i get so emotional every time i think about fanfic culture. it's just so beautiful that people are writing and anonymously posting these thousand-word stories about characters we all love and not even getting any money or public fame from it. it's literally just for the love of the game.
shout out to everyone who participates in fanfic culture, be it reading or writing fanfics. you are contributing to such a lovely thing <3
Summary: Workplace banter turns into a debate about marriage, money, and shared finances.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
It was one of those rare moments in the staff lounge that only happened when there were too many attendings on shift at once.
Coffee cups everywhere. Some full, most empty. Half-eaten vending machine snacks were scattered across the table.
Langdon was currently on his tenth complaint in the last twenty minutes.
“I’m telling you,” he said, pointing across the room at Dana, “shared bank accounts are dangerous.”
Dana snorted from beside the coffee machine. “You say that because your wife caught you buying unnecessary things for a dog she didn’t even want.”
“He needed toys.”
“The dog already had toys.”
“They were on clearance.”
Langdon threw his hands up slightly. “I don’t understand why every purchase has to be talked about.”
Dana didn’t miss a beat. “That’s what being married is. It’s not her fault you make dumb purchases, so you actually have to talk about them.”
“But why does it need to be a discussion?” Langdon shot back immediately.
Dana gave him a look over the rim of her coffee cup. “Because if you’re spending shared money like it’s unlimited, someone has to be the responsible adult.”
Langdon pointed accusingly. “I bought dog toys, and suddenly I’m no longer trusted with money.”
Santos, halfway through her sandwich, looked between them. “Do most married people actually share accounts?”
“Depends,” Dana said with a shrug. “Some do. Some don’t.”
“Shared is still insane,” Langdon muttered.
Then Whitaker looked toward the far corner of the room.
“Abbot?”
Jack sat in his chair reviewing charts, completely uninterested in the conversation until his name got dragged into it.
“What?”
“Shared or separate bank accounts?”
“Shared.”
Langdon immediately straightened up. “What? Why?”
Jack flipped a page in the chart. “My wife makes more money than me.”
The room went quiet.
Then Langdon actually laughed once. “No, she doesn’t.”
Jack finally looked up, expression flat. “Yeah. She does.”
“You’re a trauma attending,” Langdon said, like that should’ve ended the argument. “There’s no way. That doesn’t even make sense.”
“And?”
“And your wife makes more money than you?”
Jack held his gaze for a beat, unbothered. “Do you need to see our pay stubs, or are you good just taking my word for it?”
Langdon opened his mouth, paused, then continued. “What does she even do?”
Jack leaned back slightly in his chair. “IT.”
“IT?” Langdon repeated, like it was personally offensive.
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me someone in IT makes more than you?”
Jack gave a slow blink, like he was reconsidering whether this conversation was worth the effort. “She oversees hospital software systems used across the entire state.”
Langdon scoffed. “So she types on a keyboard all day and makes more than a doctor?”
Jack’s eyes lifted again, calm but a little sharper now. “If that’s how you think software runs, I’m not surprised you’re confused.”
Dana let out a quiet laugh from the coffee machine.
“Would you rather go back to paper charts and handwritten orders?”
“...no.” Langdon leaned back, shaking his head. “Well, then your opinion on shared bank accounts doesn’t even count.”
Jack finally looked at him properly. “Why.”
“Because you’re basically a sugar baby.”
The room went dead for half a second.
Santos nearly spit out her sandwich.
Jack stared at Langdon for a long beat, expression unreadable.
“I’m a trauma attending at this hospital,” he said evenly.
“And yet,” Langdon replied, leaning back, satisfied, “your wife makes more than you.”
Jack didn’t even blink.
“Damn right she does,” he said, a small, cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
That was it. End of discussion.
He closed his chart, stood up, and walked out of the room like there was nothing left to say.
Summary: A routine IT call in the ED turns into an unexpected reveal when Santos realizes the quiet IT specialist she’s been talking to is married to the doctor she works with.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
Your pager went off mid-sip.
The page had come in as “urgent” which, in hospital terms, usually meant one of the doctors couldn’t figure out how to access their records without their badge automatically logging them in.
It was one of those calls that could be quickly fixed if they bothered to remember their hospital-given access codes.
You grabbed your coffee, badge swinging against your chest as you made your way down to the ED.
The second the elevator doors slid open, the chaos hit you. Phones were ringing, stretchers rolling in, voices overlapping. All of it made you grateful to be hidden away in a room for most of the day.
You made your way to the nurses' hub; it was bound to be the location of the confused doctor.
“Someone called for IT?”
“That would be me.”
You followed the voice to find Dr. Trinity Santos sitting there, staring at a frozen screen as if it had personally betrayed her.
“I’ve been trying to fill out charts forever,” she huffed. “Damn thing kicked me out.”
You stepped in beside her, setting your coffee down carefully before leaning over the keyboard.
“Let me guess,” you said, already reaching for the mouse. “ You tried a couple of passwords, got locked out, and now it's not letting you in.”
Santos pointed at you as you’d just insulted her personally. “First of all, I tried multiple passwords. It’s the damn computer that won't take them.”
“Incorrect passwords are still incorrect to the computer,” you mention lightly, finger moving across the keys as you pull up the backend system.
She groaned, dropping back in her chair. “I swear, technology has it out for me.”
You smiled to yourself, suppressing a laugh. “Technology is a neutral party, but user error isn’t, however–”
“Don’t,” she warned, though there was no real heat behind it.
You hummed, still working. “Alright, I’m going to unlock your account. It might take a couple of minutes.”
She leaned back in her chair, eyes catching on your ring while you typed.
“That’s a really nice ring.”
You glanced down, almost like you’d forgotten it was there, your thumb brushing over the band without thinking.
“Oh yeah, thanks,” you said, a small smile slipping through. “My husband actually picked it out on his own.”
“Did he?” Santo leaned forward slightly, interest replacing her earlier frustration. “Damn girl, he must make a pretty penny. That’s a good choice.”
You laughed at her comment, a grin spreading. “He’s a doctor.”
Santos blinked. “Of course he is.”
“How do you even make that work?” she continued. “I barely have time to see my fling that works here, let alone manage to date or marry anyone.”
“You get used to it.” You shrugged, “Schedule lines up sometimes. Other times you just make time even if it's not very long.”
“That sounds way too functional,” Santos muttered. “Are you sure he’s actually a doctor?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Does he work here?” she asked, curiosity creeping in now.
You tilted your head, like you were considering whether to answer, before just focusing back on the screen. “Try logging in again in a minute.”
Santos huffed, watching you work. “You computer people are too calm. If my job locked me out of patients, I’d lose it.”
“You are losing it,” you pointed out.
“Fair.”
There was a pause while you worked, the hum of the ED filling the space.
“So,” she said again, clearly not done talking, “married life.”
You glanced at her briefly. “What about it?
“How long have you been with Mr. Fancy pants?”
“A while,” you said vaguely.
“That’s not an answer,” she said immediately, narrowing her eyes at you.
You smiled slightly. “It’s a safe answer.”
“You’re funny. I like you.”
“Dangerous combination,” you muttered.
She ignored that. “Okay, seriously though, what’s it like being married to a doctor?”
You leaned back in the chair, still working as you spoke, as the words came easily now.
“It’s kind of funny, actually,” you started. “We met here at the hospital. I was fixing a printer no one wanted to deal with, and he was hovering like I was about to make it worse.
Santos snorted. “That tracks.”
You smiled slightly, shaking your head. “I thought he didn’t trust me at first. Kept asking if I knew what I was doing.”
“Please tell me you humbled him.”
“Oh, immediately,” you said. “I finally turned around and snapped at him, told him if he was that concerned, he could fix it himself.”
Santos let out a sharp laugh. “No—”
“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling a little at the memory. “And he just” you paused, mimicking it slightly, “kind of froze for a second.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” you said. “Then he goes all quiet and goes, ‘I just figured you might need help lifting it…’”
Santos blinked. “…lifting what?”
“The bottom panel,” you said, gesturing slightly. “The paper tray was jammed. He thought I wouldn’t be able to lift it.”
There was a beat.
Then Santos’ face lit up.
“Oh my god,” she laughed. “He was trying to help you.”
“Yeah,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. “Just… very badly.”
“And you snapped at him?”
“I didn’t know,” you defended, smiling. “He was hovering.”
“That is so much worse for him,” she said, shaking her head. “He tried to be nice and got told off.”
You hummed. “To be fair, I fixed it without his help.”
Santos let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Wow.”
She leaned forward again, interested now. “Does he still work here?”
You hesitated just long enough to be annoying on purpose. “Sometimes.”
Before she could even question it, a voice cut in from behind you both.
“Dr. Santos, trauma room four needs your signature before we can send the patient home.”
You didn’t look up right away, your gaze still on the computer loading screen, fingers idly tapping against the desk.
Santos did. “Yeah–got it, I–”
She stopped mid-sentence because Dr. Jack Abbot was standing right next to you, tablet in hand.
He was calm, as usual, not caring that he just walked into the middle of someone's conversation.
You finally glanced up, meeting his eyes for half a second.
It was hard to notice, but the small shift at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Quick enough that anyone not paying attention would’ve missed it, he added the slightest wink to match.
Your fingers stilled for just a second against the desk before you picked your coffee back up, as if nothing had happened.
Santos definitely didn't miss that.
Her brows pulled together instantly, eyes flickering between the two of you.
You, who suddenly looked just a little too composed.
Him, who was already looking back at her like nothing had happened, one hand resting against the counter just beside yours. Close enough that if either of you moved an inch, you guys would touch.
Her eyes slid back to you. Then to your ring.
Then to him.
And something clicked.
Her posture straightened just a little too much.
You took a slow sip of your coffee, unbothered.
Jack didn’t help her either.
Santos looked between the two of you one more time.
Her eyes widened.
“No way.”
You set your coffee down, pushing your chair back just slightly like you were getting ready to leave.
“Try logging in now,” you said casually.
She didn’t move.
Her mouth opened slightly. “…that’s your husband.”
You tilted your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“You asked if he worked here,” you reminded her lightly. “You managed to answer your own question.”
For a second, Santos just stared at you. Then at Jack. Then back at you.
Her jaw dropped.
She just stared at the two of you, eyes wide, as her brain had stalled completely.
You stood, grabbing your coffee like nothing had just happened.
“You’ll be fine, Dr. Santos,” he said evenly. A beat. “Try not to make it a department event.”
That made it worse.
Santos made a strangled sound, still staring between you and him like her brain refused to cooperate.
You stepped back from the desk. “Try logging in now,” you said, already turning away.
Jack’s eyes followed you for a moment as you walked off, expression holding the faintest hint of amusement that lingered a second too long before he looked back at Santos.
Summary: A casual lunch accidentally reveals a secret you never mentioned. You're married to Dr. Park, leaving your coworkers completely shocked.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
Lunch breaks in the emergency department were practically non-existent. Between the hustle and bustle of trauma and patients cycling in and out, it was hard to find a moment to breathe, let alone to eat.
Today was a rare day.
Robby had practically ushered the four of you out of the ED the moment things settled down, arms crossed like a proactive dad who ensures his children eat their supper. He promised to page if a rush happened or if the med students screwed something up.
It wasn’t slow, but it was the closest thing the ED would ever see.
You sat down at a small table in the corner of the cafeteria with Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi, finally excited to eat.
The second the food hit the table, the conversation that was once flowing slowly turned into a debate.
“This is insane,” Whitaker said, staring at his receipt like it had offended him. “Why is a sandwich seven dollars? In a hospital, of all places.”
Javadi leaned over to look. “It’s literally bread and ham. That’s it.”
“Don’t forget disappointment,” Santos added, already halfway through hers like she had accepted defeat.
Whitaker huffed, leaning back in his chair. “How are residents supposed to survive on this? My salary barely covers my loans.”
“They expect you to run on spite and caffeine,” you said calmly, taking a bite of your sandwich.
Whitaker leaned back in the plastic chair. “And don’t even get me started on families. People sitting here stressed and grieving, trying to eat, and it costs this much?”
Javadi scoffed lightly. “Sorry, your father has heart failure, but would you like to buy a six-dollar coffee to cope?”
“Hospital capitalism is its own disease,” Santos muttered.
A round of tired agreement followed, chairs creaking, and wrappers crinkling as the exhaustion lingered over the table.
Santos turned to you. “Okay, but you're weirdly calm about this. Don’t you care about our wallets?”
Three pairs of eyes landed on you at once.
You blinked, then shrugged slightly. “I don’t really think about it.”
Whitaker frowned. “How do you not think about it?”
You took another bite, unbothered. “I just charged it to my husband’s account.”
There was silence.
You couldn’t tell whose jaw dropped first, Santos or Javadi's, but for two people who never stopped talking, they went completely quiet.
Whitaker looked between the two, trying to process exactly what you had just said. “Did she just–”
At the same time, Santos blurted, “You're what?”
“My husband’s account,” you repeated casually. You hadn’t paid for your lunch since you started working here.
Javadi blinked. “You have a husband?”
“Yeah,”
Whitaker slowly sat forward in his chair, as if the world had shifted slightly. “Since when?”
“A couple of years now.”
Santos was still in a state of shock. “We work with you every day.”
“I know,”
“And you never mentioned a husband?”
You tilted your head. “You guys have also never asked.”
Whitaker let out a short laugh. “You don’t even wear a ring.”
You lifted your hand briefly. “Work hazard.”
Javadi leaned in now, curiosity fully activated. “So your husband just pays for everything?”
“Well, no,” you corrected. “I just forget my card sometimes, so it’s easier. He’ll handle it.”
Santos slowly leaned back in her chair, processing. “Okay. I need context.”
You hesitated just a fraction too long, and that was enough.
Santos narrowed her eyes. “Oh, my god. Don’t tell me it’s someone here.”
“No freaking way,” Whitaker shook his head. “We would totally know if it was someone here.”
Javadi frowned slightly. “Would we though?”
Whitaker opened his mouth, then paused, glancing around the cafeteria like he was suddenly reconsidering the entire staff list. “I mean… There are tons of doctors who work here.”
“Exactly,” Javadi said. “Half of them barely come down to the ED. We wouldn’t know.”
Santos, however, didn’t look convinced.
She was staring at you now, like really staring, as if she was trying to piece something together in her mind. “Oh no”
You tried very hard to keep your expression straight, but you couldn't help but the small smirk that crept on your face.
Santos leaned forward, pointing her fork at you. “Oh, we definitely know him.”
Whitaker blinked. “What?”
“I’ve seen that face before,” she continued, gesturing vaguely at you. “That little—” she squinted, mimicking it poorly, “smirk you do when you’re hiding something.”
Javadi’s eyes widened. “She’s right.”
Santos didn't take her eyes off you. “Who is it?”
You hesitated, glancing between the three of them, already knowing exactly how this was about to go. It’s not like you haven't heard them complain about him before.
“...Promise you won’t hate me?”
Javadi leaned in. “Please don’t say, Robby.”
Santos made a face. “Oh my god, if it’s Robby, I’m transferring.”
You snorted. “It’s not Robby.”
Whitaker let out a breath. “Okay, good.”
Santos waved her fork at you. “Alright, then who is it?”
You exhaled, already bracing for impact. You looked between them.
“...Brendon Park.”
The table went silent.
Whitaker froze. “No.”
Javadi blinked. “Oh, my god.”
Santos didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. “You’re married to Dr. Park.”
You nodded.
Whitaker ran a hand over his face. “The ortho surgeon who hates everyone?”
“Not everyone,” you teased.
They all stared at you.
“He’s not like that all the time. That’s just work.”
Santos blinked. “A work thing?”
You nodded. “He’s like an ortho god here. At home, he's just Brendon.”
Whitaker shook his head. “That man barely tolerates people.”
You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, well. He tolerates me.”
There was a moment where you searched for the right words, something that might help them understand. They only knew one side of him. You knew both. Normally, you didn’t feel the need to explain it, but here it felt necessary.
“‘Park the Shark’ is for here,” you said lightly. “That’s him in the OR, in the hospital, doing all that intense surgical work.”
Santos snorted. “Park the Shark is insane, by the way.”
You smiled. “Well, yeah, he got his name somehow.”
Whitaker leaned forward slightly. “And at home?”
You shrugged, but your voice softened just a little.
“He’s just Brendon,” you said, “He’s normal. He lives on coffee and reality television and steals my food even when he is not hungry. He’s there for anything that I need.”
Javadi tilted her head. “That sounds like a different person.”
“It’s not,” you said simply. “I just get the better version.”
Santos studied you for a second. “So you’re telling me Dr. ‘I intimidate half the hospital’ Park is just completely different at home.”
You shrugged again, but there was a small, fond smile you couldn’t quite hide.
Whitaker was staring at you like he was trying to rewrite everything he thought he knew.
Javadi’s brows were slightly furrowed, like she was mentally replaying every interaction she’d ever had with him.
Santos just leaned back, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t believe you.”
You only smiled.
Before anyone could say anything else—
All of your pagers went off.
The moment shattered.
Whitaker groaned, already pushing his chair back. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Break’s over,” Javadi muttered, grabbing her things.
The ED had settled back into its usual rhythm of controlled chaos.
Lunch break seemed far behind in your mind as you went from treatment room to treatment room.
You were at the nurses' station, finishing up a chart while Santos, Whitaker, and Javai lingered nearby, pretending to be busy while the conversation from lunch was still very much alive in the air.
Santos was mid-sentence when she suddenly stopped.
Her eyes shifted past you.
“..Oh?”
Whitaker frowned. “What?”
Javadi followed her line of sight in the elevator and immediately went quiet.
You didn't even look up; their reaction had said it all.
Brendon Park walked in like he owned the place, his cold and controlled composure completely unaffected by the noise around him.
He stepped up to the station. “Room?” he asked.
One of the nurses answered, pointing down the hall to one of the trauma rooms.
He gave a short nod and continued without another glance.
Whitaker leaned in slightly. “Yeah… she’s really married to that guy.”
Santos shook her head. “Still don’t get why.”
You just kept typing.
The hallway was less chaotic than the rest of the ED.
Still, staff were walking through, and patients were waiting on beds, but it settled enough that you could relax momentarily.
You leaned back against the wall, chart in hand, exhaling slowly.
A door opened.
Brendon stepped out, already pulling off his gloves, attention still half on the patient he’d just seen.
He was focused. Clearly thinking ahead of the upcoming surgery, he was about to perform.
He started walking, but when he noticed you, he slowed his pace until he was next to you.
You pushed off the wall, a smile already forming. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw three heads pop up.
“Hey.”
Everything about his demeanour shifted.
“Hey,” he said, lighter, just for you.
He stepped closer, close enough that your hands brushed.
“You okay?” he asked, scanning your face.
You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that didn’t fully convince him.
“Just a long shift.”
His gaze lingered, reading you like a chart.
“Did you eat?”
You huffed. “Yes.”
He didn’t believe you.
You rolled your eyes a little, reaching up without thinking to fix the collar of his scrub top as it had folded in on itself. “I had a sandwich."
His brows lifted slightly.
“I promise,” you added.
Brendon held out his pinky.
“Are you serious?” You couldn't get over the ridiculousness of your husband wanting to pinky promise over a sandwich.
You laughed under your breath, hooking your finger with his. “My friends are watching.”
He leaned in just slightly, voice low.
“Oh, I know,” he murmured. “I can feel them staring.”
And sure enough, when you turned three heads, you immediately ducked out of sight down the hall.
Summary: On your wedding day, a forgotten tie leads to a quiet, emotional moment that reminds Jack he doesn’t have to leave any part of himself behind to move forward with you.
A/N: I wanted to write something related to Jack's grief, but in a way that shows true meaning. Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
You were a bundle of nerves today.
It was expected, after all, you were getting married.
To Jack Abbot.
A great man. The kind of man you read about in books. The one you never thought you’d get to call yours forever.
But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.
It had been there all morning, sitting just under the surface. Even while you got your hair done, while your makeup artist fussed over your brush, while your friends laughed around you.
It was there.
A nagging feeling.
Like you were forgetting something important.
You went over the checklist in your head again.
The flower bouquets were done, sitting in water.
The cake was to be delivered during cocktail hour.
Everything seemed to be on schedule.
So why did it feel like something wasn’t?
It wasn’t until you were in your dress, staring at yourself in the mirror, that you finally remembered what you were missing.
Jack’s tie.
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh, my god.”
You had added a last-minute special touch for the day, and you forgot to give it back.
“I need to see Jack.” You said suddenly, already moving as fast as you could.
“What–why?” your best friend asked, watching you dart across the bridal suite.
“I forgot to give him his tie.”
You were rummaging through your suitcase; your hands moving too fast, heart racing now that you knew exactly what had been wrong.
“Where the hell is it?”
“I found it.”
You stood up quickly, a little breathless, gripping the tie in your hands like it might disappear again if you loosened your hold.
Dana stepped forward. “I’ll take it to him.”
Your grip tightened instantly, pulling it back towards your chest. “No.”
The word came out harsher than you meant.
Your tone softens slightly, but didn’t let go. “I’ll give it to him.”
Dana hesitated. “Honey… It’s bad luck to see him before the wedding.”
“I just–” you started, then stopped.
You couldn't explain it. Not without explaining why it mattered so much to you to gave it to him.
Your fingers curled tiger around the fabric.
“I need to give it to him,” you let out quietly, but it carried more weight.
Your friends exchanged looks
“It’s just a tie,” someone said gently. “One of us–”
“No,” you said, a little too quickly, trying to make them understand without words that this wasn't you being a bridezilla but just someone desperate. “It’s not just—”
You looked down at the tie for a second, thumb brushing over the small photo attached to the back of the fabric where no one else could see.
Only Jack.
You had sewn it in yourself a few nights ago, while he was at work.
A small piece of memory.
A piece of her.
For him.
Your throat tightened.
“I just… I need to be the one to give it to him,” you said, softer now, but your voice was starting to crack despite your effort to hold it together. “Please.”
The room went quiet around you. No one wanted to be the one who made the bride cry on her wedding day.
Dana’s expression shifted first, understanding even if she didn't know the full story.
“Okay,” she said slowly.
You looked up, hopeful but unsure.
“We’re not breaking tradition,” she added, already thinking. “But maybe we can work around it.”
You blinked. “What?”
“We’ve got this,” your friend added, already forming a plan.
A few minutes later, you stood on one side of a narrow hallway, your pulse thudding in your ears, fingers clenched as you leaned back against the wall, waiting.
Jack was about to be on the other side.
You couldn't see him, but you could hear him.
His uneven footsteps. Too fast.
They stopped abruptly right before the wall ended.
“...What’s going on?” he asked, something was thrown off in it. Tight. As if he couldn't speak. “You needed to see me?”
You swallowed, but your throat felt dry.
“Yeah.”
He moved closer, you could hear it in the shift of his boots, the faint brush of fabric.
His hand reached around the corner.
The second your fingers touched, he interlocked them tightly.
“Hey-hey,” Jack said quickly, voice dropping, urgent. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” you said, but it came out softer than you meant.
His grip tightened.
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Because you don’t pull me out like this unless something’s wrong. Are you having second thoughts? Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?”
Each question came faster than the last, like he couldn’t stop them once they started.
Your chest tightened.
“Jack—”
“I mean it,” he cut in, voice cracking under the pressure of it all. “If you don’t want to do this, we don't have to. We can just walk out of here right now. Together or not, it’s up to you.”
“Jack.”
You squeezed his hand.
“I want to marry you.”
That eased his mind, but didn't stop him from questioning your actions.
“What is it then, love?” he asked, still holding on tight. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Your thumb brushed over his knuckles, grounding yourself before you spoke.
“I forgot to give you something.”
“…You dragged me out here because you forgot something?” he asked, a disbelieving edge creeping in.
A weak breath of a laugh slipped out of you. “Yeah.”
“It couldn't have waited?”
“Nope,” You released his hand, and slowly weaved the tie into it. ” Your tie.”
Jack let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh, half relief, half disbelief.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “I thought—” he cut himself off, dragging a hand over his face on the other side. “I thought you wanted to cancel the wedding.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, softer now.
“No, don’t—” he exhaled again, steadier. “God, I thought I lost it. I was about to take Robby’s.”
He adjusted his grip on the fabric, fingers brushing over it absently.
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here for this.”
“I needed to.”
That shifted something in him.
You could feel it, the way he stilled
Not fully relaxed, but no longer panicked.
You swallowed, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I have a backup one.”
The fabric moved as he unfolded it.
A soft rustle.
Then complete silence.
No movement.
No words.
It was like the air dropped out of the hallway.
Your breath caught.
“Jack?” you whispered.
A sharp inhale that skipped on its way in.
Your hand found his again, and this time you could feel the tremor.
“…What—” his voice came out rough, scraping on the way up. He tried again. “What did you—”
He couldn’t finish.
Your eyes burned.
“I didn’t want anyone to see,” you said, your voice already shaking. “I just… I thought you might want her with you today.”
The silence was heavy.
His hand clenched around your so tight it almost hurt.
A sound left him, a small strangled breath like he was trying to swallow but forgot how.
“Jesus…” he breathed.
You could hear the fabric shift again, slower this time, careful, like it mattered too much to be wrinkled.
“I—” he tried, but his voice broke completely this time, and you lost it.
Tears spilled down your cheeks before you could stop them.
“I know it’s not the same,” you rushed out, words tripping over each other now. “I know I can’t…I’m not trying to replace anything. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to leave her behind just because of me.”
“Hey.”
It came out sharp but not angry.
Jack finally understood, and now he needed you too.
“Hey,” he said again, softer this time, but his voice was wrecked.
You stopped.
On the other side of the wall, you could hear him trying to breathe through the feelings, but failing.
His thumb dragged hard over your knuckles, like he needed to feel something solid.
“You didn’t replace anything,” he said, swallowing hard.
Another breath.
“You included her.”
That cracked something open in your chest.
A quiet sob slipped out before you could stop it, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth.
“…Baby,” he said, and there was nothing held back in it now. Just pure feeling.
“I didn’t know if it would hurt you,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”
“You didn’t,” he said immediately, even though his voice shook. “You didn’t hurt me.”
His grip tightened around your hand, almost desperate now, like he needed to hold onto you to stay together.
“This is—” he broke off, breath hitching hard. “God… this is everything.”
Your tears came harder, your chest tightening as you pressed closer to the wall, like it might bring you closer to him.
“You… you let me keep her,” he said, voice cracking. “You didn’t make me feel like I had to leave her behind to have this. To have you.”
A soft sob slipped out of you.
“I would never take that from you,” you whispered. “She’s part of you. I love all of you.”
“This is why I love you,” he said, voice thick, uneven. “You think about things like this. You think about me even when I don’t know how.”
“I love you,” you whispered.
“I love you too,” he said, softer now, but no less raw. You could feel him trying to steady his breathing, trying to pull himself back together piece by piece.
“You really know how to scare a guy right before his wedding,” he added, voice still rough.
A shaky laugh slipped out of you.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said quickly. “Don’t ever be.”
Your lips trembled into a smile, even through the tears.
Summary: Jack struggles to ask Robby to be his child’s godfather, but his heavy words lead Robby to the wrong conclusion
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
Jack didn't picture his life going this way.
He had seen hell and back, suffered through losses that could make a shell of a man, but somehow, it hadn’t. Not completely. Somewhere in the chaos of it all, he had found something to anchor him. You.
A future that didn't feel temporary. A home that didn't feel like it would vanish the moment he stopped holding it too tight. And now… a kid.
You were growing his baby.
If someone had asked him years ago whether he’d be nervous walking into work to talk to Robbhy, of all people, he would laugh in their face. Jack Abbot, who had carried his friends through warzones, who had made decisions under fire without hesitation, now stood in a hospital hallway staring at his phone like it might give him the courage he was missing.
He’d seen Robby earlier. He knew immediately it had been one of those shifts. The kind that carved itself into your bones and didn’t leave just because the clock said it was over. Too many patients. Too many close calls. That quiet, distant exhaustion that sat behind the eyes.
Robby hadn’t said much when he passed him earlier, just a tight nod, already halfway somewhere else. When he saw him heading towards the stairs, he knew.
The Roof.
Jack tried to follow, but his feet stood glued to the floor. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharply before unlocking his phone and hitting your contact.
You picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, honey,” you said, soft in a way that made his shoulders relax.
“Hey,” Jack said, then corrected himself with a breath, “Do you have a minute?”
“Jack,” you murmured, a faint smile in your voice already, “since when do you call to check if I’m busy?”
He let out a quiet, humourless huff. Of course, you’d see right through him that fast. “Fair point.”
He took a moment to gather his thoughts and settle his nerves.
“I'm freaking out about asking Robby.” He admitted, letting that guard down.
That got a soft exhale from you. Not surprised. Just warm. “Babe… you have fought in a war.”
“At least I knew what I was in for over there,” he replied immediately.
That earned a quiet laugh from you. “Okay, that might actually be the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”
Jack leaned back against the wall, eyes flicking toward the stairwell again like Robby might vanish if he waited too long. “This is different,” he said. “This matters more.”
The humour faded from your voice, replaced with something softer. “I know it does.”
That landed heavier than anything else so far.
Jack swallowed. “I just keep thinking… if something ever happens to me, I don't want it to be someone random that won’t help you. I want someone who actually understands. Who won't look at my kid like they’re baggage.”
“And you think that is Robby.”
“I know it is,” Jack let out quietly.
“Then you already have your answer,” you said gently. “You just have to say it.”
He exhaled through his nose, glancing again toward the stairwell. “He just had a rough shift. I don't know if it’s the time.”
“Jack,” you added, firmer this time.
“Yeah?”
“It’s the perfect time.”
That sat there for a second.
Not as comfortable this time. As direction.
Jack lowered the phone slightly, staring toward the stairs as he could finally move again.
He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Nervous for what was ahead.
The roof door opened with a heavy push, wind hitting him first, cold, and cutting through the noise in his head.
Robby was exactly where Jack expected him to be.
Leaning on the railing, shoulders slumped in a way that wasn’t just from one shift, but from years of a job that slowly wore you down. He stared out at the city like he was trying to leave the shift behind somewhere out there.
Jack slowed as he approached. The sound of his boots against the concrete carried.
For a second, he just watched him.
This was the guy he was nervous to ask?
It almost made him seem silly.
“Hey,” Jack said.
Robby didn't turn around right away. “You followed me up here.”
“Yeah.”
That got a glance over the shoulder. His eyes were tired but awoke the second they landed on Jack.
“Everything okay?”
Jack hesitated.
He almost defaulted to his easy answer. The one that kept things light and the flow moving.
But he didn’t.
“Not really,” he said.
Jack swallowed, shifting his weight. “I’ve… just been thinking about the baby.”
Robby turned fully now, concerned about cutting straight through the fatigue. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Jack said quickly. “No, everything’s fine. That's not it.”
Robby didn't relax
Jack exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the edge of the roof. “If something ever happened to me…” he started, then stopped, like the rest of the words had to catch up.
Robby’s expression tightened slightly. “Jack—” There was a warning in his tone now.
“Just listen,” Jack said, not harsh, just steady, like he was trying to keep his own voice from shaking.
Robby nodded once, silent. Waiting. His stance changed as he moved closer–subtle, but deliberate. Close enough to grab him if needed to.
Jack noticed that.
He continued, voice lower now, more controlled, but heavier with every word. “This isn’t me saying I’m going to jump off this roof. Or that I’m expecting something to happen tomorrow.” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “But I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen to them. I’ve been in enough situations to know how fast things can change.”
He exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking toward the edge again before returning to Robby.
“I went to war and I never really cared about what I was leaving behind,” he admitted, quieter now. “That was just… how it was. You don’t think past the next call, the next mission, the next decision.”
A pause.
“But this is different.”
His hand tightened at his side.
“If I walk out that front door and something happens to me,” Jack said, voice shakily but stripped down to the truth of it, “I need to know there’s someone who understands what this life is. Someone who won’t hesitate. Someone who can step into my place without needing an explanation for who I was or what I did.”
He finally looked at Robby again.
No more circling it.
“Will you be the godfather?”
For a second, Robby just stared at him.
Completely still.
His expression shifted, something in it cracking open before he even had time to stop it. “Jack…” he said, voice rougher now. “Fuck. I thought I was gonna have to pull you back from the edge or something.”
The tension broke.
A soft laugh slipped out of Jack. His eyes were already shining now, and he looked away like the wind might take the tears with it. It didn’t.
“Yeah, no,” Jack said, shaking his head faintly, wiping at his face like he was annoyed at himself for it. “No edge. I’m good.”
Robby let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh, too, but it caught somewhere in his throat. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in it.
Jack finally looked back at him, eyes wet.“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe. But I need to know you’ve got them.”
Robby stepped forward, pulling him in hard, one arm around his shoulder like he needed to physically anchor him there. Jack didn’t hesitate—he leaned into it, gripping him back just as tightly.
“Yeah,” Robby said into his shoulder, voice thick now. “Yeah, of course I will.”
Jack let out a shaky breath, almost a laugh again. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I thought I might have to push you off the edge.”
Robby pulled back just enough to look at him, shaking his head with a wet, disbelieving smile. “You absolute bastard.”
The roof door shut behind the pair with a heavy thud, the moment still sitting between them.
Robby gave Jack’s shoulder one last firm squeeze before he stepped away. “Go work,” he said, voice lower now. “Before you start another speech and give me a freaking heart attack.”
Jack huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, whatever, man.”
Robby split off toward the ED, already slipping back into motion, but lighter than before.
Jack lingered by the staff lockers, the warmth of the hallway settling into his skin after the bitter cold of the roof.
He pulled his phone out again.
He didn't even think about it.
You picked up faster this time.
“Hey,” you answer, like you’d been waiting.
Jack leaned back against the lockers, a breath leaving him that felt completely different than the one before he went up there. “Hey.”
“Well?” you added, softer now, already hearing the shift in him.
Jack couldn't stop the small smile that pulled at his mouth, even as he dragged his hand down over his face. “He thought I was about to throw myself off the roof.”
“What?!”
Jack laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah. Apparently I don’t ease into things well.”
“Jack-”
“I did manage to ask him,” he cut in.
“And?” you asked.
Jack's smile softened. “He said yes.”
The breath you let out on the other end was quiet, but it carried relief, warmth, something deeper that didn’t need words.
“I told you,” you murmured.
“Yeah,” Jack said, voice low. “You did.”
“He’s got them,” Jack added quietly. “No matter what.”
“So,” you teased softly, “did you cry?”
Jack scoffed immediately. “No.”
“Jack.”
“…Maybe a little.”
That earned a quiet laugh from you, and it pulled another one out of him, easier this time.
“Are you good?” you asked after a second.
Jack nodded, even though you couldn’t see it. “Yeah,” he said, pushing off the lockers, steady now. “I am.”
And this time, when he headed back toward the floor, it wasn’t with that tight weight in his chest.
Hope you know how DELICIOUS your writing is omg......I know im not the only one to say this but you are such a talented writer and every fic is banger upon bangers AAAAAAA
Hope you are doing well when you are reading this !!💌
thanks so much! Happy to know you're enjoying the stories<3
Summary: What should’ve been a simple grocery run spirals when Jack is judged at a glance, and you make it clear exactly who they’re talking to.
A/N: I had to make a protective reader for once! Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
You’d both had a long shift.
All you guys wanted to do was go home and spend the day sleeping next to each other.
Jack hadn't said much on the drive over to the grocery store–one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh like it had been bothering him more than usual.
You’d noticed.
You always did.
“Just a couple of things,” you’d remind him as he pulled into the store lot. You needed a few essentials if you actually wanted to try that new pasta recipe later.
He hummed in response, already shifting the truck into park. You didn't think twice when he grabbed the closer spot.
You never did.
After you paid, a former patient stopped you near the exit. You motion for Jack to go on to the truck, already noticing that he was shifting his weight between steps.
He didn't argue, which told you everything.
The patient smiled, grateful, and talked a little too long about how much better they were doing. You stayed polite as ever, even as your eyes flicked towards the door.
By the time you finished and stepped out into the morning, you heard it before you saw it.
“People like you ruin it for everyone else!”
Your stomach dropped.
You sped up, hoping, praying this wasn’t what you thought it was.
But it was.
Jack stood beside his truck, a couple of grocery bags hanging from one hand, the other resting loosely at his side. To anyone else, he looked relaxed.
But you knew him.
You saw the way his weight wasn’t sitting right. The way his shoulders were just a little too still. The tension he carried when something hurt, but he refused to show it.
He was tired and clearly in pain.
And they were yelling at him.
Two older people stood a few feet away, voices raised, attention locked on him like they had every right.
“You don’t need that spot!” the man snapped. “There are people who actually need it!”
The woman who you assumed was the man's wife shook her head beside him, disgust written all over her face. “This generation has no respect anymore. None”
Jack didn’t interrupt them.
Didn't argue.
Just stood there, listening like he’d heard it all before.
That was what set you off.
“Hey!” you called, already walking towards him, your tone sharp as you took in the scene. “What the hell is going on?”
Both of them turned to you instantly.
“Oh, good,” the woman said, as you’d just proven her point. “You can also tell him that he shouldn't be parking there.”
You stepped up beside Jack without hesitation, close enough that your shoulder brushed his.
“Actually—”
Jack shifted slightly, his arm brushing yours.
A warning.
Not worth it.
Not right now.
You glanced at him, really looking this time.
The tight set of his jaw. The way he held himself was steady rather than comfortable.
He wasn’t fine.
And yet they were still talking.
“Young people think they can just take whatever they want,” the man went on.
No consequences–”
“That's enough,” you cut in, venom in your tone. “You don’t know anything about him.”
That got their attention.
“Oh, so you’re defending him?” the woman scoffed. “I should’ve known.”
“Yes,” you snapped, stepping forward, placing yourself just slightly in front of Jack without even realizing it. “I am. Because you’re wrong.”
The man let out a humourless laugh. “It’s pretty obvious, he doesn’t need–”
“You don’t know anything about him,” you repeated, your voice lower now, but cutting deeper. “You saw someone who doesn’t fit what you think disability looks like, and that was enough for you to start yelling.”
“I can see fine.” The man said.
“Clearly, you can’t,” you shot back. “Just because you can’t see it doesn't mean it isn't there.”
The woman crossed her arms. “Oh, please. People like him always have an excuse when they get called out.”
That did it.
You went still for half a second, something in your expression hardening completely.
Because it wasn’t just about being wrong anymore.
It was about how easily they could tear him down without knowing a single thing about him.
About what he’d given. About what he lived with. About the man you loved.
You glanced at Jack for half a second, the way he stood there, taking it as he deserved it completely.
Like he didn't matter.
And that made your chest ache in a way that turned straight into anger
If he wasn’t going to say anything.
Fine.
You would.
“You want to be so sure?” you said, your voice colder now.
Before they could react, you reached down and pulled his pant leg up just enough.
Jack went still beside you.
Letting you reveal the one part he wished to hide.
Trusting you.
His prosthetic was visible.
Clear. Real.
Silence fell over the couple instantly.
Their expression shifted into shock, then realization, then something else.
Pure Shame.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice unwavering. “That’s what you missed while you were busy deciding he didn’t need that spot.”
You didn’t look away.
You wanted them to feel what he felt.
“And while you’re at it,” you added, your tone sharp, “you can thank Dr. Abbot for his service.”
That hit.
You saw it. The way the woman flinched at the word doctor, the way the man suddenly couldn't meet your eyes.
They were speechless.
The man looked away first. The woman muttered something under her breath, suddenly very interested in the ground.
Just like that, they backed off– heading off to wherever the hell they were going.
Finally gone.
You stood there, your chest still tight, adrenaline still buzzing under your skin then you reached down, more gently this time, smoothing his pant leg back into place.
“...Sorry,” you muttered, finally looking up at him.
Jack didn't answer.
He just looked at you for a second, face completely unreadable, before turning and opening the back door, setting the bags inside.
“Get in,” he said quietly.
That was it.
No comment. No reaction.
Just movement.
You climbed into the passenger seat, still wound tight, your thoughts racing. The door shut with a dull thud.
A second later, Jack slid into the driver’s seat.
Silence filled the truck.
You were the first to break it.
“Are you serious?” you blurted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Like, who do they think is going off on some stranger?”
Jack didn't respond.
Just sat there, hands resting on the wheel.
“They don’t know you,” you went on, your voice rising, emotion bleeding through. “They don’t know anything about what you’ve done, what you’ve been through, and just stand there and think they can judge you like that?”
Still nothing, but you could feel him listening.
“They don’t get to do that,” you added, softer now, your voice cracking just slightly. “You don’t deserve that. No one does.”
You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves.
You looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And your chest tightened all over again.
“I hate that you just stand there and take it,” you admitted quietly. “Like it doesn’t matter.”
Your hand moved without thinking, reaching across the console until your fingers found his.
“Because you matter,” you said, softer now. “You matter to me.”
The words hung there. Real. Honest.
“I love you,” you added, your voice solid despite everything. “I’d do anything for you.”
That’s when he finally moved.
Just a little.
His hand tightened around yours.
A small breath left him, as something in his chest had shifted.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
You stilled.
He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was something familiar there.
Softer. Warm. As if your words had found a space in his soul.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he added, voice low.
Your expression softened immediately.
“Yeah,” you said gently. “I did.”
“They were wrong.”
His gaze lingered on you for a second longer this time before shifting back to the windshield.
But he didn’t let go of your hand. Just held on tighter than ever before.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
A pause.
“I know.”
And for the first time since you walked out of that store
He looked okay.
So as the silence settled again, you realized something.
He might’ve been used to the world treating him like that.
Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when fear sends you rushing to Brendon, and he drops everything the moment he hears your voice.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
No one could really blame you for panicking; it was your first time pregnant, after all.
The shift had been normal up until that point, busy, but manageable. The ED was buzzing around in its usual controlled chaos. Monitors chimed, nurses exchanged quick updates at the desk, and the faint antiseptic smell clung to everything.
It grounded you.
It was familiar.
Until it wasn’t.
It was a sudden, sharp movement that made you stop mid-step.
The strange, unfamiliar sensation had your hands flying to your stomach, fingers pressing instinctively like you could hold whatever it was in place.
Then it happened again, and stronger this time. For a moment, it felt like you forgot how to breathe.
Something was wrong.
Seriously wrong.
Your mind races through all of the worst possibilities faster than you could stop it.
You needed him.
You needed to get Brendon.
He was here- you’d seen him earlier, stepping out of the elevator, giving you that easy wink like everything was fine. It was fine.
You needed him now.
This thought alone sent you rushing down the hall, your pace uneven, one arm wrapped protectively around your stomach as you checked trauma room after trauma room. But you couldn’t seem to find him, and your panic was getting worse.
It wasn't until you reached Room One that you finally saw him, blue scrubs through the glass.
Brendon.
Dr. Park.
The doors slid open, and you hovered at the entranceway, suddenly unsure how to interrupt.
Inside was chaos.
A full trauma team moved around the bed with urgency, blood-stained gauze piling up, voices overlapping as they worked. It was intense, but it was routine for a trauma case.
Normally, you’d step in without hesitation.
Right now, you couldn’t move. You were here for one person, and it wasn’t the patient.
He didn’t see you yet, clearly too busy examining the leg resting on a bed of ice.
Robby did.
“We got it handled in here,” he started automatically, but the words died the second he really looked at you.
Your posture was rigid, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, like you were trying to hold everything together, tears sitting at your waterline, pain written all over your face.
A resident followed Robby’s gaze and stepped toward you. “Hey, are you okay—”
The movement only made you shrink back further.
Your eyes never left Brendon.
“I need Dr. Park,” you whispered.
The resident frowned, confused, turning slightly. “Dr. Park?”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Brendon snapped, not even looking up as he worked.
“Brendon…”
It was soft. Barely there.
But it cut through everything for him.
His hands stilled instantly, still holding the detached leg mid-exam, his grip steady out of pure habit, but everything else about him froze.
Then his head snapped up.
Fast.
His eyes locked onto you through the chaos, and just like that, something small shifted in his expression. The clinical focus, the distance he kept during cases, vanished, replaced by concern and fear.
“Page Garcia,” he said sharply, already moving, carefully setting the leg back down onto the ice without a second glance. “Prep for surgery, she can handle this.”
The room barely had time to react.
He was already stepping away, tearing his gloves off with a quick, practiced motion, his gaze never leaving you, as if he was making sure you were still there.
A resident blinked, completely thrown. “Wait, what the hell—?”
“Robby’s got it,” Brendon cut in, not even turning back.
It wasn’t up for discussion.
Robby jumped right in, because the look on Park the Shark's face said more than enough; only one thing ever outranked a patient on the table.
And for him, it was standing in the doorway.
His grip on your hand was firm, steady, as he pulled you down the hall, one hand braced at your back, making you stayed with him.
“Brendon-” your voice broke, panic still spilling over, your steps uneven as you tried to keep up.
“I got you, sweetheart,”
He brings you into the nearest empty room, guiding you inside before the door swings shut behind you, cutting off the chaos of the ED in one swift motion.
The quiet hit instantly.
It was too quiet with your racing thoughts.
Your breathing, that seemed to settle when you first saw him, picked up again, your grip tightening on his scrubs as the panic rushed back in.
“Hey-hey,” Brendon said, cupping your face gently. “Look at me.”
You shook your head, overwhelmed. “Something’s wrong. I felt something, Brendon, I swear, it didn't feel right-”
“Hey.” His voice dropped, stricter now. “Eyes on me.”
It took you a moment before you fully looked at him, your breathing now starting to slow down. The tension in your chest was starting to ease.
“Tell me,” he said gently. “What happened?”
You swallowed hard. “I was just walking to a patient, and I felt this sharp movement, and then it happened again, and I just–” your voice wavered, “-panicked. I thought that something might be wrong with the baby.”
The stone-cold Shark assessed you like prey: reading, calculating, missing nothing.
And then something in him gave.
A small, almost fond smile tugged at his lip.
“Sweetheart…” he said quietly, one hand sliding down to rest over yours where it was still pressed to your stomach. He stilled for a second, feeling it. “That’s the baby.”
You blinked, still catching your breath. “What?”
“That’s the baby kicking,” he said gently, warmth settling into his voice. “First time, it can feel a little intense.”
You stared at him, trying to process the information when it happened again.
Your body tensed, breath skipping, but Brendon just let out a laugh, his hand pressing more securely over yours.
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again. “That.”
“That’s… the baby?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” he nodded, voice warm and steady. “That’s our baby.”
The words settled differently this time.
Our baby.
Your grip on him changed, not desperate, just holding on.
A shaky laugh slipped out of you. And you leaned forward, your forehead resting against his chest as refleaf flooded you.
“I just thought... something was really wrong,” you admitted quietly.
“I know,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you close. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
His hand moved gently over your stomach again, slower now, like he was feeling it with you.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered after a second, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. “I pulled you out of a trauma-”
“Hey,” he cut in softly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him. “Don’t.”
Your eyes met his.
“I’d rather you come get me a hundred times over nothing,” he said quietly, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, “than stay out there when something might be wrong.”
His expression softened even more.
“I need to know you’re okay,” he added, gentler now. “Both of you.”
Your breath caught slightly at that.
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment.
“Always come get me,” he murmured.
For a second, you just stayed there, tucked into him, arms loosely around his waist, letting yourself settle, letting the last of the panic melt away in his warmth.
Then, quieter now, almost thoughtful, you said, “You know… You still have time to make it up to surgery.”
He pulled back slightly, brows lifting just a bit. “You sure?”
You nodded, a small smile finally forming. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Another small movement hit, and this time you didn’t flinch, just glanced down briefly before looking back up at him.
“Go,” you added, softer but teasing now. “Go save a leg.”
That earned a quiet huff of a laugh from him.
“Yeah?” he said, studying you for one more second, like he was making absolutely sure.
“Yeah,” you reassured, nudging him lightly. “Go kick some ass, Dr. Park.”
He smirked at that, something warm and proud in it.
“Well,” he said, leaning in to press one more quick kiss to your forehead, “at least we know where the baby gets it from.”
You let out a soft laugh as he stepped back, already shifting back into surgeon mode.
And as he reached the door, he glanced back at you once more.
Just to be sure.
You smiled at him, resting your hand over your stomach, feeling the soft movement again, but this time with nothing but quiet awe.
Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when a Jane Doe arrives wearing Jack’s dog tags.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
This day wasn't out of the ordinary for you.
Jack had been called into the hospital, so you decided to run some errands instead. Just another walk through the city, another stretch of pavement leading you towards your favourite café. The street was bustling with lunchtime rush, people brushing past without even looking up, all of it so normal you stopped noticing anything outside your immediate line of sight.
You don’t see the window workers until it’s already too late.
There’s a shout, somewhere overhead, sharp, distant, dismissed instantly by your brain as background chaos.
Then something shifts overhead.
A shadow.
A sudden loss of control.
Like something heavy slipping when it shouldn’t.
You look up.
The bucket tips over the edge, half full, unbalanced, too far gone to recover.
You have no time to react.
It drops straight down.
The impact is immediate and brutal, striking the top of your head with enough force to erase thoughts.
Air leaves you all once.
Your body goes back with force, the concrete of the sidewalks rushing up before you can even register that you’re falling.
You don’t feel the landing.
You’re already gone before your body makes contact.
The ambulance door swings open hard.
Two paramedics rush in with a stretcher.
“Female, roughly mid-thirties–struck by falling debris,” one of the paramedics calls.
Whitaker is already moving.
“Trauma Two is open,” someone shouts from the nurses’ station.
The stretcher rolls in fast.
“Unconscious on scene,” the paramedic continues. “Hasn’t come around yet. GSC eight.”
Monitors are attached within seconds. An IV is started. Hands move quickly, practiced, efficient.
Whitaker is at the bedside now, eyes already scanning your injuries.
“Witness said that the window cleaner’s bucket fell from a height,” A paramedic informs. “She went down immediately.”
“ID?” Whitaker asks without looking up.
“None,” the paramedic says, already reaching into his pocket. “But we found this on her.”
He places a chain into Whitaker’s hand.
Dog tags.
Whitaker’s focus sharpens instantly.
That changes everything.
He takes them without hesitation, already thinking they’ve just been handed the easiest part of the case. A name means history, allergies, blood type, everything they need.
“Good,” he says under his breath, almost relieved. “We got lucky.”
He flips the broken tags over.
And stops.
Abbot. Jack.
O Negative.
Fuck.
For a second, the noise of the room is completely drowned out, as if it had been pulled underwater.
He reads it again, more slowly this time, in case the name changes.
It doesn’t.
“...Jesus,” He mutters, barely audible.
A nurse glances over. “You know her?”
Whitaker doesn't answer right away. His grip tightens slightly on the chain, metal pressing into his palm like letting go of it would make this situation even worse.
Because this wasn’t luck.
This was a problem.
A large one.
But more importantly, a very specific one
“Page, Dr. Robby,” he says, voice sharper now. “And Dr. Abbot. Now.”
The nurse moves immediately at the order.
Whitaker set the tags down carefully on the tray beside you, as if they were the most important thing in this room.
Robby arrives first.
He doesn't rush in. He lets his residents lead, but the moment he steps into Trauam Two, the atmosphere shifts anyway.
“What’ve we got?” he asks, pulling on a pair of gloves.
Whitaker doesn't answer right away.
Not because he doesn't know what's going on, but because he can’t quite find the words that fit.
Instead, he shifts slightly so Robby can see you.
Not the monitors. Not the chart.
You.
Robby’s expression changes instantly. Subtle, but complete. The kind of shift that happens when a doctor stops seeing a case and starts seeing a person.
He steps closer without even thinking.
His hand finds your wrist automatically, checking your pulse. His other hand moves to your eyes, checking pupils, clinical instinct kicking in.
“Found down,” a nurse says quickly. “Struck by falling debris—window cleaner’s bucket. Unconscious on scene, brief loss of consciousness, GCS eight.”
Robby nods, but there’s a little delay in it, like the information is landing half a beat too slow.
His hand stays on your wrist a fraction longer than necessary.
“I paged Abbot.”
“How—” he starts, confused, the word barely out.
He doesn’t finish.
Because Whitaker lifts his hand, the broken chain rests between his fingers.
Just enough for Robby to see it clearly.
Dog tags.
Everything in Robby’s expression shifts. Not shock. Recognition. Then something worse. Like the entire situation snaps into place all at once.
“...Oh no,” he says quietly.
His eyes flick back to you immediately.
Because this isn’t just some random patient.
This is Jack’s wife.
Robby straightened slightly, like his body was trying to catch up with what his brain already knew.
“No,” he says under his breath, already shaking his head once. “No-no, no…”
Whitaker starts to say something. “Robby—”
But Robby isn’t listening anymore.
His attention shifts toward the door like he can feel it before it happens.
“He’s coming,” Robby says, more to himself than anyone else.
A pause.
“Fuck.” Robby exhales through his nose, one hand dragging over his face as he looks back at you again.
You’re still unconscious. Still pale. Still completely unaware of who's about to walk in.
Whitaker tries again. “Robby—”
And that's when it finally clicks in his head.
“He can’t see her like this,” Robby says, firmer now, like he’s locking onto the only thing that matters.
Not like this.
And he’s already halfway to the door, trying to get there before Jack does.
Robby barely makes it halfway across the room before the door pushes open again.
Jack.
He’s already moving fast, eyes ready to assess the situation before anyone even speaks.
“What do we have?” he asks, breath just slightly off from the rush. “You paged me.”
Robby steps in front of him, blocking the doorway without hesitation.
“Hey”
Jack frowns, thrown off more by that than anything else. “What are you doing?”
“Jack-”
“Move,” Jack says, sharper now, trying to step around him to assist the patient.
Robby doesn’t. “You can’t go in there.”
That stops him.
“What?” Jack let out a short, disbelieving breath. “Robby, what are you talking about?”
Behind him, the room keeps moving. Voices, monitors, motion, but Jack can’t see any of it past the barrier in front of him.
“Just—wait,” Robby says, quieter now.
“No,” Jack shakes his head, already trying to step around him. “No, don’t page me and then tell me to wait. Move.”
Robby shifts just an inch, and for a split second, it is enough.
An angle opens up.
Just enough for Jack to see.
There are doctors and nurses,
The bed.
You.
Unconscious.
Blood matted into your hair, dark against your skin. Clothes still damp, clinging in the wrong places.
Everything in him stops.
The sound of the room drops out completely.
“…No,” he breathes.
Robby moves immediately to block his view again.
“Jack,” he says firmly. “You can’t—”
“That’s my wife,” Jack cuts in, voice breaking under it despite his effort to hold it together. “What happened?”
He tries to move forward again. His brain tries to process what he is seeing. His weight shifts subconsciously to his real leg to ground him. But it all hits at once, too fast, too much.
“…No,” he breathes, barely there.
“Jack,” he says, low and steady. “You can’t—”
Robby stops him, hands on his chest this time.
“You cannot go in there,” Robby says, stronger now. “You know that.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know,” Robby answers. “But you will if you make a mistake.”
That lands.
Not because it calms Jack’s nerves, but because it forces clarity through the panic.
If he treats you like this… he could make it worse.
Jack’s breathing is uneven. His eyes keep trying to find you past Robby’s shoulder.
But he can’t.
“Let us do our job,” Robby says, quieter now. “We’ve got her.”
Jack doesn’t move.
Doesn’t agree but doesn't try to push past him again either.
A long, stretched-out second passes.
Then Jack steps back.
Just one step.
Like it costs him more than anything else today.
Robby watches him carefully, like he expects him to surge back towards him.
But Jack just… goes still.
The fight drains out of him all at once, as something snapped.
He turns away without another word.
The roof is silent when Robby and Whitaker find him.
Jack is at the edge, hands gripping the metal railing, shoulder tight. Not leaning over, just holding on. Like it’s the only thing keeping him in place.
The city stretches out in front og him.
He doesn’t turn.
They both know he heard them.
Robby glances once at Whitaker, then back to Jack.
“She’s stable,” he says.
No response.
Whitaker steps a little closer. “Vitals are holding. We’re sending her for CT—possible concussion, maybe a small bleed, but nothing immediately life-threatening.”
Still nothing.
Robby moves a little closer, not too fast.
“She’s going to be okay,”
That gets a reaction.
Barely.
Jack exhales slowly, the sound rough, like he’s been holding it in too long.
He doesn’t turn around.
“…Did she wake up?” he asks.
“No,” Whitaker answers. “Not yet.”
Jack nods once.
Silence returns, wind cutting across the roof.
Whitaker hesitates for a second, then—
“She had your tags on.”
That lands differently.
Something in Jack breaks, just a little.
A quiet, breathless laugh slips out of him, completely out of place against everything else.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough.
He shakes his head once, like he can’t believe it even now. “She hates rings.”
A tear slips down before he can stop it.
He doesn’t wipe it away.
He just stands there, staring out at the city, holding onto the railing like it’s the only solid thing left.
Back in your room, everything is calmer now.
Monitors still beep steadily, machines still running, but the urgency is gone, replaced with something calmer. Controlled
Jack hesitates in the doorway before stepping in.
He takes you in slowly this time, like he’s afraid moving too fast will break the moment.
A sudden movement pulls his focus.
“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here.”
Your brows pull together slightly, a small reaction to the sounds of his voice.
Then your eyes flutter.
They open slowly.
Heavy.
Disoriented.
A small sound escapes you when the lights make contact with your eyes.
“Easy, babe,” he murmurs. “Don’t try to move too fast.”
You blink a few times, trying to focus.
Everything hurts. It’s too bright, too loud. Your head is throbbing.
“...Jack?” Your voice is rough, barely there.
“Yeah,” Jack says quietly, catching it. “Head’s gonna hurt. You took a bucket to the head.”
Your eyes finally land on him, and you just stare as if your brain is trying to catch up.
“I’m here,” he says again.
Relief flashes across your face. Small. Real. Your shoulder loosens, and seeing him suddenly makes everything feel less chaotic.
“You look mad,” you murmur weakly. That gets a faint breath out of him, almost a laugh.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I was.”
His hand finds yours carefully, grounding you.
“But you’re okay,” he adds. “That’s what matters.”
Your eyes drift shut for half a moment, exhaustion pulling at you.
“Mm,” you hum faintly. “Feels like I lost a battle.”
Jack huffs under his breath. “You did,” he says. “Badly.”
A faint smile tugs at your mouth, even through the ache.
“Rude,” you whisper.
Then your fingers shift against the sheet.
“Hey,” you say softly.
“Yeah?”
Your eyes flick to his chest.
“…Not on me,” you murmur.
Jack looks down at you. “What?”
“The tags,” you say, voice still rough but more alert now. “They’re not on my neck,”
You expect them to be there; they have been for years.
Jack exhales through his nose, almost amused.
He reaches into his pocket.
Carefully, he pulls out the chain.
His dog tags.
Worn. Familiar. Still his.
He places them gently into your hand.
“That’s how they identified you, Mrs. Abbot,” he says quietly.
That makes your expression shift, softening, something warm and tried underneath it.
Then your eyes drop the break.
The link halfway down snapped from the impact.
“Oh,” you murmur. “It’s broken,”
“Yeah,” he answers. “We’ll fix it.”
You study him for a second, still holding onto the chain lightly as if it grounds you.
“Thankfully,” you murmur, “the government likes labelling their property.”
That gets a quiet breath out of him.
“Yeah?” he asks.
You nod faintly.
“Very official,” you add. “Important documentation.”
Jack shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“And what,” he says, voice lower now, teasing, “are you properly of?”
You don’t even hesitate.
“You.”
The teasing fades out of his expression for a second, something quieter replacing it.
“…Yeah?” he asks softly.
Your grip on the tags tightens just slightly.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Been that way for a while.”
He holds your hand a little tighter.
“Good,” he says quietly.
Then, softer:
“Keep it that way.”
Your eyes start to drift again, exhaustion pulling at you.
Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when Jack makes one thing clear—you were never just friends.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
The emergency department was loud.
Not the usual kind of loud, but the kind of noise that settled into your bones after a while, monitors beeping, voices overlapping across the floor, stretchers rattling past. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and stale coffee, the kind that had been sitting from the start of the shift but would still get drunk anyway.
You were leaning against the nurse’s station, half-focused on a chart in front of you, pen tapping lightly against the clipboard as you filled in the last few details. The charts were overwhelming, and you were hoping to get caught up before you were needed again.
“I need someone in room three with me,”
Jack yelled, not even looking up as he flipped through the newly picked-up chart, then, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re coming.”
You didn't even argue. Duty called, and charting could wait.
“Wow,” you muttered, pushing off the counter. “I didn't even get a please.”
“You say that like you had a choice,” Jack muttered, already moving down the hall.
And you followed anyway.
Room three wasn't anything dramatic, thankfully. The patient, an older man, maybe in his late sixties, sat propped up in bed with the blanket pulled over his lap. He had a pair of reading glasses perched low on his nose and glanced up the second you both walked in.
Jack slipped into his usual tone immediately as he examined.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he said, voice steady, professional. He gestured to you briefly.
“This is–”
But you cut him off. “Hi, I’m with him. We’ll be here to take good care of you.”
The man hummed, watching the two of you closely.
You moved around the room easily, grabbing the blood pressure cuff, checking the heart monitor, and adjusting the IV line so it wouldn't get tangled. It was all just second nature at this point. Jack asked the man questions; you filled in the gaps, handing him things before he even needed to ask.
It was quiet coordination. Familiar. Comfortable.
The man’s gaze flickered between you, a small smile forming as he leaned back against the pillows.
“You two remind me of my wife and me when we were younger,” he said suddenly.
You paused, glancing over at him with a grin. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “Same flow. She always knew what I needed before I admitted it.” His eyes shifted towards Jack briefly. “You’ve got that look, too.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I don't know if that's supposed to be a good thing or not.”
“Oh, it is,” he assured you. “You just don't realize it yet.”
You smiled at that, something warm and easy.
“Yeah, we’re basically inseparable,” you added, glancing at Jack with a grin. “Probably, best friends actually.”
Jack didn't react right away, but when he did, it wasn't the reaction you were expecting either.
“We’re not friends.”
His voice was calm. Flat.
No teasing. No humor.
Just a statement.
One that landed harder than it should have.
Your chest tightens. Weren't we friends?
You did everything together, inside and outside the hospital.
The room felt quieter for a second, like even the monitors had dulled.
The old man shifted awkwardly, clearly thinking he’d misread the situation. “I didn’t mean–”
“It’s fine,” you let out, still smiling, still easy. You weren’t about to make him feel worse than he already did,
Jack didn't correct it.
He didn’t acknowledge it at all.
Just kept filling out the cart.
And for the first time that shift, something about you just felt…off.
Hours passed in a blur, one patient bleeding into the next.
But the tension between you and Jack never settled back into place.
You kept moving. I kept working. Keep doing everything like you always did, checking charts, helping where needed, laughing when Ellis said something under her breath, but it felt off.
You felt off.
It was subtle, easy for anyone to miss.
Unless you were looking for it.
“Hey,” Robby's voice cut in as you passed the desk, tablet tucked against your chest.
You glanced over. “What?”
He leaned back into his chair, studying you in that annoyingly observant way of his. "What'd you do?”
You frowned at the accusation. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Robby hummed, not believing you for a second. His gaze flickered past you towards Jack, who stood across the room, focused on a chart but very obviously irritated.
“Right,” Robby muttered. “Because that,” he motioned lazily between the two of you, “is totally normal.”
You didn't follow his gaze.
“We’re fine,” you stated, paying full attention to the tablet.
Robby snorted. “You haven't looked at him in what, twenty minutes?”
“I’m working.”
“Yeah, well, it's usually you two working together, not avoiding one another.”
You shot him a look. “Do you have a patient or are you just here to psychoanalyze me?”
“Both,” he said easily. Then, quieter, “Jack said something, didn’t he?”
You didn’t answer right away. That was enough.
Robby sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course he did.”
“Drop it,” you muttered, already stepping away.
“Mm,” he called after you, not convinced. “Good luck with that.”
You weren't avoiding Jack.
Well, not really anyway.
You just stopped gravitating towards him. Instead of filling the space around him like you usually did, you found other places to be.
When he needed something, and you were there, you handed it over. When he spoke to you, you answered.
But that was it—No extra comments. No teasing. No lingering.
Later in the shift, the pace finally slowed.
You decided to restock, hands moving on autopilot, when Jack stepped into the supply room behind you.
You felt him before you saw him.
The door clicked shut.
You didn't turn around, continuing to restock like you hadn't noticed him enter.
“You've been ignoring me.”
Jack’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm.
You let out a small breath, setting a box down before finally turning to face him.
“I've been working.”
“That’s not what I said.”
You crossed your arm slightly, leaning back against the shelf. “Then what did you mean?”
Jack stepped further into the room, jaw tight, frustrated sitting just under the surface.
“You haven't looked at me since the start of the shift.”
You let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to?”
Jack tilted his head slightly, watching you like he already knew how this was going to go.
“You really think we’re just friends?”
You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground. “Well, apparently not, considering what you said.”
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh, low, almost amused.
“I let you follow me around all shifts,” he said, counting it off like it was obvious. “I take you out to eat. I’ve got you curled up next to me on the couch half the time–”
Your breath caught.
“And you really think we’re friends?” he finished, raising a brow.
The way he said it, so sure of himself, so knowing. It made your stomach do flips.
You forced a scoff, anyway. “Wow, you’re really full of yourself.”
“I'm not wrong.”
Jack studied you for a second, something sharper settling into his expression.
“You know exactly what this is.”
You shook your head immediately. “No, I don’t.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “you do.”
You held his gaze, refusing to back down.
“Then say it,” you challenged. “Because apparently I’m getting it wrong.”
Jack didn’t answer right away.
Didn’t look away, either.
And for the first time, his confidence faltered just slightly.
You caught it.
Of course you did.
So you pushed.
“Well?” you said, a little breathless but still stubborn. “What are we, then?”
Silence stretched.
“Or is that too hard for you?” you added.
Jack’s jaw tightened, something shifting in his expression.
He stepped closer. Now there was no space left at all. Your back pressed fully against the shelf, nowhere else to go.
His voice dropped when he spoke again.
“Careful, darling.”
You tilted your head slightly, a hint of a smirk breaking through despite everything.
“Well, old man,” you muttered, “maybe try putting a label on it.”
That hit.
You saw it land, the flicker in his eyes, the way his gaze dragged over you for just a second too long. Something deeper slipped through the cockiness.
For a second, neither of you moved.
The air felt heavier now. Warmer.
Charged.
Jack’s gaze dropped, just for a moment–to your lips, then back up.
Slow. Deliberate.
“Are you sure you really want that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges.
Your breath hitched.
You didn't answer. Didn’t move.
Jack leaned in just a little, not enough to make contact, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
“If I put a label on it,” he continued quietly, “I’m not taking it back.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“You’ll be mine,” he murmured near your ear. “And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
Your fingers curled at your sides, the urge to reach for him almost overwhelming but you held yourself still.
“Try me”
That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
You saw it immediately, the shift in him. The cockiness didn’t disappear; it deepened into
something darker. More certain. More possessive.
Jack’s hand lifted, brushing just barely against your side as he leaned in closer, still not touching, but close enough to make your breath uneven.
“You act like you don't know what you are to me,” he said quietly.
Your chest tightened because you did know.
You just needed to hear him say it.
The silence stretched again.
So you stepped forward.
Closing the space yourself this time.
Your hand caught his wrist lightly, stopping him from pulling away.
“Then don’t say it,” you murmured.
Jack’s brows pulled together slightly.
You held his gaze, steady this time.
“Show me.”
That did it.
Whatever control he had left snapped.
His eyes darkened.
His gaze dropped to your lips–then to your hand on him.
His jaw tightened.
And for the first time, all shift, he had nothing to say
Summary: Five times you pranked Jack with TikTok trends, and one time you got The Pitt crew.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
If there was one thing the Pitt crew loved more than coffee, it was your videos of pranking Jack.
Every couple of days, you somehow found a new trend to try, and without fail, he fell for it. It had gotten to the point where med students, residents, and even attendings had started messaging you, thanking you for the laughs and for lightening the mood during brutal shifts.
1. I found Robby on Tinder.
You were sitting on the couch with Jack, your legs draped across his lap as he watched something on the television. It was one of those rare evenings where he was actually off, and all either of you wanted to do was relax.
But earlier that morning, you had seen a TikTok you couldn’t get out of your head. And now felt like the perfect time to try it.
You suddenly stiffened, a sharp gasp leaving you as you stared at your phone.
Jack’s hand paused against your leg immediately. “What’s wrong?”
You didn't answer right away, just kept staring at your phone, eyes wide like you were trying to process something unbelievable.
“Jack…” you said slowly, “I just found Robby on Tinder.”
Silence.
“...What?”
You nodded, still looking at your phone like the proof was right there, but it was actually a video of Jack's reaction and the genuine shock splashed across his face. “It was him. His name and a photo of him.”
Jack shifted beneath you, sitting up more without even realizing it, his attention fully on you now.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No way.”
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.
“I’m serious—”
“Holy shit,” he cut in, staring at you now. “Robby is on Tinder?”
You nodded again, like you were still trying to process it yourself.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, still looking completely thrown. “I can't believe he didn't tell me.”
You turned your face slightly, hiding the smile threatening to give you away.
“Maybe he just didn't want anyone to know yet,” you added carefully.
Jack exhaled, still staring ahead. “Yeah, but still Robby? On Tinder? I’m shocked he knows what that even is.”
A pause.
His hand rested on your leg again, but his mind was clearly elsewhere now. You pressed your lips together, trying to keep the laugh in.
Another second and then–
“...Wait.”
Jack slowly turned his head toward you, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“…Why were you on Tinder?”
That was it. You broke. A laugh slipped out before you could stop it, and then you were fully laughing, dropping your phone and leaning into his side.
“It’s a prank,” you admitted. “It's a TikTok trend.”
Jack just stared at you. “Of course it is.”
“You were so shocked!” you laughed.
“Because that’s shocking,” he shot back, though a smile was finally breaking through. “Robby? Tinder? Come on.”
Jack shot you a mock-offended look as he pulled you closer. “I trusted you.”
That only made you laugh harder.
Jack shook his head, leaning back into the couch.
“Next time,” he muttered, “don’t make it so believable.”
You smiled.
“No promises.”
2. Current Boyfriend
For once, Jack already knew you were recording.
You were both sitting in his truck, parked outside a drive-thru, a couple of milkshakes sitting in the cupholder between you. The engine was still running, soft music playing in the background as he rested one hand on the wheel.
You adjusted your phone, propping it up in the dash.
“You ready?” You asked, and Jack nodded before leaning in and hitting the record.
“Okay,” you said, a little too cheerfully. “Today we're trying a new milkshake flavour—”
Jack huffed out a little laugh beside you. “We’re reviewing things now?”
You ignored him.
“I’m here with my current boyfriend,” you added casually.
There was a beat of silence.
Jack slowly turned his head.
“You're what?”
You kept your eyes on the camera as if nothing had happened, reaching for your drink. “My current boyfriend.”
Jack blinked, completely thrown. “Current?”
“Yup.” You took a sip of your milkshake, then held it out for him. “You gonna try it?”
He didn't move right away, just stared at you.
“...Current,” he repeated, like he was testing the word. He took his drink, still watching you.
You hummed, still focused on the “review.” “Mm, that's really good.”
A pause.
“...What do you mean, current?” he asked.
You shrugged lightly. “As in, like… right now.”
Jack let out a short breath, shaking his head.
That was it, you cracked, nearly choking on your milkshake.
His eyes narrowed immediately. “…What are you doing?”
“It’s a prank,” you admitted, laughing. “The ‘current boyfriend’ thing—”
Jack leaned back with a sigh, but there was a smile there now.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You were so confused!”
“Because you said it like I’m temporary,” he shot back, finally taking a sip of his drink.
You grinned.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath,
“…Whatever, current girlfriend.”
3. You Could of Been Nicer to Me
It was late by the time you both finally made it to bed.
The day had worn you down in that familiar way, leaving everything slow and heavy as you settled under the covers. The lights were off, the room was dim, and the only sound that was heard was the hum of the city life outside.
Jack lay on his side of the bed, facing away, one arm tucked under his pillow.
You stared at his back for a moment, lips twitching.
“You could’ve been nicer to me today.”
There was a pause.
Then Jack shifted, flipping over to face you, brows pulling together slightly in confusion.
“Was I mean to you today?”
You kept your expression completely neutral, blinking at him innocently. “I just think… You could’ve been nicer.”
Jack frowned, clearly running through the day
“I made you your favourite coffee this morning,” he started.
You hummed, like you were considering his point.
“I let you pick what we watched when we ate.”
Another small hum.
“I brought you lunch.”
You nodded slightly, still not giving him anything.
Jack narrowed his eyes a little. “And I didn't complain when you watched your videos at full volume.”
You pressed your lips together, fighting the smile.
“Still.” You shrugged lightly. “Could’ve been nicer.”
Jack stared at you for a second longer, then shook his head, a quiet huff of disbelief leaving him.
“You’re something else,” he muttered.
But despite that, his arm slid around your waist, tugging you closer anyway.
You went easily, settling against his chest, warmth immediately replacing the small distance from before.
His hand rested on your back, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side.
“You really couldn’t just let me go to sleep in peace, huh?” he added under his breath.
You smiled up at him, just a little too pleased with yourself.
“Not a chance.”
Jack huffed softly, but there was no real annoyance left in it. He leaned down, pressing a slow, familiar kiss to your lips, nothing rushed, just warm and steady.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. This time, neither of you said anything.
And not long after, wrapped up together, you both drifted off to sleep.
4. Forgotten Fake Date
For once, Jack had thought he was going to get a quiet night.
He dropped his keys into the dish by the door, shrugged off his jacket, and the faint noise somewhere in the apartment settled around him. It was getting late, and all he wanted was a shower and maybe a beer.
“Hello?” he called out, glancing around.
No answer.
His brows pulled together slightly. You definitely should’ve been home by now.
He stepped further inside, scanning the living room, but it was empty. Same when he checked the kitchen.
“Honey?”
Still no reply.
Thoughts started running through Jack's head. It wasn’t normal for you to be home after him, and by now, he knew you would always send a message to let him know.
He double-checked his phone, but nothing was there.
Were you safe? Did you become ill suddenly?
Then he heard something.
It was a movement coming from your guys' bedroom.
Jack walks down the hall a little slower now, with no real panic, pushing the door open and stopping.
There you were, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, curling your hair.
You were all dressed up.
Not just casually ready but a full showtime ready. Hair was getting done, outfit put together.
Jack blinked.
“What are you doing?”
You glanced through the mirror, calm as ever. “Getting ready.”
“For what?”
You turned, like the answer was obvious. “Our date?”
Jack froze. “Our what?”
You frowned. “The date you planned?”
That was it.
His entire posture changed.
“Wait, what?” he said quickly, stepping fully into the room now. “Did I plan something?”
You just looked at him.
“Did I make reservations?” he muttered, already pulling his phone out. “No, I would've written it down–”
“You did it on the calendar. It says date night.” You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile as you curled another piece of your hair.
“Babe, I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair, stress creeping in fast now. “I don’t know, I forgot, just give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll figure something out for us.”
That was enough.
You broke, a laugh escaping as you leaned against the counter for supper.
Jack stopped mid-ramble.
“What..?”
“It’s a prank,” you managed between laughs. “The ‘you forgot our date’ thing—”
He just stared at you.
Then dragged a hand down his face. “I can not believe you.”
“I had you so stressed,” you laughed.
“You had me thinking I screwed up at night,” he shot back, though there was a smile breaking through now.
You grinned.
Jack shook his head, stepping closer anyway, hands settling on your waist.
“I’ll go change,” he muttered. “You’re not wasting that outfit now.”
5. Oil Changed
Jack didn't think much of it when he walked into the house; it was another long shift, his shoulders still tight from the day as he dropped his keys into the bowl by the door.
But then he saw it.
A bottle of canola oil is sitting on the counter. Not unusual on its own.
Except it wasn't near the stove.
And it was open.
Usually, that meant baked goods: something sweet, something waiting.
But there was nothing: no smell, no mess, no oven on.
Jack frowned, stepping closer, picking it up and turning it slightly like it might somehow explain itself.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, brow knitting together. “What did you use the oil for ?”
From somewhere down the hall, your voice came back casually, like nothing was wrong. “Oh! I used it earlier–I must’ve forgotten to put it away.”
Jack’s frown deepened. “For what?”
You stepped into the kitchen, completely calm. “My car”
Jack blinked. Once.
Then again, slower this time, like his brain had just stalled on him.
“...You're what?”
You shrugged lightly, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “You said I needed my oil topped up, so I figured I would do it.”
There was a full second where nothing happened.
Jack just stared at you.
“You did what?”
Not loud. Not yelling.
Worse. Disbelief. Pure, utter disbelief.
His eyes flickered from you, to the bottle in his hand, then to the window as if he could see your car, and finally back to you again, like maybe he had misunderstood something along the way.
“You put what kind of oil in your car?” he asked slowly, each word careful, controlled.
You nodded towards the bottle. “That one, duh.”
Jack followed your gesture to the bottle in his hand, then looked back at you.
Stunned.
“That’s canola oil.”
You tilted your head. “Yeah?”
Jack let out a breath, short and disbelieving, like his body didn’t even know how to react yet.
“No—no, that’s not,” he cut himself off, running a hand down his face, pacing once across the kitchen.
“Tell me you didn’t actually put cooking oil in your car.”
You frowned slightly, like he was the confusing one. “It’s baking oil… but yes, I topped it up like you said.”
Jack stopped pacing.
Slowly turned back to you.
“…You used baking oil,” he repeated, pointing at the bottle, his voice tight.
A beat, then it hit him.
“Oh my—no. No, no, no.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, already moving again, faster this time.
“How much did you put in?”
You paused. “Enough?”
Jack let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “That’s not—you can’t—”
He cut himself off, grabbing his keys off the counter.
“Okay. Okay, we’re going outside. Right now. Do not start the car, don’t touch it, just come on.”
He glanced back at you, panic written all over his face now.
“Please tell me you didn’t drive it after.”
You blinked at him, then let out a small laugh.
“I didn’t even turn it on,” you said innocently.
Jack exhaled in relief.
“Because I didn’t actually put the oil in.”
Silence.
A beat.
Then your laugh broke through fully, and you leaned against the counter, grinning.
Jack just stared at you.
“…You’re kidding.”
You were still laughing, leaning against the counter as you caught your breath.
“Sorry,” you grinned, lifting your phone slightly. “TikTok duty calls.”
Jack closed his eyes for a second, rolling them as he let out a long breath.
“I almost had a heart attack,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You owe me for that.”
You shrugged, still smiling. “I owe you what?”
“Cookies,” he said immediately, pointing at you. “You owe me cookies for that scare.”
You bit back another laugh, nodding toward the kitchen.
“Check the microwave.”
Jack didn’t even question it.
He turned and walked over, quickening his pace just a little, curiosity already taking over.
He opened the microwave—
And paused.
A plate of warm, freshly baked cookies sat inside.
Jack’s whole face lit up instantly.
“Oh, you’re amazing,” he said, already reaching in and grabbing one.
He took a big bite without hesitation, leaning back against the counter with a satisfied hum.
“Yeah… this was so worth it,” he added, completely content now.
You laughed, shaking your head.
“So I’m forgiven?”
Jack pointed at you with the cookie, a grin tugging at his lips.
“You were forgiven the minute you mentioned these.”
1. Baby Goat or Matter Baby?
You were supposed to be waiting.
Jack was pulled in for a last-minute trauma, and while he finished up, you had promised you’d sit at the ED hub and behave.
Keyword: Behave.
The clear order that had come straight from Jack’s mouth before he disappeared into the trauma room.
But then you saw Ellis laughing with a med student, Trini charting at the desk, Robby slouched in his chair like he was melting into it, and Langdon pretending he wasn’t listening while very obviously listening.
And suddenly… you got an idea.
The Pitt crew as a whole loved your videos of Jack. Every prank, every reaction, every exhausted “Your unbelievable” moment always made its way through the department.
So it was only fair that you gave them a little revenge back.
You hopped up onto the counter, swinging your legs as you weren't about to cause problems. Your phone is already out as you pretend to scroll through it.
“Quick question,” you said lightly.
Trinity looked up first.
“That tone doesn’t sound good.”
Robby didn't even lift his head. “Don't entertain her. I’m begging you.”
Ellis, of course, leaned in. “I’m listening.”
Langdon finally looked over from the side. “If this is about another prank, I swear I’m transferring.”
You smiled sweetly. “Would you rather be a baby goat… or a matter baby?”
Silence.
Trinity slowly put her pen down. “I’m sorry, what?”
Robby sighed. “That’s not even medically relevant.”
Ellis grinned. “Baby goat. Obviously.”
Langdon frowned slightly, still trying to process it. “What’s a matter, baby?”
A beat.
You paused.
Then slowly turned your head toward him, a sharp little smirk forming.
“You'd better hope Jack doesn’t hear you say that to me.”
It took exactly three seconds.
Then Langdon’s face dropped. “Oh no”
He leaned back, already realizing exactly what he’d walked into.
“I knew this was a setup,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “I knew it.”
Robby immediately perked up. “Yep. That’s on you.”
Ellis laughed. “You walked right into it, man.”
Trinity sighed, not even looking up. “I’m too tired for this.”
Langdon pointed at you, low and defeated. “You did that on purpose.”
You just smiled innocently.
That made him groan under his breath, head tipping back like he was personally victimized by the entire situation.
“I hate this place.”
Robby snorted. “Yeah, that’s the job description.”
Ellis grinned. “You’ll be fine.”
Trinity didn’t even look up. “Not if Jack hears this, he won’t.”
You were still perched on the counter when Jack’s voice cut through the hub.
“Why is everyone standing around?”
The group of you shifted instantly.
Robby leaned back. “Perfect timing, my friend.”
Ellis brightened. “Hey, Jack.”
Trinity immediately went back to charting.
Langdon, however, visibly stiffened the second he heard Jack’s voice.
Robby noticed immediately. “Relax, man.”
“I am relaxed,” Langdon hissed. “I am very relaxed.”
Ellis grinned. “You look like you’re about to shit your pants.”
Langdon shot him a look. “You’re not helping.”
Jack’s gaze moved across the hub, taking in the lingering tension before landing on you, still perched on the counter.
“What did I miss?”
Robby pointed at you immediately. “Start with your girl.”
Ellis leaned in, way too pleased with himself. “The topic was baby goats.”
Jack blinked slowly. “…Baby goats.”
Robby added, “She was just asking us a question.”
Jack exhaled through his nose. “Of course she was.”
Then his eyes shifted. “And Langdon?”
Langdon straightened immediately. “I didn’t do anything.”
Ellis cut in. “He was flirting.”
“I was not—”
That did it.
Laughter broke through the group.
Jack just stood there.
“…Flirting?”
Ellis pointed between you and Langdon. “Relax, it was accidental.”
Langdon groaned. “That’s not helping.”
Jack finally looked at you, still confused.
“What exactly did I walk into?”
You smiled sweetly.
“Just Baby goats,” you said simply.
That made everyone laugh again.
Jack, still not fully understanding, shook his head.
Summary: You went to drop off lunch and ended up face-to-face with Park the Shark.
A/N: Had to switch it up a bit. Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
You had been to the hospital many times to spend time with your husband while he was on shift. It became a routine, a quiet way for him to take a moment away from consults and surgeries. A chance to be himself. No pressure. No expectations.
Most of the orthopedic floor staff knew who you were. How could they not, when your husband was considered one of the best? There was barely a break or detached limb he couldn’t fix.
The emergency department was loud when you arrived, the kind of sound that came with bad decisions, fireworks, and a holiday that never quite went right. You should’ve expected it
It was the Fourth of July, after all.
But the chaos down here was different from the one you were used to.
Still, you figured bringing your husband lunch on a busy day was the least you could do. You knew how these shifts often went: long, relentless, and unforgiving.
You stepped through the ED doors, scanning the chaos for him, the paper bag still warm in your hands. There had to be at least one face down here that was familiar that could guide you, but before you could look further, you heard him.
“No, that is not how you handle that!”
Your steps slowed.
Brendan’s voice cut clean through the noise, sharp and harsh, making a few heads turn. Your stomach drops.
You rounded the corner just enough to see him.
Brendan Park stood in front of a first-year resident who looked like he might be two seconds away from crying. One hand braced against the stretcher, the other pointing at the X-ray with a pen. His posture was rigid, shoulders squared, jaw set tight, every bit of him radiating that controlled, cutting authority the staff had long since learned to work around.
No one else looked surprised. A few nurses kept charting. Someone walked past as if this were just another day. Everyone knew that was how Park the Shark operated. Only the resident looked like he might fold under the pressure.
“That’s not stable,” Brendan said flatly. “It’s displaced.”
The resident hesitated. “I thought it could—”
“You thought wrong,” he snapped. “Look at it.” He tapped the screen once. “See the angulation? That’s not holding. You send them home like that, they come back worse.”
The resident swallowed, nodding quickly.
Your grip on the bag tightened. That wasn’t the man who made your coffee before you woke up. That wasn't the man who kissed you goodbye this morning.
Brendan didn’t soften.
“Next time, don’t guess,” he said sharply. “If you’re unsure, you call me immediately. Now, bring them upstairs. Prep them for surgery.”
He turned and froze. Clearly not expecting to see you.
“You’re here,” he said, the bite in his voice disappearing almost instantly.
You held up the bag, expression calm but sharp. “Garcia told me you were down here,” you said. “I brought lunch.”
There was a moment of silence, and the staff aroumd seemed to hold their breath.
You tilted your head, studying him. “I was actually looking for my husband… but I found a tool instead.”
The words landed like a scalpel. A couple of nurses froze mid-charting. Someone behind Brendan stopped walking mid-step.
Brendan blinked once. Colour crept up his neck.
“I’m working,” he said, a little too quickly, straightening his posture like he could pull the authority back over himself. “This isn’t—”
You raised an eyebrow, and he stopped.
“That’s not working,” you said evenly. “That’s you tearing into someone who clearly needed guidance, not public humiliation.”
All eyes were on you now. Someone stifled a laugh behind a chart.
Brendan’s jaw tightened. Park the Shark could have unleashed full fury, but he didn’t. He looked at you, and for a moment, the fight drained out of him.
“I–” he started, quieter now.
You stepped closer, pressing the bag into his chest. “Eat, and maybe remember that was your dumbass at some point.”
His hands came up automatically, taking it. “…Yes, ma’am,” he muttered under his breath.
Your lips twitched.
“Good. I’ll be in the break room,” you said, already stepping back. “Try not to yell at anyone else on your way up.”
And just like that, you turned and walked away.
Silence followed.
Then—
“Was that—”
“That was his wife.”
“No way.”
“Park has a wife??”
“She just shut him down.”
Brendan closed his eyes briefly, dragging a hand down his face. “…Not a word,” he muttered.
The staff didn’t listen. Someone behind him whispered, “Park the Shark just turned into a goldfish.”
Summary: A normal ER shift takes a highly unexpected turn when a patient’s homemade brownies hit a little too hard
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
The emergency department was in its usual chaotic rhythm by the time you clocked in. It was one of those days where you were constantly moving, in and out of patient rooms, checking vitals, administering medication, juggling a million other things at once. Voices overlapped from every direction. Someone was calling for labs, someone else was asking for meds, and a paramedic was giving a report too fast for anyone to fully catch.
That was the thing about this place: you didn't ease into a shift, you went in swinging. No warm-up, no pause. Just straight into it.
You’d barely set your bag down when you saw the nurse's light flash for assistance in room seven.
“I got room seven,” you called out, not really to anyone in particular, just enough for the rest of the staff to know it was covered.
You were already moving towards the hall when–
“Hey.”
You glanced over your shoulder, instinctively searching for the familiar voice. Jack was leaning back against the counter, tablet in hand, but he wasn’t really looking at it. His attention was on you, had been since you came through the staff doors. His gaze followed you easily, like it always did, picking you out of the chaos without trying.
It was second nature to him.
“Try not to get into too much trouble today, will you?” he called after you, as if he knew what kind of day you were already about to have.
You snorted, not even slowing as you kept walking. “No promises, babe.”
His mouth twitched in amusement as he watched you.
“That's what I was afraid of,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.
You shook your head, continuing onto room seven, but now with a small smile tugging at your lips. You could feel it, even without turning back– his eyes lingered on you, warm and affectionate.
Room seven was like a breath of fresh air when you entered.
A sweet, elderly woman sat on the edge of the bed, her hair neatly pinned back in a bun and a tan cardigan draped over her shoulders. She looked like the stereotypical grandmother who appeared on television. She smiled as you stepped in, her eyes twinking with a warmth that immediately put you at ease.
“Hello, Ma’am, I saw you needed some help?” you asked, moving closer.
“None of that,” she said with a playful shake of her head. “Please, call me Betty.”
“Betty,” you repeated with a smile. “Alright, Betty. How can I help you today?”
“Well,” she said, reaching for the call button at her bedside. “I hit this because I didn't know if you folks forgot about silly old me.” She laughed softly. “And I've been watching, you all seem so kind to one another.”
You chuckled. “It’s not that we forgot, Betty. It’s just …busy here.” You gestured vaguely at the chos outside of her room. “But I’ll check your vitals again. Your X-rays still haven't come back yet, so we’ll keep an eye on things until they do.”
Betty’s eyes lit up as she reached beside her bed and handed you a blue Tupperware container. “The last doctor forgot to take these,” she said gently. “But these are some homemade brownies I made for you all. You guys work so hard, and I wanted to do something as nice as a thank you.”
You hesitated for a second, torn between hospital policy and her genuine kindness. The container was full of slightly uneven but perfectly golden brownies, the cocoa aroma drifting up to your senses immediately.
“Betty… you didn't have to,” you thanked her, genuinely touched.
“Oh, I wanted to, dear,” she replied warmly, her smile sincere. “I just wanted to make your day a little easier.”
You nodded, carefully accepting the container. Rules be damned, you weren't going to upset this kind old lady.
For a moment, the chaos of the ED felt just a little lighter.
The break room was a rare moment of quiet amid the usual chaos of the ED. It wasn’t often that you were able to sit down and actually relax in here.
You placed Betty’s Tupperware on the counter for anyone who wanted a treat. You couldn’t resist eating one of the brownies; it was warm, sweet, and unexpectedly comforting, the kind of little indulgence that made the chaos of the shift feel just a bit easier.
You returned to your duties, leaving the rest of the brownies safely in the room for the rest of the staff. Completely ordinary, you told yourself. A little chocolate never hurt anyone.
The nurse’s station was buzzing as usual, phone ringing, monitors beeping, colleagues chatting, but you moved through it all with your usual efficiency… or at least you thought you were.
Jack, standing nearby, tilted his head slightly as he watched you file through charts. Something about the way you moved, the little smile tugging at your lips a little too often, made him pause. He was suspicious; you seemed just a little too cheerful for someone powering through a twelve-hour shift.
Dana wandered over, chewing her gum while balancing a stack of charts. She stopped mid-step, squinting at you. Did she just see you laugh at one of your own notes?
“Honey, are you alright?” she asked slowly.
You blinked at her, genuinely confused. “Huh? Oh, no.. I just saw something funny, that’s all.” You waved her concern and returned to sorting the notes, completely unaware of the faint wobble in your step.
Dana exchanged a glance with Jack, leaning in slightly. “Is she okay?” she murmured.
Jack shrugged, still unsure. “I think so. Just a little off. Probably lack of sleep.”
For a while, you continued through the shift, moving through the patients' charts and checking IVs as normal, though this time a little more giggly. You hummed under your breath as you worked, swaying when it involved leaving the desk.
Eventually, the first unmistakable wave hit. You found yourself leaning against a counter, laughing at nothing in particular, flicking pens and notes across the nurses' station without meaning to.
Dana’s narrowed, and this time she knew something was seriously wrong. “Okay..” she muttered, walking over and gently taking your arm. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where?” you asked brightly, giggling as you let her guide you down the hall, your fingers brushing along her arm without even realizing it. Each step felt floaty, just a little too easy, and you leaned into her touch more than necessary, smiling up at her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sit down here,” Dana said, motioning to an empty patient room. “I just want to make sure you’re okay for a second.”
You plopped onto the edge of the bed, still giggling softly, reaching for Dana’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Dana… you’re so nice,” you murmured, leaning closer than usual. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Dana’s eyes widened, then flicked towards the hallway, a frown crossing her face. Something was definitely off. “I need to go get Jack, okay?” she muttered, letting go of your arm and stepping out quickly to call him.
You hummed contentedly, sinking into the edge of the bed, your finger brushing over the soft sheets. The fabric felt impossibly smooth, comforting in a way that made you sigh happily.
“Oh… Jack,” you murmured as soon as you saw him step into the room, your eyes lighting up. “These sheets… we need a pair for home. They’re… amazing.” You wiggled your fingers along the fabric, completely enraptured, your smile wide and dreamy.
Jack knelt beside you, raising an eyebrow but keeping his voice calm. “You want our bed to have hospital sheets?” He couldn't believe his ears.
You tilted your head, still running your hands over the soft fabric. “Not the hospital ones … these. Soft like clouds.”
Jack exchanged a glance with Dana, who had just stepped in behind him, her lips pressed together to hide a smirk. Both of them blinked, trying to make sense of the dreamy, almost floaty expression on your face.
“Baby, are you okay?” he asked cautiously. “You seem different.”
You leaned into him, pressing your cheek against his chest. “You’re so handsome,” you murmured. “I love you so much, even though you snore.”
Jack froze, exchanging a stunned glance with Dana. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is she high?”
Jack ran a hand through his hair, assessing the situation calmly. Why is she high? And how in the world on shift? “Okay… babe, when was the last time you ate today?
“…Breakfast?” you answered thoughtfully, tilting your head like it required serious consideration.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Just breakfast?”
Your face brightened suddenly. “Oh! Wait… some patient! An old lady gave me brownies!”
Jack blinked. “Brownies?”
You nodded eagerly. “In the break room! Jack, you need to try them; they were so good.” You emphasize, trying to figure out why earlier you didn't bother to bring a brownie to Jack so he could try them.
Dana’s eyes flicked to Jack, her lips pressed together, and she whispered, “I’m already on it,” before stepping quickly to go and try to avoid another disaster.
Jack exhaled softly, a mix of relief and amusement washing over him. Now that he knows why you're like this. He let his hand drift to your shoulder as you nuzzled into him.
“How about we go home?” he murmured gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Before you get into any trouble.”
You giggled, wrapping an arm around his neck. “Yeah… home to our bed.”
Jack smiled, shaking his head. “Alright, let’s get out of here before you start causing a scene,” He carefully guided you off the bed. In any other instance, he would carry you in this state, but he knew it would draw more attention than needed.
You leaned fully into him, fingers tracing along his shoulders, humming softly. “Are you going to be in bed with me?
Jack nodded and ensured he wrapped his arm securely around your waist, steering you down the hall, subtly dodging busy staff and shielding you from anyone who might notice. You swayed slightly with each step, giggling at nothing and murmuring little compliments about him.
Just as you made it to the emergency exit, Robby appeared, arriving for his shift. You waved lazily, eyes sparkling. “Hey, handsome! You coming with us… or just want to watch?”
Jack shot him a pointed look while his ears turned red. “I’ll tell you later,” he muttered, tugging you gently forward. Robby stood there, clearly flustered and confused, while you giggled softly, leaning into Jack even more.
You pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. “I love you… so much…”
“I know, babe,” Jack murmured, smiling as he guided you toward the exit. “I love you too… however, no more brownies for you.”
He helped you settle into the passenger seat, gently buckling you in. You leaned your head against the window for a second, eyes half-lidded and dreamy, still holding his hand.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
“I know… so buy me new sheets,” you whispered back, your fingers tracing lightly along his hand.
Jack pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Alright… home we go,” he said, starting the engine.
You sighed contentedly, your head resting against the seat, fingers still entwined with his. Slowly, your eyelids grew heavy, your body relaxing in the warmth of the car, and the lingering effects of the brownies lulled you toward sleep.
And just like that, you drifted into a peaceful sleep, warm and cared for, Jack quietly keeping watch as the car hummed toward home.
