’t know what he wants. Like he hasn’t already made up his mind.

He drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head once—sharp, annoyed.

“Jesus Christ.”

It’s not caution. It’s avoidance.

With another deep breath, Jack reaches for the tap and braces his hands beneath the stream. He scrubs them together—quick and thorough—then turns off the water, grabs a paper towel, and dries his hands with more focus than necessary. He tosses the towel in the bin on his way out the door, his gaze sharpening as he scans the bar—finding you immediately.

You’re still standing where you were, maybe a few steps closer to the back of the room. There’s a new guy in front of you now, closing you in, crowding your space just enough to make Jack’s eyes narrow.

The man’s hand settles at your waist, a little lower than what could be considered innocent. And anyone else watching might think you’re okay with it—but Jack knows you. He sees the small flicker of discomfort that crosses your face, the subtle drop of your shoulder as you try to angle yourself away without seeming rude.

Good thing Jack doesn’t mind being rude.

He’s already moving before he’s fully decided to. Just a few long strides and he’s there—close enough to cut through the space between you and the guy without touching either of you, his presence alone enough to interrupt whatever the hell this is supposed to be.

He looks at you. Just you.

“Hey.”

Your head turns immediately—and the shift in your expression is instant. Relief.

“Oh—hey,” you say, a little breathless.

And then you step into him. Not too close. Not in a way that draws attention or suggests anything—but enough to make Jack’s pulse jump. Enough for him to feel your warmth and the way it settles under his skin.

“Hey, man,” the guy says, holding out a hand. “I’m Trent.”

Jack ignores him.

“You alright?” he asks you.

You nod slowly. “I am now.”

Your fingers curl into the back of his shirt, just for a second—like you didn’t even think about it. Like you just needed something solid to hold onto.

Jack goes still.

Trent clears his throat. “Sorry—uh—who are you?”

You glance at him with a tight smile. “This is my attending.”

Jack likes being called your attending.

Trent frowns. “What?”

“Remember how I said I was a doctor?”

Trent just stares at you.

“Well, Dr. Abbot is my attending,” you go on anyway. “He’s like my supervisor. I’m his resident.”

His resident.

“Right,” Trent mutters, eyeing Jack. “Cool. So—you’re a doctor?”

Jack doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay fixed on you.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. “Ellis is ordering wings—we can grab a menu.”

“Starving,” you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting slightly as you look up at him.

“Great.” His hand settles at your shoulder, firm but casual. “Let’s get back to the others.”

“Wait,” Trent says. “Are you—”

“It was nice meeting you,” you cut in, flashing him one last tight-lipped smile before Jack steers you away.

He keeps his arm around your shoulders until you’re halfway back to the booth of PTMC doctors and nurses. Only then does he pull back, clasping his hands behind his back like he needs the physical restraint.

“Thanks for that,” you murmur. “He just wouldn’t take a hint.”

Jack nods. “I noticed.”

He doesn’t look at you as he turns back toward the other end of the table, toward his seat beside Robby—because if he did, he might not be able to leave your side. From the corner of his eye, he sees Santos reach for you, already asking what happened as she pulls you into the seat between her and McKay.

And for twenty blissful minutes, Jack feels okay. The most okay he’s felt all night.

Because you’re here, at the table, talking to Santos and McKay—and not some idiot who thinks he deserves a chance with the prettiest girl in the room. In the world, according to Jack.

But only for twenty minutes—because once you finish your drink, Santos drags you back to the bar.

Another shot. Another drink. Another guy.

Jack shifts in his chair, trying to listen to whatever it is Ellis and Mateo are arguing about, but he can’t focus—not when your hand settles lightly on this new guy’s shoulder. And especially not when it slides down his bicep, flirty in a way that makes Jack want to get out of his chair.

He tells himself he’s not going to. That he shouldn’t.

But the second the lights dim and the music gets louder, he pushes out of his seat.

He finds you at the edge of the dancefloor, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the crowd.

“Hey,” he says, voice raised over the music.

Your head whips around, your brows lifting slightly in that soft, expectant way—like you’re waiting for him to say whatever it is that’s so important he had to stop you right here.

Jack clears his throat. “Have you been drinking water?”

You frown. “Um. Not really.”

“You should really drink some water,” he says, tipping his head toward the bar.

You hesitate, glancing back over your shoulder at the man waiting for you to follow him into the crowd.

Then you look back at Jack.

“Uh, yeah. Okay. Water.”

He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He knows it was stupid and petty and jealousy-driven—but he can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you follow him to the end of the bar with the self-serve water tower.

The music is too loud for conversation—and even if it wasn’t, he’s not sure what he’d say. Not when you’re looking at him like this. A little drunk. A little curious. Your brows drawn, your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your lips wet from the water.

God. This has the be the finest form of torture.

Because here you are—so young and so sweet, so trusting in Jack that he’s just trying to look after you, when all he can think about is the fact that you’re not his. That they think you’re fair game. That every man in this room thinks he has a chance.

And the fact that he’s not going to let them anywhere near you.

-

The third time Jack Abbot appears at your side, he catches your elbow just as you’re about to step out the door with a man named Leo. Not to leave the bar—just for some air—but then Jack says something about Mateo buying a round of shots and guides you back inside.

You don’t mind. Not really. Especially not when a free drink is involved.

So you line up beside your coworkers and sink another shot of tequila with a grimace before Santos drags you back to the dancefloor.

The fourth time Jack Abbot intercepts you, you’re just about to start dancing with a handsome stranger Santos accidentally made you bump into—but before you can even take the man’s hand, Jack pulls you away, insisting you take a seat for a minute and drink more water.

Which, fine. Whatever.

But by the fifth interruption, you’re starting to notice a pattern.

And you’re getting a little annoyed.

“Oh my God,” Santos says, her eyes going wide as the opening notes to ABBA’s Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! start blaring through the speakers. “We have to dance. Come on!”

You barely have time to scoop your drink up off the bar before she’s dragging you onto the dancefloor—into the throng of warm bodies all moving to the beat beneath the single, sparkling disco ball.

The music pulses through the floor beneath your feet, the bass thrumming in your chest as Santos drags you deeper into the crowd. Somewhere between Mateo’s round of shots and your tenth song on the dancefloor, your jacket disappeared—and now your dress catches the light with every movement, glittering under the shifting colours as bodies press in from all sides.

The bar is still pretty full, even if the PTMC booth has already lost a few soldiers. There are still plenty of prospects—plenty of strangers who might offer to take you home and make you forget all about Jack Abbot. Which is still very much the plan.

If only the man himself would stop interrupting every interaction like he’s doing you a favour.

At some point during the second—or maybe third—chorus, Santos subtly steps away and a guy ends up in front of you. You’re not even entirely sure how. One second you’re dancing and screaming the lyrics, the next he’s there—close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his hands hovering like he’s trying to decide where to put them.

You let it happen. Because this is what you want, right?

This is the plan.

He leans in and says something you don’t quite catch over the music, but you laugh anyway—more out of obligation than anything else.

Then his attention shifts.

His eyes flick past you. And just like that—he falters.

It’s subtle, but you feel it. The hesitation. The way his body pulls back a fraction, like something just snapped him out of it.

“Uh—actually,” he mutters, already stepping away. “I—yeah. Sorry.”

Then he’s gone.

You blink, frowning slightly as you glance over your shoulder and—

Of course.

Jack Abbot, standing just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes locked on you with a look that makes your stomach drop.

Not angry. Not exactly.

But intense. Sharp. Focused in a way that feels… deliberate.

You stare at him for a second—frustration flickering across your face—then turn back to Santos, who is still dancing with her vodka soda lifted in the air.

You lean in, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the music. “Your plan isn’t working!”

She turns to face you, frowning. “What do you mean it’s not working?”

You stare at her. “The plan to get me laid? It’s not working.”

“Why not?”

You huff out a laugh, incredulous.

“Because of him,” you say, nodding toward Jack. “Because I let him save me from one bad interaction and now he’s just—hovering. Interrupting. Scaring people off.”

Santos’ mouth twitches.

“I think he thinks he’s being helpful,” you add, shaking your head. “Like he’s doing me a favour or something, but—God, I’m never going to get a stranger to take me home with a hundred-and-ninety-pound war vet glaring over my shoulder every five minutes.”

Santos just looks at you for a second—then smiles. Slow. Knowing.

“And what part of my plan isn’t working?”

You frown. “Are you even listening to me?”

“I said I was going to get you laid,” she says, lifting her drink to her lips. “I never said anything about going home with a stranger.”

It doesn’t land straight away.

You blink at her, still frowning as you try to follow the logic—because that doesn’t make sense, that’s not the plan. If you’re not going home with a stranger, then who—

And then it clicks.

Your stomach drops.

“Wait—Santos,” you start, eyes widening. “You don’t mean—”

Santos just looks at you over the rim of her glass. Calm. Patient. Smiling faintly, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all night.

You glance toward the side of the dancefloor again—to the man still focused on you in a way that feels far too intentional now. Arms folded, jaw set. He doesn’t even pretend to look away when you meet his stare.

“Actually,” Santos says, her hand closing around your wrist. “I think my plan is working perfectly. Now, come on—” she nods toward the booth where everyone else is, “let’s play a game.”

A game?

Before you can argue or even question it, Santos is dragging you off the dancefloor toward the booth at the back of the bar. The thrum of the music dulls the further you get from the crowd, and by the time you both slide into empty seats at the table, you no longer feel like you need to yell just to be heard.

The PTMC crew has thinned since you were last sitting here. Robby, Dana, and Donnie are gone, and McKay is holding her purse in her lap like she’d been trying to leave when Mateo cornered her with another rant about how no patient actually seems to understand the pain scale.

“Alright,” Santos announces, picking up someone’s abandoned drink and taking a sip like she owns it, “we’re playing a game.”

Whitaker leans forward. “A game?”

“Yes, Huckleberry. A game.” Santos glances around the table with a lazy half-smile. “It’s called Never Have I Ever.”

Mateo snorts. “That’s a middle school sleepover game.”

“Great,” Santos replies. “Then it should be easy for you.”

There’s a ripple of laughter around the table, but no one else seems to object.

“Can I start?” Mohan pipes up beside Santos. “I’ve got a good one.”

Santos nods. “Be my guest.”

You’re not entirely sure when Jack rejoined the table, since he’d been at the edge of the dancefloor just a few minutes ago, but now you’re suddenly very aware of his presence across from you. Like the few people that called it a night have unintentionally left a smaller, more intimate group behind—and now Jack Abbot is almost directly across from you while you play one of the most notorious, tension-raising middle school games of all time.

“Okay,” Mohan says, sitting up a little straighter. “Never have I ever… called in sick when I wasn’t actually sick.”

McKay laughs. Mateo groans. Almost everyone at the table lifts their drinks.

“Really?” Santos says. “That was your good one?”

Mohan shrugs. “I thought—”

“Never mind,” Santos cuts her off. “My turn.”

Her gaze moves slowly around the table before landing on you, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.

“Never have I ever,” she starts slowly, “fantasised about someone else sitting at this table.”

Your pulse jumps.

McKay snorts.

Mateo leans forward. “Like, intentionally. Or…?”

Whitaker frowns. “You’ve accidentally fantasised about someone here?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes the wrong people pop up, you know?”

Santos rolls her eyes. “Oh my God. Whatever. Intentional or not.”

Mateo nods once and lifts his drink. Javadi sinks lower in her chair as she lifts hers—and you try not to look around at the rest of the table as you bring your own up to your lips.

Beside you, McKay drops her purse to the ground and straightens, clearly invested now.

“Alright, I’ve got one,” she says, grinning. “Never have I ever… faked it.”

Javadi chokes, Santos snorts, and across from you, Jack huffs out a quiet laugh.

“Never?” Ellis asks, eyes wide. “So you always—”

“Oh, God, no,” McKay laughs. “Definitely not. I just refuse to fake it.”

Laughter moves through the table again, a little louder this time, and everyone takes a second to decide whether or not to raise their drinks.

You lift yours slowly, looking anywhere but at Jack.

“Okay, my turn,” Ellis announces, shifting in her seat. “Never have I ever… hooked up with someone at work.”

The table reacts around you, a mix of laughter and quiet protest, but it all blurs at the edges when you finally glance up—because Jack is already looking at you.

Not surprised. Not amused.

Just… watching.

He doesn’t laugh or say anything. He just lifts his drink, slow and deliberate.

And something sharp twists in your chest.

“What’ve you got, Langdon?” McKay asks, nodding at him across the table.

Langdon strokes his chin thoughtfully for a moment—then sighs.

“Alright, I already know I’m going to get shit for this, but—” He clears his throat. “Never have I ever… had sex in public.”

McKay laughs, loudly, and lifts her drink to her lips without hesitation. Ellis and Santos drink too, while Mohan laughs into her hand and Javadi sinks even lower in her chair.

Across from you, Jack sips his drink again like it’s nothing.

And that sharp twist in your chest doesn’t ease.

Because of course he has. Of course there are other people. Other women.

And you—

You catch Santos’ gaze from the other end of the table—sharp, knowing, daring.

Your grip tightens slightly around your glass.

And before you can talk yourself out of it—

“Okay, my turn,” you say lightly, sitting up a little straighter.

Everyone turns to you, but you keep your eyes fixed on your glass.

“Never have I ever,” you say slowly, “…finished during sex.”

For a second—nothing.

Then the table erupts.

“What—no—” Mateo is already laughing, leaning forward like he thinks you’re joking. “You’re kidding.”

Javadi chokes on her drink, coughing as she turns toward you. “Wait, seriously?”

“Oh my God,” McKay says, half-laughing, half-staring at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re lying.

Langdon huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Well… that’s unfortunate.”

Whitaker just blinks at you, caught somewhere between surprised and confused, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that information.

Santos doesn’t say anything. She just leans back in her seat, watching you over the rim of her glass with a slow, satisfied smile.

And across from you—

Jack just goes still.

Completely still.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does—sharp, dark, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip.

It takes you a minute to remember how to move. How to breathe. How to laugh and sip your drink and keep playing the game that doesn’t stop just because it feels like your heart did.

Eventually, everyone eases off the third-degree on your embarrassingly real confession, and Mateo pipes up next with something ridiculous that makes the table groan. Then Javadi comes out with something surprisingly rebellious—and blushes hard when Mateo flashes her a wink.

And so it goes on.

You know it does.

You can hear it—voices overlapping, laughter breaking out again, someone arguing over what counts, someone else swearing they’re being misrepresented—but it all feels… distant.

Like it’s happening a few steps away from you instead of right here at the table. Because now, all you can focus on is Jack. On the way he’s hardly moved. Hardly spoken. Hardly looked away from you.

At some point, he mutters his own confession with a small smirk and everyone laughs—but you don’t catch the words. You’re too aware of everything else to hear them. Too aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, the thrum of the music beneath your feet, the way Jack’s jaw ticks every time you glance back at him.

Another round starts. Then another.

Someone groans. Someone laughs too loud. Santos says something that earns a chorus of reactions—but it all slips past you, unimportant, forgettable.

Time stretches. Blurs.

Your drink empties, refills, empties again.

People shift in their seats. Someone stands. Someone leaves.

Then suddenly—

“You ready?”

You blink.

Santos is standing beside you, brows raised.

“Ready?” you echo.

She nods toward the door. “Time to go. Most of us have to work tomorrow.”

You glance around at the empty table. “Oh.”

Santos is already halfway to the door by the time you gather your things and catch up to her. You’re still pulling your jacket on as you step outside, bracing against the cool night air that nips at every inch of exposed skin—which, in this dress, is a lot of skin.

“The Uber’s just around the corner,” Whitaker says.

“Great,” Mohan mutters, hugging her jacket tighter. “I’m freezing.”

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or just the heat lingering beneath your skin from the way Jack had been watching you earlier, but you’re not nearly as cold as you should be.

“You sure you don’t mind if I stay over tonight?” Javadi asks, glancing between Santos and Whitaker.

Santos shrugs. “As long as you don’t mind the couch—and Dr. Shamsi isn’t going to have us arrested for kidnapping.”

Javadi lets out an awkward laugh. “Uh—no. It’s totally fine. I told my dad.”

“Are you working tomorrow?” Whitaker asks.

Javadi shakes her head. “Day off. You?”

Whitaker sighs. “Yeah.”

“So am I,” Santos adds. “And if I don’t get at least five hours sleep, I cannot be responsible for other people’s lives.”

“That’s reassuring,” Jack mutters, almost startling you as he steps out of the bar.

He buries his hands in his pockets, hardly sparing you a glance as he steps closer to the group. There’s a faint hitch in his step—something you recognise from the waning hours of a night shift, when he’s been on his feet for too long and starts to favour one leg.

“This is us,” Whitaker announces, nodding toward the car pulling up at the curb.

Mohan hurries forward first, yanking the door open and climbing into the back seat—and Javadi is next, flashing you a smile before she ducks in beside her. You step forward—then hesitate. Whitaker is already holding the front passenger door open, and Santos is standing at the curb, about to join the others in the back.

“Wait.” Your pulse jumps. “There’s too many—”

“You’re with Dr. Abbot,” Santos says lightly, her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

Your stomach drops.

“I—I’m what?”

Santos shrugs. “Javadi’s staying over and Mohan’s place is on the way to ours. Just makes sense.”

Then she climbs into the car, shuts the door, and rolls the window down.

“See you tomorrow!”

There’s a chorus of goodbyes from the others before the car pulls away from the curb—and the cool, quiet night settles in too quickly. The only sound is the dull thrum of music from the bar, and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

For a second, you don’t turn around. You can’t. Not now that you’re alone with him.

Then—

“I’m this way,” he says, voice low and rough and maddeningly hot.

You nod, but don’t dare look at him as you start following the line of parked cars up the street.

The night air feels sharper now, cooler the further you get from the bar—and it makes you pull into yourself, arms folded tightly while your jacket barely does anything to help.

Jack keeps an easy pace beside you, not crowding you, not touching you, but close enough that you’re aware of him anyway. Of the space he takes up at your side. Of the way he adjusts slightly so you’re walking on the inside of the path, further from the curb, without making a thing of it.

Neither of you says anything.

It’s not awkward. It’s just… quiet in a way that feels heavy, like the silence is holding onto everything that happened inside instead of letting it go.

Your heels click unevenly against the pavement, catching slightly every few steps, and you’re suddenly, painfully aware of everything—the way your dress shifts as you move, the cool air against your skin, the way your pulse hasn’t quite settled.

You feel too sober. Too aware.

When his car finally comes into view, he moves ahead of you just slightly—just enough to reach the passenger door first and hold it open.

God. He’s so annoyingly considerate.

You give him a small, tight smile before climbing into the passenger seat.

The car is still warm, still holding onto the heat from earlier in the day, and it smells like him in a way that’s subtle but unmistakable—clean, familiar, something faintly sharp beneath it that you can’t quite place but instantly recognise. The seat gives slightly beneath you, softer than you expect, and for a second you just sit there, hands hovering like you’re not entirely sure where to put them.

It’s his.

All of it.

The way everything is exactly where it should be, nothing out of place. The faint scuff on the console. A pair of sunglasses tucked neatly into the centre compartment. His backpack thrown into the back seat like he’d discarded it in a hurry and never thought about it again.

The sound of the driver’s side door opening almost startles you.

You drop your hands into your lap, shifting slightly and smoothing your dress down over your thighs like that might ground you somehow.

The car immediately feels smaller when Jack climbs in. More intimate. Closer in a way that’s almost stifling.

You keep your eyes fixed out the windshield.

Waiting.

For the engine to start. For the car to move.

But nothing happens.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, settling into every inch of the space between you.

And then—

“You can’t say shit like that around me.”

You blink, finally turning toward him—and regretting it immediately. He’s so irritatingly handsome, so annoyingly gorgeous in a way that makes you want to be stupid and reckless and climb across the console into his lap.

“Say what?” you ask, your voice embarrassingly thin.

He looks at you—not fully, just turning his head slightly.

“You know what,” he says, his voice low and rough with something that sounds a little too close to control slipping.

And you do.

You know exactly what he means.

But before you can say anything else, he turns the key and the engine rumbles to life. The radio crackles a little before some late-night news station fills the silence—and he doesn’t move to turn it off, doesn’t even turn it down. He just drives.

The radio reporter’s voice hums through the car like white noise, talking about something you’re not really listening to as you try to focus on keeping your breathing even.

You can still hear his voice.

You can’t say shit like that around me.

The way he said it. Low. Controlled. Like it cost him something to keep it that way.

Your fingers shift slightly in your lap, smoothing over the fabric of your dress again without thinking, and your mind starts turning his words over before you can stop it—pulling at them, testing them, trying to make them mean something that makes sense.

Because what does that even mean?

You glance at him, quick, like you might catch something you missed—but he’s focused on the road, jaw set, one hand loose on the wheel like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just change everything with eight little words.

You look away again.

No. He didn’t mean it like that.

He’s just—he’s your attending. He’s responsible. Of course he’d say something. Of course he’d—

Except he didn’t say it like that.

Your stomach tightens as your thoughts circle back, slower this time, more deliberate.

The way he kept pulling you away from people tonight. The way he’d been watching you. The way he didn’t laugh, didn’t joke, didn’t let it go.

The way he said it.

Around me.

Not here. Not in front of people.

Around me.

Your breath catches slightly, and you shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of the space between you—of how close he is, of how easy it would be to just turn your head, lean in and—

No.

No, that’s not—

You swallow, gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.

You’re just reading into it. You have to be.

Because the alternative—

Your pulse jumps.

God. The alternative is too much to even consider.

But the thought lingers anyway.

It settles in the back of your mind, quieter now, but heavier—pulling at everything he said, everything he did, everything you might have missed until now. The words circle back, sharper this time—until—

The car stops—and you blink.

For a moment, you don’t move. You can’t.

Then Jack clears his throat.

“Oh—uh—thanks,” you mutter, reaching for your seatbelt buckle.

He nods once. “Anytime.”

You push your door open before you can think too hard about it, stepping out into the cool night air that hits a little harder this time. Your heart is still beating in your throat, your pulse still too loud, your thoughts are still circling those eight words—eight little words that feel like they weigh far more than they should.

You hesitate—one hand on the door, the other gripping your keys in your jacket pocket.

God.

This is stupid.

This is reckless.

This is—

“Do you—” You clear your throat, the words catching slightly before you force them out. “Do you want to come up?”

He stares at you for a second, then lets out a short, disbelieving breath, like he’s not quite sure he heard you right.

“You can’t be serious.”

Heat rushes up your neck, quick and unwelcome, and for a second you just stand there, wishing you could take it back—rewind a few seconds and keep your mouth shut.

What the hell were you thinking?

“Yeah,” you say, a little too quickly. “No, that was—that was stupid.”

You turn away before he can say anything else, pushing the door shut harder than you mean to as you step back onto the sidewalk. You don’t look back. You refuse to. You just keep walking toward the lobby door, drawing your keys from your pocket and fumbling through them to find the right one.

It takes longer than it should, but eventually you find the lobby key and wriggle it into the lock.

This door has never been your friend. It’s old, a little rusted, and the lock has always been janky—but now your hands are shaking, and this stupid old door seems to think that’s funny, because it won’t budge.

You jiggle the key and try again, but nothing changes.

Then—

“Here.”

His voice is low. Close.

Your hand stills as he steps in behind you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your back—the solid line of his chest just shy of pressing into you as he reaches past your shoulder.

His fingers brush yours as he takes the key—and the lock turns easily this time.

Of course it does. Traitorous fucking door.

His arm lingers there for a second longer than it needs to—then he pushes the door open.

You don’t even glance at him as you step inside, already turning back to grab your key before the door swings shut—but he’s still holding it, barely a step behind you.

He tilts his head slightly, nodding toward the lobby. “Go.”

It’s quiet. Controlled.

Not a suggestion.

Your breath catches, just for a second, and you hesitate—long enough to feel it, whatever this is, tightening between you—

Then you turn and keep walking.

And he follows.

He follows you across the lobby, up the fire stairs, down the corridor, all the way to your apartment door. He stands a little closer than necessary as you unlock it—almost like he doesn’t think you know how doors work now—but the key turns smoothly this time.

You push the door open and step inside.

The apartment is quiet, dim, and you shrug out of your jacket without thinking. You can feel him watching you as you drape it over the arm of the sofa, and it’s a little... thrilling. Dangerous. Because Jack Abbot is in your goddamn apartment right now, looking at you like he’s a man on the edge—

And you’re daring him to jump.

“Drink?” you offer, keeping your voice light—innocent.

He clears his throat. “Water, please.”

You can’t help the small smirk on your lips as you brush past him, a little closer than necessary.

“So polite,” you murmur.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift—but you can feel him there, tense just beneath the surface.

You open the fridge and bend over to grab a bottle of water, letting your dress ride up the backs of your thighs in a way that’s totally unnecessary. Jack clears his throat again, just a little too sharp, and when you glance back toward him, he’s turned away completely.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling too wide as you straighten again.

“Here,” you say, stepping toward him and holding the water out.

He turns hesitantly, taking it. “Thank you.”

Your eyes catch his, a slow smile tugging at your lips before you bite the corner gently, just enough for him to notice. He looks away quickly, jaw tightening as he focuses on uncapping the water bottle.

You brush past him again, still a little too close, and move toward the sofa, dropping onto it and leaning forward to take off your shoes.

Jack takes a long swig of water, then clears his throat for the third time.

“Are you working tomorrow?” he asks.

You glance up, still leaned forward, and it’s hard not to notice the way his eyes dip from your face.

“Isn’t that something you should already know?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he can’t quite help himself.

“You’re impossible. You know that?”

Heat rushes up your neck at the way he says it—short, sharp, loaded—and you bite back a grin, letting your eyes glint just a little as you straighten.

“Am I?” you murmur, tilting your head just slightly. “Only one way to find out.”

He freezes for a second, shoulders tight, hand curling slightly around the water bottle—and it crackles softly under his grip. His breath hitches, just barely.

“I should go,” he mutters, voice low and clipped.

He takes a step toward the door—and you shoot up from the sofa, heartbeat racing.

“Wait—uh—before you go,” you say, stepping toward him, “could you help me with something?”

He hesitates, turning slowly, as if every second in here is costing him something.

You move until you’re almost between him and the door, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Could you help me out of my dress?”

The second the words leave your lips, you forget how to breathe.

Jack’s jaw tightens, his shoulders coiling ever so slightly. His fingers twitch around the bottle, just a whisper of movement, as if holding himself together by force. His eyes catch yours, dark and sharp, taking in the faint scrunch between your brows, the small pout on your lips, the way you’re offering him something he never thought he’d be allowed to have.

He nods once—careful, controlled—but the tension radiating off him is almost unbearable.

Your stomach flips.

Without a word, you turn, sweeping your hair out of the way while your pulse hammers in your ears.

You feel him shift, his warmth, and the ghost of his touch at the nape of your neck. And that first, tiny contact sends a shock straight through you—hot, sharp, impossible to ignore.

He pauses, just a heartbeat, and you catch the tiniest hitch in his breath.

Then he moves again, slow, deliberate, dragging the zipper down almost painfully slow, his knuckles grazing your skin—warm, rough, controlled, just enough to make your heart pound in your throat.

“How do you do it?” you whisper, voice catching slightly. “How are you always so… unaffected by everything?”

“Unaffected?” he murmurs, almost tasting the word, as if testing it against himself.

His knuckles brush the small of your back, pausing where the zipper ends—but he doesn’t stop. His fingertips graze your skin, deliberate, teasing, tracing the line of your spine upward again, slow enough that it drags your breath with it, sharp enough that heat blooms through every nerve.

“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice low and rough, almost breaking, “how much you affect me.”

Your breath catches, sharp and sudden. Everything in your chest pulls tight, something hot and dizzying blooming low as his words sink in.

You turn before you can stop yourself—and he’s closer now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the shift of his breath, the space between you narrowing into something fragile and dangerous.

For a second, neither of you move.

And then his hand finds your neck—

Not rough, not rushed—just firm enough to anchor you there, thumb pressing under your jaw like he needs to feel that this is real, that you’re real. His other hand tightens where it still holds the loosened fabric of your dress at your back, fingers curling into it like restraint is slipping through his grip.

He hesitates, just for a breath. Like he’s giving himself one last chance to walk away.

Then he kisses you.

It’s not tentative. There’s nothing careful about it. It lands like something he’s been holding back for too long, all that control finally snapping under the weight of you standing here, asking for him, looking at him like that.

His mouth is warm and certain against yours, a sharp inhale breaking through you as you lean into him without thinking, your hands finding him just as quickly—his stomach, his chest—anything to hold onto as the world tilts. He makes a low sound, barely there, but you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration settling deep in your chest as his grip tightens.

You melt before you can stop yourself.

Your head tilts back, giving him more, and he takes it immediately, deepening the kiss with that same quiet intensity that steals the breath right out of you. His thumb shifts along your jaw, not lingering, just enough to guide you where he wants you, and the control of it—God, the way he still tries to control it after everything, after all that restraint—makes something in your stomach flip hard.

His hand at your back slips under the loosened zipper, fingers pressing into your bare skin now, warm and steady, but there’s tension in it. You can feel it in the way his grip flexes, like he’s still trying—still—to hold the line even as he pulls you closer.

It doesn’t work.

Not when you press into him like this, not when your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, not when you kiss him back without hesitation, without thinking about consequences or lines or anything except how he feels against you.

He exhales against your mouth, sharp, like you’ve just undone him, and for a second the kiss falters—not because he’s pulling away, but because he’s trying to.

You feel it. The conflict. The split second where he almost stops.

Your hand slides up to his jaw, fingers catching there, holding him in place before he can even try.

“Don’t,” you whisper, barely pulling back, your lips brushing his as you speak.

And something in him gives.

You see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his hand tightens at your back, pulling you flush against him this time, the last inch of space gone like it was never allowed to exist in the first place.

When he kisses you again, it’s deeper.

Less restrained.

Like he’s finally stopped pretending this isn’t exactly what he wants.

It’s different now—harder, hungrier, like something in him has shifted for good. His hand slides from your jaw to your waist, gripping tight as he steps into you, crowding you back without breaking the kiss, without giving you a second to think.

Your back meets the door with a soft thud.

He doesn’t stop.

If anything, it only makes him sharper, more certain, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency that steals the air right out of your lungs. You barely get a breath before he takes it again, and you let him—God, you let him—tilting into him, giving him everything he reaches for.

His hand tightens at your waist, then slips lower, dragging you flush against him again, like he needs to feel exactly how close he can get before he loses control completely.

And you can feel it—how close he is.

It’s in the way his grip flexes, in the way his breath turns uneven against your mouth, in the way the kiss keeps deepening like he can’t quite stop himself from taking more.

Your fingers find his shirt again, pulling him closer, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to drag in a breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, like he’s trying—one last time—to get a handle on this.

He doesn’t.

His hands are on you again, immediate, sliding up your sides, pushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders in one smooth, decisive motion. The fabric gives easily, slipping under his hands like it was never meant to stay there in the first place—and it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet.

His breath catches, and his gaze drops—just for a second, but it’s enough.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, rough—nothing steady about it now.

You meet his eyes, chest rising and falling fast, heat still sparking under your skin.

“Bedroom,” you murmur.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Something in his expression shifts—tightens—like that word landed exactly where it shouldn’t. His gaze searches yours for a moment, checking for hesitation, for doubt.

But he doesn’t find any.

He nods once—and you turn, already moving toward the bedroom. You can feel him right behind you, close enough that his hand finds your waist again before you’ve even taken two steps, steady, grounding, like he’s not about to let you get too far ahead of him.

It’s barely a walk.

More like being guided—pulled—across the apartment toward your room, your pulse loud in your ears, every step charged with the knowledge of what you’ve just set in motion.

The door barely makes it closed before he’s on you again.

Not rushed—never rushed—but certain, like the decision has already been made and there’s no point pretending otherwise. His hands find you first, steady at your waist, turning you back toward him before you can take another step into the room.

Your breath catches as you look up at him. There’s something in his expression you’ve never seen before. It’s not soft, not gentle—just stripped of whatever distance he’d been holding onto all night.

Gone.

His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and this time there’s nothing in the way of it—nothing to hide behind, nothing to buffer it—and the heat in it settles low in your stomach, heavy and immediate.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice rough, quieter now—but it lands heavier here.

You don’t answer. You just step into him.

And it’s all the permission he needs.

His hand tightens at your waist as he pulls you back into him, and the kiss this time is slower, deeper in a way that feels intentional—like he’s choosing it, not chasing it. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of controlled hunger, every shift measured, every breath deliberate, like he’s letting himself feel it fully instead of fighting it.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he exhales against your mouth, something unsteady finally breaking through.

His grip shifts—firmer now—guiding you back a step, then another, not hurried, not careless, but unrelenting all the same. You feel the edge of the bed behind your knees before you fully register moving at all, your focus too caught in the way he’s kissing you, the way his hand anchors you like he’s not about to let this get away from him.

His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to draw in a breath, his forehead pressing briefly to yours.

Not hesitation. Control.

Or what little he has left of it.

“Last chance,” he murmurs, quieter now.

You drop back onto the bed, gaze locked on his, breath still uneven.

“I’m not the one holding back.”

You barely have time to move up the mattress before he’s there, crowding over you, hands braced on either side as he follows you down. The mattress dips under his weight, the space between you gone in an instant—replaced by the solid heat of him, the firm press of his hips against yours.

His mouth finds yours again, hot and insistent, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to pull a soft sound from you—but it’s different now. Slower. Not restrained, but deliberate. Curious, almost.

Like he’s learning you.

The way you react. The way you move under him. The way you give.

Your hands slide up his chest, fingertips digging in as heat coils low in your stomach—but they don’t stay there long. He shifts his weight slightly, steady, controlled, one hand lifting off the mattress to catch your wrist.

His fingers close around it—not tight, not forceful—just certain, guiding.

He lifts your hand above your head.

“Jack,” you whisper. “I—”

He shushes you.

“Let me do this, okay?” His voice is rough, thick with something unsteady beneath it—something that makes your stomach knot. “I’ve got you.”

And you believe him.

His hand slides down your body, slow and sure, brushing over your chest, your waist, the curve of your hip—each touch deliberate, like he’s taking his time even now, even like this. His fingers hook at the inside of your thigh, grip firm as he nudges your leg wider.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

The words go straight through you.

You can already feel the damp heat between your legs, the slick fabric pressed close, but the way he says it—the way his voice drops—makes your hips shift up instinctively, chasing something you can’t quite reach.

Chasing him.

And he notices. Of course he does.

You only just catch the faint lift at the corner of his mouth before his lips are back on yours, swallowing the breath from you as your back arches, pressing yourself up into him without thinking. Your fingers curl into the sheets above your head, tension pulling tight through your body as everything narrows down to where he’s touching you—where he isn’t touching you.

His hand drags back up your thigh, slower this time. Intentional. And when his fingers finally press against you through the thin fabric, you gasp.

He takes the sound from you immediately, mouth moving against yours, deeper now, like he’s feeding off it, like every reaction just pushes him further. His fingers start to move—slow, circling, testing—while his mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, your cheek, the side of your neck.

With your mouth free, the sounds slip out before you can stop them.

Soft. Unsteady. Needy.

And he loves it.

You feel it in the way his breath shifts, in the way his grip tightens just slightly, in the way his hips rock—slow, controlled, a subtle pressure of denim that’s more suggestion than friction.

“Jack—” your voice catches, breaking on his name. “Please. I want—”

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice low and coaxing.

“More,” you manage, breath shaking. “Need more.”

He groans against your skin, the sound low and rough, his body settling heavier over yours like any space between you is something he can’t stand.

Then his hand shifts.

Your breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the damp fabric, dragging through your wet heat in one slow, deliberate stroke.

Your whole body jolts. “Fuck—Jack—”

The reaction pulls something from him—a sharp inhale against your neck, his mouth pressing there like he needs to ground himself for a second before he loses it completely.

You’ve never felt like this before. Never this hot, this open, this aware of every inch of your own body.

And you’ve never wanted anyone like this before.

“God,” he murmurs, voice thick, lips tracing back up your throat. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.”

All you can do is nod, whimpering softly, your hips lifting without permission, chasing him, asking for more without the words—and he gives it to you. Of course he does.

His finger slides inside you, slow at first, letting you feel it—the stretch, the heat—before he pushes deeper, and the sound that breaks from you is swallowed instantly as his mouth finds yours again, your back arching beneath him as he starts to move. Not fast. Never fast. He sets a rhythm instead, steady and controlled, curling his finger just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your hips move against him again.

And when you press into it, when your body starts to chase that feeling properly, he adds another finger, the stretch pulling a broken sound from your throat as your hands tighten in the sheets and your body rolls beneath him, helpless to it now, completely caught in the slow, deliberate way he works you open.

Every movement is intentional. Every curl hits deeper, sharper, building something tight and aching low in your stomach that makes your whole body tremble, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you press into his hand, chasing, needing.

Then his thumb finds your clit, and the contact is immediate—devastating.

You cry out, sharp and breathless, your whole body tightening as he starts slow, deliberate circles that send heat spiralling through you, your hips lifting again, desperate now, unable to stay still under him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough, barely steady. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You can’t answer—not when his mouth is everywhere, your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he can’t decide where he wants you most before he finds your lips again, and this time the kiss is different again. Hungrier. Messier. His tongue presses into your mouth just as his fingers push deeper, his thumb working harder, more deliberate now, and the moan that tears from you is swallowed whole.

“Please,” you whimper against his mouth, breath breaking. “Please, I—need you.”

He lifts his head, dark eyes searching yours, brows pulling together just slightly.

“You sure?”

You stare at him, trying not to whimper as your whole body clenches around his stilled fingers, the sudden stillness almost worse than anything he was doing before.

“Never have I ever finished during sex, remember?” you manage, breathless but steady enough to land. “You gonna fix that, or what?”

Something feral flickers across his face.

And then it’s gone—replaced by something heavier. Something decided.

He kisses you again before you can catch your breath, all teeth and tongue, the restraint he’s been clinging to snapping clean in half as he groans into your mouth, the sound dragged straight from his chest. You feel the loss of his fingers immediately, your body protesting it, but it’s replaced just as quickly by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the friction of denim against your soaked panties making you gasp against him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, like he can’t quite believe it.

He pulls back just enough to shift, bracing himself on one arm while the other moves to his belt, not rushed but far from steady now. There’s a hitch in his breath, a tension in the way his fingers work at it, shoving his jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself, and your gaze drops before you can stop it.

He’s already hard—fully, heavily—flushed and slick at the tip, and the sight of it sends a sharp pulse of heat straight through you, your mouth going dry even as your body reacts in the complete opposite way.

“Fuck—” he chokes, the word breaking out of him. “I haven’t been this hard in—” His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and molten, and whatever he was going to say changes. “—ever.”

It hits you low and deep, twisting something tight in your stomach that makes your hips shift under him without thinking. You finally let go of the sheets, your hands finding him, sliding up to wrap around his neck as you pull him back down, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.

Your legs come up around his waist, drawing him in, urging him forward, and his breath stutters as he presses in, his swollen tip dragging against the damp fabric between you. The contact is just enough to make your head fall back, a broken sound slipping from your throat as he tries—tries—to hold himself up, one arm braced, the other moving between you.

You can feel the strain in him now, the way everything is slipping in real time, in the slight shake of his arm, in the uneven rhythm of his breathing as his hand hooks into the waistband of your panties.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough, almost distracted, like the thought barely registers before it’s gone. “Promise.”

And then the fabric gives.

The sound of it tearing—sharp, sudden—goes straight through you, your breath catching hard as he pulls the fabric out of the way, the last barrier gone in an instant.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

But it is.

Jack Abbot—controlled, composed, always holding the line—losing it enough to rip your panties off you?

Fuck.

He sinks into you in one steady thrust, and both of you gasp at the stretch—the sudden, overwhelming closeness, the way want crashes hot and heavy between you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, that dizzy edge of fear and urgency tangling together until all you can think is him—here, now, inside you.

For a moment, you just breathe—pant, really—eyes squeezed shut, hands locked on his shoulders as your body clenches around him, like you’re trying to keep him right there, like you never want to let him go. He drops his head to your neck, breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel the way it shakes out of him.

“You—fuck—you’re so tight, sweetheart,” he pants, voice rough and muffled where his mouth presses into you. “I’m not gonna last—”

“Then don’t,” you murmur, your voice softer but no less certain. “Just fuck me. Please, Jack.”

A groan tears out of him, low and wrecked, and you feel it through his chest as he shifts above you, hips pulling back, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your stomach coil tight, sparks chasing across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath, your grip tightening on him—and before you can brace, he drives forward again, deeper this time.

“Fuck—” you cry out, the sound breaking loose without warning. “Jack—”

He doesn’t stop. His hips roll back again, slower now, controlled in a way that almost makes it worse, his head lifting so he can look at you, really look at you, like he’s checking, like he needs to see it.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low, rough, barely holding together.

The anticipation coils tighter in your chest, sharp and electric, lighting up every nerve in your body until it almost hurts.

“Mhm,” you manage, breath unsteady, nodding as your arms wind tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, like it still isn’t enough.

For a second—just a second—you’re distracted by something stupid, the feel of his shirt between you, the barrier of it, the way you want it gone, want skin on skin, want to see him, feel him, all of him—

And then he thrusts forward again. Harder again. And the thought disappears completely.

Your body jolts beneath him, every movement knocking the breath from your lungs, and the sound that leaves you is loud—too loud—echoing back off the walls in a way that would make you self-conscious any other time.

But not now.

Right now, you don’t care who hears. Not when it feels like this.

His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, tangled with raw cries, and he answers with a rough sound against your shoulder, biting it back as his hips drive into you at a relentless pace. He’s barely holding himself up now, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels like too much and somehow still not enough, the strain in him obvious in every uneven breath, every sharp exhale against your skin.

His hand drags down your side, back to your thigh, fingers digging in as he pushes your leg wider, and the shift—small as it is—hits something deeper, sharper, your vision flashing white as your head tips back and the knot in your belly pulls tight. His grip slides to your hip, anchoring you there, holding you in place so every thrust lands exactly where it needs to, deep and unrelenting, the sound of it filling the room, wet and rhythmic and impossible to ignore beneath the broken sounds you’re both making.

And then his hand moves between you.

You feel it immediately—the change, the focus—as his fingers find your clit in the slick mess between your bodies, steady despite everything else, despite the way he’s losing himself in every way. Your back arches, breath catching sharp as his touch turns deliberate, circling, pressing, coaxing, sending jolts of sensation straight through you until it’s too much, not enough, everything all at once.

“Jack—” you whine, the sound falling apart as soon as it leaves you. “Fuck, I—”

“I know, sweetheart,” he mutters against your jaw, voice wrecked. “Come on my cock, yeah?”

Your hips lift to meet him without thinking, chasing the rhythm he’s set, chasing the pressure, the friction, the way he’s working you with a precision that feels almost cruel now. His hand doesn’t falter, his fingers moving with intent, building and building, every touch sending sharp bursts of pleasure up your spine as the tension in your stomach pulls tighter, tighter, until it feels like it might snap.

It’s never felt like this before. You’ve never felt like this before.

Your whole body tightens, back arching, legs trembling around him as your hips grind up against his, desperate, chasing something you can’t hold onto. He keeps hitting that same spot, again and again, relentless, his pace rougher now, less controlled, while his fingers stay locked on you, steady, practiced, pushing you right to the edge and holding you there.

You cry out, the sound raw, breaking from your chest as everything finally tips.

The release hits all at once—sharp, overwhelming, tearing through you in a rush that steals your breath and leaves nothing behind but heat and tension snapping loose. Your body locks up around him, tightening, pulsing, your hands gripping at him as your legs shake, your hips still moving against his like you can’t stop, like you don’t want to.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, his voice wrecked as he keeps moving inside you—slower now, but deeper, like he’s chasing every last pulse of you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, and then he loses it completely—a broken sound tearing from him as he drives into you one last time, deep and hard, spilling inside you as his whole body tenses, shuddering above yours.

You feel it—every part of it—the way he comes undone, the way he clings to you through it, like he needs something to hold onto just as much as you do. Your bodies keep moving together, slower now, instinctive, chasing the last fading edges of it as your breathing stays uneven, your chests rising and falling in sync, skin slick and overheated where you’re pressed together.

It takes a moment to come back down—a long one.

But eventually, the tension drains from him and he collapses almost fully above you, face buried into your shoulder, his weight heavy and grounding as he exhales, slow and spent. It makes it a little harder to breathe—but you don’t mind.

Not when you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and real, still racing like yours.

-

For the first time in two weeks, Jack Abbot isn’t stupidly early for his shift. He couldn’t be, really. Because he’d woken up late this morning, limbs tangled with yours in warm sheets that smelled so much like you it made his head spin—and that had thrown off everything else he needed to get done today.

If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have left at all—but he had to. He had police paperwork to finish, a neighbour’s cat to feed, and sleep he should’ve caught up on before being back in charge of an entire emergency department for twelve hours. But on the bright side? He knows you have a swing shift today, which means he doesn’t need to be early to see you, because you’re going to be stuck at PTMC until at least ten p.m. tonight.

With him.

And he really shouldn’t be looking forward to that as much as he is.

“Afternoon, Dr. Abbot,” Dana says, glancing over the top of her glasses. “Wasn’t sure we’d see you today. Aren’t you usually here by now?”

“I’m on time,” Jack mutters. “I’m a busy man.”

Dana hums, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes drop back down to the tablet in her hands.

Jack tries not to appear too conspicuous as he scans the department, glancing toward the trauma bays and South corridor as he passes the nurses’ station. He shouldn’t be this anxious to see you again—not in the apprehensive kind of way, but in the way that makes it feel like his lungs won’t quite fill until you’re near him again.

“She’s not here,” Dana says without looking up from her chart. “Wasn’t feeling well, so Ellis came in early.”

Jack spots Ellis across central, exiting one of the rooms with Santos at her side, and he opens his mouth to say something—defend himself, maybe, lie about what or who he was looking for—but he hesitates, unsure what he could say that wouldn’t incriminate him further.

So instead, he just drops his head and keeps walking, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.

He’d seen you this morning. Just this morning. You were sleepy, had a headache, so he got you water and Tylenol and kissed you before he left—but you hadn’t said anything about feeling so unwell you were going to call in sick.

Jack doesn’t stop until he reaches the lockers, then turns back to survey the ED one last time before leaning a shoulder against the wall and pulling up his text thread with you. He hadn’t texted you today because he knew he’d see you tonight and didn’t want to seem… overbearing. Even now, he’s not sure if he should—but he feels off in a way he hasn’t in years, like he’s waiting on something he can’t control and it’s making him feel sick.

What if last night hadn’t meant what he thought it did? What if you regretted it? What if it was just—

“Hey, kid,” Dana calls from the nurses’ station. “Big night?”

Jack’s head snaps up—and there you are.

The relief hits before he can stop it, sharp and instant, loosening something in his chest he hadn’t realised was wound so tight. He swallows it down just as quickly, his expression settling before anyone can clock it.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you mutter.

Dana huffs a short laugh. “I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”

Jack can’t help but watch as you cross the floor toward him, your backpack hanging from one shoulder while the other hand presses two fingers to your temple, like you could massage the headache away. There’s a smug little smile on your lips when you reach him, slowing your steps until you pause just beside him—not too close, but enough to make his breath catch.

You glance down at his phone, at the open message thread where his thumb is hovering, and your smirk curves a little higher.

“Miss me?”

Jack locks his phone and tucks it back into his pocket.

“Thought you were sick.”

You lift one shoulder. “A little hungover, so Ellis swapped with me.”

For a second, neither of you move. He just looks at you—and you look right back, like you both know exactly what’s changed, even if neither of you is about to say it out loud. Not here. Not now.

“And I missed the night shift attending,” you say finally.

Then—before he can respond, before he’s even fully processed what you said—you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Only brief. Barely anything.

But it feels like everything.

And just like that, Jack Abbot is done pretending he isn’t yours.

© 2026 geminiwritten

[thecherrypittttttt]

THE FIVE STAGES; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

PART TWO

words: 13.3k

content warnings: 18+!!!! Gets quite smutty, fluffy, jack abbot invented YEARNING, age gap!!!, no use of Y/N

notes: i know this one sounds kinda depressing but i promise its fun and funny and flirty and it’s my favorite one ive ever written!! also debating on making an ao3 account - should i?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack Abbot was unfortunately intimately familiar with the 5 Stages of Grief. Depression, Bargaining, Denial, Anger, Acceptance.

He grieved his leg at the ripe age of 31 - courtesy of an IED in the desert of Afghanistan.

He began grieving his late wife the following year at 32 - courtesy of an arrogant, misogynistic emergency medicine resident.

At 33, he grieved the life he thought he was going to have while he started a new one. No longer a husband, but a widow. No longer an army medic, but an Emergency Room attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Sometimes when he would come back to the empty home he bought at 34, the ghosts of that life were louder than any silence he thought he could drown out with the police scanner.

Jack Abbot knew the 5 Stages of Grief like the back of his hand.

In hindsight, he didn’t know how he didn't realize the 5 stages in which he fell in love with her were quite similar. A mirror of his grief refracted through a lens of unconditional love.

depression

If someone would have asked Jack at the time, he wouldn't have admitted he was depressed. He truly didn't think he was.

He didn't need therapy to deal with his trauma. His wife passed away a decade ago. His leg, or lack thereof, the constant reminder of the time he gave up while he had her on this earth - was physically healed. As much as it was going to be anyways. So therefore he was mentally healed. As much as he thought he was going to ever be anyways.

He'd been running on autopilot. It carried him from but mostly to the emergency room at PTMC. It's what made him stop at the unfamiliar sight of Gloria in his ED. This was why he didn't work the day shift. He never wanted to deal with all of the bureaucratic administrative bullshit. The only business Jack Abbot was ever interested in was the one of saving lives. Gloria hadn't even opened her mouth and Jack already knew that Robby was going to owe him one.

"Dr Abbot! Wonderful timing. I have a residency interview waiting in Robby's office for you."

Now Robby really owed him one. "Doesn't Robby usually..." Jack scratched at the back of his neck, still confused as to why Gloria had involved herself, and now him, in a residency interview, "...facilitate those?"

Gloria gave a curt nod before glancing around them, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard. She lowered her voice as she spoke, "Yes but I specifically scheduled this one when I knew you were covering. She is the best candidate we have ever had and probably ever will. I cannot risk Robby running her off."

Right. The Adamson of it all. There was a joke in there somewhere about Jack being considered the stable one in the ED. He guessed he must be. He had become fairly good at presenting an even keeled, calm front. He still had kind of felt like a mess in every other area of his life but the ED was the one place he was the furthest from one. It's where he solved the mess instead of becoming it.

She shoved a printed resume into Jack's hands before she was off. Back up to her ivory tower. He took a look as he strode over to Robby's office. Full ride to Stanford for both her undergraduate and medical degree.

For once, he agreed with Gloria. What the hell did this candidate want to do with PTMC?

He asked her as much as he sat across the desk from her, brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. Residency interviews usually went one of two ways. The candidate was either far too cocky or so nervous they barely got a complete sentence out.

She struck the balance. She was confident. More so than some of his residents who had been out on the floor that day. She wore a dark gray wool sweater and maxi skirt set. The monochrome was only cut by the deep maroon of her belt, tights, heels, and purse. Her long hair was slicked back into a simple pony tail and her makeup was minimal, if any.

It wasn't the typical look of a medical student on a residency interview. Still completely appropriate, but far less stuffy and much more self assured.

Jack wouldn't know good style if it had slapped him in the face but he did know what hers revealed to him about herself. It was the kind of style that someone who knew who they were had. Who had spent time getting to know what they liked. Whether it was what they were reading, listening to, watching, or doing. Her style wasn’t an afterthought but she carried it with a quiet confidence that let everyone know she was not overcompensating for anything either.

It was a demeanor and style that was derivative of having a life outside of medicine - which was quite uncommon for medical students and residents alike. It was completely foreign to Jack. It intrigued him. She intrigued him.

Her body language was relaxed but respectful. One leg crossed over the other as she leaned back into the wooden chair that was probably older than she was, hands clasped in her lap. Jack doubted her heart rate had reached over 65 the whole time she had been in there.

She took a beat to answer his question which also intrigued Jack. She was not rushing to answer just to fill space. She seemed to be comfortable with the time silence gave her to craft intentional responses. Why PTMC?

A ghost of a smile that looked like it might be haunted by one appeared on her face, "My family is here."

"That's it?"

"Do you want the practiced professional answer that every other interviewer has gotten or do you want the real one?"

Jack bit back a grin at her bluntness. Ignored the stirring in his stomach that made him feel special that she may share something about herself with him that she hadn't with anyone else. He tells himself to Get. A. Grip.

"I am sure the absolute best residencies in the country are foaming at the mouth to land you and you want to come here because of your family? Give me the real reason." He let his smirk slip through as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, "I'm a captive audience after all."

The airy laugh that he got out of her almost knocked him out of his seat. What was wrong with him? He had a feeling she didn't just hand out a laugh as ethereal as that one. That she was not the kind of woman who just giggled because it was the part of the conversation where she'd been socialized to appease the man speaking that he was funny. She seemed far too smart for that. For probably everyone in the building. For him, especially.

"I have already been away in California for eight years. I could have fifty years left with my dad and my brothers and my sister in laws and my nieces and nephews or they could be gone next week," she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. Didn't rush before speaking again, "I don't want to build an unguaranteed future alone and then have no one to share it with when I get there. I wanna spend time with them now."

Jack's adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes burned as he fought to hold back tears. It must have been some kind of cruel joke that right then his phantom limb pain wanted to shoot up through his thigh. Like a reminder of the time he spent wasting while he had his wife alive.

He had joined the army to become a doctor debt free. Then he had spent all of their marriage overseas, saving money for a life they never even got to spend together. He had borrowed time from the future that didn't even exist. And all he had to show for it was ironically - more money - monthly life insurance, disability, and veteran affairs checks. Oh and one and a half legs.

He blinked rapidly. He was not about to cry at work. Nevertheless while he was conducting a residency interview. He diverted the conversation away from himself, "You didn't mention your mom."

"She died. When I was a teenager, about ten years ago. After coming here actually," She coughed out a dry laugh that sounded like she dragged it up through her throat, kicking and screaming. Awfully different to the one Jack had floated out of her moments prior, "She was pregnant and they sent her away without so much as a full consultation. Just chalked her symptoms up to pregnancy and she died from an aortic dissection later that night."

Jack wanted to vomit at the almost exact recountance of how his wife had died. He was so focused on not emptying his breakfast onto Robby's desk that a tear slipped - the first in probably years.

"Oh, Dr Abbot. I didn't mean to make you emotional. I can go back to the professional answer any time you want." Another scoffed laugh, her eyes full of compassion but no tears, "Trust me - it's probably easier for both of us."

Jack really never talked about his late wife anymore. He liked to tell himself he was healed. He most definitely didn't talk about it at work. But he found himself wanting to then - with her, "No it's just - my late wife - she died the same way, about a decade ago. I was away on a stupid bachelor party trip and she didn't want to worry me so she didn't call me about it and then she, uh, never called again."

"Jesus - I am so sorry, Dr Abbot."

He noticed, appreciated, the way her head didn't tip and her eye contact didn't waver. She was not expressing her condolences out of pity or not understanding but of exactly the opposite. She knew exactly how he felt. He ignored the way his heart jumped out of his chest at the thought.

God, Robby really owed him one.

"Thank you - I am sorry about your mom. I am just impressed you still wanna work here. I could never work in the hospital that did that to my wife. The couple years after she passed - I could barely work here."

"Well, the other option was becoming one of those weirdos who swears off doctors and hospitals and science."

Jack tilted his chin at her in consideration, rubbed at the scruff there, and let out a sputtering laugh, "Are you sure that is the only other option?"

He pulled another light chuckle from her and he exhaled. Truly exhaled. For the first time in maybe ten years - like he had been underwater for so long he had forgotten what fresh air felt like.

"This is my way of letting her live on through me. To do something about what happened to her rather than using it as an excuse to sulk through life. I wanna see life as something that comes from me and not at me."

She picked at the lining of her purse that was perched in her lap. The first sign of potentially any nerves. The first time he realized that he was getting the true her. Not the front she must put up for interviews. It didn't seem much different - just a little more vulnerable.

Jack could talk. So much so he had a reputation for it in the ED. He was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a 'God do you ever shutup?' so he was a bit stunned that she had managed to shock him into silence.

He hugged his crossed arms closer to his chest as if that was even possible and just stared.

She cracked a smile, back to what was seemingly her calm and confident self, "Too esoteric for a residency interview?"

"Oh no. Not at all. I just..." Jack couldn't seem to find the right words to tell her that she had just reframed his entire outlook on his life and his grief in one sentence so he settled on, "...I uh never really thought of it that way."

"Me neither. But I have an excellent therapist."

"I will have you know, if you choose to do your residency here, I do not make it a habit of trauma dumping on my residents like I did on you today."

"I think I started that, Dr Abbot. But since I made you cry - does that mean I am in?"

That earned a genuine cackle out of Jack. A cackle. A kind of sound he wasn't even sure he was capable of making anymore but the bright, beaming smile she reciprocated made him want to do it for the rest of his life.

Maybe he owed Robby one.

Jack tried not to think about her as he got the old laptop down from his hallway closet later that night. He may never even see her again. He ignored the fact that that thought made him sick to his stomach.

Tried not to think about how Gloria had never ever personally been the residency candidate welcome committee until today while he googled 'Veteran, disabled, widower therapists near me'.

He tried not to think about how she looked the best anyone has ever looked in that emergency department as he murmured to himself, "God, that's a depressing search."

He tried not to think about how she had the most beautifully intriguing brain of anyone who had ever stepped foot into that hospital, potentially his entire life, as he booked his very first therapy appointment.

bargaining

"Remember when you told me you didn't make it a habit of trauma dumping on your residents?"

Jack didn't even have to look at her to know there was a huge smirk plastered on her face. She had been his resident for a little over a year. Although, it had taken much less time for the ribbing to start.

"Telling you about how Shen won't stop calling me 'Unc'," Jack had put air quotes around the Gen Z slang term as he continued, "is not trauma dumping."

"You seem pretty traumatized by it. You've only brought it up 85 times this shift."

"And to think - I was gonna ask you to a research breakfast after this." Jack nudged his shoulder gently with hers, tried his best to stave off the grin that played on his lips.

"And to think! You're going to anyway, old man." She nudged him right back, a little less gentle causing him to turn his shoulders and gaze towards her, feigning shock and offense.

That got the exact reaction he was fishing for - a big bright smile, loud laugh, and a second or so more of eye contact that he wouldn't have had a reason to justify otherwise.

What can he say? When it came to her - he was greedy.

"You two! I would prefer to get the hand off completed before you're both back on shift tonight. I swear you're like young and dumb medical students after shift sometimes." Dana chastised them but not without a hint of a smile.

Dana had known Jack for over ten years at this point. Seen him in a lot of different moods; but never as happy as this.

"Well, I'm young." She emphasized the 'I' with a smirk and pointed the finger that she had aimed at herself over at Jack, "He is just being dumb."

Jack barked a laugh. A sound that was no longer so foreign to him. No longer so foreign to everyone else in the ED.

He didn't miss the knowing glance Dana shot his way, a grin fighting to appear on both of their faces. He did his best to give Dana a look that said that he wasn't hopelessly infatuated with his resident. That he enjoyed spending time with each of his residents equally. He was not entirely sure he convinced Dana. He wasn't even good at convincing himself.

He could take her to breakfast if it was to help her with her research. It was most definitely not to see how many times he could pull a laugh from her. Bonus points if he got a nose scrunch or an accidental spit take of the orange juice that was already half way down her throat.

He could bring her a coffee every shift if it was to ensure his best resident was energized for her shift. It was not because of the way she looked up at him with her bright, big eyes through her lashes and said "Thank you, Dr Abbot!" like it was some sort of melody. If he started buying coffee for Dr Ellis and Dr Shen as well to make his affection less obvious - what was the difference?

He could let her do a pericardiocentesis way before anyone else her year probably should have if it was to improve her education. And because she truly was ready. He'd have bet his entire career that she was better at it than all of the surgical residents upstairs. Which meant it wasn't so totally obvious that he was staring at her in awe all of the time. Because when she was doing shit like that - everyone was. Being able to guide her hands through a procedure was just a bonus. Even if there were latex gloves between them.

He could bring extra food to shift, knowing she was going to eat half of it, if it was because he wanted to ensure his best resident was properly fueled and empowered to do her job to the best of her ability. He kept it to himself that he drove to a grocery store thirty minutes out of his way to get the specific kind of candy he knew she liked.

He could drive her home if it was to ensure his smartest resident got home safe. It was totally not because he got to spend more time with her. He definitely didn't take the long way to her apartment and he went exactly the speed limit because that was what was safe. Not because it meant extra time with her. No one else needed to know that he went at least fifteen over when she wasn't in his passenger seat.

No one also needed to know that he bought an aux cord just for her because he loved to hear what kinds of songs she liked. He definitely didn't have a playlist compiled of them all that he listened to at home now instead of his police scanner.

denial

She had been his resident for a bit over two years now and the ED was Q word tonight. No one had said it but the combined time they had all spent fucking around at the hub proved it.

Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night. He thought he was being inconspicuous about the amount of time he had been spending with Javadi but his new found interest in the social media app gave him away. Jack couldn't really say anything to his new junior attending about the dangers of falling for someone that you were the superior to without blowing up his own soft spot for a certain resident.

So Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night and he had roped her in.

Jack thought he knew all of her secret talents by now but he watched from behind her, amused and hands tugging at his stethoscope looped behind his neck, as Shen played various Britney Spears songs to see how quickly she could guess them.

She hadn't needed more than 3 seconds for any of them.

Then they were busy for an hour or so. A couple drunk twenty somethings with some concussions and laceration repairs - nothing too crazy. And then they were back at central. The quiet was interrupted by a gasp from Dr Shen. Which was quickly followed by Dr Ellis looking over his shoulder at his phone and then both of them dying laughing.

"I don't even want to know." Jack threw his hands up in surrender.

"Oh, yes you do! You're going viral for being hot!" Shen exclaimed.

"I don't know what viral means if it’s not to do with an infection and I already know that I’m hot thank you very much." Jack didn't even glance up from his charting as he spoke.

“For being hot and being hopelessly in love.” Ellis clarified.

That got Jack's attention. He got up, snatched Shen's phone out of his hand as he muttered, “I am not hopelessly -" he didn't even want to give the accusation a real denial to validate it, "-let me see that.” He pressed play.

It was ironic that he had been telling himself he needed to start schooling his expressions when it came to her when the same dopey smile and enamored eyes he had going in the video were on his face as he watched the video.

He knew Shen and Ellis were monitoring his reaction closely but he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the part of the video where he had guessed the song 'Lucky' before she had.

She had whipped around in the spinning chair so fast - her hair had stuck to her glossed lips, "How the hell do you know that?!" she asked surprised, a wide smile taking over her face.

Jack shuffled around in his wide stance, large hands going from the ends of his stethoscope to clasped behind his back, his chin tilted up at her as he spoke with a drawl, "I let you play your music when I drive you home, don’t I?”

In the moment, Jack had missed what was caught on camera - the knowing smirk Dr Ellis had leveled at Dr Shen off camera as she said, “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

Jack's rebuttal hadn't even had a chance to leave his mouth before Shen and Ellis were reading the comments aloud, taking turns as they went.

"WHOOOO DAT IN THE BACK!?"

"Paging Doctor biceps in the back"

"Close enough. Welcome back Lexie grey and mark sloan"

"What in the greys anatomy"

"Do the two doctor sexys know that age gap august is upon us"

"If she doesn’t wanna bite on his biceps I will"

"Does that girl know she has 30mins to claim that man before I do"

"He does not play about her!"

"A man who YEARNS is a man who EARNS"

"Dr sexy is down bad for the other doctor sexy"

"Where is this emergency room at … for research purposes"

"I want Doctor sexy to look at me like that"

"Okay, I don’t look at her like anything!" Jack hissed low in a whisper, hoping to a god he did not believe in that she was still busy with the drunk college kids and was not hearing any of this.

"Well, you definitely don’t look at me like that." Shen laughed, sucking on his Dunkin straw even though nothing had been left in his cup for hours.

"I look at you all the same." Jack deadpanned. He sat back down at his computer. An attempt to get back to charting. But not before taking a sweep of the ED and making sure she was nowhere within earshot. Not that Shen and Ellis were making it easy with their hysterics.

"Bro - if you looked at me like that I would call HR. She's just into it."

“Into what?" She asked monotonically, not even looking up from her iPad as she approached the rest of the night shift crew at the hub.

“Nothing!” Jack barely got out, grumbling and exasperatedly running a hand through his silver curls as he got up from his computer and went to chairs.

He didn't miss the raise in her brows as she looked at Shen and Ellis, silently asking 'What the hell is up with him?'.

He couldn't tell you the last time he voluntarily went out to chairs but he was hoping his fair Irish skin would be finished betraying him with the pinkness in his cheeks, ears, and neck by the time he made his way back to central.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Shen and Ellis showed her the video and he did not want to be there when they did.

So he missed the flush in her cheeks, ears, and neck that had been identical to his.

And her slightly embarrassed, definitely exaggerated, "You guys stop - he is literally our boss."

"But you're not not into it?" Ellis had pushed. If anyone was getting it out of her, it was Ellis. They had been attached at the hip since their residency began.

"It doesn't matter if I'm into it. He is our boss! He is not into it."

"God, for someone so smart you are so stupid sometimes."

Jack had waved Shen off when Shen had come out to chairs to tell him about that interaction, practically vibrating with excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine. Jack had parroted her, tried to make a joke of it all. Said something along the lines of, "I know you guys like to pretend otherwise but I am your boss."

But once Jack was home, black out shades drawn and snug in his bed, he couldn't wipe the huge, stupid grin off of his face.

anger

Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. Very few things on this earth made him genuinely angry - one of them being the annual hospital gala. Every year they were trotted out as show ponies to raise money that the ED would never even see. You can't save patients with empty compliments and an open bar.

He had managed to avoid it the past couple years - always worked instead. So when he saw he wasn't scheduled to work the night of this year's gala, he printed out the schedule and marched right over to Robby's workstation to rectify what was surely a mistake.

"Why am I not scheduled to work tomorrow? I didn't even check the schedule until now because I just assumed that my friend would do me a solid because he owes me one-"

"Because you have to go to the gala, man." Robby interrupted Jack's rambling.

"What part of 'you owe me one' did you not understand?"

"Did you happen to see who else is not scheduled?"

Neither of them had to say anything for them both to know who's name Jack was scanning that piece of paper for.

Robby clapped him on the back, satisfied with a smile on his face as he walked away, "Go home and rest, Romeo. You got a big date tomorrow night - you’re welcome!"

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

So again, Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. But he had decided to add a new line item to the short list of things that made his blood absolutely boil. The thing being every single young, conventionally attractive, rich, tall surgeon working in his hospital hitting on his resident at this stupid fucking gala.

They hadn't even made it to dinner yet and he was sure she'd been approached over ten times. Jack had to step away after the most recent one - under the guise of getting a drink.

Jack unfortunately was very familiar with this particular suitor of hers. She was well into her last year of her residency and it had not been an uncommon occurrence for Dr Harvard from cardio thoracic surgery to make any and every excuse to come down and consult when she was on shift.

Jack made a conscious effort to forget his name. Shen and Ellis loved to remind him of it.

They'd tease him about it. They'd say that there was a plus side to it all. They never had to wait long on a cardiac surgery consultation anymore. But selfishly, Jack would wait fucking years if it meant he was chatting her ear off instead of Mr Harvard.

Jack wasn't naive. She was practically glowing. She always was. She always looked beautiful. Before tonight, he basically only ever saw her with no makeup on, hair a mess, wearing hospital issued scrubs and he still thought she was the most gorgeous person alive.

But tonight. Tonight, Jack was surprised he did not end up as a patient in his ED the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her hair was carefully curled, framing her perfect face that was painted with just the right amount of makeup. Her lashes were more prominent than usual, her cheeks more flushed and her lips a bit more pink and a lot more glossy.

And then her dress. That damn dress. It was vintage because of course it was. Of course, she found time to vintage shop on top of the grueling hours she put in at the ED. Even in her last year of residency, she had never lost sight of being her own person both in and outside of work.

The dress reminded Jack of something from the prohibition era - celebratory. He was trying not to be so obvious in his celebration of how the structured seams of the powder blue silk created a corset shape that wasn't too tight for a work function but definitely was tight enough to have his imagination wandering.

With delicate lace panels towards the bottom of her dress and the swooping off the shoulder neckline with draped cap sleeves - Jack was being a sap but she looked like she had stepped out of a romance movie. Or off of a runway.

It was the kind of dress that reminded him of when they first met. He loved getting glimpses of her like this. Of who she was outside of the ED.

She had said she found the dress at a second hand shop on consignment. After that he had spent most of their evening dreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand and watch her shop.

Get to see the process of how she selected what she liked. Get to bring her hand up to his lips and kiss it - knowing that he was one of those things that she liked. Maybe even loved. And of course, buy everything her gaze lingered on even when she insisted not to. Especially then.

So Jack was not naive. He knew she was absolutely, positively stunning. He knew even beyond that - she was kind and funny and fucking whip smart. Smarter than anyone he had ever met and in so many different ways. If he could move into her brain - he would. So he was not naive enough to think other men wouldn't flirt with her. They would be fools not to. He just wished he could be the reason they wouldn't.

He sipped his old fashioned and did his best to pretend like he was looking anywhere but at her and Mr Harvard. He can't imagine that he was very successful. A ding from his phone took him out of his misery.

From Shen: Yo - i know you hate that gala shit. Kinda bogus robby made you go. Thought you guys were friends. Anyway, can you come help? Ellis has got a hot date. Or so she says

Jack had never been more thankful to receive a weird text from Shen in his life. He replied with a quick 'On my way' before taking one last glance over at her.

He sighed at the sight of her digging through her purse for something. He couldn’t see her expression but he sure could see Mr Harvard's. Dude couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Jack wished he could do it for him.

Okay chill, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he figured it would be rude to interrupt her to say goodbye. She probably didn’t want her old attending cock blocking her anyways.

Jack set his half finished drink on the bar counter along with a $20 tip and turned on his good heel. He had his hands on the cold metal of the event venue's door when he heard his favorite voice behind him.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Jack turned to see her and the sight made him melt. Arms crossed over her chest, brow furrowed, and lips in a stern line that was slowly slipping into a pout.

"Shen and Ellis need a cover."

"And when were you planning on telling me?" Her hands moved to her hips. Jack's hands flexed at his sides. All he wanted to do was kiss the sass out of her. But he couldn't. She was still his resident. And probably not even interested in him.

"You seemed busy. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet." Jack's response earned an eye roll out of her.

Before he could even blink, her arm threaded under his own - grabbing his bicep, "I'm coming with you."

Who was Jack to argue with that?

"How'd you get out of your conversation with Mr Harvard?"

Another dramatic eye roll. He loved it. Then the prettiest little smile he had ever seen.

"Told him my mean, scary boss said we had to leave."

He couldn't decide his opinion regarding the short walk to his SUV in handicapped parking. One part of him was thankful. He wouldn't be shocked if he had burnt holes in his suit jacket from the way his skin had heated up under her feather light touch. The blush was sure to creep up into his cheeks any moment now.

On the other hand, he could walk for miles if it meant she was touching him the whole way. She stopped at his passenger car door and turned to look at him.

"Mean, scary boss huh?" was all Jack could get out while he was under her gaze. It sounded like he had dragged his words through gravel on their way out. But with the way her eyes still shone in the moonlight and the fact that they were solely trained on his own - he was lucky he managed to get any words out at all.

"The scariest." she winked. She fucking winked. Jack had never been more thankful that he had metal for a leg because if he didn't - his legs were sure to have wobbled out from beneath him right then.

His hands were stuffed into his slack pockets. He didn't trust himself for them to be anywhere else. Her hands had given him a moment of reprieve. No longer lightly squeezing his bicep. But now they trailed up his chest, stopping to pretend to fix his tie even though Jack knew it was perfect. Military habit. Didn't matter - she could do whatever the hell she wanted if it involved touching him.

His breath hitched at her touch. He hoped she didn't notice.

"He cleans up nice though - makes up for all the mean and scary."

"Did your mean, scary boss mention you look beautiful tonight." Jack kept his hands in his pockets but took an experimental step forward. Was this really happening? Was she really hitting on him?

It was almost as if she had heard his inner monologue. Wanted to make her intentions clear as she looped her arms around Jack's neck and absentmindedly threaded her fingers through the curls at the nape there.

Ever since she had started fiddling with his suit, her eyes had dropped to anywhere but his face. Typical Jack would have dipped his head, forced eye contact but Jack right now was just trying to stand up right.

Her gaze snapped to him and this time he hadn't even tried to hide the palpitation in his heart or his breathing, "No." was all she said. Barely a whisper but Jack heard her loud and clear.

His hands immediately fell to her hips. He filed away the way she seemed to sink into his grip. Exhaled a little. Like it was muscle memory from a past life.

Her fingers circled their way higher up onto his head, fully tugging on his curls and lightly scratching at his scalp. Jack had to bite back a groan as he squeezed at her hips and pressed her fully back onto his unopened car door.

"Jack." She murmured out low somewhere between a moan and an airy breath, head tilted back in pleasure at the pressure of his fingers on her hips. Jack was fucked now that he knew what his name sounded like falling off her lips without inhibition.

The expanse of her neck now available to him was like a siren song. The past four years had felt like a siren song and he couldn't help himself any longer. One of his hands found the back of her head, gently cradling it back up for her to look at him. His other hand rubbed at her jaw in sweeping strokes of his thumb.

Neither of them could rip their gaze from the others' lips - their panting chests just a mere centimeter apart. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.

Until he wasn't.

Until a loud bang of the door opening broke them apart. A slew of hospital administrators spilled out behind it looking for their next smoke break. Had Jack mentioned that he fucking hated the annual hospital gala?

They flew off each other at what would have been a rather impressive speed if it hadn't felt so agonizing. What was Jack thinking? That he could make out with his resident against his car like they were a horny teenage couple while all of the people in the building a few feet away from them could have her fired for it in a heartbeat? He had to be better. At least until her residency was over with.

He had to get it together - for the both of them it seemed like. Jack cleared his throat and ran a hand over his stubble to hide the smile threatening to take over his face at the realization that she had wanted to kiss him. The way she had said his name with so much...want. Need, even. Maybe this thing wasn't so one sided after all.

He got out of his own head just in time to stop her closing of the passenger door. He wrapped his hand around the top of the door, held it open and waited for her to look up at him after she had buckled up. But the buckle clicked and her gaze stayed trained on her lap.

"Hey." He whispered softly. They both knew the eye contact he was seeking. She slowly turned her head in his direction, gazing up at where he was standing in front of her.

"You look absolutely breathtaking. You always do."

She sucked in a breath and then there she was - big bright smile, shoulders no longer slumped, no more fiddling with her purse strings just to avoid the space between them. She was back to herself.

"Just for that I'll order pizza to the hospital." His favorite.

"Thank you." He probably should have shut the door by now. Should have probably already been on their way to the hospital. But he couldn't stop fucking staring at her. What's new?

"Don't thank me. I still have your card in my DoorDash account." She giggled and all Jack could get out was good before he shut her door.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

They ate their pizza in their gown and tux at the hub with Ellis and Shen.

Ellis raised the polaroid camera that Dana kept at the hub desk and signaled for them to get together for a photo. Jack hooked two fingers under her rolling stool and tugged her over into his side.

"Woah! Old man still has moves!"

Jack ignored Shen as he wrapped his arm over her collarbone from behind her, pulling her closer. Her head instinctively leaned toward his and her fingers delicately held his wrist as they smiled for Ellis's camera.

Jack didn't miss the look Ellis had given her. Maybe he was delusional or maybe she had gotten her best friend Ellis's advice on making a move on her attending at the gala and now Ellis was checking in on the results.

Jack also didn't miss the way her cheeks heated up and the subtle shake of her head at Ellis. As if to signal that they would talk about it later. Probably, when Jack was out of earshot.

Shen tried to get them to pose like they were going to prom. When they both refused citing unprofessionalism, Shen threw a bit of a hissy fit. Mumbling something along the lines of "Oh, now we are being professional!"

Ellis settled on writing ‘Gala Girlies' as the caption for their polaroid before taping it onto the hub counter with the rest of the pictures that had accumulated over the years. This one was definitely Jack's new favorite.

He knew exactly what Robby was going to say when he saw it tomorrow morning, “You owe me one, brother."

He was so fucked.

acceptance

Jack was bored. He never thought he'd say that but this hospital without her was straight up boring with a capital B. He worked here without her for ten years and now - the ten days of PTO she had taken before her first day as a junior attending - felt like the longest of his life. And he was only on day 6.

He wasn't even supposed to be there right now. He had come in after a Tactical EMS job gone bad. His buddy had already gone up to surgery. Before Jack could leave, Robby had roped Jack into joining him on the new day shift attending, Dr Al-Hashimi's, welcome tour.

He was waiting on a text from her. She was spending the day with her family and then she and Jack were supposed to go watch the fireworks together - alone. It was the Fourth of July after all. He had it all planned. He had practiced how he was going to profess his feelings to her in the mirror like a dork more times than he cared to admit. He had long accepted that he was in love with his resident. Now his colleague. He could work with that.

He checked his phone again. No luck. He ignored Robby's inquisitive glance. Jack had never been so interested in his phone like he had been today.

They stood at the hub as Robby droned on and on about day shift procedures that Jack was so thankful not to have to know too much about. Jack just admired the polaroids on the desk in front of them. He was still plotting a way to inconspicuously steal the one of him and her from the gala for his wallet but it had become a fan favorite in the past few months.

Dr Al-Hashimi directed her next question to Jack, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up his second favorite polaroid with a raised brow, "Am I going to have the pleasure of meeting..." Dr Al-Hashimi squinted to read the writing below the picture, "...Abbot's Angels?"

Jack couldn't help but laugh. The photo had been taken over a year ago. Shen had begged him to take it. Handed the camera over to Jack as he maneuvered himself between the two girls. Both her and Ellis's backs to Shen. All three of them holding up finger guns to their lips with faux serious expressions.

As if her ears were ringing, Dr Ellis appeared behind Jack at the hub. Clapping him on the shoulder and extending a hand out to greet Dr Al-Hashimi, "Don't bring it up to him. He is going through withdrawals because his favorite is still out on PTO."

"Parker - I do not have favorites. You guys aren't even my residents anymore." Jack muttered in defense as he checked his phone again.

Dr Al-Hashimi clocked him, "Dr Abbot - I am good to go here and I am sure I will be seeing you. You should go. It's your day off and a holiday. I am sure you have plans."

"Yeah, what are your plans, Dr Abbot?" Ellis teased. She must have known her best friend's plans were with him for the night. Ellis was enjoying herself. Jack shot her a glare.

"I think his plans just showed up!" Robby clapped his hands together, sputtered out a laugh at the coincidence.

"Brother - I am not taking another case! I am leav-" Jack looked up from unscrewing his water bottle to follow Robby's gaze.

He spotted her mid sip and he genuinely choked on his water in a way he thought only happened in cartoons. He was ready to send Ellis out to chairs when she patted his back like she was burping a baby and suggested that there was a cooling room in North 5 if he needed it.

She was simply glowing. Wavy hair, bright eyes, sun kissed skin donning a short jean skirt and a white halter tank top that accentuated the tan lines over her collarbones left by her bikini.

"Well if it isn’t the prodigal princess of the pitt herself!" Robby goaded, grabbing a clip board and rounding the hub.

The man she was pushing in the wheelchair piped up at that, "You guys actually call her that? Seriously? I thought she was making that up. Please stop - her ego is big enough as it is."

"What do you got?" Robby asked. Jack was still staring. Who the fuck was this guy?

"Idiot male. 37 years old. Broke his ankle trying to relive his glory days coaching youth soccer practice," She was leaned over, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, "and could stand to lose a few pounds."

That pulls an almost relieved huff from Jack. Whoever this guy was - she must've not been that fond of him.

"Hey -" the man reached behind him and tugged on her hair "-my arms still work!"

Oh hell no, Jack thought. Ellis must have noticed he was about to step in and she stopped him before he could, "At ease, soldier. That is her brother."

"Well your brain clearly doesn't" she whacked him right upside the head.

Her brother imitated her, high pitched while she made a show of dramatically handing over his wheelchair to Robby so he could take him away for X-rays.

She thanked Robby as she made her way over to the hub, introducing herself to Dr Al-Hashimi and grabbing the bag of candy that Jack was offering out to her.

She looked him up and down and nodded her head at his camouflage pants, "Really? What is with the GI Jack get up? I thought you were gonna get a hobby.”

"And I thought you said you were gonna stop stealing my food."

"And I thought you said you were gonna stop buying t-shirts one size too small."

"From Walmart." Dr Ellis added.

"You guys, I told you - I do not shop at Walmart."

She giggled and gently nudged her shoulder into Ellis's, "Oh yeah Parker, how could we forget? He shops at Costco!"

"They send good coupons in the mail!" Jack defended himself

"Bro - you're a disabled, widowed veteran who makes more than half a million dollars a year. I think you can afford real clothes." Ellis deadpanned.

“Any other comments from the fashion police about my outfit?”

“Don’t threaten us with a good time.”

Jack cocked his head towards her, smirk widening. He couldn't hide how happy he was to see her. It had been a long couple of days, "And to think I was just starting to miss you."

"Just starting to!?" She raised her eyebrows in challenge, feigning offense while her eyes practically sparkled up at him. He could feel the weight of Ellis's knowing smile on them. He didn't care.

He was debating how obvious it would be for him to pull her into a hug until Dana beat him to it.

"Dr Al, you have just met one of our finest," Dana squeezed her harder, "Except you probably won't see her much because Abbot is always hogging her on nights."

She was released from Dana's grip just enough to clap a light hand on Jack's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, "He needs someone to keep him sharp in his old age."

Jack grimaced the second her hand had made contact with his shoulder and dread washed over her face. Dana fully released her now. Letting her turn all of her attention onto Jack.

“Jack…”

“I’m fine.” He avoided her probing stare and that was exactly how she knew he was not fine.

“Really?” She asked - not buying what he was selling.

“Yes!" She applied light pressure on his shoulder again and he wriggled out of her grasp with a sharp and hissed, "- ah!”

“The room right there is open. Go patch him up.” Dana pointed to the room across the hall. Shooing them in there before Jack had a chance to protest.

Jack sat on the bed as she shut the door and pulled the curtain. Her back was still turned to him as she said, "Take off your shirt."

"At least let me take you to dinner first." Jack tried to pull a laugh from her. It didn't go over well.

"Jack." She warned. Now turned toward him with her arms crossed, “What happened?”

“I was intubating in open fire and a bullet grazed my vest. I’m fine.” He shrugged as he pulled off his shirt. As if what he just said was a completely normal and frequent occurrence.

“You were shot!?” She hurried over to him, standing in between his legs as he sat on the bed.

“Shot…at."

She tilted her head at him in annoyance. Pausing her opening of the various utensils she was preparing to clean his wound.

“What?” He asked.

“Can’t you just take up tennis or golf or literally anything else? Like a normal person?”

“What fun would that be?” Jack insisted upon keeping it light. She shouldn't ever have to worry about him. That was his job.

She lathered some kind of ointment onto his open wound that was on the front of his chest, right above his collar bone. Jack was too distracted by how close they were to care and see what kind.

“There is nothing fun about me coming to work one day and finding out you’re dead because you wanted an adrenaline rush.”

“That isn’t gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that. You think you’re invincible and you’re not.”

“Is that an old joke?”

“Jack-“ her voice cracked and Jack was immediately on his feet, cupping her face in his hands.

“Woah, woah honey okay - I thought we were kidding. I’m fine.” He cooed, one hand stroked her cheek bone making sure not one tear fell while the other steadied her at her hip as she stood between his legs.

“Look at me." He tilted his chin down while he tilted hers up, holding her gaze with his own, "I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere."

“I won’t survive you dying, Jack. I can't.” Her voice sounded wrecked as her chin wobbled. Jack felt horribly responsible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Naturally, like they had been in this position a million times before. He murmured into the side of her hair, “Okay forget the SWAT thing. Although, you should’ve seen me earlier in my full uniform I looked pretty sick”

Jack huffed a sigh of relief as he felt her laugh vibrate through him. He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders to get another good look at her, "There's my girl."

She wiped a sniffle with the back of her hand and lightly pushed him back down to a seat. His hands never left her. Just slid down her body until he rested them on the outsides of her upper thighs - a safe distance away from the hem of her jean skirt.

She worked in silence for a moment until Jack piped back up, “I’ll pick up tennis or golf like a normal person. I promise.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I just want you to have a little more regard for your life okay? Can you please just do that for me?”

“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Jack didn't even think that was an exaggeration.

“Except for wearing the correct size shirt.”

He teasingly pinched her leg and she swatted at his good shoulder, laughing. She was done helping him but they hadn't moved. Neither of them really wanted to.

“That’s for you too. Don’t think I don’t see you staring at my biceps.”

Her eyebrows rose in faux surprise as she dragged a hand down his freckled arm.

“Oh you wanna talk about staring? I must have picked that up from someone.”

“This is a teaching hospital.”

“Could’ve mistaken it for a staring one.”

“Come on - you’re always performing medical miracles while looking like that. I can’t help it. Cut a guy some slack.” Jack's hands felt like they were on fire, practically kneading her thighs. God, she really had to wear this skirt today of all days.

“You’re a flirt, you know that?”

“Only with you.”

They had about a second to jump apart at the sound of a knock on the door before the curtain was pulled back to reveal Dr Al-Hashimi.

Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. Both him and her were looking anywhere but each other. Jack wasn't planning on getting excited but he was thankful he had placed his shirt over his lap to cover himself now that they were no longer alone.

Dr Al-Hashimi cleared her throat, obviously picking up on the fact that she had interrupted something, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.”

Dr Al-Hashimi handed Jack a piece of paper and then turned to her, "You have a visitor from cardio thoracic surgery outside."

Jack groaned. Could Mr Harvard have any worse timing? She shot Jack a glare and stepped outside. Jack could see the shadow of Mr Harvard who he knew was down here pretending he'd have something to do with her brother's ankle surgery just to flirt.

He caught the end of her dismissing Mr Harvard's valiant attempt at being her knight in shining armor. Jack smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hub to catch up with her. He was explaining a procedure to Whitaker as he walked, "You're gonna have to start with your finger. And then slowly over a few minutes as the wetness gathers, go deeper. All the way to the back of the knuckle."

Whitaker nodded in understanding and was on his merry way. She turned right on Jack the second he was in her vicinity.

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"Problem?" Jack asked, genuinely perplexed.

Her voice pitched down, she whispered, "Why do you have to say everything so unnecessarily slutty? You wanna ask Whitaker out too!?"

Now that - Jack was not expecting. He quirked his eyebrow up in surprise. Also in confusion.

"Ask Whitaker out? What are you-"

He was cut off by a little girl screaming her name and running right into her arms, "Look! Look! Your work is on my new soccer jersey!"

The girl couldn't be older than five. Jack recognized the little girl as her niece from photos she had shown him. He noticed who must have been her sister in law a few feet away, talking to Robby presumably about discharge instructions for her brother as he awaited surgery that he would probably have next week once the swelling went down.

"What are you talking about? Lemme see that." She plucked the jersey from her niece and examined the PTMC logo on it.

Jack knew his cheeks were ruby red. He could see the gears in her head putting it all together as she stared at the small jersey with the ironed on PTMC ED patch. A couple weeks ago, she had told him offhandedly that her niece's soccer league was going to get cancelled since they had no sponsor. So Jack called up the park district and paid for it himself. Under the guise it was the PTMC ED. It was no big deal. If her niece was happy, she was happy.

She put her niece down next to her on the ground as her eyes looked up to Jack, softening, "We don't have the budget for this."

"I know. But I do."

She opened her mouth to say something but her niece cut her off, climbing into her dad's lap on his wheelchair as he, her sister in law, and Robby joined them at the hub, "Auntie, is this Dr Sexy?"

Jack's lips immediatley preened, quirking up into an amused smirk, Dr Ellis and Robby doubled over in laughter.

"No baby - this is Dr Abbot." She tried to recover, her eyes blown wide, mouth agape and her cheeks beet red. She couldn't even look at Jack.

"But you always call him Dr Sexy when you are talking to mommy. What does sexy mean?"

"OKAY-" she said loudly, still looking anywhere but at Jack. She turned her gaze on her brother as she clapped her hands together, "-it is time for you all to leave."

"Only if Dr Sexy walks us out." Her brother teased.

She groaned, putting her head in her hands as Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hid in the crook of his neck, "I am getting a new job."

"Oh no you're not."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack met her at her car after he helped her family to theirs. “Dr Sexy, huh?”

“Shut up. I'm trying to be annoyed with you and you’re making it damn hard”

“Why are you annoyed with me?” Jack steadied himself with a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him, leaning against her car door.

“Seriously?"

Jack just raised his eyebrows back at her in question.

She mirrored his stance, crossed arms over chest, "So you go on dates now?”

“What are you talking about? Is this about tonight? If you don't want to go anymore we don't have to-”

She imitated him and Dr Al-Hashimi from earlier, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.” She emphasized the word.

Jack rubbed his hand over his face, stopping at his scruff and trying to mask the smirk that was threatening to take over his face, “Are you…jealous?”

She scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant but Jack knew her too well for that, “Me? Jealous? No, Jack I just think it’s wildly inappropriate. This is our workplace.”

“Well that’s a damn shame because I didn’t ask Dr Al on a date. I’m setting her up on one. With my army buddy actually."

Her lips formed a barely there oh, "Well…now I just feel like a bitch."

Jack laughed and stepped closer, shaking his head in refute to her statement. He let his hands find purchase on her car, caging her in.

His voice came out far more groveled than expected, "But I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for going on, oh I don’t know almost five years now, but if you think it’s so wildly inappropri-"

“I don’t!”

“You dont? But I thought-“

He earned himself an eyeroll and a stern, “Jack.”

“You just said-" He couldn't help the huge grin spreading across his face.

“I know what I said.”

“So - let me get this straight - it’s only wildly inappropriate if it’s a date with anyone but you? Is that stated somewhere in the HR handbook or-”

"God, do you ever shutup?" And then her lips were on his.

His whole body felt like it was on fire. Her hands on each side of his face, his squeezing at her hips and pressing her up against the car. Just like that night at the gala. Except this time he actually got to kiss her. He was kissing her.

His head spun at the way her fingers circled around to the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. He cradled her jaw in one strong hand and grabbed her waist with the other, hand pushing up the white tank she had on to make contact with her bare skin. They couldn't possible get any closer but it still didn't feel close enough.

Jack didn't want to ever stop the exploration of his hands along her body. He grabbed at the flesh on the outside of her upper thigh, hiking it up slightly around his hips. She ground herself down onto his bulge and the gasp she let out was heavenly. Jack took the chance to swipe his tongue into her mouth, as she ground down again, slower this time. Jack couldn't keep his moan from tumbling out.

He pulled back ever so slightly, their lips still practically touching as their chests heaved, "Baby, where are your keys?"

"My keys? That is what you care about right now?" She went to grind on him again but Jack's hands grabbed her hips, halting her.

"If you keep doing that I am going to come in my pants in the hospital parking garage and I would much rather come somewhere else in the comfort of my own home. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to take my time with you."

"How long?" She asked as she slipped her keys into Jack's front pocket.

"Inappropriatley long. Now get in the car so Dr Sexy can drive us home."

"I am never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Absolutely not."

"I hate you."

Jack grabbed her chin and peppered her face with kisses, ending with one on her lips as she giggled. Kissing her hard because he could do that now, "Somehow, I am not convinced."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack's left hand flexed hard on her steering wheel. His right hand preoccupied with a steady grip on her upper thigh. Her left hand played with his curls as he drove.

"What are you thinking about?"

"How after the gala last year I went home and touched myself. Imagined my fingers were yours." Jack choked on nothing at her words.

"Jesus Christ - I am trying not to cause a mass casualty event, honey. Can you please just wait till we get home."

She groaned his name in frustration and squeezed his fingers between her thighs, trying to find friction anyway she could.

"You're that needy?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Show me then." His voice was gritty and low as he knocked her knees apart. He batted down the sun visor on her side, sliding the mirror cover up and aiming it perfectly to reflect her lap.

She whined at the loss of contact as both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes screwed shut and her chest lifted, breathing heavy. The way her hard nipples were peaking through her tank top was enough to make Jack scared he was going to crash the car.

"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me. You think you can handle that for me, baby?"

His words seemed to hit her all at once. Demanding in the way it was when he was ordering people around the ED. The tone went straight to her core as she hiked her jean skirt up over her hips and slid her small lacy black thong down her legs. She stuffed it in one of the pockets of Jack's camo pants, lightly squeezing his bulge as she did. All Jack could murmur out was a hissed fuck as she angled her center to the mirror above her, giving him a perfect view of her absolutely soaked core.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes, yes I can handle it. I promise." She rushed her words out in one run on sentence, out of breath as her chest heaved.

"Good girl, baby. Show me how you touch yourself."

She nodded as she began to rub her clit, her voice shakey as she spoke, "I start like this and I think about everything you said to me that day. When you tell me good job after a prodecure or how you order everyone around or how-"

A tumbled moan falls from her lips, cutting herself off.

"Do you play with these pretty tits?" Jack reached over and gripped the nape of her neck, tugging at the string of her halter top and letting it fall. He pulled it down, her tits spilling out as he tweaked a nipple, kneading it after with his palm.

He thought she squeaked out a soft uh huh with a nod that trailed into a moan as her right hand slipped two fingers into her center. The sound was obscene as she pushed in and out, her head falling back and her chest pushing forward into Jack's hand.

"Jack!" She was getting louder now, the pace of her fingers moving quicker. The tone of her voice filled with unabashed need.

"What else, baby?"

All she could do was babble in response. Jack's hand fell from her nipples to her pussy, giving it a slap before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, "Do you see how pretty your pussy is? What was that you said earlier? That I say everything so slutty? Look who's the slut now."

They both saw the way her pussy contracted around her two fingers at his words. The way her already dripping core somehow managed to get even more wet at the filth he was spilling.

"Oh you like when I am a little mean, don't you?"

She could barely nod, her chest hitting her chin as her breathing became more rapid the closer she inched towards her finish line.

"You wanna come for me?"

"Please." She panted. Jack smirked to himself as he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from her center before she could even think about finishing, and pressed her fingers into his mouth - licking them clean.

Her head lolled against the seat, she groaned his name. A mix of frustration and want as she dazedly stared at him.

"I've waited almost five years to taste you, honey. You can wait five more minutes till we are home, yeah?"

She huffed out an, "I hate you."

"Somehow, I am not convinced." He chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack held her hand gently as he tugged her into his house. She was practically bouncing on her heels behind him. "I'm gonna shower first and then-"

"Like hell you are." She snipped. Now she was pulling him. Through his foyer and straight to his couch where she perched herself on his lap, bracketing his hips with her thighs and grinding down on his bulge that was dying to spring out of his pants.

He pushed her skirt back up her hips and rubbed her upper thighs as she rocked her bare pussy down on him, her hands steadying herself on his neck as she leaned into press her mouth to his.

Jack's chest was heaving, "Baby, I'm all sweaty and gross from TEMS."

"I couldn't care less, Jack. You might be patient enough to wait five years but I sure as hell am not. Please touch me."

"Like this?" His fingers rubbed her clit, her head falling back in relief at him finally touching her where she needed him most.

"God, you were dripping all over your car and now you're soaking my couch? Who's got you so worked up?" She gasped as Jack entered two thick fingers in her, kissing up her neck as he did. Nipping at her jaw line as he pulled her tank top down so he could swirl his mouth around one of her sensitive nipples.

She pulled his shirt off over his head, flashing him a mischevious smirk before, "Dr Harvard from cardiac surgery."

Jack's fingers stopped immediatley. She whined and writhed in his lap at the loss of contact. Jack wrapped his other hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, "I thought you were gonna be good for me?"

"I will, I will. I am." She begged. Jack didn't know what he did in a past life to get her begging like this in his lap but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Atta girl." He cooed, adding a third finger and plunging back into her tight core, "I am gonna ask you again - what's got you so worked up?"

"You, Jack! Your voice and your arms and your curls and these stupid fucking pants."

"Oh my girl likes my uniform, yeah? Is that what had you so bratty today? Want me to fuck you in it?"

"Please." she huffed. Sweat beading at the top of her forehead as she began to rock her hips, riding his fingers.

"Come for me first."

"Yeah, thats it." Jack hissed, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock where his fingers were. That would surely lead to an early curtain call, "That's it. My good girl."

"Fuck, Jack" She let out a shakey laugh as she came down from her orgasm, riding it out on Jack's fingers as she threaded her fingers in his hair.

"The uniform really does it for you, huh?"

She kissed him hard, "You do it for me. The uniform is just a bonus."

Jack readjusted her in his lap, pushing her legs open further over the expanse of his thick thighs. She whined at the stretch, "Come here, baby. you're doing so good for me. Wanna take my time with you."

"You can take your time with me later. I need you to fuck me now."

"Yeah? That needy, huh?"

"Yes, Jack please." She murmured as she undid the belt on his camo pants.

"You're the boss." Jack winked. He may have been her boss at work. She may have liked him bossing her around in bed. But she was the boss in every other sense of the word.

"Funny."

"Glad you think so." Jack hissed as she wrapped her hand around his hard length, preening with pre cum at the tip. She pushed his pants and his boxers down in one go, his erection immediatley slapping up against his stomach.

Jack's head fell back onto the couch as he let out a moan, her fingers rubbing the precum from his tip down his shaft and back up again. She spit into her hand and repeated the same movement. Jack thought he might come right then and there.

"Wanna ride you, please. I'm clean and have an IUD. Need to feel you."

Jack couldn’t even get words out. He was too busy trying not to come from a handjob like a horned up teenager, "Same. Mm clean, too" He managed to get out, eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure wracked his body, "Fuck, baby."

She sunk down on him in an instant, relishing the stretch and sending them both into a fit of whimpered moans. Jack used one hand on her hip to guide her motions, the other rubbing up and down her back, eventually landing in her hair as he tugged her forward into a blistering kiss. Now that he knew what her lips felt like he was never gonna go long without kissing them.

"Fuck!" She rocked down hard on him again, "You feel fucking phenomenal. So tight, So. Perfect." He emphasized his praise with kisses, "Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for me."

He took the hand from her hair and placed it on her clit, rubbing it as she started to rock quicker. He could tell she was close again. He was in danger of spilling over at any second, "You have no business being so good at this. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long baby. Fuck, look at you." Jack brought the hand from her hip up to her mouth, pushing his thumb into her mouth, moaning as she immediatley began to suck on it.

"All these years. Had a feeling you'd get off on praise. Knew you'd wanna be so good for me. Knew you'd be such a good slut just for me, yeah?"

"Yeah, please. Just for you, I promise." Jack didn't know how he had managed to keep himself from finishing with the way she was riding him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, brought herself all the way up and then slowly rocked herself back down, taking all of him and making sure he felt every fucking inch of her velvety walls.

"If you keep doing that I am not gonna last long." He managed to grunt out.

"Then don't. Come in me, please. Want you to fill me up."

Those words alone did it for Jack as he spilled his warm release into her, continuing to rub her clit. "Give me another one baby. I know you can do it. You can do anything. You're fucking brilliant. Your brilliant fucking brain. C'mon, I feel you clenching. Let go. Come on my cock, please."

She tugged hard on his hair, mixing her own release with his as she came. Panting into Jack's mouth as he whispered, "Good girl."

Jack cradled her cheek as she rode out her orgasm on his cock, whispering praise as she did. He swiped two fingers through the mix of their arousals and brought them to her mouth.

Jacks eyes watched, mesmerized, blown out with arousal as she sucked on his fingers, released them with a pop and then, "The second I saw you in that uniform I wanted to drop to my knees in the middle of the hub and suck the soul out of you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her bare chest over his and nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses there as he scratched her back. His laugh vibrated through her, "Jesus Christ - you can't say shit like that when I'm still inside of you."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He eventually gently cleaned her up. Once she agreed to finally get off of him. He had to bribe her with kisses. He didn't mind one bit. He dragged her to the shower which lead to him having to clean her up again. Again, he didn't mind one bit.

He was at the stove now. Donning only a pair of gray sweatpants as he cooked dinner and watched her pad around his kitchen in only his tshirt and some basketball shorts with probably the dopiest smile of all time on his face.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his side. He used his free hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, pressing kisses into her hair. She behaved for a moment until he felt a pair of soft lips pressing kisses across the side of his chest that was accessible to her.

He turned the burner down, dropped the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta on the counter and then grabbed her hips, trapping her against his kitchen island, "You're going to make me burn dinner."

She put her finger to her lips, pretended to think about what he had to say and then with a quick kiss to his lips she muttered against them, "Mmmm, don't care!"

He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone and put it in her hands, "Put on music. It is already hooked up to the speaker system,"

He picked her up by her hips, causing the cutest squeal he had ever heard, and plopped her down onto his counter. He rubbed a gentle thumb against her cheek, the other against her hip as he stood between her legs, "You need to eat, baby."

She grumbled a fine. She knew when it came to taking care of her - Jack would not budge. She scrolled through his Spotify - she wanted to find something both of them would like but first she was gonna stalk what he already listened to. Of course her curiosity was gonna get the better of her.

A quiet gasp fell from her lips - causing Jack to look over from his spot in front of the stove, "What?"

She turned his phone screen to him, already spotting the flush creeping up on his chest. He recognized the playlist almost immediatley. Made up of all the songs she had played while he drove her home these past couple years - simply titled with her name. There was hundreds of songs on there.

"Did you make this? Do you listen to it?"

Jack figured now was as good a time as ever to lay out all his cards onto the table. Even if he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look up from the dinner he was cooking. He spoke fast, "Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I replaced the police scanner with it?"

"Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I am so beyond in love with you?"

Jack's head snapped up from the dinner. He'd never moved so quickly in his life. He was back to standing in between her legs, holding her face - just staring at her with a huge smile. The same expression was being mirrored back to him. It made his heart soar.

"You do? I mean, you are?"

She laughed, "Where have you been the past couple years?”

"Waiting for you to realize that I've been hopelessly in love with you."

"Are we the dumbest smart people alive?"

"Potentially. But doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Only you. Only us." He kissed her now. Slotted his lips over hers like the perfect final piece of a puzzle. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of her fingers finding their home in his curls. He couldn't believe that this was real. That she loved him. He already knew that the astronomical amount he loved her was very, very real.

"God, I love you." Kiss, "So much." Another kiss.

"Say it again." Jack whispered against her lips, smiling like a little kid.

"I love you, Jack."

He pulled back just a bit. Just enough to murmur how much he loved her and get a good look at her face, "Remember when you were so jealous earlier?" He teased.

"I was not-" She began to deny it but Jack leveled a look at her, "I hate you!" she giggled, swatting at his shoulder that was not bandaged up.

"Somehow, I am not convinced." He preened.

"Mmmm, good." She was kissing him again. He could do this forever. He will do this forever - if he has anything to say about it.

The ding of her phone was what made him pull away. But not by much. They both looked at the cause of the disruption, Jack planting kisses up and down her neck, jaw, and chest as she unlocked her phone.

From Robby: Doing scheduling. Can you pick up a shift next Tuesday night please? Shen needs off. You'll get to see your doctor sexy🤪

They both let out a cackle. Jack took her phone and took a selfie with his middle finger up. He sent it to Robby along with a message that read, 'Stop texting my girlfriend.'

"Girlfriend, huh?"

Jack rubbed up and down her thighs as he spoke, "Figured you might think I was insane if I said wife after just one day but trust me that is part of the plan."

"What else is in the plan?”

“Maybe a kid or two? Or four? Or zero. Really as many or as little as you’ll give me. I’m just happy to be here.”

She chuckled, kissed him while lovingly stroking his face, “I like that plan.”

“Yeah?” He asked, brimming with hope.

She nodded as her phone went off again, a message from Robby flashing across the screen. Jack kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips before reading it out loud - sending them both into a fit of giggles.

From Robby: You owe me one, man.

Boy, did he.

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

Everyone Has A Favourite - Jack Abbot

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Female Reader

Summary: Every attending he’d ever known had a favourite resident. It was an unspoken but universal truth. They weren’t supposed to, but it was just human nature. It wasn’t any different than how Robby favoured Langdon, he reasoned.

Or, Jack Abbot is a liar and everyone knows it but him.

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies (probably), mentions of drowning and loss of a pediatric patient, vague allusions to Jack’s tendency to stand on the roof and debate which way he wants to take down. The official timeline means nothing to me, this was written entirely on vibes.

—————————————————————

There was a certain rhythm to working in an Emergency Room, a cadence that took time and practice to fall into step with. It wasn’t easy to achieve but for those who managed it, most shifts spent within eventually felt completely and utterly ordinary.

You had joined PTMC’s night shift almost two years ago, during your second year of residency. Jack Abbott had been wary of you at first, he was wary of all new second year residents when they joined his team. In his experience, second year residents usually knew just enough, had just enough confidence and thought they had just enough experience to make them at risk of becoming arrogant. And that kind of arrogance, unearned and out of place, was dangerous in an ER. 

He’d been pleasantly surprised, over the course of your first shift, to find that he hadn’t seen so much as a trace of that on you. He hadn’t said anything that first night, holding firmly to his mild scepticism and thinking that perhaps it was down to being your first shift, that you were simply trying to put your best foot forward. He knew that the ER wouldn’t take long to throw you into situations so stressful that any facade you were holding would crack, and then he’d get the true measure of you.

When he did, that measure wasn’t anything he’d expected it to be. You had continued to surprise him at every turn. You had an uncanny ability to read a room and adopt whatever approach made your patients feel the most comfortable around you. You took direction well, but didn’t rely on it. You never cowered under his intense scrutiny and you stood your ground against him when you felt strongly about something, usually something that Gloria would hate but that you felt was in the best interest of your patient or their family. You made mistakes, of course you did, no doctor in the history of medicine had ever had a perfect career. When you did, you took it hard, almost personally, and it often reminded him that while it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to care that much, it was a fine edge to walk between caring and burning out. And you were one of the most promising residents he’d seen in a good while, so maybe he watched a little more closely with you than he would the other residents. Maybe he took five minutes more to debrief than he would with them. Maybe he looked to you first on the more complex cases, the ones where he needed someone by his side who he knew he could rely on. 

Every attending he’d ever known had a favourite resident. It was an unspoken but universal truth. They weren’t supposed to, but it was just human nature. It wasn’t any different than how Robby favoured Langdon, he reasoned. That reasoning was given many times, to many people who noticed the difference in him around you. It held firm until your final year of residency, and then it began to crumble. 

—————————————————————

The first time Jack Abbot realised he might be in trouble when it came to you was on one of those completely ordinary night shifts.

The tempo of the Pitt beat steadily in the hum of machines, the soft tapping of chart notes into iPads and the roll of gurney wheels on linoleum flooring. It hadn’t been slow, it never was, but it hadn’t been crazy either. 

You’d been in with patients, and so had he. It was the final year of your residency, and you’d proven yourself more than capable so the reins had loosened and now he waited, knowing you’d come to him if you really needed to, so he hadn’t seen you for a while. 

Your current patient was a man who was so drunk it was almost impressive he’d been conscious when he got here. He’d taken a drunken stumble down a stone staircase, leaving him with several cuts in need of stitches and a broken leg that wasn’t causing him any pain right now but certainly would be in a few hours. You’d supervised as one of the student doctors dealt with the stitches, but he’d need minor surgery for that leg and since it wasn’t life threatening, there was more risk in administering the anaesthetic while he was this drunk than there was in waiting so you’d given him an IV to help him sober up and said you’d check back in a little while. This was, apparently, the green light the patient’s friend had been waiting for in order to begin flirting with you incessantly.

“Come on, I’ve always wanted to date a nurse,” he said trailing after you as you headed for the Hub to check the board, evidently not to be deterred by the fact that you’d gently turned him down twice already between there and the patient’s room. 

Lena and Bridget were both within earshot as you arrived, and the three of you exchanged knowing looks. You bristled at the guy’s words, relieved that you knew them well enough that they’d know you weren’t annoyed at being mistaken for a nurse – honestly, everyone who worked here knew that the place would crumble within the day if not for them – but at the fact that misogyny was alive and well and in your face at 2 a.m., with no sign of leaving you alone. 

There were some things that were just a fact of life when you were a woman in medicine. You could deal with the fact that some patients still looked to the males in the room before you, that some would glance at Jack or Shen after you explained a procedure or treatment plan as if to make sure they approved and you could handle the occasional condescending ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey’ tossed your way. But you’d just spent the best part of an hour cleaning up after his friend’s drunken genius and you’d reached the middle of your shift, that part where you flagged before catching your second wind. You were running on watered down caffeine and stubborn will alone and you were done being polite. 

“Admirable,” you replied dryly, looking down at the iPad you were tapping your notes into, “but I’m a doctor, actually.” 

“Even better!” Your tone clearly wasn’t making it through the haze of alcohol misting his brain. He reached out, locking a hand around your wrist and tugging you until you were looking at him. “Just get breakfast with me when you’re done here.”

Jack had been doing a loop of the floor, checking on med students and other residents and he’d rounded the corner just in time to hear this guy start digging his own grave. He hadn’t intervened initially because he had complete faith that you’d handle this.

It was right about the time the guy put his hand on you that what he’d privately come to think of as ‘The Langdon Defence’ experienced its first significant crack, because the anger that rose in him had nothing to do with the fact that you were his favourite resident and everything to do with fact that you were you. As he made himself approach with a calm he didn’t feel, he heard you turn the man down and saw the way his grip tightened on your wrist just a little. 

You glanced down and were just about to forcibly yank your arm out of this asshole’s grip when you felt the change in the air. 

Jack had stepped right up beside you, close enough that you felt more than saw it when he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, and looked pointedly down at where the unwanted hand was still holding you. He didn’t raise his voice, but the warning rolled off him in waves anyway. “I believe you already got your answer.”

“Alright, man.” He released you, holding his hands up in surrender and stepping back. As he turned to leave, he looked back at you and said, “Could have just told me your boyfriend worked here too.”

Everyone watched his retreat, not saying a word. Then you turned, abandoning the iPad you’d been using to chart on the counter and stalking down the hallway towards the break room.

That whole interaction left frustration vibrating through you, and you pushed through the door with more force than you’d intended and it slammed shut behind you. You weren’t surprised when Jack followed you thirty seconds later, you’d felt him ghosting down the hallway behind you. 

“What the hell was that?” You ranted into the descending silence, glaring out the break room window. When Jack didn’t immediately reply, you turned to look at him. Everyone knew he was hard to read, but you liked to think that you’d gotten pretty good at it in the time you’d known him. Right now, his eyes were drawn and narrowed in a way that told you he’d be frowning if he was anyone else. 

“Did I overstep?” He asked. “He had his hands on you, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

As Jack watched you pace the room, awareness covered his whole body in a slow crawl. He wasn’t worried that he’d overstepped as your attending, protecting staff was his job and he’d have stepped in for anyone else. Although, he was realising, not with the same motivation. What he wouldn’t have done with anyone else, was question his choice or care if they got annoyed at him for it.

“No.” You blew out a breath, rubbing a hand over your face and rolling your shoulders to try and shake out some of the tension. “You didn’t. You were. It’s not you I’m mad at,” you promised him honestly. “It just makes me beyond angry that he didn’t back off until another man stepped in, and then only because he assumed there was something between us and not because he heard me tell him no.”

The worry bled out of his face at your assurance that he hadn’t been the cause of your frustration. He let you vent for a minute or two about how ridiculous it was that women had to worry about their professionally required niceties being taken as licence to hit on them relentlessly on top of everything else, watching you in that steady way of his.

“Anyway,” you said, winding down, “I guess I’ve just reached that point in the shift where I’m cranky, hungry and in desperate need of a caffeine hit. I’ll rally.”

“You always do. Here, take this.” Jack reached into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a granola bar and holding it out to you. 

“Were you a boy scout in another life or something?” You teased him, feeling better as soon as his lip twitched in an almost smile. “How long has that thing been in there?” 

“Rude. ‘Always be prepared’ is not exclusive to the boy scouts. I brought it to shift with me today, would you just take it?” 

He was still holding the granola bar out to you expectantly and you rolled your eyes when you took it from him, but you appreciated him looking out for you. 

“Hide out here for five minutes. Eat that, get some coffee. Don’t give that asshole any more of your brain space.” Jack lingered for another second or two, that same debate flickering in his eyes, before he made to leave. 

“Hey,” you called out to him as he opened the door. “Thank you.”

His face softened for the most fleeting of moments, and he nodded at you.

—————————————————————

After that, a mid-shift check in became just another thing Jack did with you that he didn’t do with anyone else.

The Pitt didn’t always allow time for it, but whenever the two of you could make it happen, you did. Jack started bringing an extra snack with him to every shift, he’d pour each of you a coffee and you’d steal five minutes of calm between the constant storms of the ER. Sometimes you talked; about the hard cases and the weird ones, about shitty hospital policies, how Gloria might genuinely be trying to kill you all and how this ‘work-life balance’ everyone was suddenly going on about had never come within a fifty mile radius of this place, about funny personal anecdotes and, very occasionally, the meaningful parts of your individual histories. Equally as often, though, you just sat together quietly. Silence hadn’t always been something you’d appreciated, but the hospital was always so loud and silence with Jack was never awkward, never expectant.

Tonight had been one of those nights where you hadn’t had a hope of finding the five minutes that had quickly become your favourite part of every shift. It had been chaos from the second the day shift had handed over a full board of patients and an even fuller waiting room. Lena ran the place with ironfisted efficiency and unflappable calm but you’d still been pulled this way and that, by both your own patients and the med students who were triaging. 

For several hours, you only caught glimpses of Jack as you bounced from room to room, patient to patient, the two of you never seeming to be in the same place at the same time. That had all changed in a matter of seconds.

“We’ve got incoming. ETA four minutes,” Lena called out, putting the phone down and raising her voice to carry the news to everyone within earshot. “Eleven year old female, warm water submersion, estimated down time ten minutes. Asystole on scene, CPR ongoing.”

Nothing changed the feel of the ER like a pediatric patient. It sharpened every single member of staff without fail, no matter what else was going on with them. This time was no different, but the sharpness was undercut with a hint of desperation already. Warm water drowning, the kind that came with bathtubs and swimming pools, was so much worse than cold. The cold was a shield, it protected the brain and prolonged the window before cellular death occurred. The saying amongst emergency staff was ‘you’re not dead until you’re warm and dead’. If the patient had been submerged in warm water, then your window was cut almost in half before you even started. 

Jack took the hand off, and you vaguely processed the medical details, but the girl’s older sister was with her, frantic and beside herself and you put your focus on her, getting her to talk through what happened. Her parents were out of town and she’d thrown a pool party for her high school friends. As these things tend to do, the party had grown to numbers she hadn’t expected and at some point, her younger sister had snuck out of bed, wanting to join in. Somewhere in the mayhem, the girl had slipped on the poolside, hitting her head as she fell. She’d been unconscious in the water for several minutes before anyone realised. The 911 dispatcher had talked the sister through starting CPR, and the EMTs had taken over but the girl still wasn’t breathing as they wheeled her into a trauma bay. 

You made yourself take a deep breath and sank into that calm place you’d carved out inside yourself over years of practice. The intubation was a blur made up of Bridget’s frantic suctioning to try and clear the airway, and the disconnecting sight of your steady hands pitted against the dread already curling around your heart. When the tube was in, Bridget came to stand in your place at the girl’s head, manually ventilating her. 

Ellis had taken over the chest compressions from the EMTs, and the sweat was beginning to bead across her forehead from the effort. 

“Switch?” You asked quietly, really only heard by Ellis herself over the heartbreaking cries of the girl’s sister echoing outside the door. 

Ellis nodded, and when CPR was halted to check for a pulse of its own making, you took over. 

You carried on like this for the next thirty minutes; medication administered, Bridget ventilating, you and Ellis swapping out until both of you had arms that were heavy and aching, sweat dripping off you to join the pool water spilling across the floor.

You were back on compressions when Jack finally called for a stop. He knew you heard him, and you knew that he knew that, but you carried on anyway. 

He called your name – softer, closer. “It’s time to stop.”

You shook your head, throat too tight to form words.

“Her pupils are fixed and dilated. She was lost before she got here, you know that. Call it.” 

Stopping the compressions was a fight against every muscle in your body, no matter how tired they already were. Several more seconds passed before you managed to get your arms to obey your brain. Your voice was flat when you spoke, glancing at the clock. “Time of death: 12:03 A.M.” 

The atmosphere inside the room clung to each of you like smoke as everyone filed out. Ellis gave your shoulder a squeeze as you turned reluctantly to where the sister was waiting for news. She nudged you aside, a clear signal that she’d take this one. It was a system you’d developed for cases you worked together as you’d progressed through your residency. The two of you no longer needed to be pushed into the hardest parts of the job to build experience, so when one of you seemed particularly affected by a loss, the other would bear the burden of telling the family. 

That loss was an anchor dragging behind you for the rest of your shift, and weighing down your every step. You went through the motions but you felt like you were moving through syrup, trying to outrun your despair as hard as you could but still only managing to stay half a step ahead. 

When it was time to leave, you waited until you thought everyone else was gone before heading to the locker room for your stuff. As you dug out your jacket and bag, you knocked over your half open water bottle and it fell, bouncing on the floor and splashing over your scrub trousers and trainers. The sound of it hitting the floor was like a starter pistol, every awful second of that trauma call bursting to life behind your eyes all at once. 

You bent to pick it up, only to haul it at the far wall, screaming, “Fuck!”

Still fuming, you stuffed the jacket into your bag and spun on your heel, only to stop dead at the sight of Jack in the open doorway. He looked between the water bottle strewn on the floor and the water spots on your clothes before searching your face. 

“Come on.” He nodded his head at the hallway, stepping back to hold the door and make room for you to exit. 

You followed him in silence all the way up to the roof.

“Listen, I know I said a bad word but I don’t think that’s any reason to push me off the roof,” you tried to joke, an attempt to avoid truly analysing the horrific shift you’d just had. 

Because that had to be what this was about. It was no secret that this is where Jack came to ‘get some air’ after a bad shift. To be fair, the air up here was cool and fresh, a wonderful contrast to the stale, recycled air down in the Pitt.

Jack shook his head at you fondly, but he didn’t follow your lead and pick up your usual back and forth. It was a testament to how hard this shift had hit him too. 

Instead he took your hand, tentatively because it wasn’t something the two of you really did, and pulled you along gently until you were both braced against the safety rail. When he let go of your hand, your fingers twitched and you found yourself suppressing the urge to reach out and drag it back. That didn’t surprise you though, there had always been something about Jack that drew you in. It was the way you found yourself constantly pulled towards him that had forged you into the effortless team you now were. 

From up here, you could see the way the city rolled out below you for miles, and it felt a whole world away from the Pitt several floors down. You could see why Jack liked it.

“Lena got hold of the girl’s parents, they’re in with her now. They were only staying an hour out of town.” Jack didn’t move his eyes from the skyline as he spoke, but all his other senses were honed in on you. 

You nodded, fighting the burn behind your eyes and the tightness in your throat. The battle wasn’t lost in loud cries or wet sniffles, it was lost in silent tears and the soft way you leaned your head down on Jack’s shoulder. 

“It’s not fair,” you whispered, feeling childish as the words crept out of you. Fair wasn’t a guarantee life made to anyone, you knew that. But knowing it and seeing it play out the way you had today were two very different realities. That never went away. 

“No, it’s not,” Jack whispered back, as quiet as you but somehow still stronger.

“One party, that’s it,” you carried on, no longer whispering but sounding no less exhausted. “One stupid party and that whole family is ruined. It’s bad enough the girl died, that the parents lost a child, but the sister, all that guilt? It’ll be a miracle if it doesn’t eat her alive.”

“What’s the rule?” Jack asked, calling back to the first rule he drummed into any resident or student doctor who spent more than one shift on his team. 

“Change what you can, accept what you can’t.”

The fact that he often didn’t follow it himself was not lost on either of you. 

“Right. I know it’s hard, but the way you still care this much? That’s special, that’s how I know you’ll make it,” Jack said, bringing his arm up around your shoulder and looking down at you to offer a small smile.

Jack’s smiles, his real ones, weren’t handed out on a whim. When they came, there could be no doubt they were genuine. You’d long thought they might be one of the most precious things in the entire world. A small smile of your own came without thought or effort. It was impossible not to believe you could make it through even the hardest of days as long as he believed it too. 

Fifteen minutes later, that was where Robby found the two of you. He’d heard from Dana, who’d heard from Lena, that Jack hadn’t left yet, and they all knew there was only one place he’d be. Your presence, however, was an unexpected turn of events. 

Neither of you ever knew Robby had been there, because he never made it past the roof entrance.

Sure, he thought to himself sarcastically as he backed away in silence, no different to how I treat Langdon. 

———————————————————————

The morning after the horror that was the PittFest shooting shift, Robby had lost two of his senior residents in one fell swoop. 

When he’d gone to Gloria about a staffing loan from the night shift, he’d asked for you specifically. His reasons had been two-fold. 

Firstly, you were the best resident on the night shift. If he was going to only get one resident to fill in for the two he’d lost, he wanted the best. 

The second, though, was far more interesting. He wanted to see Jack’s reaction to being without you. It wasn’t often the two shifts overlapped the same way they had that day. Everyone had seen the shooting on the news and half the night shift were already on their way in to help before the call for all hands on deck even went out.

It meant that, for the first time, nearly everyone on the day shift had seen you and Jack work together. Even in the pandemonium of the day, they’d all clocked the way you moved around each other like planets in orbit. You pushed, he pulled. You ducked, he weaved. Without words or fanfare or hesitation, the two of you just…. belonged. 

When he’d tracked Jack down to give him a heads up, Jack had just told Robby he’d speak to you about it, which was enough to further confirm Robby’s suspicions about exactly how deep his friend was in. Maybe being reminded what it was like to be without you by his side twelve to fifteen hours every night would force Jack into actually doing something about it.

——————————————————————-

Jack had, indeed, found you on the roof after your next shift — as he had every morning since the first time he took you up there — and told you what Robby had done.

“Day shift? What for?” You asked, eyebrows drawn in confusion. 

“Collins took an attending job somewhere else, and Langdon’s on a leave of absence apparently.”

“How long?”

“Langdon’s out indefinitely. Robby says he wants cover for three months until he can work out something more long term.” Jack watched your brows shoot into your hairline, and tracked the movement of you chewing on your bottom lip with more intent than he probably should have. 

After a couple of seconds, he reached out to run a hand down your arm. The freedom of these little touches was a new development. That morning after the trauma call with the young girl that you’d spent up here tucked against him had broken something open between you. 

Now, touches lingered. The brush of his fingers against yours when one of you handed something off to the other, the ghost of his hand on your lower back when he moved around you in the Pitt, the press of your head against his shoulder and the weight of his arm curled around you on the bad days.

“Listen,” he said, “if you don’t want to then say the word and I’ll tell Robby to kick rocks.”

A smile brightened your face, because it was such a Jack Abbot response. He wasn’t one for politics and you knew if you asked him to, he’d do exactly that and damn the consequences. He’d do it without question, too and that made it all the more tempting because you could stay by his side without having to say “that would be great, actually, because the thought of spending that much time away from you makes me want to take the quick way down off this roof.”

But that was how you felt about Jack personally and this was work and there was a risk of consequences, you both knew that. Robby might not push the issue, but Gloria would. By rights, Jack had no reason to refuse, and saying that he’d asked you and you didn’t want to wouldn’t cut it. 

“I’m sure I can handle a few months on days.” You shrugged. “Besides, I reckon they could use some of that night shift fire over there to liven them up a bit.”

And so, to the day shift you went.

———————————————————————

Despite being a tenured member of staff by this point, you’d been a little intimidated by the idea of Robby as your attending. Ironic, really, considering he was definitely the more openly approachable of the two options. 

It hadn’t lasted long though, a couple of shifts had shaken the discomfort out of you. It was actually kind of reassuring to remind yourself that your success wasn’t the result of your closeness with Jack, but rather the other way around.

You and Jack had had to let go of your rooftop routine. He might have been able to disappear up there at the end of his shift, but the second you set foot in the ER, someone was shoving a chart into your hands, even if you were technically early and not on the clock yet.

After accepting that was how this was going to go, he was just there in the ambulance bay waiting for you on the first morning of your second week. 

The morning after that, you’d shown up in the ambulance bay with his exact coffee order in hand, then he’d done the same for you when you switched off again that evening. It was the same drill, just a different location. On the good days, you swapped stories and laughs about the wildest cases of the day — sometimes Dana even stopped off with you for a smoke before the two of you headed in and Jack headed home. On the bad days, each of you was a comforting presence and silent support for the other. 

You also had to begrudgingly admit that day shift’s other residents and student doctors were a bunch that offered no small amount of entertainment to perk up your shifts. 

Samira Mohan was bright and sunshiney, incredibly welcoming, compassionate and thorough, if a little slow with her patients. Victoria Javadi always had a kind word, she was quiet, but confident when given room to be and growing into it even in the short time you’d spent there. Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker were the strangest double act you’d ever seen, but somehow it worked. She was all sharpness, quick mind and quicker tongue. He was more reserved, a little hesitant, but you’d often seen him give as good as he got from Santos.

Mel King and Cassie McKay were both third year residents, so you gravitated towards them as the more established of your new colleagues. Mel was so genuine it skipped right past painful and straight to endearing. She was a talented physician and powerhouse of knowledge, too. Cassie had made the switch to medicine later in life, but that in no way held her back. She had the self-assured air of someone who had experienced some shit and came out the other side stronger. 

All in all, the switch wasn’t as big an adjustment as you’d worried it would be, even if you sometimes looked up to say something to Jack because you were so used to him being around before realising he wasn’t. 

————————————————————————-

You’d been working on Robby’s shift for just over two months on the day that Jack came in with the word ‘POLICE’ emblazoned across his chest.

You were charting at the Hub, standing with Dana and Cassie when he accompanied a coding officer through the doors. Santos was there like a shot, Robby right behind her running the code already. If Robby was there then you’d likely be just another body they simply didn’t need so you didn’t move, but your eyes tracked Jack as he did. 

There was some general confusion about Jack’s presence. You weren’t confused, everyone on nights knew Jack listened to the police scanner in his free time and sometimes went out with SWAT teams as a field medic on high risk busts. 

You were, however, short circuiting because you had never once seen him in his uniform before. Christ, the sight of Jack in scrubs was bad enough. You’d had to work hard to stamp out the physical reaction you had to him in order to work with him. Dressed in uniform, fabric pulled taut against his muscled arms and the police vest strapped snug across his strong chest, your attraction to him was almost enough to make you forget you were a well educated, highly capable doctor.

Nobody can tell me older men aren’t sexy. 

If you ever talked about your feelings towards Jack with anyone else, which you did not, you’d argue that Jack wasn’t so much older than you that it was inappropriate, not nearly as inappropriate as the fact that he was your attending. There was no point reminding yourself of that, though, because that ship had sailed long ago. It was already so far across the horizon that it was barely a speck in the distance. You’d fallen for Jack so hard that you didn’t think you could get back up even if you wanted to, and you very much didn’t. 

Jesus, it should be illegal to look like that and walk around in that uniform. It’s fucking indecent. 

“Ha! You got that right, doll.” 

Mryna’s dry response made you freeze, heat creeping up the back of your neck and burning across your cheeks as you realised you’d said those words out loud. 

You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t that bad, Dana and Cassie were the only ones who heard besides Myrna and it’s not like you were embarrassed about being attracted to Jack, just that you were lusting over him so openly. Dana and Cassie, for their part, both looked like this was one of the funniest things they’d ever seen.

“I’m just… I’m gonna… gotta see a patient.” You snatched your iPad up off the counter and left to find a patient, any patient.

Half an hour later, Javadi found you finishing up with said patient and quietly told you Jack had been injured, had tried and failed to treat it himself and was currently refusing to let Mohan help. Apparently, neither of them showed any sign of backing down. 

Snapping off your gloves, you gestured for Javadi to lead the way, and followed her to the north nurse’s station. 

“You sent for backup?” You asked Mohan by way of greeting.

She stopped short in the middle of her impassioned plea to Jack to just let her help and turned to you with exasperation. “Please! He’s being ridiculous.”

You gave a knowing nod, ignoring the indignation that flashed in Jack’s eyes as you finally looked at him. “You got hurt?”

“Just a graze,” he said. “No need to drag half the staff away from patients, it’ll keep.”

“Well, then it would have been done by now if you weren’t so pigheaded but you wouldn’t let Mohan deal with it so now you get me. Go back in there, and sit down.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

You flashed him a sweet smile that contrasted with the heavy sarcasm in your next words. “It’s the crowning glory of my personal achievements. Now move it.”

Mohan looked on with mildly offended awe as Jack went back into the patient room without arguing any more. 

“Alright, you insufferable man, show me the damage,” you said, closing the door behind you on a still gaping Mohan and pulling the curtain across the window. 

“Flattery won’t do you any good, I still think you’re a pain,” Jack hit back at you. It didn’t have the desired effect because he’d taken off his shirt by the time you turned around to face him but you elected not to tell him that.

Jack twisted his shoulder to show you the darkening bruise that had bloomed black and purple against his skin. How he’d ever thought he could contort himself in such a way that he’d manage to treat it himself, you didn’t know. 

“I told you it was just a graze,” he said as you set about plucking what you needed from cupboards and drawers. 

“You know damn well that it still needs to be treated. If anyone else on the team had done that, you’d tear into them,” you told him seriously as you started working on him. You forced yourself to only focus on the injury because being this close to so much of his bare skin was incredibly challenging to your professionalism. “It’s one thing if you want to go out and bury yourself under a mountain of adrenaline on your time off, but people here care about you whether you like it or not and they need to know you’ll get proper treatment if you’re hurt. Even if it is just a graze.”

After that, Jack sat in contemplative silence while you worked. It wasn’t often you scolded him, or got so close to openly talking about how you felt. Well, okay, that wasn’t strictly true. You both talked about how you felt about a lot of things, just not each other. 

When you finished, Jack shrugged back into his shirt as you cleaned up after yourself. He was still sitting on the bed when you shut the last drawer so you sank back down onto the stool, watching him and waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“You’re right,” he eventually said. One thing you liked about Jack was that he could usually admit when he was in the wrong and he looked you in the eye while he did it. “If I was in your position, I’d have said I was being a damn idiot. I wasn’t thinking beyond myself. I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t realised quite how much tension you’d been carrying until some of it drained away with his apology. You tried not to think too hard about how Jack spent half his time away from here because the potential for an injury so much worse than a graze was too hard to consider. It was silly really, the man was a seasoned veteran and a trained medical professional. He could handle himself and worrying about him wasn’t logical, but logic held no sway over emotion and you felt sick any time you thought of him being rolled in on one of the dozens of ambulances that came through here every day. 

“I’d rather there wasn’t a next time, but then I’d also rather we were always fully staffed, worked reasonable hours and got paid a fair wage.” Jack chuckled at you, sending a shiver down your spine, and you thought it highly inconvenient that you’d probably forgive him anything when he sounded like that. “So next time, what say you just come and find me instead of stonewalling the more kindhearted residents?”

“Deal.” 

Outside the room, you separated; him heading to the room the officer he came in with had been taken to and you making your way back to the Hub to grab the next patient off the board. 

As he walked down the hallway, a chorus of his own voice rang inside Jack’s head, reminding him of every time he’d said the words ‘no different to Robby and Landon’ and ‘everyone has a favourite’, suddenly getting why everyone looked at him like he was a liar when he said it. Because he was, he just hadn’t realised how badly until today.

Turned out you weren’t just his favourite resident, you were his all-round favourite person. There were plenty of reasons that was a bad idea; he was an attending and you were a resident, he was a good decade older than you, he was all kinds of messed up from the things he’d seen no matter how much therapy he had. It also turned out that his heart did not care about a single one of those reasons. 

Yeah, he thought with a small smile, I’m totally fucked. 

————————————————————————

Over the course of the next month, you found out that day shift gossip was way worse than night shift gossip. 

You were mortified that you’d been caught blatantly ogling Jack so, naturally, everybody had heard about it and everyone hounded you about how you should just go for it despite all the reasons you worried it was a bad idea. It seemed to be the only thing they could all agree on and every single one of them had an answer ready to brush off your concerns.

Dana had gently patted your arm and told you that you worried too much.

Mohan had full on laughed when you cautiously wondered how badly things might play out if Jack didn’t feel the same and everything got awkward. Every time she saw you in the hallway for the rest of that day, she shook her head and chuckled like you had told her the best joke she’d ever heard. 

Cassie had just shrugged and told you to live a little. 

Santos had rolled her eyes and said, “What are they gonna do, fire you? We’re too short on staff anyway so as long as you don’t mount him right here in the ER, I think you’ll be fine.” At which point, Whitaker had beat a hasty retreat from the conversation muttering something about unnecessary and unwanted mental imagery. Not helpful, but actually quite funny. 

Mel, sensible, sincere, reasonable Mel had been the only one with actual advice. 

“You’re almost done with your last year of residency, and there’s no way you don’t get board certification so it’s not like he’ll be your attending for too much longer anyway,” she’d said one night as the two of you left. “Everyone already sees how you are with each other. If anyone was going to make something of it, it would have happened by now.”

Robby had only alluded to that particular topic of conversation on a single occasion. He hadn’t outright given his opinion, but there had been one morning that he’d passed by you and Jack in your usual spot in the ambulance bay before your shift — drinks in hand and leaning in just a little closer than you ought to have been — and you’d felt the weight of consideration in his eyes as he’d looked at you. Then, when it was just the two of you in the locker room before you started, he’d said, very quietly and very simply, “I haven’t found him up on the roof a single day since your first week with us.”

————————————————————————

When Santos found out that your last shift with them fell just before their next set of rest days, she immediately declared that it was a fitting chance to go out together for proper drinks at a proper bar. 

She attacked her mission to get everyone involved with the same relentless tenacity she employed with her patients and, one by one, everyone fell to her insistence. She even convinced Robby and Dana to join you all for a drink or two, which was no small feat.

That was how you found yourself the next evening at a little karaoke bar that Mel and Santos apparently came to semi-regularly. 

It was always nice when you got to spend time with people away from the Pitt. A good night’s sleep, no threat of being covered in bodily fluids or questioning just when the next disaster would roll through the doors did wonders for everyone. 

All of you residents were sitting together across two small tables, Dana had gone outside for a smoke and Robby had just wandered off. You were poring over the song list with Santos, Mel and Mohan when Santos started hitting your arm repeatedly.

“Um, ow?”

“Shut up,” she said. “Abbot’s here!”

Sure enough, when you lifted your head up, Jack was standing at the bar with Robby. It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d ever seen Jack outside the hospital. There had been beers in the park, fundraisers and the occasional community event that Gloria insisted you attend, and the usual birthday drinks and promotion celebrations for your other colleagues on night shift. 

You gravitated towards each other outside the hospital as much as you did in it. Every single time had kindled the same warmth low in your stomach. It always made you feel unbearably soft inside to see him relaxed, this man that gave so much and took so little. 

You’d thought a lot in the last few days about the small ways things had changed between you and Jack recently. You wanted more of it; more of the laughter, more of the quiet ways he cared, more of the still moments where he focused on nothing but you. You wanted more of him. You had to know if you could have it, surely it was worth the risk. You’d decided to lean into it, to see if he’d do the same.

“He’s never once been out for drinks with us,” Mohan added, “which means he can only be here because you’re his favourite.” Her voice took on a teasing tone as she sing-songed the last word and everyone at the table, including you, couldn’t help but laugh.

“Children, the lot of you,” you said as all of them flicked their eyes mischievously between you and where Jack was currently rolling his eyes at whatever Robby was saying to him. “I’ll be right back.”

All teasing aside, their collective assurances had bled into you and now bolstered you as you crossed the room and reached the bar just as Robby took off back to the table. He gave you a small smile as he passed you that gave you the inexplicable sense he knew exactly what you’d decided and it felt dangerously like he was offering his approval. 

The smile you gave Jack was possibly the brightest thing he’d ever seen. If he’d had any less practice at holding himself together, it might have brought him to his knees. He didn’t like taking advice from Robby, but even he had to admit the man had a point. Robby had called him when these plans came together, saying his attendance was a requirement because ‘it’s just getting embarrassing to watch now, brother.”

You threw your arms around him in a hug, and surprise stilled him for a second before he wrapped his arms around you in return. “Just how buzzed are you?”

You laughed as you drew back — high and bright and clear — and Jack wished his brain could record the sound to play back over and over because he didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of it. “At ease, Doctor, I’ve had exactly one drink. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, Robby called, I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s great! I haven’t gotten to see you for more than ten minutes at a time for months.” You leaned sideways against the bar, eyes burning into his as you said, “I missed you.”

“Yeah?” Jack’s lips lifted in the beginning of a smile. “That’s good. I mean, it’s not good but it’s nice that you…” Jack trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose and the unusual sight of him a little flustered made you grin, because it seemed like the thing that had done it was you admitting that you missed spending time with him. “Wow, get it together, Jack,” he muttered to himself.

He’d just about managed to do that when Mel shouted your name from the edge of the stage with Santos and Mohan. She waved a hand at you when you looked over. “We’re going next.”

You nodded at her, grin smoothing into something softer at her excitement. “I promised them we’d do a song together,” you told Jack. “I’m almost certain Santos will cut me if I don’t follow through.” 

Jack laughed, agreed that you were right and waved you on. Two steps away, you turned back to him. “If you want some of my embarrassment to take the edge off whatever that just was, go find Dana and ask her about me and that day you came into the Pitt with the SWAT guy.”

Jack’s face pulled together in confusion but you were already gone before he could ask, climbing up onto the stage with the others. 

Once Jack talked to Dana, and you knew he’d be too curious not to, there would be no avoiding the topic of the two of you. That thrill carried you through the song you sang with Mel, Santos and Mohan. It was fun, belting out lyrics without caring whether you sounded any good, losing half of them to the laughter you provoked in each other when you made eye contact. You could see why it was Santos’ go to method of blowing off steam. 

When you were done, Dana waved you over to where she’d just come in from another smoke break, eyes twinkling devilishly. “A certain Dr. Abbot just came asking why you’d send him to me to find out what embarrassing thing you did when he dropped in on the day shift with the SWAT team. Don’t tell me you’re finally taking all that good advice and going for it?”

“I guess the timing finally feels right. I know we’ll have to deal with the resident-attending stuff but barring any major disasters, I’m not going to be a resident for that much longer,” you shrugged. “If I don’t try, I’ll always wonder. Plus I figure if I crash and burn, there’s a solid chance I can convince Robby to keep me on days permanently.”

“Honestly, the two of you are as bad as each other. I doubt you need to worry about that, the man went red right up to the tips of his ears when he heard what you said but he looked mighty pleased with himself.” 

Whatever passed over your face at that news had Dana’s good natured laughter following you out door into the quiet side alley the bar used as a smoking area. 

It was early enough that the sun was still setting, painting the sky in pastel shades of pink and orange. The evening air was cooling nicely from the warmth of the day, and it soothed the heat in your cheeks that had built from singing and laughter.

Jack was still outside where Dana had left him, sporting what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. He was often confident, but rarely cocky. At that exact moment, his entire demeanour was best summed up in one word; smug. 

“You described me as ‘fucking indecent’?”

You had expected to feel at least some of the embarrassment you’d felt when you’d first said those words out loud, but it never came. This was the lightest you’d ever seen Jack look. His eyes were bright with laughter and promise and you wanted to live inside this moment forever. 

“I mean, not always but in that uniform? Hell yes.”

“That explains this, then,” Jack said, handing you his phone so you could see the text Dana had sent him the day before, clearly having conspired with Robby. He’d damn near had a heart attack when he saw her name pop up on his phone, thinking something awful must have happened. Dana never texted him.

Dana: That girl’s special and we both know she won’t be single forever. If you miss your chance, I’ll kick you myself.

“I should have known she’d meddle the second she figured out how I felt about you.”

Jack moved in closer until you were almost dizzy with the scent of him in every inhale; coffee and cedar and the mint on his breath. His smile melted into something soft and reverent. “And how exactly do you feel about me? Because I think I’d do just about anything you asked of me. I don’t even know when it first started for me, but these past few months have made me realise I’m too far gone to walk away now.” His hand came up to brush across your cheek, the ghost of a touch you were desperate for. There and gone in an instant. His next words were a whispered plea. “Tell me it’s the same for you?”

You didn’t think you’d be able to come up with the right words to tell Jack just how much it definitely was the same for you so you slid a hand up around his neck and pulled him down until his mouth was on yours. 

The kiss was soft and gentle, a confirmation and confession all rolled into one. When you drew away, his forehead stayed resting on yours. 

“There’s a lot of reasons not to do this,” he started, watching you carefully. “I’m older than you.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m your attending.”

“Very true.”

“I do stupid things like stand right on the edge of the roof and spend my days off running towards gunfire. You do realise all that?”

“Actually, no. Now that you mention it, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Really?” Jack played along, smiling like a fool again.

“No, stupid,” you said, with a dumb grin of your own that you couldn’t shake. “Having you in my life is one of the best things to ever happen to me, do you really believe I’d have walked out here to risk that without thinking of all those things first? All those things are true, but so is this; not a single one of them is enough to make me not want to be with you.”

This time, Jack was the one kissing you. His kiss was insistent, like he hadn’t really thought he’d end up here and he was half afraid it wouldn’t last. His hands came up to bracket each of your hips, holding you against him. Your lips parted and his tongue swept in to claim you, as if you hadn’t been his all along, and heat chased itself down your spine to settle low in your stomach. 

Jack was the one who broke the kiss this time, both of you breathless. “I reckon we’ve done this kind of backwards. We should…. I should take you out.”

“Jack, we’ve been dancing around this for months. Forget taking me out, take me home.”

“Or that, yeah. That’s good too.”

Jack had shown up with nothing more than what was in his pockets, because of course he had, so he waited outside while you slipped in to grab your jacket and bag. The bar had filled out a little now, and nearly everyone was distracted by Mel and Santos belting out Alanis Morissette on stage. Dana and Robby were the only ones still at the table when you gathered up your stuff.

They shared a knowing look and Robby said, “Tell Abbot if he ever compares the two of you to me and Langdon again, I’ll kick his ass.”

“Got it,” you laughed.

————————————————————————

Half way home, your fingers laced with his, you turned to Jack and asked, “So I have to know, was it just a self preservation thing or did you spend the last six months genuinely thinking Robby had a massive crush on Langdon?”

[abbotafterhours]

hi love! i recently got into the pitt and i loooved your abbot fics! i had an idea, i was wondering if you could maybe write for an elle woods inspired reader? this is pretty long and sort of all over the place so i totally understand if not!!

like she’s all pink, glitter, sunshine, rainbows, smiles, etc. and she’s a new resident? she’s like samira in the sense that she connects with her patients easily and is super empathetic with them, bantering and all. let’s say she makes a mistake with her first patient in the pitt, so everyone (except beautiful sweet angelic dana) underestimates her and brushes her off as a sort of bimbo, kind of confused on how she got there in the first place

but then a really critical case comes in and she’s just absolutely on top of it, then she’s like “oh i graduated from harvard!”

thanks for taking the time to read my request!♡

Summa Cum Laude, Actually. (Jack Abbot x Resident!Reader)

author's note: ohhhh this request is so so cute!! i hope i've done it justice!! this is a longish one, and there is kind of sprinklings of Jack throughout and then a nice moment at the end, so i really hope that it's 'jack' enough?? i also absolutely forgot about the first patient thing, i am so sorry 😭

thank you so so so much for 1,000 followers, by the way. Love you all foreva ❤️

pairing: jack abbot x resident!reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings: not proofread! DR ROBBY SLANDER (sorry i'm feeling some typa way after the way he spoke to dana and samira 😔), also bit of ogilvie slander, medical inaccuracies, trinity santos best friend !!, timeline inaccuracies like it's been a month since the cyber attack and robby is still not on sabbatical lol, fluff

description: Some people take one look at you and your pink stethoscope and make up their minds. That's okay. You've been proving people wrong since Cambridge, Massachusetts.

banner by the lovely @muerdida <3

The very first thing people notice about you is the colour pink.

Not a subtle pink. Not a dusted rose of a muted mauve that might pass as professional under the humming, bright lights of the PTMC. Nah, it's pink pink. Your stethoscope is pink. The little charm clipped to your ID badge is a tiny, pink glittering star. Your lip gloss catches the light every time you smile, which, as anyone who has worked a shift alongside you already knows, is constantly. Your mother converted your childhood bedroom into a spare room when you moved out. You said it was fine, as long as she kept it pink.

You've not been a resident for too long. But you've been here long enough that none of this information is shockingly new anymore. It's been long enough that Dana doesn't question the printed daisy tumbler you set on the nurse's station, or the fluffy pink pen pinned to your collar. Dennis has started calling you sunshine without a trace of irony, and Trinity has stopped pretending she doesn't find you genuinely funny.

Long enough, too, that you know exactly which tells to look for on Jack's face. The slight tension at the corner of his jaw when a case is going sideways, the way his eyes will do a quiet sweep of a room when he first walks in, cataloguing everything before he's said a word to anyone. Those same stern eyes find you, sometimes, just for a second. He's checking, grounding himself within a moment of chaos.

You are fairly sure no one has noticed, and if they had, well, they haven't said anything.

That suits you both just fine.

Your shift starts the way most do - absolute controlled chaos playing dress up as routine.

You're sitting at the nurses station, trying to catch up on some early charting, when Robby comes through the doors before 7am. Al Hasimi is half a step behind him, shadowing the floor as she learns the practical rhythym of the Pitt before she takes the reins, and you've decided you like her enormously. Yeah, there was that weird AI thing she was advertising, but you're putting that down as a lapse of judgment. You're a resident, for gods sake, making mistakes and learning is kind of your thing. You are distracted watching her move through the ER the say still water moves, quietly, purposefully, taking everything in without making a sound about it. She had stopped to watch you present a case to her on a middle ages man in his 50s, and afterward simply said, "good instincts", which you have carried with you for the last 24 hours, and probably for the next week.

"Morning," Robby says to the floor in general, dropping his backpack behind the station. He looks tired like he always does, but the deeper, purple bags under his eyes tell you there's something deeper going on. He's defeated as he scans the board, makes a sound, and reaches for the first chart.

"Morning, Dr. Robby," you say.

"Morning, Y/N." He glances at your tumbler. "Is that thing always daisies?"

"No, it's not," you reply, "Thought I'd change it up coming into spring. Matches my top!," you roll down the sleeves of your top under your black scrubs to show him the ditsy pink and blue daisy print.

"I keep thinking the positivity this early in the morning is just a phase."

"Nah, just a lifestyle."

He raises his hands up in defeat as he walks backwards with his chart, turning to walk towards his first patient of the morning.

You don't see Jack until nearly nine.

He comes in from trauma bay two, gloves off, expression doing the things where it's carefully neutral, but you can tell from a mile away that it hasn't been a good case. You know him, spent enough evenings hardwiring his different expressions into a desktop folder in your head. He had the same look on his face the evening you laid under sheets together and stroked his face with a manicured finger as he struggled through phantom leg pain.

You don't say anything, because this is work and you are a resident and that is the shape of things here. But you do shift slightly on your stool so that your shoulder is angled towards him instead of away, and you tap your nails on the counter three times in his direction, your own kind of language you've created for situations like this.

He dries his hands, glances at you for just a second, and you let the tension fall from your shoulders as you watch his stubbled jaw unclench. It's twenty seconds, maybe less, but it's a teeny little reprieve you get inbetwen charting and your next case, knowing you can be his safe space.

In curtain three, there is a 62-year-old man named Gerald who presented with chest tightness and left arm pain. Textbook presentation, or so you think.

You're thorough with him, like you are with all your patients. Gerald tells you twice that you remind him of his daughter, and you laugh and ask him about her. You order the right labs, the right imaging. You're so sure.

You blame missing the medication interaction on asking about his grandkid's birthday party at the weekend. Talk of cake and barbecue had made you distracted and hungry. It's a small thing, but Dr. Robby catcjes it before it becomes anything more than a near-miss, and he is not quiet about it.

"You ordered a nitrate."

You turn from the curtain, still smiling from the pleasant interaction. Robby is standing with his arms crossed, tablet in hand, looking at you the way people look at a word too many times and don't think it's even a word anymore.

"He presented with chest pain and-"

"He's on a PDE5 inhibitor, Y/L/N. Did you read his chart?"

The nurse's station has gone a little quiet, and you don't fail to notice the different tone he's using with you compared to earlier.

"I did read his chart," you say, and you try your best to maintain an even voice. "I must have missed it. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Robby sort of scoffs at you. You have seen attendings make worse mistakes then this, and got away off easy. Who the hell pissed in this man's cornflakes this morning?

"Right, you're off the case. I'll take over."

He's already moving. You stand there for a second, the back of your neck warm, and then Dana appears out of thin air like some gorgeous blonde guardian angel. She presses a tablet into your hands.

"Don't worry, kid. There's something up with him today. There's a young woman with abdominal pain in seven. Go."

The morning moves smoothly enough after that. You see six patients before noon, and try to avoid Robby wherever possible. You do well on five of them, but the sixth, a teenage boy who reminds you so much of your little brother that you have to take one breath in the hallway before going in, you do better than well. You almost forget about Robby's scolding when the mother grabs your hand on the way out and says thank you like she means it down to her bones, and you decide to let that outweigh whatever shitty mood your boss has found hismelf in.

But it's made the rounds. You can tell by the way Ogilvie is eyeing you up right now. He slides up beside you at the computer bank just before lunch time.

"Heard about the nitrate thing," he says, conversationally, with the bedside manner of Hannibal Lecter.

"Yep," you say, not looking up"

"Rough start."

"Yep."

He lingers for a second, clearly hoping for more, then drifts away. You exhale through your nose and keep typing.

Jack passes by a moment later and pauses. He stands behind you, reaching over your shoulder to grab a pen that he definitely doesn't need, leaning into you to whisper in your ear.

"You're doing fine," he says, simply, and moves on.

You stare at the screen for a second, cringing at yourself. You know Jack is just trying to reassure you - he keeps an eye out to make sure you're doing okay, knows how much pressure you put on yourself and your patient's satisfactory score. But his knowing about your little screw-up makes things much worse in your head. You close your eyes and run a hand down your face in nothing but annoyance at yourself. You are, in some horrible way, hoping someone sprays some unthinkable bodily fluid on Dennis so he can be the new talk of the pitt.

At around 11:47, you find Trinity at the vending machine, which is kind of where you frequently find her. This is like the closest thing the Pitt has to a neutral zone.

She's eating pretzels, which she so often is, and you feed the machine a dollar and get a granola bar so you can lean against the wall beside her.

"How's your morning?" you ask.

"Ogilvie told me my suture technique was quote interesting," she says.

"He said that to you?"

"To my face."

"The audacity." You peel your granola bar open. "What did you do?"

"I said thank you and walked away."

"The professional play."

"The only play." She crunches a pretzel. "I wanted to say something else."

"I know."

"Several things, actually."

"I know, Trinity."

She looks at you sideways. "How's yours?"

"I had my own Ogilvie coloured conversation today, too, actually. Asshole."

Santos straightens, then. "Really?"

"Yeah, you don't wanna know."

You eat in companionable silence for a moment, the hum of the vending machine fills the space between you.

"Yolanda came over again last night." She adds casually, as if it's not juicy gossip you've been craving all day.

"Trinity! I can't believe you waited until now to tell me that!" you exclaim, having spent the last few weeks chewing on the crumbs of that relationship after that conversation the two of them shared during the waterpark casualty.

"And I can't believe you nearly gave someone a heart attack.", she smirks over at you, opening her mouth to giggle.

You shove her on the shoulder then, jokingly. You know she's trying to make light of the situation, make you feel better.

"So, how's Abbot?"

"I'm not-" you start.

"We haven't—"

"Y/N."

You close your mouth. Santos looks at you with the deeply satisfied expression of someone who has just won something.

"Does anyone—" you begin.

"No," she says. "Just me. And maybe Dana, but Dana knows everything so she doesn't count." She finishes her pretzel. "Also Dennis suspects."

"Dennis—"

"He hasn't said anything. He won't." She shrugs. "He's Dennis."

You think about Dennis and his easy warmth and his complete inability to make anyone feel worse than they already do, and you concede the point.

"This conversation," you say, "didn't happen."

"Absolutely not," Santos agrees, and she's already walking away, and you are fairly certain you can see her smiling from behind.

The critical case comes in at 2:43pm.

Male, 41, found collapsed while working at a construction site. His coworkers had gotten him into a truck and driven him in themselves rather than waiting for an ambulance, which means he comes in with no paramedic report, no vitals en route, nothing. His name is Rafael, an dhis coworkers are four large frightened men crowded into the ambulance bay who all start talking at once the moments the doors open.

"One at a time," you say, already moving alongside the gurney, hands finding Rafael's wrist. Pulse thready and fast. Skin cool and clammy. He's conscious but glassy, tracking you with effort. "Rafael. Hey, I've got you. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"Chest," he manages. "And — my back. Fell. Hit the — the scaffolding—"

"Okay. I've got you."

Santos is on the other side of the gurney. You catch her eye over Rafael's chest and you can see she's already running the same calculations you are.

"I need an attending," you say to the bay in general. "Where's—"

"Robby's in surgery consult," Santos says, already scanning. "Al Hashimi is with the code in bay one."

"Abbott?"

"Trauma two, I think, multiple vehicle, they've had three come in from it."

You look at the board. Every attending flag is occupied. The Pitt is running at full tilt, the way it does, the way it always does, and Rafael's pressure on the monitor is reading low and dropping.

"I'll find someone," Santos says.

"Go."

She goes. You stay with Rafael, talking to him steadily — his name, your name, what you're doing, what you're seeing — and what you're seeing is tightening something cold and certain in your chest. Breath sounds unequal. Trachea midline for now but the chest wall movement on the left is wrong. The fall, the scaffolding, the mechanism of injury. His pressure is still dropping.

You're already pretty sure what this is.

Santos comes back in under two minutes. The look on her face tells you before she opens her mouth.

"Robby's scrubbed in, he can't leave. Al Hashimi's in the middle of the code." She lowers her voice. "Abbott is—"

"Occupied. I know." You look at the monitor. Look at Rafael. Make the calculation. "His pressure's at eighty-two over fifty and falling. Trachea's going to deviate in the next few minutes."

Santos meets your eyes across the patient.

"Tension pneumo?" she says quietly.

"Almost certain."

A beat. The monitor beeps. Rafael makes a soft sound.

"You've done this before," Santos says. It's not quite a question.

"Twice," you say. "You?"

"Once. I'll assist."

You look at her for one more second, this woman who drives you insane sometimes and makes you laugh always and who you would, without question, want next to you in exactly this moment, and you nod.

"Okay," you say. "Let's go."

You call for the tray. Your hands are already moving, already knowing what they need, and your voice stays even as you talk Santos through what you need from her and talk Rafael through what's happening because he deserves to know, he deserves to not be frightened in the dark without understanding.

"This is going to help you breathe," you tell him. "I need you to hold as still as you can. Santos is right here."

"Right here," Santos confirms, from his other side, and her voice is steady and sure.

"On a scale of one to ten," you say, as you prep the site, snapping into the particular focused calm that you have learned, over time, is what lives on the other side of panic, "how weird is it that we're both into people significantly older than us?"

Santos makes a noise that is half laugh, half disbelief. "You're asking me this right now?"

"Calms me down," you say, completely honestly.

"A solid nine," she says. "Maybe nine and a half."

"I think it's very normal, personally."

"You think a lot of things are normal that aren't."

"Name one."

"The pink stethoscope."

"The pink stethoscope is iconic, Santos—"

And then you go in, clean and sure, and the hiss of released air is the most beautiful sound in the world, and Rafael's oxygen starts climbing on the monitor, and he takes a breath — a real, full, shuddering breath — and Santos exhales something that might be a prayer in Spanish.

"There you go," you say softly, to Rafael, to the room, to nobody in particular. "There you go."

"That was—" Santos starts.

"Chest tube," you say. "Can you—"

"Already on it."

You work. It isn't graceful and it isn't quiet but it is right, every motion landing where it needs to, Santos moving with you like she can read your next step before you take it, and when you finally step back Rafael's pressure is climbing, his oxygen is climbing, his color is coming back, and he is looking at the ceiling with the expression of a man who has just been handed something back that he didn't know was being taken.

You and Santos look at each other across Rafael's body as you stare, wide-eyed. You both are interrupted by a short cough and the pull of a curtain as Jack's figure stands looking at the both of you, like you're two bold kids who just got caught stealing candy from the top drawer.

He isn't alone; Robby is beside him, and you have absolutely no idea when they both got there or how long they've been watching. Robby's expression is hard to read, and Jack's expression is, well, careful. Controlled. Professional, because he is always just that. His jaw is loose, and his eyes are doing that thing, that quiet sweep check, that is you okay written in your own language that only you speak, and you give him the smallest nod, barely a movement, and his shoulders drop an inch.

"Who called the procedure?" Robby asks.

"I did." you say. "Every attending was occupied. He was going to arrest. Santos just assisted."

Robby nods slowly, looking at the monitor, looking at Rafael, at you. "You do realise, as a junior resident, you could have-"

"She's done it before," Santos interrupts from beside you. "Twice. Her hands were perfect. He could have died."

"Unattended procedure, Y/N. Which is directly against hospital protocol for any resident working here."

"We were all in critical cases, Robby," Jack adds in. You feel Santos poke your back teasingly, and you catch her finger before she does it enough that you start laughing. His voice continues. "The patient had minutes. The decision was sound."

Robby closes his mouth, rubs a hand over his beard. You make absolutely sure your face does nothing.

Ogilvie appears from somewhere behind Robby's shoulder, because Ogilvie always appears when there is something happening that he has no business inserting himself into.

"Where did you train?" he asks, and his voice has the particular quality of someone who is revising an opinion they haven't admitted to having yet.

You look at him evenly.

"Harvard," you say. "Summa Cum Laude". A beat. You let it sit. "The pink stethoscope came after."

The bay is very quiet for a second.

Santos makes a noise she converts rapidly into a cough. You don't look at her. You cannot look at her. If you look at her right now you will absolutely not survive it.

Robby looks at you for a long moment, something moving behind his eyes that you can't quite read — but it's shifted, whatever was sitting in him this morning, the purple-bagged exhaustion and the sharp edge he'd carried into the day. He doesn't say anything yet. He just nods, once, slowly, like he's filing something away.

"Get him up to CT," he says finally. "And good work." He says it simply, plainly, the way Robby says things when he actually means them most. Then he's gone, already moving back toward the floor.

You exhale through your nose.

Dennis appears at the bay entrance then, in the way Dennis always seems to appear at exactly the right moment, like the universe has quietly assigned him to you. He's got two coffees and the expression of a man who walked in on the last ten minutes of a movie and is piecing the plot together in real time.

His eyes move from you to Santos to the monitor to the curtain Robby just disappeared through.

"Did I miss something?" he says.

"Harvard," Santos says, still not quite looking at you.

Dennis looks at you. His face does the warm, slow thing it does. "Yeah," he says, like that explains everything, like he always knew this was in you and was just waiting for the room to catch up. He hands you one of the coffees.

You thank God for hot coffee and even hotter attendings.

The end of the shift finds you in the passenger seat of Jack's car.

This is, quietly, one of your favourite places to be. It isn't spoken about -not out loud, not at work - but after most shifts, if the timing works, you find your way here. It started practically enough; he'd offered you a lift home one evening when the rain was coming down sideways and you'd left your umbrella somewhere in curtain four, and somehow it had just kept happening. Now it is its own kind of routine. Its own kind of language. You both seem to speak to one another in all sorts of languages.

The city moves past the windows, going dark and amber in the way it does at this hour, and the car is warm and quiet in a way the Pitt never quite is, and you have your head tipped back against the headrest with your eyes half closed and your pink tumbler balanced on your knee.

Jack drives the way he does most things, steady, unhurried, not wasting a movement.

You ride in comfortable silence for a few minutes. That's something you'd had to learn about him early on, that his quiet isn't absence. It's just where he lives. You'd spent the first few weeks filling it compulsively, chattering about patients and Santos and whatever Dennis had said that made you laugh, and somewhere along the way you'd realised he was listening to every word, and after that the silence had started to feel less like something to fill and more like something to share.

"Robby apologised," you say, to the windscreen. "Before the end of the shift. Quietly. You probably didn't see."

"I didn't," Jack says. "Good."

"He looked tired."

"He's always tired."

"This was different tired."

Jack glances at you briefly, then back at the road. He doesn't push it, but you can tell he's filed it somewhere, the way he files things. Quietly. For later.

The city keeps going past the glass.

"Santos poked me in the back," you say. "During the debrief. When you were talking."

"I know. I saw your face."

"Was it bad?"

"It was," he says, "extremely close."

You smile at the window. "She's insufferable."

"She's a good doctor."

"She's an insufferable good doctor."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive."

"No," you concede. "They really aren't."

He pulls up outside your building and cuts the engine, and the car goes quiet around you both. The streetlight comes through the windscreen at a low angle and does something warm to the lines of his face, and you look at him for a second the way you sometimes let yourself look at him when there's no floor to maintain and no shape to hold.

He's already looking at you.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi," he says, and the corner of his mouth does its thing.

You lean across the console and kiss him, and he kisses you back the way he does everything, without fuss, without performance, just solidly and completely, one hand coming up to the side of your face like it belongs there, which, you have decided, it does.

When you pull back he's still got his hand against your jaw, thumb tracing a slow line across your cheek, and he's looking at you with that open expression, the real one, the one that lives underneath all the professional geometry.

"I'm proud of you," he says. Quietly. Simply. The way he says things when he means them most.

You feel it land somewhere deep and settle there.

"It was just a procedure," you say, because some part of you still deflects when things get tender, and he knows this, and his thumb doesn't stop moving.

"It wasn't just a procedure," he says. "You kept your head when there was no one there to tell you to. You made a call that saved his life." A beat. "And you did it while apparently having a conversation about age gaps."

You close your eyes. "Santos told you."

"Santos tells me nothing. The bay has very thin curtains."

"Jack."

"The pink stethoscope," he says, "is iconic. For the record."

You open your eyes. He is, very nearly, smiling.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," you tell him.

"Don't push it."

You kiss him again, briefly, just because you can, just because it's late and the car is warm and he said he was proud of you and meant it down to the bone, and some days that is the whole thing.

"Same time tomorrow?" you ask, against his mouth.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

"Same time tomorrow," he says.

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

Wilde and Free - Chapter 11

Despite the night being deep and dark, the launching of the flares had filled the camp with so much energy they were still milling about everywhere, fires burning brightly.

It was by one of these burning pillars that Clarke and Eliana finally ended up alone for the first time since the night Murphy was banished. 

“I have nothing to say to you, Clarke,” Eliana was too tired to have this fight right now. In her muscles, in her bones, in her very soul. 

“I know. It’s not about that. When’s the last time you saw Octavia? We can’t find her anywhere.”

“I…” Eliana hesitated, not expecting the question and needing to think about the answer. “When Bellamy went into the woods after Raven’s pod, Octavia followed after him. I haven’t seen her since.”

Bellamy appeared, looming over Clarke’s shoulder. The vision of the two of them standing together opposite her, lit by the firelight, made Eliana feel more alone than she ever had. She shoved the feeling — down, down — and instead asked Bellamy, “She’s missing?”

“Do you even care?” Bellamy baited her. 

“She’s my friend, it’s not her fault she’s related to you,” Eliana snarked. “Let’s just find her. I assume you’ve checked camp already. If she’s not here then she has to be out there, and the three of us can’t cover enough ground to be useful. Not fast enough and not in the dark. We’ll need a proper search party,” Eliana turned to look directly at Clarke, eyebrows raised, “and a proper tracker.”

Bellamy set about gathering the necessary numbers for a search and Clarke went off to retrieve Finn from the tent he was sharing with Raven. That whole thing is just a disaster waiting to happen.

There was one face among the search party that had Eliana’s stomach dropping — Jasper.

“Jasper,” she guided him gently by the arm until they were a few steps away from the forming group. “You haven’t been outside of camp more than five steps since we got you back. It’s okay if you sit this out.”

“I-I thought you were still mad at me, about the whole, uh, Murphy thing?”

Eliana’s face softened. “I can be mad at you and still care about what happens to you.”

“I’m glad you’re still looking out for me,” Jasper said in reply. “I can do this. I need to do this.”

Brave, stubborn boy. He feels like he has something to prove. 

Murmuring from the camp cut the air around them and they both turned to look at the cause. Across the sky, gleaming bright and white-hot, hundreds of meteors were searing a glowing trail across the inky black sky. 

Eliana’s breath caught slightly at the beauty of it, then she saw Raven’s distraught face where she’d emerged from her tent with Finn and Clarke in tow and her breath stopped entirely as she realised what it meant. 

“We were too late,” she whispered. 

The words weren’t meant for anyone else, but they were heard anyway. Clarke and Raven both inclined their heads in confirmation.

“A meteor shower tells you that?” Bellamy questioned, his tone surprisingly free of irritation.

“It’s not a meteor shower, it’s a funeral,” Clarke answered, her voice strained. “Hundreds of bodies being returned to the earth from the Ark. This is what it looks like from the other side. They didn’t get our message.”

“This is all because of you!” Raven fumed at Bellamy, striding across to stand toe-to-toe with him.

“I helped you find the radio,” he shrugged.

“After you threw it in the river and only once you’d found out you weren’t as far up shit creek as you thought,” Eliana was the one who replied.

“He knows what he did,” Clarke reasoned. “Now he has to live with it.”

Apparently letting three hundred innocent people die so you don’t have to face what you’ve done is fine but asking for one twelve year old girl to face consequences for actual murder is a bridge too far.

“What I know is that my sister’s out there and I have to find her,” was Bellamy’s only reply. To Finn, he said, “Are you coming or not?”

Finn nodded, but he, Eliana and Jasper all lingered as Bellamy took the rest of the group out into the darkened trees. 

“It won’t be the end, will it?” Eliana asked.

“No,” Clarke answered. “The oxygen level will keep going down. They’ll kill more if they don’t know we’ve survived down here. They’ll have to.”

Jasper was encouraging them all to leave as the others moved out of sight but still, Finn hesitated. 

“I’ve gotta do this, but you should stay and fix the radio,” he told Raven. 

“Fix it?” She scoffed. “That transmitter’s smashed so unless there’s a parts supply depot down here, there’s no way we’re talking to the Ark.”

“Art supply store,” Clarke breathed, looking at Finn. The rest of them shared confused looks but Clarke didn’t explain further. “I know a place where we might be able to get what you need,” she said to Raven.

Raven was still puzzled, brows drawn together as her eyes flicked between Clarke and Finn. “Great,” she drew the word out slightly. “Look’s like you’re coming with me instead.”

Jasper was twitchy now, bouncing on his toes. “Finn, come on. We’re not gonna find her without you.”

Finn turned to leave, telling both women he was leaving behind to be careful while they were gone, but Raven halted him with a soft kiss. Clarke looked away.

“I love you,” she said, brown eyes glittering deeply with emotion in the flickering light of the fire. 

There was a moment of hesitation from Finn that made Eliana want to throw something at him before he said, “I love you too.”

Raven’s face shifted ever so slightly, just enough that Eliana knew she’d noticed that extra second. Then they split up, each group disappearing into the night and hoping they found what they were looking for. 

————————————————————————————————

Eliana was walking with Mbege now that they’d caught up with the rest of the group. She didn’t know where he’d been when Bellamy went recruiting, but Slater wasn’t with them.

Finn and Jasper had moved to the head of the group with Bellamy and she had no desire to spend any longer than necessary in his immediate company. 

“You seem better today,” Mbege said to her cautiously, keeping his eyes directed to their surroundings. “You had me and Slater real worried there for a minute.”

“My mom always said I felt things too deeply, acted too much on emotion. She worried it would ruin me in the end with my father being who he was.” 

Eliana paused as she considered that her mother might have been right, not about who but about what would eventually be her downfall. 

“I’m here, and I’m not giving up,” she eventually told her friend, quiet but not soft. “It’s not my style. And it’s not his either. I don’t know how he’ll ever make his way back to us but I have to believe he will eventually. Thank you for staying with me. For letting me bend but not break. I needed that.”

“I’m a coward, I shouldn’t have left him out there,” he confessed the thing that had stayed with him for days now. “I knew you would go with him and I came back because I was afraid. I never thought Bellamy would…”

“He did it because Murphy asked him to. I don’t know how they managed to agree on it, but I'm pretty sure they did.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Mbege slowed to a stop, Eliana alongside him, until the others had passed and were only visible thanks to the burning torches spread out amongst them. He didn’t speak again until it was just the two of them. “I’ve known Murphy a while now,” his voice was low, like he didn’t want to be overheard, “and I don’t remember him ever being the way he is when he’s with you. He never said anything, not beyond snarling at any of us who looked at you in ways he didn’t like, but I know you meant — mean — something to him. I’m not sure he knows what to do with that.”

“Yeah? Well that makes two of us.”

————————————————————————————————

For all Finn’s tracking expertise, it was Mbege who found their first real clue. Teetering on the edge of a steep drop that made her stomach clench, Mbege’s eyes swept the brush and halted on the spindly remains of some sort of shrubbery. 

“You see that?” He asked Eliana, lifting the flashlight he held higher to give her as much visibility as he could. 

“Good eyes, my friend,” she said, seeing for herself what had nabbed his attention. What looked like Octavia’s canteen had been caught up in the branches, dangling by the strap several feet below them. 

Mbege shouted the rest of their party over, showing them exactly what he’d shown her. Bellamy took one look, and called for rope to be passed up to him. When Finn asked, he only said they’d need it to climb back up. Then, without further hesitation, he looped the rope around his waist and slid down unsteadily on his feet until he reached what they were all looking at. 

“It’s hers!” He called back in confirmation. “I’m going all the way down, someone was here.”

One by one, they all used the rope to carefully lower themselves down to the base of the hill. Eliana let both Jasper and Finn go ahead of her, but Mbege only raised his eyebrows at her and stayed where he was when she gestured for him to do the same. She just rolled her eyes fondly at his blatant mothering of her, which was usually Slater’s job, and followed the others down the rope. 

When they caught up with them again, they found Finn surrounded by the group, crouched down examining some tracks in the mud.

“The prints came from over there, but then look at when they go this way; they’re deeper. Whoever it was, they were carrying her,” he said eventually.

“If they took her, then she’s alive. Like I was,” Jasper’s voice, to his credit, wobbled only slightly as he said the words. 

No one said anything more as they all set off in the direction the footprints went, Finn in the lead, until they reached the entrance of a trail that stopped them all in their tracks.

“Jesus,” someone breathed, Eliana wasn’t sure who because she couldn’t stop looking at what was in front of them. 

It was like something out of one of those old horror movies she and Clarke used to watch with Jake Griffin when no one was around to stop him from letting them scare themselves silly. Skeletons hung from trees like some awful mockery of the decorations that the people who inhabited the world before the bombs had once displayed at Halloween. There was no trace of the people they used to be left on them, only brittle, weathered bones crusted with leaves and sap and things she didn’t even want to think about. They bracketed the entrance to the pathway carving back into the deep woods and lined either side of it as far as their torchlight could reach and beyond. 

Unease, hot and sharp, sizzled along her every nerve and she grit her teeth against the urge to yield even a single step backwards.

“I don’t speak grounder,” Finn said, “but I’m fairly sure this means ‘keep out’.”

Behind them, several of their group decided that this was as far as they would go and fled back towards the hill, the flaming heads of their torches bobbing in retreat. Bellamy didn’t so much as look at them as he steeled himself. 

“Go back if you want. My sister, my responsibility,” he said as he stepped over the line and into the darkness. 

Despite herself, Eliana felt a small kernel of respect for Bellamy flare inside her. Even I can’t deny that he loves his sister. 

Jasper drew in a few deep breaths before he spoke, “I’d walk into hell to find her.”

“I think we just did,” Finn answered.

Still, they both wasted no more time before they stalked across the invisible line laid out at their feet. 

“I was raised by the devil,” Eliana shrugged with a lazy smirk at the remaining few as they, too, psyched themselves up and plunged onwards, “hell doesn’t scare me.”

Monroe was the last to pass them, and then it was just her and Mbege standing side by side.

“No chance I’m letting you take the rear,” he told her, under no illusion that the reason she’d waited was her intention to take up the most vulnerable position at the end of the line. There was no hint of her flippant, hilarious friend in his tone and so she didn’t argue. 

Instead she just sauntered into that tunnel of shadows and death like there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

————————————————————————————————

They walked endlessly, following Octavia’s trail until dawn broke and bathed them in the watery sunlight trickling through the canopy. 

On and on they trekked until Finn admitted he’d lost the trail entirely. 

At his admission, the group slowed and stumbled, all of them trying to pick up on anything at all that could help them find the way again.

Roma turned Eliana’s way; maybe to say something, maybe just because they were all turned around in circles. When she did, her face scrunched and she asked, “Where’s John?”

“He’s right…” Eliana trailed off, turning to where she expected to find her friend close behind her and finding only trees as far as the eye could see.

Heart plummeting, throat closing, Eliana spun. Searching.

Left.

Right.

Round and round and round again.

A sickening thud — heavy and wet and devastating.

She knew what she’d find before she looked, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to look, had to see. He deserved that. 

He was on his back, untouched except for the thin line of red spilling across his neck. There was no sign of the laughter she loved him for in those empty green eyes. She took a step towards him, gripped by some unhinged compulsion to hold his blood inside him as if it would bring him back to her. If the grounders hadn’t already known where they were, Eliana’s shattered cry of heartache would have told them. 

The world tilted then, collapsed into nothing but colours and sounds and someone was dragging her — running, running, running. 

Diggs went down.

Then Roma.

Jasper was shouting.

A horn sounded.

Somehow she ended up huddled beneath a tent, vaguely aware that she should be concerned about acid fog melting the skin from her bones. She wasn’t.

Thank you for letting me bend but not break. 

The words she’d said less than a day ago to another boy she’d held in her heart who was now dead.

How much? She wondered how much a person could bend before they reached that irreversible snap.

“How long are we meant to wait?” Jasper.

“Will this even work?” Monroe.

“We’ll find out.” Finn.

“No we won’t. There’s no fog.” Bellamy.

You’re alive. You’re alive and so are they and you need to hold it together or dragging your ass around is going to get someone else killed.

It was just enough to get her to slide her arm out of the hand that had been towing her around — Jasper’s — and force her legs under her when Bellamy ripped the tent away. He was right, no fog. There was, however, a hulking mass of grounder stalking away from them.

“He doesn’t see us. I’m going after him,” Bellamy declared. 

“And what, kill him?” Finn asked, incredulous.

“No, catch him. Make him tell me where Octavia is.” Bellamy paused. “Then kill him.”

Torture. He’ll torture him for information. 

Heaven forgive her, Eliana would let him do it. For Octavia.

“How can we be sure he’s not leading us into another trap?” Jasper asked.

“We can’t,” Eliana’s monotonous words hung in the air between them but she just shared a look with Bellamy, and she knew he saw in her eyes the sins she’d commit to save her friend. For now, for Octavia, they were on the same side. Without another word, Bellamy led the last remnants of their search party deeper into grounder territory. 

————————————————————————————————

They followed the grounder in complete silence at as close a distance as they dared. 

Eventually, he led them to a cave entrance hidden expertly amongst the greenery. They waited, disguised as best they could manage, and watched for several long minutes before deciding he wasn’t coming back out immediately. Then they moved.

Bellamy took up the front, and Eliana waited silently until the others had passed her before she entered the cave. She would be taking the rear from now on. 

A short tunnel of oppressive rock pressed down on her from all sides and then, thankfully, opened up into a wide room formed from stone. It was dank and bleak but there was enough light to see Octavia chained up on the far wall, and the mountain of a grounder out stone cold in the centre. 

Even sprawled across the cave floor, he cut an imposing figure. Tall and broad, he was a wall of muscle with a shaved head and dark war paint smeared across his face. There was an open wound on his head where Octavia had, somehow, knocked him out.

“Monroe, Wilde, guard the entrance.” Bellamy was already across the room, taking the key to free Octavia from her shackles.

It grated on her to take orders from him, but Octavia was his sister and Eliana wouldn’t have allowed any of them to stand guard alone out there after what had happened to them getting here. So she let him have command of her. Just this once. 

Once they’d pushed back through that narrow tunnel, Eliana took the makeshift spear from Monroe’s hand and placed herself one step ahead of the other girl so that Monroe was still shielded by the cave and she was their first line of defence.

“I saw you and Murphy in the dropship the first time the acid fog came,” Monroe’s words made Eliana stiffen. “I know you were close with him, and John Mbege. I’m sorry.”

Eliana didn’t know what the apology was for, the people she’d lost or Monroe’s hand in doing nothing when that crowd was baying for the blood of the wrong person. Either way, Eliana just nodded at her in acknowledgment. 

Shouts from inside the cave reached her, and the two of them raced back inside. Monroe got there first and stopped dead. Eliana had to gently slide her aside to see what was going on.

It was all over by the time they got in there, whatever it was. The grounder was once again out cold, though in a different place than before and…

Oh, God.

Octavia was cradling Finn’s head where he was also laying on the floor. With a knife in his side.

————————————————————————————————

Stupid.

It’d been so stupid to assume the grounder was out for the count, to assume that the only threat lay outside the cave.

“No!” Eliana launched herself between Jasper and Finn as Jasper reached towards the knife. It startled Jasper enough to make him take several steps back.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Eliana willed herself to calm down. “Just don’t take it out. We don’t know what it’s hit inside him and taking it out might do more damage. We need to get him back to Clarke, I can patch up basic wounds but even if I had the supplies I couldn’t treat this. We’ll have to do it without moving that knife.” 

Eliana shrugged out of her jacket, and then her shirt. Tugging her jacket back on and zipping it up, she picked up the spear from where she’d dropped it and used it to cut her shirt into strips long enough to wind around Finn’s abdomen. She looped them round him as best she could, both above and below the wound, and tied them as tight as she dared in the hope it would staunch any blood flow and keep the knife steady when they moved him. 

“We have to go now,” Eliana urged. “Octavia, now that it’s light out do you think you can get us back from here?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Octavia said. 

“Someone’s gonna have to carry Finn alone, we can’t have him stretched between two people because it might pull on the wound and move the knife. Bellamy, can you do that?

Bellamy nodded.

“Okay, then get him up. Carefully. Octavia, help him.” Suddenly Eliana was the one giving orders. 

She glanced around the cave, there were enough weapons that she decided the grounder could spare a few. She wanted as many of them armed as possible. Monroe already had their spear back in her hands, and Eliana grabbed another one from the grounders stash and handed it to Jasper. She didn’t let herself wonder if he could handle holding a weapon just like the one that had struck him.

“Bellamy and Finn will be vulnerable, so the rest of us have to be ready,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I know he blew the horn to lure the other grounders away but I’m not taking any chances.”

She took two wicked looking knives from a table and handed one to Octavia, keeping the other for herself.

When everyone was ready, she sent Monroe out first with Octavia and at their all clear, Bellamy followed with Finn. Then Jasper and finally, Eliana was at last back in the crisp, fresh air. 

“Eyes up,” she told everyone, stomach turning at the memory of empty green eyes. “I’m not losing anyone else out here today.”

They moved forward in that formation; Octavia scouting the way with Monroe covering her, Finn and Bellamy protected in the middle, Jasper close behind them and Eliana guarding them from the back.

She had no real concept of time as they walked but she put all her focus into their surroundings, marking the way so she could find that cave again if she needed to. It would be a good landmark to use to determine her location relative to camp. Shame that the grounder had already laid claim to it, or it’d be a useful place to use as shelter for longer forays away from the main camp.

It seemed in the chaos of the previous night, they’d doubled back on themselves. The cave was actually closer to camp than she’d thought because they were soon back within sight of its walls and she could hear Octavia and Monroe calling for Clarke.

The moment Bellamy stepped through the entrance, Clarke was at his side and Finn was being whisked away into the dropship. 

When they’d gone, Eliana found herself faced with Paul Slater who asked, “Mbege?” 

His face dropped at the pain he saw on her own and it was all she could do to shake her head, eyes filling with tears. This time he did hug her, and she let him. 

She distantly heard Bellamy tell everyone within hearing range that a storm was coming.

All she could think was, of course it is.

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

Wilde and Free - Chapter 10

When Eliana came to, the first thing she noticed was the throbbing in the back of her head.

“Hey, easy,” Mbege’s voice swam in her ears for a second before she could make sense of it. 

“The hell happened?” She asked haltingly when she could manage words.

So Mbege told her. He’d wanted to check on her, had a niggling feeling she wasn’t as done as she wanted people to believe, so he’d left Slater behind in their shared tent and gone to Murphy’s. When she wasn’t there, he went looking for her and came across them just as Bellamy clocked her over the back of the head with a length of discarded pipe.

“How long was I out?”

“Only about twenty minutes,” he told her.

Just long enough for them to shove her up in the top level of the dropship.

Bellamy had carted her up here, and Mbege had told the man in no uncertain terms that he was perfectly welcome to lock the hatch as he’d planned to but that he wasn’t leaving her up here on her own.

She was stuck. Locked up yet again. Worse than that, it would mean she’d missed her chance. Murphy was smart, he’d be long gone by morning and with the woods so vast and unfamiliar she’d never have any chance of finding him. She put a hand to her chest, swearing she could feel the thunderous rumble as some vital part of her cracked open in the wake of hope being ripped out of her.

Gone. He was gone. 

The walls were closing in, the air growing heaving and had it always been this hard to breathe? 

A flash of vivid blue eyes.

Gone. 

I’m suffocating, she thought wildly, her vision going dark and fuzzy around the edges.

The memory of a wickedly sharp smirk. 

Gone.

She couldn’t get air into her lungs, her chest heavy. 

The feeling of warm hands fluttering over her skin.

Gone.

Her own hands came up, her fingers clawing desperately at her throat. 

Mbege was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of her own heartbeat galloping in her ears.He seemed to realise he wasn't getting through to her, because he took her by the shoulders, positioned himself where she could see him and made exaggerated breathing motions until she began copying him. He breathed with her, deeply and in slow motion, for several long minutes until she was breathing of her own accord again and then he let go of her. When the adrenaline left her body, her deep breaths became huge, heaving sobs.

Mbege didn’t reach for her again, and she was grateful for it because she didn’t think she could stand it if he did. She sobbed until she was breathless once more and then tears rolled silently until her eyelids crumbled under the tide of her grief and oblivion took her. 

Whatever force existed in the universe, it was merciful enough that she was too exhausted to dream.

———————————————————————————————————

The next morning, even after she woke, Eliana lay still for a good long while. Until she’d leashed her temper like the rabid beast that it was and wrestled down the wave of anguish threatening to rise anew. Only when she felt nothing at all did she peel open her swollen eyelids and drag herself up to face the day. 

Mbege didn’t say anything to her, just watched as she tested the hatch and found it unlocked.

The two of them met Slater at the bottom of the ladder, where it looked like he’d spent a sleepless night. Either the two boys had spoken to each other through the hatch while she was asleep or some wordless knowledge passed between them because Slater didn’t ask any questions.

She decided that today she’d take the time to catalogue their remaining supplies, and drifted around the camp like a wraith, speaking to no one as she did. Mbege and Slater remained always nearby, flanking her and hovering like her own personal bodyguards. Whether they were guarding her from the camp or the camp from her, she didn’t know or care. 

She started in the dropship, floating around and making note of what remained of their medical supplies. While she was there, she remembered that pack of supplies she’d put together the previous day. Remembered that she’d dropped it at Murphy’s side to take his bloody face in her hands and that it had been left there as she was dragged away. Her heart stuttered pathetically in her chest with the hope that it might help him, might be the difference between life and death. 

Some small part of her, the part her mother had nourished with love and hope and fairytales, was hoping against everything that the world had taught her that just because she couldn’t find him now, didn’t mean she’d never see him again. That was the part of her that gave her the strength to get up and do anything at all.

As she carried on outside, taking stock of anything and everything she thought would be useful to them, they came; Octavia, Jasper and Monty. They each came alone, approaching her with all the caution one would afford a ticking bomb — to check on her, to ask if she was okay.

She simply nodded at them, even if it was a lie. That she could even manage that was something. Not quite forgiveness — not yet — but something like reluctant understanding. She might not like it, might not agree, but she could accept that they didn’t owe Murphy, or her, anything. They didn’t know him like she did and, truthfully, they hadn’t known her all that long either. Though the speed with which bonds formed under the pressure of this place made it feel like they had always known one another. It wasn’t their betrayal that left her raw and wounded.

Clarke and Finn had been nowhere to be found all day. The thought of them somewhere — happy, laughing, together — made a lightning bolt of hate seize her insides. It was so strong that she stopped dead in the middle of camp; motionless and eyes screwed shut, not drawing another breath until it passed.

She felt the rift between her and Clarke like a physical thing, like losing a limb. She didn’t know how they came back from this. If they even could. They were always so similar; fiery and stubborn and full of conviction. Whenever they’d disagreed before, Wells had always been there to guide them back together. The steady, unflinching voice of reason. It filled her with resentment to know that if it had been Clarke they’d lost, Wells would have trusted her enough not to do what the blonde had.

As darkness fell over them, she found she’d drifted outside the walls of camp to the part of these beautiful woods they’d turned into a graveyard. At this moment, she felt she belonged there among the dead. 

Mbege and Slater didn’t follow her when she collapsed down next to Wells’ grave with all the grace of a puppet who’d had its strings cut. They’d stay near enough to hear her if she called for help, but knew better than to intrude on the solitude she found there.

“Everything’s gone to shit since you left,” she told the silent soil. “I think we might really be done this time, Wells. Clarke and I never could make up without you to force us to take the first step.” She shook her head. “I started this thing with Murphy. I know, right?” She spoke as if Wells were actually there, expressing his shock. “It was good though, the first really good thing I’ve ever had that was just for me. He’s gone now, too. He’ll live though. He’s clever and cunning and there’s probably nothing he won’t do to survive. I have to believe he’ll make it or I think I might as well just get down there in the dirt with you.” She sighed, a sound filled with more suffering than anyone should know at her age. “I miss you.”

She believed it too, that Murphy would live. He was sly and nothing if not a survivor. But even still, she had no idea how she’d ever see him again with so much of the world now between them. 

She was still there, staring blankly at the night sky, when the pod ripped a blazing line through the stars. 

From her spot, through the small entrance they’d left open in the wall, she could see when the sight of it sent a shockwave of intrigue through the camp. Even Bellamy emerged from his tent to see what all the noise was about. She’d been avoiding him as much as he’d been avoiding her, but seeing his broken nose — despite the fact that Clarke had obviously set it for him — and the deep bruises blossoming over his eyes and jaw gave her a thrill of dark satisfaction. Especially as the back of her own head ached relentlessly.

Bellamy made his decree, despite Octavia’s objections; they were to wait until morning to go after whatever supplies the Ark had dropped down in that pod. 

Funny then, that he stole into the darkness alone not ten minutes later, when no one but Eliana was watching. Except, apparently, Octavia, who waited little more than a minute or two before sneaking after her brother. I guess she’s learned as quickly as the rest of us what Bellamy’s word is worth. 

Eliana briefly considered following the two of them, she’d always known Bellamy had secrets he kept even from his sister, but her limbs and heart were too heavy to bear so she stayed exactly where she was.

———————————————————————————————————

When they all returned, dawn was breaking beautifully over the trees and there was a new face amongst them. They’d walked right into camp and none of them noticed her, motionless as she was in the same spot she’d sat all night long. 

The newest addition was an attractive young woman, with flawless olive skin — except for the wound at her temple — and an open face that displayed her wonder for all to see. 

She was hanging off Finn like it was second nature, and Clarke was looking more uncomfortable than Eliana had ever seen her. Oh, now that’s interesting. The pleasure it gave her was vile and vicious and lasted for only seconds but it made her feel slimy and uncomfortable in her own skin — every inch her father’s daughter. 

“You’re not like that. You only ever fight to defend, not just to make someone hurt.” Murphy’s voice rang in her head and now she was the one feeling ashamed. The other night, her temper had won. She’d fought Bellamy just because she wanted to break something, someone. 

She squeezed her eyes closed and conjured faces in her mind. 

Her mother; the kindest woman who’d ever lived, as far as Eliana was concerned. Who could be touched by darkness but not tainted by it as she was.

Wells Jaha; the boy who steadied her when the current of her emotions threatened to sweep her away, the most forgiving person in her life. 

John Murphy; a sharp, wicked young man who believed she was better than she really was and who was gentle with her even when he wasn’t with the rest of the world.

She held those images behind her eyes and close to her heart until she felt the rough edge of her father’s influence leave her and when she opened them, she found that she was no longer alone. 

Finn was standing warily in front of her, with Clarke and the new girl a few steps behind him. Off to the side, and looking more unsure of himself than he ever had since being on the ground, was Bellamy. 

“We have to tell you something,” Finn said. “But first, this is my girlfriend Raven.” He gestured to the olive-skinned beauty. Only clamping her teeth down on the sensitive skin on the inside of her mouth made it possible for Eliana not to show any hint of surprise. 

The way he’s been acting with Clarke when he’s already got a girlfriend… better hope Raven doesn’t react how I would if I was her.

“How is it possible that you’re here?” Eliana directed her question at Raven to avoid having to speak to Finn until she felt like she could do it without throttling him. What is wrong with this boy?

The woman didn’t shy from the attention, stepping up and meeting Eliana’s gaze. 

“There was an old dropship on the Ark, like a hundred and thirty years old kind of old. Abby helped me repair it,” Raven told her. Clarke tensed at the mention of her mother but said nothing. “She was meant to come down with me, but the council found out and wanted to stop us so it was kind of an emergency launch.”

“And so you just shot yourself down here to Earth in a hundred and thirty year old dropship you repaired yourself on nothing but a wing and a prayer?”

“Sure did.” There was no small amount of pride in Raven’s voice.

“Badass. I like it,” Eliana smirked at the girl. Not quite a smile, but the first twitch of her lips that wasn’t a snarl in days. “Now tell me why. I know Abby, she’s never done anything just for the hell of it and she’s not exactly got form for going against the council. So what’s got her scared enough to disobey them now?”

“Oh you’re smart, I like you,” Raven answered Eliana’s smirk with one of her own.

“Why do we even need to tell her? Just make her come and help so we can get on with it,” Bellamy gritted out through his teeth, apparently done with being on the sidelines.

“Shut up Bellamy,” Clarke snapped. “I told you that if we’re going to have to clean up the mess you made, then we’re doing it my way. No more secret meetings, no more unilateral decisions.”

Clarke didn’t look at Eliana, and she didn’t look at Clarke, but she knew the message was as much for her as it was for Bellamy. She recognised it for what it was; in the void between them where their resident peacemaker used to live, Clarke was making the first move. She’d sent Finn to do it, sure, but it was her hand that guided him. It was a start. Miniscule, something less than a baby step, and it changed nothing for now, but it was still more than she had expected.

“Tell me,” she demanded of Finn. Not able to look at Clarke, not really knowing Raven and not even slightly trusting Bellamy, it would be Finn who’d have to tell her. 

And tell her he did. That they needed the radio from Raven’s ship so they could reach the Ark. They needed it because if they didn’t confirm they were alive down here, three hundred people would be sacrificed in the culling to save air. 

But they needed her to help, and to encourage others to help, look for the radio because they didn’t have it anymore. Because Bellamy had thrown it in the river. Because Bellamy had been afraid he would be executed if they ever followed them down here. Because the price of his admission into the dropship with Octavia was to shoot Chancellor Jaha.

The only reason that Bellamy himself was now willing to help them find it was because Raven had confirmed he’d managed to wound, but not kill, their illustrious leader so there was a chance he might just be locked up or punished rather than executed.

It was only Raven who was surprised when Eliana let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh as she forced herself to her feet. 

“Earth didn’t quite turn out to be the paradise getaway you were hoping for, huh?” She asked Bellamy, eyes darting obviously over his battered face.

“Shut up, I did what I did for Octavia. What would you know about it?” Bellamy spat.

“Oh please, taking a shot at Jaha I can actually respect. I wouldn’t have wasted a single second feeling sorry if you’d killed him. It’s what comes after that’s the difference between you and I, Bellamy. When I killed my father to try and stop him beating my mother to death,” she said the words plainly, no longer caring to keep her air of mystery she’d landed here with and annoyed by his earlier insinuation that she didn't know what it was like to cross impossible lines for the people you loved, “I didn’t run away and use everybody I came across as a human shield between me and the consequences. That’s the part of you I don’t respect.”

The air was uncomfortable again, it seemed to do that often when she spoke these days. Rather than address it, she just said, “Come on then, we’ve got shit to do.”

A day. She’d had a day to wallow. She wouldn’t give herself any more, couldn’t give herself any more or she'd be entirely lost to it.

If Murphy could survive, so could she. She’d have to trust that time and her faith in him would do the rest.

———————————————————————————————————

Being in the river would have been soothing, if not for the sounds of all their little helpers desperately splashing around in search of the missing radio.

Eliana had rounded up Mbege and Slater first, they were easy picks; they’d do what she asked without much more than a question or two. She, Clarke and Finn had then herded together a handful more recruits and Bellamy had led them all back to the spot where he’d thrown it in. I wish I could throw him in and leave him there to drown.

She’d seen the plea on Finn’s face clear as day so, more for Raven’s sake than his, she took the dark-eyed girl by the arm and said she was stealing her for however long the search took because she’d grown bored of the rest of them already. Whatever conversation was about to be had between Clarke and Finn, it was kinder if Raven wasn’t anywhere near it. 

“So, uh,” Raven began, shifting under the sidelong looks everyone was giving Eliana and casting glances at Mbege and Slater who were searching as close by as they could be without being directly on top of the two girls, “what’s with all the looks? I know you said what happened with your folks but, this seems more personal than that to everyone else?”

“Oh no, most of them don’t even know the truth of that story,” she gave a wry smile. “It has been a long couple of days,” Eliana told her heavily. “The ground is beautiful, but it’s brutal too. We’ve lost some people and I haven’t really been keeping my temper in check. Bellamy’s current… facial difficulties are my fault.”

To her surprise, Raven laughed at that. It was a lovely thing; light and free. Eliana briefly hoped Raven wouldn’t lose that here on the ground. “Damn, now I like you even more,” she told Eliana. “I’ve only had one conversation with him since I crashed and it ended with me pointing a knife at him.” 

That got a smile out of Eliana; small but genuine. “He does have that effect on people.”

A short silence, filled with the gurgle of the river and the splashing as they waded around searching for any hint of technology in the clear water.

“You came down from space for Finn?” Eliana asked. 

“Yeah,” Raven’s whole face lit up at the mention of her boyfriend. “He’s my family. I’m glad to help the people still on the Ark but he’s why I really came. I love him and I’d do anything for him, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eliana breathed, thinking of cool blue eyes and strong arms that, despite everything, made her feel safe. “I think maybe I do.”

“Okay, mysterious. I want to hear more about that, thank you.”

“I can’t…” Eliana trailed off, chest aching again. “He’s gone. Not dead,” she plowed on at Raven’s horrified look. “At least, I hope he’s not dead. It’s a long story, but he’s not here right now and I can’t…”

“And this is tied up with why Bellamy’s face has been smashed in and why Clarke refused to lift a finger to help until she’d told you everything?”

“Yes. It’s just… it’s a whole big mess that I have no idea what to do with and I can’t talk about it right now or I’ll fall apart and never come back together again.”

“Okay,” was Raven’s only response. No judgement, no pushing, just ‘okay’. It was nice, to have someone around her who didn’t know what had gone on, who hadn’t already met Murphy and deemed him an acceptable loss.

A couple of minutes later, Jones gave up the shout that he’d found the radio. Not that it would do them much good, they realised, as she and Raven gathered round Clarke, Finn and Bellamy to look at it. 

“Can you fix it?” Clarke asked Raven.

“Maybe,” she replied, turning the radio over in her hands and inspecting it. “But it’ll take half the day just to dry out the components to see what’s broken.”

“Like I said, it’s too late.” God, how does anyone spend time in this man’s company without wanting to break his nose?

Clarke spun, getting in Bellamy’s face. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you even care?!” 

“Is it always like this down here?” Raven asked quietly at Eliana’s side.

“When we let Bellamy speak, yes. I’m all for cutting his tongue out but people can get quite precious about that sort of thing.”

Raven huffed a laugh but then realisation came over her face and she interrupted the brewing argument between their two de facto leaders. “Hold up,” she said. “We don’t need to talk to the Ark. We just need to let them know we’re down here. We have flares, we just need to be able to use them.”

———————————————————————————————————

Raven had spun into action after that, shouting out order after order for people to remove this and that from her pod nearby. 

Eliana made the decision to go with Finn when he was sent packing by his girlfriend to bring some panel or other back and the two were now hiking towards the main camp.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Finn said after several long minutes. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything, Finn. Maybe you thinking I am is just the manifestation of a guilty conscience.”

“I didn’t think I’d see her again, okay?” 

“I am so not going to debate your relationship issues with you right now. If you want to unburden your soul, talk to your girlfriend about it.”

Silence descended on them, but not uncomfortably.

Eventually, Eliana broke it, “I never said thank you, by the way. You tried to cut Murphy down when no one else did a damn thing.” Then, in a vulnerable voice that tore at Finn’s heart, she said, “Do you think he’s still alive?”

“I think,” Finn said carefully, “that if anyone is going to make it out there just for sheer spite then it will be Murphy. But, Ellie, you know that even if he is then he can’t come back here.” 

“Right, I’m really not about to listen to a lecture on morality from a guy who couldn’t wait two full weeks before he cheated on his girlfriend,” Eliana shot at him, temper flaring at the pity in his tone. “I need to believe he’s alive and that maybe… maybe I’ll see him again. Raven cared enough about you to jettison herself into space in a rundown old pod just for an outside chance of seeing you again. Did it ever occur to you — any of you, even once — that I might care that much about him?”

“I… No.”

Eliana snorted. “Well I’m honoured to be the only woman in your life that you’re actually honest with. Last one, I promise,” she said as Finn opened his mouth to argue with her.

———————————————————————————————————

Later, when those flares were sent up, they went with the prayers of a wounded girl who seemed to court death wherever she was despite her best intentions — for whatever those prayers were worth. 

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

Wilde and Free - Chapter 9

A/N: This is the episode Murphy's Law. I would guess most readers will know what means but just in case; there will be depictions of hanging in this chapter.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

For the next several days, Eliana found herself flitting back and forth between two very different groups.

She sat with Clarke and Octavia every morning, the three of them sharing breakfast and gossip to make them feel normal just for a short while.

She checked in with Jasper a few times every day, heartened to see him stronger each time she did, and listened to Monty animatedly explain to her what he was trying next in his mission to use the wristbands to contact the Ark even though she didn’t understand a damn word that he said on the subject.

Each evening, she spent the hour before darkness fell sitting beside where they’d buried Wells and she spoke to him about anything and everything, quietly unloading her soul to him. Finn hovered nearby, respectfully pretending he couldn’t hear her, because he refused to allow anyone else to be alone out in the woods.

In between, she spent her time helping out on the wall construction with Murphy’s crew. She liked the camaraderie they shared, and that when he was with them, Murphy was more relaxed. Not exactly the way he was with her, but not the same spiky version of himself he gave to everyone else either.

She learned that John Mbege was full of mischief and good humour that, to hear him tell it, he inherited from his grandfather.

Grandparents weren’t really part of life on the Ark. Resources were limited and if you were past prime working or reproductive age and it came down to you or someone younger and more likely to recover from illness, your chances of getting that medicine or care were slim to non-existent.

Eliana had spent many hours debating with her mother about how that particular policy was heavily weighted against women where it pertained to reproduction. But the less said about that, the better.

Mbege told her, in short bursts between their backbreaking labour, that his grandfather had died when he was young, too young for him to remember much but just old enough to have a few scattered memories of a man who could rattle off what seemed to be the contents of every joke book that remained accessible to the human race.

Mbege’s favourites were, of course, the space jokes. They were awful. Truly, undeniably awful.

“Hey Wilde, you like to read? I started reading this book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.”

“Hey Wilde, how does the man in the moon cut his hair? Eclipse it!”

“Hey Wilde, are you an asteroid? Because you rock my world.”

That last one got him a smack across the back of the head from Murphy that was maybe slightly rougher than it needed to be. But he said them all with such confidence, a mischievous smirk on his face and a twinkle in his green eyes, that she laughed anyway.

Paul Slater was such a contrast that they were like a study in extremes. He was quiet, but he had a sharp eye and quick mind. He didn’t share any stories of his family or life on the Ark but Eliana couldn’t fault him for that. None of them ended up here because they had perfect lives, after all.

He was a steady, grounding presence in what was an otherwise chaotic bunch. He steered them without them even realising when they were getting off track. He made sure they all drank enough water by simply handing it out when they were too distracted to realise they were being managed. When Mbege’s joking flirtations carried on long enough that they were at risk of Murphy’s temper flaring, a quick look was all it took to tell his friend he was heading for dangerous ground. He even got them set up with workspaces that kept Eliana away from Bellamy as much as possible, knowing the two were likely to clash over something if he didn’t.

They effortlessly sank themselves under her skin to join the growing list of people who gave her life and who she’d give her own life for in a heartbeat.

Any other time she could carve out for herself was spent with Murphy. She hadn’t given him all of herself, not yet. Despite all her talk of needing to feel and forget, and regardless of what everyone else believed was happening, she hadn’t been ready to cross that final line with him that day in the forest, or any day since.

For all his sins and self-hatred, he hadn’t pushed for more than she was willing to give nor had he pulled away from her because of it. Still, she found herself getting lost in him; in his arms and his lips and his hands on her skin.

Or perhaps she was finding herself instead for she felt most at home with him. The nights proved that the most.

When they’d first begun establishing camp, she’d refused a tent of her own, even those flimsy walls making her feel restless. The longer she spent on the ground, the more she craved the open sky and the expanse of the wilderness spread out around them. Some nights he spent by her side out beneath the stars but most nights, for him, they spent inside his tent.

He was what kept her together when the nightmares came. The ones that were more memory than dream. The ones with fists and blood and knives and crushing dirt.

Eliana jerked awake, surging into a sitting position with her pulse racing and blood rushing in her ears. Next to her in the dark, blue eyes blinked open, a hand running softly down her arm.

“Same one?” He asked her quietly.

“Yeah, it usually is,” she said back once her breathing calmed. “Although now sometimes it’s Wells, since…. since it happened.”

He didn’t ask anything else, simply pulled her down by her arm until she was lying down again, his chest pressed against her back. His arm slipped over her side, his hand finding the exposed sliver where her shirt had ridden up her stomach, and he dragged his fingers lazily over her skin in invisible patterns until she fell asleep again.

He was there when she finally cracked and cried the tears she knew she owed the boy who haunted her.

“And then Wells said…” Eliana trailed off, eyes stinging. She and Murphy were sitting together in his tent, and she’d been telling him a story from the Ark, but suddenly forming words seemed to be impossible.

“Ellie?” He asked her, looking worried.

“I have to… I should go,” she said. It was one thing for him to see her after her nightmares, that was in the middle of the night and they never really talked about it. But to cry in front of him in broad daylight? She didn’t know if she could do that, or if she was even allowed to.

“Go? Go where? Ellie, wait—” Murphy grabbed her by the arm as she got up to leave, just enough to make her stop.

She blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I know… I know I’m an asshole but you don’t have to run away. I’m not gonna be a dick about it if you’re upset about Wells.”

There was no stopping them after that, the tears burned hot behind her eyes and trailed icy down her cheeks.

His arms came around her, her head landed on his chest.

She cried until there were no more tears to give.

They never talked about what it meant. To either of them.

Her world was coming alive around her again — despite the heartache — with laughter, and friendship, and something with an angry boy with a guarded heart that felt hopeful and fragile and that she didn’t dare give name to. It was meaningful and it was good. And like all good things, life had no intention of letting her keep it.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Eliana had been standing with Monty near the fire, having convinced the boy to take a break with her while Octavia took Jasper out of the camp walls for the first time since his attack, when Mbege came to warn her in a hushed whisper about what they’d found in the woods. That Clarke and Bellamy were in one of the bigger tents discussing what to do about it. Without her.

“Show me,” she ordered Mbege.

All words stopped and every eye in the tent turned to her as she swept in the entrance. She cast hurt and disappointed looks at Jasper and Octavia who both refused to meet her eyes, but it was Clarke she spoke to.

“I had to find out from Mbege?” She asked.

“It was need to know,” Bellamy told her.

“I am so not talking to you,” Eliana didn’t take her gaze from Clarke’s. “He was my friend too.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke told her, “but I didn’t think you could be objective about this given what was found.”

Eliana slid her gaze to where Clarke was holding up the knife Murphy had crafted from scrap metal when they’d first landed here.

“You think he killed Wells?” Eliana didn’t need to say she thought this whole thing was ridiculous, her tone did it for her.

“It’s his knife, Ellie!” Clarke shouted. “I don’t think he did, I know he did.”

“Based on that knife? In a camp full to bursting with criminals, pickpockets and thieves? A knife,” Eliana pointed out, “that I used just as much as he did?”

“So maybe you did it then,” Bellamy piped up, eyebrow raised.

Now Eliana did look at Bellamy, everyone did. Octavia said his name in quiet reprimand.

“I would be so very careful what you say next,” Eliana warned him quietly. She knew, could feel it in the air, that no one took him seriously, but the suggestion alone was the ultimate offense to her. “Wells was the absolute best part of me, and if I could die to bring him back then I would.”

“No one actually thinks you did it, Ellie,” Octavia said softly.

“Bellamy clearly does,” Eliana said, tilting her head at the man in question with a predatory grace. “Maybe he’d like to do something about it?”

“He wouldn’t,” Octavia shot a sharp look at her brother that said the subject was closed.

The fact that Octavia was the one who came to her defence made Eliana’s shoulders tense. Whether Clarke knew Eliana would be aware she could never believe that she’d betray Wells, she should have been the one to say something.

“I know Murphy, Clarke, and he didn’t do this.”

She knew what people thought of him, and that he didn’t help himself for the most part, but she’d seen that he was capable of being more than that. She didn’t think even he was cruel enough to comfort her over a death he’d caused.

“Do you really know him, Ellie, or are you just hoping that you haven’t been screwing the guy who murdered Wells?”

The temperature in the room felt like it plummeted at Clarke’s words and someone — probably Jasper — sucked in a breath that echoed in the silence.

“I’m going to let that go, Clarke,” Eliana’s tone was deadly calm, “given the circumstances and because you’re my oldest friend.”

The three women in the room all knew the words were only said in an effort to hurt Eliana. Clarke knew damn well she hadn’t screwed anyone because Eliana had kept nothing back from the two of them.

“The people deserve to know that Wells was murdered by one of their own,” Clarke declared, electing not to debate the matter further.

Despite Bellamy’s protests, Clarke was like a force of nature as she stormed out of the tent and slammed into Murphy like a hurricane.

If Bellamy Blake is telling you it’s a bad idea, you really need to take some time to reconsider, Eliana thought.

“Son of a bitch!” Clarke shouted, and everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. “Recognise this?” She held up the knife.

“My knife, where did you find it?” Murphy asked, confused.

“Where you dropped it after you killed Wells.”

“The grounders killed Wells, not me,” Murphy argued.

“I know what you did, and you’re gonna pay,” Clarke promised him darkly.

“Clarke, stop,” Eliana placed herself next to Murphy, meeting Clarke’s wild anger with her own icy calm. “The last time either of us saw that knife was days ago, just after the acid fog, and we were both using it for target practice.”

It was a line drawn in the sand, Eliana stood against Clarke over something that had the potential to really ruin them for the first time in their lives. Clarke drew back as if she’d been struck by a physical blow.

“Everybody here knows you’d never hurt Wells,” Clarke had finally said what Eliana had been hoping she would five minutes ago but it gave her little comfort now. “Which only leaves him. You can’t seriously be choosing his side.”

“There doesn’t have to be sides, Clarke, because he didn’t do what you’re accusing him of.”

“And I’m just supposed to trust his word?”

“I’m not asking you to trust him, Clarke, I’m asking you to trust me. Haven’t I earned that?”

“He threatened to kill Wells, we all heard him,” Clarke was too far gone to hear any amount of reason. “You hated him!” She accused Murphy.

“Bellamy, you believe this crap?” He called over Clarke’s shoulder, bolstered by the fact that Eliana was stood at his side. She had loved Wells perhaps the most fiercely of anyone here, if she wasn’t against him then surely no one could really believe he’d done this. His brow furrowed when he got no answer. “Plenty of people here hated him,” he carried on. “His father was the reason we were locked up.”

“You’re the only one who got in a knife fight with him though.”

“And he got his ass kicked, which he’s aware he totally deserved and is an experience I would have happily repeated for him if he’d done anything else to hurt Wells,” Eliana told Clarke.

They went back and forth some more, Murphy insisting he was innocent and Clarke and eventually Bellamy making arguments for why he wasn’t. So much for ‘this is a bad idea, Clarke’.

“I say we float him,” Connor called from the edge of the crowd of spectators. The instant shouts of agreement had alarm bells ringing in her head and dread curling low in her stomach.

Clarke suddenly looked worried too, as if she hadn’t been the start of all this, and argued that wasn’t the point she’d been making. But Connor had had his pride wounded by Murphy — never mind that Eliana had come to his defence and that this wasn’t about him anyway — and now he was smelling blood in the water.

The next thing anyone knew, the crowd had exploded into a violent, writhing thing with a mind of its own. Hands grabbed Murphy away from her, beating him down to the ground, punching and kicking any part of him they could reach, tying his hands and feet, gagging him.

More hands grabbed her as she tried to go to him, she didn’t know who they belonged to but there seemed to be no end to them. She screamed and cursed, kicked and punched. She felt several blows land but whenever she slipped free of one hand, another one was there in an instant. Her eyes caught Mbege’s where he and Slater were being given the same treatment and they shared a panicked look.

It was Myles — Myles with his sweet face and hyperactive personality that reminded her of an energetic puppy — that tied the noose and slipped it over Murphy’s head.

The world seemed to slow and the moment stretched grotesquely. She stilled, eyes locked on what they were doing to him and she lost her sense of time. Long minutes could have passed, years, eons, she had no idea.

She could feel the panic rising in her; curling around her lungs, weighing on her chest, sticking in her throat. The thought of him dying, of spending a single moment in a world where he didn’t exist, was hideous.

When the moment snapped and time resumed, she became, if possible, wilder still. She felt the back of her head make contact with someone’s face when she threw it back forcefully and she scratched at the hands caging her so hard that her nails broke and left welts in their wake but they didn’t let up.

When they pulled him up and shoved a crate under his feet, he searched the crowd until he found her and for the first time since she’d known him, John Murphy looked utterly terrified. His face was a bloody mess and he was shouting words she couldn’t hear around the gag in his mouth.

It was Bellamy who kicked the crate out from under him, and Eliana knew the sound he made would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She didn’t know where he’d been, but this was the moment that Finn returned to the camp and she wondered distantly what he thought when he saw the scene before him. To his credit, he tried immediately to go to Murphy’s aid, but he was held back by Connor, who was keeping him at bay at knifepoint with absolutely no care for the irony.

“Stop it!” A small voice rose above the din as little Charlotte forced herself forward. “Murphy didn’t kill Wells, I did!”

The horror of her admission sent everyone slack, and Eliana wasted no time, lunging forward, snatching the axe Bellamy carried in his belt and severing the rope holding Murphy by the neck in a single swing. He hit the ground knees first, and then fell forward onto his face because his hands and feet were still bound.

It was the only thing that stopped her burying the axe in Bellamy’s head next.

She and Mbege both slid into the dirt next to him and Mbege freed his hands before helping her roll him over onto his back. She lifted the gag from his mouth while Slater cut the rope wrapped around his ankles. Then she used the lightest touch possible while she worked the rope free from where it had dug into the skin of his neck.

“I know,” she whispered to him, eyes filling with tears, as he hissed in pain. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

When that was done, she eased him up until he was sitting and softly, so softly, leaned her forehead against his so she was the only thing he could see. He was shaking, his eyes still wide with panic, looking but not really seeing her. “You’re okay, it’s over, we’re okay,” she whispered this to him over and over until his shaking stopped and he could hold her gaze.

Then she ordered Mbege and Slater to get him up, and they obeyed without hesitation.

“Get him into the dropship,” she told them when he was on his feet with one of them under each shoulder, aware of but paying no heed to the uncharacteristic silence blanketing the camp. “Those wounds need looking at, they’re filthy and if they’re not cleaned then they’ll get infected for sure.”

“I can…” Clarke began as they all started to move.

“Don’t!” Eliana whipped round with wicked speed, her voice all steel and ice. Clarke actually took a full step back. “Just…. don’t. You’ve done enough.” She fixed each of her so-called friends, with the exception of Finn, with a look of such fury that they looked ashamed. “You’ve all done quite enough. Do not follow me.”

When she made it to the dropship and Mbege and Slater had gotten Murphy situated, she sent them to wait outside. She figured he wouldn’t want to show any more of what he considered to be weakness in front of his friends today. She knew it was only down to the truth of her own trauma that he allowed her to be here for this.

They didn’t speak as she tended to his wounds, what words could make sense of what just happened?

She checked his fingers and hands for broken bones, lifted his shirt to feel for broken ribs, washing him free of blood and dirt as she went. His face and neck, she left for last. She was slow and gentle, but she still noticed his breathing sped up and he had to hold his muscles tense to stop himself from pulling away when she touched his neck.

After she’d cleaned him up as best she could, she stood rinsing the rags she’d used in clean water to clear them of all the blood.

“We could leave,” she suggested, keeping her back to him, giving him time and space to exist with no eyes on him for just a few minutes.

“What?” His voice was so raw that she had to close her eyes against the rising tide of emotion. If he saw pity in them when she looked at him then he’d just lash out.

“The four of us. Hell, just you and me if the others won’t come. We could go and find a place somewhere else, we know enough to survive.”

“Why should we have to?” It was a fair question.

“We shouldn’t,” she conceded, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t.”

“And you’d do that?” There was that tone is his voice again, the one he used sometimes when he heard something she said but couldn’t believe the words were for him. “You’d walk away from here, from this camp and everyone in it? From your people?”

“I offered, didn’t I?” She turned to look at him, and found him standing close behind her. She was bloody, and dirty and wrecked but for the way he was looking at her, she may as well have been gilded from head to toe in purest gold.

She didn’t have time to say anything else because he was kissing her, long and deep. It was I was so scared and I can’t believe they’d do that to me and thank you. All the things she knew he’d never say.

She lost herself in the feeling of him still alive against her. When he pulled away, she looked down to see he’d used a spare seatbelt to tie her wrist to the metal beam next to the table she’d been using.

“That’s a dirty trick, John,” she said when she looked up and found him already backing away from her, looking guilty but determined. “You’re about to do something stupid. Don’t,” she begged him.

“They hung me for her crime, she has to pay. But you don’t have to be involved.”

He left her standing there, calling after him desperately.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Eliana was driving herself mad wondering what was happening outside the dropship. She struggled for God knows how long to free herself from the knot Murphy tied around her wrist, twisting this way and that and trying to force her raw, broken fingernails between the layers. Only being able to use one hand was making it very difficult. When I catch up with him, I’m not sure if I’ll kiss him or kill him.

She’d managed to slide the knot up the beam and had just started gnawing at it with her teeth when Jasper came bursting in, sporting a brand new black eye.

“Murphy’s gone after Charlotte, he’s — What are you doing?”

“Jasper,” Eliana said his name with exasperation, “just cut me loose and tell me what happened.”

Jasper gave her the rundown while he did what she asked. Murphy, Mbege, Slater and a couple of others had demanded it was only fair that Charlotte be turned over to suffer the fate they’d tried to force on Murphy. Clarke had, of course, refused. Confronted with the fact that almost everyone here would put him to death for something he didn’t do but would happily let the real killer walk free, Murphy lost his temper and tried to take her by force only to find Clarke and Finn had already smuggled the girl out of camp. Murphy’s group were now hunting Charlotte through the woods and being hunted in turn by Bellamy. Oh, John, Eliana thought sadly. We could have just gotten out of here.

“How long ago did they leave?” Eliana demanded once she was free.

“I’m not sure,” Jasper said. “Murphy knocked me out before he left. You’re not going after them alone are you?”

“Well I’m not waiting here for them to kill him,” she told Jasper. “Look, I’m sorry he hit you, he shouldn’t have, but members of this camp strung him up from a tree today and you all stood by and let them. He has every right to be angry. I’m not saying Charlotte should be killed,” she interrupted when Jasper opened his mouth, “but it seems like she has more than enough champions and I won’t leave him out there with Bellamy hunting him. I wouldn’t walk away from any of you in that situation. So come with me or don’t, but I’m leaving.”

While she’d been talking, Eliana had been buzzing around the dropship, throwing supplies into a pack. Once done, she left without waiting to see if Jasper would follow her. He didn’t.

Probably for the best, Eliana thought. What happens when one of the people I’d kill for is the thing I’d need to kill to protect the other?

She hoped they weren’t all about to find out.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Eliana was incredibly thankful that at least one of the three groups traipsing through the woods wasn’t trying to hide their presence because it meant she didn’t actually have to try and track anyone. She just followed the shouted threats to Charlotte. The grounders are probably loving this, she thought, all settled in with whatever their equivalent of popcorn is to sit back and watch us pick each other off.

They had a decent head start on her though, and she had to slow her pace when it got dark to focus on where she was stepping. She lost track of time in the endless dark forest, but her heart stuttered when she realised all the raised voices were now concentrated in the same direction.

When she arrived next to Finn, she had to take a second to assess the disarray she found. Bellamy had placed himself between Charlotte and Murphy’s group, but behind her lay a sheer drop into complete black. Opposite them, Mbege and Slater were carrying flaming torches, Mbege standing to prevent Finn from reaching Murphy, who had Clarke by the throat with a knife.

If I never see another knife in my life, I’ll die a happy woman.

She’d barely taken a step into the scene when Charlotte screamed that she couldn’t let anyone else get hurt because of her and threw herself into the abyss behind her.

The shock caused Murphy to let go of Clarke, but Bellamy was on him in an instant, hitting him over and over and over again. It was Finn holding her this time, and she was getting so sick of people holding her back while someone she cared about took a beating.

It was Clarke who got Bellamy to stop and then the two were debating what they should do. Bellamy argued for Murphy to die, but Clarke said that it wasn’t up to them and she was looking at Eliana in sorrow as she suggested they banish him instead. She seemed surprised when Eliana didn’t protest. She didn’t know that Eliana had no intention of going back without him.

“If I ever catch you near camp, we’ll be back here. Understand?” Bellamy waited for Murphy to nod. “As for the rest of you, you can come back and follow me or go off with him to die. Your choice.”

The choice was easy for her, but she could see the others struggling with it. “It’s alright,” she told them. “Go on, no hard feelings.”

Eliana went to Murphy, dropping her bag of supplies down next to him, and found herself checking over his bloody face for the second time that day. “You’re lucky you’ve got a stupidly good looking face, dumbass, I think it’ll heal up just as nice as before.”

“You shouldn’t have come after me, Ellie.”

She’d seen in his face the second Charlotte had jumped that he regretted giving in to the anger, that he’d never really have gone as far as killing her. He just wanted someone who would acknowledge his pain, who’d admit that he’d been done wrong and choose him, and that was something she could do as easily as breathing.

“Tough. We’ll talk about that little stunt of yours when we find somewhere to shelter for tonight.”

“What you said about staining your soul; deciding who’s worth it, the people you’ve chosen? You were wrong to include me.”

He nodded at something behind her, and strong arms came out of nowhere as Bellamy hauled her up and over his shoulder, carrying her away from Murphy and back into the trees.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

There was no love lost between Bellamy and Eliana, but ever since he’d seen the evidence of the hell she’d lived through, he felt begrudgingly like he could understand her a little better. Clarke had told him, very briefly, what her father had been like but even she’d seemed surprised at the extent of the damage Silas Wilde had done to his daughter. He could see now why her first instinct was to throw herself directly between the people she cared about and whatever she perceived as a threat.

How that had ended up including John Murphy, of all people, he’d never understand.

Maybe that’s why he did it. Maybe it was the look of despair on Clarke’s face at the thought of leaving her oldest friend out there on the edge of the world. Maybe it was the fact that Eliana was a survivor who never shied away from a fight and he knew they’d need that kind of fire with the threat of the grounders looming. Hell, maybe it was because he actually respected the choice Murphy was making.

Whatever it was, when Murphy made eye contact with him over Eliana’s shoulder, it was clear what he was asking and clear that Bellamy would oblige. So the two young men shared a nod, and Bellamy hauled Eliana back toward the relative safety of the camp.

It was a choice that Eliana made him regret almost immediately, which didn’t really surprise him. She screamed and cursed, fighting him all the way back but he held fast. Even when she beat her fists against his back with all her strength, which he hated to admit was more than he’d given her credit for, or when she landed a knee in his side that left him nearly breathless.

Eliana didn’t care how much noise she was making. Let the grounders hear her, let them come, let someone give her a proper fight before her fury devoured her. Every step she was pulled away from Murphy opened a chasm inside her, she didn’t know what to fill it with if not rage. Truly, it was him she wanted to rage at. It wasn’t for him to decide who she deemed worth her time, her affection or her loyalty. While she knew he’d done it for her, out of some twisted desire to protect her in the only way he knew how, she was so angry at him for taking that choice from her. But he wasn’t here, and so she accepted Bellamy as a target in his place.

Even as she beat herself against Bellamy until her arms and legs ached, her mind raced. They could drag her back all they wanted, they were wasting their time. She’d only leave again the second she got the chance, even if she had to beat Murphy about the head when she found him to make him see sense.

She was making such a commotion that the camp heard them long before they saw them, and they had an audience before they’d even set foot inside the walls. The second she was back on her own two feet, Eliana punched Bellamy full in the face hard enough that she felt the skin on her knuckles split open against his teeth. She followed that up with a hit to his stomach that had him doubling over so she could smash her knee up into his nose and feel the satisfying crunch as it broke.

It was Slater who pulled her away this time, still screaming curses, feral and hateful. He was always the smart one, the calm one, the sensible one. It was only because it was Slater that he got away without injury.

“That’s enough!” Bellamy shouted, spitting blood onto the floor.

“Or what, Bellamy?!” She challenged him. “Will you have them make me a noose too?”

“It had to be this way, Wilde,” Bellamy’s voice was borderline condescending and he had to raise it over her snarled profanities. “He couldn’t just come back here, he was a danger to this camp.”

The silence that rang out as she stilled was unsettling. “He was dangerous to them?” Her voice was a winter storm, cold and unforgiving. “They lynched him. Connor set them off. Myles tied the noose. You kicked the crate out from under his feet. You’re as bad as Jaha and his precious council.”

“He pissed on me!”

Eliana thought Connor might be the stupidest creature she’d ever laid eyes on as he apparently decided this was a good moment to draw her ire his way. She rounded on him like wildfire.

“And if you’d hit him, I’d have said he deserved it. Hell, if you’d have pissed on him too then I could have gotten behind that too, as disgusting as it is. But you tied a noose around his neck and tried to kill him!” She stared him dead in the eyes. “If you open your mouth in my presence again, I’m going to feed you your own teeth.”

She almost wished he would, but Connor wisely kept his mouth shut. She let her attention drift back to Bellamy, and the blonde who was standing next to him.

“There had to be consequences,” Clarke didn’t shout like Bellamy had and her calm grated on Eilana more. She couldn’t stand the sight of Clarke, so she made herself focus on a point just over one of the other girls’ shoulders.

“What about Charlotte, hm? Would you have banished her for what she did to Wells or was leaving him there to die easy just because it was Murphy?”

Clarke’s silence answered for her.

“My whole life, Clarke, that’s how long I’ve known you. And when I asked for your trust today, that meant nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered.

“I know you are,” Eliana told her honestly, the fight draining out of her. “But I don’t know if that means anything anymore either, because I’m so ashamed of you that I can’t even look at you.”

When she left them all standing there, Mbege and Slater following her, the rest of them knew that shame was meant for them too.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

In Murphy’s tent, Eliana forced herself to sit and wait five minutes for the crowd to disperse.

She’d sent Mbege and Slater off to their own tent because what she was about to do was utterly reckless. She knew they’d come if she asked, despite the fact that they hadn’t wanted to stay when Bellamy gave them the choice, but she might well get herself lost and killed so it was better if it was just her.

They’d shared a look that spoke volumes about how concerned they were that she’d gone from brawling with Bellamy to calmly sitting there in the tent but they had eventually gone.

She took only two things with her when she headed for the gate, hoping whoever was on guard there would be too afraid of being in Bellamy’s earlier position at the end of her fists to stop her; her water flask which had been in the deep pockets of her jacket all night anyway, and a flashlight.

She didn’t bother with anything else, either she’d find Murphy and the supplies she’d left behind with him when she was dragged away, or she wouldn’t and then it didn’t matter anyway.

She cursed under her breath as she caught a flash of Clarke’s blonde hair as she walked. She didn’t break her stride and prayed that Clarke would leave her alone. She didn’t, of course.

“Where are you going?” Clarke called after her.

“Out,” was all she said.

The blonde hurried up in front of her, ducking and weaving every time Eliana tried to take another step forward.

Eliana growled, actually growled low in her throat, when Clarke wouldn’t stop.

“It’s not safe out there.”

“Yeah, no shit, Princess. That’s why I’m going.”

If she hadn’t been so frustrated, if she hadn’t been so off kilter from how badly this day had turned out, if she’d been paying attention, then she might not have been caught off guard by Bellamy for the second time in as many hours.

But she wasn’t, and so she only just registered the blow to the back of her head before the world went black.

[fictionalboys-arebetter]

Dr Michael Robinavitch needs a whole team of therapists and they need to just follow him around 100% of the time, like a mama duck leading her little therapy ducklings