𝐉𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐌𝐃 an independent & friends focused Dr Jack Abbot from HBO's The Pitt. canon selective with heavy headcanon influences. medium activity. multiverse and multiship. written by Aether. 30+. they/them. EST.
CARRD PROMPTS
rules - ish
this will be a heavily friends focused blog.
don't be a dick.
this is not and never will be a pro military blog. the idea that Abbot is pro military is wild. it's never been stated as such and I will not be operating under that belief.
mental illness will be a heavy theme here. Jack is working through his issues but he still he has bad days. there will be no graphic depictions of s*icide or attempts. there may be mentions of ideations, those will be tagged.
writing is a hobby. if its not fun, I'm not doing it.
I know fuck all about medical shit. If it comes up, it will be vague as shit and mostly glossed over. I'm not casually putting myself through medical school to write threads. so nothing will ever be described in great detail. nor will any medical procedures be reblogged.
@jabbotmd sent 📞 for a drunk call from Jess (and is getting one in our other verse, too lmao)
Jessica knew that feeding from someone under the influence meant that she could possibly feel some of the effects of whatever substance they'd taken. In all honesty, she'd never really seen the appeal, nor had she had the opportunity, to try blood that could possibly carry some sort of effect. But she'd begun to strike out on her own again while Jack was busy, and well. . .One thing led to another, and she was admittedly somewhat dumbfounded that it'd taken her this long to try.
Getting back home had been an adventure and a half. She knew the human that'd given her his vein had been drinking but surely there was something else because she'd never felt this. . . Happy before. Not that she'd ever really had the chance to drink. The one time she did, she'd ended up puking up coffee flavored pizza.
Stretching out on the couch, Jessica sighed, giddy that not only had she gone out, braved not only meeting new people but feeding from one of them, and managed to make it home without adding to her body count, but she'd managed to navigate the city that was still somewhat overwhelming for her. Neither Shreveport nor Bon Temps had prepared the redhead for ever living in a metropolitan city.
So, in her inebriated state, the best decision she could possibly make was to call the one person who'd become her lifeline. Once the line stopped trilling, Jessica chirped, "Jack!" A giggle, "Jack! I went out! And I made it back without gettin' too incredibly lost." There's another hum as she shuffled her position on the couch, a contented sigh following. "I appreciate you so much, you know that? I swear, I don't think I would've made it if you hadn't've found me."
The memories of the nest she'd been involved with flickered through her mind, the way they'd watched as she withered without blood. The enjoyment she'd felt radiating off of them as they watched her slowly begin to die. She sniffled, fingers pressing into her eyes as what had been a happy buzz began to turn solemn. "I just--Thank you for bein' so nice to me. It's stupid and embarrassin', but it just really means a lot to me that you've been so patient with me."
She sighed, breath rushing out of her as she tried to rein in the emotions that'd bubbled up. "'m sorry," a less chipper laugh filling the space between them, "It's just nice to feel like someone gives a shit what happens to me and I just--" She hiccupped, "I just wanted you to know that it's not for nothin'. 'm gonna get back on my feet so you don't have to worry about me."
"Oh my god, no, I have to drink some water or I'm gonna die!"
One more protest is made by Iggy before she allows her friend to trot off the dance floor back to the high top they'd been perching at all night. She'd go to get a drink of water in a minute, but her feet were begging for a break, and the tequila she'd been nursing on made the bar feel like it may as well have been in the next state. Elbows resting on the tabletop, Jessica took the breather to sort through her phone, catching up on missed text messages and Instagram notifications with a lazy smile on her face. A smile that went electric when she heard the opening notes of the song that she knew Iggy had requested from the DJ.
The redhead hollered as she watched as Igraine took center stage on the dance floor and perched her phone up between swaying hands, a shitty attempt at capturing some of the other woman's dancing. She doesn't bother to watch it back, instead calling up Jack's number to text it to him.
[ Abbot, J. ] (SMS Sent) : your girl is lookin' real cute toniiiiiiiiiight 🥵
Attachment: video.mp4
Her phone is abandoned as she gives up on her mission for water and returns to the dance floor instead, the rest of the night blurring into a few more drinks, an Uber back to Iggy's place, and the best street hot dogs as a nightcap to hopefully scare off any sort of hangover. It's only when they've poured themselves into Iggy's bed, the other woman snoring softly, that Jessica finally notices the sweet response from Jack waiting in her text messages.
On unsteady feet, Jessica slinks from the bedroom to the living room, pressing call beside the attending's contact as she sinks down into the couch. She's fighting the urge to fall asleep as the phone rings, but the ringing stops, giving her the jolt of energy needed to start into the diatribe she needed Jack to hear.
"You know how much she loves you, right?" There's only a little bit of heat in her tone, an attempt at sounding serious even as she slurs, "Did you know that when she told me about her crush on you, she told me that you probably didn't even think of her that way? I mean, look at her how could you not?!" She sighed heavily, "You just, you have to promise me that you're gonna--you're gonna be gentle with her heart, okay? She's been through so much, and she's so, so strong, but that doesn't mean that her heart isn't soft and she just--" Oh how she is going to regret this in the morning, "She just loves you, and I swear, I will quit my job and kick your ass if you hurt her feelin's. I don't even care if you could probably kick my ass, I'd at least go down swingin'. . . "
There's a pause, followed by a heavy yawn. "Also, I made her drink water between at least. . . Three of her drinks, so she shouldn't have a hangover tomorrow."
five times blurted: ( five times the receiver impulsively blurted something out to the sender ) » @jabbotmd
first
The first few months of working the night shift were an adjustment; Igraine was tired a lot of the time, lived on coffee and the occasional energy drink when she could afford to splurge. She missed seeing Jessica and Andrea; besides the handoff after the transition, their days were not syncing like they used to. The number of times a thought came to her head, and she was unintentionally blurting it out, was at an all-time high without one of them to be there to catch the comment.
She found herself saying things, then looking as if her two friends would be there. It had gotten so bad she looked forward to the times Drea was on swing shift so she could release all of the untapped verbal garbage she was spewing right then and there with instant gratification.
Igraine had called Jessica before the shift in a panic, “Shen and Ellis are the attendings, but Abbot just rolled up with SWAT. I’m going to freaking say something and get called into HR!”
The laugh on the other end only made her groan, “You are no help!”
Igraine quickly hit the end call button and shoved her phone back into her scrubs. She had to do it-face the inevitable that was going to come from running on no sleep and him looking like that. Part of her wished she’d never discovered the stupid app.
As always, she had found herself back by his side, unintentional or not, when he’d requested she be the one to do the tube thoracostomy, so he could supervise. The space between the man’s lungs and chest wall was rapidly filling with blood from trauma. Where her hands were, his weren’t far behind, guiding and instructing firmly on what she needed to do to get the insertion site right between the 4th intercostal space.
“It needs to be pointed down and backward to maximize gravity drainage,” he commented, and Igraine nodded, immediately following the instruction.
The pressure was released, and his lungs didn’t have to fight against the liquid to inflate, bringing his breathing from 83 to a steady 97. There wouldn’t be a need for intubation yet.
Both of them pulled their dressing gowns off and pulled their gloves off with precision before throwing them in the trash so they could wash their hands. They talked about the procedure, how well she’d responded to them running into a snag and continuing to relieve the pressure and drain the man’s chest.
Igraine was zoned out, though, focusing on the way he scrubbed between his knuckles thoroughly, shook out his hands in the sink, spraying water against the stainless steel. He had large hands. Her head tilted slightly; she’d slowed down on washing her own hands.
His hands had joined hers at the sink, back to his chest like the scene out of ghosts, except it was just his hands over hers, nothing but soap slicked between them. His fingers trailed over the back of her knuckles and up to her wrists and forearms, and she leaned back into him. Why was he so sexy?
“You have nice hands…” she whispered. Sexy hands. She wanted to feel his hands all over her body.
“Hale, what?” Jack chuckled and stepped back from the sink, and Igraine snapped out of her daydream—her very public daydream with the central figure standing next to her—and looked up at him.
She repeated back to him, “What did who say?” Maybe she could confuse him, pretend like she didn’t say anything.
“Hale.”
Igraine knew he heard; there wasn’t a way around it. “You have nice hands…medically speaking. They’re a good size—for medical procedures,” she blurted out. The lamest excuse she’d ever heard fall from her lips.
The shame she felt made her blush, and if the world didn’t open up and swallow her whole, she was afraid of the next words out of her mouth.
“Don’t make this a thing, Abbot!” she panicked. “Parker has nice hands too.”
Immediately, she dried her hands and didn’t wait for him to say another word. She rushed out of the room and sprinted to be anywhere else. She could follow Shen for the rest of the night—but she wouldn’t be caught dead looking at Abbot’s hands until next shift.
second
They were celebrating the retirement of one of their beloved nurses. It was only right that the night crawlers who weren’t on shift showed up to cheer on one of their best, even though they were leaving. Igraine had come out, even though they’d only worked together for less than a year, to give her full support. It gave her a minute to be able to see everyone, not in scrubs, with bodily fluids on them, and out of their element. She learned the most about people by watching them interact with others, something she’d picked up on from her unit when she last deployed.
Igraine was nothing if not a thorough student.
She sat with Robby at the bar, nursing a whiskey neat, when a man two seats down introduced himself and started the conversation with her about something other than medicine or the military. He’d just started talking like they were old friends.
Robby’s stool creaked; he’d looked over at her a few times. It was the assumption that he was checking in on her to make sure that the attention hadn’t been unwanted.
In her line of sight was Abbot, his back turned to her, talking to a few of the administrative staff. It wasn’t that they weren’t speaking to each other, more like Igraine had stopped speaking to him for the last two shifts after he had picked the underqualifying resident with her to crack their patient’s chest open. It was childish. She still communicated, but anytime he tried to talk to her about something other than work, she just shrugged and found a way to escape.
“You are like really pretty.” The man finally broke her concentration. Her hard stare at the back of Abbot’s head turned to him.
Her brows rose in surprise, and the glass immediately went to her lips before she placed it down again. “Oh, thank you?”
The conversation kept going; he’d sprinkle in a few compliments, which she quickly deflected. The topic of going out had gradually come up. He’d asked her where she liked to hang out, what she did for work. All questions that were normal until he’d finally coughed and asked if she’d considered going anywhere else after this bar.
She felt him before she saw him; he’d slid between her and Robby at the bar, hand extended past hers as he slid money across in exchange for another beer. He’d crowded into her space again, closer to her than Robby, when the man at the bar acknowledged him and the two began chatting. Abbot offered him a handshake with his left hand, leaning over Igraine to do so.
It was hell
Maybe she could have used the guy to get over him. To put it far from her mind, something that wasn’t going to happen, but when the man looked from her to the dark shadow on her back, she immediately knew what was happening. The insinuation had been made.
He gave a careful nod, turned his head to someone else at the bar, and the conversation had been effectively ended just by a handshake.
“Try this one; it’s better.” Abbot held out the short glass to her, no doubt a better whiskey than she usually purchased for herself.
He was unbelievable.
“You're so pretty I keep forgetting not to expect social intelligence. What the fuck was that?” she blurted out, angrily, in a higher pitch than normal. “I’ve been ignoring you, so you sabotage me talking to someone?”
It only got a chuckle out of him: “I’m pretty, Hale? You’re doing that thing again with your voice. He wouldn’t have handled you anyway.”
She snatched the entire dram of whiskey out of his hand and downed it in one go, her head immediately going to the top of her hands as they rested on the bar top.
third
While Igraine was thankful for the night shift, the HVAC system had broken down during the day shift, a sacrifice so the lights could stay on during the rolling blackouts swallowing Pittsburgh. Every department had been told to conserve whatever power they could. Apparently, air conditioning had lost the vote.
By midnight, the emergency department felt less like a hospital and more like the inside of a parked car in August. Sweat collected beneath nitrile gloves, dampened collars, and made every disposable gown cling like plastic wrap. Patients came in flushed, dizzy, and confused. Construction workers were collapsing on sidewalks. Elderly neighbors were found unconscious in apartments with windows that wouldn't open. Kids were dehydrated after neighborhood power outages left them trapped in stifling houses.
Even standing still felt like work.
Halfway through her shift, Igraine had ducked into the locker room, wrestled her undershirt through the neck of her scrub top with the sort of flexibility that deserved an Olympic medal, and shoved the damp fabric into her locker. It helped for exactly fifteen minutes.
Then the overhead speaker announced another trauma. Another. Another.
The board looked like it had developed a personal vendetta against them. Administration had called in extra hands, and somehow Abbot had drawn the short straw.
He walked through the ambulance bay doors, looking like he'd run here. His dark T-shirt clung to every broad line of his shoulders and chest, damp with sweat, his curls almost flattened against his forehead. Shen caught him before he'd even finished signing in, rattling off room assignments while handing him a spare scrub top.
"Go change before you pass out," Shen said. "I need you conscious."
"I'm conscious," Jack snarked.
"Barely."
"I can spell my name."
"Congratulations. Now put on the scrubs."
Igraine was helping EMS transfer a patient from a backboard when she looked up, which was a bigger mistake than wearing the undershirt in the first place. Her own curls were drenched, sticking to her neck from her ponytail.
Jack stood a few feet away, still half listening to Shen as he grabbed the back collar of his soaked T-shirt with one hand and peeled it over his head in one practiced motion.
The shirt came off, and Igraine’s eyes stayed fixated.
Broad shoulders. Defined arms. A chest that looked carved instead of grown. Sweat caught the fluorescent lights and traced across muscle she'd apparently spent months pretending didn't exist.
She stared, and not because she’d never seen a shirtless man (she was in the army and there were plenty), but because she’d never seen Jack shirtless before. Her brain, usually capable of calculating medication dosages under pressure, stopped functioning entirely.
Something escaped her mouth before approval from literally any higher authority." Fuck, seriously…it’s like your photoshopped."
Silence.
Jack glanced over, shirt halfway balled in one hand as he gave her a curious look. Shen looked at her with concern. Did Igraine have heatstroke?
Igraine blinked once.
fourth.
She had gotten another text from James. She'd stared at the text for nearly twenty minutes before Drea called, listened to her entire pathetic saga, and very bluntly informed her that sleeping with a random man because she couldn't get over her infatuation with Jack was in fact, a terrible idea. It honestly made her stomach hurt to think about it.
According to Andrea, it consisted of spending enough time around Jack Abbot that he'd inevitably do something that would cure her crush. She'd cited a long list of ways men had given her the ick.
"If all else fails...then you get under someone to get over him."
Still she'd gone to work with a brand new plan, even if she wasn't convinced of it. Jack irritated her enough day in and out, if he hadn't given her the ick by now she wasn't sure it was possible.
Igraine was going to shadow him, stick to him like glue, and ask questions. So many questions. Make him explain every procedure, every decision until he either got irritated enough to stop being attractive or she remembered he was just another attending. It was going to be fullproof.
She skipped into the ED with two coffees in hand, one for him and one for her.
He was easy to spot just outside of the on-call room, flipping through a chart with a distracted concentration that somehow made him even more irritatingly handsome.
"Good evening," she said, holding out a coffee for him.
He looked pleasently surprised. "Bribing me?"
"Investing actually," she quipped.
"In what?" The look of confusion his face was apparent.
"My education," she said, pushing the coffee cup into his hand. She stood by his side waiting for him to tell her what they were going to do next, but he just stood staring at her.
"So...this is..."
Igraine frowned and blurted out, "I've been advised to seek out sex as a way to get out of my whole...sad predicament."
He froze with the coffee stopped halfway from his mouth, "I'm sorry?"
She continued talking before her brain had the opportunity to intervene. She sipped her coffee quickly, "But I'd think I'd just rather learn today, so.." she smiled brightly. "What do you say? You...me?"
Jack blinked and smirked, "Uh Hale...you're talking to me right?"
"Exactly!" she nudged his arm. "It's why I'm coming to you."
"For...sex?"
Her eyes widened, and she spluttered. "No!" she pointed between them both frantically. "For you to teach me medicine."
fifth.
She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, maybe a little, but she was looking for a chart, and it happened to be at the nurses' station. It was more unfortunate that that was where Jack had decided to stand.
"...so," one of the newer nurses was saying, smiling a little too brightly, "I was wondering if maybe you'd want to grab a drink sometime?"
He looked up from the chart, "Oh?"
Jack wasn't oblivious enough to miss it, he just looked caught off guard.
"I was thinking we could go out on Tuesday?" she prompted further.
Igraine rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself a headache. She should have walked away, but when the nurse kept insisting that it wouldn't be weird between co-workers she'd slammed her own chart down and yelled, "He does naked yoga on Tuesdays."
Robby had said it once as a joke, and that was what her brain had clung to. "He. Does. Naked. Yoga." she enunciated when the nurse looked at her and blinked.
"...What?"
Igraine looked up suddenly with complete sincerity, "He does naked yoga."
Jack's head snapped toward her so fast, she was surprised he didn't throw something out. "I do what?"
"He does naked yoga," she repeated, as if she was stating he had an allergy. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he can't actually go on a date with you on Tuesday, because he's busy."
The nurse frowned.
Jack's frown deepened. "Where did you hear this?"
"See how defensive he gets?" Igraine sighed, "I told him that it wasn't a shameful hobby, but seeing how you're reacting," she looked down at the woman's badge, "Chelsea...it doesn't seem like this is going to work."
She left immediately, pulling her charts with her. Mentally counting down to five before she felt him hot on her tail, calling her a liar. They argued for another three hours, and Chelsea was nowhere to be seen.
"We'll finish this conversation later," he told her as they parted for different trauma rooms.
Send " ❗❗❗ " for your muse to suddenly and unexpectedly kiss mine.
Igraine had stepped into the shower first and started her process of getting ready before they went out to see some of Jack's buddies and their wives. She'd already started washing her hair when she heard the familiar click of the door. She heard the combination of crutch and gentle step and smiled. He'd get in after her, and it would give her time to blow-dry and finish her hair.
The door slid open, and she felt him at her back, hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. Igraine didn't have a chance to open her mouth before he'd leaned down and kissed her hungrily. Immediately, she'd kissed him back, opening her mouth to him, eyes closing as she savored the moment. His arm circled her waist, drawing her closer while his other hand steadied him against the rail beside the built-in bench. She adjusted with him without thinking, matching his movements as naturally as she matched his kiss.
Still smiling against his mouth, they shifted together until the backs of Jack's legs met the bench. He eased himself down, never breaking contact for more than a heartbeat, and she followed, her forehead resting against his as they caught their breath, the steam wrapping around them like a curtain.
send me “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including:
- what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone
- what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone
- what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone
- my muse’s last text to your muse
Send “✆” for a MORNING text.
Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT.
Send “☎” for a RUSHED text.
Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text.
Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text.
Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.
Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text.
Send “#” for a RANDOM text.
Send “@” for a SCARED text.
Send “&” for a LOVING text.
Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.
Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.
Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.
Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.
Jack had left for a conference, just a weekend away, and they hadn't been dating long, but after staring at her phone, refreshing it to see if a call or text would come through, she was going stir crazy. She shouldn't be attached this quickly, because people left all the time. That hadn't stopped her from drinking a glass...and then another...and well a bottle and a half was gone when she got the idea to call him.
"Jack?" she hesitated, before the words tumbled out of her mouth. "I totally shouldn't call, but I may miss you, and I don't think sober me will ever say that out loud. It's literally been like two days of not seeing you, and that's pretty pathetic of me, you know? Not very tough bitch, and I'm a tough bitch." It wasn't, and she'd die on that hill. She was strong and independent. She'd spent years ALONE. So what if one person in her life was gone for a bit, and he had a job where she worked, he had to come back.
"I made Italian, so I thought I'd totally just have a glass, but it wasn't, and then the garlic bread...so much bread. It was delicious, I'll make you some when you come back," to me. "But like I was thinking, and I just—I'm so in love with you," she stopped talking and sat up quickly from the couch. "Oh, I should not have said that, I mean I don't...I don't take it back—I'm not Maxwell Shepfield for Christ's sake." The nanny reruns played in the background.
"God," she hung her head in her hands, keeping the phone close to her ear. "I love you, and you're so far away, and it sucks, and then I'm going to be far away, and I shouldn't have told you that over the phone. I'm so drunk," she sniffled. "What's sober thoughts are drunk feelings?" she misquoted and sniffled more. "I didn't even eat the food, just a piece of bread, I can't eat, and I haven't slept in two days, and I thought if I just ignored the feeling it would go away, but it's not, and I want you to come back to me."
She was never more thankful to be drunk, so she'd never remember the conversation as she lay herself out in front of Jack over the phone.
send “📞” to receive a drunk phone call from my muse » @jabbotmd
Some of the night shift had gotten together, and as new as Igraine was to the night shift, she'd eagerly taken the invitation. It was one time she didn't mind seeing her co-workers on a day off when she wasn't asleep. They'd all met up at the hospital and driven over together to the Pittsburgh fair. Bonding. As Doctor Abbot had explained, and apparently something that wasn't out of the ordinary for them to do. That wasn't the same case as day shift, but she wasn't going to tell any of them that.
They'd stuck to the buddy system and split off, and while she and Jack argued over how the high school student had used beet juice as a natural pH indicator to help underprivileged hospitals and locations learn when an infection was present, most of the others had fucked off, leaving them to their bickering.
The first time she wandered, he'd been behind her by a few minutes. The second time she'd stopped at one of the craft tables, his timing was faster, almost five paces behind her. The third time he'd reached out grabbing her wrist.
"If I lose you again, I'm not filing a missing persons report."
Igraine just snorted, "You'd miss me, Abbot. Who else are you going to argue with all night and then get to perform a perfect Spinal Tap?"
"I'd miss the peace and quiet."
His grip had slipped into her hand, but Igraine had kept going, both of them going quip for quip and insult for insult as she browsed the rest of the section, him trailing behind her, hands still firmly attached. Igraine hadn't even realized it. Instead, she pointed out things that looked cute, things she could decorate her apartment with, handmade things that weren't from big box stores.
The loud bickering had turned to light sarcasm as she asked his opinion on weird paintings and pottery that looked like a five-year-old made them, just for the sake of her arguing with him that someone would love the misshapen teacups and the modern art that looked like crayons had dripped down the canvas.
Serial Killer AU: Igraine Hale & Jack Abbot are psychos who really enjoy torturing not only each other, but everyone else around them. When you're both rich and part of a Satan-worshipping cult, it's only natural you'd cross paths. We love a good enemies-to-lovers.
If you could mute me for an hour every day, which time would you choose and why?
"what's an hour that we're most consistently asleep at? like 11am? that one. because sometimes you snore and when you do it's usually right in my ear and I lovingly consider smothering you for half a second. or the first hour after you wake up because you're mean as hell sometimes."
If you had a kiss, another woman to save my life, would you?
"no matter what the answer is I'm getting punched so, yes. to save your life I would kiss another woman for like 3 seconds. just aim for the left shoulder my right one is bugging me today."
stormborns
jacobvanloon
gracieabrams
areudirty
dailybridgerton
snowghoul
amandla
tangentwithtanner
