can’t stop thinking about jack finding out his teenage daughter has a long term, pretty serious boyfriend that she never told him about bc he’s never around
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: jack finds out that his daughter has a boyfriend which leads him to find out that he’s been absent in her life for far too long.
pairing: jack abbot x teenage daughter! reader
warnings: brief descriptions of a fight, blood, hospital setting, medical terminology and probably inaccurate medical scenes
notes: this fic is based of this request! if you wanna make a request feel free to ask and let me know if i should do a part 2 to this fic!!
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / next
This hadn’t been the plan in the slightest.
One minute you were at your boyfriend’s soccer game, sitting on the sidelines with the rest of the sports med team and trying to finish your chemistry homework between water breaks. The next, you were following the ambulance he was in to the emergency department.
Yeah. Definitely not the plan.
It wasn’t like injuries were rare in soccer. Fights weren’t exactly unheard of either, especially during rivalry games. You’d seen sprained ankles, dislocated fingers, concussions, even one really nasty tib-fib fracture during your sophomore year.
But this was the first time you’d watched something happen to your boyfriend. And somehow that made everything feel slower.
One second Noah had been yelling at one of his teammates to back off after a shove near midfield. The next, he was trying to separate two players before things escalated. Then someone from the other team swung.
You still remembered the sound. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just sickeningly solid.
Noah stumbled backward immediately, hands flying to his face as blood started pouring between his fingers almost instantly.
Training took over before your brain did.
By the time you reached him, you already had gloves on and gauze pressed firmly against his nose. Noah was swearing under his breath while blood soaked through the first pad almost immediately.
“Don’t tilt your head back,” you snapped automatically when he tried to lean his head upward.
“I know that,” he muttered, voice thick and congested.
“You’re literally doing it right now.”
One of the other sports med girls was already radioing for EMS while the coach tried, and failed, to calm down the screaming players still arguing near midfield.
“Think it’s broken?” Noah asked.
You gave him a look.
His nose was visibly crooked already.
“I think you should stop talking.”
That earned the tiniest laugh from him before he winced hard and spit blood onto the grass.
Okay. Cool. Awesome.
Your stomach turned a little at that.
The paramedics arrived quickly after that, kneeling beside Noah while you gave a rushed report automatically.
“Male, seventeen, punched in the face during an altercation,” you said, still holding pressure to his nose. “Brief dizziness immediately after impact but no loss of consciousness, no vomiting, pupils equal and reactive. Heavy epistaxis initially but slowing with pressure.”
One of the paramedics glanced at you, impressed.
“You planning on med school?”
“My dad works in an ER,” you answered automatically.
That somehow explained everything.
They transferred Noah onto the stretcher mostly because of the amount of blood and the dizziness, though everyone seemed pretty confident it was a nasal fracture more than anything life-threatening. Still, facial injuries could be tricky, and they wanted imaging done to rule out anything worse.
You barely even registered following the stretcher toward the ambulance until one of the paramedics opened the doors.
“Family only, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” You blinked quickly. “Right.”
Noah reached for your wrist before they could close the doors.
“Meet me there?”
“Obviously.”
One of the paramedics told you they were heading to PTMC, and you nodded quickly before jogging toward your car.
The entire drive there, adrenaline buzzed uncomfortably beneath your skin. Not because Noah was dying. Rationally, you knew he wasn’t. But because this was going to become a whole thing the second your dad found out.
So here you were pulling into the staff parking lot, because Jack got tired of hearing you complain about the walk from visitor parking months ago and added your car to the access list, and speed-walking toward the ambulance bay entrance of the ED.
You checked your phone while you moved quickly towards PTMC.
6:34 p.m.
Perfect.
Robby was still here and Jack wasn’t on shift yet. Which meant you could probably explain the situation to him first before having to explain to your father that you’d had a boyfriend for six months and somehow forgot to mention it.
That felt manageable. Slightly humiliating, but manageable.
Before you knew it, you were pushing through the sliding ambulance bay doors, immediately getting hit with the familiar noise of the ED. Phones rang nonstop somewhere near the nurses’ station, monitors beeped in uneven rhythms, and someone down the hall was loudly asking for a psych consult.
None of it really phased you anymore. You’d spent enough time in this department growing up that it almost felt normal. Which was probably concerning.
You moved through the chaos quickly toward the hub, hoping to spot either Dana or Robby. Usually at least one of them was hovering somewhere nearby trying to keep the entire department from collapsing in on itself.
Neither were there.
Great.
You glanced around before looking up toward the patient tracking board overhead, scanning for Noah’s name among the list of room assignments and triage notes.
“Excuse me, you can’t just come back here.”
The voice came from beside you.
You turned to see a tall, lanky guy with shaggy light brown hair and an expression that somehow managed to be both smug and exhausted at the same time. Scrubs. Badge clipped crookedly to his waistband. Probably a med student or resident.
Definitely new.
“Oh, I’m just looking for my boyfriend. He just got brought in by EMS—”
“You still need to get a visitor pass,” he interrupted. “I can show you to the front desk.”
You let out a short breath somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “I know where the front desk is, I—”
“Good,” he cut in again, already gesturing toward the waiting room. “So let’s head over there, get you checked in properly, and then you can go find your boyfriend.”
“No,” you said plainly, turning back toward the board. “I’m gonna go see him right now.”
The guy blinked at your tone before letting out an incredulous scoff.
“Look, if you don’t come with me to get a visitor pass, I’m gonna have to call security to—”
“Do what?”
Robby’s voice cut cleanly through the conversation.
You looked over immediately to see him approaching from the sink area near the trauma rooms, still rubbing sanitizer between his hands as he walked over. His expression already carried the exhausted irritation of someone who’d dealt with three separate disasters in the last ten minutes and was prepared for a fourth.
The guy beside you straightened slightly.
“Dr. Robby, this girl just came in through the ambulance bay, and I told her she needs to get a visitor pass, but she’s refusing, so I think we might need security—”
“‘This girl,’” Robby interrupted calmly, “is Dr. Abbot’s daughter.”
You watched the man’s face change instantly.
Robby continued before he could recover. “And she also happens to be my niece.”
The guy’s entire posture shifted into immediate panic.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” you said, unable to help yourself.
Robby finally looked over at you fully now, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“You came through the ambulance bay again?”
“You gave me the code.”
“That was your takeaway from that sentence?”
You shrugged.
“Where’s Noah?” you asked quickly before he could start lecturing you.
Robby’s expression softened slightly at the genuine concern in your voice.
“South fourteen. Probably getting sent for imaging soon.” He paused, giving you a once-over. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
You nodded once. “I’m fine. He got punched in the face, not hit by a bus.”
“Good,” Robby said. “Because your dad is already having a bad enough day, and if I have to add ‘teenage relationship reveal during shift change’ onto it, I might actually quit medicine.”
You winced.
“Can we maybe… not tell him yet?”
Robby stared at you for a long second.
Then he sighed heavily. “Oh, this is gonna be a disaster.” He motioned with his head toward the hallway. “Come on, I’ll walk you over there.”
“I know where South Fourteen is—” you started.
“I know,” Robby interrupted, softer this time. “But I haven’t seen you in a while.”
The slight sentimentality in his voice caught you off guard enough that you decided not to make fun of him for it.
Barely.
You just nodded and moved over beside him so the two of you could walk together through the department. As you did, Robby glanced back toward the guy from earlier.
“Ogilvie, go check on your patient.”
The man, apparently Ogilvie, immediately pivoted and disappeared toward one of the rooms without another word.
You looked back at Robby. “He’s new?”
Robby let out a long sigh through his nose. “Yeah.”
“That explains a lot.”
“He means well.”
“He threatened to call security on me.”
“He threatens to call security on everybody.”
That actually made you laugh a little.
The two of you continued down the hallway, weaving around nurses, stretchers, and an environmental services cart parked halfway in the middle of the corridor for absolutely no reason. A trauma alert was being called overhead somewhere nearby, and you instinctively stepped closer to the wall to let a team rush past.
It was strange how normal all of this felt to you now. Most people your age would probably find the ED overwhelming. Loud. Chaotic. Maybe even scary. To you, it just smelled like antiseptic wipes and bad coffee.
“So,” Robby said after a moment, “you haven’t told him yet?”
You shot him a look immediately.
“Hey, I’m just asking,” he defended. “You guys have apparently been dating for, what, six months now?”
“About that.”
“And Jack has no idea?”
You exhaled slowly, already annoyed by the conversation. “I mean, it’s not like he’s ever home.”
“That’s not true,” Robby said automatically, instinctively defending him.
You gave him a look. A very pointed look.
Robby sighed.
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe not the best argument.”
“Exactly.” You crossed your arms tighter over your chest as you walked. “He’s either picking up extra hours here, doing SWAT stuff, asleep because he worked a night shift, or off doing something with Samira.”
Robby stayed quiet.
“And now that I’m a senior,” you continued, “it’s like he thinks I can just handle everything myself.”
“You can, though,” Robby pointed out carefully, clearly very familiar with your aggressively independent personality.
“I mean, yeah,” you admitted. “But that’s not the point.”
Robby glanced sideways at you but didn’t interrupt this time.
“The only time I see him is if I make time for him,” you said, voice quieter now but sharper somehow. “It’s never him making time for me.”
You shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like you hadn’t clearly been thinking about it for months.
“So honestly,” you finished, “it’s not really his business.”
The bitterness in your voice lingered between you.
Robby was quiet for a few steps. When he finally spoke, his tone had shifted completely.
“You know he loves you, right?”
“That’s not the point,” you shot back almost immediately.
Robby looked over at you for a long moment as the two of you slowed near the South hallway rooms.
“So what is the point?”
The question hit harder than you expected.
You glanced away quickly, eyes drifting around the department instead of looking at him. A nurse pushed a portable monitor past you. Someone laughed loudly from behind the nurses’ station. Overhead, another page echoed through the ED speakers.
Anything was easier to focus on than that question. Because the annoying thing was that you didn’t even fully know the answer yourself. You knew your dad loved you. Objectively, logically, unquestionably.
Jack Abbot wasn’t exactly great at talking about feelings, but he showed up when things mattered. He remembered stupid little details about you even when he forgot to sleep. He made sure your car always had gas in it. He texted you reminders to eat before exams even when he was working fourteen-hour shifts.
But somewhere along the line, it had started feeling less like having a parent and more like having a really overworked roommate who occasionally checked your location. And admitting that out loud felt cruel. Especially because you knew how hard he worked. Especially because everyone else in the hospital constantly reminded you how amazing he was.
“Oh look,” you said suddenly, spotting the room number ahead of you. “It’s South Fourteen.”
Robby narrowed his eyes immediately, recognizing the escape attempt.
“Bye, Robby,” you continued quickly, already stepping away from him toward the room.
“You know you can’t avoid the conversation forever,” he called after you.
You grabbed the door handle, turning back just long enough to flash him a quick smile.
“Bye, Robby!”
Then you slipped inside the room before he could say anything else, letting the door swing shut behind you.
The noise of the department dulled instantly.
Noah was sitting upright on the stretcher with an ice pack balanced awkwardly against his face while dried blood stained the front of his jersey. His nose was swollen enough now that the crookedness was even more obvious.
And somehow, despite all of that, the first thing he said when he saw you was:
“You look stressed.”
You stared at him. “You got punched in the face.”
“Yeah, but you look stressed.”
“I mean this is probably the day my dad is gonna find out about you so,” you said flatly.
Noah’s expression shifted immediately into understanding. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” You dropped into the chair beside the stretcher. “And I’m not exactly sure how it’s gonna go, Robby said it’s gonna be a disaster.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Noah winced slightly, though this time it was probably emotional rather than physical.
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
You snorted despite yourself.
Princess walked in a second later carrying supplies for bloodwork, glancing between the two of you before looking at Noah.
“Radiology should be ready for you soon,” she explained while tying the tourniquet around his arm. “CT maxillofacial without contrast. Dr. Langdon wants to rule out any orbital fractures.”
You relaxed slightly at that, at least Frank was the one working on him.
Standard imaging. Precautionary. Nothing sounding immediately catastrophic.
Noah, meanwhile, looked horrified by the needle now approaching his arm.
You blinked at him. “You literally got punched in the face and this is what scares you?”
“I contain multitudes,” he muttered.
“Uh huh,” you said skeptically, shifting your chair closer so you could take his free hand before the nurse stuck him with the needle.
Noah immediately relaxed a little at that.
“You are such a baby,” you informed him.
“Says the person who almost started a fight with hospital staff ten minutes ago.”
“He started it.”
Princess snorted softly under her breath while labeling the blood tubes.
“Vitals are stable,” she said after glancing at the monitor again. “Dr. Langdon will probably come by after CT.”
“Thanks,” you said automatically.
Princess gave you a quick smile before leaving the room, and Noah immediately looked back at you.
“So,” he said carefully, “how bad is this gonna be with your dad?”
You leaned back in the chair dramatically. “I genuinely don’t know.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I mean, he’s either gonna be weirdly calm about it or become emotionally constipated and avoid the conversation for three months.”
Noah considered that. “The second one sounds worse.”
“It is.”
He squeezed your hand lightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m not scared of him.”
You stared at him for a second.
“He literally works trauma medicine, is a SWAT medic for fun, and was in the army.”
“Okay, I’m a little scared of him.”
“That’s smarter.”
— — — — —
“Well, this is gonna be great.”
Robby sounded deeply unenthused as he approached the hub where Dana had finally returned.
“What is?” Dana asked, looking at him over the top of her glasses while scrolling through something on her tablet.
Robby dropped into the rolling chair behind the counter with the exhaustion of a man who had already worked twelve hours too many.
“Y/n just came in,” he started, rubbing a hand over his face, “with her boyfriend Jack doesn’t know about.”
Dana looked up immediately. “Noah’s here?”
Robby froze mid-spin in his chair. “You know about Noah?”
Dana blinked at him. “Of course I know about Noah.”
Robby looked genuinely offended by that.
“She talks to me,” Dana continued simply. “That girl needs somebody normal to discuss her life with.”
“I thought she only told me,” Robby muttered.
Dana’s mouth twitched. “What? Jealous?”
Robby just stared at her.
Dana laughed quietly to herself before looking back down at the tablet in her hands.
“Why’s he here?”
“I don’t know,” Robby admitted. “Apparently he got punched in the face during a soccer game.”
Dana grimaced sympathetically. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. Sounds like probable nasal fracture. Maybe orbital involvement, so they sent him for a CT.”
Dana nodded once, unsurprised. Then her expression shifted slowly into amusement again.
“Oh, Jack is gonna lose his mind.”
Robby pointed at her immediately. “See? That’s what I said.”
“No,” Dana corrected. “You said this was gonna be a disaster. I said it was gonna be entertaining.”
“What’s gonna be entertaining?”
Jack Abbot’s voice cut into the conversation as he walked toward the hub, stopping a few feet away from them. Dark scrubs on, coffee in one hand. Already looking exhausted before his shift had even technically started.
Robby reacted immediately.
“Brother, hey,” he said quickly, standing up so fast his chair rolled backward into a cabinet. “Ready for shift change?”
He moved toward Jack almost aggressively, grabbing onto his shoulder and steering him slightly away from the desk in what was possibly the least subtle distraction attempt in human history.
Jack narrowed his eyes instantly.
“What’s gonna be entertaining?” he repeated.
“Um—”
Robby visibly searched for literally anything else to say.
“Y/n’s here,” Dana answered calmly from behind the desk.
Robby whipped around to stare at her. Dana just shrugged without looking up from her tablet.
“What?” she said. “He was gonna find out eventually.”
Jack’s attention snapped back immediately. “Why is she here?”
The exhaustion disappeared from his face in less than a second, immediately replaced with alertness. Concern. That very specific ER-doctor hyperfocus that made people start answering questions before he even asked them.
“She’s not hurt or anything,” Robby said quickly.
Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for the rest of the explanation.
Robby hesitated just a fraction too long. Which, unfortunately, was enough.
Jack’s expression shifted immediately into suspicion. “Robby.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“That sentence has literally never once been true.”
Dana snorted quietly. Robby ignored her.
“She came in with someone,” he admitted carefully.
“With who?”
Another pause.
Jack’s eyes narrowed further.
“With her boyfriend.”
Silence. Complete silence.
Even Dana looked up for this one.
Jack blinked once. Then again. “…Her what?”
“Oh boy,” Dana muttered under her breath.
Robby held both hands up immediately like he was trying to de-escalate an active hostage situation.
“Before you react—”
“How long has she had a boyfriend?”
Robby glanced at Dana briefly like maybe she wanted to take over now.
Dana absolutely did not.
“About six months,” Robby admitted.
Jack stared at him. “Six months.”
“Roughly.”
“And everybody knew except me?”
“Not everybody,” Dana corrected. “Just us.”
“That is not helping, Dana.”
Jack rubbed a hand over his face slowly, looking somewhere between offended and genuinely confused now.
“She has a boyfriend,” he repeated, like he still couldn’t fully process the sentence.
“She’s seventeen,” Dana pointed out reasonably.
“I’m aware of how old my daughter is.”
“Questionable based on how surprised you seem right now,” Dana said.
Robby actually had to bite back a laugh at that.
Jack ignored both of them completely. “Where is she?”
Robby hesitated.
Jack pointed a finger at him immediately. “Don’t do that thing where you hesitate because then I assume it’s worse.”
Jack exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, without another word, he turned and started toward the South hallway.
Robby watched him go.
“…Should we warn her?”
Dana considered it for half a second.
“Nah.” She took a sip of coffee. “This feels educational.”
— — — — —
You had been alone in the room for maybe five minutes.
Noah had just been taken down for his CT scan, leaving you behind with the uncomfortable plastic chair, the faint smell of antiseptic, and hospital Wi-Fi that apparently operated using pure spite.
You frowned down at your phone as Instagram attempted, and failed, to load for the third time.
“How does this place have million-dollar CT scanners but the world’s worst internet connection?” you muttered to yourself.
The loading circle continued spinning mockingly.
You let out a sigh and slumped farther down in the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly against the tile floor. Honestly, now that Noah was gone for imaging and you weren’t actively distracted anymore, your brain had started circling back to the real problem here.
Your dad.
Because there was absolutely no way Robby and Dana had managed to keep this from him for long.
Right as that thought crossed your mind, the door swung open. You glanced up only halfway at first, expecting a nurse or maybe Noah coming back from radiology.
Instead, you nearly launched yourself out of the chair.
“Oh my God—”
Jack stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Not yelling. Which somehow felt more threatening.
“Hey, Dad,” you said quickly, instinctively holding your hands up a little like that would somehow help. “Are you starting your shift in a bit, or—”
“You have a boyfriend?”
Straight to it.
Cool.
You let out an awkward laugh immediately.
“Um… yeah.” You shifted your weight uncomfortably. “Surprise?”
Jack just stared at you. You knew that look. It was the exact same expression he used on patients who insisted they “accidentally” fell onto obviously dangerous objects.
“You’ve had a whole relationship for six months and didn’t think to mention it to me?”
“Well, now it sounds bad when you phrase it like that.”
“How else is there to phrase it?”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it again.
Fair enough.
Jack looked around the room briefly before looking back at you.
“So where is he?”
“CT.”
“What happened?”
“Soccer game fight,” you answered automatically. “Got punched trying to break it up. Possible nasal fracture, maybe orbital involvement, but he was neurologically intact at the scene. No LOC, no vomiting, pupils equal and reactive—”
Jack held up a hand.
“You gave EMS report?”
You shrugged a little. “I was already there.”
Of course you were.
Jack’s expression softened for exactly half a second at the reminder that you’d probably been helping on the field before it shifted right back into full Dad Mode.
“You should’ve told me,” he said firmly. “At least asked for permission.”
You stared at him.
“Permission?” you repeated incredulously. “Dad, it’s not the eighties anymore. If I want to date someone, I’m gonna date someone.”
The second the sentence left your mouth, you regretted the wording. Because now it sounded way more confrontational than you’d meant it to.
Jack looked irritated immediately. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Really?” you shot back. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you said.”
“I said you should’ve talked to me.”
“And when exactly was I supposed to do that?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “Between your extra shifts or before you disappeared for another SWAT call?”
Jack’s jaw tightened instantly. “That’s not fair.”
“No, actually, it is.”
“You think I want to miss things?”
“I think you do miss things,” you snapped back. “Constantly.”
Jack looked taken aback for a second before frustration replaced it just as quickly.
“I am working to provide for you.”
“I know that!”
“Then stop acting like I’m choosing not to be around.”
“But you are!” you shot back louder now. “Every single time you pick this place over literally anything else!”
The words echoed harder than you intended in the small exam room. Jack stared at you. Outside in the hallway, a monitor alarm sounded somewhere distant before abruptly shutting off again.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, voice low and controlled in that way that somehow made it worse.
You laughed sharply. “Oh, I don’t?”
“No.”
“You missed parent night.”
“I was working.”
“You missed Senior awards.”
“I was working.”
“You forgot my interview for college counseling because you picked up someone else’s shift!”
Jack rubbed a hand down his face, visibly trying not to lose his temper now too.
“And you think I don’t feel bad about that?”
“You never even talk about it!” you argued. “You just act like everything’s fine because I’m ‘independent’ or whatever.”
“You are independent.”
“Because I had to be!”
The second that left your mouth, the room went completely still.
Jack looked like you’d slapped him. And honestly, maybe you had.
You were breathing too fast now, adrenaline and anger mixing together in a way that made your chest hurt.
“I’m not saying you’re a bad dad,” you said quickly, though your voice still shook. “But you don’t get to act surprised that I didn’t tell you about Noah when half the time it feels like you’re barely home long enough to know what’s going on with me anyway.”
Jack opened his mouth immediately.
But before he could respond, the door swung open.
“Alright, we’re back from CT—”
Princess stopped mid-sentence as she helped Noah back into the room.
Noah still had the ice pack against his face, dried blood faintly visible near the collar of his shirt, but he looked significantly more alarmed by the tension in the room than by his possible broken nose.
His eyes moved between you and Jack instantly.
“Oh,” he said carefully.
Princess looked between all three of you exactly once.
Then immediately turned to Noah.
“…You did not mention the dad worked here,” Princess said carefully.
“I didn’t know he was here yet,” Noah muttered back.
Jack straightened slightly, visibly trying to pull himself back together now that there were other people in the room. You, meanwhile, looked away immediately, blinking hard a couple times because your eyes suddenly burned in the worst, most embarrassing way possible.
God. Great.
Now you were crying.
Fantastic.
Noah glanced awkwardly between the two of you, immediately noticing both the tension and the noticeable amount of space now between you and your dad.
“Um… hi, Dr. Abbot,” he said carefully.
He stepped forward a little, awkwardly balancing the ice pack against his swollen nose with one hand while sticking the other out for a handshake.
“I’m Noah.”
You let out a shaky breath as one tear slipped down your face.
And then Jack just…
Stared at Noah’s hand. Arms still crossed. Not moving. The silence lasted maybe two seconds. But it felt way longer. And suddenly the anger that had already been building in your chest flared right back up again.
Seriously?
You wiped at your face quickly, glaring at your dad now.
“Are you kidding me?”
Jack looked over at you immediately.
“What?”
“He’s trying to be nice!”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then shake his hand!”
Princess took one very deliberate step backward toward the computer in the corner of the room. Noah still looked horrified, hand awkwardly half-extended between the two of you.
Jack finally uncrossed his arms with a frustrated sigh before giving Noah a quick handshake.
Too quick. Barely even a handshake.
Noah immediately pulled his hand back.
“Sorry,” Noah muttered. “This is probably a bad time.”
“No, apparently this is a great time,” you snapped before Jack could answer.
“Y/n—” Jack warned.
“No, because what is this?” you demanded, gesturing between him and Noah. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say he did.”
“You don’t have to say it!”
Your voice cracked slightly at the end, which only made you angrier. Jack noticed immediately, his expression shifting. But you were too upset now to stop.
“He got punched in the face tonight and still somehow has better manners than you do right now.”
Princess physically turned away at that point, very obviously pretending to check Noah’s blood pressure so she didn’t have to witness the argument directly.
Jack exhaled sharply through his nose.
“I’m not doing this in front of your boyfriend.”
“Oh my God,” you laughed incredulously. “You can barely even say the word.”
“That is not the issue here.”
“Then what is the issue?” you shot back. “That I didn’t tell you? Or that I have a life you don’t know about because you’re never around long enough to actually see it?”
The room went quiet again. Noah looked like he wanted to disappear into another dimension entirely. Jack’s jaw tightened hard enough you could see the muscle move.
“That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not enough,” you said immediately. “You don’t get to walk in here and act like I betrayed you because I didn’t tell you about Noah when you barely know anything going on in my life lately!”
Jack looked genuinely angry now too. “I know plenty about your life.”
“Really?” you challenged. “What colleges did I apply to besides Pitt?”
Jack opened his mouth.
Stopped.
Your chest hurt.
“There it is,” you said quietly, tears falling faster now no matter how quickly you tried wiping them away. “Exactly.”
Jack looked genuinely stunned. Not defensive anymore. Not angry. Just stunned. And somehow that made everything hurt worse. Because it proved your point.
The room had gone painfully quiet around you. Even the usual ED noise felt distant now.
Noah shifted awkwardly near the stretcher, still clutching the ice pack against his face while Princess stood frozen beside the monitor like she was trying to decide whether this counted as a medical emergency.
You laughed once under your breath, shaky and miserable. “You didn’t even know I applied to UCLA until Robby brought it up at dinner.”
Jack finally found his voice again. “That’s not true.”
“It literally is.”
“I knew you were applying out west.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Y/n—”
“No, because you keep acting like I shut you out for no reason!” you interrupted. “I stopped telling you things because every time I do tell you something, you’re either too tired to listen or halfway out the door.”
The words came out sharper this time. More frustrated. More exhausted. And for some reason, hearing that finally snapped something in you.
“I know you are!” you shouted back immediately. “That’s the problem!”
Jack blinked at the sudden volume.
“You think I don’t know why you work this much?” Your voice shook violently now. “You think I don’t get it? Mom died and you buried yourself in work because it was easier than being home!”
The second the words left your mouth, the room went dead silent. Complete silence.
Noah looked absolutely stricken. Princess slowly lowered the blood pressure cuff from her hands.
And Jack went completely still.
You could actually see the moment regret hit you. But you were too upset to stop now.
“You act like I’m supposed to understand everything all the time because you’re helping people,” you continued, crying openly now. “And I do understand it. I understand it all the time.”
Jack’s face had lost all color.
“But sometimes I wanted you to stay home with me instead of picking up another shift!” you admitted, voice breaking completely now. “Sometimes I wanted my dad more than I wanted some amazing trauma doctor everybody else gets to brag about!”
“Y/n,” Jack said quietly.
But you kept going anyway.
“And then you started acting like I didn’t need anything anymore because I got older and handled things myself and—”
“Enough.”
The word cracked through the room hard enough that even you stopped talking immediately. Jack almost never raised his voice at you. Which made it worse when he did.
His chest rose sharply with one uneven breath, eyes glassy now in a way you’d almost never seen before.
“You do not get to stand there,” he said, voice tight with emotion and anger and grief all tangled together, “and act like I stopped loving you because I was trying to survive losing her too.”
Your breath caught instantly.
Jack dragged a hand over his face hard, clearly trying to pull himself back under control.
“You think being at work fixed any of that?” he asked, quieter now but somehow more intense. “It didn’t. It just kept me moving.”
You couldn’t even answer. Because suddenly all the anger had crashed into guilt so hard it made you feel sick. Jack looked at you for another long second before glancing away completely, jaw tight.
Then, finally, he spoke again.
“I need a minute.”
And without another word, Jack Abbott turned and walked out of the room. The door swung shut behind him with a soft click. Silence followed immediately after. Heavy silence.
The kind that pressed against your chest and made everything feel too warm and too tight all at once.
You just stood there staring at the closed door, breathing unevenly while tears continued sliding down your face faster than you could wipe them away.
God. What had you just done?
“I’ll be back in a little while,” Princess said gently after a moment, clearly trying to give you space. “Dr. Langdon should be coming in soon to go over the CT results.”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t really answer. You just kept staring at the door like maybe your dad would walk back through it if you looked long enough.
Beside you, Noah gave Princess a small apologetic smile and a nod.
“Thanks.”
Princess squeezed his shoulder lightly before slipping out of the room quietly, leaving the two of you alone.
More silence.
Then:
“It’s okay.”
Noah’s voice was soft, slightly congested from the swelling in his nose as he lowered the ice pack from his face and sat back against the hospital bed. You shook your head immediately at his words.
“No, it’s not.” Your voice cracked completely.
You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes hard, trying unsuccessfully to stop crying.
“I’m horrible,” you muttered.
“No, hey,” Noah said instantly. “No, you’re not.”
You laughed weakly through your tears.
“I just threw my dead mom into an argument.”
“You were upset.”
“I said horrible things.”
“You said honest things.”
“That doesn’t make them okay.”
Noah watched you quietly for a second before holding his hand out toward you carefully.
“Come here.”
You finally turned to look at him fully.
His nose was bruised purple now beneath the swelling, gauze still tucked loosely beneath one nostril in case the bleeding restarted. He looked exhausted and uncomfortable and probably concussed enough to not even fully be processing what had just happened.
And somehow he was still worried about you.
“Come on,” he said again gently.
This time, you moved. You crossed the small space between you and sat carefully beside him on the edge of the hospital bed. Noah immediately wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his side as carefully as he could considering his face was probably in agony.
The second he did, you broke again. You buried your face against his shoulder, crying quietly while Noah held you without saying anything for a minute.
Outside the room, the muffled chaos of the ED continued on like normal. Somebody laughed down the hall. A monitor alarm beeped repeatedly. Overhead paging echoed faintly through the ceiling speakers.
Meanwhile your entire chest felt hollow.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you whispered finally.
“I know.”
“I know he loves me.”
“I know.”
You pulled back just enough to look at Noah.
“He looked so hurt.”
Noah nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
Fresh guilt twisted painfully in your stomach.
“When my mom died,” you said quietly, voice shaky, “everybody kept telling me how hard it was for him. And I remember thinking that I had to make everything easier because he already looked like he was barely surviving.”
Noah stayed quiet, letting you talk.
“So I stopped asking for things,” you admitted. “I stopped complaining when he missed stuff. I stopped crying in front of him because every time I did, somebody would look at me like I was making things harder for him.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
“And I know that sounds selfish—”
“It doesn’t,” Noah interrupted immediately.
You swallowed hard.
“It just felt like everyone gave him grace because he lost his wife,” you continued softly, staring down at your hands now. “Which, obviously they should’ve. I’m not saying they shouldn’t have.”
Noah nodded once.
“But nobody ever really talked about me like that,” you admitted. “People would ask if he was okay. If he was eating. If he was sleeping. And I’d just be standing there.”
Your voice cracked again.
“And I know he was hurting. I know he still is. But I lost my mom too.”
The words came out quieter than everything else. Smaller. Like admitting it still felt wrong somehow.
“I was a kid,” you whispered. “And everybody acted like I was supposed to understand why he disappeared into work all the time because he was grieving, but nobody really stopped to think maybe I was grieving too.”
Noah’s arm tightened around you carefully.
You laughed weakly through the tears slipping down your face again.
“I think after a while I just got really good at being ‘easy,’” you admitted. “Like if I handled everything myself, then nobody had to worry about me.”
Noah looked at you sadly.
“That’s a lot for anybody to carry around.”
You shrugged even though your chest hurt.
“And now whenever I get upset about him missing things or not noticing stuff, I feel guilty immediately because I know why he’s like this.”
“That doesn’t mean your feelings stop mattering.”
You looked away.
“But it feels like they’re supposed to.”
Noah was quiet for a second before speaking carefully.
“You know two things can be true at once, right?”
You frowned slightly.
“He can be a grieving husband who tried his best,” Noah said softly, “and you can still be hurt by the fact that you needed more from him.”
The two of you sat quietly with his words for a moment. The steady beeping of the monitor beside the bed filled the silence while the chaos of the ED carried on outside the room like nothing life-altering had just happened in here.
You wiped at your face again, exhausted now more than anything.
“You guys will be okay,” Noah said gently after a minute.
You nodded slowly against his shoulder, tears still slipping down your face even though they’d finally started slowing.
Because you knew he was right. You and Jack loved each other too much not to be okay eventually. That didn’t magically fix everything. But it mattered.
“But seriously,” Noah added after another beat, “do you think he actually hated me or…?”
You immediately pulled back enough to punch him lightly in the arm.
“Ow—”
“Oh my God, shut up,” you muttered, sniffling. “That is not important right now.”
“I mean,” Noah said, clearly trying to make you laugh now, “I personally think it’s extremely important.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Your father looked at my handshake like it offended him.”
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escaped you.
Noah pointed immediately. “There it is.”
“Don’t.”
“You laughed.”
“I did not.”
“You literally did.”
You rolled your eyes, scrubbing at the last of the tears on your face.
Noah smiled a little at that, though he winced immediately after because apparently smiling hurt his broken nose.
“Okay, ow,” he muttered, pressing the ice pack back against his face.
“That’s what you get.”
“I’m injured.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I got assaulted protecting the integrity of high school soccer.”
“You got punched because Tyler can’t regulate his emotions.”
Noah gasped weakly. “Way to minimize my trauma.”
You snorted softly, shoulders finally relaxing for the first time in the last twenty minutes. Noah looked disproportionately proud of himself for managing to make you laugh even a little.
Then his expression softened again.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “your dad definitely doesn’t hate me.”
You raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“He shook my hand eventually.”
“After staring at it like he was considering putting you back in the ambulance.”
“That’s basically approval from a trauma doctor dad.”
Another laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Noah smiled again, gentler this time.
“He was scared,” he said quietly. “Not about me. About realizing he missed something important.”
Your expression faltered slightly.
“And honestly?” Noah continued carefully, “you scared him too.”
You frowned. “How?”
“You yelled at him like somebody who’d been holding all that in for years.”
The words hit a little too accurately.
You looked down at your hands. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“I know.”
“But I did.”
Noah was quiet for a second.
“Sometimes hurting somebody’s feelings and being honest aren’t the same thing.”
You let out a slow breath. “Robby says things like that too.”
guys i’m literally writing a new jack x daughter!reader fic rn but i had to take a break because none of the dialogue was making sense that i literally felt like that video of cillian murphy
i feel as though you should probably change ur fics to saying & instead of x cuz x implies romance but ur doing daughter reader fics??? so yeah i would change to &
i thought it was clear with x teenage daughter! reader????
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: daughter! reader confronts jack about always spending time at the hospital and never making time for her
pairing: jack abbot x teenage daughter! reader
warnings: use of medical terminology, descriptions of a hospital setting, probably incorrect medical scenes
notes: thank you all so much for reading!!! definitely have more coming soon!!! <3
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / previous / end
Jack felt like he was moving through water as he pushed back into the ED. The noise rushed at him all at once, monitors, voices, the sharp overhead paging, but it didn’t fully register. Your words kept looping in his head, louder than anything around him.
I’m your kid.
I’m supposed to matter too.
His jaw tightened. He knew he’d been spending more time at the hospital lately. Longer shifts, picking up extras, coming in early, staying late. But he’d always told himself you were okay with it.
He’d never actually asked. And now, walking back through the department, it hit him all at once. The way you used to react, small frowns, quiet disappointment, asking if he really had to go. And then… less.
Less pushback. Less reaction. Until it turned into nothing. Not because you didn’t care. Because you expected it.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his graying curls.
He slowed without meaning to, his steps losing urgency for just a second. He told himself Shen had it, that the team was competent, that thirty seconds wouldn’t make a difference. He just needed a second to think. To breathe.
His eyes scanned the department without really seeing it, patients in beds, nurses moving quickly between rooms, someone calling out for labs, until his gaze landed on Dana and Robby at the nurses’ station. They were both watching him. Waiting.
Jack blinked, only then realizing his vision felt a little off, too sharp, too tight. He swallowed hard and forced himself forward, closing the distance quickly.
He didn’t even look at Robby.
“Are you going home soon?” he asked Dana, his voice low but urgent.
Dana’s brows pulled together slightly, caught off guard by the question and the tone.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I’m just waiting for my cover. Why?”
Jack nodded once, already half-turning back toward trauma before he even finished speaking.
“Can you stop by my place?” he asked. “Check on Y/N?”
That got Robby’s attention immediately. He straightened from where he’d been leaning against the counter. “Is something wrong?”
Jack let out a short, humorless breath, shaking his head like he didn’t even know where to start.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I don’t make any time for her, and I didn’t even—” he cut himself off, jaw tightening. “I didn’t even fucking notice.”
The admission sat heavy between them. Dana’s expression softened, understanding clicking into place. Robby’s face shifted too, less teasing now, more concerned.
Behind them, the trauma alarm sounded again, sharper this time.
“Abbot!” someone called. “We need you, now!”
Jack nodded once, already backing away.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, more to himself than to them.
And then he turned and pushed back into Trauma One. The room was all movement.
“Pressure’s dropping again, seventy systolic!”
“Tube’s in, confirm placement!”
“Breath sounds decreased on the left—”
Jack stepped back into position like muscle memory took over, pulling on gloves as he moved.
“Alright, what’ve we got?” he asked, voice snapping back into focus even as his mind lagged behind.
“Intubated, sats improving but still unstable,” Shen replied quickly. “We’re thinking tension pneumo—”
“Then don’t think,” Jack cut in, already moving toward the tray. “Let’s decompress. Needle first, then chest tube.”
The team shifted immediately, making space. Jack stepped in, hand steady as he located the correct position on the patient’s chest, just above the rib to avoid the neurovascular bundle, his movements precise, practiced.
On the outside, he was exactly what he’d always been. Focused. Controlled. Reliable. On the inside, your voice was still there.
If you cared… you’d stay.
His jaw clenched as he worked. Because for the first time, he didn’t know if you believed him when he said he did.
—
You had tried to stop crying on the drive home. You really had.
Blinking hard at stoplights, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, turning the music up just loud enough to drown out your own thoughts, but it didn’t work. Not really. And the second you stepped inside the house and let the door fall shut behind you, it all came back.
Harder. The silence hit first. No TV. No voices. No movement.
Just… empty.
You barely made it a few steps inside before the tears started again, heavier this time, your chest tightening as everything you’d been holding in finally spilled over. You dropped your keys somewhere near the entryway without thinking, shrugging your bag off your shoulder as you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes like that might stop it.
It didn’t.
Telling Jack how you felt, actually saying it out loud, had helped, in a way. It took some of the pressure off your chest, like finally opening a valve that had been building for too long. But it didn’t fix anything.
Because in the end, he still left.
Yeah, he hesitated. For a second, maybe two. But not long enough. Not long enough to stay. Not long enough to prove you wrong.
You let out a shaky breath, dragging your hands down your face before letting them fall uselessly to your sides. The house was dark. Quiet. Lonely in a way that felt almost too familiar.
You walked further inside slowly, flipping on a light out of habit even though it didn’t make much of a difference. It never really did. The space still felt too big, too empty, like it was missing something it used to have.
Or maybe something you used to believe in. About a year ago, when Jack had started picking up more shifts, it hadn’t felt like this. Back then, you used to wait.
You’d sit on the couch in the living room, some random movie playing in the background, your phone in your hand but barely paying attention to it. Every sound from outside would make you glance toward the door, hoping it was him.
Told you it’d be quick, he’d say. And sometimes, sometimes, you believed it.
Most nights ended the same, though. You’d fall asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket you didn’t remember grabbing, the TV still playing quietly in the background.
And then you’d wake up in your bed. You never actually saw him do it, but you knew. He’d come home late, find you there, and carry you upstairs. That used to mean something.
Now, you didn’t wait anymore. You stopped falling asleep on the couch. Stopped turning on movies you weren’t really watching. Stopped making extra dinner just in case he actually made it back when he said he would.
Because he never did.
Or at least, not often enough to matter.
You let out a quiet, uneven breath, leaning back against the wall for a second as the last of the tears slipped down your face. You barely believed him anymore. And that might’ve been the worst part.
Not the missed dinners. Not the empty house. But the fact that somewhere along the way, you stopped expecting him to show up at all.
Jack had spent every spare second he could trying to call you. Between patients. Between orders. In the few quiet moments that barely counted as breaks, he’d pull out his phone and try again, just hoping you’d pick up. Hoping he could say something that would make this better.
That would make you believe him. That you mattered. That you always had. Even though he knew, deep down, that words alone weren’t going to fix this.
Not anymore.
He stared down at his phone as the call dropped to voicemail again. Another one.
His thumb hovered over the screen like he might try again immediately, like repetition alone might change the outcome, before his focus shifted to the photo on his lock screen.
You. A year ago.
Smiling at him, mid-laugh, sunlight hitting your face just right. He remembered that day vividly, the hike, the way you’d complained the whole way up and then refused to leave at the top because the view was “actually worth it.”
It had just been the two of you. No interruptions. No pagers. No rushing off. One of the last times he’d really been there.
Jack swallowed hard, something tight settling in his chest. He couldn’t believe how bad he’d let it get. How long you’d been dealing with it, adjusting, understanding, making space for him, while he hadn’t even noticed you were slowly pulling away.
You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there.
Curled up against the headboard of your bed, knees pulled in slightly, your phone resting loosely in your hands as tears kept slipping down your cheeks, slow at first, then steady, like they had no intention of stopping anytime soon.
Time felt… off. Like it wasn’t really moving the way it was supposed to.
Your screen was still open to your friends’ group chat. Videos kept coming in, short clips of fireworks lighting up the sky, loud cheering in the background, someone laughing too hard at something you couldn’t quite hear. Bright colors, happy chaos, everything you were supposed to be a part of tonight.
Wish you were here!!!
Hope you and your dad are having fun 🫶
Send pics omg
Your chest tightened at that one. It wasn’t even that you felt left out. They’d tried. They always did. They made sure you knew you were missed, that you had a place there. It just made it worse.
Because they thought you were somewhere better. With him.
You swallowed hard, your thumb hovering over the keyboard for a second like you might respond, say something, anything, but you didn’t.
You couldn’t bring yourself to ruin it. Not when they were happy. Not when this was supposed to be a good night.
Your phone buzzed again in your hands.
You didn’t even have to look. Jack. Again. The screen lit up with his name, the call vibrating insistently against your palm. You just stared at it.
Watched it ring. Watched it stop. Then ring again. And again. Each time feeling a little heavier than the last.
You didn’t pick up. Didn’t decline it either. Just… let it happen. Like everything else.
At some point, your eyes stopped focusing on the screen. The buzzing blurred into the background, your grip on your phone loosening as your head tipped back against the headboard.
And before you knew it, you were out.
—
Jack didn’t get home until morning. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
He stepped inside carefully, like he could somehow avoid disturbing something fragile just by being quieter. His keys barely made a sound as he set them down, his eyes already scanning the space.
“Y/N?” he called.
No answer. His chest tightened.
He moved through the house quickly, the living room empty, kitchen untouched except for the takeout sitting on the counter. That didn’t help.
“Y/N?” he tried again, louder now as he headed for the stairs.
Still nothing. He took them two at a time. Your door was closed.
Jack paused for just a second before knocking.
“Hey… Bear?”
Silence. He pushed the door open slowly. You were still on the bed. Curled slightly against the headboard, your phone barely hanging from your hand, dried tear tracks still faint on your cheeks.
Jack stopped in the doorway. Something in him dropped.
“Hey,” he said softly, stepping inside. “Hey, wake up.”
He reached out, brushing your shoulder gently. You stirred, frowning slightly before your eyes opened, landing on him.
And just like that, everything came back. You pulled away immediately.
“Don’t,” you muttered, your voice rough.
Jack stepped back a little. “Hey, I just—”
“What time is it?” you cut in, pushing yourself up.
“Morning,” he said. “I just got—”
“Yeah,” you let out a dry laugh. “Of course you did.”
Jack exhaled. “Can we not start like this?”
“Then how do you want to start?” you shot back. “You showing up after I fall asleep again? Because that’s kind of your thing.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Oh my god, you always say that!” you snapped. “Everything’s ‘not fair’ when it’s about you!”
“I was working—”
“I know you were working!” you yelled. “You’re always working! That’s the problem!”
Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I tried calling you.”
“And I didn’t answer,” you said. “Take a hint.”
“I was worried about you—”
“No, you weren’t,” you said, quieter now. “You felt guilty.”
That stopped him.
“There’s a difference.”
Jack swallowed. “Y/N—”
“No,” you shook your head. “You don’t get to just show up now and act like that fixes it.”
“I’m not saying it fixes it,” he said, trying to stay level. “I’m saying I’m here. So talk to me. Help me understand.”
You let out a short laugh. “I have been,” you said. “For years.”
“No, you haven’t, not like this.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Not like what?”
“Not actually telling me how bad it is,” he said. “You shut down—”
“Because you’re never here to listen!” you snapped.
“I’m here now.”
“Now,” you repeated. “After everything blew up.”
Jack’s voice tightened. “I’m trying to fix this.”
“You’ve had chances!” you shot back.
“I’m here right now—”
“And you weren’t last night!” you yelled. “Or the night before that, or the hundred nights before that!”
“I don’t choose that over you—”
“You do!” you stepped closer. “Every time you stay longer, every time you pick up another shift, you choose it!”
“I’m choosing to help people!” he snapped.
“And what about me?” you fired back. “What about helping me?”
Silence hit hard. Jack exhaled sharply. “I can’t be everything for you.”
The second he said it, he regretted it. Your face changed.
“I never asked you to be everything,” you said quietly. “I just asked you to be there.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“But that’s what you said.”
The room felt tight. Like there wasn’t enough space for both of you and everything sitting between you.
You swallowed, your voice shaking now.
“I already lost one parent,” you said. Jack stilled.
“When mom died, everything changed,” you continued, pushing through the lump in your throat. “But I told myself it was okay, because I still had you.”
“Bear—”
“No, just listen,” you said. “I thought it was gonna be us. That we’d figure it out.”
Your hands curled at your sides.
“But it’s not,” you said. “Because you’re never here.”
Jack didn’t interrupt this time.
“You didn’t just leave me last night,” you added quietly. “You’ve been leaving for a while.”
That one sat heavy.
“I didn’t realize it was this bad,” he admitted.
“Yeah,” you said. “That’s the problem.”
Silence again. Then, Jack stepped closer. “Okay. Then let me fix it.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Fix it?” you repeated. “How? By saying sorry again?”
“I’m trying—”
“You’re always trying,” you cut in. “And it never actually changes anything.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is to me!” you snapped.
Jack’s frustration broke through. “You’re not even giving me a chance!”
“I’ve been giving you chances!” you shouted. “You just didn’t notice!”
“I’m here now!”
“And you’ll leave again!” you shot back. “You always do!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Stop saying that!” you yelled.
The argument spiraled, faster now. Messier. Neither of you are really listening anymore.
“Running away isn’t going to fix it,” Jack said.
“I’m not running,” you snapped, backing toward the door. “I’m done talking.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
You grabbed the door, yanking it open.
“Get out.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“Get out.”
“We’re not ending this like that—”
“Stop!” you shoved your hand against his chest.
He froze.
“Just go,” you said, your voice shaking.
“Y/N—”
“I said go!” you shoved him harder this time.
He stumbled back a step.
“Hey—”
“Leave me alone!” you yelled, pushing him again, forcing him into the hallway.
This time, he let it happen. Didn’t fight it.
“Fine,” he said, breath uneven. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” you said, even though your voice wavered.
He looked at you for a second longer. Then stepped back. You slammed the door.
The sound echoed through the house.
—
Silence. On both sides. Inside your room, you stood there for half a second, before everything collapsed.
Your back hit the door as you slid down, covering your face as the tears came back, harder than before. You didn’t even know what you were crying over anymore. Everything. All of it.
Outside, Jack didn’t move right away.
He stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door, jaw tight. His hand came up like he was going to knock, but he stopped. Lowered it slowly.
“…Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he walked down the hall, the house feeling heavier than it ever had before. Downstairs, he stopped in the kitchen, bracing his hands against the counter.
The untouched food. Your words.
I already lost one parent.
That one didn’t leave. Upstairs, you cried until it hurt to breathe.
Downstairs, Jack stood there, staring at nothing, realizing that for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix this.
—
Jack had taken the day off. He called the ED not long after he finally pulled himself away from the kitchen counter, after standing there for way too long, staring at nothing, trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to fix this.
“Family thing,” he’d said when they asked.
It felt like an understatement. Now the house was quiet again. But this time, he was in it. And he didn’t know what to do with that.
Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze drifting toward the staircase like he could somehow see through the walls to where you were upstairs.
He knew this wasn’t something he could fix with a quick apology. Or a conversation. Or even a few days of “trying harder.”
This was… time. Missed time. And he couldn’t just undo that.
He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face. For someone who had spent years in therapy, learning how to communicate, how to process, how to show up, none of it felt useful right now. Because none of it had prepared him for this. For the realization that somewhere along the way, he hadn’t just been busy, he’d been absent.
And he hadn’t even noticed it happening. That was the part that made his chest tighten the most.
About a year ago, he would’ve told anyone who asked that he knew you better than anyone. Knew your moods, your tells, the way you’d get quiet when something was wrong before you ever said it out loud.
You’d always come to him. For everything. School stuff. Friend drama. Stupid little things that didn’t matter, but also did, because they mattered to you.
And he’d been there. He had been there. Until he wasn’t.
It hadn’t been one big moment. No clear turning point. Just… small things.
Staying late one night. Picking up an extra shift the next. Missing dinner. Promising to make it up to you later. And then doing it again.
And again. Until eventually, you stopped coming to him.
Jack swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor.
He hadn’t noticed when it changed. Hadn’t seen the shift from you talking to him about everything to you handling things on your own. Not because you wanted to. Because you had to.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “Great job, Jack.”
The silence didn’t answer. He pushed himself off the counter, pacing a few steps before stopping again, his eyes drifting back to the stairs.
He could go up there. Knock on your door. Try again. But the image of you shoving him out replayed in his head.
I said go.
His jaw tightened slightly. You needed space. He got that. But doing nothing felt worse.
Jack exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to think, really think, about what you had actually said. Not just the anger. The truth underneath it.
That wasn’t complicated. That wasn’t something therapy had to decode. That was simple.
Painfully simple.
His gaze shifted toward the kitchen again, the untouched food still sitting there. He hesitated for a second. Then moved.
He grabbed a plate, opening the containers and starting to put something together, not rushed, not distracted, just… doing it. Because it was something. Because maybe showing up didn’t start with some big speech.
Maybe it started with small things. Consistent things.
He glanced toward the stairs again as he set the plate down. Still quiet. Still closed off. Jack leaned back against the counter again, exhaling slowly.
“I’m not messing this up again,” he said quietly, more to himself than anything else.
Upstairs, the house stayed silent. But for the first time, he didn’t reach for his phone. Didn’t look for a distraction. He just stayed. Waiting.
—
You hadn’t realized how long you’d been sitting in your room.
Part of it was avoidance, you didn’t want to go back downstairs and risk having the same conversation again. Not when everything still felt so raw, like one wrong word would just set it all off again.
And the other part…
If you were being honest?
Was that you were still a little mad. Okay, more than a little. And maybe, just a little, you wanted him to feel it. You were a teenager, after all.
The house had been quiet for a while. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made it hard to tell if anyone else was even there. Until, you heard something.
Faint at first. Muffled through your door and the distance from downstairs.
You frowned slightly, sitting up a bit straighter.
It wasn’t voices. Not talking. Something else.
You slid off your bed quietly, padding across the room and toward your door. You hesitated for a second, your hand resting on the handle like you were debating whether or not to even check.
Then curiosity won. It always did. You cracked the door open slowly, carefully, just enough to let the sound drift in clearer.
And then you heard it. Music. Familiar. Way too familiar.
Your breath caught slightly.
No way.
You opened the door just a little more, stepping into the hallway quietly, leaning against the frame as you listened harder. And there it was. Clear now.
The Princess Diaries. Of all things.
You blinked, your grip tightening slightly on the edge of the door.
You had practically forced Jack to watch that movie with you when you were little. Over and over again, never getting tired of it. You and your mom would quote it, laugh at the same parts every time, drag him into it whether he wanted to or not.
It had been… yours. The three of you. And then, after she died, you stopped. Not because you didn’t love it anymore. You did.
But the last time you tried to watch it. You swallowed, the memory hitting harder than you expected. You had been sitting in the living room, the movie playing quietly, trying to pretend like things were normal. Like maybe if you just did something the same, it wouldn’t feel so different.
Jack had been there at first. For a few minutes. Then he’d gotten up without saying anything and walked out to the garage.
You hadn’t followed him right away. But after a while, curiosity, or maybe something else, had pulled you to the door.
You remembered pressing your ear against it. Listening. And hearing it.
Quiet. Broken. His crying.
You’d never heard him like that before. And something about it had made your chest hurt in a way you didn’t know how to handle at ten years old. So you stopped watching the movie. Not because it hurt you, but because you thought it hurt him.
You shifted slightly in the hallway, blinking quickly as you came back to the present. The movie was still playing downstairs.
Jack had put it on. Your favorite movie. A movie you hadn’t watched in years. A movie that meant your mom. A movie he hadn’t been able to sit through back then and now he was. For you.
Your chest tightened, something complicated twisting there. Because it meant something. More than you wanted it to. And you hated that a little. Hated how easy it was for something like that to get to you after everything.
You leaned your head lightly against the doorframe, listening to the familiar dialogue drift up the stairs. For a moment, you stayed there. Just… listening.
Then, before you could overthink it, before your brain could talk you out of it, you pushed yourself away from the wall and started down the stairs.
Quiet. Careful. Like if you made too much noise, the moment might disappear. By the time you reached the bottom, you stopped.
Your eyes flicked from the TV, The Princess Diaries playing softly, to the couch. To him. Jack was already looking at you. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.
Just watched you, like he wasn’t sure if you’d turn around and go right back upstairs.
It didn’t take long. You crossed the room slowly, the distance feeling longer than it should’ve, before lowering yourself onto the couch beside him. You didn’t say anything either.
Didn’t look at him. You just… sat.
Because you were too tired to keep fighting. Too tired to keep holding onto all of it. Not because everything was okay, but because he was still your dad. And that didn’t just go away.
After a second, you shifted slightly, leaning into him, your head resting carefully against his shoulder.
There was a brief moment where he stilled. Like he didn’t want to move too quickly and scare you off. Then you felt it the way he relaxed. Just a little.
His shoulder settling under your weight, his breathing evening out like something in him had unclenched.
The movie played on. Familiar lines. Familiar music.
Neither of you spoke. And for once, the silence didn’t feel like distance. It felt… fragile. Careful. Like something you both didn’t want to break.
A few minutes passed like that. Then Jack shifted slightly beside you, just enough to turn his head a bit.
“I know I haven’t been here,” he said quietly.
You didn’t pull away. Didn’t respond. But you listened.
“And I know I’ve said things like that before,” he continued, his voice steady but softer than you were used to hearing it. “About trying. About doing better.”
His hand moved slightly, resting near yours, not grabbing, not forcing, just there.
“I don’t think ‘trying’ is enough anymore,” he admitted.
That made your chest tighten a little.
“I need you to know that nothing matters more to me than you do,” he said. “Even when it doesn’t look like it. Even when I screw it up.”
You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your sleeve.
“I’m gonna do better,” he added, more firmly this time. “Not try. Actually do it.”
The words hung there. You were quiet for a second. Then another. Before you finally spoke, your voice small but honest.
“You said that before.”
Jack didn’t flinch.
“I know,” he said.
That alone felt different. No defense. No excuse. Just acknowledgment.
You shifted slightly against him, still not pulling away.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you said quietly. “I just need you to not leave all the time.”
Your voice cracked a little at the end, but you didn’t stop.
“I just need you to stay sometimes.”
Jack’s throat tightened.
“I will,” he said, just as quietly. “I’m here today.”
You let out a small breath.
“Yeah,” you murmured.
A beat passed. Then, softer, “You stayed this time.”
It wasn’t forgiveness. Not fully. But it wasn’t anger either.
Jack didn’t try to push it further. Didn’t overpromise. He just nodded slightly, even though you couldn’t see it.
“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”
The movie continued playing in the background, filling the space between you with something familiar.
“But y’know what would be a really good apology?” you asked, a hint of amusement slipping into your voice as you tilted your head to look up at him.
Jack glanced down at you, already catching it.
“Yeah?” he said. “What?”
You sat up just a little, turning toward him fully now, that innocent look sliding into place a little too easily.
“You could finally get me a German Shepherd.”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
Jack didn’t even hesitate. “The answer is always gonna be no.”
You gasped softly, dramatically offended.
“Oh, come on!” you protested, sitting up straighter now. “You literally just said nothing matters more to you than me.”
“And I meant that,” he said, already trying not to smile. “That doesn’t include bringing a hundred-pound shedding machine into my house.”
“They’re not machines, they’re dogs,” you shot back. “Very loyal, very protective dogs. You know, like emotionally supportive.”
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. “Emotionally supportive for you. Financially catastrophic for me.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being realistic.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re being mean.”
“I just took a day off work,” he pointed out. “I feel like that’s a pretty solid start to ‘good apology.’”
You crossed your arms, leaning back against the couch again. “Debatable.”
Jack shook his head slightly, glancing back at the TV for a second before looking at you again.
“You wouldn’t even take care of it,” he said.
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“You’d love it for, like, a week,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself now. “Then suddenly I’m the one waking up early, feeding it, taking it out—”
“That is so not true!” you cut in. “I would absolutely take care of it.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Don’t ‘mm-hm’ me!” you nudged his arm lightly. “I would be the best dog owner ever.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You can’t even keep your room clean.”
“That is completely unrelated,” you said immediately.
He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head again. You watched him for a second. Really watched him.
The way he looked… lighter. Still tired, but different. And before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him again. Just a little.
Jack didn’t comment on it. Didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just shifted slightly so you were more comfortable.
“Maybe a fish,” he said after a second.
You groaned. “A fish? That’s your compromise?”
“It stays in one place,” he defended.
“It has no personality.”
“It’s low maintenance.”
“I don’t want low maintenance,” you said. “I want a dog.”
Jack glanced down at you, something softer slipping into his expression again.
“Let’s start with me being home more,” he said quietly. “Then we can negotiate pets.”
You didn’t answer right away. But you didn’t argue either.
“…Fine,” you muttered after a second.
Then, under your breath, “But I’m still gonna bring it up again.”
“I know you are.”
“And I’m gonna win eventually.”
“Highly unlikely.”
You smiled a little anyway, letting your head rest back against his shoulder as the movie played on. And this time, when you stayed, he did too.
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: daughter! reader confronts jack about always spending time at the hospital and never making time for her
pairing: jack abbot x teenage daughter! reader
warnings: use of medical terminology, descriptions of a hospital setting, probably incorrect medical scenes
notes: another jack abbot x daughter! reader fanfiction because i’m having sm fun with them!!! if you have any requests feel free to ask! <3
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / next
You had grown to hate the sight of the ED.
It wasn’t always like this. When you were little, the emergency department had felt almost magical, bright lights, fast movement, people in scrubs who always seemed to know exactly what to do. You used to sit in the corner with a juice box, swinging your legs off a chair that was too tall, watching your dad move through the chaos like he belonged to it.
Back then, you told anyone who would listen that Jack Abbot was a superhero.
My dad saves people, you’d say, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Now, all you saw when you looked at the ED was everything it had taken from you.
The older you got, the more time Jack seemed to spend inside those walls and the less time he spent at home. Birthdays cut short. Dinners gone cold. Promises made with good intentions and broken just as easily.
You wouldn’t call him a bad father. That felt unfair. You knew, logically, clinically, almost, that he was trying. That people needed him. That emergencies didn’t pause for fireworks or family dinners.
But right now?
Right now, he’d made you come all the way down to the hospital on the Fourth of July because he’d forgotten his dinner at home.
A week ago, he’d promised you something different.
We’ll watch the fireworks together this year, he had said, already halfway out the door, keys in hand, voice distracted but hopeful.
You had nodded, pretending you believed him. You didn’t. And, of course, it went exactly how it always did.
“It’s gonna be a busy night,” he’d said yesterday, not even looking up from his phone as he scrolled through the staffing schedule. “Holiday weekends always are. Fireworks injuries, drunk driving… they’re gonna need all hands.”
You had just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for him to realize what he was saying. Waiting for him to connect the dots.
He never did.
So now you were here.
Walking through the sliding glass doors from the ambulance bay, the noise hit you first, monitors chiming, voices overlapping, the distant roll of a stretcher moving too fast over tile. The air smelled the same as always, antiseptic and something sharper underneath, something that never quite left.
You didn’t hesitate. You knew where everything was.
Your feet carried you straight toward the nurses’ station, weaving automatically around a paramedic pushing an empty gurney back outside and a nurse scanning medications into a chart. Someone nearby was calling for a set of vitals to be repeated; another voice asked for a respiratory therapist to come to room five.
Same chaos. Different day. Dana was exactly where she always was, behind the desk, glasses low on her nose as she looked over a chart.
You tightened your grip on the paper bag in your hand, Jack’s dinner, already cooling, and reminded yourself to look annoyed. To stay annoyed.
Before you could say anything, Dana looked up. Her expression softened instantly.
“Well, isn’t it my favorite Abbot.”
A smile spread across her face as she pulled off her glasses and stepped out from behind the counter, not even hesitating before wrapping her arms around you. The irritation you’d been holding onto slipped, just a little.
You melted into the hug before you could stop yourself, your forehead resting briefly against her shoulder. For a second, just a second, the noise of the department dulled, like the world had given you a break.
Then she pulled back, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes as she pushed your hair back to really look at you.
Dana had always been like that, like she could read everything you weren’t saying. You didn’t have the energy to fake it completely. Not with her.
You met her gaze, and whatever you were feeling must have shown, because her expression shifted, something more careful now, more concerned.
“How are you?” she asked softly, voice dropping just enough that it didn’t carry past the desk.
You let out a quiet sigh, glancing down for a moment as if the answer might be somewhere on the floor.
“I’m good,” you said, finally looking back at her, forcing a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
Dana didn’t call you out on it. She just hummed quietly, one hand dropping from your face to your shoulder, giving it a small, grounding squeeze.
“Mm-hm,” she said, not convinced in the slightest.
You let out another sigh, sharper this time, frustration bubbling up at how easily she could read you. You hated that, how one look and she just knew. No pretending, no brushing it off.
Dana didn’t push.
She moved back behind the counter, slipping her glasses back on as she picked up the chart she’d been reviewing. Her eyes flicked over it quickly, pen tapping once against the paper before she glanced back up at you.
“You can sit at my station,” she said, already half-focused on what was in front of her again. “Jack’s gonna be a while, he just got called into a trauma.”
That did it. The irritation came rushing back, hot and immediate.
“Of course he did,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Because why wouldn’t he be?
You moved around the counter, dropping into the chair beside her. The paper bag crinkled as you set Jack’s dinner down on the desk a little harder than necessary, like it had personally offended you.
A trauma. Of course that mattered more.
You pushed off lightly with your foot, letting the chair spin just a little as you glanced out across the ED.
From back here, everything felt different, closer, louder, harder to ignore. Phones rang intermittently. A printer spat out labels in short bursts. Someone nearby was drawing up medication, flicking a syringe to clear air bubbles before heading toward a room.
You got bored of looking around almost immediately.
There was a time when all of this felt fascinating, like every movement meant something important, like if you just watched closely enough, you’d understand how everything worked.
Now?
It was just noise.
You stared straight ahead for a moment, eyes unfocused, before glancing back at Dana. She was still looking down at the tablet in her hands, scrolling through a chart, completely locked in.
“Hey, Dana?” you said.
She hummed in response, not even looking up.
You hesitated for half a second before asking, “Can I watch Netflix on your computer?”
That got her attention.
Dana looked up slowly, giving you a really? look without saying a word. You immediately flashed her your most innocent smile.
It didn’t work.
“That look doesn’t work on me anymore, missy,” she said flatly, already looking back down at her tablet. “And you know the answer is no.”
“Oh, come on,” you pushed, leaning forward slightly in your chair. “You know it’s gonna be, like, an hour. You used to let me all the time.”
“Yeah,” Dana replied, scrolling again, completely unbothered, “when you were eight. You’re seventeen now. Why don’t you just go on your phone?”
You slumped back dramatically. “Because it never works here. Please, Dana, I’m gonna die of boredom.”
She huffed out a small laugh at that, shaking her head.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she said, glancing at you again. “I can give Jack his dinner when he comes out.” She paused for a second before adding, a little more gently, “Aren’t you supposed to be watching fireworks with your friends tonight?”
And just like that, the smile slipped.
It wasn’t dramatic, no big reaction, no sudden shift, but it dimmed, like someone had quietly turned down a light.
Because how were you supposed to explain that?
That the only reason you were here, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a place you couldn’t stand, was because you hadn’t seen your dad all day?
That you had canceled on your friends, on actual plans, on something normal, because for once, he’d said he’d be there?
We’ll watch the fireworks together.
You swallowed, looking down at your hands, picking at the edge of the paper bag without really thinking about it.
“Yeah,” you said after a second, your voice quieter now. “I was.”
Behind you, a monitor alarmed again, sharp and insistent, followed by hurried footsteps and a voice calling out for a doctor.
The trauma room doors were still closed. Still busy. Still more important.
You leaned back in the chair, forcing your expression back into something neutral before Dana could look too closely.
“Guess not anymore,” you added, trying for casual and missing it just slightly.
Dana’s brows knit together, her mouth opening like she was about to ask what was really going on with you, but before she could, a familiar voice cut across the noise of the ED.
“Look who it is! The brooding teenager finally decided to grace us with her presence.”
Robby.
You didn’t even have to look up to know it was him.
A second later, he appeared at the counter, leaning casually against it like he had all the time in the world, even with everything happening around him. His scrubs were slightly wrinkled, a pair of gloves tucked into his pocket, stethoscope slung loosely around his neck.
He looked down at you expectantly, waiting for the usual reaction, some sarcastic comment, an eye roll, something.
Instead, all he got was a small, half-hearted chuckle and a quick smile before your gaze dropped right back to your hands.
You picked at the chipped burgundy nail polish on your thumb, scraping at the edge until it lifted.
Robby’s expression shifted almost immediately. It was subtle, but it was there.
Because this wasn’t you.
“Damn,” he said lightly, trying to recover the moment, though his tone had softened just a bit. “That’s it? No comeback? I’m losing my touch.”
You shrugged one shoulder, still not looking up. “Maybe.”
Across from you, Dana watched the interaction closely.
Robby glanced up at her, eyebrows raising slightly in a silent what’s going on?
Dana just gave a small shrug, lips pressing together, she didn’t know either.
A call rang out overhead, “Respiratory to trauma bay, now” and somewhere behind Robby, a monitor alarm escalated into a sharper, more urgent tone before being silenced.
The trauma doors still hadn’t opened.
Robby followed your line of sight for half a second, then looked back at you, something more serious settling in his expression.
“You waiting on your dad?” he asked, gentler now.
You nodded once, still focused on your nails, picking at another chipped edge.
“Yeah.”
It came out quieter than you meant it to.
Robby exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight against the counter. “He’s gonna be tied up for a bit,” he said. “That one’s… not quick.”
You didn’t respond. Didn’t look up.
Just kept picking at your nails like if you focused hard enough on something small, it would keep everything else from spilling over.
Behind him, the trauma bay doors finally swung open for a split second, just enough to catch a glimpse of movement inside. A team clustered around the bed, voices overlapping.
“Pressure’s dropping—”
“Get a chest tube tray—”
“Where’s Abbot?”
The doors shut again just as fast. Robby went still for half a beat. Then his eyes flicked back down to you. And this time, he didn’t try to joke.
Inside the trauma room, Jack finally had a second to step back, not fully disengaging, just enough to take in the bigger picture. The team was moving fast but efficiently. Monitors were cycling, numbers updating in real time. Someone was setting up for a chest tube, sterile packaging torn open and dropped onto the tray.
“BP’s still soft, eighty over fifty,” a nurse called out.
“Hang another liter,” Jack replied automatically, eyes already shifting.
He glanced out through the glass. A habit. A quick scan of the department, making sure nothing else was crashing, nothing else needed him, and that’s when he saw them.
Dana. Robby. And someone sitting at the station.
His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to place the figure and then you turned in the chair.
“Shit,” Jack breathed, the word barely leaving his lips.
He checked the wall clock without meaning to.
8:57 PM.
He’d called you at the start of his shift. Told you it would be quick. Told you to just drop it off.
He knew you hated being here. He just… hadn’t thought it would turn into this.
Hadn’t thought at all, really.
Jack dragged a hand briefly over the back of his neck before looking back at the team.
They had it under control for the moment.
“Hey, you got this for a sec?” he said, already stepping backward. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Shen replied, not looking up as he worked.
Jack didn’t wait.
He pushed through the trauma room doors, the noise of the ED rushing back in immediately as he made a beeline for the nurses’ station.
“Ah! Just the person we were waiting for!” Dana called out as soon as she saw him, her tone light, but her eyes weren’t.
Robby looked at him next.
Then quickly over at you.
Then back at Jack.
A look passed between them, something silent, something questioning.
What’s going on with her?
Jack frowned slightly, not understanding. He didn’t have time to ask.
Because you were already moving. You didn’t say hello. Didn’t hesitate.
You pushed up from the chair, grabbing the paper bag off the counter and walking straight toward him.
“Hey, Bear, sorry I had you wai—”
The words were cut off as the bag hit his chest, your hand pressing it into him just firmly enough to stop him.
“It’s fine,” you said, your voice tight, controlled. “See you in the morning.”
You forced a small, tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
And then you were gone.
Turning on your heel and heading straight for the ambulance bay doors without waiting for a response.
For a second, Jack just stood there.
Holding the bag.
Watching you walk away.
“Bear—” he started, the word coming too late, too quiet to catch you over the noise of the department.
The doors slid open.
Then shut behind you.
And just like that, you were gone.
Jack exhaled slowly, something heavy settling in his chest as he stared at the empty space where you’d been.
Jack didn’t think.
For once, he didn’t calculate, didn’t prioritize, didn’t run through the list of everything that needed him more.
He just went after you.
“Shen’s got it,” he muttered, already pushing through the ambulance bay doors.
The noise dropped the second he stepped outside.
Not gone, just… distant. Muted by the open air.
Fireworks cracked somewhere overhead, bright flashes reflecting off the concrete and the side of the ambulances lined up along the bay. The smell of smoke drifted faintly through the air, mixing with the lingering scent of antiseptic that clung to him.
You were already halfway across the bay, walking fast, head down, shoulders tight.
“Hey!” Jack called. “Bear—hey, wait up.”
No response.
If anything, you picked up your pace.
He jogged the last few steps, reaching out and catching your wrist, not hard, just enough to stop you.
“Hey—”
You spun around immediately, pulling your arm free like his touch burned.
“What?” you snapped.
Jack blinked, thrown, not by the volume, but by how sharp it was. How done you sounded.
“I just—” he started, trying to find his footing, “you didn’t have to leave like that.”
You let out a breath through your nose, shaking your head slightly like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.
“No, I didn’t have to come at all,” you said.
The words landed heavier than you probably meant them to.
Jack’s jaw tightened. “I said I was sorry. I got pulled into a trauma—”
“I know,” you cut in quickly. “I know, okay? You don’t have to explain it to me. I’ve been around this place my entire life, remember?”
There was something almost mocking in that, like the knowledge didn’t make it better, just made it worse.
Jack exhaled, slower this time, trying to keep his voice even. “Then you know I didn’t have a choice.”
You laughed, short, hollow.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding like that proved your point. “Exactly.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you never have a choice,” you said, your voice rising just a little. “There’s always something. There’s always someone. There’s always a reason you can’t just—” you stopped yourself, pressing your lips together.
“Can’t just what?” he pushed gently.
“Be there,” you snapped.
Silence stretched between you for a second, broken only by another firework popping in the distance.
Jack ran a hand over the back of his neck, tension settling in his shoulders. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” you shot back immediately. “You told me it would be quick. You said I could just drop it off and we’d go home.”
“I thought it would be,” he said. “I didn’t plan for a trauma to come in—”
“But it did,” you interrupted. “It always does.”
That hit something.
Jack’s expression hardened slightly, not angry, but defensive now. “People don’t schedule emergencies.”
“I’m not asking them to!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “I’m asking you to stop acting like I’m just… something you can fit in when it’s convenient!”
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I come second to everything in there.”
You pointed back toward the ED, the bright lights spilling out through the open doors behind him.
Jack followed your gesture for half a second before looking back at you. “That’s my job.”
“I know it’s your job!” your voice cracked now, frustration bleeding into something sharper. “God, everyone always says that like it’s supposed to make it better.”
“It should,” he said, a little firmer. “I’m helping people—”
“And I’m your kid!” you cut him off, louder now. “I’m supposed to matter too!”
The words echoed slightly in the open space.
Jack stilled.
You swallowed hard, blinking quickly, but once it started, you couldn’t stop.
“I canceled on my friends tonight,” you admitted, your voice shaking now. “I had plans. I had an actual night where I wasn’t just sitting at home waiting for you to maybe show up, and I canceled because you said—” your breath hitched slightly, “you said we’d watch the fireworks together.”
Jack’s face fell.
“I meant that,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?” you laughed again, but there was no humor in it now. “When? Between patients? While you’re checking someone’s vitals?”
“Hey,” he said, stepping closer again, softer this time. “I’m trying—”
“No, you’re not,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re trying there. You’re always trying there.”
The words hung heavier this time.
A louder crack split the sky above you, a burst of light illuminating everything for a brief second, the ambulances, the concrete, the distance between you.
Jack looked at you like he wanted to fix it.
Like he just didn’t know how.
“I didn’t ask you to cancel your plans,” he said carefully.
“No,” you said, your voice dropping, quieter but more cutting. “You didn’t. You just said something for once, and I believed you. That’s on me, right?”
Jack flinched at that.
“Don’t—” he started, but you shook your head again.
“I’m tired,” you said. “I’m tired of getting my hopes up every time you say something’s gonna be different. I’m tired of coming down here and pretending I don’t hate it, just so I can see you for five minutes in between everything else.”
Jack opened his mouth—
The ambulance bay doors slammed open behind him.
“Dr. Abbot!” a nurse called, breathless. “We need you, he’s crashing. Pressure’s dropping, they’re preparing to intubate—”
Time seemed to split. Jack turned halfway toward the voice, instinct pulling him back inside, then he looked at you.
You let out a quiet, defeated laugh, stepping back.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding toward the doors. “Go. Something more important.”
Jack’s head snapped back. “Hey, don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” you asked, almost exhausted now.
“Don’t make it sound like that,” he said, firmer. “This is someone’s life.”
“And I’m your kid,” you said again, softer this time, but somehow worse. “I’m supposed to be your life too.”
That one didn’t come out as a yell. It came out honest. And that’s what made it hurt.
The nurse hovered awkwardly near the door, urgency written all over her face. “Dr. Abbot—”
Jack closed his eyes briefly, jaw tight.
When he looked at you again, there was something heavier there. Guilt. Conflict. Helplessness.
“I do care,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”
Your expression didn’t change.
“If you cared,” you said, barely above a whisper now, “you’d stay.”
The worst part?
He wanted to.
You could see it in the hesitation. In the way he didn’t move right away.
But then another shout from inside. And reality snapped back into place. Jack glanced toward the doors, then back at you.
“I have to go,” he said.
Wrong answer.
You nodded once, like you’d already expected it.
“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”
Another firework burst overhead, bright and loud and completely ignored.
Jack lingered for half a second longer, like he might say something else, like he might fix it but he didn’t.
He turned. And ran back inside.
Leaving you alone in the ambulance bay, surrounded by noise and light and everything you weren’t watching.
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: as the emergency department staff prepare for a mass casualty event, a teenage girl is rushed in after suddenly having seizures at a water park. as the trauma team works quickly to stabilize her and gather information from her frightened friend, they discover that the patient is Jack’s daughter.
pairing: jack abbot x daughter! reader
warnings: descriptions of blood and various injuries, hospital setting, probably inaccurate medical terms, descriptions of epilepsy
notes: okay here’s the last chapter! sorry it took so long but thank you guys for reading it! i added more mohabbot because i can and i’ll start working on the smaller jack x daughter! reader one-shots and if you guys wanna send in requests as well i would love that! <3
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / previous / end
Neither you nor Jack had realized how long you had been sitting in one of the ED rooms.
Time had slipped by in that strange, disorienting way it always did in hospitals, measured less by clocks and more by the rhythm of footsteps in the hallway, the steady hum of machines, and the constant opening and closing of doors. One minute it had felt like late afternoon.
The next—
“Wait, it’s ten?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Jack glanced up briefly from the monitor beside your bed, where his eyes had been flicking back to every few seconds like he didn’t trust it to stay steady without him. “Yeah,” he said, checking his watch. “Just hit.”
Ten p.m. The night shift had fully taken over.
You could hear it in the hallway, the shift in energy. Louder, faster, more chaotic. Fourth of July cases kept rolling in, one after another, and even from your room you could pick out the different layers of it: a raised voice near the ambulance bay, the sharp clatter of a gurney being rushed past, someone calling for supplies down the hall.
Jack couldn’t seem to stay still. One second, he was at your bedside, eyes locked on the monitor, tracking every number like he could will them into staying normal. The next, he was at the door, half in, half out, one hand braced against the frame as he leaned into the hallway.
“Dana, I need that trauma reassessed in bay three,” he called. “And make sure radiology knows we’re still waiting on those scans.”
“Got it,” came the response.
He lingered for a second, scanning the floor, before his gaze flicked back to you. Always back to you. Then he stepped inside again. Back to the monitor. Back to hovering.
“You know you’re pacing, right?” you muttered.
“I’m not pacing.”
“You are. It’s stressing me out.”
That made him stop. He exhaled quietly, dragging a hand down his face before stepping fully back into the room. “Sorry.”
But even then, his eyes flicked back to the monitor. You didn’t call him out on it again.
At some point, Jack stepped out again, just for a second. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. You were staring up at the ceiling when the door pushed open again, a familiar figure slipping inside.
“Look what I got,” Shen said, holding up a small Dunkin’ bag like he was sneaking contraband into a prison. You turned your head immediately, eyes landing on the donut in his hand: bright, covered in sprinkles. Your expression changed instantly.
“Shen,” you said, a small smile finally breaking through, “you’re my favorite person right now.”
“Yeah, I know,” he grinned, stepping closer. “I risked my life for this. Fourth of July Dunkin’ line? Brutal.”
You let out a quiet laugh, pushing yourself up just slightly despite the protest in your body. “Give it to me before someone stops you.”
“See, that’s what I was thinking,” Shen said, already holding it out toward you.
Your hand lifted just as the door opened again.
“Absolutely not.”
Both of you froze. Jack stood there, one hand still on the door, like he hadn’t even fully stepped away in the first place. Your hand dropped immediately.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, sinking back against the pillow.
“She hasn’t been cleared to eat yet,” Jack said, stepping fully into the room now, his tone firm but not harsh. His eyes flicked from you to the donut, then to Shen. “So no.”
Shen blinked, slowly lowering the donut like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. “…I almost had it.”
“You really did,” you muttered.
“Yeah, well,” Jack said, crossing his arms slightly, “almost doesn’t count.”
You shot him a look. “You weren’t even in the room.”
“I was right outside,” he corrected immediately.
“Which is basically the same thing.”
“Not even close.”
Shen lifted the donut slightly. “So… what am I supposed to do with this?”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “If you eat that, I will never forgive you.”
“Noted,” he said quickly, pulling it back like it had suddenly become dangerous.
Jack shook his head slightly, though there was the faintest hint of amusement at the corner of his mouth. From the hallway, someone called his name again. Jack glanced toward the door. Then back at you. That same hesitation. That same split.
“…Go,” you said after a second, softer this time. “You’ve got patients.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
You shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere and besides I can just make Shen come hangout with me, if I get bored.”
That almost made him smile. Almost.
“I’ll be right outside,” he said instead.
Like a promise. And even when he stepped out again, he stayed exactly where he said he would.
After a minute, the room quieted again. You stared up at the ceiling for a moment before glancing toward the door, where Jack’s figure passed by the small window every few seconds. Still there. Still watching.
“Hey, Shen,” you said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“…Hide the donut.”
He blinked. “What?”
“In case I get cleared later,” you said. “I’m not risking it.”
Shen nodded immediately, dead serious. “Got it. Strategic donut placement.”
Despite everything, you smiled. Just a little.
────୨ৎ────
One thing you could always count on in the ED was being bored out of your mind.
The ceiling tiles hadn’t gotten any more interesting the tenth time you counted them, and your phone was basically useless with how terrible the service was. After a while, you’d given up on even trying to scroll and instead settled for watching the chaos outside your room through the glass window.
It was… something, at least.
People moved quickly: nurses weaving between rooms, doctors being pulled in three different directions at once, the constant blur of motion that never really stopped. It almost made you feel like you were watching a show. Just not a very glamorous one.
Definitely nothing like Grey’s Anatomy.
You huffed quietly to yourself at the thought, shifting slightly against the pillow. Jack hated that show. Like, despised it.
You’d forced him to watch a few episodes with you a couple years ago, and he had spent the entire time pointing out everything they got wrong: muttering under his breath, rolling his eyes, going on mini rants about how unrealistic it all was.
And yet by the end of it, he’d been just as invested as you were.
You were pretty sure he’d never admit it, but you distinctly remembered him saying something along the lines of: “If she doesn’t leave him, I swear to God…”
Which, coming from him, was basically the equivalent of emotional attachment. You smiled faintly at the memory, your gaze still fixed out the window. You were so caught up in it, in the noise, the movement, the distraction of it all, that you didn’t even notice the door opening behind you.
“Hey, Y/n. I’m Doctor Mohan.”
Your head snapped toward the voice immediately. And—
Oh.
Oh, wow. Jack had not been exaggerating. At all.
“Hi,” you said a little too quickly, blinking up at her with wide eyes as she stepped further into the room, already opening the computer to pull up your chart like she’d done it a thousand times before.
She was… yeah. Gorgeous. Effortlessly so.
And suddenly, a very specific memory resurfaced: Jack, a little awkward, trying to be casual while mentioning he had gone on a date. Her.
This was her.
Samira, on the other hand, could feel your gaze almost instantly. She glanced over at you after a moment, pausing slightly when she realized you were already looking at her, really looking at her. There was recognition there.
Clear as day.
Her brows pulled together just a fraction, curiosity flickering across her expression as she studied you for a second longer. Because you definitely knew who she was. That much was obvious.
She just had no idea who you were. Samira let out a small breath, her hand pausing over the keyboard as she looked back at you.
“I’m assuming…” she started carefully, studying your expression, “you already knew who I was?”
You nodded. And to Samira, it almost looked like you were judging her. Like you were sizing her up. Weighing something. And she, well, she immediately went into damage control.
“Okay,” she said quickly, straightening a bit as she turned more fully toward you, “I know this is probably weird, and I know I’m a bit younger than your dad, and truthfully I didn’t even know he had a daughter and I can totally understand how this could be diff—”
“Oh my god, no.”
You cut her off so fast it made her stop completely. “I don’t give a shit about an age gap,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “That’s stupid.”
Samira blinked.
“I’m trying to understand why you would go out with my dad.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, caught completely off guard.
You hesitated for a second, like you were trying to figure out how to explain it without sounding insane …and then clearly gave up.
“It’s just…” you started, your gaze dropping to your hands for a second before flicking back up to her. “He’s like… super monotone, y’know?”
Samira’s brows lifted slightly.
“Like, hard to talk to sometimes,” you continued, words coming a little faster now. “And he always looks so—” you gestured vaguely, searching, “—angry. All the time.”
There was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Samira’s mouth now.
“And you’re—” you paused, glancing at her again, and yeah, there was no better way to say it, “—I mean… you’re gorgeous.”
That made her blink again. Because that was not where she thought this conversation was going. At all.
You huffed out a small breath, leaning your head back slightly against the pillow. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
For a second, Samira just looked at you. Really looked at you. And then, softly, she smiled. Not amused. Not offended. Just… understanding.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment, a quiet laugh slipping through, “he does come off like that.”
You let out a small, relieved breath, like you hadn’t been sure she’d agree.
“But,” she added, tilting her head slightly as she looked at you, “he’s not really like that once you get past the surface.”
Your eyes flicked back to hers.
There was something about the way she said it, calm and certain, like she wasn’t trying to convince you, just stating a fact.
And for some reason that made you smile. Because that’s what you had wanted for him. For months. Months of teasing him, bugging him, practically begging him to go on a date, anything to get him to stop shutting himself off from the rest of the world.
And now here she was. Someone who saw past all of it. Past the monotone voice, the permanent frown, the walls he kept so firmly in place and straight to the part of him you knew better than anyone.
Your dad.
The one who, despite everything, was really just a big softie underneath it all.
“Yeah…” you said softly, a small smile settling onto your face as you looked at her again. “You’re right.”
Samira’s expression softened almost instantly in response, something warm and relieved flickering across her features. And she couldn’t help it, she was glad this was going well. More than she expected to be.
“But,” you added suddenly, your tone shifting just enough to make her pause, “I mean, come on—”
You tilted your head slightly, an amused smile tugging at your lips.
“He definitely has a staring problem.”
There was a split second where Samira just stared at you and then—
“Oh my god, he so does!”
The two of you broke into laughter at the same time, the sound easy and unforced, filling the room in a way that made everything feel, lighter.
You reached for your phone, grabbing it from where you had tossed it haphazardly onto the bed earlier, the screen lighting up as you unlocked it.
“Okay, wait—” you said, already scrolling, a hint of excitement creeping into your voice, “I need to show you something.”
Samira raised an eyebrow slightly, curious despite herself. You leaned a little closer, angling the phone toward her as you found what you were looking for.
“These,” you said, trying and failing not to smile, “are pictures I took of him after he fell asleep when I put a face mask on him.”
There was a brief pause. And then Samira let out a laugh, immediate and uncontrollable, her hand coming up slightly like she needed to brace herself as she leaned in closer to see.
“Oh no—”
“Yeah,” you nodded, swiping to the next one, “it gets worse.”
In the photos, Jack was completely knocked out, head tilted back and completely unaware, with one of those bright, sheet-style face masks smoothed across his face, slightly crooked where you’d clearly rushed to put it on before he woke up.
Samira leaned in closer without even thinking about it, shoulder brushing lightly against yours as she looked. Because she couldn’t not. And the more you scrolled the worse it got. Different angles. One where his mouth had fallen slightly open. Another where you had clearly tried to fix the mask and somehow made it worse.
“Oh my god,” she laughed, quieter this time but no less amused, shaking her head. “He would be horrified.”
“He was,” you said proudly. “I have a video too.”
That made her look at you again, eyes lighting up.
“Of course you do.”
You grinned. And just like that any awkwardness that had been there before was completely gone.
────୨ৎ────
Jack hadn’t meant to get pulled away. He hadn’t.
He had told himself, promised himself, that he was going to stay as close to you as possible. Close enough to keep an eye on things, close enough to step in if anything changed, but still present enough in the ED to keep everything running the way it was supposed to.
That had been the plan. It just didn’t stay that way. Because the ER didn’t stop.
It never did.
And the second multiple traumas were called in at once, everything shifted. Jack had been pulled into Trauma One before he could even think twice about it, stepping in beside Ellis as they worked on a drunk driver who had slammed straight into a fence: deep laceration across the scalp, blood everywhere, the kind of case that demanded full attention whether you wanted to give it or not.
So he did. He focused. On the bleeding. On the vitals.
On Ellis’ voice, on the nurses moving around them, on every small detail that could mean the difference between stabilizing the patient and losing them. Because that’s what he was trained to do.
What he always did.
And for a while that was all there was. The room. The patient. The controlled chaos. Until it wasn’t. Until, somewhere in the middle of it, something shifted in the back of his mind. A quiet, creeping realization that made his stomach drop just slightly.
He hadn’t checked on you.
Not in—
Jack glanced up at the clock on the wall the second there was a lull, his jaw tightening almost immediately. An hour. It had been an hour.
Logically, he knew you were fine. You were in a hospital. Monitored. Surrounded by people he trusted. There was no real reason to worry. But logic didn’t really matter when it came to you.
Because you were in one of those rooms.
Hooked up to machines. Waiting on tests he couldn’t do himself. And he wasn’t there.
Jack scrubbed a hand down his face quickly, exhaling under his breath as he forced himself to refocus for the last few moments of the case.
He knew you thought he was overprotective. Knew you rolled your eyes at it, brushed it off like it was nothing. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Jack stayed in Trauma One, watching as Ellis worked. Or half watching. His eyes followed the movement of her hands as she carefully placed stitches into the man’s scalp, steady and precise, but his focus wasn’t fully there anymore. It hadn’t been for a few minutes now.
Because he knew Ellis didn’t need him. She was more than capable. He had just… been in the room.
The sound of the door shifting pulled him from his thoughts. Dana stepped into the doorway, not fully entering, just holding it open slightly as she leaned in.
“Jack,” she called, catching his attention.
He looked up immediately.
“Y/n’s bed is ready upstairs whenever you’re ready to go up with her.”
There was a small smile on her face, gentle and reassuring.
And just like that some of the tension in Jack’s chest eased. A quieter room. Less chaos. Somewhere you could actually rest. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, already nodding. “Can you just tell her a couple more minutes?”
“Yeah, of course,” Dana replied easily, giving him a quick nod before stepping back out into the hall.
The door swung shut again. For a second, Jack just stood there. Then he exhaled, dragging a hand briefly over his mouth before forcing his attention back to the patient in front of him, trying to settle back into the rhythm of the room now that he knew you’d be moving soon.
It helped. A little. At least now he knew you wouldn’t be stuck down here much longer.
“You wanna head out, boss?”
Ellis’ voice cut cleanly through his thoughts.
Jack glanced up. She didn’t look away from what she was doing, her hands still working carefully, confidently.
“You know I got this.”
And she did. That much was obvious.
“Yeah,” Jack said, already stepping back, peeling off his gloves as he spoke. “Just make sure the stitches aren’t too—”
“Too close and not tugging on the skin,” Ellis finished for him without missing a beat. “I got you. Don’t worry.”
There was the faintest hint of a smile in her voice. Jack paused for half a second then nodded. He knew he didn’t need to say it. Didn’t need to hover. It was just habit.
“Alright,” he muttered.
And then he was moving. Out of Trauma One. Back into the hallway.
Honestly, Jack had expected you to be exhausted when he got back. Quiet. Maybe even asleep. Curled up under the blanket, finally getting some rest after everything your body had been through.
So when he stepped into the hallway outside your room and heard it, laughter, he stopped. Completely. It was clear. Not just a small chuckle or a tired breath of amusement, actual laughter.
Yours.
For a second, he just stood there, brows pulling together slightly in confusion, like his brain was struggling to catch up with what he was hearing. Because that wasn’t what he expected.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the central hub. Dana was already looking at him. And the second their eyes met, a teasing smile spread across her face, like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Jack narrowed his eyes at her slightly, suspicious.
She just shrugged. That same go look for yourself expression written all over her face.
He hesitated for half a second longer then stepped closer to the door. Carefully, he leaned just enough to glance through the glass. And there you were.
Half sitting up in the bed, more awake than he’d seen you all day, talking animatedly, hands moving slightly as you spoke, your expression alive in a way it hadn’t been hours ago. And sitting beside you, Samira.
Leaning in. Laughing with you. Like it was easy. Like it was natural.
Jack just… stared for a second. Something in his chest shifted, quietly.
Unexpectedly.
Jack didn’t move right away. He just stood there for a moment, watching. Watching the way your face had lit up, really lit up, in a way he hadn’t seen since before everything happened earlier that day. And Samira the way she leaned in, the ease between the two of you, the way she made you laugh without even trying.
It settled something in his chest. Quietly. Steadily. Like confirmation. Maybe he hadn’t made the wrong decision. That letting someone in hadn’t been a mistake.
Eventually, though, reality pulled him back. You still needed to be moved upstairs. You needed rest, real rest, somewhere quieter than the constant noise of the ED.
So, with one last glance through the glass, Jack knocked softly against it before pushing the door open. The sound made both of you turn immediately. Two sets of eyes landing on him at once.
And for some reason that made him pause. Just a couple steps into the room, Jack stopped, slipping his hands into his pockets like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. Which, for him, was rare.
“They have a bed ready for you upstairs,” he said finally, his voice a little quieter than usual.
Neither of you responded right away. You just… looked at him. Samira glanced at you. Then back at him. And something shifted in her expression, just slightly.
“So,” she said, her tone carefully neutral, though there was a hint of something underneath it, “when were you going to tell me you had a daughter?”
Jack blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened as he looked between the two of you, clearly caught off guard.
“Well, you know, I—”
He didn’t even get the chance to finish.
Because you broke. A laugh slipping out before you could stop it, your head dropping slightly as you tried, and failed, to hide it. Like if you didn’t look at them, maybe it wouldn’t count. Jack’s confusion deepened instantly, his gaze snapping back to you.
And then to Samira, who was still trying to hold onto the fake irritation for about half a second longer before the corners of her mouth betrayed her.
And just like that she was laughing too. Soft at first. Then fully.
And now Jack was just standing there, looking between the two of you, his daughter and the woman he’d been trying to figure out how to fit into his life completely lost.
“…What?” he asked, the word coming out somewhere between confused and mildly offended.
You shook your head, still laughing, trying to catch your breath.
“She’s joking,” you managed to get out, your voice breaking slightly as another laugh slipped through.
Samira glanced at you, clearly amused, the sound of your laughter pulling a softer smile from her before she looked back at Jack, who still looked completely lost.
“I don’t care, Jack,” she said simply. Her tone shifted just enough to ground the moment.
She stood slowly, the last traces of her laughter fading, but the warmth in her expression didn’t go anywhere. If anything, it softened. She stepped closer to him, closing the small distance he hadn’t realized he’d left between them.
Without hesitation, she reached for his arm, gently tugging his hand out of his pocket. For a second, he let her. Then she laced her fingers with his.
Jack stilled. His eyes lifted to meet hers, something quieter settling into his expression now, something steadier.
“She’s great,” Samira said, her voice softer this time, but certain.
Not just polite. Not just something she felt like she should say. She meant it and Jack felt it immediately. The sincerity. The ease. And something in his chest loosened again, the tension he’d been carrying all day easing just a little more as a small smile pulled at his lips.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter than before, but no less sure.
“Yeah, she is.”
Behind them, you watched the whole thing unfold, small, tired giggles still slipping out as you shifted slightly in the bed. Because, yeah.
This?
This was good.
Samira gave his hand a small tug, pulling him further into the room, closer to your bedside, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was gorgeous. You know I asked her why she was going out with you.” You spoke teasing him again.
“Love that you have faith in Bear.” Jack replied with a lightness in his voice as he leaned down to kiss your forehead as Samira let out a chuckle from beside him, still holding his hand.
“I’m just realistic, but I told her she has to come over once I get out of the hospital so you can cook that buffalo chicken ceasar salad thing mom always used to make, and I can coffee cake cookies and then—”
“Yeah we definitely will,” Jack started a bit of amusement at your excitement, “but right now what we need to do is get you to your room upstairs and get those tests done.”
You let out a sigh, clearly not excited for the long hospital stay that was awaiting you. Jack pushed your hair to lay behind your shoulder, “I know it sucks Bear, but we need to figure out what changed.”
“It’s worsened.” You stated clearly deflated by the idea of it.
“We don’t know—” Jack started trying to give you a bit of hope.
“Don’t lie to me.” You state your eyes suddenly glossy as you look at Jack.
“I’m not, it’s just that there’s no reason to already be talking like that, alright? I know your scared and probably tired but for all we know it could just be stress induced, that’s what Robby—”
Jack’s hand stilled where it had been brushing your hair back.
“I don’t give a shit what Robby said, he’s just—”
“Hey.”
He cut you off gently, but firmly. Not sharp. Not angry. Just enough to ground you. Your words fell apart in your throat anyway, replaced by the shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
Jack’s voice stayed low, steady, controlled in that way that meant he was choosing every word carefully.
“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t push him away because you’re scared.”
Your jaw tightened immediately, your eyes dropping to your lap like you didn’t want him to see how much that word hit. Scared. You hated that word.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Jack said softly, not unkindly. “And that’s okay.”
That only made your chest tighten more. Because he wasn’t dismissing you. He wasn’t brushing it off. He saw it. And somehow that made it worse.
Your fingers curled into the thin hospital blanket in your lap, shoulders pulling in just slightly like you were trying to make yourself smaller.
“It’s worse,” you said again, but quieter this time. Not as defensive. Just… tired.
Jack exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze softening as he looked at you. There it was. Not the attitude. Not the sarcasm. Just you.Sixteen. Exhausted. Terrified.
He stepped a little closer to the bed, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face gently, thumb brushing just under your eye where tears were threatening to spill over.
“We don’t know that,” he said again, softer now. “And I’m not gonna lie to you, okay? I won’t.”
Your eyes flickered up to meet his, searching his face like you were trying to catch him in something. Anything. But there was nothing there except honesty. And worry. So much worry.
“It could be stress,” he continued. “It could be your dosage. It could be a lot of things we can fix.”
Your lips pressed together tightly, your breathing uneven.
“And if it’s not?” you whispered.
That question sat heavy in the room. Jack felt it settle somewhere deep in his chest, sharp and familiar. The part of this he could never fix. His hand didn’t leave your face.
“If it’s not,” he said carefully, “then we figure out what it is. And we handle it.”
You shook your head slightly, frustration building again, tears finally spilling over.
“You don’t get it—”
“I do,” Jack said, a little firmer this time. Not harsh, just certain.
Your eyes snapped back to his.
“I do,” he repeated, quieter. “I was there the first time. And the second. And every time after that.”
Your breath hitched.
“I know exactly what this feels like.”
That stopped you. Because he wasn’t talking as a doctor. He was talking as your dad. And suddenly all the fight drained out of you just a little.
Jack’s thumb brushed away a tear as it slipped down your cheek.
“I know how much you hate this,” he murmured. “I know how tired you are of it.”
Your shoulders shook slightly, another breath catching in your chest.
“I just—” your voice broke, “I don’t want it to get worse.”
And there it was. The real fear.
Jack’s expression softened even more, something in his chest twisting painfully at the sound of it.
“I know,” he said quietly.
For a second, neither of you spoke. The room felt smaller somehow.
Quieter.
Even with the steady hum of machines in the background. Then Jack leaned forward slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“We’re gonna figure it out,” he murmured against your skin.
You closed your eyes for a second, letting yourself lean into it, into him, just for a moment. Because no matter how scared you were that part never changed.
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his hand sliding from your face to your shoulder.
“Right now,” he said, a little more lightly, trying to shift you out of the spiral without dismissing it, “we need to get you upstairs.”
You let out a quiet, miserable sigh, your head tipping back slightly.
“Yeah, I know.”
Jack gave you a small, sympathetic smile, brushing your hair back again.
“I’ll be with you the whole time.”
You glanced at him again, like you were double-checking.
“Promise?”
Jack didn’t hesitate, “Always.”
That settled something in you, just enough.
Beside him, Samira had stayed quiet through most of it, watching the two of you carefully. There was something almost fragile in the way you leaned into Jack, and something equally fragile in the way he held it together for you.
It made her chest ache a little.
But when your attention shifted back toward her, she offered you a small, reassuring smile.
“Hey,” she said gently. “I’ll come find you once you’re upstairs, okay?”
You nodded, a little more subdued now, but still managing a faint smile.
“Yeah… okay.”
Jack gave Samira a quiet look, something unspoken passing between them. Gratitude. Relief. Maybe something more.
Then he turned back to you, slipping back into motion.
“Alright,” he said softly, reaching for the bed controls. “Let’s get you upstairs, Bear.”
And even though your chest still felt heavy, even though the fear hadn’t gone anywhere, you let him. Because if there was one thing you knew for certain,our dad wasn’t going to let you face any of it alone.
okie so i’m almost finished with the 3rd chapter of fourth of july and have decided that it’s gonna be the last chapter!! BUT would anyone be interested in like a request option for like short (or long) one-shots of jack abbot and daughter!reader??
jack abbot x daughter!reader open one-shot requests?
Omg I hope that in the newer chapters of fourth of july we get to see more mohabbot and maybe like some family dynamics and romance between them😫 how many chapters is the series gonna have????
there’s definitely more mohabbot coming don’t you worry girl!!! i’m not sure how many chapters maybe 4, i’m kinda figuring it out as i’m writing!!
romaincrisis
snowghoul
2087
stormborns
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
kianamaiart