summary - jack abbot fucking loves his wedding ring, and hasn't parted with it since the day the two of you wed. after damaging it while helping robby fix his bike, it is back at the jeweller to get re-plated, and he has to endure a shift without both you and his beloved band of metal. without his ring, it becomes apparent that doctor abbot is a hot item. all he wants is to be back in your arms.
warnings/themes - married couple/established relationship, attending!reader, jealousy, poorly written dialogue, fluff, suuuuper mild angst/displeasure, awkward scenarios, reader is the kind of person to laugh at everything, cattiness, corny as fuck
notes - I got myself lost in some other written bits and got so tangled up that I'm sick of them and never want to release them hahahaha - this is the result of me wanting to just create SOMETHING ELSE. I hope you enjoy.
-
Jack Abbot, to his credit, absolutely adored wearing his wedding ring.
When the conversation regarding marriage had first come up between you, now a good few years ago, you had approached the topic of rings with gentle palms.
He had stopped wearing his first ring a few months into your time at PTMC, a decision which was made after many late nights of him pacing around his apartment, whiskey in hand and ring clinking against the glass. When he put the golden band down for the last time, his heart exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised it was holding. Three months later, Jack gave into the butterflies in his stomach - ones he thought would never come around again - and asked you out.
When he proposed you had insisted, a beautiful, sizable diamond on your ring finger, that when the pair of you tied the knot, he didn’t have to wear a ring again regularly, or at all, if he didn’t want to.
But damn, did this man ever want to. The smooth gunmetal band which sat on his ring finger was his pride and joy from the moment you slipped it on at the altar. He loved the subtle weight of it grounding him under his blue gloves. And the way it looked against your smooth skin as his hands found your body. Most of all, he loved the way it linked him to you, showing the world that he was a more than happily taken man. There was very, very little which would make Jack part with his ring, even for a short time.
One of the things which did force him to take his ring off was the scratches and grease which came with fixing Robby’s motorbike. Between reinstalling a chain and shoving his hands between tight metal components, the black rhodium plating on the platinum had been scratched away in several places.
“For fuck’s sake.” The man groaned when he looked down at his hand. Robby looked over at what had caused his best friend so much displeasure.
“Looks like it’s time to make a trip back to the jeweller, brother.” The older man grinned, clapping Jack on the shoulder.
When your husband had come home to you, he looked like a school boy who had just shattered a window with a stray baseball, a shy shame present on his face at damaging something so precious. After he confessed his so-called crime, you had laughed, grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles, an act so warm it sunk into his bones in a way only your love could. Then you pointed out a cut along the back of his hand, patched it up and booked an appointment at your jeweller to have it polished and re-plated.
And that was how, on a cool Monday evening, Jack Abbot had rolled up to the Pitt without his wedding ring. You were off that night, set to instead take over Collins’ attending shift the next morning, and had bid your husband goodbye with a soft ice-cream flavoured kiss from where you sat curled up on the couch.
The kiss lingered as he walked through the ER doors, bag slung over his shoulder. He had been running his thumb over the empty space on his ring finger, half still thinking about the taste of sweet dairy on your lips as Lena and Dana waved him over. Dana was clearly on her way out, her civilian jacket already over her scrubs. Two unfamiliar women stood beside the charge nurses, each with MEDICAL STUDENT emblazoned on their plastic nametags.
“Amber, Amy, this is Doctor Jack Abbot, our nighttime attending and ER cowboy.” Dana nodded in Jack’s direction as he strode over to the desk. She gave him a knowing, teasing look as the two newcomers took him in. Judging by the way the ginger - Amber - straightened her back and licked her lips, and the way Amy lit up in a shy blush, twirling a strand of platinum blonde hair around her finger, the sight of the older attending had made an impression on them.
“These ladies are our newest medical students and are currently on their emergency department rotation.” Lena continued, glancing over her red reading glasses at Dana. They had seen those looks on more than a few newbies over the years. Jack Abbot just had that effect on people.
“Doctor Abbot, it’s such a pleasure.” Amber smiled, wide and cat-like, extending a thin hand to him. “I have heard such good things about PTMC’s emergency department, and I’m sure you’re the reason for that.”
“We have a good team of nightcrawlers here, I’m just a cog in the machine.” He shook her hand, and then Amy’s, his standard dry, polite smile gracing his face.
Before either medical student could gush further, McKay walked up to Jack, tablet in hand. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she was more than ready to begin hand-over. He greeted her with a smile, eyes crinkling.
“What have you got for me?”
-
The last of the day shift filtered out an hour later, surprisingly on time compared to the usual timeline the liminal space of the ER followed.
“Trouble in paradise, eh boss?” Shen needled with a grin as he came through the ambulance bay door, gesturing at his ring finger, which was just as bare as Jack’s in that moment. As one of your closest friends, you had texted him about the situation the night before, but that wasn’t about to stop him teasing the older man. Jack rolled his eyes.
The night progressed with the same erratic heartbeat it always did. A deeply displeased man came in with a mild GSW to his foot, his friend trailing behind the gurney with a guilty look on his face as he attempted to explain the bizarre, convoluted game they had been playing which had somehow involved a shotgun. Jack oversaw Ellis teaching Amy how to remove buckshot from the wound, the blonde turning to him for approval at every step. She flushed bright pink under the fluorescent hospital lights when the attending gave her a ‘looks good’ and a thumbs up, before leaving the room. Ellis shared a look with Shen as he walked past, poorly hiding the amusement on both of their faces.
An hour later a trio of twenty-something year old women drunkenly stumbled through the door of the ER in a mess of flakey mascara and hair extensions, following their friend who sat crying her eyes out in a wheelchair. It had turned out to be a wrist fracture, likely thanks to the broken bright red heel which now sat in her lap. When Jack strolled in, x-ray results in hand, the tears instantly stopped, replaced by a watery smile. Amber trailed in a moment later.
The group giggled quietly, and not so quietly, among themselves as the attending calmly walked the patient through the fix for her wrist. She nodded along, carefully not making eye contact.
“We’re so glad she’s in such good hands, and biceps!” One of the group sputtered out, being cut off by an elbow to the ribs from the friend sitting next to her, who was a tad more sober - that being a very low bar.
“Amber here is one of our med students and great learner and will be putting the cast on for you today.” Jack offered one of his professionally charming smiles, much to the delight of the tipsy gaggle. Amber’s scrowl at the unabashed flirtation from the party-goer melted away at the praise.
Half an hour and one fairly well completed cast later, the med student was pulled from the treatment room to accompany Ellis for a new case assessment.
“So…could I get your number…just in case I need any further…checkups?” The mixture of painkillers, her girls behind her and the late hour made the dark-haired patient unusually bold, even through the now-dried mascara lines on her cheeks.
“Our charge nurse can find you some urgent care contact numbers,” Jack bit back a smile as she flexed her fingers and checked her range of motion. “You can always come back tomorrow if there ‘s any rubbing or discomfort with the cast - might even meet my wife if you do.” The smile pushed its way through at the mention of you.
At the mention of a wife and the genuine, boyish smile which had appeared on the doctor’s face, the group cooed in unison, a new kind of delight making its way into the room with the information that their handsome doctor had deservedly found his other half.
“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-” The patient hid her face in her unimpeded hand.
“Photos! Show us photos!” She was cut off by one of her friends. “Is she a doctor here too?”
“Sure is. Damn good doctor, better than me.” The man chuckled, pulling out his phone. Outside of what was required by the ER, he wasn’t the most tech-savvy, but the first thing he had done upon getting his new phone was to change his lock screen to a photo of you on your last holiday together - far too long ago now - a large sunhat perched on your head and bright smile on your face.
The girls squealed in collective approval, even the patient forgetting her embarrassment to join in on the comments of ‘power couple’ and ‘oh she’s gorgeous!’.
Half an hour later, discharge documents in hand marked 1.17am, the group made their way out, waving their farewells and chirping their sweet ‘goodbye Doctor Abbot’s. Jack good-heartedly returned their waves, an action which brought a sour expression to Amber’s face.
-
Jack Abbot was typically one of the most business-minded, compartmentalised doctors that the PTMC had to offer. On an ordinary day he left the outside world on the other side of the ER doors and focused his whole self on whatever came his way. Yet, that evening, as the night waned he found his mind floating back to you. You’d be asleep right now, tucked under the small mountain of blankets and sheets which you insisted on when sleeping alone. Somehow, without the band of metal sitting against his skin, he felt lonelier than he had in a long while. He should have just called in sick, he thought with a sigh. He could be enjoying the way you curled up into him in your sleep right now, instead of doing whatever this was.
“You alright darl’?” Lena raised an eyebrow at the man and his left hand. He had been standing at the PC for a moment too long, staring blankly at a chart which didn’t need half the attention he was giving it. Shen had shooed the med students away to eat ‘lunch’ - at 2am - and the ER hit the strange, slow, half-awake lull that the nightcrawlers had come to expect on Monday nights. Jack's left thumb ran over where his ring usually sat, again and again. “You’re not wearing your usual hardware, you piss off our girl?”
“Fuck I hope not.” He snapped out of his train of thought, looked up from the screen and smiling wryly with a shake of his head. “Can thank Robby and his death machine for this.” He held up his hand.
Lena scoffed, stapling the stack of paper before her.
“So the only person beating you up right now is you, I take it?”
He grumbled out an agreement, finally closing the patient file before him and beginning charting another.
“She’s so calm about it. She laughed when I showed her.” He murmured. “It’s just…’s unnatural. Being without it.”
Lena let out a chortle at the attending’s unusually soft confession, patting him on the back as she walked past.
“You’ll be okay, hon’.”
-
The worst of the shift came in the form of a middle-aged driver who had been at an intersection at the wrong time. After an hour of stabilising procedures and near-misses, he lay unconscious on the table in the middle of Trauma 1 in the early hours of the morning, a large gaping wound along the side of his abdomen the last remaining obstacle between him and finally heading up to the ICU. Amber had been pulled in alongside Jack and Jesse, the three of them appropriately gowned and geared up. Jack was already covered in blood, largely thanks to the punctured artery which had been addressed, but this was finally a task which he could take the time to walk the med student through.
“Okay - this is a simple closure, what nylon are we using for this?”
“Uhh…standard 4/0 should do the trick?” She looked up at him through her thick lashes.
“Correct, good.” The attending nodded as Jesse handed her the correct equipment. Amber smiled under her mask.
She began the procedure, Jack correcting her tension on occasion, but otherwise remaining silent, looming over her with a watchful eye.
“Y’know…” the student continued sewing, “it’s unusual to have an attending who isn’t…intimidating.”
“Hm?” Jack didn’t look at her, eyes still on the procedure. Her knots and lines were straight enough for a med student, but that didn’t stop his mind from drifting to the, frankly, picturesque closure jobs you performed. His lip twitched upward beneath his mask - you’d laugh at him describing your work as ‘picturesque’.
“You’re just so…warm and supportive,” Amber continued, Jesse cringing from the corner of the trauma room. “So…available.”
The male nurse made a mental note to be moved back to the day shift.
“I mean - uh…” she caught herself and the lack of filter between her brain and mouth. “You’re very, uh- easy to talk to.”
Jack blinked. He was a good attending, he thought, but you handled med students far better than he typically did. Again he smiled under his mask, eyes crinkling at the thought of you. Fuck he missed his ring.
“Thanks. I think it’s important that we operate as a unit to get the job done.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. Another hour to go before you would finally show up, but this task was finally complete.
“Good job today, kid.” He shed his gown and glasses. “Jesse, make sure that the ICU knows there’s one coming up.”
Jesse half breathed a sigh of relief as the attending left the room, and then half rolled his eyes at the look of smug delight on Amber’s face.
-
In actuality it took less than an hour for you to show up, emerging through the ER doors with your messenger bag slung over one shoulder and cherry-coloured scarf thrown around your neck. In typical fashion you beat the rest of the day shift to being on site, something which you made a mental note to hang over Robby’s head later. Your winter coat sat over your dark scrubs, a paper bag hanging off one hand, and four hot coffees in a cardboard tray in the other. You strolled up to the hub, which was empty save for Amber at a PC, placing the tray on the desk. The chief attending wasn’t around yet to complain about food and drink being outside the breakroom.
“Morning,” you gave Amber a smile. After a beat she looked up from her charting. “You know where Abbot is?”
“Oh, you’re Doordash.” She looked at you and then the tray before her, expression flat. “You can just leave that there, I’ll find Doctor Abbot shortly.”
“No need, thanks Amber.” The man in question appeared behind her, face lit up despite the dark circles now under his eyes. “This is one of our normal night attending,” he introduced you with your full doctorly title, grinning at the way you rolled your eyes at the formality. “She’s filling in for one of the day shift staff today.”
At this point your husband was standing at your side, eyeing the tray before you. He gratefully accepted the cup marked with a ‘J’, taking a sip with a satisfied hum. It was black, medium roast, a drip of cream. Perfect. Jack wanted to kiss you so badly in that moment that it hurt, partially because of the coffee but mainly because of the ache in his heart that the absence of his ring had brought about in your 13 hours apart. But no, in accordance with HR’s conditions on you working together, PDA was to be kept to a minimum while at work.
“I’m glad you’re in early - got something that I need an extra set of eyes on.” His lips curved up in a way that only ever meant trouble. “Would you be able to join me for a moment before we begin handover, doctor?”
Amber had been watching this exchange with a sour look of uncertainty. She knew something was afoot here, but was unable to put her finger on it.
“Can I come?” She blurted out, reminding you both of her presence. “To learn, of course. Doctor Abbot has been so informative today and I am always eager to get ahead.”
“No need, Amber. You finish up and clock out. Help yourself to a pastry if you want.” Jack took the paper bag from your hand and offered it to her. She took it silently, watching on as you followed after the man, throwing your coat over the back of a computer chair as you went.
-
“So what do you have to show me in this empty, ordinary treatment room which just so happens to be at the very end of the south wing, Doctor Abbot?” You grinned as your husband pulled the curtain shut, before stepping into your space.
His hands, calloused, skilled, found your scrub-clad waist, pulling you close and kissing you deeply. He tasted like the sip of coffee he had enjoyed a moment earlier, and a tad more of desperation than he normally did. You melted into it, fingers finding his thick curls.
You finally pulled back to look at your beautiful man, running your ER-short nails down the back of his neck.
“Missed you,” he murmured, voice rough as he buried his face in the dip between your neck and shoulder. Jack inhaled deeply, humming softly as he savoured the scent of you and the comically expensive lotion which you lathered yourself in before slipping into your scrubs. It was to stop your skin from drying out under PTMC’s constant air conditioning, you had explained the first time he watched you get ready for work. And he was never one to complain about something which somehow made you even more edible than you were naturally.
“We’ve been apart what, 12 hours? What happened to my strong, independent man?” He could feel you smile through your faux-protest.
“13, actually.” Jack pulled himself away from your neck to graze his lips over the crown of your head.
“Oh of course you’re missing me then. So many millennia have passed, lover mine.” You teased, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him for another kiss. He could taste the sugar of the danish you had had for breakfast that morning.
“How about…” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers finding their way under the very hem of your scrub top. Your skin was warm and familiar under his touch. “...you call out today-”
“What the fuck!”
A feminine screech split the moment. Amber stood before the two of you, having pulled back the curtain just a smidge. She looked mortified, pulling the privacy screen back once more and booking it for the central hub. Jack groaned, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You laughed.
-
The two of you made your way back to the hub a few minutes later. You had slung your stethoscope around your neck, looking every bit the professional you were. Likewise, Jack didn’t have a hair out of place, looking down at a tablet as he calmly explained what cases were being carried over by you into the day shift. You had shared a giggling, conspiratorial look in the hallway a moment earlier - you were nothing if not experts at this.
Amber stood at one of the desks, her back to you. She was whispering loudly to Ellis, her voice sharp and irritated. You caught Ellis’ eye as you walked over, and she threw up a peace sign in your direction, one of the brown paper coffee cups being cradled in her other hand.
“-and they were all over each other! It was shocking!” The med student hissed. Ellis nodded slowly, taking a sip from her cup.
“So you saw Doctor Abbot…involved…with another member of the staff?” The senior resident queried, voice dry.
“Yes! It was absurd.”
“Was it that staff member?” Ellis gestured to where you stood, looking down at a patient’s chart as you listened in on the conversation, unable to fully hide your smile.
Amber nodded emphatically.
“So you…saw Doctor Abbot…kissing his wife?”
“His wife!?” The ginger looked incredulous, spinning around to take in where you and Jack stood. “He has a wife? Her!?”
Jack sighed where he stood, leaning in as he handed you the tablet, his shift now over. You smothered a giggle with a faux yawn, hand over your mouth. Your husband pressed a kiss to your forehead, eyes flicking up to meet Amber’s in a very deliberate, very rare, work treat. She shrunk back at the look.
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x nurse!girlfriend!reader
Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, verbal aggression, age gap (20 years age difference), violence, argument, immature behavior, blood, injury, crying.
Summary: what begins as a reprimand spirals into a painful argument, exposing the fragile fault lines of your relationship.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
.‧₊˚ part 2 ; fixing us (soon)
🎀 Based on a part of this request 🎀
You knew you shouldn't had done it.
It was reckless but it has to be done.
Jack hadn't said a word since he pulled you out of Trauma 2 by the arm.
He stood with his forehead pressed against the door, his hands on the door, breathing heavily, trying to hold back everything he had to say about what you had done. Struggling between his professional side and his lover side.
The age gap between the two of you had always been something you both navigated quietly, the twenty years of wear, loss and hard earned medical instincts that gave him those faint silver threads at his temples.
Usually, that difference felt like a safe harbor.
But tonight, right now, it felt like a burden.
"Jack-" you started, your voice trembling as you held the bleeding wound on your forearm.
"Don't," he snapped, his voice was cold, sharp, and vibrating with danger. You had never seen him direct at you that way.
He finally turned to face you, stepping into the center of the room. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle jabbed against his skin.
"What were you thinking?" he asked, pointing a finger directly at you, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "Answer me. What in God's name was going through your head back there?"
"The, the patient had a knife! He was escalating, and security was at the other end of the floor-"
"So you stepped in front of him?!" Jack raised his voice, a sharp laugh bursting from his throat before turning deadly serious again. "You stepped into the reach of an intoxicated patient holding a fucking knife, bare handed? Without gear, without training, without waiting five bloody seconds for back-up?!"
"He was going to hurt a nurse!" you shouted back, the adrenaline still coursing hot through your veins. "I was right there! I reacted!"
"You didn't react, you acted like a reckless child with a savior complex!"
The words hit you. You flinched, the sting of the insult cutting deeper than the actual slice on your arm.
Jack instantly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose. But when he opened his eyes again, the fury hadn't faded, it had just shifted into something far darker, laced with terror.
"You could have been killed," he whispered, his voice dropping, trying to calm himself down. "Do you understand that? One inch to the right, one sudden movement, and he would have stab you on the chest. And I would have been dragging your body onto a gurney. I would have been the one running the code on my own girlfriend."
"I made a decision-"
"It was a stupid decision!" Jack slammed his hand down on the metal table. You flinched, with a mix of fear and hurt. "It was completely undeniably reckless! You aren't invincible. You think you're helping, but all you did was put yourself in fatal danger!"
He ran both hands through his hair, pacing the narrow length of the room. The angry on his face was agonizing to look at.
"This isn't a fucking videogame, he stabs you and you're gone," Jack murmured, his voice cracking slightly as he stopped pacing, looking at you with eyes that were red rimmed and filled with agony. "You can't do something so impossibly stupid, so utterly careless with your own life..."
He paused, swallowing hard, his chest heaving.
"I hate it when you're like this" he breathed, the words heavy and devastating. "How easily I could lose you because you don't respect how fast a life can end in this place."
Tears finally welled up in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. "Jack, please..."
"No," he said softly, holding up a hand, refusing to let you touch him even as his own hands shook violently. "I need you to listen to me. I love you, baby. I love you so much it frightens me every damn day. I cannot watch you throw yourself into a fire just to prove you're brave. If you ever, ever, do something like that again, I won't be able to keep doing this."
He stood there for a moment, watching you cry.
Then, he reached into the cabinet, pulled out a strip of sterile bandages and an antiseptic wipe, and walked slowly over to you. "Come here,"
As his hand brushed against your skin, you pulled your arm back sharply, taking a sudden step away from him.
"Don't," you choked out, wiping the tears from your cheek with your shoulder. "I can do it myself."
Jack stopped, his hand hovering in mid air. A deep frustration crossed his features, pulling his brow down tight.
He had reached his absolute limit, the adrenaline and sheer terror of the night twisting his patience thin.
"Don't be immature," Jack said, his voice dropping into a firm tone. "Stop acting hysterical. You're bleeding, sit down and let me fix it."
The words immature and hysterical sliced through you, burning far worse than the cut on your arm.
The built up fear, the humiliation of being berated like a child, and the weight of his anger all exploded at once. You were done with him tonight.
"I said I can do it!" you gasped out, your voice cracking into a choked sob. You shoved at his chest, hard enough to pus him and make the boundaries clear. "Just go away! Leave me alone!"
Jack froze, taking a step back, shocked by the pain in your voice. But before he could say another word, the door opened.
Outside, Shen was by the doorway, listening. When he heard your voice, he step in. He took in the scene instantly: you backed from Jack, chest heaving and sobbing hysterically, and Jack standing over you with bandages in hand, looking stormily defensive.
Shen didn't hesitate for a second.
"Jack," Shen said, his voice was completely non negotiable as he stepped directly between him and you. "Out. Now."
"Shen, this isn't-" Jack started as he looked at him.
"I said out, Abbot," Shen interrupted, pointing firmly toward the open door. "You're done in here. I'll take care of her."
Jack looked from Shen back to you. You wouldn't meet his eyes, your head turned away as quiet sobs tore from your chest.
For a second, the anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by the realization of how he had just hurt you.
With a tight nod, Jack swallowed hard, set the bandage strip down and walked out without another word.
The rest of the night shift passed in a cold fog.
Shen had cleaned and bandaged the cut on your arm, giving you a little speech before sending you back out to work.
For the remaining four hours, you actively avoided Trauma Bays, took the long way around the nurse's station, and kept your head down whenever his figure in scrubs moved through the hallway.
Jack did the same. Whenever you were in the same general area, his presence felt impossibly heavy, but he never approached.
When 7 AM finally rolled around, you clocked out, feeling bruised down to your bones. You walked out to the parking garage, cold morning air biting at your face.
You half expected him to have left without you, but there he was.
Jack was leaning against the passenger side of his car, holding two paper cups of coffee from the cafeteria. He always drove you home after your shift. It was a rhythm you’d built together, a quiet ritual of transitioning from the madness of the ER back to normal life.
Neither of you spoke on the drive. The silence in the car felt suffocating.
When he finally pulled up outside your apartment building, Jack cut the engine. He didn't unbuckle immediately. Instead, he rested his hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield before turning to look at you when you opened the car door to leave.
"Can we talk?" he asked quietly as you where already walking to the building with wet eyes. "Please."
You turned around, nodding slowly. You didn't want to bring him inside, so you two stayed in the hallway outside your apartment door, key resting heavy in your palm.
Jack stood a step away, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.
"I shouldn't have raised my voice at you," Jack began, taking a breath and looking at youy. "And I shouldn't have... used those words. I was... terrified. I was out of my mind with fear, watching you put yourself in front of a blade like that. But I handled it wrong."
You swallowed down the lump in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. "You spoke to me like I was a child, Jack. You called me immature and hysterical."
"Because you were acting on pure emotion!" Jack said, stepping a fraction closer, though his tone was defensive despite his apology. "You're a talented healthcare worker, but you lack the experience to know when a situation is beyond your pay grade. You rushed in without thinking about the consequences. That is impulse. That is a young and reckless reaction, and I can't just ignore it because it hurts your feelings to hear it."
His words settled over you heavily.
He is apologizing for how he said it, but not for what he thought.
Standing there, looking into his eyes, you saw it clearly. He didn't see an equal who had made a high stress judgment call in a chaotic trauma center. He saw a young, naive girl he had to manage and protect from her own foolishness.
The age gap between you wasn't just a number to him right now; it was a wall he was using to put himself above you.
A cold clarity washed over the anger, leaving behind an ache.
"You really see me like that, don't you?" you whispered, the realization pulling a broken breath from you. "Just a young, immature girl who doesn't know any better."
Jack blinked, panic entering his eyes by the calm of your voice. "That's not what I'm saying-"
"It is," you interrupted, shaking your head gently. "You think I'm too young to understand the risks, and you think you're the only one in this relationship who has any wisdom. Profesional and personal talking."
"I'm trying to keep you alive!" Jack snapped softly, reaching out to touch your arm, but dropping his hand when you took a small step back. "I care about you. I love you. But I've been doing this for longer than you've been in medicine. I know how this ends when people get careless."
"I know you love me," you said, tears brimming in your eyes again. "And I love you, too."
Jack let out a breath, his shoulders dropping slightly in relief. "Okay. Good. Then let's just go inside, get some sleep, and-"
"No," you said firmly, lifting your chin. "We need space. I need space."
Jack froze, his forehead furrowing. "What does that mean?"
"I'm not breaking up with you. But I see how you see me during some shifts. I'm going to ask to be switched to day shift for a few days," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the tremble in your hands. "I need to work without you staring over my shoulder waiting for me to to fail and you need time to decide if you actually respect me as an adult, or if you just see me as someone you have to babysit."
Jack stared at you, stunned into silence. For the first time all night, the authority drained out of his posture, replaced by vulnerability.
"Day shift?" he repeated quietly, the reality sinking in. "We won't see each other at work. We won't even have the same sleep schedule."
"I know," you replied feeling your heart break and a tear escaping your eyes. You turned the key in the lock and opened your apartment door. "I don't liked how you talked to me tonight. I understand your point but I think that's what we need right now."
You stepped inside, but paused.
You looked back at him standing alone in the hallway. Despite everything, the sadness and terror in his eyes was still raw.
You leaned forward, rising on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss against his cheek.
Jack’s breath hitched. His hand shot forward, wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you against him so suddenly it felt like a silent plea. He squeezed your waist with a desperate warmth, his whole body shaking as if he were trying to convince himself you were still whole and unhurt. For a fleeting second, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his uneven breath felt hot against your skin.
He wanted to hold on. He wanted to pull you back inside the safety of his arms, but the unspoken wall of his condescension still stood cold and immovable between you.
You gently placed your hand over his wrist and slowly pushed back.
His grip loosened with agonizing slowness, his fingers lingering on your waist as if letting go was tearing something out of him. He lifted his head, his eyes glossy, and completely shattered by the realization that his own need to protect you had pushed you away.
"Get some sleep, Jack," you whispered, your voice breaking on his name. "I will... I will text you later. Okay?"
His hand finally slipped off your side.
He didn't speak. He couldn't. He just nodded.
You stepped into the safety of your apartment and pulled the door shut. The click echoed down the hallway, leaving him standing in the cold alone. Regretting all he has said.
Synopsis: Jack comes home to find that his sweet girl accidentally bled all over his sheets. She thinks it's the end of the world. Jack thinks his girl is in pain and needs taking care of. They have very different priorities.
Content: periods, comfort fic, afab!reader, reader is a crybaby (twin), lots of nicknames, fluff, jack’s disabled, constant reassurance, non-sexual praise, established relationship, reader has hair long enough to brush & wash, nudity, sickening amount of fluff, amateur fic writing
A/N: my first fic! kind proof read / not really. please be nice, and if its shit don't tell me lol. this was entirely self-indulgent bc my period is kicking my ass :') enjoy!
Jack knew something was wrong the minute he walked through the door.
Usually, his sweet girl was curled up on the couch, fighting to wake up, using all of her strength to sleepily pad her way towards the equally tired man the moment she laid her eyes on him. A lazy half-smile had been on his face the entire drive home. He'd spent it imagining the million little kisses she’d press across his face while he stood there, still somehow surprised that someone as precious as her loved him back.
He was greeted by the same comforting calm of his town home, a stark contrast from the electric buzz of the PTMC. Jack looks to the couch… and it’s empty.
While part of him wanted to panic a little, he knew better. He furrowed his unruly eyebrows as he dropped his things slowly, making his way to the bedroom. He knew she was here somewhere. Her car was in the driveway, and could see the spare key he gave her on the kitchen table.
His shoulders hunched over with the exhaustion only the night shift could bring, as he turned the corner and saw her frame in bed. Jack's shoulders relaxed, despite the weight of the past 13 hours. A tired smile found its way onto his face as he took in her sleeping silhouette breathing slowly, her upper half covered in his navy blue duvet.
Then he heard his sweet girl whimper, like a wounded animal.
He called her name lightly; no response.
Jack walked towards her, trying to ignore the dull ache of his prosthetic after a long shift. He watches her sleeping frame lightly curl in on herself, a light groan escaping her lips.
The doctor in him does an immediate intake, scanning over her. That’s when he sees it: the small, dark crimson patch below her, following the trail between her legs. It’s fresh, almost concealed from his eyes from the blackout curtains of his room.
His poor girl.
He turned on the lamp, on his bedside table before Jack’s calloused hands brushed her sweat-slick hair away from her forehead, her body slowly relaxing at his touch.
“Baby, I’m home,” he whispered.
Her back arches lightly as she begins to stir, eyes fluttering as Jack coaxes her back from the land of dreams.
“Hi Jackie,” she mumbles, voice dripping in sleep.
She stretches a little, smiling up at her man, before taking in her surroundings. She opens her mouth to ask Jack about his shift before feeling the warm damp feeling between her legs. She looks down and sees red before going cold, heart sinking.
She freezes before sitting up quickly, immediately grabbing at the bunched up duvet in an attempt to cover up the stain.
“Oh my God… no, no, no…,” she murmured, her eyes starting to sting with embarrassment.
“Hey, hey. Breathe,” Jack’s silky voice enveloped her as he moved to sit on the bed, petting her head. His heart broke a little watching his girl panic quietly, making it his mission to quell her anxiety.
“I bled all over your bed, fuck.”
Hot tears begin to fill her vision. She tried to blink them away, feeling even worse that she made such a mess in her boyfriend’s bed, and is somehow making it about her. In the back of her mind she was praying to whoever would listen, hoping the universe would show her some mercy and swallow her whole.
“Honey, it really is ok—”
Jack continued to comfort the poor girl, his large hand cupping her cheek as he wiped away some rogue tears. His attempts at calming her are interrupted by her panicked babbling.
“I’m really, really sorry Jack.” Her lip quivered, trying to remain calm and failing miserably.
While their relationship wasn’t particularly new, she still hadn’t dealt with… this, over the months they’ve been together. At least not at his place. She felt the dull ache of her hips begin the bloom, her embarrassment doing little to distract her from the sudden sharp pain of her cramps.
Jack’s voice broke through her anxious fog, as he bent down to meet her eyes.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“Your sheets…”
“They’re just sheets, baby. I’ll wash them.”
“This is so embarrassing.”
“For who?”
She avoids his gaze, too busy racking her mind over and over on how to make it all better, than to respond to Jack’s question. His hand moves to lightly pinch her chin between his pointer finger and thumb.
“Pretty girl, please look at me.”
Her watery eyes reluctantly meet his as he guides her head gently.
“There you are,” he said lovingly, his handsome half smile blooming as she followed his request.
“I feel gross.”
Jack immediately frowned at that.
“Babygirl you are far from gross to me right now.”
She swallowed hard, ears heating up at his words. “But… I ruined your bed. And your morning.”
“No, sweetheart. You got your period. Those are two very different things.” His voice lowered to a whisper before continuing, "You haven't ruined a thing. Not the sheets. Not my morning. Certainly not you, pretty girl.”
Maybe it’s the way Jack is treating her with such care, the sheer humiliation of this moment, or the amount of hormones flowing through her, but the poor girl can’t stop crying. It’s not even particularly dramatic, but it does feel equally as pathetic as she imagines sobbing in front of him would. Her breath is ragged, her lip quivers uncontrollably, and her brows shake from the strain of holding her frown. She sniffles, and wipes at her tears like she’s trying to will it all to go away.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Why not?” Jack at this point is equally devastated at the meek sound of the woman in front of him, and confused as to why she’s so embarrassed about something so natural.
“I've worked in an emergency department for over twenty years. It’s going to take more than a little blood to scare me off.”
“I’m still really sorry. I didn’t know it was coming…” she hiccuped.
“Irregular cycles happen honey, I get it.”
“And you just got off of work—”
“Exactly, so let me do my job. Let me take care of my girl, ok?”
A deep frown etched itself further onto her now splotchy, tear-stained face.
“I was gonna make you breakfast.” Her voice cracked a little at the end of her confession. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”
With a tilt of his head, his crow’s feet spread wide as Jack smiled in pure disbelief. How did he manage to get such a sweet girl? What could he have possibly done in a past life to deserve her?
“C’mere.”
He doesn’t wait for her to follow his direction, but immediately scoops her up into his big, freckle kissed arms, holding her like he’s trying to put her back together, one gentle touch at a time.
The exhaustion from her own emotions releases as soon as Jack has a hold on her. He manhandles her a little in the way she needs when she’s overwhelmed. Her head instinctually moves to hide in the crease of his neck, finding comfort in the scent of amber, sandalwood, and something else she could only describe as distinctly Jack.
She feels his slender nose bury his way into her messy hair, as he takes a deep inhale. He begins to lightly rock her in his lap before placing a few chaste kisses along her hairline.
“My sweet girl…” Jack coos, his lips brushing the crown of her head.
She buries her face a little deeper into his neck, focusing on the sound of his breathing, trying to match its rhythm.
“Right now I need you to let me take care of you. I know you’re embarrassed, but humor me anyway.”
She sniffles before slowly, readjusting her face to stare up at him, nodding once.
“Good girl.”
A shy smile and a blush appear on her face. Jack lets out a small laugh at her shyness.
“Can I ask you a couple of doctor questions?” He asks, cupping her face once more.
“Mhm.” She quietly gives permission.
“Ok sweetheart, scale of one to ten, how’s the pain?”
She thinks to herself for a moment.
“A seven. Maybe seven and a half.”
Jack’s hand moves to her tummy, rubbing lightly and moving to massage her hips.
“Where does it hurt the most, baby?”
“My hips and lower back. Like I’m being stabbed.” She groans sarcastically as another strike of pain hits her pelvic area. “My head hurts too.”
Jack gave a small nod, his expression settling into something calm and certain.
Wordlessly, he stood, gathering her into his arms as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Judging by the smile tugging at his lips, it might've been his favorite part.
“Jaaack!” The girl squealed in surprise, tightly gripping his shoulders and once again hiding her face in the pretty creases in his neck, his stubble tickling her.
“Shhhh pretty girl. You said I can take care of you, so let me,” he stated, voice strong and firm, allowing no room for argument.
She didn’t argue. She felt herself melt a little further into his chest, cheeks warming despite everything. There was something unfairly comforting about the quiet confidence in his voice.
He made his way towards the bathroom, using his elbow to flick on the light switch. The way his beautiful girlfriend melted into him made the ache in his leg completely worthwhile.
He gently set her on her feet before helping her sit on the closed lid of the toilet. Jack crouched in front of her, bringing himself to eye level. He held her waist as he looked into her red-rimmed eyes. Her face was puffy from crying, but Jack thought it made her look like an angel. He couldn’t have dreamt her up if he tried.
Rubbing his thumbs comfortingly against her torso, the only thing on his mind now was making his girl feel better.
"Here's what we're gonna do," he said softly. "I'm going to get these clothes and the sheets in the wash. While I do that, I want you to use the bathroom, okay? Then I'll help you get cleaned up.”
His girl played with her fingers in her lap, still feeling shy, but nodded at his instructions. She nibbled at her lip a little before squeaking out a “Thank you Jackie.”
“Anytime pretty girl.”
Jack leaned forward, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of the old U.S. army shirt she'd borrowed from him. He stole one slow, gentle kiss, turning the girl into a puddle under his touch. This kiss was slow and full of care, feeling like they were in their own little world.
The couple only parted when Jack moved to pull the shirt off of her frame.
“Arms up for me, sweetheart.”
Once she was naked, Jack stood up and gathered her clothes, reassuring her that he would be right back.
The now naked girl took a moment to sit in the silence of Jack’s simple bathroom.
She stared at the closed door for a moment before letting out a long, shaky breath. The embarrassment hadn't disappeared, but it no longer sat quite so heavy in her chest. She wasn't sure she believed Jack completely yet... that she hadn’t made some earth shattering mistake, but listening to the quiet purr of his AC, she believed him enough.
Slowly, she took care of herself, wiping away the blood smeared on her thighs, wincing as another cramp rolled through her hips like a storm. The exhausted girl starts to sweat, feeling like there is a live wire under her skin. The light is too bright, her hips ache, her head is two seconds away from having cartoon birds float above her.
By the time she gathered the strength to stand, putting her weight onto the nearby bathroom counter, she zeroed in on the familiar sounds of Jack moving through the house.
The washing machine rumbled to life. Fresh sheets snapped crisply over the mattress. Cabinets opened and closed with practiced ease. The kettle clicked on. Somewhere between remaking the bed and digging through the medicine cabinet, she heard him quietly ordering breakfast from the little diner they'd started calling their place. He didn't even have to ask what she wanted anymore.
It was oddly comforting listening to him put the house back together while she attempted to do the same thing to herself.
There’s a soft knock on the door that interrupts the quiet.
"Can I come in, sweetheart?"
"Mhm."
Jack nudged the door open with his shoulder, his arms already full. Fresh pajamas were draped over one forearm, a fluffy towel over the other. Balanced carefully in one hand was a glass of ice water, two ibuprofen resting in his palm.
A soft smile spread across his face as he found her waiting for him. There was something deeply intimate about moments like this.
"There's my girl."
She gave him a tired smile in return, now standing, gently wrapping her arms around herself.
Jack crossed the room, setting everything on the counter before turning back to her.
"Open."
She blinked, similar to a deer in headlights.
"What?"
He extended his palm between them.
“Medicine. For the cramps. Open.”
Her lips pulled into a small pout as she eyed the pills suspiciously, like he'd just handed her poison. Rationally, she knew they would ease the cramps eventually. Unfortunately, nausea wasn't known for being particularly rational. Her stomach rolled at the mere thought of swallowing anything right now.
“… I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“They’re huge.”
“They’re tiny.” Jack smirked at her antics, managing to still be spoiled despite the pain she was in. Her attitude was his own fault, so he couldn’t be mad. If anything, he was getting more and more lovestruck by the second.
“Jack…” the girl whined.
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. She folded her arms in mock hurt and protest. Jack lifts his free hand to pet her hair away from her face.
“C’mon honey, doctor’s orders.”
That only made her pout some more.
“This is an abuse of your license, Dr. Abbot.”
The cheshire cat had nothing on the grin Jack was wearing right now.
"I’m pretty sure encouraging my girlfriend to take ibuprofen falls well within my scope of practice.”
“… I still don’t want to. Don’t want to throw up.”
Jack stepped closer until they were nearly touching. He closes the distance, nudging his sloped nose against her own, breath fanning her face. His voice softened at the concern in her voice.
“You won’t. Big drink of water first." He grabbed a glass of water from the counter and placed it in her hands. "Then the pills."
She sighed dramatically, shoulders deflating, eyes closing in defeat.
She pushes up on her tip toes to kiss him gently, before taking the pills out of his palm. Doing as she was told, she grimaced dramatically once she'd swallowed them.
"Ugh."
"Atta girl."
"Try not to look so pleased with yourself."
“Can’t help it. You’re too good for me.”
He lightly taps her ass with his hand, and kisses her cheek before maneuvering her body to switch places with his.
“Time to shower.”
Jack pulls away the shower curtain, moving to sit on the edge of the tub. Steam begins to bloom through the bathroom as he turns on the water, sticking his hand under the faucet to check the temperature. He adjusts the flow until the water settled into a gentle, steady warmth.
"There," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Perfect."
His girl watched him in awe as he made himself bare before his fingers found the buckle of his prosthetic with practiced ease. She watched quietly as he unfastened the socket before setting the leg carefully against the wall.
She'd watched him do it countless times, but something about it always made her pause. It was one of the few moments where he let himself be taken apart in front of someone else.
Before she could drift too far into thought, he looked up.
"C'mere, sweetheart."
She helped him stand up off the edge of the tub, step into the spray of water before settling into this built in shower seat. She followed suit stepping carefully over the lip of the shower, immediately sighing as the warm water kissed her skin.
Jack patted his thick thigh and opened his arms.
Without a word, she settled onto his lap sideways, one arm looping around his shoulders as she tucked her face into his neck. The heat of the shower seeped into both of their aching muscles, and for the first time all morning, the knot in her hips loosened ever so slightly. Jack rested one hand against the small of her back, the other rubbing slow circles over her hip. The tips of his fingers messed with the ends of her hair, as they began to curl from the heat and humidity of the room.
"Better?"
"...A little."
"I'll take a little."
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The water drummed softly against the tile and their bodies while he simply held her, content to let the warmth and the medicine begin doing their jobs. She pressed kiss after kiss against his neck, and he traces sweet nothings into her skin, like it could magically will all of her pain away.
Eventually, Jack reached for the bottle of body wash.
"Mind if I help?" He mumbles against the crown of her head.
She nodded against his shoulder.
His movements were unhurried, almost reverent. He worked the soap into a soft lather before gently washing away the dried sweat and tears from her skin, careful around the tenderness in her stomach and hips. The room filled with the scent of citrus, a bright clean scent he bought for her when she started spending the night. Every touch of his hands asked a silent question, every pause waiting to see if she needed him to stop.
She couldn't remember the last time someone had treated her body with so much patience. That alone made her eyes well up again. Thankfully the billows of steam and the spray of water hid her secret from the gentle man cradling her.
When he reached for the shampoo, she smiled.
"Jack..."
"What?"
"I can wash my own hair."
"I know."
His fingers disappeared into her curls anyway, scratching lightly at her scalp until she melted with an involuntary sigh.
"There it is," he teased. "Knew that'd get you."
After he rinsed the shampoo, thoroughly checking to make sure none got in her eyes, Jack went to put the bottle back on the shelf. The girl caught his wrist in her hand.
"Your turn." She said, like it was only fair that she returned the favor.
Jack blinked.
"Sweetheart—"
"You've been on your feet for thirteen hours." She gently took the bottle from his hand. "Humor me anyway,” she teased, repeating his words from earlier.
Jack's mouth opened to protest before closing just as quickly. There wasn't much fight left in him after his shift, and truthfully, he didn't want to deny her this. Not when she was looking at him like he hung the moon just for her. Which he would, by the way.
"...Okay," he relented, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She shifted carefully to straddle his lap before hesitating, her hands coming to rest lightly against his shoulders as she hovered momentarily.
"...Jack?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
Her eyes dropped between them.
"I'm sorry if I... get blood on you."
The apology came out so quietly it was almost lost beneath the steady patter of the shower.
Jack's brows knitted together for only a second before he reached up, cupping her damp cheek.
"Honey." His thumb swept gently across her skin. "We're literally in the shower."
A tiny laugh escaped her as she gave him a sheepish look.
"And even if we weren't..." He smiled, pushing her hips down to meet his, forehead resting against hers. "I'd much rather have you in my lap than worry about a little blood."
Her shoulders softened.
"I love you, Jackie.”
“I love you more, sweet girl.”
She gave him a languid kiss, his tongue swirling against hers before she pulled back to wet his salt-and-pepper curls. Her fingers were meticulous in combing carefully through each lock until they were slicked back from his face. Fuck, he was so pretty.
A small amount of shampoo was rubbed into a rich lather between her hands before she worked it gently into his hair. Her fingertips scratched slow, deliberate circles against his scalp, lingering at the base of his neck where the day's tension had settled. Between each scratch of his scalp, his girl pressed kisses on the apples of his cheeks, his angular jaw, and anywhere else she could reach from this position without much effort.
Jack's eyes drifted shut almost immediately at the feeling. His hands massaged the swell of her hips, and he relished in the feeling of her soft tummy pressing against his. Jack couldn't remember the last time someone had washed his hair, or took care of him like this.
He'd long since adapted to doing nearly everything himself. But there was something impossibly tender about surrendering such an ordinary task to the woman he loved. Every careful stroke through his graying curls, every gentle scratch of her nails against his scalp, every ounce of attention she poured into him whispered the same thing she'd been trying to tell him all morning:
Let me take care of you, too.
A quiet hum escaped his chest before he could stop it.
She smiled to herself.
"Good?"
He cracked one eye open just enough to look at her.
"Dangerously."
She finishes rinsing his hair, watching the suds flow down his neck and disappear between their touching chests. She drags her hand down his face before tipping his chin up, admiring the clean silver strands now curling tighter from the steam.
"You're so handsome, you know that?" She whispered with a light tilt to her voice.
Jack smiled lazily. "Hm. I've been told."
His hand moves up from her hip to brush the side of her breast lovingly.
"Not nearly enough."
She kissed him once. Then again. Then a third time just because she could. His hands pulled her impossibly close, like if he tried hard enough they could merge into one. Not that he’d mind one bit.
"Feeling better?" he asked between kisses.
"Mhm."
"Good. Was starting to miss my girl."
She laughed into his mouth, stealing one lingering kiss before bumping her nose against his.
"I’m back."
After a few more minutes of hushed ‘I love you’s’ and gentle caresses under steam, a shiver rippled through her before she could stop it. Jack felt it immediately where she rested against him, his hands instinctively rubbing a little more warmth into the small of her back.
"Cold?" he asked softly.
She gave a sleepy nod against his shoulder.
"A little bit."
He reached behind him, fingers searching for the faucet before twisting it shut. The steady hiss of water faded until all that remained was the soft drip from the shower head and the sound of their breathing.
"Guess that's our cue."
Neither of them moved.
She stayed tucked against him for another few heartbeats, content to listen to the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Jack rested his cheek against the crown of her head, planting one absentminded kiss into her damp curls.
"We're gonna wrinkle," he murmured.
"You already are."
That made Jack smack her ass a little sharper this time, making her giggle in surprise.
“Brat.”
“You love it.”
"...You've got me there."
Reluctantly, she untangled herself from his lap and stepped carefully onto the bathmat. Jack followed more deliberately, bracing one hand against the grab bar as he eased himself onto the edge of the tub before reaching for the towel he'd left waiting.
Before he could unfold it, gentle fingers stole it from his hands. He watched her with soft eyes.
"You spoil me."
She looked up with a grin.
"I learned from the best."
She draped the oversized towel over his shoulders before gently rubbing the moisture from his hair, careful not to muss the silver curls she'd just washed more than necessary. The towel moved down over his neck and broad shoulders, lingering where the muscles still carried the weight of the night.
Her touch was slower now than it had been in the shower. Less about cleaning him. More about loving him the way he'd loved her all morning.
She knelt carefully in front of him, drying his good leg before lifting the towel to the smooth skin of his residual limb with the same tenderness he'd shown her only minutes earlier.
The moment she finished he wordlessly grabbed another towel, wrapping it around her shoulders until she disappeared inside it, smiling to himself when only her nose peeked out from the fluffy fabric.
"There."
She giggled at his actions. "I look ridiculous."
"You look adorable."
"You could at least say mysterious. It’s much cooler."
"I'll let you know if you ever pull it off."
She gasped in fake shock.
"You wound me, Dr. Abbott."
"Mm, I'll make a note of that in your chart."
She dissolved into laughter, the bright sound bouncing off the tile. God, he'd never get over the sound of her elation. His favorite sound in the world.
Jack moved himself from the edge of the tub to the closed seat of the toilet, reaching for the clean pair of boxer briefs he'd left on the counter earlier. Balancing easily on the support bar he had installed, he stepped into them before easing himself back onto the closed toilet lid. Without the prosthetic, moving was slower, more deliberate, but his girl noticed how little it seemed to bother him anymore. Years of practice had turned adaptation into routine.
Once Jack was dressed, he stood up, steading himself on the counter.
"I need to grab a couple things from the bedroom."
She frowned.
"I can—"
He was already shaking his head as he reached behind her and the bathroom door where a pair of forearm crutches leaned against the wall. Slipping his arms into the cuffs had become second nature years ago.
“Sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”
He kisses her on his way out. She watched him disappear down the hallway with the familiar rhythmic thunk of the crutches against hardwood.
A few moments later he returned carrying a small bundle tucked beneath one arm.
"I come bearing gifts."
She looked down to find one of his faded Army shirts, a fresh pair of cotton underwear, a pad, and a pair of fuzzy socks she'd accidentally claimed as her own months ago.
She pouts, cooing at her boyfriend’s thoughtfulness and care for her.
Jack couldn't help but smile as he helped her step into the fresh underwear, kneeling just long enough to smooth the fabric back into place. He pressed the pad into her waiting hand before turning politely toward the sink, giving her a moment of privacy.
When she quietly announced she was ready, he pulled one of his faded Army shirts over her head, laughing softly as the sleeves swallowed her hands once again. A pair of fuzzy socks disappeared onto her feet soon after, earning him another sleepy smile that made every ache from his shift worthwhile.
Jack leaned down to steal one lingering kiss, his forehead resting against hers for just a moment before lacing their fingers together.
Breakfast was waiting on the porch by the time they wandered into the kitchen, still wrapped in oversized clothes and damp hair. They ate curled together on the couch beneath a blanket, absentmindedly trading bites from each other's plates, feeding one another while morning sunlight slowly spilled across the hardwood floors.
Somewhere between the last sip of coffee and the final bite of pancakes, Jack felt her growing heavier against his shoulder.
He smiled, gathered her into his arms one last time, waking her up only to take her back to the freshly made bed. Fresh sheets crinkled softly beneath them as Jack settled in next to her, gathering his girl against his chest like he had a hundred times before. His arm found its familiar place around her waist, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against the cotton of her shirt.
She stared at the morning light spilling through the curtains for a long moment before speaking.
"...I'm sorry I cried so much."
Jack frowned immediately.
"Hey."
He gently touched her face until she was looking at him, brushing one last damp curl away from her face.
"I need you to listen to me."
She nodded.
"You never have to apologize to me for something your body does."
Her eyes shimmered again.
"But it was so messy..."
He smiled sadly, his thumb stroking across her cheek.
"Sweetheart... periods are messy." He shrugged one shoulder. "Life's messy."
His forehead found hers.
"You aren't."
She swallowed hard.
”You're not gross." Another kiss to her forehead. "You're not embarrassing." A kiss to the tip of her nose. "You're not a burden. Not to me."
His hand slipped beneath hers, lacing their fingers together over her stomach. "You're just my girl. I’d do anything for you.”
The words hit somewhere deep inside her, loosening the last little knot of shame she'd been carrying all morning.
"So the next time this happens..." he murmured, "I want you to tell me. I'll wash the sheets, order breakfast, hold you through the cramps..." He smiled, warm and certain. "Whatever you need."
"...Every time?"
Jack looked at her like the answer should've been obvious.
"Every. Single. Time." He punctuated every word with a kiss to her delicate mouth. She tucked herself beneath his chin again, letting out the deepest breath she'd taken all day.
"Love you, Jackie."
His lips brushed her hair one last time.
"I know, sweetheart. I love you, too. Always will."
summary: Jack Abbot has one very expensive habit: Spoiling his girlfriend.
𝒘 — Jack Abbot & Fem! Reader ⟢ ( 1k-ish ) proofread. age gap. (not mentioned, but r is like 25-30.) established relationship. fluff.
Dior, Miu Miu, Tom Ford, Chanel, and Prada are all brands that have somehow invaded your bedroom. Perfumes stacked neatly on a sterling silver stand on your dresser. Charlotte Tilbury palettes on your vanity, and Tiffany diamonds sparkling on your jewelry tray.
Despite your best efforts to tell him you really don’t need any of it, Jack Abbot buys you quite literally everything you show the tiniest amount of interest in.
It isn’t that you can’t afford it, you absolutely can. Years of medical school and brutal residency shifts had earned you a salary you were more than proud of, which made Jack’s habit of paying for everything simultaneously frustrating and endearing.
It started small. You’d pause a second too long in front of a perfume display, eyes widening at the price tag as you muttered something about how insane it was. The bottle would appear on your bathroom counter the next morning.
You’d complain that your work tote was falling apart. Three days later, a brand new leather one arrived at your apartment with your initials hand-stitched on the side in dainty gold thread.
You’d compliment a necklace in passing, and somehow Cartier already knew your address.
At first it was sweet. Then it became excessive. Which is why you now have enough designer items in your home to pay off someone’s mortgage.
And somehow… that still wasn’t enough for him.
・・・۶ৎ・・・
You’re standing in the Sephora checkout line, fully intent on spoiling yourself for once. Jack stands close by your side, seemingly distracted by his phone, squinting down at a text from Robby. You make a mental note to increase the font size later when he isn’t looking.
As the person in front of you finishes, you see his hand slip into his pocket out of the corner of your eye, reaching for his wallet.
“Jack,” you huff quietly, no real heat behind it.
“Hm?”
“Put your wallet away. I told you, I’m paying.”
He glances up from the screen, expression perfectly innocent. “Why?”
You turn to face him fully, arms crossed. “Because these are my things. I can buy my own makeup, Jack. You’ve already bought me three things today.”
His eyebrow lifts just slightly, that calm, steady doctor look settling over his features. He steps closer until his chest brushes your shoulder, voice low and warm against your ear.
“I like taking care of my girl. Why wouldn’t I?”
The cashier is smiling politely, pretending not to listen. Your cheeks are hot, fairly certain that they’re tinted a faint shade of red.
“Jack,” you warn, softer this time.
“You gonna stand here and argue with me, baby?” His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate. “Or are you gonna let me pay?”
You exhale a defeated laugh, cheeks burning.
A small, satisfied smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”
He slides his card into the reader before you can make any move to protest again. While the cashier rings everything up, his arm stays looped around your waist, holding you close like it’s his favorite thing in the world.
・・・۶ৎ・・・
The drive home is quiet at first, city lights sliding across the windshield. You keep glancing down at the heavy Sephora bag in your lap, then over at him.
“You promised you’d let me pay today” you say, gently poking his arm.
Jack’s hand leaves the gear shift to rest on your thigh instead, squeezing gently.
“I said I’d try,” he corrects, voice low with amusement. “There’s a difference.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous. We’re both doctors, y’know? I don’t need you dropping half your salary on me every time we leave the house.”
He’s quiet for a moment, thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he drives.
“You work harder than anyone I know,” he says finally. “Longer hours than me sometimes. You come home exhausted and still make time for us. Let me take care of you, sweetheart. It makes me feel good. Like I’m doing something right.”
Your chest flickers with undeniable warmth. You reach down and lace your fingers with his. “You do plenty right, Jack. You don’t have to buy me half of Sephora to prove it.”
“I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “But I want to. And I like seeing my baby have pretty things.”
The words settle warm and heavy in your stomach. Your eyes are soft as you study the side of his face.
・・・۶ৎ・・・
Back at your apartment, Jack carries the bags inside like they weigh nothing. You kick off your shoes and start unpacking the new products on your vanity, admiring the sleek packaging.
He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with that soft, focused look that always makes your heart feel 10 pounds heavier.
“You’re staring,” you tease, fighting off a genuine smile.
“Can’t help it.” He pushes off the doorframe and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder. “You happy?”
You lean back into his chest. “Yes. Thank you… even though you have no self-control.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrates low and warm against your neck. “Good.”
You turn in his arms, looping yours around his neck. “But next time, I’m paying. I will hear no arguments.”
Jack hums, pretending to consider it. “We’ll see.”
“Jack.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ll behave.”
You narrow your eyes. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
・・・۶ৎ・・・
Forty minutes later you’re curled up on the couch together when your phone buzzes. A notification from the jewelry store you’d walked past earlier on the way to Sephora.
Order confirmed. Your custom initial pendant will be ready for pickup tomorrow.
You sit up slowly, staring at the screen, then turn to look at him.
Jack doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He just pulls you back against his chest with a lazy grin, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.
“You said you’d behave,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
“I did behave,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “For a whole forty minutes. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
summary: the three times jack abbot compared you to someone else vs. the one time you were exactly who he wanted but couldn't have anymore.
tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, deep insecurities, jack compares you to samira, robby, and his late-wife (I named her alice), a few scene changes but it's for the plot, trying out [name] but if I don't like it, it's back to y/n for all of you, jack is lowkey an asshole on accident (thinks he's meaning well by complimenting others, but tears you apart in the process), medical inaccuracies, hurt/no comfort (at least for jack), eventual breakup, special end scene guest star, age gape (28-32/50), heavily inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo (which I suggest listening to while you read) and all the feels that come with that, 18+ MDNI
notes: this hurt to write, and this better hurt y'all in the best angsty way possible! just a reminder that my requests for the hatosyverse are open, and that I'm doing smutty blurbs to build my writing abilities, enjoy!
word count: 7.4k
You didn't understand how you'd been able to score Jack Abbot.
Somehow, the universe decided that you'd be his match, the one he chose to go home to at the end of a bad shift, the one who'd been able to give him the most comfort during his darkest days. You knew what you'd be getting into: the PTSD, the depression, shifts where he felt more like your boss than your partner. But you believed you could get through it; Jack was older, and you liked to think you were mature enough to handle anything thrown your way.
For almost a year, your relationship bloomed in stolen glances across the Pitt, hidden moments in supply closets, and late-night baths spent at his house trying to bury yourself next to his heart. Jack was it for you, and you let yourself dream about a future, ring on your finger, possible children running around the house you shared. The two of you rarely fought, often choosing to apologize for anything under the sun before arguments grew too large for your feelings.
Never once did Jack make you feel inadequate, even if you had voiced early on that you truly didn't understand why he picked you. Compared to his gorgeous salt-and-pepper curls and freckled skin and large stature, you felt plain. Your hair was always pulled into a slick ponytail, makeup caused acne breakouts after 12-hour shifts, and what little time you had to yourself, you spent it at home, reading a book, instead of going out with friends and colleagues. People looked at you without so much as a second glance. Jack, on the other hand, made heads turn and nurses blush if they somehow caught his attention long enough for him to send a look their way. You couldn't remember the last time you went through a shift where a female (or sometimes male) patient failed to make a comment about the sexy, silver fox doctor.
You never made it more than it was: harmless flirting from people Jack would never think about again once they got discharged.
After, you and he had gone through the HR meetings, the contract signings, and the swearing that your relationship wouldn't get in the way of saving lives or have Jack start playing favorites. To further this, around the 9-month mark of being Jack's, they plucked you from the safety of the nightshift and dropped you right into Robby's hands. But this was how it was going to be from now on; there was no point in arguing as long as you got to keep Jack.
For three months, you persevered. Finding a groove with an already well-oiled shift proved to be harder than it looked. People talked. Nurses gossiped. Doctors speculated. You, through it all, kept your chin high. Their words didn't get to dictate your relationship. During handoffs, Jack still swept you into his arms and kissed you like a man coming back from war. He still told you that dinner was in the fridge once you got home and napped. He still continued to send updates during his shift, text messages from the separate night-shift group chat made after your departure chiming loudly while you ate. And most important of all, he still loved you.
However, nothing could have prepared you for the three times you felt the most unloved.
I care, I care, I care, like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin', hidden in plain sight, ooh, I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear
"Hey, Dana," you called out while swimming through the chaos only brought on by a 4th of July shift.
At her name, Dana looked up over the thin frames of her glasses, pausing momentarily to look your way before going back to her board. "Please don't tell me that the 36 hot dog guy is back."
You shook your head, hands coming to rest on top of the vinyl counter. "Not that I'm aware of."
"Thank heavens. What can I do for ya, hun?"
Leaning in, you did a quick glance around the department. "I heard Jack was here early?"
Her eyebrows almost rose to her hairline. "Yeah; he came in with one of his SWAT buddies. GSW to the man's neck, but it looks like he's going to be okay." She reached over and grabbed a tablet. "Actually, can you find Jack for me? He wanted an update ASAP."
Your fingers drummed against the counter anxiously before you took the tablet from her. "I was just about to ask if you'd seen him."
Dana glanced over your shoulder and stuck out her chin in the same direction. "Saw him duck into Room 15. Might be taking a breather; Lord knows he needs one after that raid." She gave you a knowing look, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you're exactly what he needs."
A rush of heat flooded your face, eyes darting away from hers. "I'll see if I can find him."
You turned away before she could say anything more, hands desperately holding the tablet to your chest. Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor, steps bringing you closer to the room Jack was supposedly in. Once at the door, you raised a hand to draw the curtain away, but the sound of voices—plural—had you stopping. Saliva pooled between your teeth as you listened closely.
"—is the hospital going to pay for it?"
There was a pause before Jack clearly grumbled, "I'll pay for it."
You slowly moved to the side next to the wall where the curtain didn't completely cut the room off. Through the slot, your eyes widened at the sight of a Jack, shirt off, pale chest, wound-care swab twirling in his fingers with Samira sitting in one of the chairs. In the next beat, she stood and walked right past the curtain slot, completely oblivious that you were right behind it. She stopped near the wall and grabbed a pair of gloves before snapping them on.
His brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"
She smiled before rounding to stand behind him. "What you clearly can't."
Begrudgingly, he handed over the swab.
"Did you make a chart?" she asked while dipping the cotton end into a wound cream.
Jack crossed his arms, and his shoulders rolled and dipped. "No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or police department."
Samira paused. "Would you rather me go get Dr. [Name]? I'm sure she could do this much better than I could."
"No," Jack responded, shaking his head. "She'd just panic about this. There's no need to throw her off her game."
Your stomach flipped. He thought you'd panic? Sure, you'd be worried, but it wasn't like you hadn't seem him hurt before. Whatever wound he had on his back wouldn't be the worst thing he'd come home with after a SWAT shift.
"Isn't she your girlfriend?" She began dabbing at his back, the swab coming back bloodied.
"Yeah, but it's different with you. I don't have to worry about you taking your time or being indifferent about this." He winced at a deeper brush into the graze. "She's not like you, Dr. Mohan. She wears everything on her sleeve. Really, she could learn how to be more level headed like you, Dr. Mohan. I've seen the way you handle traumas. We wouldn't be so in the low if we had about 10 more of you."
He ended with a chuckle like what he just said didn't feel like a knives to your stomach.
Is that what he really thought about you? That you should be more like Samira and her ability to stay cool through anything thrown at her? With a blink, your eyes glossed over.
Jack turned his head, neck twisting to he could meet Samira's eyes. "You won't tell her about this, right? Our little secret?"
You didn't stay to hear what she said, choosing to turn around before you could watch any longer. It was incredible that you were able to stay for so long, submitting yourself to a new kind of torture. Walking back to the nurses station, your steps slowed as if molasses coated the floor, its stickiness clinging to your shoes.
At your oncoming presence, Dana looked over. "Did you find him, hun?"
You forced yourself to not look back at the closed curtain. "Yeah, but he's in the middle of something right now. I'll just catch up with him later."
The tablet gave a small thud as you placed it back into the holder, and you desperately tried to find another patient to busy yourself with, specifically one furthest from Room 15. However, before you could grab one, a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.
"Hey, I need you for the incoming trauma," Langdon said as he dragged you with him. "Twenty-year-old female, unconscious for an unknown matter of time."
You nodded silently, allowing him to keep walking you like a dog on a leash until he stopped in front of the ambulance bay sliding doors. Your lungs expanded in a deep, wavering breath.
Now was not the time to panic. You could do this. You could be like Samira. You could show Jack that you could handle a trauma.
During your internal pep talk, the doors slid open, giving way for the gurney and two paramedics.
"BP is 140-over-92 and climbing. No relevant medical history. She woke up once on the way over and vomited before passing out again."
You quickly followed Langdon into the first trauma room and helped transfer her over onto the bed. Immediately, numbers started being shouted while you started your initial exam.
When nothing seemed to blare any red flags, Langdon started impatient as the woman kept deteriorating. Through it all, you willed your hands to stay steady, your mind calm while you mentally went through what could be the matter. You took a step forward, body positioning near her head so you could look at her pupils one more time, and that's when you smelled it: the acrid, fruity smell puffing out of her mouth as she struggled to breath.
You jerked back quickly. "Dr. Langdon, is there a history of diabetes or hyperglycemia? Her breath smells like rotting fruit."
Langdon looked over at you before leaning toward her face. He hissed a curse before barking for a blood sugar test. Your eyes widened when the screen flashed a 450 mg/dL.
"She's experiencing diabetic ketoacidosis," you breathed.
"Let's get her on an insulin drip, now," Langdon hissed, face pinched until he looked over at you with a softer expression. "Great job catching that and staying calm." He chuckled slightly. "Never seen you like this but keep it up."
You knew his words were meant to be encouraging, but all they did was send bile up your throat. Without saying anything more, you tore off the gloves and shoved them deep into a biohazard bin. You wanted to cry, wanted to find the nearest restroom and tug at your hair.
But that's not what Samira would do your mind provided; the thought ugly and green. She'd shrug it all off and keep working like nothing was the matter.
Your teeth ground together, shoulders squaring in tandem. If everyone would rather have you calm, you'd be calm. You'd tuck your heart away rather than show it to the patients who needed someone that wore it on their sleeve. You picked up another tablet at the nurses station and got back to work.
The rest of the fourth went by in a tornado. Systems went down after a cyberattack; fireworks boomed off in the distance; you stayed busy. Each of your patients were in and out at a lightning speed, and by the start of the night shift, you were ready to go home and cry your heart out into a pillow.
You'd seen Samira every so often in between patients and a small lunch break. Like always, she smiled at you and waved and chatted when she could, but her actions made you want to wither up like a dead flower. You couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that you should be more like the woman in front of you, mind comparing your features to hers at a rapid speed you couldn't stop. She somehow looked like an angel in the middle of a place jokingly nicknamed one of the seven layers of hell, skin clear and hair somehow perfectly put in a bun. You tried your best to match her enthusiasm, but the poison had already been drank.
On the contrary, the only time you really saw Jack was at the start of handoffs. He had helped with one trauma before going to the on-call room for a needed nap, and you hadn't wanted to talk to him then, scared of how he'd act around you.
"There you are, sweetheart," you heard him say as you finished up converting with Lena about the man in Room 5. "I've been looking for you. Thought you might have left without saying goodbye."
You winced slightly. "No; I've just been busy."
Jack hummed and smiled warmly at you, but the expression was tainted by his words earlier. "I heard. Langdon's been nothing but praising you for earlier. I'm proud of you."
"Sure you are," you muttered too lowly for him to catch. Your lips thinly stretched into a smile that didn't meet your tired eyes. "Thank you, Jack," you settled on instead.
His hazel eyes scanned over your face, and his smile slightly dropped. "Are you okay, though? You look a little down."
"I'm fine," you shot out. "Today's just been long, and I'm ready to get home."
Jack nodded. "I left food in the fridge for you, so make sure you eat it after you sleep for a bit."
"Got it."
He looked at you expectantly before rolling his eyes. "Come here."
Like it had been etched into your DNA, you listened and fell into his open arms, face tucking into his chest. He squeezed you tightly before placing a kiss to your temple.
"Proud of you," he said. "You do such a good job. We need so many doctors like you, my perfect girl."
Perfect felt like a twist of the knife, because if you were so perfect, why had he told Samira that he wished you were more like her?
I feel your compliments like bullets on skin. Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?
As the weeks went on, Jack's words never left your soul, the damage irreparable in everything that you did.
Second guessing yourself had been a struggle you'd dealt with since an earlier age. Normally, Jack would be able to quiet all those thoughts; he had chosen you; he loved you. But now, as you second guessed everything you did, you also second guessed everything Jack said. You picked apart every encouragement, every compliment, every sweet promise he whispered in your ear.
What he said now couldn't be taken at face value, and you wondered if that feeling would ever go away. You'd asked him about the bullet graze a few days after the 4th, acting completely oblivious to what you knew. Like you thought, Jack assured you that he got it handled and for you to not worry about it, like that did anything to settle the rolling feelings in your stomach.
You tried your best to move on, knowing you'd only bring yourself down more if you dwelled too long about really how much Jack's words had affected you while he never said anything directly to your face. The idea that he wanted you to be like someone else made your heart clench tightly to the point you often wanted to call off work, hoping that you could just wallow in self pity for hours and hours.
But the Pitt did not care for you like that; it demanded twelve hour shifts and grueling doubles. So every day, you rolled out of bed before Jack got home and pulled up your big girl pants.
You worked through it. You'd learned how to stay calm, how to not panic under duress, and it killed you to admit that you'd become a better doctor because of it. You hardly ever hiccuped during a trauma, gaining compliments from the surgeons and Robby for your techniques that were close to flawless. For the smallest second, you would preen under their words before the ugly, repulsive reminder that they might not be real swallowed you down in a nasty gulp.
"Dr. [Name] follow me please," Robby called as he brushed past the nurses station where you were currently typing away at a chart, hands clutching a chart out in front of him to read. "Quickly."
You pushed up from the desk, chair rolling far behind you from the force of your legs. Not wanting to lose him, you rounded the counter and jumped into his long stride.
"Yes, Dr. Robby?" you asked.
As far as you knew, there weren't any incoming traumas and it was too late in the day for him to have questions about your patients that were currently waiting for a room.
Robby paused in front of an empty trauma room. "Jack just let me know that he found a man in need of medical attention and is bringing him in before handoffs, and I thought you could help him out." He handed you the tablet, already ready to go with updated information.
You took a quick glance over this. "Um, Dr. Robby, it looks like he'll need a pericardiocentesis."
"It's good that you know exactly what he'll need. What's the issue?"
Your eyes looked from the screen to his brown eyes. "I've never done one before."
He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder. "That's why Jack's going to lead you through it. I would stay, but since he's coming in early, I'm going to head out."
You tried to quirk a smile. "Got a hot date waiting for you?"
A low chuckle shook his shoulders. "You got jokes. My bike needs some repairs, and today's the only day I can get it into the shop. But I know you'll be just fine. Your improvement in traumas will only grow if you step out of your comfort zone."
The automatic sliding doors slid open, and Jack plus a nurse wheeled a man through on a gurney. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his brows pinched when he noticed Robby's bag slung over the taller man's shoulder.
"You leaving early, brother?" Jack questioned as he stepped past the two of you.
Robby's hand gently rested on your shoulder. "Yeah, but you two will have this handled."
You inhaled deeply, the weight of his hand and words pushing down on your chest.
Robby was counting on you. Don't fuck this up. Don't panic.
With the tablet tucked under your arm, you walked into the trauma room before pulling on a pair of gloves. Jack had already cut through the man's shirt.
"I need two 18-gage needles, one 9cm and one 15cm, a guidewire, dilator, and 8Fr pigtail catheter." He looked up toward Jesse. "Let's give him 10ml lignocaine 1%."
You quickly gather what he needed and placed him on the dressing that covered the side tray.
"Okay, Dr. [Name]," Jack said, lips twitching upwards at using your official name, "I need you to place an ECG electrode on the pericardiocentesis needle with a crocodile clip and insert. Once the tip touches the myocardium, the trace should show immediate ST elevation. Once that comes up, insert the wire to aspirate the fluid."
His words tumbled through your mind much too fast to the point that you wondered if he didn't know you'd never done this before. You pursed your lips as you tried to remember everything. In the grand scheme of things, your training provided everything that needed to be done.
Yet, there was a big difference between studying and actually doing the procedure.
You kept your breath steady as you readied the needle, clamping on a clip before turning the pointed end toward the man's chest. The first part went smoothly, and the needle went right through. However, instead of the consistent beeping that should have followed if the needle was in properly, an onslaught of alarms sounded through your ears.
You had missed something.
Jack whipped his head toward you and sneered. "You went too deep. I told you that the needle needed to touch the myocardium not go all the way through. Give it here."
He didn't even wait for you to transfer the needle over, hands already grabbing at it. His head bent down so he could see what was happening. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the needle exactly where it should have been.
"Fuck," he whispered, "Robby wouldn't have done that. I don't know why he handed this off to you if he knew the patient would need a pericardiocentesis for tamponade."
You thickly swallowed pooling saliva to clear your throat. "Sorry."
"Just—" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I'll finish up here. You go home."
You jolted just a bit. Go home?
"Jack, I can still assist. You're going to need—"
"We have it covered. Catheter is in place, and you'd just be standing around. You're good."
Suddenly, a wave of anguish flowed through your body. It was happening again. Jack had just added fuel to the ever growing fire of jealousy and self-loathing. The feeling sized your chest, and you stepped back from the bed, shaky hands ripping off the nitrile gloves.
You couldn't help the stressed wheeze that pushed from your lungs.
Don't panic. Don't panic. He didn't mean it. He was just stressed. He didn't know that you'd never done that before.
Numbly, you walked back to the nurses station and sat back down in front of the computer, but your hands didn't raise to the keyboard. Your mind had already taken over, spewing rotten things about yourself that you could fix.
Be like Samira. Be like Robby. Jack won't keep wanting you if you aren't like them.
Your tongue ran across your dry lips in an attempt to wet them, but even your mouth had gone parched.
"Is charting really that bad?" you heard Dennis ask you as she sat down at a computer to your left. "You look like someone just told you they flushed your fish down the drain."
In a jerky motion, you turned towards him and did your best to compose yourself. "Oh no. I, uh, I didn't do well on a procedure with Dr. Abbot, and he asked me to leave."
Dennis at least had the decency to look sorry for you. "I bet you didn't do too bad. What was the procedure?"
"A pericardiocentesis," you said shyly.
He nodded slowly. " Shit, that's like one of the first things Robby let us do." He turned towards his own chart. "I could probably do them in my sleep by now."
Because he wasn't looking at you, Dennis missed the way your shoulders dropped and tears welled in your lash line. Jack's comment had been bad, but he just completely shattered any confidence you had left for the day.
"Right," you muttered. "Of course it'd be that easy if Robby taught you."
And you'd be right. On the night shift, patients like that rarely if not ever needed such a complex procedure. You could only think to one time that a woman came through almost needing one before they were able to use a different method to get her stable enough to be transferred to the OR.
With keys clacking loudly, you quickly finished up the chart before turning the whole thing off. You didn't even try to find Jack before you left, choosing to slip out before he even noticed you'd left without saying goodbye.
Once you were home, you stormed past the fridge and went straight to yours and Jack's shared room. Your scrubs hit the floor, and you didn't even bother to put on pajamas. The bed dipped under your weight as you pulled the duvet up over your body in a sad attempt at being comforted by its weight.
Sleep came quickly, only being interrupted by the door opening, a signal that Jack had gotten home. Blearily, you listened to him walk around the room before his edge of the bed sunk after he sat. The familiar hiss and pop of his prosthesis preceded him turning to lie down. You kept still as he scooted closer before wrapping an arm around your middle and molding your back to his chest.
"Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered sleepily. "Tried to find you before you left, but I guess I missed you. Wanted to say good job for that trauma. You helped so much."
You clamped your eyes shut, squeezing a fresh round of tears that dripped down your cheeks to puddle on your pillowcase.
After Samira, you had done your best to convince yourself it had been a slip of his tongue. But now after Robby, you weren't too sure that Jack would keep you around for much longer before finding someone better. Because there was no way you could ever amount to someone like Robby.
It was impossible.
I care, I care, I care, like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots, you got the one thing that I want. Ooh, I try, I try, I try, try to rationalize people are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust.
You were trying but failing to pretend Jack's words and comparisons hadn't left a giant, bleeding gap in your heart. Before everything happened, you never ever wondered if Jack loved you. Except now, you waited with bated breath for him to just drop the bucket and break up with you. You walked on eggshells around him.
Don't panic. Be put together. Keep your heart to yourself. Be calm like Samira. Don't fuck up. Know how to do your job. Be confident like Robby.
Those thought became your mantra and lifeline. No one seemed to think twice about your recent personality change. They loved the way they could count on you, the way you had an answer ready for everything. To the day and night shift, you were the epitome of composure. But behind closed doors, you were falling apart and into a pit you didn't think you'd be able to climb out of.
Jack didn't help with that either. You guessed he didn't even know what he had done to you, going on with his life like he hadn't given yours so many potholes that you couldn't continue on without falling behind. Everything you did was carefully thought out, every patient you talked to met a version of you that didn't reflect what you felt inside or outside.
You avoided mirrors the most, their reflections showing you exactly what you weren't. You weren't Samira with her lovely thick hair and clear skin. And you weren't Robby who carried years of trauma like it was apart of his body.
You were you, and you loathed it entirely.
You hated the glances you caught between Jack and Samira across the department. You hated the way they looked like they knew what the other was thinking before they spoke. You hated how you felt like on onlooker to a relationship that wasn't even happening.
You also hated the way Robby changed from a mentor to an idol. He had soon morphed into someone you wanted to so desperately be to the point you lost yourself in ambition.
And the worst part? You held nothing against them personally.
They didn't know what Jack had said. They didn't know that you were dying on the inside every time they raised you up during shifts. Bits of you crumbled away while they continued to glow.
Every morning you woke up, you wondered if the day would provide the straw that broke the camel's back with the way you felt like a stretched out rubber band waiting to fly.
A soft, savory aroma wafted through your kitchen. You absentmindedly stirred the spatula through the sauce, eyes glancing back and forth from the pan to the recipe. The instructions were written in beautiful, slanted cursive with curled letters that danced together. You'd found the card mixed in with a bunch of recipes Jack kept in his drawer. With a quick read told you that the owner of this one was his late wife, and the heart next to the title had you guessing if this was a favorite for the two of them.
Without thinking, you plucked it from the drawer and started working. After a week of back to back cases that ended in more loss than wins, a homemade meal was exactly what you and Jack needed after a day off. He was currently out getting his truck washed, and you wanted to be finished by the time he came home.
Quickly, the separate parts of the recipe—the chicken and veggies basting in the oven, the sauce on the stove top, and the wine chilling in the fridge—all came together right as Jack walked through the door.
"Hi, baby!" you called out as you pulled the pan from the oven. "Dinner's almost ready!"
You picked up on Jack's slightly clompy gate as he got farther into the house.
"Smells good," he said, walking over to stand behind you. "What did you make?"
Suddenly, you got nervous. What if it didn't taste correct? What if Jack didn't want you to make something so special between him and his wife. What if you ruined everything.
You didn't meet his eyes and poured the sauce over the top of the chicken. "Uh, a recipe from the drawer. It looked good, and we already had the ingredients."
He grabbed the card and held it up to his face, and you held your breath. When he didn't seem to get angry or sad, you counted it at a win.
"There's a bottle of white in the fridge if you want to get it out," you offered.
Jack stayed quiet. You didn't dare look even as the sound of a cork popping echoed in the room. While his immediate lack of response didn't cause concern to rise, your stomach still churned. To mirror him, you also didn't speak while you set the table.
He sat down, and so did you, your chairs facing the other like you'd done so many times in the past. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he took the first bite.
Loudly, he smacked his lips, setting his fork down at he chewed. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard in the silence.
After a minute, he finally spoke. "Did you change anything in this?"
Your racing heart plummeted to your feet. "No. I kept it just like the card had it."
His brows furrowed. "Really? It tastes different than how I remembered it last."
You dug your nails into the fabric of the table running. "Does it not taste good?"
Jack looked up from his plate with wide, hazel eyes. "No, no, it's just different."
"But not good," you scoffed.
"I'm just trying to say that maybe you missed something. I know Alice's handwriting isn't the easiest to read."
"I know how to read cursive, Jack," you spat lowly. "I followed every single instruction on the card. It's the exact same recipe."
"It's not that big of a deal, sweetheart," he tried. "Maybe if you had a bit more practice like her, it might have come out the same. You're a good cook, don't get me wrong, but—"
Your hands slammed on the table in frustration, causing Jack's eyebrows to pinch as his words died in his mouth. He went to keep talking but stopped when he noticed the frustrated tears fall from your eyes.
"I'm done," you breathed, eyes darting around the room.
"Done?" Jack echoed. "What are you done with?"
"Everything," you hissed. "I'm done with this—" You gestured to the food with a wave of your hand. "I'm done with-with you. I'm done with it all."
You pushed up from the table and walked away, leaving Jack to scramble out of his chair and follow you.
"Sweetheart, what's going on?" he loudly asked, but you ignored him.
By the time he made it into the bedroom, you had already ripped out a suitcase from the closet and were pushing clothes into it without making them neat.
"Hey," Jack said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't think it'd upset you this much, but you don't have to leave."
You paused in a mid-throw of your shirts and spun to face him. A disbelieving laugh bubbled wetly through your throat. "That's the problem," you muttered, "you don't think."
He crossed his arms, biceps resting against his chest. A need to defend himself bloomed in his stomach. "What's that supposed to fucking mean."
You threw your arms up with an exasperated scoff. "Oh, so now you're concerned for what I'm saying. Maybe you should be concerned more with your words." You sucked in a deep breath. "Just go on and say it."
Jack took a step forward. "Say what?"
"That you'd rather me be someone else!" you screamed. "That-that I'm not enough by myself for you anymore." Pants heaved in your chest. "I'm sick and tired of standing here stuck listening to you compare me and wish that I'd be like or act like someone else."
Your words stole the breath from Jack's lungs as confusion and dread washed over him. "What?"
You closed your eyes and dropped your shoulders. "I heard you; I keep hearing you."
In another step forward, Jack was within two feet of you. He swallowed thickly, but you beat him to more words.
"On the fourth," you began to explain through tears, "I saw Samira patch you up, and I heard the way you told her that I could learn how to be more level headed like her."
A chill crept up Jack's spine. "Sweetheart—"
"Don't," you ordered. "Don't do that where you try to make it all better. I heard you loud and clear, Jack. And that's fine. I knew I could be more calm during traumas, so that's exactly what I did, but apparently—" You chocked out a laugh. "That wasn't enough for you."
He shook his head, hazel eyes swimming with guilt already.
"And I really thought that if I could be anything like Samira, your words wouldn't hurt as much. But then you had to go and tell me that you wished Robby had been there instead of me to do a pericardiocentesis." Your breath shuddered in the next exhale. "Did you even know that was the first time I'd ever been asked to do one? And instead of teaching at a teaching hospital, you threw me to the side saying Robby—the fucking chief attending—could have done the job. No fucking duh, Jack."
You threw a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "And now this? I thought that maybe I could be like Samira or study enough to be like Robby, but h-how am I supposed to compare to the woman who had your love first." You turned back toward the bed and haphazardly packed suitcase. "That's unfair to me. So, like I said, I'm done."
A pleading sound ripped from Jack's throat at the sound of your suitcase zipper closing.
"No, sweetheart, please. Let me fix this; tell me how to fix this," he begged.
"That's just it, Jack. I don't think this can be fixed. I've spent weeks with your words in my head wondering how I can be the perfect person for you. And I don't know if I can keep going on pretending."
Jack's body shook under a small sob as everything came crashing down. He absolutely had no clue what he had done to you, but thinking back, he understood that his careless words wracked irreparable damage to you and your personality.
"I'm sorry," he managed, voice breaking in a whisper.
"I know you are,' you responded, "and somehow that makes it hurt worse. Because while you were trying to compliment everyone else, you made me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life." Your fingers wrapped around the suitcase handle and tugged it off the bed. "I can't stay with someone who keeps hoping I'll be a conglomeration of all the best parts of others; that's not me. And I'll be honest, I don't even really know who me is anymore."
He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing from your face to look down at the floor. "So this is it? You're leaving?"
Another round of tears spilled down your cheeks as you choked on a sob of your own. "I don't want to, but I need to."
"But I love you," he croaked, eyes coming back up to meet yours.
"You love the best parts of me, Jack," you said, already moving to walk past him. "And that's never going to be enough to make me stay."
Your shoulder lightly brushed by his as you walked out of the room and all the way out the front door, leaving Jack behind in a house he realized he didn't want empty.
You poison every little thing that I do, Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately, and I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you, yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you
Jack didn't truly realize what he'd done until almost six months after you left him crying in his bedroom.
Your absence in his life gave him a lot to think about, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you were absolutely right. It didn't matter if he'd compared you to others unconsciously; he made you feel like that: worthless, in need of self change, inadequate; the list went on.
He'd seen the small changes too late.
The next shift he worked with you, Jack tracked every minuscule thing you did, and it felt like one big punch to the gut. He saw the way you constantly checked your hair, ponytail pulled tight enough to give you a headache, skin, and scrubs and the way you straightened your stethoscope so it rested perfectly across your collarbones.
His stomach dropped when he watched you pause before a trauma and gulp down air before heading inside like someone who needed to take control before it could get out of hand. Before him, you weren't like that. Yes, you could be nervous to mess up, but you didn't act like you had to be the smartest person in the room.
He did that to you. He made you feel the need to change. And it killed him. It killed him once he learned you transferred over to a specialty in orthopedics, and his mind made him think you did it just to get away from him.
He was slightly correct, but not entirely.
You needed a fresh start, somewhere where you knew no on had any high expectation of you. And somehow, orthopedics gave you just that. And you thrived in the environment, only coming down to the Pitt when they needed a transfer or second opinion. Sure, you had to accompany Park the Shark more than you'd liked to, but through your time there, the old you was coming back, the one who worked through her panic instead of shutting it down, the one who only got frazzled when she cared about patients and their needs.
It was never weakness you showed, and you had to learn that all over again.
Someone helped you see that along the way as well.
"What do got here?" Park asked while snapping on a pair of gloves, eyes predatory as he walked into Trauma Room 1.
Jack looked up with pinched brows when he realized that you didn't walk in behind the larger man. "Where's Dr. [Name]?"
Park didn't even acknowledge his question. "For fucks sake man, you didn't even pack this right."
"You should know how to put a detached leg together even if I missed the pressure of the wrapping by an inch," Jack shot back.
"Abbot, you should know that I can't fucking put your patient back together after you decided to play Barbies. It's not as easy as popping a joint back in place."
"Dr. [Name] could do it."
Except for the monitors, everyone went quiet. Jack tore his eyes away from Park and looked back down at his blood soaked gloves. Reality crashed down on him as he realized he just did to Park what he'd done to you. Even if he knew he probably didn't hurt Park's feelings at all, it sucked to know that he was still so quit to throw out words like that.
Park's shoulders rose in a shrug. "She could, but she isn't here right now. She switched shifts and won't be in until 7." He smirked. "Think she said she had plans with someone."
An ugly roar of jealousy clawed at Jack's insides, nails sinking deep in his gut.
You were with someone?
He went through the motions of his shift, mind still on the fact that you weren't on call because someone had taken your time and attention away from the hospital. His knuckles turned white around the tablet he held while going through handoffs. He didn't know if his body was still trained to look for you, forever waiting for your soft lips against his, but Jack couldn't help but keep his head on a swivel and ears open to catch the sound of your voice.
Like a laugh in his face from the universe, your laugh fluttered through the ER, and his head whipped hard enough that his neck hurt in order to find you. When he finally saw you walking in, his heart dropped to his feet, because there you were, smiling brighter than he'd seen in a long while, hand enclasped with a man's.
Jack swallowed thickly. He instantly hated the way his blood boiled at the sight. He looked back down at the tablet after your voice seemed to draw closer to where he was standing.
"Andy," you sighed wistfully, "you didn't have to walk me all the way in here. I know you're weary of the germs."
"I know," the man—Andy (you gave him a fucking nickname?)—muttered back, wide, hazel eyes looking down at you like you hung the moon. "But I wanted to."
You pouted playfully. "You're so sweet. Am I going to see you tomorrow morning, or are you working again?"
He hummed. "My morning's yours if you want it."
"You know I always do."
Jack watched the corner of the man's mouth twitch into an almost-there smile, and he had to look away when his head started leaning in toward yours.
The small smack of your lips on his made bile gurgle in Jack's stomach.
"Okay, you gotta go save lives."
You giggled again. "I just put people back together, and technically, Park's the one doing all the procedures. You know my hands start shaking."
From the corner of his eye, Jack watched him lift your hands to his lips and kiss the tops of your knuckles.
"Just breathe and know that you alone can do this. You were the one to get into the program, so they want you, shaky hands and all."
Jack's heart clenched to the point of a physical reaction to the pain. He should have been the one saying that to you, standing in your corner and building you up one compliment at a time.
But now, he had to stand on the sideline and watch a man (someone who scarily looked a bit like him) give you all the praise and love you deserved. And while Jack could do everything in his power to let people know how good of a doctor you were, it wouldn't ever be the same, forever stuck loathing the moment he lost you without knowing.
dating jack means there is an unspoken rule that he always parallel parks for you. it doesn’t even matter what time you come home, because he’s always texting you “Call me when you’re here. I’ll park.😊”
pulling up in front of the house but he’s already in a light jog out the door, wearing his soft camo shorts and black tee, house loafers & backwards baseball cap. motioning for you to come out with his hand, a direct but gentle “get out, baby.” as he opens your door for you.
parallel parks with one hand on the wheel, veiny arm rotating it as the other hooks behind the passenger seat headrest. his jaw clenches and his sun-tanned neck straining as he looks back.
afterwards he hops out, jingling your shiny keychain and leaving a tap on your ass to signal you to head inside. “how was your day, pumpkin?”
Description: Alexa, play ‘manchild’ by Sabrina. Or, 3 times Jack notices the incompetency of your new boyfriend and gets annoyed, and 1 time he does something about it.
Tags/warnings: big age gap (r is in 20's and abbot is 50), "ive got tattoos older than you" gets said, yes he has tats bcos i said so, size diff, mentions of concussion, medical inaccuracies (idk shit), (1) allusion to reader having a choking kink (💀), r has a used to have a massive crush on him, made ellis a lesbian bcos ofc, abbot life's goal is to make fun of r's bf, flirting (so much), bit of yearner!jack & dom!jack vibes, gets dialogue heavy at the end, angsty fights & confessions, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos, i use loads of em dashes (dont even compare me to chatgpt bcos im better), pet names: kid, kiddo, sweetheart
Note: tysm for the love on my first ff, it means the world to me. Writing something longer made me lose all objectivity, and I genuinely cannot tell if it's good or great or whatever. Please give me feedback (PERSONALLY). Again, I tried to keep r neutral but you might see mentions of r having hair.
Enjoy. This is for the ones with a competency kink. And for the ones who def wanted him to call you “kid.” and the ones who love silver foxes (get checked) (ur girl incl)
1
“I told him not to take me here,” you mutter to Jack, who's checking for tenderness in your neck, his thick fingers pressing against the side, while you try not to think of his hands on your neck in a very different context.
“Let him. Something the boy can do right, hm?”
After checking for initial symptoms — making you walk in a straight line, and balancing yourself on a single foot, you're subjugated to the very hands-on physical examination. You're suddenly wondering how other patients remain composed when Dr. Abbot touches them like this.
Well, usually, attending physicians don't do a history check or a physical exam, but this one does. For you. Probably because you're his staff.
Focus.
You clock into the reality, realizing the dig he made at your “boy.”
“Yeah, she didn't wanna come, I kinda dragged her here. I was like, ‘babe, it may just be a light concussion but you're a nurse, not a doctor’ so, like, thanks, doc. We needed the big guns,” proudly speaks Noah standing against the wall, checking time on his phone for the 5th time since you've been in this room.
Jack's jaw tightens and he shoots him a look so dirty, Noah actually takes a step back.
“Watch it, kid, if it wasn't for nurses, American healthcare would be even fuckin’ worse.”
Abbot looks back at you, and raises an eyebrow as if to say “really? him?”
You should speak up in your boyfriend's defense, something — anything — to wipe that perceptive look on Jack's face, the smugness he isn't trying hard enough to hide. You might as well be in your birthday suit right now, for how bare you feel. How bare you always feel in his presence.
God knows how much you'd actually like to be — no, you have a boyfriend. A perfectly handsome, competent, and a caring one.
Handsome. Not rugged.
Competent. Doubtful.
Caring. Well, caring enough.
“Doctor Abbot…” you begin, voice stripped raw, breath coming uneasy, when his index brushes right over your thrumming pulse.
“Focus on the examination. Tsk, thought we taught you better here. Well, I at least did. Don't you agree, nurse?”
The air leaves your mouth in a little puff, leaving your throat dry, your lips soon following. You need a glass of —
“Need some water? You've been here a while,” Jack asks, tone becoming gravelly and intimate, eyebrows drawing closer seeing how pale you look.
He immediately turns to Noah — hands leaving your neck — without waiting for a response from you. His voice takes on its normal cadence. “Hey, son, grab her a bottle, would you? Vending machine is at the end of the corridor. Thanks.”
His ‘Thanks’ comes out in a slow drawl that makes you squirm in your seat.
Your attending has not even fully turned back to you yet, when your partner speaks up, “Uh, bottle of what?”
“A Pinot Noir, perhaps. Which one do you prefer?” His eyes find yours again, brows raising in deep amusement. Is he getting a kick out of humiliating your boyfriend — and by extension, you?
“Uh…” noah looks utterly confused. You feel almost bad for him. Almost.
“Water, son. Get your girl a bottle.” Noah makes a move to leave, complying immediately to the doctor. Has he ever even listened to you so quickly? God, men are such dicksuckers for each-other.
“A chapstick while you're at it, maybe,” Jack mutters, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. Noah stops in his tracks again, clearly deaf to the sarcasm.
Jack huffs. “Just go.”
You honestly don't understand why he dislikes Noah so much. You've only been dating him for 3 weeks.
Well.
Noah did try to make a “romantic” gesture by coming to pick you up from your shift. Except, he arrived an hour early as a “surprise” and cribbed because you couldn't leave early. And he did just undervalue your job as a nurse. And…of course, an hour ago, he accidentally hit you your head with a football while he was showing attempting a trick.
As Noah leaves, Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don't worry, I'll get you a chapstick,” he says, staring shamelessly at your trembling bottom-lip before making a slow way up again.
“Penlight. Incoming.”
You've barely had time to react when a sudden light shone in your eyes. Your face instinctively tries to move back, only to be stopped by a feather-light touch on your jaw. Jack's finger retracts as soon as it comes, leaving you starved for more. More than just the pad of his index.
You hold still for him, letting him sway the torch alternatively between your eyes. When the light is kept back with a soft clink, there are no more distractions as he stands up straight again.
The creases in his scrubs only increase when he folds his arms over his chest.
“So.” You mutter, your gaze trying to find something interesting on the floor.
“Nick seems like a good guy.”
“Noah.”
“Right. We should thank Nick for bringing you here right on time. Wouldn't wanna lose one of our best nurses.”
You scoff at his words. Your feet are moving in a slow back and forth rhythm, your eyes fixated on them.
“Let's not say things we don't mean for good staff satisfaction scores.”
“If you're trying to insult me by implying I care about that shit, good job. I'm slightly more offended than the time you implied I am too old for karaoke." He's slightly rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Didn't imply, actually. I think I was pretty direct.”
A huff of laughter leaves his lips. You don't want huffs or sarcastic laughs. You want his full belly-laugh. His happy laugh that you've only seen Robby drag out of him.
“I don't care about staff satisfaction scores,” he lightly shakes his head for a moment.
“Yes, you just sai —”
“Only care about yours.”
That makes you look up at him again with widened eyes and parted lips. Little shit, off-handedly throwing around words that gives you butterflies.
Dead butterflies, of course, just like your affections on him. Former crush. Yes.
You quickly regain your senses to retort.
“Satisfaction with your services? If so, thank you for checking me for a concussion.” The formality in your words completely betray the flush creeping up your cheeks.
“Of course, what else?” You hate the way he says your last name. The way it rolls off his tongue. The way it reeks of intent, and not casualty.
The sharp noise of metal rings dragging across a rod brings you out of your trance. Nic — Noah emerges from behind the privacy curtain, a bottle of water clutched in his right hand, and a simmering cup of black coffee in left. “Got you choices, babe.”
You smile thankfully at him, perhaps more grateful for the distraction. You extend your hand, your pointer gesturing at the water. You don't feel the same electricity when Noah's fingers brush against yours in the hand-off.
Jack takes a step back. He nods at you. “Rest. Hydrate. You know it.”
"Mhm, no big brain activity, limited screen time, don't avoid if symptoms worsen."
"Impressive. How does a civvie like you know the drill?" he asks, eyes widening in mock-surprise.
"Oh, I'm very smart. Could've easily been a nurse at your hospital," you can't help but smile.
"Shame. I'm sure you would've been terrific."
He nods at your boyfriend next, “Nick.”
“Uh, it's actually Noa —” but Jack's right hand has already caught the edge of the curtain, swiftly pulling it out of his way, and disappearing shortly after.
“She prefers lattes, by the way.”
2
Bzzzzzzz
“Doctor Ellis, I didn't know you allowed your staff to bring phones in a trauma bay. I would've brought mine to play some music while we inserted a chest tube inside this man.”
Ellis only grunts, too focused on work at hand.
Your cheeks heat at Doctor Garcia's comment, feeling the loud buzz against your thigh for the nth time today.
“I'm sorry — ” you had only just begun when Dr. Abbot's voice cut in, deadpan and dry.
“Yolanda, you listen to music?”
“Doesn't everyone?”
“Yeah, well, normal people do. Why?”
Garcia's sharp glare to the attending does nothing to his demeanor. His hands — controlled, precise, and so fucking practiced — don't stop for even a fraction of a second.
“Not everyone can have eccentric hobbies like nude yoga, Dr. Rabbit.”
Nude yoga? Nude? You force your mind to not conjure up an image of that. Especially not with your attending — who you have used to have a schoolgirl crush on — as the main character. Or, you'll be the one on the operation table instead of observing, breaking out in hives.
“I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia,” you complete.
“Apologise to the man on the table; It's not my life on line. No matter how much I wish whenever I work with you boy scouts.” You always cringe at the bluntness in her tone, but it's worse when directly aimed at you.
“Easy, Garcia,” Jack commanded, tone instantly gaining its authority, pausing a moment to shoot her a look. Yolanda doesn't deter, and two of your most-respected, highly-competent seniors seem to engage in a silent eye-conversation. It ends with a twitch of Garcia's lips as she glances at you, and your attending muttering, “shut it.”
Huh, Strange.
***
The biohazard bin shuts with a snap, and you rub your clammy hands, trying to get the feel of rubber gloves off them. Trauma bays are always stress-inducing, no matter —
Bzzzzzzzzz.
You're about to kill someone tonight. It's gonna be your boyfriend. And you're gonna enjoy it. And you're gonna go online, talk about it, and watch a number of supportive women tell you, “I support your rights, but also your wrongs. You go, bitch.”
The constant vibration against your thigh, the baby crying in pedes, and looking like a fool in a trauma bay…you heave a sigh. Has the ED always been so bright? It's like the lights are directly in your eyes.
You hate loud. So much.
You un-pocket your phone, letting it unlock before you start typing furiously, your mouth instinctively murmuring everything you're typing. Your feet carry you forward, muscle memory taking you to a quiet corner, where you can peacefully argue. And bang your head against the wall, if you're lucky. But you're not sure if there's a staff discount at The Pitt. And frankly, you're already struggling with rent and groceries.
Look at you being fiscally responsible.
“Fuck, sorry,” leaves your mouth as soon as you accidentally collide with someone. A single calloused palm settles on your hip, steadying you.
Your lips part to say something, but no words come out. It seems the entirety of blood in your body has rushed towards your hip to greet Dr. Abbot's hand, before it retracts.
“Been apologising a lot today. Forgot your training or have you rejoined pre-school?” His body moves to your front, effectively blocking the view of rapid-paced staff, and people in wheelchairs and gurneys.
“Just…one rookie mistake after another.” Your body sags sideways, taking support of the wall. As if on instinct, his posture mirrors yours, his entire side leaning against the wall as well. You deposit your phone back in your pocket.
“For what it's worth, you started out not too long ago. You are, technically, still a rookie,” he speaks.
In this slow corner, the lights seem dimmer and noise quieter. Your shoulders drop just a bit. You're not sure if it's the location or him. Your bet is on location.
You wonder how you must look to the others, a junior nurse and the person with the most seniority on this floor, tucked away in a hushed hallway. What would they think of you? Certainly not co-workers.
Your lips curl in a tired, soft smile. “Trying to make me feel better again, sir?”
“Trying to tell you trauma surgeons have a permanent stick up their ass. Shen and I have bets on whether she lives in an ice castle or a secluded cave.”
Your smile grows bigger, and his eyes crinkle. “It's not just her. In fact, I admire women with a mean mouth.”
“Only women?”
“Men already are. I can't think of any situations where they'd need to be more mean.”
“I can think of a few,” his voice dips even lower, rocks coated in honey. Your eyes find the fluttering pulse on his throat, and travel up his face, to find his gaze fixated on your lips. He looks up again. Slowly. Not in a rush.
In this low-lit corner and his head tilted down to adjust to your height, his curls — salt and pepper and presumably soft — brushed his forehead, creating shadows across his face.
You clear your throat, trying to erase some of the tension. “It's Noah. You met him the other day, if you haven't forgotten."
“Oh, I tried.”
You click your jaw, “He's a nice guy, sir.”
“Uh-huh. Is he blowing up your phone? What's wrong?” His brows furrow in concern, and you find his worry comforting. You're about to open your mouth to explain —
“Did he forget his Roblox password?”
You slightly shake your head, looking down at his shoes. “You…Dr. Abbot,” you trail off, looking up at him again to see the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes wide as if he's seriously expecting an answer.
“How do you even know what that is? And no, that's not it. He…sprained his ankle, hewasdoingaparkourjump,” you mumble the last part as quickly as you can, cheeks heating and eyes wandering.
Jack pauses, expression caught somewhere between humour and exasperation, “Wow, didn't know your boy was still in middle school. Tell me, were you trying to find a boyfriend or a son?”
You throw your head back, a light groan escaping your mouth. While you rub your eyes, you feel your attending move. After a second, he has a bottle of water in his hand.
You give him a look of gratitude and hold your fingers out. But before passing it to you, he twists off the cap with ease. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the sight of his biceps straining against his scrub top.
You empty almost half the bottle, throat working the liquid down, flushed under the heavy gaze of the man standing in front of you who is currently shamelessly oggling your neck. He's quick to take the bottle off your hands once you're done.
You mutter a quiet “Thanks.” He holds out his free hand forward. You shoot him a confused look, your fingers come up, hovering centimeters away from his palm.
Does he want you to hold…?
“Your phone, nurse.”
Your eyes blink, realisation creeping with a smudge of cringe, “Oh, that makes more sense. Yeah.” But the embarrassment is quick to vanish when you think about what he said.
“What? No. I feel naked without my phone on me.”
His eyes drop to your chest the moment the word “naked” leaves your mouth. You're not sure you've stopped blushing in the last 2 minutes.
“You're not a teenager.”
“Well, I love my phone like one,” you defensively say, standing up straighter. Your right hand moves towards your pocket to protect your mobile.
Abbot rumbles your last name like a warning, his husky voice settling low in your belly, and your traitorous hand is fishing the phone out without a conscious thought.
Before you can even hand it to him, he slightly bends, prying it out of your fingers.
“Now, I feel like a teenager,” you pout.
He uses her corner of your phone to tap against your nose, “Then don't make me go all authoritative on you again, kid.”
With that, he pockets your phone and walks away. You watch him twist the cap off the bottle again and drink directly from the mouth of it. The mouth you just had your own lips wrapped around.
Kid.
You need a chair.
3
“Okay, instead of using this job as an excuse for a sad dating life, how about you guys just admit…y'all got no game,” Mateo knocks back the last sip of his drink, making this very, very bold claim.
“First of all, nobody was talking about dating life. We were talking about sex. Forget dates, when was the last time any of you got laid?” Ellis asks, using her glass to gesture vaguely around the table, a few droplets falling on the wood.
Your shift was hell. Well, everyone's was. Really, every shift is hell, so this one was no different. The only thing was that today, everyone decided to grab a drink. Not in the nearest park, no. Instead, they're all here, the nearest bar that's open at a time when a person should be doing a morning walk, not shots.
You're tucked between Mateo on your left and Jack on your right, in a worn-out brown leather booth, with Shen and Ellis across the table.
“I don't feel comfortable talking about the personal details of my married life with my colleagues,” replied Shen, sadly nodding his head.
Jack's voice, raspy from his whiskey, cuts in, “Oh, shut it, Shen.”
“I'd say 6 weeks since we slept together,” Shen gave up quickly. A series of sympathetic groans and nods went around the table.
Mateo juts his chin towards Ellis, raising his brows. “Hooked up with someone last week. Left before she woke up,” replied the woman.
“Didn't know you were a player, doc,” laughs your fellow nurse, before his head turns to you. “And you? Come on, we're the youngest and hottest, we gotta rub it in their faces. Besides, you have, uh, what's his name...”
You laugh nervously, tracing the rim of your glass with your index. While everyone’s lazy and heavy-lidded all around, you feel Abbot's fervent gaze burning a hole into the side of your head.
“Noah. And hate to disappoint, but it's been some while,” you admit. Not being able to hold back any longer, you finally turn your head to the right. Not taking his eyes off you, your attending takes a long sip of his whiskey.
“How much is a while?”
This is inappropriate. Your attending physician shouldn't be asking you this, you're sure of it. But nobody but you looks alarmed.
“I would say…none of your business, doc,” you softly murmur, the liquid courage making your tongue sharper.
“And what about you Dr. Abbot?” Mateo jumps in again.
It's your turn to look at Jack with the same intense gaze. He doesn't take his eyes off you, “been a while for me too,” he mutters so low, like he's only referring to you.
You lose. You lose the staring contest and let your eyes fall back to your glass. Thank god, you have some of your drink still left.
“Why, is it…old man stuff?” Mateo asks, and your eyes widen at his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. Ellis's rich chuckle fills the quiet bar. You finally bring your cup to your lips.
“I'm an attending, Mateo. We're always at the very top of our performance. Here to serve well. In or out of trauma bays.”
Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, and you break out into a violent cough. Why would he say it like that? You're pretty sure you look like a tomato.
You feel a strong hand on your back, beginning to rub small circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Easy,” Jack whispers into your right ear.
Is nobody watching this?
You look around to see Shen, Ellis, and Mateo have deeply engrossed themselves in a completely different conversation. You wonder for a second if it's intentional.
His heavy hand stops rubbing, instead patting the small of your back softly and rhythmically. Your coughs start dying down, and you wipe the underside of your watery eyes with your knuckle.
“Have trouble swallowing, kiddo?” His voice is right next to your ear, every breath rustling a tiny bit of your hair.
Oh. Oh. OH.
“Think I need some air, sir,” you mutter, voice dried. You feel floaty, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
Jack rises from his seat with a low grunt, “Think we're gonna step outside for a moment,” he announces.
You quickly follow suit and walk out after him before you can see anyone's expressions. You're pretty sure you hear Shen's giggle.
***
You welcome the morning chill that greets your face as soon as you step out, double doors falling shut behind you. You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, and take a deep breath, easing the night's tension out of your body.
“Hot date yesterday?” You're quickly brought back to reality, turning sideways. Abbot has his hands in pocket and hair ruffled from the wind.
“Oh, uh, yes. How'd you guess?”
“You clocked in yesterday wearing something…different.” His eyes drop to your chest, before lingering on your lips, and then meeting your eyes again.
Your cheeks burn. You didn't realise he saw you in your fancy clothes. It was bad enough that you were running late, and worse that you didn't get to change before clocking in with your date outfit still on.
“Yeah. Noah took me to dinner. I just signed a new lease. I'm moving out of my current dumphole to another dumphole, but it's nearer to work. So.”
“Congratulations, glad to have you close.”
“Thanks, sir.”
A comfortable silence falls over for a minute before he speaks again, “was the place nice and quiet?”
“Hm?”
“Where he took you. Nick.”
“Ah. No. It's kinda trendy right now, so, super loud…” you trail off with a sigh. Jack keeps looking at you, as if wanting you to say more, as if finally expecting you to spill the truth out: Noah doesn't know you.
“Hm. Didn't peg you for a gold person, either.”
“What?”
He gestures with his chin towards your neck, where a sliver of chain is peeking out from under your shirt. A new one, gold colored, gifted by your boyfriend yesterday.
“I'm an anything person, really.”
Jack doesn't say anything, only waits. And this time, it works.
“Well, silver, if I had to pick. I like silver,” you speak, your voice bordering on a whisper.
Jack finally stops looking at you, and with that, you finally breathe. He casts his gaze towards the sky.
“I know.”
He says your name.
Your first name that he rarely says. Your heart stutters. Every bit of fresh air you inhaled seems to leave your lungs all at once. Instead, a family of butterflies — so fucking alive — have swarmed in there, rendering you speechless.
Please say my name again.
“I know, kid.”
“I'm not a kid, Jack.” For a second, you watch his eyes get darker. He takes a step closer to you. Then another.
You crane your neck to look up at him. Suddenly, he turns his back to you. One of his hands peeks from his side, and tugs at the lower back of his shirt, pushing it down by an inch or two.
You stand confused, until you notice faint black ink — now visible — just below his neck. You suck in a sharp breath.
By the time Jack turns towards you again, you're barely holding yourself up. He leans forward, his nose only inches away from yours.
“I've got tattoos older than you,” he breathes, “kiddo.”
Your knees turn to jelly. A sharp heat travels straight into your belly, increasing the buzz between your legs. Your lips part, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip.
You can only numbly turn your body towards the door as he holds it open for you. There's not a hint of teasing or smugness in his expression. There is something else, though.
Desperation.
You walk in through the gate, mind already trying to think of a reason to break up with Noah. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it finds plenty.
+1
“Oh, honey, just take this right now. The doctor has told your mom the rest. You're gonna be just fine!” You give your brightest smile to the 6 year-old girl, looking all sad and tiny on the gurney.
You stand up straight again, your back protesting. For someone still “young”, you definitely have an old-person back.
The mom gives you a thankful smile that still doesn't hide her tiredness, “Thank you so much.”
“She's gonna be alright, mom.” You flash one last smile and turn to pull the privacy curtain. When you step out, you see Lena, your charge nurse, and Jack in a conversation at the charge nurse station.
Lena calls out to you, “All done in there, hun?” You nod and give a thumbs-up. You expect your attending to say something, a joke, or even glance at you, but he doesn't.
Your heart sinks. After the morning at the bar, you went home and planned how to break-up with your boyfriend. On the other hand, Jack apparently went home and came up with, “10 ways on how I will ignore my co-worker who I occasionally flirt with on purpose.”
For the past week, there have been no lingering looks, no cornering you to check in, and no making fun of you.
No point in dwelling. You start going on about your usual business, entering through another curtain, all while the back of your mind still calculates how to leave Noah.
You had prepared your speech and your reasons. But then, Noah lost his job the same day you were planning to have the talk. And 2 days later, he was leaving to visit his parents in California. Shouldn't you just wait until after the trip? It will be so much easier.
Yes, you're definitely delaying it because it makes sense, and not because you're scared that Noah will absolutely take it the wrong way. He's been miserable lately as is, and while you were trying to be sympathetic, you couldn't find it in yourself.
Noah had always been unobservant and insensitive to your needs, not doing anything till he's told. All while, he expected it all from you — emotional support, moral support, and now, financial support. You saw nothing wrong with being “needy” but didn't you deserve the same treatment from him?
As you leave another exam room, still conflicted, you see Lena waving you over, the telephone receiver pressed against her ear. You quickly walk over.
Lena brings down the handset, palming the mouthpiece so the other person can't hear. “Sweets, it's your boyfriend, he's all panicking over something. Do you wanna take this, or should I make an excuse?”
The color from your face drains. This is humiliating, Noah calling at your work because he can't take care of himself. You quickly un-pocket your phone, tapping the screen awake.
9 missed calls from Noah.
“Uh, I'll take it. Thank you, Lena. Sorry too.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and hands you the handset.
“Noah, you can't be calling me at work.” You whisper into the mouthpiece.
“Babe, did you think I wanted to? I called your phone like 3 times, but you didn't pick it up. It feels like you're ignoring me.”
“It's because I am ignoring you. I am at a fucking hospital, working the emergency department,” your voice is straining with the effort to keep it low.
“Oh, I knew you'd throw your job in my face because I'm unemployed. You're a nurse, not a doctor, babe. See, I remember things.”
You take a deep breath.
“What do you want?”
“I locked myself out of my house. The locksmith will come by in the morning. Can you swing by and drop your keys? You know, I lost my license recently, and my ankle is still not good enough to take the subway.”
“No.”
“Jesus, I'm stranded, just be a good girlfriend for once.”
That sends you over the edge. You put the telephone down with more than necessary force, cringing when a few people turn to look at you.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.
“You okay, kid?” Lena asks sweetly, coming to stand closer to you. You're only able to nod at her. If you open your mouth, your voice will break. When your charge nurse finally steps away, you clear your throat, and blink back your tears.
When you look up with clear eyes, there's Dr. Abbot standing about 20 feet away from you, in a conversation with a nurse that he's not listening to. Because he's looking directly at you.
You quickly move your head, “Lena, mind if I take 5?”
“Take 10, hun.” You flash her a grateful smile and start walking towards the supply closet.
You twist the doorknob and walk into what must be a 6×6 feet room, and close the door behind you. Your phone is still in your hand, clutched tightly enough to be used as a weapon. You open Noah's chat.
This isn't working out. When the locksmith figures out your door, pack my things in a box and leave them outside my door. Have fun folding your own bedsheets. I'm changing my Netflix password!
Your thumb hovers over the send button. Is the message too unkind? Too cruel for you? You drop the phone in your pocket, with the text still sitting there.
You force yourself to take deep breaths, pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, turning around to face the organized racks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuc —”
The door slams open, and then shuts behind you, making you jump around, your hands falling to your chest.
“Jesus, Jack.”
“Did you forget your manners?” His voice comes out stern, low enough to drop the temperature of the room.
Your hands fall to your side. You're not in the mood for this. You don't want him in here, no matter how quickly your body is gaining color in his presence.
“What do you want, sir?” your question comes out breathless.
“You know, we pay you to work, not to hide in supply closets when you have fights with your childish boyfriend.”
“I asked Lena first, and I should be out in 5.”
“A patient can need you in 1,” he deadpans.
“Good thing there's Mateo and a bunch of fucking nurses already out there! I'm not the only one, sir,” you frantically wave your hands around, voice rising in pitch.
“Yeah, you're the only one yelling at your attending,” he leans back against the door, looking like he's enjoying a goddamn show. His calm pisses you off even more.
In your frazzled state, the true words spill out before you can filter them.
“Yes, my attending who has spent the last couple of days icing me out, keeping his distance, like I broke into his house and stole his leg.”
He's eyeing your motioning hands cutting through the air. You must look like the crazy one, while he stands there all frickin’ composed, his lips twitching.
“That's dark. And I'm your attending, nurse, as you mentioned. I'm not your boyfriend,” he shakes his head slowly like he's talking to a dog.
“I know that. Do you?”
“Oh, I know I'm not Nick,” he snickers.
“FOR THE LAST —” your voice booms throughout the small room before you stop yourself. You pinch your nose, chest heaving up and down.
Deep breaths. In and out. You're not the only two people in the hospital, no matter how much it feels like that.
Nurse, there's people that are dying.
“For the last time, his name is Noah,” you calmly say, voice shaking with the effort of controlling your pitch.
“Right, sorry. I just forgot because he forgot to fill his name out on your discharge papers when he brought you in. It's okay, children make mistakes like that all the time. Even when the forms are very easy to navigate, and the font size is very large,” Jack mocks, laughing sardonically.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I care about all my staff.”
Sweetheart.
“You're killing me.”
“Trauma bay 1 is empty,” he deadpans, shrugging his shoulders.
A humorless laugh escapes you. Oh, he thinks he's so funny.
“Staff. Is that what I am? Then why do you look at me differently than you look at others? Why do you catch me in the hallways? Why are you always seeking me out? Why have you not walked out of this —”
You flinch at the sudden motion, hand moving towards your temple where something just knocked against it. You look down, where a box maybe twice the size of your hand, lies on the ground.
The rack behind you is still vibrating from when your right arm collided with it 2 seconds ago. You shouldn't have been waving your arms around so much.
“Ow,” you mutter, the heel of your impacted hand rubbing your temple, and eyes downcasted at the box, looking at it like it personally wronged you. Which it did.
Jack quickly moves towards you, his left hand shooting up to take hold of your fingers that are kneading your head — same fingers that smashed against the rack — and brings your conjoined hands down.
“Careful. Are you hurt?” With only inches between you, he bends his head down to examine where you took the hit. His free palm brushes your hair back gently, and you shiver at the touch of his warm skin.
Trapped between your torsos, your hands are still joined, his thumb stroking against your knuckles to soothe any pain you felt on the impact.
“I asked you something, kid.”
You've lost your voice. You look from your connected fingers to his eyes.
And, oh.
His eyes have softened, looking at you with concern. This man sees lacerations, head traumas, hematomas, and fractures every single day. You've never seen him look this worried, and all for a pathetic clash that didn't even leave a bruise behind.
He switches positions with you, and suddenly, his back faces the shaky rack, his form protectively towering over yours. All of your body protests when he moves back, his hands dropping to his own sides.
“You can continue yelling at me now.”
In and out. Deep breath.
“Why have you not walked out of this room yet? And why have you kept me at an arm's distance?” you say but your voice is anything but loud, it's small and quiet, breaking at the end.
“As I said —”
“Stop, stop, stop. Stop, Dr. Abbot, and don't lie to me.” You instinctively take a step forward, closing all the distance again.
A pause.
“I really thought you were gonna break up with him. That morning, I thought you finally regained your senses, and were gonna cut off the dead weight,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.
“Jac —”
“Shut up and let me speak. I thought you were gonna end it with him, and you would come to the next shift looking happy and bright again. Just like you used to before you let that boy date you. You.”
His eyes are boring into yours, and he looks breathless and affected, so opposite to how he was just a minute ago.
“Me? What about me?”
He laughs humourlessly, “let's not fish for compliments. You know what you are. And if you don't, it makes me wonder what kind of limpdicks you have been with.”
You suck in a sharp breath, at a loss of words. Your cheeks burn, and your heart does a backflip.
He thinks that?
Jack turns around, so his back is facing you. Both his hands brush his hair back, and you can see the expansion and contraction of his back as he takes deep breaths.
“What if I had broken up? Nothing would've changed. It's not like you would've done anything. You would've continued to eye-fuck me across gurneys, and flash a smile once a day,” you speak up, voice rising in pitch again.
He turns back sharply, walking even closer to you, his chest colliding with yours.
“Oh, you know it's more complicated than that,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.
“What? You're my senior, you're older —”
He says your name. Low. Authoritative. You feel a traitorous sensation between your thighs.
“I'm not just older, I am old. Period. And I know just how old I am, because I feel it everyday when I strap my leg, and wake up with a new pain every day."
You don't know how to respond. Your gaze falls to his lips, and before you know what you're doing, you're withdrawing your phone from your pocket.
You take a tiny step back to make space, and tap your screen awake. It directly opens to Noah's chat, your message still sitting there in the type box.
You turn your screen towards Jack. His eyes move back and forth, reading your draft. When his eyes meet you again, they're intense, frantic, and what do you know…excited.
“Why haven't you sent it?”
“Because he's already going through a lot. He doesn't have a job, or a car, or…okay, I get it.”
Jack's fingers come up to grab your chin, holding it up. He looks like he's just had a shot of espresso and topped it off with another 3.
“Do it. Do it right now, in front of me, or you'll chicken out. He lost his job, his car, the next thing he loses is you. The one that's worth the most.”
With his breathless voice, taking the edge of desperation as every second ticks, you know you've lost. You bite your bottom lip.
His thumb moves from your chin, to your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth, “don't worry yourself over him.”
Deep breath. In and out.
You slowly look down at your screen, your thumb hovering over the little arrow.
Send.
You put the mobile back in your pocket and look up at Jack with hope, like a kid waiting for approval. Jack flashes you the biggest smile you've ever seen on him.
You did that. You.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you can't help but lean into his palm. You're high watching him smile, a similar one takes form on your lips.
He's so beautiful. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. He should be on TV, winning Emmy's for his grin.
But then you falter, “My…my minutes are up.”
“You can take another 5,” his face leans closer, and the tip of your nose kisses his.
“Patient might need me in 1,” you helplessly whisper, your breaths mingling.
“Well, consider me a patient, then. Your patient.”
You gulp. Your knees are growing weaker by the second and you can't stop staring at his soft lips. You let out a little pathetic whimper before lifting your chin, brushing your lips against his softly.
Fuck.
Your heart tries to escape your ribcage, palm operating with a brain of its own and landing right over his heart. His fluttering, excited, nervous heartbeat greets you, and your lips curve upwards.
Just as you try to move your lips against his —
“Not like this,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You let out an entirely pathetic whine, forehead crashing against his neck with a soft thunk. Your affectionate graze on his sternum turns into a punch — also, pathetic — and it makes him chuckle.
“How, then?” your mutter into his neck.
His arm comes around your waist, holding you up for him so you can let your weight go. His arm tightens as soon as he feels you melt.
“When I'll get you all the silver jewelry in the world,” he breathily replies in your ear.
“That's a lot.”
“What can I say? I like paying for things.”
His free fingers travel to the back of your neck, deftly working the hook of your golden chain with a single hand. You catch as the necklace falls down your chest, reluctantly taking your face out from his neck.
Note to self: Ask him what perfume he uses later.
“One hand, wow.”
“A lot of things I can unhook with one hand.”
He captures your wrist that you've held against his chest — index hatefully scratching, trying to harm him for not kissing you — and brings it to his lips.
He doesn't break eye-contact when he kisses the inside of your wrist. Then the middle of your palms, and finally the tips of your fingers.
You're grateful for his arm around your middle, otherwise you'd be on the floor, shrieking and screaming.
“Don't want to see that on you again,” he points with his chin towards your fist with the necklace inside it.
“Yes, doctor.”
He nods, heat swimming in his gaze. He finally extracts his arm from around your midriff, using it to pull out your phone from your pants and swiftly slipping it in his.
“No more worrying, hm? In return…” He empties his other pocket, taking out a set of keys. He brings your palm down from his face and puts them in it.
“Sit in my car at the end of the shift. You know which one. Turn the heating on, and wait for me,” he raises his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.
“Yes, okay,” you gulp, closing your other fist as well. One holds your past, another, your future. Or, so you hope.
“Yes, what?” he asks, already side-stepping you and moving towards the door.
“Yes, doctor”
“Good girl,” he shoots you a wink, the door falling shut behind him.
Look at that, your 10 minutes are up.
I enjoyed writing this sm, and i hope you lovely people do too. again, feel free to glaze me in asks, comments, and dms. likes and reblogs appreciated much <3 i also need to know if yall blushed reading this, if yes, WHEN
SUMMARY: When Phoebe's field day goes nowhere near as planned, Bella is left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart while Karis goes into labor and Jack and your father have a heart to heart.
WARNINGS: heavy angst in this one angels, parent abandonment, thoughts/feelings of unworthiness, tom, protective! Jack, mentions of foster care, some playful flirting and kissing, reader worrying that Jack is going to walk away.
A/N: a lot to unpack here, slightly longer than usual but honestly so needed. this is the second to last chapter of the series: the next part will be the final part and i am super sad about it. i cannot thank you all enough for all of the love and support you have given me and this series <3
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 10.1k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You don’t know much about cars.
You know how to drive, sure. You know which gas to get for your Honda, to get your oil changed every eight months, and you know how to change a tyre in case of an emergency, thanks to your dad.
What you don’t know is why your car is not turning on, why the engine is spluttering every time you try to start it. But you are very aware that it is not a good sign. If not by the noise alone, then by the deep furrow that’s setting between Jack’s brows.
“Pop the hood, I’ll take a look.” Jack says as he unclips his belt and opens the passenger side door, lets the cool air of the afternoon kiss your skin.
You press the button beneath the steering wheel, a small click sounding and Jack lifts the bonnet of the car until it blocks your view of him.
“Mommy, are we gonna be late?” Phoebe’s voice is nervous from the backseat, lips wrapped around a plastic straw as she chews on it, milkshake now empty.
You look at her through the rearview mirror with a reassuring smile. She’s dressed in a pair of pink shorts and a Pink Floyd t-shirt, sunnies resting on her nose and hair braided back. “No, baby. Jack’s gonna fix it.”
“Can’t fix it.” Jack appears at the passenger side again, lips curled in a thin line as he rests both forearms on the top of the car, leaning in slightly. “Gonna have to take it to a mechanic. Engine’s fucked.”
“Jack!” Phoebe quickly scolds him for the cuss word, and when you dare to look at her through the mirror again, she wears a furiously disappointed expression.
It’s something she’s picked up on since her little scolding two months ago, when she called Tom an ass. Not that you can really blame her, he’s been radio silent since you sent a few shitty messages expressing your anger.
Hasn’t shown up on the agreed days to see her, hasn’t even sent a message to check in. And despite it, you’ve still reached out to inform him of her field day today. Another one that’s been left on read and ignored.
Jack at least has the audacity to grimace, spluttering out an apology and offering you a sheepish expression. Your hands drop from the wheel with a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Can’t do it now, we’ll miss field day.” Jack shrugs, moving toward Phoebe’s door and tugging it open.
“I can get my guy to take a look tomorrow. I’ll drive us instead.”
You don’t know why you even allowed yourself to begin to stress. Of course, Jack will just drive instead. You blame your increased annoyance and stress levels on Tom because your resentment toward him has reached an all time high.
Phoebe hops out of your car when Jack unclips her, skips toward Jack’s which is quite literally parked beside yours. He’s already unlocked it and Phoebe gets herself into the back while Jack retrieves her carseat from yours.
It’s far too natural and practiced when he locks your car and carries Phoebe’s seat across to the back row of his vehicle. When he fastens it securely and buckles Phoebe in while you get comfortable in the passenger side.
Jack’s engine doesn’t rumble or splutter like it’s sick when he starts up. It purrs and vibrates to life and the aircon kicks in immediately.
You’ve always enjoyed watching Jack drive. His relaxed grip on the steering wheel, the focused set between his brows when he checks it’s safe to pull out and onto the road. There’s also something oddly sexy about the way his biceps flex beneath his cotton-shirt when he turns left with the palm of his hand.
You’re not exactly slick with your admiration, but Jack doesn’t comment on it. He does, however, shoot you a wide glance as a smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. It’s something he’s noticed a lot more over the past six to eight weeks; your seeming infatuation with his arms and muscles.
You’ve been favouring curling a palm around his biceps on walks a lot more recently, instead of intertwining fingers. Not ever something Jack will complain about. He welcomes the ego boost and reassurance that your attraction to him isn’t just for his personality and heart. It’s his old man looks, too.
And the more time that passes, the bolder you’re becoming with him. Jack doesn’t mean just sexually, he means in the gentle domestic way, too.
You’ve relaxed more when it comes to him and Phoebe, like you’re finally understanding that Jack doesn’t plan on going anywhere. He’s been spending the night more often than not; settling Phoebe to bed with you of an evening, and comforting her in the middle of the night when she’s startled awake from a nightmare.
Or more recently, growing pains in her shins.
Jack’s found his footing in this little family, has grown comfortable in the warmth of your home and hearts. For months, Jack’s worried about overstepping, of being too present. But when you didn’t ask him to come to Phoebe’s school field day—when you just assumed he’ll be there—Jack realized what this was becoming.
“Jack, your music isn’t on.” Phoebe whines from the backseat.
He casts a glance at her through the rearview mirror, grins at the disappointed pout on the kids lips and reaches into the cup holder for his phone. With his eyes back on the road, he passes it to you silently.
The screen lights up, his lockscreen a photo of Phoebe stuffing her face with pancakes when the three of you went for breakfast a few weeks ago. There’s a dull ache that forms behind your heart at the sight of it, at how openly he loves her.
You swipe the screen up, typing in his password and making your way to the Spotify app. When you go into his library, there are only three playlists. The first is your Sunday Funk Day mix, the one he asked you to send him almost seven months ago when you were only in that odd texting stage.
The second one has no playlist cover, a generic title of My Playlist.
But the third one, it takes you a moment before you can click on it.
My Divas.
The playlist cover is a photo of you and Phoebe asleep on the couch, cuddled up under a knitted blanket with mouths agape and heads lulled back.
When you click into it, you’re met with a list of songs that tally up to 8 hours and 39 minutes of playtime. You hit shuffle, let the music flow through the cars stereo system. Phoebe’s quick to sing along to the familiar tune and you take a moment to scroll through the list.
Half of the songs are from your own playlist…the other half, you come to realize, are songs that remind Jack of you and Pheebs.
You can feel yourself growing warm, can feel a tender sensation wrap around your bones and you lock Jack’s phone, tucking it back into the cup holder.
It’s been on your mind for longer than you’d like to admit; the change between you both, the heaviness and overwhelming feeling you get in your heart when it comes to Jack.
But you don’t say anything, even if that feeling does bloom across your chest with each day that passes. Instead, you sing along with them both. You dance in your seat and let the sound of Jack and Phoebe’s laughter wash over you.
Let yourself understand and accept for the first time, that this may be your forever.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Your palm curls around Jack’s bicep as you walk across the field, a laugh barking out of you as the sound of Phoebe’s loud excitement follows you across the grass. The moment you had taken her to her classmates and dropped her bag and water off with her teachers, she rushed over to her friends and didn’t even offer a second glance at you or Jack.
It didn’t matter how many times the both of you called out to her, she wasn’t having any of it.
“She’s gonna be exhausted after this.” Jack comments with a fond tone, cocking his head down just enough to grin at you.
You meet his gaze with the same expression, squeezing the muscle of his arm and practically skipping in step with him. “Hm, maybe she’ll actually sleep through the night, then.”
Jack hums, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head while still walking toward the rest of the parents across the various tracks and equipment set up for the kids.
“Tony will come by tomorrow morning when I’m back from work to take a look at the car.”
Your brows knit at his words and you turn to him again, still walking toward where you’ve spotted your parents and friends.
“You’ve already spoken to him?”
Jack hums. “Shot him a text when we got here. Said I’ll meet him out front at nine.”
You watch him for a moment, blinking at this capable, honest, strong, observant, sexy man that you somehow get to call your boyfriend. One of the only men that hasn’t disappointed you—a man whose actions always match his words.
And it’s entirely inappropriate for you to feel so hot about it given your surroundings.
Just like everything else when it comes to you, Jack notices. The heat that sits at the apples of your cheeks, the slight heaviness that passes over your eyes, the slight dents your fingernails mark in his skin when you grip his bicep a bit tighter.
He stares down at you with a secret smirk and a quirked brow, amusement licking at the gleam in his eyes.
“Yeah? That gets you going, baby?” His voice is a low murmur, deep, teasing, and only loud enough for your ears alone.
You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, dig your nails into him a little harder. “Shutup. It’s sexy when you fix things…when you take care of things.”
A dark, breathy chuckle escapes him and his voice lowers even more when you grow closer to your parents and friends. “That right? Just things or you?”
You dare a gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. “Both.”
His grin turns borderline sinful when he gently unwraps your palm from around his arm and gently pushes you to walk in front of him with his hand on your lower back, squeezing through groups of families to reach your own.
His body is pressed against the back of yours as he keeps close, and when you’re out of the thick of the crowd, Jack leans down to line his lips with your ear, his stubble grazing deliciously at your jaw.
“For what it’s worth, it’s sexy when you let me.”
“Honey! Jack!” You’re given no time or chance to recalibrate your mind when your mom is calling out to you both, waving her hands as if you can’t see her from just twelve feet away.
Jack squeezes your hip, the bastard, and waves back animatedly to your parents. As if he hasn’t just riled you up or short-circuited your brain.
He jumps straight into conversation with David and Ricky, like he’s known them for years. Talking about what, you’re unsure but somewhere mid conversation with your mom, you notice Jack showing off his prosthetic in his khaki shorts.
It’s midway through Phoebe’s egg and spoon race that Karis comes hobbling over with Bella. The former holds water while the latter stuffs a hotdog into her mouth like it’s the only sausage she’s found enjoyment in for years.
“You should not be here, you’re a week overdue!” You greet Karis with a playful scold and she grins in return, spare hand caressing her overly swollen bump.
You reach for it the moment she’s close enough, palms cupping the fabric of her sundress in hopes of feeling a kick.
“Jack’s here, so if I go into labor I should be fine.”
The unexpected joke pulls a laugh out of you, bright and genuine and incredibly amused. Before you can make a joke back about your own incident with your pelvic exam, shouts of angry encouragement sound from beside you.
“Come on, Phoebe!”
“Take her out, Diva! Keep fucking going!”
Chloe and Leone are red in the face, far too invested as you follow their line of sight to find Phoebe almost sprinting with a spoon in front of her, tediously balancing an egg in the dip of the utensil.
She approaches one of her classmates, hot on her heels and passing her just at the finish line.
“Good job, kid!” Her head whips around at the sound of Jack’s voice calling out to her in praise, the smile on her face enough to light up a dark room.
“I did it!” she screams across the field, jumping in her spot as she holds the spoon and egg in the air.
Prue cackles out a laugh as she videos her granddaughter, laughing louder when Florence races to Pheebs to tackle her in a hug to celebrate.
Bella snorts from beside you, muttering something about the pair of them being nothing but trouble makers when they’re older. The thought makes you feel proud and sick at the same time.
You hear Jack’s laughter when the girls start dancing, and when you look across your little group, you find him with his camera facing them, a grin on his face and pride in his eyes.
The sun beats down on him, casting his skin golden, caressing his freckles, brightening his splatter of grey hairs and glinting off the metal of his leg. For once, Jack doesn’t notice your admiration, doesn’t feel your presence grow closer and closer until you’re by his side.
The moment he does, it’s instinctive for his arm to snake around your waist, to pull you into him while keeping his attention on Phoebe and Florence.
“She’s having so much fun,” he says softly.
You hum, watching as Flo runs off for her next course and Pheebs remains in her spot, chugging half a bottle of water and picking flowers from the grass.
“Thank you for coming.”
Jack looks down at you with a frown at your words, pocketing his phone to turn to you fully; both hands on your hips as you reach to wrap your arms around his neck.
“Baby, you do not have to thank me for showing up for Pheebs.” He wants to say that it’s his job, that he couldn’t imagine not being there for her for anything, ever. You can tell as much by the hesitancy that flashes across his eyes.
“I know,” you say quietly. “But I want you to know that I notice. I see everything you do for us, I—we—appreaicte it, appreciate you.”
Jack’s gaze softens into something tender and understanding. A hand abandons your waist to cradle your jaw, his thumb soothing across your cheek and you go boneless in his hold. It causes a surge of something hot to swarm Jack’s heart.
Because Jack doesn’t think he’s ever done anything overly special or out of the ordinary for either of you. And yet, you gaze up at him like he’s personally hung every star in the sky.
“I don’t show up to be appreciated, I do it because I lo—”
A nervous call of your name cuts Jack off before he can say it. Both your heads turn to your dad, whose eyes are focused and hard on the field behind you.
You don’t have any time to dwell on the thumping of your heartbeat, to push for Jack to continue whatever he was going to say. Because when you follow your dad’s line of sight, Phoebe is toe to toe with a boy in her class and her fists are tight at her side.
You watch in anxious fury when the little blond boy steps closer into Phoebe’s space, but she doesn't back down. She continues to frown, to hold her own with her chin held high.
The kids lips are moving, snickering but none of you can make out what’s being said. Whatever it is, it makes Pheebs laugh, which in turn seems to make the kid angrier. You feel movement from beside you; Jack itching to cross the field and sort the issue himself, but you reach a hand for his arm to stop him.
“Just give her a second.”
He blinks, but does not argue, returns to your side while David watches from your other.
When the boy puts his hands on Phoebe’s shoulders and shoves, your blood roars angry and Jack is struggling to stay beside you. His own fists are curled, eyes scanning the crowd for the boy's father.
He almost misses when Phoebe quickly finds her balance and shoves the kid back with even more force, knocking him on his ass. A prideful grin curls on Jack’s face, and he’s struck with two thoughts.
One immediate, the other sobering.
His first thought is that the idea of someone hurting his little girl is enough to make him feral. To screw the oath he took when he became a doctor and to inflict as much harm as humanly possible to anyone that poses a threat to Phoebe.
The second thought comes a second too late after the first. Realization catching him deathly still. His little girl. How easy it had been to call her that in his mind, to feel that way about her. How quickly he was willing to go against his oath and word and character.
His little girl.
His little girl.
His little girl.
It sobers him enough to realize just how deep he’s fallen. What little right he actually has to consider her as such. His inner panic is lost on you, your gaze still set on Pheebs, a grin of pride on your own face at how well she handled herself.
Jack looks back across the field, watches the way she sticks her tongue out at the little boy before walking away and lining up for the relay race. She’s so much like you that it hurts Jack’s heart.
Your smile, your resilience, your strength and your humor. Phoebe has become such a prominent little figure in Jack’s life now. To the point that if, for whatever reason, things don’t work out between the two of you, he could never imagine turning his back on her.
He’s already made it clear that this is not casual. But now, Jack is met with the very real epiphany that he wants this to be his forever. That he needs to be there to watch Phoebe grow like every father does for their daughter.
That he will do anything to be offered the privilege of being whatever type of figure you’ll both allow him to be.
“That’s our girl.” The words fall from yours and David’s mouth at the same time, wearing far too identical grins for a father and daughter through choice and not blood.
Jack swallows thickly, looses a shaky breath when he feels a warm gust of air caress the side of his face—one he now associates with his late Mary.
Reassuring him, soothing him.
Too caught up in his mind, he doesn’t notice your phone pinging consistently from your back pocket, or the dejection that plasters its way across your face. It’s only when you’re resting a palm on his bicep and holding out your phone to him that you catch his attention.
“I'll be right back. Can you take some photos of Pheebs?”
He hums, takes the phone and puckers his lips when you lean up to kiss him. Jack doesn’t watch you walk away, gets the camera ready instead to record Phoebe’s next race as you excuse yourself.
Tom’s text still echoes in your mind.
Can you meet me in the parking lot?
There’s a horrible feeling in your gut. One that promises he’s about to ruin Phoebe’s day with his presence alone. Part of you wonders if he’s seen Jack’s car here instead of yours and is about to refuse to show up unless you make Jack leave.
When you approach the parking lot and spot Tom leaning against the bonnet of his Audi, you throw your hands up at your sides in both annoyance and exasperation.
“You ignored me for two months and now you can’t even show your face at your daughter's field day?” you call out across the short distance.
But as you grow closer, stopping just a few feet from him, Tom doesn’t look angry or resentful. It’s so much worse than that. He looks…regretful. Sad.
“I didn’t want her to see me.”
Your brows pinch involuntarily at the sombre sound of his voice. It’s a tone you don’t think you’ve ever heard from him before and you can’t put your finger on it but it’s leaving you very unsettled.
“What’s going on?” Your voice is careful, tedious.
Tom’s hands are shoved into his jean pockets, shoulder dropping as he blows out a heavy exhale of air. He doesn’t look at you, keeps his gaze locked on the tarmac beneath his feet.
“I think I need to take a step back.” Tom lifts his gaze to yours and for the first time in years, you can see the pain in them.
“I’m not—” he exhales shakily, pulls his hands out of his pockets to run them down his face. “I’m not cut out for this. Being a dad.”
You blink at him, feel your heart stop in your chest before it begins to ache; like it’s being dragged down to the pit of your stomach.
“What are you saying?” Your tone is hard, voice close to trembling from the anger and heartache.
Tom remains silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Like the coward he is, he averts your gaze again, focuses on the way his shoes scuff at the ground.
“I’m saying that I think I need to step away. For good. I never wanted kids, Y/N. When you told me you were pregnant with Phoebe, that didn’t change for me. I’ve tried to be a dad, but it’s just not the life I’m supposed to live.”
You can feel your blood rushing in your ears, can feel an ache in your fingertips as he speaks. You’re stunned, unable to articulate your thoughts fast enough to compose a sentence.
...It’s just not the life I’m supposed to live.
You stare at him, at the man you once loved, the father of your child. There’s a ringing in his ears as he continues speaking. Talking about his dreams to travel and explore, how Phoebe does not fit into any narrative of the life he’s created in his head. In any of the plans he’s made for his future.
Your throat grows tight in anger and resentment, in pure, unadulterated hate.
Because you changed your life and your dreams to fit around Phoebe. You consider her in every single decision you make, in every tiny thought you have. You’ve sacrificed sleep and relationships and opportunities for her.
Because that’s what a mother does. It’s what a parent does.
And here Tom is, making it loud and clear that he does not want her. That he doesn’t want to be her dad, he doesn’t want her in his life. That Phoebe is nothing but a burden to him, something that he never asked for.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Your voice is tight with fury when you finally manage to speak. “I have given you every out possible! I never forced this on you, I asked you several times to just fucking walk away. But you just couldn’t take the thought of us doing well without you. You sit there and you disrespect me, you talk shit on Jack– who, by the way, has been more of a father to her than you ever have—”
“I know!” Tom’s voice raises into a shout, one full of his own anger and hatred. You refuse to shrink away from it, from him.
“She deserves Jack. You deserve Jack. He is a good man and I fucking hate it.” Tom spits the words with so much venom it makes your blood boil and you can’t help but scoff.
“Is that what this is? Because of Jack? You’re threatened by him?” Your voice rises with every word. “You’re going to walk away from your daughter because another man is more of a father to her than you are!?”
Tom clenches his jaw, jerks his head to look away from you; a tell sign that he’s trying to calm himself down, and it’s absolutely fucking pathetic.
But he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t argue that that’s not the case, doesn’t push to try to be better for her, or to offer any other reason besides the selfish life he’s carved himself.
You swallow down the bile that’s rising up your throat. “If you walk away from her now, you are not welcome back. Not ever, and I fucking mean that, Tom.”
He nods to himself, stands with his hands still tucked into his pockets. “I’m not on her birth certificate so I don’t have any legal rights as a father. But if you want to speak with the courts so it’s all legit, we can. Let me know.”
You stare at him in astonishment, your breathing ragged and vision blurring as Tom rounds the bonnet of his car to get into the driver's side. He doesn’t offer you another glance when the engine starts and he pulls out of the parking lot.
You’re still staring at the empty space after he’s gone. Unable to truly process what the fuck has just happened, how absolute he is in his decision to walk out on Phoebe. His daughter, his blood.
Your movements are mindless and subconscious when you trek back to the field, silent streams of silver that glisten on the warm skin of your cheeks. It doesn’t matter that he was absent anyway, it doesn’t matter that all he’s ever done is disappoint…what matters is that he has never loved Phoebe.
That your sweet girl is going to grow up wondering why she was never good enough for her own father. A feeling you’re far too familiar with and something you never ever wanted her to experience.
Jack’s the one that notices your return first. A cheer halting from the back of his throat as Pheebs wins another race when he catches sight of you. He moves quickly, eyes wide with panic and concern at the pure shock and devastation on your face.
“Honey? What’s wrong? Hey, what happened?”
His palms are cupping your face with a ghost of a touch, not wanting to crowd you but needing to help you snap out of whatever the fuck is going on. The moment you feel his skin on yours, when his scent and comforting presence envelops you, a sob tears through the back of your throat.
He wipes away the tears as quickly as they fall, shushing and cooing and trying to get you to breathe. The sound of your cries and Jack’s slightly panicked tone is enough to catch the attention of the others.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“Where did you go? What happened?”
No one touches you but Jack. But your parents stand beside him, Bella too while Karis, Ricky, Leon and Chloe stand back in worry and concern.
Your friends have been with you since highschool, have watched you through your biggest highs and your lowest of lows. The only other time they’ve ever seen you so distraught is when you lost your fiance.
It breaks their hearts.
“Tom was in the parking lot.” You take a breath, struggling to wipe away your tears.
You feel Jack grow tense at the mention of him and his presence, watch his gaze turn from panic to fury and can tell just by the look on his face that he’s trying to calm down and not cause a scene.
Prue watches with concern, finally finds herself reaching out to rub a gentle hand up and down your arm. David, however, shares the same cold expression as Jack, and he reaches for him with a hand on his shoulder—a silent vow to promise he’ll beat Tom’s ass with him.
“He’s uh…he’s gone.”
Your mom blinks, shakes her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“He’s walking away,” your voice is hoarse. “He said he’ll contact the courts if needed to resign his parental rights over Phoebe.”
“What?” Jack’s breathless reply is all he can muster up. He can feel his heart sinking to his stomach, the shock and heartache for Phoebe tingling in his fingertips.
You barely notice movement from your side, don’t turn your head to see Bella stomping off toward the parking lot, don’t hear Karis sending Ricky to follow. But you do hear the cry that slips from your mom, the way she reaches for your dad in comfort.
Because they know what this means for Phoebe. The upset and anger that you went through as a kid toward your biological parents for walking away, is something she will now no doubt struggle with.
It’s the same thing that’s replaying in your mind, in Jack’s too. It’s enough for him to wrap you in his arms and coddle you to his chest, to cup the back of your head with one hand while the other attempts to soothingly stroke up and down your spine.
“You are everything that she’ll ever need, okay? She has us. She’ll never not have us.”
His hold on you is nothing short of secure and safe. A silent promise alongside his words that he is not going anywhere.
She has us. She’ll never not have us.
Jack pulls away just enough to get a look at you, to wipe the remnant tears from your pretty face.
“I know she’s better off without him and he has never once been consistent, but I gave him so many chances to walk away, Jack. I told him to leave before she was old enough to understand…”
“I know, baby. I know.” His palms rest on your shoulders, a firm sort of massage to do anything to try and help the tension in your muscles.
David watches with an ache in his chest, rubbing at the spot with a wide palm like he’s physically pained by the situation. His eyes flicker from you to Bella and Ricky who rejoin the group, shaking their hands that Tom wasn’t there for them to tear into.
Jack lets his gaze stretch across the field, checking that Phoebe is still okay. She’s none the wiser to the situation, happily skipping through another race where Chloe and Leone have moved closer—most likely to keep her distracted if she looks over and spots the commotion.
When Jack turns back to you, you’ve wiped your face and appear somewhat more composed on the surface. But he can read you like a book; and he can see the hurt and pain you’re struggling to bury in your eyes.
“I’ll call in tonight, okay? I’ll get Shen to cover.”
Guilt hits you almost as hard as the hurt and you’re shaking your head before he can finish getting his words out. “No. Work is more important, they need you there.”
He wants to argue otherwise, you know he does. That you are more important right now, that Phoebe is. If his job wasn’t so crucial, you’re ashamed to admit you’d allow him to call in sick, that you’d be selfish enough to ask him to stay with you.
“Hey,” Bella interrupts gently with a soft hand on your arm. “I’ll stay over tonight. The girls can have a sleepover.
You don’t even consider refusing Bella’s offer. Not because you prefer her comfort or company over Jack's, but because this is something you expect from your best friend. Because you’ve both done it for one another so much over the years. Because you are aunts to one another’s daughters.
But Jack is just Phoebe’s moms boyfriend. If her own biological father can’t stick around and show up for her, how can you ever expect Jack to. It’s an unfair expectation to have. One that, perhaps you’re not entitled to.
And he can see it. The thought process as Bella offers herself to you for the evening. He watches all the progress you’ve made together go backwards—watches you sink back into those feelings of unworthiness, of being too much.
Jesus Christ, it breaks his fucking heart.
And when you nod at Bella through teary eyes and an appreciative smile, he doesn’t even get to pull you aside to talk you down from this undeserving ledge. A gasp sounds from behind you the moment he tries to reach out, and everyone's attention is diverted to a slightly pale Karis and the burst of fluid that’s drenched the grass beneath her feet.
“Karis…”
“I’m sorry, I think my waters just broke.”
It’s entirely accidental and completely clumsy when Ricky gently tries to shove through everyone to get to his wife, tripping over his feet and pale in complexion. He doesn’t touch her when he reaches her, hands frozen at his sides as he stares at the wet ground.
“Okay, uh, we should go…” He sounds so unsure of himself, nothing like the usual Ricky you’ve come to know and love.
For a split, selfish moment, you forget about everything else around you. It’s shoved to the back of your mind as you watch one of your bestest friends about to become a mother. The hurt and anguish is momentarily replaced with overwhelming joy and excitement.
But it all comes crashing back to you when you watch Ricky hold Karis so tenderly, when he peppers kisses to her temple and they grin at one another when the shock turns into excitement. It’s a feeling of anguish and envy because that was not the experience you had.
Tom did not hold or caress you when your labor started. He didn’t breathe with you through contractions, did not hold your hand or reassure you when Phoebe stopped moving and her heartrate began to drop.
Because Tom didn’t show up. He wasn’t there for any of your appointments, never listened to Phoebe’s heartbeat as she grew. He declined every one of your calls when you tried to tell him you were going into labor, declined your fathers when he tried to update him that you were going for surgery, that there was a possibility that Phoebe wouldn’t make it.
It makes you feel sick to feel so envious of Karis’ happiness in this moment. She deserves the love and support. She deserves for her birth to feel magical and precious. You didn’t deserve the fear and loneliness of yours, even if your mom was with you.
But more importantly, it makes you realize that the only thing Tom has ever offered Phoebe is confusion and instability.
And Jack watches it all like he can see every thought flash across your eyes. The hurt and pain, the mix of envy and happiness.
He doesn’t say anything as he reaches for you, as he tucks you against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head. But your arms circle his waist and your nuzzle into him, loosing a heavy breath.
“It’ll be okay, honey.”
The certainty of his reassurance pierces through your heart. And despite your worry that one day Jack could decide to just up and leave, too, you still let yourself wonder why it couldn’t have been him.
Why you couldn’t have met him sooner, why he couldn’t have been the one to hold your hand and guide your breathing through contractions. Why he couldn’t have been the one to cry with you in surgery. Why he couldn’t be Phoebe’s father.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Phoebe and Florence grin at the camera, three trophies stuffed under their arms and one silver medal hanging from their necks. Their cheeks are flushed, hair windswept and knees grass-stained, but they both beam with so much happiness and pride.
“Hold still…” You manage to snap three photos before Phoebe drops the proof of her achievements and races to the kitchen for food, Florence’s footsteps just as loud and urgent as she follows.
“No running in the house!” Bella calls after them, nursing an iced tea as she lounges at the kitchen island in Prue and David’s house.
The girls giggle as they climb to sit at the island with her, chugging their plastic cups of water and stuffing cucumber sticks in their mouths. Your mom watches in fondness, cutting sandwiches into small triangles and placing them on an oval platter.
“Lunch before playing in the yard. You strong girls need your energy before playing.” She says it in the most lovingly stern voice she can muster, but everyone knows she’ll cave the moment the girls batter their lashes and compliment her hair.
Smart girls. They’ve got Grandma sussed.
Jack places the trophies back on the counter, watches in astonishment as the girls eat half their weight in sandwiches and veggie sticks (something that is usually a battle for Pheebs), and then race out to the backyard to play in the Wendy house.
The moment they are out of earshot, all eyes are turning to you and you fucking hate it.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Honey…” Your mom softens, reaches across the island to brush her fingertips against yours.
You pull away with a shake of your head. Not because her comfort isn’t welcomed, but because if you accept it, you’ll crumble. And you don’t want to cry anymore because of Tom, because of what he’s done to Phoebe.
“No—I… he’s never been a father to her. Never showed up when it matters, never cared enough to put her first. I’m just—angry. So fucking angry and tired and—”
Your dads arms wrap around you the moment you crumble, and he holds you like you’re a teenager again; angry at the world and confused and lost.
It feels the same to him, like he’s comforting his little girl, trying to protect her from the evil of the world. But you’re not a little girl anymore, and this is not something that he can protect you from. But he holds you tight, anyway. Lets you cry into his chest and lets you sink because he will always catch you.
David’s chin rests on the top of your head when he casts a glance at Prue, who’s covering her trembling mouth with her palm. Bella, who cries silently because while Florence’s dad has never been in the picture, at least he had the decency to walk away before it began.
And when David looks toward Jack, he holds you tighter. Jack’s eyes are set on the kitchen counter, knuckles white as he grips the corners, jaw set tight and eyes rimmed with tears.
The sounds of your cries and sniffles tear his chest apart. In his forty-four years of life, he has never felt such anger, never been riddled with so much hate and disgust for one person. And David can see it in his eyes, can feel those emotions rolling off him.
He presses a kiss to your forehead as he pulls away and lets you have a moment to wipe your tears. The movement catches Jack’s attention and he turns to David, nose twitching as he tries to reign in his emotions.
David nods his head briefly to you, a silent command that you need him right now and he doesn’t hesitate. Jack pushes off the counter to move toward you, to stand at your back and place steady hands on your shoulders, to lean down and press a tender kiss to your temple.
Your shoulders drop at the feel of him so close, like a blanket of safety and comfort has been draped over you. One hand comes up to rest on his; your fingertips tracing his knuckles as your head falls back against his chest with another sniffle.
“She is going to ask questions,” David says softly. “You did, too. But you have time before that happens. Time to decide what truth you want to tell her.”
You nod as you exhale shakily, fingers wrapping around Jack’s and you squeeze one another in a desperate need of reassurance.
“But you listen to me good, kid. You are a phenomenal mother. You have sacrificed so much for your daughter, you have shown up for her every day and you have never once put a single thing before her. You are all she has ever needed and all she ever will.”
Your father stares at you with so much love and adoration and respect that you don’t quite know what to do with it. To have made him as proud as you have…it has tears burning at your eyes again.
And you believe him. You are a good mother, you will always put Phoebe before anything, but you have not done it alone. You’ve had your parents by your side every step of the way. Had Bella and Karis, Chloe and Leone.
And now, Jack.
Your sweet, incredible Jack. Who has never once complained when you’ve had to cancel a date. Who has always considered Phoebe and planned dates to accommodate her. Who has come into her life and stayed, never once disappointing or not showing up since the moment they met.
Jack, who loves Phoebe with every fibre of his being.
And when David’s eyes flick up from yours to meet Jack’s, his head nods in something subtle. Like a silent way of saying, you too, the both of you is all she needs.
“Now, we are not going to cry anymore. I am going to make my grandbabies some popcorn and we are going to forget about that little asshole.”
He calls the girls in while everyone else wipes away their tears, makes a show of getting out a pan for popcorn and when you catch Jack’s gaze, he tilts his head toward the yard in silent invitation.
The air kisses your warm skin as you take your seats on the patio furniture, pressed into Jack’s side as he curls an arm around your shoulder to keep you close.
You sit in silence for a minute, like you’re both trying to figure out how to broach the subject, where to go from here.
“Can you promise me something?” Jack asks quietly, voice low and slightly pained.
You pull away just enough to crane your neck up to look at him at the same time he gazes down at you. And it’s then that you notice the redness of his eyes; the worry and concern and hurt that’s buried itself deep in the lines of his skin.
“You talk to me.” His voice cracks when he requests it. “You don’t get stuck or lost in your head. You have a concern, you voice it. We talk through it. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere, and I need you to tell me you understand that.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, the need to argue that if Tom can so easily walk away from Pheebs, what’s to say that he won’t, too.
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen.” Jack rasps like he can read your mind, and you don’t miss the hurt in his voice. The fact that you think he could so easily, so carelessly walk away from either of you like that.
“You say that now, but what if things change.” He hates the pain in your voice, the worry and fear and heartache.
Jack shakes his head, his hand coming up to caress your jaw and stroke soothingly against your cheek; catching the tears before they can fully fall.
“Baby, I told you before but I’ll happily tell you again…you and Phoebe are all that I care about. Your happiness, your safety, your health…”
His voice is a wreck as he stares down at you, as he catches the sheer vulnerability in your eyes. It’s on the tip of his tongue, right on the precipice of spilling over. But he catches it before it can.
“There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you, for Phoebe. And even if you and I don’t work out, or you meet someone younger or better—”
“—there is no younger or better—”
“—I will never turn my back on her. I give you my word, that I will be present in Phoebe’s life, no matter what. In whatever capacity you allow me to be, I will be there. Happily. Willingly.”
You stare at him in awe, with so much adoration that you feel yourself starting to cry again. You have never felt this way about anyone. Not Tom, not even your beloved lost love.
He leans down to close the small gap, rests your foreheads together as the tip of his nose brushes down the slope of yours. “You two have made an irrevocable mark on me. You are not something I plan to walk away from.”
Your bottom lip trembles at the sincerity of his words, at the soft and gentleness he’s always given you. You’ve never been cared for so openly, so genuinely. No one has ever been so gentle with your heart and mind. No one has ever watered your soul in hopes that it will bloom and thrive.
No one but Jack.
Perhaps it’s wrong to feel so significantly lighter when he intertwines your fingers and guides you back into your parents house. Maybe you should still be hurt and sad and inconsolable over the events of the day.
But you do.
You let yourself trust him, his words and his heart. You let yourself laugh loudly when your dad makes his so-called ‘crazy popcorn’, where he lifts the lid of the pan to stress the importance of keeping it on and kernels fly across the kitchen.
When Phoebe and Florence almost piss themselves from laughing so hard.
It suddenly makes sense to Jack what Pheebs had meant a couple of months ago when he wasn’t as creative and just made the popcorn in the microwave. A mental note he makes for next time.
He squeezes your hand gently, trying to catch your attention. And when you turn to him with some of the light back in your eyes, it’s like he visibly relaxes.
“I’m gonna head back to the apartment. Check on Sally, get some shut eye before shift tonight.”
The thought of not having him by your side right now isn’t one you’re too thrilled about, but you nod anyway, intertwining your fingers.
“Alright, we’re gonna stay here for a bit.”
Jack watches you for a moment, like he’s searching for any split second of hesitancy or unease so can insist on calling in sick and staying with you. But he finds none.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” He asks quietly.
You’re not sure, not even in the slightest. But you have Bella and the girls. You can’t expect or allow him to put his life on pause because of something another man has done. That’s not fair to him.
So you nod, plaster on a smile that’s as believable as possible. “Yeah. Bella’s gonna stay. And our talk helped.”
Jack squints at you, like he can tell you’re trying to save face for him and he doesn’t like it. But he’a already made it clear to you that he’s here, that he wants to help. He worries that if he pushes more you’ll pull away again. So he relents with a sigh and his hands on your waist, luring you into his arms.
“Okay, you call me if you need me and I'll check in through the night.”
Selfishly, you don’t even consider refusing that. You’ll happily take the calls and texts through his shift, if only until you can be with him again tomorrow.
Jack leans close to press a tender kiss to your forehead, hands gripping your waist like he’s making sure you’re not about to disappear. And it’s like it physically pains him to pull away to say goodbye to everyone else.
Prue seeks him out first, wrapping him in a mother’s embrace that he hasn’t felt for himself in many years. She squeezes him like he’s her only son, whispers her thanks for looking after her daughter and grandbaby.
Jack doesn’t have it in him to be able to reply without growing upset. So he smiles through pursed lips and untangles from her hold when David approaches to pat a hand on his shoulder and turns their bodies toward the sink to form a quiet curtain of privacy.
“I want you to do me a favor.”
Jack keeps his gaze focused on the faucet as David speaks in a low tone; one that’s rich in pain and protectiveness and he hates that he knows what he's about to be asked.
“You might feel like it’s not your place, but you cannot allow Tom back into their lives. I know my daughter is a strong woman…but she cannot handle this when it comes to Phoebe.”
Jack cranes his neck to the side to meet David’s desperate gaze. There’s more to it in his eyes, more than just asking a favor for this situation. There’s the worry of who will take care of them when he’s gone. Because the years are passing faster than he can keep up with.
“I’m—” Jack’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, speaking again in a much lower and pained tone. “I’m not sure she’d want me to involve myself.”
David shakes his head before he manages to finish his sentence. “You’re already involved, son. You’re in love with my daughter and you treat Phoebe like she’s your own. They are your family now. As men, we protect our families.”
There’s a stinging sensation behind Jack’s eyes, a throbbing that aches around his heart. David is a smart man, he knows. It’s his way of making sure Jack can take care of you both, his way of accepting him, his silent blessing wrapped in protective ribbon.
You’re in love with my daughter.
He doesn’t deny it.
“Yes, sir.” Jack nods, voice gravelly.
David squeezes his shoulder as a sad sort of grin begins to tug across your father’s mouth. “Just David to you.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just passes Jack with a fatherly pat on his back before returning his attention to Phoebe and Florence—who Jack had no idea Prue and David also considered to be their granddaughter.
“I’ll stay with her tonight, promise.”
He turns at the sound of Bella’s voice as she stands beside him, leaning against the kitchen counter with arms crossed over her chest.
“Thank you.” He looses a sigh, eyes immediately seeking you out across the room as you check your phone for any updates on Karis yet.
Bella notices, she always does. Follows his line of sight and for the first time, she doesn’t feel protective of you—doesn’t feel like she needs to warn Jack or give him a talking to. Because he watches you with so much devotion and care, so much love it almost chokes her.
If anyone is deserving of it, it’s you.
The only time his attention is torn away from you is when small footsteps rush toward him and Pheebs is at his feet, arms in the air as she tries to show him her picture.
Jack doesn’t falter when he lifts her—something she’s very close to being too big for—and rests her on his hip, shifting his weight to his good leg and taking a look at her drawing.
“Look, it’s us!” She points to each figure as she lists them off. “Mommy, me, you, and there’s Sally!”
The figures are misshapen and different colors, uncoordinated and chaotic but that’s Phoebe for you. She’s tried to write names at the top—something the three of you have been working on over the past couple of months—and the sight of Jack’s spelt wrong and mostly with shapes and a silver crayon used to draw a line for his prosthetic…it has his throat tightening.
He decides right then that he’s going to pin it in his locker at work.
“You are such an artist, Diva. I love it, you even put my leg in there.”
“Duh,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing to include.
And Bella watches the exchange. The way Phoebe’s eyes sparkle when she looks at Jack, the way he holds her tight and kisses the side of her head. She watches how your smile widens when you notice them, when you grin something bright and cosmic, when you stand by Jack’s side and Pheebs shows you the picture.
She listens when Jack tells Diva to behave for you, when he checks if you need her carseat and you tell him Bella has a spare. When Phoebe wiggles out of his grasp and runs off to Florence, when he waves at them both as they scream a BYE JACK at him.
Bella does have the decency to turn away when he kisses you, though. When he promises to see you in the morning and bring breakfast for everyone. When he jokes about stealing your shower to put the chair you got him to good use.
She lingers long enough to hear your laugh, to hear Jack’s. Waits a beat too long to see if he’ll say it, if you will. There’s a pregnant pause like you both want to, but neither utter what’s on the tips of your tongues.
Bella doesn’t think it’ll be long before one of you does.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You knew the night was going to end in tears.
To give yourself some grace, you have managed to hold it in until the girls settle for bed. Your bed, to be precise. They’ve commandeered your bedroom, snuggled up under your sheets as they watch Peter Pan and snack on yogurt covered berries.
And now that you’ve pulled out the couch bed in the living room and sat with a blanket, chinese food and a bottle of wine…life feels like it’s crashing around you.
Bella’s hand on your thigh is soothing and grounding, firm enough to keep you from completely floating away in your burning mind.
“I just feel like I’ve failed her.”
Bella’s heart shatters at your words, at the ache in your voice, the tears that continue to pour down your flushed cheeks. “Babe, you have not failed anyone. You are not responsible for his shitty actions, you know that.”
She’s right, you know she’s right. But you were the one that had a child with him, you were the one that still allowed him to be in her life up until this point. To confuse her. To now disappear out of nowhere and leave her with the same heartache and anger that your biological parents did.
“I don’t want her to go through what I did.” Your admittance is passed through trembling lips and salty tears.
Bella’s lips turn downward, her own eyes glistening with fresh tears because she knows all too well what you went through. She was the first friend you ever made when you were put in Prue and David’s care, she was the one you’d sneak onto the back field with during class to smoke weed and be angry at the world together.
She was there through all those confusing feelings, through all the sadness and anger and then the guilt when Prue and David decided to adopt you.
“It’s not the same, babe. You know it’s not the same thing you went through.” She coos.
“It’s close enough. She’s going to grow up wondering why her daddy didn’t want her, why he walked away, why she wasn’t good enough—”
“Stop, calm down, come on.” Bella pulls you into her, cradling your head to her chest and rocking you back and forth on the pull-out bed as she smooths down your hair.
“She is always going to have you. You’re not going anywhere.” Her voice is gentle when she speaks, wobbling from her own anguish at the sight of you. “Jack is not going anywhere.”
You clutch her tighter. “You don’t know that.”
Bella pulls you out of her hold to get a look at you, to cup your face in her palms and wipe away the onslaught of tears that continue to slip.
“Yes, I do. Honey, he looks at you like you are the only thing in this world that matters. He looks at Phoebe like she is the most precious thing he has ever met. That man is smitten with the both of you, he is not going anywhere.”
You know she isn’t just saying it to make you feel better. You know that Jack cares so deeply for you and your daughter, that he would never dream of walking away like Tom has. But the truth of it doesn’t stop that worry from festering. Doesn’t stop it from taking root in your mind until you begin to believe it.
“I’m scared,” you whisper.
“I know,” she whispers back.
“I’m in love with him.” It comes out as a breathless whine, an admittance that you’ve been keeping buried for the past couple of months. One that’s been suffocating you from the inside out, like it’s never supposed to have been kept to yourself.
“I know,” Bella whispers again.
Before you can think to dive into your fears of him not feeling as deeply as you do, the gentle pinging of your phone lights up with a text message from Jack and you’re wiping your eyes as you reach for it.
Jack: Just checking in baby, you doing okay?
You: all ok, we have wine and chinese, hows work
Jack: Work is fine
Jack: Would much rather be at home with my girls
Your heart stutters at the message. Home. My girls. You want to tell him that you wish he was here, too. That part of you regrets not taking him up on the offer of calling in sick. But you know if you say as much, he’ll walk out and come straight back to you.
His job is more important than this. But you’re grateful that Jack is keeping the conversation casual, like he’s purposely trying to keep your mind off the events of today.
You: promise you’re not missing out on anything exciting
Jack: I’m missing out on you. You’re the most exciting
You: anyone ever told you that you’re a massive flirt?
Jack: Once or twice.
Bella catches you grinning at your phone, takes that as her cue to refill your glasses in the kitchen. You barely register her brief departure before you’re receiving another text.
Jack: I miss you
Jack: I’m starting to hate my job
You: liar, you love your job
Jack: I love being with you and Diva more
You: we love being with you too
There’s at least a minute of your text being left on delivered as Bella comes over with another full glass of white wine and a giant tub of ice cream tucked under her arm, causing a wet patch to form on the pyjama shirt she’s borrowed from you.
You take the wine as you blow her a kiss, your mood slowly lifting as the tears begin to dry. You snuggle back against the pillows, curling into yourself and the scent of Jack’s shirt that you’re wearing when your phone vibrates with another text.
Jack: Mass casualty incoming, I will try and call you later
Jack: Stay out of that beautiful head of yours, I am not going anywhere. We will figure this out together. x
You stare at the message, rereading it over and over and over again. The words are on the tips of your fingers, eager to be typed and sent. But you refuse for that to be how you tell him for the first time. How you confess it properly.
You: ❤️ u
It’s much more casual and lightheartened than how you actually feel, but it’s more than either of you have ever said. You send before you can talk yourself out of it, feel the bile rise up your throat when it’s marked as delivered. Feel it threaten to spill out your mouth when it changes to read.
Not even a heartbeat later, his reply comes through.
Jack: I know baby
Jack: ❤️ u too
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
ok unsure what happened before but hopefully this is working now. i am so sad that the next part is the final part and i hate that i did this to pheebs but it's crucial to the storyline like it just had to happen
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
This would have had me crucified on tumblr 10 years ago but maybe we are ready for this conversation now:
If you are a socially anxious person, you have to socialize. Your panic/anxiety attacks will only get worse and trigger more frequently if you constantly avoid contact with The Public. Not saying that you need to be a social butterfly- but there is a genuine problem with not being able to order your own meal at a restaurant. And it cannot be solved by always having someone else do it for you.
This is a PSA to about 3/4s of the Portland Youth populace
everyone who reblogs this and is like "I ordered my own tea this week" or "I only barfed once when I had to give a presentation'- you are doing amazing sweetie. Have patience with yourself, you are relearning a skill so difficult that people get 4 year degrees to do it professionally.
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