Samantha Jane

Fics I've read and want to share. @CLLightning81 + @Samantha-Chicagos

[lnchicagosreads]

LNChicagosReads

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I shall be reposting fics I have read on this account rather than on my main account so authors still get the credit they deserve without me sharing them over my own fics.

[voidsagent]

Gossip…Boy? - jack abbot x reader

Pairings: jack abbot x resident!reader

Summary: After finding out a certain attending likes to gossip, you find yourself having a very unexpected Fourth of July shift.

Warnings: none really; TONS of fluff, age-gap, pre-relationship, mentions of injuries, mentions of PTSD, gossip!jack, & medical inaccuracies.

Word Count: 4k+

Author’s Note: my fourth of july fic is here !! so excited to introduce ya’ll to gossip jack !! i hope you guys enjoy !! <3

Jack Abbot is a lot of things; strong, intelligent, well-liked, level-headed, quick to react, reliable and good at his job. If you knew him well enough you’d find he’s pretty funny despite his dry sense of humor, very down to earth and has quite the sweet tooth. One thing you absolutely wouldn’t expect by just looking at him was his love for gossip.

With his sharp jawline and casually neutral face—grumpy in a way that was unfairly handsome—chin donned with grey stubble and hair to match. Sharp eyes that noticed everything. He’s an ex-army man with a night shift attending badge clipped to his pants pocket who only drinks his coffee black—he survived losing half his leg, and yet—Jack enjoyed using all of that to his advantage.

Any newcomer at the Pitt was quickly intimidated by him—almost choked to death anytime Robby or Dana, hell; even if Shen or Ellis picked on him or called him old. Desperately looking for a patient to tend to before they saw one of their coworkers die or get scolded. But it never came, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips that was quickly so uniquely Jack.

So no, looking at Jack you’d assume he probably kept to himself—and for the most part he did. But once you got to know him a little? It wouldn’t be long before the truth came out;

Jack Abbot is a big fat gossip.

He never started the conversations, he’d wait until someone else did and just…effortlessly slide himself right into them. But you could always tell when he’d heard something new.

Like now, as you’re walking in next to him for your shift; he’s practically vibrating. An extra bounce in his step, his hands closing and unclasping at his sides. He’s shifting on his feet way more than he usually does; and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms.

You try your best to keep your eyes on the board—an ever growing list of patients above you. You try to ignore him, try to start your shift and at least make an attempt to head towards your first patient; but when he leans against the counter with a rather obnoxious exhale through his nose and scratches at his scruff—you finally break.

“Alright Gossip Girl, what is it?”, You ask, crossing your own arms and lifting a brow.

Jack practically shoots off the counter, straightening up and stepping closer to you. He looks around once before speaking.

“Robby and Noelle are hooking up.”

He says it with both brows raised and eyes so wide you swear they’d pop out at any second.

Your mouth falls open before you can stop it; “SHUT UP—“

Eyes from every direction flick towards you, your reaction a little louder than you wanted it to be.

“Jesus kid-“, Jack shushes you quietly; nervously looking around before he gently pulls you into the empty break room.

His hand is still on your elbow when you speak up. You force the acknowledgement at the way your skin burns perfectly at his touch to the back of your mind; store it away for later.

“Robby and Noelle!?”

He nods; “Mhm.”

“How?? When?? Robby??”, All your questions tumble out at once.

Jack shrugs, slipping his hands in his scrub pockets; “Don’t know for sure, long enough that it set McKay’s alarm bells off.”

“…Oh this is too good”, You say, eyes focused on the floor as you comb through every thought that’s now popping into your head.

“It gets better”, Jack says, leaning closer; “Dana said Noelle told her Robby sleeps with the tv on.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. The smug smirk on Jack’s face does nothing to help you. Neither does the scrunch of your nose when you realize what you’re really hearing.

“That’s way more than I needed to know about Robby”, You say.

Jack grunts something close to a laugh; “You’d be surprised.”

“Wait”, You tilt your head; “Wouldn’t you already know that about him?”

Jack’s smirk deepens; “Well yeah, but”, He leans even closer; “How would she know that?”

The information hits you again, your brain swirling at a speed that’s too fast for before coffee.

“Oh my god”, You breathe.

Jack laughs across from you, actually laughs. You force yourself to ignore what that does to your heart.

“I don’t think I can even look at him now”, You say, “I’d laugh in his face, it’s too good. I’d-“

Jack’s hand on your shoulder stops you; “Woah, kid. Don’t go spiraling on me now.”

“I’m not…it’s just so?-“

“Strange? Weird? Bordering on haunting?”

“Well, yeah!”, You say, hands flying in the air.

Jack laughs again, you ignore what it does to your heart; again.

“Careful kid”, He says, leaning in way too close; “Gotta work on your poker face or I won’t be able to share with my favorite resident.”

Favorite resident.

Your heart does a somersault and the air leaves your lungs; heat rising to your cheeks.

His hand on your lower back lingers for a moment before he pulls away, leaving your skin cold and missing the contact.

“Cmon, gotta get back out there before Dana threatens to put us all in triage”, He says, that crooked smirk playing at his lips.

It stays there as you watch him push the break room door open with his shoulder, disappearing back into the noisy hum of the ED; leaving you standing there with your mouth parted and your heart beating way too fast to be close to normal.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Three hours and too many patient charts later, you finally get a moment to sit down and let your feet rest. You take a drink of your water, crack your back once and lean back in your chair; letting your eyes close and hoping you get at least a few minutes.

That dream is quickly wrecked within seconds.

You feel him before you see him, not even having to open your eyes to know who’s standing next to you—the shadow of his strong frame blocking out the blaring fluorescent lights above you. The heat you can always feel radiating off of him. Warmth you so desperately want to sink into, wrap your arms around him and nose into his neck. You briefly wonder if his cologne would smell stronger against his skin like that, or if there’d be something you’d learn to be so uniquely and purely him.

You sigh, snapping yourself out of it. Eyes still closed as you cling to the last remaining bit of peace you’ll get before he speaks and resumes his mission to annoy you as much as he can. Not that you mind in the least bit.

“What Jack?”, You breathe, fighting the smile that’s trying so hard to creep onto your lips.

“How’d you know it was me?”, You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You reek of antiseptic and annoyance.”

A noise escapes him next to you, something between a laugh and a sound of disbelief.

“Oh so you know what I specifically smell like?”, He juts.

You feel your face heat up immediately, air leaving your nose. You fumble to keep yourself composed, a string of muttered words leaving your mouth.

You peek your eyes open, peering up at a way too smug Jack. Enjoying how flustered he’s made you. His strong arms crossed over his chest; biceps bulging under his too tight scrub top. Freckles decorating his skin all the way up his arms; grey curls looking unfairly good and framing his face in a way that should be illegal—

“What do you want, Jack?”, You feign annoyance.

“What makes you think I want something?”, His answer comes from pursed lips.

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m standing.”

“You have a look on your face”, You throw back.

“My face always looks like this.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey—“, His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

“What”, you sigh; “Do you want?”

His mouth is crooked in the way it gets when he’s trying to hide a smile or the fact that he’s amused; but it always gives him away. You know that look and all of his looks too well by now. Unconsciously memorized and stored away for later with all the other information you’ve filed away about him. Normal, completely casual.

It certainly has absolutely nothing to do with whatever feelings flutter to life inside your chest and set your very being alight each time you seem him. That certainly wasn’t the case, even now; when he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne and something underneath it that’s just uniquely Jack—

You snap yourself out of it before the heat climbing up your neck once again can reach your face. Forcing yourself to stay calm—steady.

Jack, who hasn’t moved from where he’s standing; that ridiculously and frustratingly adorable crooked smirk still on his face—takes a step closer to you.

“Did you know Shen has a secret supply of free drink vouchers from Dunkin?”, Jack says.

You roll your eyes; “Did you know you and Robby have matching tattoos?”

Jack falters for a moment, mouth falling open before heat pinkens the tips of his ears; “We do not!”

You shoot him a smirk, grabbing your drink and rising to your feet to walk around him. He’s following you half a stride later.

“W-Where did you even hear that?”, He gawks.

You shrug; “I’ve got my own sources.”

A second later he’s in front of you, arms up in defense as he shakes his head; eyes closing for a moment; “Woah. Woah—I—ok, you’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”

“How’s it feel?”, You muse.

You watch as his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip, a crooked twitch of his mouth as he rubs at the back of his neck; “You’re mean, kid.”

“And you’re a gossip”, You shoot back.

Jack pushes his hands into his pockets; “I might be.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes again; “Why would you even care if Shen’s was true? You hate Dunkin.”

“I’m nosey”, He shrugs.

“You’re something.”

But that only makes Jack’s smirk grow wider, twitching again in the way that sets your heart ablaze. God, he was gonna be the death of you.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A few weeks later, you’re strolling into the hustle and bustle of the ED for another shift. Bracing yourself for the incoming influx of patients from the holiday. The Fourth of July was always busy with firework accidents and heat stroke—among other injuries you didn’t even want to ask about.

You hoped it would at least be relatively smooth—close enough to a regular shift; that unfortunately would soon become the furthest from the truth.

You slid up next to Robby with a few patients, following Dana’s directions; having opted to come in a little early to help out day shift. The ED was already busy, already bustling with patients of all different kinds. McKay had a firework injury, Santos had a nun with gonorrhea in her eye that she deemed an “immaculate infection.” Donnie had a priaprism, Mel and Langdon had set up a cool room and Javadi was helping a girl with glue in her eye. Not to mention the fact that a baby had been found in triage and was now being lovingly referred to as baby Jane Doe. Never a dull moment.

As if the shift couldn’t get any crazier—an hour later the ambulance bay doors opened and who came rushing through with a gurney but Jack Abbot. A Jack Abbot in uniform, nonetheless.

Camo fatigues hugged his body close, sweat already peaking through the fabric. Damp hair matched as he called out to Robby. SWAT team rushing in behind him. You can’t help but stare.

“Intubated neck wound, stats not great. Is there a trauma room open?”, Jack calls out.

You’re quick to snap yourself out of it—joining him at the other side of the gurney, rushing along side him; “What’s the story?”

“My buddy Hiro, neck trauma. Warehouse robbery gone wrong”, Jack fills you in.

He doesn’t say much after that, setting up immediately once inside the trauma room. You can see he’s tense by his shoulders and jaw—worried for his friend. You jump into the chaos, helping any way you can.

“Did you intubate?”, Trinity asks, working alongside you.

“Yeah”, Jack says, not looking up; “Under active fire.”

You don’t miss the way he looks back over his shoulder, eyes flicking down as if looking for something that isn’t yet visible—or the way he winces when he rolls his shoulders.

“That’s badass”, Santos says, smiling to herself as she assists Robby.

You on the other hand; only have worry clinging to the back of your neck—hairs standing on end as you look at Jack.

It doesn’t take long for all the hands working on Hiro to get him stabilized enough to send him up to surgery. The room clears out, leaving Jack and Robby the last two lingering inside. You’re pulled into another case before you can get to Jack, forcing your worry down for later.

When you finally get a moment, Jack is nowhere to be found. The ED settling back into its regular busy hustle before SWAT had rolled in. You pick up another chart, going to check on one of your patients. What you find however when you pull the curtain back isn’t a patient—but rather the man you’ve been looking for the past few hours.

Jack Abbot stands shirtless, back to you with a very visible bruise forming on the back of his left shoulder. He turns at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, glancing around the room.

“Oh! I—sorry!”, You blurt out, cheeks heating up; “I was looking for my patient.”

Jack continues moving, sitting down on the exam bed—sliding the tray of sterilized tools he’d already set up towards him. He sets his black tee down on his lap, maneuvering the supplies.

“No patient here”, He says; “Room was empty when I got here.”

You furrow your brows, but push the thought to the back of your mind. All you can focus on is Jack—the injured Jack sitting in front of you.

“Shit, Jack”, You say, mind rushing back to the present; “You’re hurt, what happened?”

You’re already reaching for the glove dispenser on the wall, making your way around him as he reaches for his back with a swab—failing to reach far enough.

“Bullet grazed my vest”, He says, waving a hand.

“You got SHOT?”, You blurt.

“Shot at”, He says, brows raised with a shrug; “Anyways, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

But you do worry about him; more than he knows.

You ignore his words, taking the swab from his outstretched hand and gently clean the wound on his shoulder.

“Thank you”, He sighs, voice going soft.

You can’t help the smile that breaks onto your lips, soft and gentle just for him; “Anytime.”

Knowing he’s ok and safe, your mind drifts now—focusing more on the fact that he’s sitting shirtless in front of you. Thick and strong body built and freckled; just enough healthy fat around his mid-section that it settles over his belt when he sits down. Broad shoulders that stretch each scrub top he owns. You want to explore them, connect all the freckles that etch his skin—press kisses to the paleness of him.

You feel yourself bite your bottom lip, willing the heat returning to your cheeks to climb back down. To act normal.

“You ok?”, Jack asks, noticing your quietness.

“Yup, perfect”, You say.

You don’t see his quirked brow, and whatever he’s thinking—he keeps to himself. Shuffling to grab his t-shirt off his lap when you finish patching him up.

“Thanks for keeping this off the books”, He says, offering you a crooked smirk.

You nod, bottom lip still between your teeth; “Sure.”

He eyes you suspiciously when you don’t move, even after his shirt is pulled back on; “You sure you’re ok, kid?”

“Yeah!”, You answer to quickly; “I better go see if Dana needs anything, uh…I’ll see you later? For your shift?”

Jack huffs a laugh; “Yeah, see you there crawler.”

With that you spin on your feet, rushing out of the room; leaving a smiling and curious Jack behind.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

You find yourself at the hub, hiding your face in your hands—elbows resting against the top of the counter.

“What’s got you so flustered?”, Santos asks, looking up from her charting beside you.

You groan; “I don’t even know if I can say.”

Princess perks up on the other side of you; “Ok, now we need to know.”

You groan again, looking around you once to make sure no one else can hear. Thankfully spotting Jack leaving through the ambulance bay doors.

Santos follows your line of sight; “Something happen with Dr. Abbot?”

You push your face back into your hands; “God. What didn’t happen.”

Both of them eye you with quirked brows.

“I saw him…shirtless”, You mumble.

Princess’ face lights up; “Oh you lucky girl!”

“And?”, Santos asks.

You can’t help but groan again; “He’s unfairly hot. Like, so built and fit it should be illegal. He has no business looking that good in an ER.”

The women next to you exchange glances, before bursting out into laughter beside you.

“Sounds like someone has a crush on Dr. Abbot”, Santos says.

“Who doesn’t?”, You quip back, like it’s common knowledge and not about you.

Princess sighs on the other side of you.

“He’s like the McDreamy of the Pitt…or the Clooney”, She sighs.

“He’s better than McDreamy and Clooney, he’s like…McClooney.”

Laughter erupts around you again.

“So you and Abbot, huh?”, Santos asks.

“God, I don’t know. I mean we’re friends yeah, but I don’t think he even knows how I feel. Or that he’d even feel the same”, You sigh.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen him look at you. Seems like something’s there”, Princess says; “You should talk to him.”

Your face heats up way too fast; “I can’t do that! Are you crazy?”

Princess shrugs; “You never know what he’ll say.”

You sigh, nodding. You know she’s right, but you can’t push past the nerves or the fear that you might ruin a friendship you deeply value.

“He’s gone for a few hours anyways, I just need to get back to work”, You say, reaching for a new iPad.

You turn on your feet with another sigh.

“Go get your McClooney!”, Princess calls out behind you, making you shush her.

You shrink under all the glances your way, hurrying along to find Dana and focus on literally anything besides your feelings towards Jack.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It’s a few hours later when Jack strolls back into the ED, camo backpack slung over one shoulder. Patients still bustle around him; Robby’s still forcing himself to work longer.

The hub is buzzing with a few staff; Princess, Santos, Nazely, Dana and Perlah all huddled together. Jack heads towards the staff room, but he stops when he hears your name.

“Oh she’s got it bad”, Santos says; “You should’ve seen her, she was absolutely flustered over seeing him shirtless. Poor girl can’t hide her crush if she tried.”

Jack feels his heartbeat pick up.

“Our girl’s got it for Abbot, huh?”, Dana says, smiling to herself; “Can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Jack’s heart stops at the mention of his name—then quickly picks back up. A smile spreads on his face before he can stop it, ducking and shaking his head as he pushes the door to the staff room open. He knew how he felt about you, but hearing you felt the same way towards him? His entire shift just got a whole lot better.

He keeps it to himself during handoffs, even during his beginning of shift speech as everyone gathers around him. His eyes flick to you once; standing between Cruz and Ellis. His smile doesn’t falter, a warm feeling fluttering behind his ribs.

He lets you go about your shift, getting swept into a few cases of his own. It’s nearing nine when he finally comes face to face with you; a much needed silence in the break room.

He’s leaning up against the counter with a cup of coffee when you come in, stopping in your tracks when you see him.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t know you were in here”, You say.

Jack scoffs a laugh; “What? You avoiding me now?”

“No”, You say, a little too quickly.

“Good.”

He watches you cross the room, opening the fridge and pulling out an energy drink. The noise of the can cracking open fills the room, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean up against the counter beside him—a little more space between you than usual.

Silence fills the air as you both drink, enjoying the few minutes of peace you might get before it’s interrupted. Jack, as if sensing your calm—decides now’s the time to get you all riled up.

“So”, He says, tracing the rim of his paper cup with his pointer finger; “I heard something interesting earlier.”

You scoff; “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, He asks, brow quirked and faking offense.

“Jack”, You say; “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No”, He shrugs, smiling to himself as he sets his cup on the counter behind him.

You shake your head, doing the same with your can; “Lay it on me, Abbot.”

Jack juts his chin out, scratching at his scruff.

“I heard…someone that works here has a crush on me”, He says.

You feel your stomach drop, embarrassment rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Something about ‘unfairly hot, so built it should be illegal’”, He says; “‘Hotter than McDreamy and Clooney?’”

“Jack I-“, You try to rush something out, but no words come out.

Your brain has shut down. You blink away the tears brimming your eyes.

But Jack just takes a step towards you, hands settling on your arms. His thumbs rub up and down, digging softly into your scrubs.

Then he hooks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. What he finds is a look he can only describe as guilty.

“Hey”, He says softly, ducking his head down to meet your eyeline.

“I’m sorry, Jack”, You rush out; “It’s highly inappropriate and I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, we can just forget this ever happened and go back to being friends. If you even still want to be my friend. I’m so sorry—“

“No”, Jack says.

You freeze; “What?”

“I don’t think I can do that”, He says softly.

“I’m so sorry Jack…”, You mutter, fearing the worst.

“I’m not.”

You look up at him fully then, finding him gazing back at you fondly—a soft crooked twitch of his lips taking over his face.

“You’re not…?”

“No”, He says; “Not when it’s you.”

Your breath catches.

“Sweetheart, I’ve felt the same way about you for so long.”

Your mouth falls open. This time you can’t will it to shut again.

“God, you drive me crazy, kid. It’s always been you”, He confesses, voice soft and deep.

Your chest is heaving by now, mouth dry and eyes wide.

But then you smile; “It’s always been you too, Jack. For so long.”

His smile widens to match yours; “Cmere.”

He pulls you in close, wrapping his strong arms around you. He doesn’t kiss you yet, not here; he doesn’t want the first time to be in the ED. Not when you deserve a real date, to be treated right.

He lets his lips ghost over your hair, pressing softly once against your crown. He rubs his hand up and down your back, before laying his cheek against your hair.

When he pulls away, his thumbs rest softly on your hips; digging in just enough to let you know he’s still there. His smile hasn’t wavered, if anything it’s only grown fonder.

“So we’re ok?”, You finally ask.

Jack laughs softly; “More than ok, kid.”

Quiet settles between you both again, comfortable and warm as you take each other in with new awareness on both sides. Then Jack shifts once; pushing himself off the counter.

“C’mon”, He says, pulling you with him.

“Where?”, You ask.

“The roof”, He tells you; “Gonna watch the fireworks. I know how much you like them.”

You feel your heart melt with fondness, before the lingering concern for him creeps up behind it.

“Jack”, You say softly, stopping him; “It’s ok, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not”, He says, offering you a smile and a small squeeze of his hand; “I want to watch them, with you.”

So you follow him up the stairs to the roof, heart pounding loud enough to echo—letting him guide you with a steady hand on your lower back.

Most of the dayshift is already up there, gathered towards the railing of the roof. Jack finds a spot just in front of the doorway, leaning up against the brick wall. Away from the crowd and somehow seeming a little more private.

You settle in next to him, closer than you were in the break room. The first few fireworks go off, and for the first time; Jack doesn’t flinch. By the tenth, he reaches quietly for your hand; interlacing his fingers with your own.

Not out of fear or bad memories, just grounding himself. That makes you fold; you let your head drift down softly to rest against his shoulder—watching the sparkles of blues and reds paint the sky above you.

Jack brushes his lips briefly against your hair again, pressing once before he turns his head back—squeezing your hand softly. You stay like that; cuddled up against him in the back of the day shift crowd—a new, stronger feeling blossoming between you. Sweetly intimate and warm. Something existing just for the two of you.

“Happy fourth, Jack”, You hum, pressing your lips to his shoulder.

He squeezes your hand again, looking back at you as a sparkle of blue illuminates his face; “You too, sweetheart.”

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[mcybank]

Tender — Jack Abbot

pairing — jack abbot x college!reader

summary — the worst-cared-for girl in the county keeps washing up in jack’s er, and he can’t help but start paying attention.

warnings — 19.2k. large age gap (jack’s fifty/reader’s in twenties), doctor/patient dynamic initially, power imbalance (attending/nursing student, age, life experience), yearning!jack, protective!jack, jealous!jack, and literally every single word in the book, mutual pining, slow burn, he falls first, hurt/comfort, reader shows signs of adhd but it isn’t explicit, alcohol use (recurrent drunkenness, mention of alcohol poisoning, ER, and repeated intoxication played somewhat lightly), loneliness/self isolation, low self-worth, it’s very difficult for her to accept care, lack of family support/implied estrangement, financial stress and overworking, she’s also spending an unrealistic amt of time hanging out in the ed but it’s fanfic so it’s ok, jokes about financial stress, injuries (sprains, split lip, bruising, gravel burns), medical setting, blood, referenced patient death (patient dies, off-page, Jack grieves), making out/heavy kissing, suggestiveeee content (thumb-in-mouth beat, grinding) but nothing explicit. 

notes — oops sorry this fic is so so self-indulgent 🫶 i literally loved writing them tho i was thinking about them for days on end. tried to take a swing at this based on this idea i had + thank you @ker0senebunny for inspriring the shoe scene!!!! inspired by this post + my er visits where i was literally the worst patient ever

Friday and Saturday after midnight, the board filled up with the same predictable words; alcohol poisonings, bar-fight lacerations, the kids who’d taken things they couldn’t name and showed up convinced they were dying when they were mostly just twenty and having a large thought. Jack triaged it on autopilot, and he’d stopped finding any of it interesting somewhere around year seven. 

Sure, sometimes there were some cases that got a mild laugh out of him or turned his head. There was a kid who’d superglued his halloween mask on his own face for a dare. The guy who’d lost a bet and swallowed something he wouldn’t name in front of his mother, who was present and furious. The occasional genuinely strange thing the human body did that still, after all these years, made Jack think huh, that’s interesting, the small grim curiosity that was about the only part of the job the years hadn’t fully sanded down. He kept those and told them to new nurses over shitty coffee at four a.m. because he supposed that was a better story than what he could say about the Middle East. 

The first time you came in, he’d handed you over to Shen. You were a sprained wrist and a BAC that explained the wrist, sixteen other things were louder, and Shen was free then. 

He’d clocked you for half a second on his way to a GI bleed in bay nine: girl on the gurney, one heel too high on, and one somewhere in the greater metropolitan area, some little pink lace-trimmed thing sliding off one shoulder, telling Shen with enormous seriousness that she was so sorry, she didn’t usually do this, she’d had a singular margarita. Only.

Singular. He’d categorized it under the thousand other single margaritas he’d sworn to in this department and forgotten you before he’d reached the bleed. 

The second time, he didn’t take you either, but he noticed the wrist. 

Same wrist. Different night — a Saturday, three weeks in, the sort of shift where the waiting room sounded like a kennel — and he caught it sideways while he reviewed another chart. It was the same left wrist, taped this time, the nails on that one hand done in some soft pinky color gone chipped at the tips as though the week itself outlasted the manicure, somebody walking you through the discharge paperwork you clearly were ignoring. Something thought for him instead of him thinking much for it, some pattern-recognition thing buried under twenty-some years of reading bodies fast, the same instinct that made him glance twice at something almost normal. A wrist that kept coming back, he supposed. A thread snagging on a nail, there and gone. 

The third time, it was Shen, breezing past the station with his Dunkin, saying over his shoulder, “Frequent flyer’s back.” 

He shrugged, not yet placing that you were the frequent flyer, and went to bed four.

And that — somewhere between the third time and a number he stopped keeping an honest count of — was where it stopped being a chart and became some sort of thing. A bit, he’d say. The nights the bars let out and the board lit up, he’d find himself reading the incoming names a half-second longer than triage required, and feeling something wrong in his chest when yours wasn’t in them. 

Pittsburgh was notoriously interesting, Jack learned through you, in that it apparently contained an infinite supply of ways a girl could get herself in trouble. He was convinced he could’ve drawn a map of the city by your injuries. There was the ankle, of course, a recurring grievance, always the shoes, never your fault. There was one time you’d burned your hand on a curling iron getting ready tipsy and come in more upset about the makeup you’d had to redo (because of crying it off) than the blister. The night you’d gone over in a parking lot because you refused to look at the ground while walking — looking at the ground, while drunk, you informed him, was how you trip — and the time you sliced your finger open trying to shotgun a White Claw with a key because someone had bet you couldn’t. You were really proud of the last one, you’d won the bet. 

You were never the same disaster twice, he had to give you that. A little too keen on busting yourself up here and there, sure, but at least it was the wrist once, then a knee that met a curb, then a memorable evening involving a fence you’d been certain you could clear. You came in apologizing — always apologizing, to him, to the nurses, once, memorably, to the wall — and you came in sweet, which was the part that got under him, because drunk people in this ER were a lot of things and sweet was rarely one of them. 

“Mmm,” you hummed the fourth or fifth time, the second your eyes found him through the gap in the curtain, going boneless with relief like Jack was the cavalry and not the man who was meant to flash light into your eyes for thirty seconds. “The pretty one.” 

Jack let out a huff. “Thanks, doll.” 

“Doll,” you repeated, the word going gummy in your mouth. “He calls me doll.”

“Eyes open. Follow the light.” 

“You call everyone that, Dr. Abbot?” you said, his name coming out in a cluster like you were losing thread of it, the Abbot dissolving into something closer to a hum. 

“Sure do,” he lied. “Track the light.”

You looked at his mouth, then his hands, then back up, a slow uncoordinated sweep because your eyes had stopped reporting to anything in particular, much less what they had to. Pupils blown wide and lazy. He thumbed your eyelid up a fraction to get the light where he needed it; your lashes were clumped and starry with whatever mascara had survived the night. 

He held the penlight steady and waited you out. He had nowhere to be. That was the thing about the dead hours after bars closed; the bleed had been signed up to the floor, the chest pain turned out to be a panic attack and a large energy drink, and there was just you, and the saline ticking into your arm one slow drop at a time. 

“What’d you get up to tonight?” he murmured, thumb finding the pulse at your wrist, counting without meaning to.

“S’fast ‘cause you’re here,” you said, sounding very pleased with yourself.

“Sure it is. Where’d you hurt yourself tonight?”

“... stairs,” you said after a moment, like your brain had to run a few laps to get to the word. 

“Oh, yeah?” He hummed. You lifted your free hand a little off the mattress, lost track of it, and dropped it back down. “How many?” 

“Mm. Four?” You squinted at the ceiling. “Maybe three. I dunno. Not the Great Wall or somethin’. Promise.” 

“I believe you.” He nodded, then turned your forearm to the light, finding the scrape you’d come in with. It was gravel-burn, raw, the heel of your hand and a stripe up your wrist. Nothing that needed more than cleaning. You watched him do it with your head tipped against the pillow, gone quiet so the talking had run out for a second, which never lasted.

“Should I get a better first aid kit?” you asked, then clenched your jaw for a second like you felt something was wrong with it. “S’I don’t have to bother you all the time?” 

“Might be a good idea to invest,” he said. He pulled the swab through the gravel-burn slowly, and you hissed and tried to pull back the hand on reflex. “Easy.” He kept it, his grip light yet unmoving around your fingers. “Almost done. Don’t fight me.”

You hummed, like you wanted a different answer.

Jack wet his lips, shaking his head slightly. He worked the grit out of the scrape, a fleck of it catching raw skin, and he tilted your arm to the light, getting it on the second pass, and wiped it on the gauze. Your hands twitched in his, and he pressed your fingers flat to the mattress with his thumb, and they stayed.

“You’d have to do it yourself, though,” he said. “Bathroom sink at three in the morning with one hand.” He reached for fresh gauze. “You’d make a mess of it.”

You frowned at the ceiling, nodding. “Sounds a little bad.”

“It’s a lot bad.” He laid the gauze over the scrape, thumbed the tape down at the edge of your wrist slowly, smoothing it flat where it wanted to lift. His knuckle dragged once over the thin skin there, and he felt your pulse jump under it. “You’d scar, probably.” His thumb passed the chipped polish, the chunky gold ring you’d kept on, even for this. “You’ve got nice hands. Shame to wreck ‘em over the sink.”

It took you a second. “You think so?”

“Don’t wreck ‘em.” 

“You like when I come in,” you said, delighted. 

“What I’d like,” he said, flat, lifting his eyes to yours, “is you off the stairs and down to the one drink.” His thumb settled over the back of your hand again. “But if you’re set on flinging yourself down, then you come here. Deal?”

Your fingers had curled around two of his somewhere in there loosely, without you noticing. He felt them settle, and he held very still so as to not spook you. He chose to not acknowledge it or look at it.

“Deal,” you mumbled, somewhere far off, probably forgetting the front half of the terms. 

He let it go at that, taping down the last edge and turning over your wrist once more to be sure of it. Then he set your hand back on the mattress, yours still loosely hooked through his, going nowhere.

“Anyone out there to get you home?” he asked. 

“Dunno.” Your nose scrunched. “Was gonna Uber.”

He sighed through his nose. “Where’s that girl — the one you came in with last time? Why don’t you call her?” 

“That’s annoying, Dr. Abbot,” you said, almost in a whine. 

“Yeah?” He kept looking at the wall behind you. “What’s annoying about a ride home?” 

“Calling people. Making it a thing.” Your free hand flopped vaguely. “Then they gotta come get you, and they’re all — have to be nice about it, but you can tell.” Your nose scrunched. “It’s a whole production.”

He pressed his thumb flat back over your hand where your fingers were still caught in his. 

“Oh? Nothing annoying about it, sweetheart. You call, she comes. Simple as that.” He turned to face you. “But if you insist on it, I’m not signing you off until you’re good enough to go home alone. So you call your girl, or you sit right here and keep my department company till you’ve cleared enough that I’ll sign off on it.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him as though he’d spoken a different language. “Second one?”

“Obviously you pick that one,” he said. 

He pulled the stool over and sat. For a few minutes, he had nowhere to be, and now, apparently, neither did you.

It wasn’t that you simply didn’t let people help you, either. Jack had never seen anyone so committed to being simply fine. Jack had met the stoic kind before; construction guys who walked in with rebar through a forearm acting like it was a small inconvenience; old ladies who’d been having a heart attack since last Tuesday and didn’t want to be a bother. But Jack had always believed those people to be suppressing, and you were just convinced, somewhere down in the foundation, that needing anything was an imposition. 

That was also why the shoes confused him so much. 

“This is the same damn ankle,” Jack said, turning your foot in his hands, watching the swelling outside of it. 

“You don’t have to remind me. Most men buy me a drink before they get this familiar with my ankles,” you said, then groaned as you looked at his eyes going over the swelling. 

“No drink.” He pressed along the bone. “Not my fault you keep handing your ankle to me.” 

You tipped your head back against the pillow, groaning again. “Dr. Abbot, they look so bad. I feel like I’m pregnant.” 

“I can do a quick blood draw and we can rule it out.” His palm flattened on the mattress beside your feet, leaning over to meet your eyes again. “But I think it’s those heels of yours, doll.” 

Your eyes snapped to him. “Don’t be a dick, Dr. Abbot.”

He tilted his head, then pointed at the laminated paper stuck to the wall. “Aggressive behavior of any kind toward healthcare workers is a felony.” 

“Then arrest me, doctor. I’ll die on this hill — and they’re not heels.” Your lips pursed, and the corner of your mouth kicked up. “Cuffs may be a little forward for a date, but I won’t stop you.” 

“Aren’t you just so sweet,” he muttered. “What are they, then?”

“Bottega Lido Mules.”

The words meant absolutely nothing to him — could’ve been a pasta dish, a town in Italy, a wine — but they clearly did to you, so he remembered them. 

“That’s nice, doll. They’ll be the reason I see you again.” 

“Maybe, ‘cause I’ll never stop wearing them.” 

You said the words your whole face, hands coming off the mattress to make the point with a drunk theatrical conviction as you argued something that genuinely mattered to you. Jack thought, not for the first time since he’d met you, that you’d have been magnetic stone-sober at a dinner party, the kind of girl that made a table lean in. It was just that he only ever got the 3am version.

At least you had a hill you’d die on and didn’t apologize for, Jack supposed. 

“You married, Doctor?” you asked as he started icing your ankle. 

“No,” he said, holding your eyes for a second. “Why — you got a boyfriend I should know about, then?” 

He almost wished you did have one. He wished that there were somebody whose name you’d have said just now who’d be in the waiting room with his jaw tight because you’d gone and hurt yourself again. Somebody who’d take care of the ankle when you walked out of here in crutches, who took the keys when you had too many. He wished there was a person in the world whose job you were. 

And you weren’t his first patient who he’d understood to not have someone taking care of them. He knew that if he carried them all, he’d drown inside a month if he tried to be the person nobody else had been. He’d never once had it turn into a wish, standing here with an ice pack in his hand going slack in his hand because he was too busy resenting someone who didn’t exist for not being in the waiting room. 

He wondered when down the line you’d stopped letting the people in your life around you be the ones you could call, became a girl who said sorry for bleeding and had nobody, nobody, and looked at him like he was the warmest place she’d been in all week.

You laughed. “If I had a boyfriend, would I be laying it on so thick?” 

He let out a breath through his nose, despite himself. “Stop wearing the heels, doll. Not nice to not have a foot.”

The next time you came in, it was a Thursday. With some pileup of bad luck, you came in somewhere past one with a split lip and a story about a dance floor he only half got the shape of. Jack hadn’t even been assigned to you yet, he’d just seen your name on the board, and reassigned himself quietly enough that dared anyone on shift to comment. Nobody did. 

“Lip’s not bad,” he said, tilting your chin up under the light, thumb at your jaw. The split was already going fat and shining at the center of your lower lip, and he found his eyes stayed on your mouth a second past the part that was his job, on the soft unhurt swell of it under the hurt. He moved his thumb. “Doesn’t need anything. You bit it when you fell down. That’s all.”

“S’throbbing, Doctor,” you mumbled, the word coming around muffled around the split. 

“It’ll throb. You’ve got a swollen lip.” He let go of your jaw and reached for the penlight. “Eyes on me.” 

“I was so cute before this,” you said through a groan. 

The huff that came out of him was almost a laugh, dragged out against his own will, and he shared a fleeting look with Bennet — a fairly new nurse — who had tilted his head briefly and was too afraid to meet your eyes.

“Alright. Still the prettiest girl I’ve treated tonight,” Jack said when your brows had furrowed together.

“You treat other girls?” 

“It’s a hospital,” he said. “Few hundred a week.”

Your face looked wounded. “Few hundred.”

He leaned in slightly, faking a whisper. “You’re my top three.”

You were further gone than usual tonight. He’d noticed it the second he came around the curtain, the way your head was having a hard time holding itself up, the loose unmoored swim of your eyes that took longer than it should to find his finger. A piece of hair had come loose and stuck to the gloss at the corner of your mouth and you hadn’t the coordination to deal with it, and he had the unprofessional impulse to, and didn’t. 

Bennet kept working the blood pressure cuff up your arm, half an eye on you, half on his own work. 

“Track the light,” Jack murmured. “Slowly.”

“Too bright.”

“Tough.” The corner of his mouth moved up slightly. “You can bat your lashes at me when we’re done. Right now, I need ‘em open.” 

You batted them anyway, slowly and theatrically, just to be a problem about it. They were long, and the theater of it was so ridiculous, and Jack had to bite down the inside of his cheek to keep his face flat to wait you out, until you gave up and tracked the finger. Your pupils were reactive, equal, and lagging half-a-beat behind. He clicked the light off. 

“Too bright,” you said again. 

“It’s off,” he drawled, chuckling. 

Bennett thread a line into the back of your free hand, and you watched him sink it with a drowsy focus. 

“Why’s it go in the back of the hand?” you mumbled. “More nerves there. Hurts more. Why not the — inside. By the elbow.” You tilted your head slightly to let your eyes wander to the crook of your arm. “Bigger vein. The antec—antecubital,” you said carefully, sounding out each syllable, afraid of messing it up. You wet your lips and turned to face him, then Bennet. “Why’s nobody use the good one?” 

Jack pursed his lips and looked at you for a moment. 

“Saves the good one,” he said, catching up, eyes going back to your chart. “AC vein blows easily when somebody’s moving around, and you —” He tipped his head at you, raising a brow, the squirming drunk of you. “ — Are gonna move around. Back of the hand’ll hold. I’d rather you be sore than re-stuck twice ‘cause you couldn’t sit pretty for thirty seconds.” He paused as he saw your eyes glaze over. He sighed. “Ask me how I know that about you.” 

You’d gone busy, lips moving slightly like you were repeating it back to yourself so it’d stick, and Jack felt something in his chest shift a degree as he watched you do it. 

He sighed, dragging a palm over the lower half of his face. “Where’d you learn that, then?” 

“School,” you said to the ceiling, a small hint of pride taking over your voice. “M’gonna become a nurse. Gonna be good at it.”

Bennet snorted, finishing the tape. “Gonna be patching up drunk girls just like you then, huh,” he said. “Full circle.”

Jack watched the pride go out of your face slowly, like a house losing its power. Your chin dropped and your eyes slid from Bennet to the curtain as your hand fisted in your lap. 

“Yeah,” you said, almost curiously. “Guess so.” 

Jack’s jaw clenched involuntarily. It wasn’t the guy’s fault, not really. It was a nothing joke, the sort the whole department tossed off a hundred times a shift, the gallows shorthand that kept you sane at two in the morning. Jack had made worse about patients who’d never know, about drunks who wouldn’t remember, about exactly this, exactly girls like you. He’d just never had one of them go quiet before, watched the bright thing fold itself up and get tucked away. 

“Bennet, you done?” 

“Yeah, line’s good — ”

“Then go take vitals on six. I’ve got her.”

Bennet went, and it was just the two of you again. 

Jack pulled the stool over with his foot and sat — lower than he had to, level with you, taking himself out of the column of people standing over you tonight and telling you what you were — and waited until your eyes came up off the curtain and found him.

“There she is,” he said when your eyes found him. He turned your taped hand over under the light like there was still something to do with it. There wasn’t, he just wanted his hands on something of yours while he undid what the room had done. “Look at me. Nothing good on the curtain.” 

“How’s school treating you then, doll?” he asked, aiming for offhand and not steering you off whatever Bennet had knocked loose.

“Hard,” you said, but a small smile had crawled up your lips. “But I like it.” Your shoulders came up loosely.

“Yeah?” He kept his thumb moving over the back of your hand slowly, like he could press the bright thing back up to the surface where it belonged. “I think you’ll be good at it.” 

It was such a strange feeling, Jack distantly noticed, to feel this utter conviction. He was rarely sure of anything good anymore. Sure of plenty else; sure within ten seconds of a bad rhythm which way the night was going to break, sure of which of the kids wheeled in at 2 am he’d see again and which he wouldn’t, a grim accumulated certainty that had nothing in it he’d ever wanted to be right about.

The job had made him an expert on the downslope of things. He could read the exact moment a body wanted to quit better than he could read most of what people said to his face. And here you were, and he was so sure of the other direction, and he felt the same weight of it behind his sternum, except it had swung and pointed at something good for once. You were going to be excellent at this. 

It bothered him a little, how much he wanted to be there to see it, whoever you were going to be once you stopped washing up on his floor on the worst nights of your week. He’d known you, what, a handful of shifts as a frequent flyer, a bit, a name his eyes unconsciously caught on. He had no business feeling certain of anything about you, and he was, and he’d let himself feel it. 

Your eyes found him properly again. “Liar.”

He huffed out a short laugh. “Tell you what. You finish that program, you get through all that mess where they try to drown you.” His thumb smoothed over the tape. “Then you come find me here and we’ll see if we can get you here with me on nights. Clearly you’re at your finest then.” 

It was maybe something silly to say, and Gloria may have his head for it. He had no actual standing to say anything like it, even though you’d never remember it. He knew better; hope was a controlled substance in his field and he was stingy with it on purpose, because he’d seen the withdrawal.

But God, he’d love to see the part of you he could only catch glimpses of through the wreck like a light under the door. He’d love to be the one who taught you which arrogance to keep and which to let the job take away. He’d love, plainly and without anywhere to put it, to watch you become who you’d just told him you were going to be. 

It was a lot of loving for a girl who’d been in his department and wouldn’t recall his face or a word of this by tomorrow morning. He was getting sentimental, or old, or both; the years stacked up behind his eyes until he started mistaking everything for a second chance at something. 

Your lips moved. “So I can patch girls up like myself?” 

“Nah.” He kept looking at your hand. “You can patch up old bastards like me, too.” Then, he pointed his index finger of his free hand at you, mock-stern. “Gotta make sure you’re not at point three BAC, though. Will have to do that work to get you working with me.”

“Mm.” Your eyes flickered up to the ceiling, weighing it with the enormous gravity of the very drunk as though he’d posed a very real proposition to you. “Okay. For you, I’d stop.”

“For me?” he repeated, mostly to buy himself a second.

“Mm-hm.” You turned your face to him and said it with such ease, no glance away to leave yourself an exit. “You’re worth not drinkin’ over.”

Your words went in clean, the way the best and worst things do, under the ribs where he kept nothing armored because nobody ever aimed there. Jack felt the back of his neck go warm and was abruptly, intensely grateful for the light that wouldn’t display it. 

Jack huffed, having to look away at the floor then. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all year, and you’re not gonna remember it. Hell of a thing.” 

When he made himself look back up, you’d tipped your face into the pillow, watching him from the side with your eyes gone soft and heavy, the smile arriving unguarded across your mouth. The split tugged one corner of it, that small wince folded right into the sweetness, and you seemed to not feel it. 

He had the sudden, idiotic wish to have met you on a night you’d remember. To have perhaps caught you when you fell at the bar, to have been the stranger whose arm happened to be there, not the doctor it eventually routed you to. Perhaps he could’ve been a man in your night instead of a stop in it.

He shook his head. “You’re trouble, you know that, right? Saying all these nice things. What’s a man supposed to do with that?” 

He’d have liked to have been remembered, was the bottom of it. By you specifically. He’d spent decades being the man people were grateful to and glad to forget.

“What’s your name, Doctor Abbot?” you asked, drowsy.

He looked down at his badge, then back up at you. “Take a wild guess?” Then, he added, “You never looked at my badge?” 

“Sorry. Didn’t read.” 

“Don’t apologize to me. It’s Jack.”

Jack was doing his usual rounds this Friday, on a rush from a chest pain in two that turned out to be a panic attack and a kid in five who’d put a kitchen knife through the meat of his own palm trying to halve a frozen bagel when Ellis caught him by the elbow at the board.

“Heads up, Abbot,” she said, grinning. She nodded toward triage, toward the doors. “Bed three. Your, uh—” The grin tipped over, delighted with itself. “Girlfriend’s got a boyfriend.” 

It was a running thing now. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth time you’d washed up on his shift the staff had started on it — your frequent flyer, your stray, your girl’s back — and Jack had stopped bothering to deny it because that’d only feed it, and he’d learned not denying it had a way of starving the joke faster. 

He looked, and was immediately able to notice what you weren’t doing more than what you were; you weren’t grinning at the ceiling, weren’t doing that boneless sweet-relief thing. You were sitting up too straight on the bed, hands folded in your lap, and there was a guy fitted to the chair beside you with one arm slung along the back of yours and a hand resting on your knee like he’d put it there to mark the spot. He was saying something low to the side of your face, and you were nodding at it, and not looking at anybody.

Jack felt a muscle tick in his jaw, immediately not feeling anything nice about the situation. “I got it — you mind taking six for me? I’ll come in a couple minutes.” 

By the time he’d made it to you, he’d settled his face into something unbothered. You could read it, he’d realized at some point during your frequent visits, and that only meant he had to be on his better behavior around you. 

“Evening.” He pulled the curtain half-round behind him, glanced at the chart clipped to the foot of the bed, then at you. “What’d we do tonight?”

“She caught an elbow,” the guy answered. “Some asshole on the dance floor. It’s nothing — she’s fine. She’s just a lightweight, aren’t you — ” A little squeeze on your knee. “ — didn’t even really need to come in, but y’know. Better safe.” 

You weren’t a lightweight, he immediately wanted to correct. He’d seen you put away enough over the months to know your tolerance better than this guy apparently did; he knew the difference between the nights you were genuinely wrecked and the nights you came in clearer than you let on, and looking at you, tonight, you weren’t anywhere near the state implied. 

“You,” he said, tipping his chin in your direction. “Not him. Where’d it get you?” 

You lifted your hand up from your lap and touched your cheekbone, movement slow, and Jack stepped in and tipped your head up toward the light with two fingers under your chin, thumb resting just shy of the scrape. The skin had gone dark along the bone, tender, an elbow’s worth of it. Nothing that needed more than an ice and a night, but you were still holding still under his hand and not meeting his eyes, and that he didn’t like at all. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “Really. S’not even — ”

“Let me be the judge of that, sweetheart. Gettin’ paid for this.” His eyes flicked down to yours and caught, holding it there a second with a small question in the rise of a brow, before he went back to the bone, thumb tracing the edge of the bruise so light you barely felt it. A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth at the sight. “Follow my finger. Eyes only.” 

You followed, pupils fine and equal. No concussion in it. 

“She’s fine, I told you,” the guy said from the chair, a little laugh under it like he was inviting Jack in on something. “Hardly. She bounces back.”

Jack clicked the penlight off and turned to the side. “Gonna need the room.”

“I’ll stay.” The hand went back to your knee. “I’m all good here.”

“Can’t clear a head strike with people in the room. You get it.” Jack tilted his head to the side, raising a shoulder. “Liability. Coffee machine’s down the hall. Give me two minutes with my patient.”

The easy smile on the guy’s lips went thin around the edges, looking for a thing to push against and not finding it. He stood up slow, making a show of it, squeezing your knee and letting you know he’ll be back in a minute, babe, a hand trailing your shoulder on the way past, all of it aimed less at you and more at Jack holding the curtain. Jack pressed his lips in a thin line as he met the guy’s eyes. 

The second the curtain closed behind him, a breath left you, tiny and involuntary, and your shoulders came down in the empty room. 

“Sorry, Dr. Abbot,” you murmured. “I keep being a mess at this place.” You took in a short, almost shaky breath. “Sorry.” 

“None of that,” he almost grumbled, penning your chart. “Your folks down here, sweetheart?” 

“No,” you said to your lap, picking the edge of the blanket. “Back home. A few states over.” You let out a laugh. “Just me out here. S’nice.” 

Jack forced a small smile, having to look at the ceiling while you looked down at your lap, shaking his head, more of an action for himself than for you. He pulled the stool over with his foot and sat, getting level with you. 

“What’s goin’ on with you, huh?” he asked quietly, making sure there was nothing sharp in his tone at all. “Honest. I like seeing you but not like this bruised up with a guy who talks for you.” His thumb found your wrist. “So talk to me. What’s going on?” 

“He’s fine,” you said. “Just likes being around.”

Jack tilted his head, dipping his head to meet your eyes that were still facing down. “Not the important part of the question, and you know it.” 

You sighed. “Sorry, Jack.”

“Quit it. The only thing I want from you tonight is some honesty, alright?” 

A corner of your lip kicked up, even though the dimness in your eyes held. “Your eyes look really pretty tonight.” 

“Heard that one before,” he drawled. “Had ‘em fifty years. Try a new one.” 

“Your neck’s going red,” you mumbled, fingers reaching up to press flat to the warm of his skin, right there below the jaw, like you just had to feel whether it was true.

Jack stilled. Your fingers were cold on his neck. He distantly registered his pulse was probably going under your fingertips, and you’d feel it if you held there a second longer. And then you caught yourself, hand snapping back to the blanket.

“Sorry. Sorry — I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that — ” you said, the words coming out in a taut string. 

“Easy,” he said, voice coming out rough. He swallowed. “Got me all flustered and now you’re gettin’ all shy?” 

You huffed a small laugh, your hand still fisted in the blanket where you’d snatched it back. “I’m not allowed to do that. I don’t think.” 

“Had no idea you knew how to behave,” he leaned a little back from the stool, crossing his arms. “Should I be worried about that guy out there?”

“Jealous, Doctor?” 

He rolled his eyes slightly, not responding. 

You sighed when you realized he wasn’t taking the bait. “He’s fine. He just likes being around.” 

He stood off the stool and reached for the discharge clipboard at the foot of the bed.

“Whatcha doing there?”

“My job.” He clicked the pen. “Clearing you. You’ve got no concussion. You’re not dying tonight.” He scrawled on the paper. “And I’m writing you a script for the bruise and a code for an Uber — ”

“No, no,” you said immediately. “Please don’t do that.” 

He raised his hand with the pen, palm open. “You never let me Uber you back when you’re alone. At least have this.” Your face scrunched up, and he could practically feel the guilt building in you. “Don’t need to use it now. Or ever. You can keep it for whenever.” He set the slip on your lap before you could push it back at him, the matter completely closed on his end. “Goes in your phone case. You can forget it exists until you need it.”

“You can’t keep handing me stuff — ”

“Department’s got a whole stack. You’re not special.” He capped the pen, though the corner of his mouth made it slightly visible that his words were false. “Don’t flatter yourself, doll.”

You looked down at the slip, your thumb worrying the edges of it. “I don’t like taking things.” 

“I noticed. A few hundred times now.” He tucked the pen back in his scrub pocket, and his voice came down a notch. “If it really makes you feel so bad, though, then maybe we can start taking care of ourselves so you don’t have to keep ending up here?”

Jack was in the middle of hand-off, Robby doing his thing before Robby left and did whatever the hell he did. They were at the board, Robby running down the floor. It was six-fifteen in the ugly hour, the in-between where the day shift was dragging itself toward the door and the night hadn’t started biting yet, the light through the ambulance doors gone gold and slanted and almost decent for once.

And then the doors slid, and you came through them. Jack’s attention peeled to you the second your shape entered the room, except this was wrong, he distantly registered. It was daylight and six in the evening and you were on your own two feet, upright and, assumedly, sober and walking in through the front like a person as opposed to a patient. You were wearing a jacket that swallowed you, and he assumed underneath it was shorts of some sort. He could see a stripe of navy cotton peeking from under the collar of your jacket as you adjusted a tote bag on your shoulder. 

You looked, frankly, like a completely different species from the one he scraped off bed four on weekends. The jacket was too big — his first thought was that it was a man’s, and his second thought, which he didn’t care for, was about whose — sleeves shoved up to your forearms, a stripe of soft navy cotton on the collar, and below it bare legs and shorts and sneakers that had likely never seen the inside of a club. Your hair was up and a little damp at the temple and your face was scrubbed clean.

You looked like somebody’s whole good day, he thought. You looked around around the waiting room with slightly widened eyes, a lost expression coating your features like you’d built up a lot of nerve to walk in here and had no idea what to do with it. 

“ — and the tox screen is still pending, so don’t let them,” Robby was saying. 

“Mhm,” Jack said, attention already halved. 

And Bennet, breezing past the triage desk with cheerful obliviousness, caught your figure and said, out loud, “Don’t tell me you’ve started day drinking. It’s barely past six, you gotta pace yourself — ” He let out a small laugh at his own joke, and kept walking, and didn’t see the way it landed. 

Your body stiffened, and you looked like a deer in headlights. Your mouth opened, some sort of flustered apology forming, he was sure. 

Jack let out a short groan, shaking his head. He set the tablet on the counter, already moving to cross the floor toward you. “Finish the hand-off with Shen. I gotta go deal with something.” 

Robby said something at his back — deal with what? — but Jack was already gone, crossing the floor slowly but somehow still eating the distance fast, and he watched you spot him coming and watched the relief crash over your face. Except you were sober now, in the daylight, and your whole face was going soft and grateful and just slightly wrecked at the sight of him.

He stopped a couple feet short of you, closer than a doctor, further than he stood to you at night. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands — there was no chart to hold (he should’ve brought the tablet) or wrist to take or a penlight to shine — so he clasped them behind his back, and tilted his head to get a better look at you. 

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he said, eyes doing a quick once-over to make sure you really didn’t have any new injuries.

You shifted the tote under his gaze and clutched whatever was in the bag a little tighter.

“Jack —” you started, stopped, like the name had come out wrong. “ — Dr. Abbot.” You winced, pinching your eyes shut for a second. “Jack?” you tried to say again, smaller, your eyes flicking up to check his face to check if you’d overstepped. “Sorry, I don’t know which — ”

“Jack’s great.” His mouth tugged up, despite himself. “You’ve called me a lot worse. Jack’s a step-up.” 

You let out a startled little laugh, your mouth coming over your mouth like you could catch it, as your body eased a degree. 

“I’m sorry — I don’t — God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” 

“You know how many times you’ve apologized to me? Quit it.” He rubbed a finger over his lips. “What’s got you here today, then?”

“Um, I came to see you.” He raised a brow, and you let out a short breath, then continued, “I might not remember a lot of it, but I remember you took really good care of me. And my friends who came in with me sometimes said you took really good care of me.” The words came out softer now, flowing, more earnest. “Even though I was a mess. Especially when. So I just wanted to —” You shrugged, smiling slightly. “ — come say thanks.”

Jack felt the complete warmth of you land somewhere he kept no armor. “It’s the job,” he said quickly, before he could stop himself. “You didn’t have to come down here for that. That’s — it’s what we do. Anybody on shift would’ve done the same.” 

Your expression faltered for a moment, and your eyes dropped to the tote at your side as your shoulders came in. You shook your head, a small motion, then smiled again. 

“Right. No — yeah, of course.” You chuckled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it a — I know it’s your job.” You shifted the bag, then shifted your weight from one foot to another. “Still, though. You did, so I wanted to.” 

Jack already wanted to take his words back, but he couldn’t, so he just shook his head. “Hey, you’re my problem, though. So thank you. For the thanks. We’re even.” 

Your shoulders eased and you nodded. “Well, I also have something for you.” You hauled a container out of your tote and held it out to him with both hands before you could chicken out. “It definitely doesn’t make up for all of the times you helped me.” You looked down at the container. “And I don’t know if you’re lactose intolerant, or have a peanut allergy or anything. I’m sorry if you do — I can — ”

“I’ve got a cast-iron everything. The cookies won’t kill me.” When you pushed the container further to him, he took it off your hands, eyes quickly scanning the round chocolate chip cookies, forcing a smile down. He swallowed whatever had lodged in his throat. 

“These are homemade?” He weighed the container in both hands, absurdly. You nodded. He swallowed whatever on earth had lodged in his throat at that.“Didn’t have to do all that for me.” 

“I wanted to,” you said quickly. “I wasn’t sure how the food here is, so thought it might be a nice change.” 

“Worse than you’re imagining,” he said, then tipped his head to the side as the memory crawled into his brain, uncalled for. “You’ve actually thrown a sandwich across the room.” 

Your palm came up to your mouth, and you let out a muffled, “I’m so sorry.” 

Jack snorted, shaking his head. Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat before it could get away from him. He looked back toward the board, then at you, knowing time was slipping and he’d have to go back to work and you’d have to go somewhere else, most likely. 

“You got finals or anything coming up soon?” he asked. 

Your lips curved down, and you nodded. “Yeah, in a couple weeks.” 

“Am I gonna be seeing you getting wheeled in wasted?” 

“I want to say no,” you said, smiling a little crooked. “I’m working on it. But I’ve said that before and ended up here. So.” You shrugged, lips jutting out like you were also unimpressed with yourself. “Ask me again in a couple weeks, I guess. I’d like it if you didn’t, though.” 

“Then quit doing the hard nights alone,” he said, leaning in just slightly. “You keep yourself off the stairs, and you can come bother us instead here with a textbook.” He raised a brow as he held your eyes. “We’ve got a family room that’s almost always empty at night.” 

“I couldn’t — ”

“Won’t be a bother. Trust me. You’d be silly not to use people’s help when they’ve clawed through the same exams to get the badge. You get stuck, somebody’ll know it cold.” He shrugged. “Half of ‘em are bored out of their minds some nights. You’d be doing us a favor.” 

You let out a breath, brows pinching together. “That’s — yeah.” You let out a short laugh, looking away for a second. “I’d like that. A lot. Thank you, really. As long as you don’t mind.”

“This is a teaching hospital, doll. I don’t mind, so long as you don’t mind the company. Might be nice for me, too.”

You smiled and for a moment, neither of you moved to end it. Then you shifted the tote back up your shoulder, and Jack felt the pull to keep you here one more second before he could stop himself. 

“Go home,” he said gruffly. “And I’ll be looking for you. So actually turn up, don’t make me look for nothing.” 

The whole sun of you came up at that, stunned, like you hadn’t expected to be looked for by anyone. Jack felt the ground go quietly out from under him, the vertigo of having reached for a person’s happiness on purpose and connected, of being, for once, the cause of a face doing that. He’d gotten so used to delivering news that took the light out that he’d forgotten it ran the other way, too.

“I’ll turn up. I promise.” 

He nodded, clearing his throat and turning for the board, bidding you a throaty goodbye. 

“She’s the girl that everyone on night talks about?” Robby asked immediately, falling into step beside him. 

Jack looked at him sideways, shaking his head. “You got something to say, too?”

“No,” Robby said, rubbing his palm at his chin like he was holding something in. “You like her or something?”

Jack halted for a second, pointing his index at Robby as he lowered his chin. “You shut up. She’s gonna be a nurse.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Robby laughed. “Looks like she’s gonna be your nurse, old man. You’ll need it soon enough.”

Thank god you did turn up. Jack had the sense that maybe he’d scared you off altogether by his offer, and the line he’d toed had two very alternate spectrums: you’d find a new hospital altogether to go to in the metropolitan area after your falls or poisonings, or you’d be here a lot more often, which he still wasn’t sure would’ve been often enough. 

The first time you came in, it was well past midnight and Jack had unfortunately not been able to catch you off the bat because he was in an emergency surgery. He’d walked out of it with his blood-stained surgical gown still on to be met with the sight of you by the nurse’s station, writing something down on the back of a discharge form for Lena, with another Tupperware laying on the table. He made the guess that you’d brought the whole floor something and were three minutes from having Lena eating out of your hand. 

You’d found a corner of his department and made yourself a small soft home in it inside of ten minutes, and you were leaning in, and Jack stood there for a moment with the bad night still ringing in his ears and felt something unclench in his chest by a fraction.

“ — no, but you gotta,” you were saying to Lena in earnest as Jack approached closer. “If you put the brown sugar in while the butter’s still hot, it’s just — it’s a different cookie.”

“You taking the recipe, Lena?” Jack asked then, fully submerging into the knot you’d made with his charge nurse. 

You turned to face him, a smile forming on your lips almost immediately, and then your eyes dropped over him, to the gown, the rust-brown stain dried dark across the front of it, the set of his shoulders. 

“I am,” Lena replied. “Gonna make these for the kids.” She punctuated her sentence by holding up one of the cookies. 

“Gonna make some for us, too, then?” Jack asked, raising a brow, and settled his elbows over the table. He turned his neck to face you properly, putting on his best smile.

Lena laughed shortly. “I don’t like you enough.” She pushed off the counter with some forms in hand. “Her, maybe. You can have whatever she leaves behind.” She shot you a look that was almost warm before she went and disappeared down the hall. 

“Could be you someday,” Jack said, tilting his head in the direction of Lena’s chair. 

You shook your head, then pushed the container in his hands. “I’ve got to graduate first. And pass pharm, which is currently — ” You patted your tote bag, textbooks heavy. “ — trying to kill me.”

Jack nodded toward the family room, placing the container on the table for a second beside him. “C’mon, then, doll. Let’s see what the pharm’s doing to you.”

“You don’t have to — ” Your eyes flicked down the gown again. “You just came out of surgery. You don’t have to help me study.”

“Actin’ like I’m the one who got the surgery,” Jack muttered, chuckling slightly. He was already peeling off the gown one-handed, balling it up to toss. He started walking, and you followed behind him. “C’mon. It’s pretty empty right now.” 

It’d been pleasant that night and the few after to have five to ten minute increments of sitting with you helping you study in between doing his actual job. He’d duck in between things — a lull after discharge, the dread stretch while he waited for a CT scan, the ten minutes a trauma took to roll in once the call came — and you’d be there in the family room with your stack of cards on the couch. He’d drop on the chair across you or the couch beside you and pick up wherever you’d left off like he hadn’t left at all. Then his pager would buzz and he’d be gone, and you’d still be there an hour later when he came back, and he’d sit back down, and both of you’d pretend this was a completely normal way to study.

It’d annoyed him the first night how badly the flashcards were failing you; he’d seen you stare at the words and your eyes would glaze and slide right off it like they were greased. You’d memorized or retained nothing. And then he’d said, half to himself, a story for the why to click, and he’d watched it lock in you. 

So he’d stopped quizzing you primarily off the cards and started telling you stories instead and you’d talk it back to him, reasoning out loud, getting there in the saying of it the way you never got there on the page. 

The nights stacked up. The first week, you’d sat at a table across from him. By the second, you’d migrated to the chair beside him. Your coffee, the one by the far end of the table, was right by his elbow. Lena started leaving a second cup at the station when she saw you come in, his and yours, and never commented.

You’d stopped apologizing for taking up his time somewhere in there. He noticed when you’d started saving him the worst looking cookie on purpose because he’d once told you he liked the ugly ones. He’d noticed when you learned the rhythm of his pages; you’d go quiet and just hand him the next card when his eyes drifted to the board through the window of the door, would have it ready when he came back, like you’d kept his place for him while he was off keeping someone alive. 

He noticed that he more than looked forward to it. Somewhere in the dead middle of a bad shift, his feet would take him toward the family room before his brain could catch up on the why of it all. An empty table on a night you didn’t come in sat wrong with him, a tiny disappointment he didn’t have anything in him to figure out why.

Sometimes, like now, you’d get distracted. Jack had learned. He’d walked into the family room to see you and Ellis folded into opposite ends of the couch, the flashcards abandoned in a fanned mess on the cushion between you, both of you mid-argument and enjoying yourselves too much.

“Poaching my study hall, Ellis?” he said, finally moving in. 

Ellis pointed one stern finger in your direction as she pulled herself off the couch. “Do the crossword, not the sudoku.” 

“She’s gonna make you a worse student,” Jack said to Ellis’s back.

“She’s making me a worse doctor,” Ellis said cheerfully, already at the door. “I’ve been here twenty minutes. I have patients.” She turned to you one final time. “Crossword. You’ll thank me later.” 

She gave Jack a knowing look on her way out, one he didn’t want to read too much into, and she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her in one slow plunge. 

You watched the door settle, and the entire wattage of your attention turned to him. He hadn’t gotten used to that, and he didn’t think he ever would. “Looks like I’ll never be a nurse.” 

“Don’t say things like that.” He came around and lowered himself onto the couch beside you. “What’re you stuck on? Hit me.”

Your palm met his upper arm, a small smack. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Hit me all you want. You’re not getting out of this.” 

“But Jaaaack,” you drawled, tipping your head back on the couch. “Not here to study today.”

His eyes flickered over to your form briefly as he gathered the cards and squared them. “Oh, no? What’re you here for then?”

“Dunno.” You pulled your knees up to the couch. “Didn’t wanna be at mine. And work was a lot and boring.” You turned to face him then, a small smile growing on your lips. “Thought I’d bother yours instead.” 

He set the squared deck on his knee. “Lucky me.”

He’d caught it, though, how you’d folded the sad thing in the middle of the sentence where it’d draw the least attention and moved on before it could sit. He let it move on, but he kept it. The image of you on a Tuesday, work behind you, and the choice you’d made was to drive to a hospital rather than go home to your own quiet. He was getting a picture of what that quiet looked like and learned that he didn’t like it very much.

“Work was boring, huh,” he said, though he couldn’t imagine what a fun day looked like as a waitress. “You working more?”

“Mm. Saturday girl quit, so now I’m on Saturdays, too.” You picked at your sock. “S’okay. Tips are good. I learned that old guys tip better when you call them ‘sir.’” 

He huffed. “Do they?”

“Huge. It’s a cheat code.” You tilted your head at him, smiling shyly. “You’d tip well, I think. You’d overcompensate.” 

“I’m not gonna sit here and get profiled by you in the only few minutes where I can catch my breath.” He held the card up, front to himself. “And I tip twenty-five percent like every functioning adult, thank you.”

You groaned. “Where can I get tipped more than that?” 

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“I do. I do. I’m a broke student. Point me to the money — where should I apply?” You shifted on the couch, fully facing him now, the cards apparently abandoned for the moment. “C’mon. You’ve lived a hundred years. You’ve gotta know where I can make some quick cash.” 

“You’re sweet to me, doll,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. He set the cards down and looked at you, genuinely considering it now. He tried to ignore the fact that you likely had money troubles and tried to think about how he could actually help. “Define quick.” 

“Like — by next Thursday.” 

“Legally?”

“No.” 

“Legally, you can sell plasma. Twice a week, they pay you, you sit there with a juice box.” 

Your nose scrunched. “I don’t love needles in me sober.”

“You’re gonna be a nurse.”

“In other people. That’s totally different.” You waved it off. “Next. What else?”

“Sleep studies pay you to sleep. Egg donation pays a whole lot but it’s a whole process, not a Thursday deal.” He was ticking them off on his fingers, now fully committed. “Medical research’ll pay you to test things. Phase-one trials. You take an experimental drug and they watch you for side effects.”

“That’s the one.” You sat up. “How much?”

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I bring you in here to keep you from blacking out. I’m not gonna have you volunteering to get poisoned for a quick four hundred bucks.” He pointed at you. “Maybe start laying on the ‘sir’ a little too thick from now on.” 

“Sir.” You tested on him directly, dropping your voice, leaning in an inch, lashes going slow. “Could you help me out, sir? Tips have been so slow, sir.” 

He turned his face away from you, now making himself look out the window. “I’m not entertaining this.” 

“Oh, but sir.” You’d fully abandoned the cards now, scooting closer, a hand under your chin, the picture of innocence. “I’m just a girl. A poor, hardworking girl trying to be a nurse. Don’t you want to help me out, sir?”

“I am trying.” He pulled up the flashcards. “If it’ll help, I’ll bring my SWAT buddies into your place and they can run up a tab.” He waved a card in front of your face, trying to get your attention back to it. “You do this, I’ll have eight cops eating mozzarella sticks in your section by Friday, overtipping ‘cause I saved their lives. Won’t even have to call ‘em sir.” 

“Right. No, that’s — ” You let out a little laugh too quickly, eyes widening at his words, and you took the card out of his hand mostly to have something to do with yours. “You don’t have to do that. Obviously. I was kidding — ” You batted the whole thing away with a shake of your head. “God. No. I’m okay, I promise. I was kidding.”

“I’m half-kidding,” he said, raising a brow. “I do know those guys. It’s no skin off me. But it’s okay.” 

He let the offer sit like that, and he saw you pinch your eyes shut. He watched the whole thing happen on your face, the small involuntary recoil you always had when anyone offered you real kindness. You were bad at it. For a girl who lied so charmingly about how much she drank and how her night went, you had absolutely no poker face for being cared about. You had not the first idea how to hide it.

He found it unbearably endearing.

You opened your eyes and looked a little caught, a little sheepish as your thumb worried the corner of the card.

“You’re a strange girl,” he mumbled, fond, before he could stop it. “You know that?”

“Shit — Jack,” you said through a small laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t — I’m — ” You pressed your lips together and your shoulders came up almost to your ears in a stiff shrug. “Is there anything I can do for you? I can’t just accept — all your help.” 

He snorted. “What help? I give you a study room and review flash cards.”

“Let me do something. I’m a good cleaner — ”

His head went back slightly, shaking his head. “You’re really not.”

“Okay,” you continued, rallying. “A dog? Guys like you always have dogs they don’t walk ‘cause of their hours. I can walk dogs.” 

“No dog.” He raised his hand when he saw your mouth move again, stopping you. “You pay me back by passing your boards. You can pay me back plenty if you end up working here, doing good at the job.”

You went quiet for a second. “That’s just me doing my own thing. That’s not real.”

“That’s real to me.” He shrugged, like he hadn’t just made your whole future the price of his kindness. “I get a good nurse out of it someday.” He pulled himself off the couch. “And now I gotta go. Floor’s not gonna run itself.”

“Boo,” you said, pulling the entire deck on your lap now. “You’re the worst study partner. You leave constantly.”

Tonight, Jack had come into the family room after leaving you for a longer stretch of time than usual — a multi-vehicle situation that had eaten two hours and most of his patience — and found the studying had long since lost.

You’d migrated to the couch at some point. The textbook was open face-down on the cushion beside you like a small tented roof, your flashcards fanned across the middle seat, and you were folded in the corner with your knees pulled up and cheek mashed into the worn armrest, fighting your eyes and losing completely. You’d dimmed the overhead lights, lighting the lamp in the corner, the one nobody used, throwing everything low and gold.

He paused in the doorway. “You awake?” 

“Mhm. Need a cat nap, though,” you murmured.

Jack snorted, shutting the door behind him as he walked closer to you. “How far’d you get?”

“Far enough.” Then, you added, “Cat nap.”

“Sayin’ it like I’m gonna not let you have one.” 

Your eye cracked open a sliver, tracked him, then fell shut again. “Feel like you’re gonna make me do more cards.”

He toed the leg of the coffee table aside, reached down, and started clearing your mess off the cushions. He lifted the textbook and shut it around the receipt you’d jammed as a bookmark; gathered the flashcards and squared them in his palm; capped the highlighter and pocketed it. You watched the cleanup through one half-open eye, not lifting a single finger, your cheek staying flat to the armrest. 

“There. No more cards. You’re done for tonight, doll.” 

“Hooray,” you mumbled. 

He nudged your socked foot where it had crept up across the cushion. “C’mon. Budge up a second. Don’t want you wrecking your neck sleeping like that.”

You made a small sound of protest but you went, peeling your cheek off the armrest with reluctance. There was a crease pressed into your skin where the fabric seam had been and your hair was flat on one side and mushed on the other. You blinked up at him, swaying where you sat, eyes glassy and unfocused in the gold lamplight.

He sank into the space he’d cleared, the cushion dipping, tipping the two of you a fraction into each other. That was all the invitation your body apparently needed, because you folded into him without a beat of thought — too tired to second-guess it, he supposed — your temple finding the warm of his shoulder, your whole side melting against his. You drew your knees up and tucked them against his thigh. Your hand came to rest on his chest, palm flat, fingers spreading once before they went still. You exhaled after a moment, long and slowly, and burrowed your nose into his neck. 

Jack stilled. 

“Ten minutes,” you murmured, the words barely coming out as words.

He took his arm off the back of the couch and settled it around your back, broad hand spanning between your shoulder blades and drawing you that last fraction deeper into him. You went boneless with it, a small contended hum slipping out of you. 

Because he couldn’t help himself, he tipped his head down a fraction to say into your hair, “Been doin’ really well, y’know that, sweetheart?” 

You hummed, the sound of it vibrating against his throat, your fingers curling the faintest bit in his scrubs. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Gonna be a good nurse,” he murmured, thumb moving once along your shoulder. 

“Gonna work with you,” you mumbled, three-quarters gone. “You said.”

“Mhm.”

“Holdin’ you to it.” 

“Yeah, I know you are.” The corner of his mouth flicked up where you couldn’t see it. “Go to sleep. You can hold me to it in ten minutes.” 

When you didn’t answer for a second, Jack realized you were already gone. You were warm and trusting at his side, your hand slack over his heart, your breath sinking deep and even into his neck. 

Jack let his head tip back against the couch, pinching his eyes shut at the feeling of you, at the feeling you caused. His hand spread slowly across your back, feeling the breath go through you — the proof of you — and he let his thumb find the curve of your shoulder and rest there, keeping his eyes shut. He sat with the enormous fact of you, the girl he’d not seen anyone circle back for, gone soft and so pliant in his arms like she’d always belonged there, and he stopped pretending he wasn’t already lost. 

The ten minutes came and went. He let them. He’d have given you the whole night, the whole shift, the whole of whatever this was turning into. There wasn’t one place on the earth worth standing up for, and he’d known it for weeks, and only now, with your breath slow against his throat, did he let himself sit all the way inside of the knowing.

Jack came out of the OR and signed — albeit distantly, mind running a meter a minute about nothing good — what needed signing and said the things he was meant to, feeling the familiar piece of his own damn soul rotting away in the place those things went to rot. He knew the spot by now. It’d been decades of depositing them into the same place, and the place didn’t fill, exactly, but it never emptied, either. It just sat there, getting heavier, like things usually do when you keep adding to it and never take anything out.

This one would sit a while. Jack had started to sense it around the first year in this job; the ones that stayed had a weight, and you knew on the table whether you were getting one of those or whether it’d wash off by morning. This one wouldn’t.

He stripped his gloves, and somebody said something he answered without hearing, and then his feet simply walked past the board, carrying him down the hall toward the one door on the whole floor that wouldn’t have somebody else’s catastrophe behind it. 

His hand was flat on the door. He was still wearing the gown, and he looked down and registered it too late. He should’ve changed it, left the thing in the dirty bin with the rest of what the shift had taken, the way he always did before he came to you, kept the two halves of the floor separate on purpose. 

He opened the door. You were on the couch, one leg tucked under you and the other foot on the floor and a half-empty cup of coffee on the table going cold. You’d been doing something on your phone, or nothing, when the door opened, and you looked up with the easy expectant expression on your face you always had before it dropped. He watched it melt.

“Hey,” you said, making your voice soft.

“Hey.” His voice came out rough, and he almost winced as he heard it himself. 

You set your phone face-down on the cushion and unfolded yourself from the couch and stood, crossing the room to close the gap between you. You stopped in front of him and looked up, your brow doing a small worried thing, and he let himself be looked at.

“Sit down,” you said. “You look like you’re gonna fall through the floor.”

He distantly registered you walking him to the chair — your hand finding his forearm, a light touch — and he let you. He folded into the chair like the strings of his own body had been cut, his elbows finding his knees and head dropping.

He heard you move, small domestic sounds of you filling a cup, the tap somewhere down the hall turning on then shutting off. Then your socks were back in his eyeline, toes pointed to him.

“Here.” You crouched, came into his lowered field of vision, and pressed a cup into his hands — water, cold — and folded his fingers around it when they were slow to close. “Drink it all.”

He drank because that was the path of least resistance. The water caught something he hadn’t registered was bone-dry. You took the empty cup out of his hands when he was done, setting it on the table behind you, and then he felt your hands find his shoulders.

He flinched just slightly, the smallest involuntary thing, for nobody touched him like that. Nobody put their hands on him that weren’t shaking one of his or needing something from him. You settled your thumbs into the iron base of his neck and pressed slowly, working the knots the night, the days, the weeks, and probably the year had wound there.

Your thumbs were unsure of themselves — you weren’t good at it, you weren’t trying to be, you were simply trying — and that was somehow worse because it got further to him than skill would have; there was the unpracticed earnestness to it, like you’d simply decided his shoulders had been holding too much and you wanted to put your hands there to take some of it down. 

He felt his head drop lower, coming forward on its own, the tension bleeding out of his neck by degrees under your hands. Your thumbs found a place at the top of his spine that had been clenched so long that it had stopped registering as pain, and you pressed there, and a fraction let go. He felt his shoulders drop the inch they’d been holding up all night, and an uneven breath went out of him.

You kept your hands moving, your thumbs working the meat of his shoulders through the cotton, occasionally finding a knot and leaning your weight into it until it gave. 

His head tipped a little forward after a stretch of time — chasing, or simply falling — and it found the soft of your stomach. His forehead rested against the front of you, where you stood close in the gap between his knees. He hadn’t intended for it, or maybe he had, somewhere under where the intention happened, his body had chosen to stop holding its own weight and give it to the nearest thing that felt like it’d take it. His eyes were already shut, and he stayed there, hands coming up on their own to rest at the sides of your waist. His fingers anchored into the fabric of your shirt.

“Shitty job sometimes,” he mumbled after a moment.

“Yeah,” you said softly above him. “I bet it is.” 

Your fingers had found his hair, threading through the curls. Then, you added quietly, “But you’re really good at it.” 

His fingers tightened a fraction at the fabric on your waist as he let out a short huff. 

“Didn’t help him,” he said finally, the words coming out muffled behind his own mouth. “Whatever I’m good at didn’t help him.” 

“Maybe not.” Your fingers scraped carefully at his scalp. “I think you were the best shot he had.”

He breathed you in, choosing to let the words rest in his skull for a while instead of fighting them. 

“I’m — ” He heard you take in a breath and felt it go through your whole body. “I’m really grateful I met you, Jack.”

For some reason, he waited for you to take it back. There was a primally fast thing in him that told him that you’d take the words back, and he’d have understood.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you added. “I just wanted you to know. While you’re here being all — ” Your thumb moved at the back of his neck, tender and so gentle. “ — Figured it was a decent time to tell you I’m glad you exist.” 

He took in a shaky breath against you, fingers tightening again. 

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he said, and it sounded like it’d been punched out of him. “Likewise. More than you know,” he finished, his arms wrapping around the rest of your waist now, pulling you in like he could just fold himself smaller if he held hard enough.

Your fingers kept moving slowly in his hair, your other hand coming around the back of his head to hold him there. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d let anybody do this; as far as he could remember, he’d decided in some wordless permanent way that he’d carry his own weight from then on, that it was cheaper, that needing somebody was a bill that came due eventually and he’d rather not run the tab. 

“You should sit,” he said after god knows how long without letting go. “Selfish, keepin’ you standing here.”

“It’s okay.”

He hummed, thumb moving once at your waist. “Two more minutes then.”

“Whatever you need, Jack,” you said, voice quiet. “I’m not going.”

Jack’s phone lit up on the arm of the couch at 10:52, face-down, buzzing itself a quarter-inch off the leather before he caught it. 

He’d been working his way, with grim completionist patience, through an iceberg video you’d sent him three days ago with the message ‘THIS rabbit hole i need you to fall down.’ You’d followed it up by telling him, ‘do Not skip tiers!!’ He hadn’t skipped tiers. He was, in fact, ninety minutes deep and only about two-thirds down the pyramid, somewhere in the tier where a young man with a serious voice was explaining internet folklore he couldn’t believe was real. 

He was fairly sure it’d been invented by some teenager, but Jack only shrugged, distantly wondering why on earth anyone would spend the labor — the diagrams, alone — hoaxing a thing this elaborate for an audience of complete strangers. He also wondered why on earth you were so interested in this. As quickly as the thought arrived, he realized that he was working down the iceberg himself.

Working down a thing you’d handed him felt adjacent to sitting next to you, and his apartment had become the sort of quiet that made adjacent worth ninety minutes of contemporary folklore. He’d sooner have chewed glass than admitted it out loud.

It was a good apartment and an unwitnessed one. He’d realized somewhere in the past year it was untouched by any hand but his. Every object was exactly where he’d last set it down, for there was no second person to nudge the remote three inches or leave a hair tie on the counter or ask why there was a mug in the sink and no bowl. His leg was off for the night, propped against the arm of the couch, the whole standing weight from his night shift to SWAT calls finally set down somewhere it was allowed to stay.

So, the phone going off, went off loud in the silence that had become almost-permanent. Your name lit across the screen, and the picture with it (one you’d set yourself, commandeering his phone to do it). It was already strange that it was a call. You never called; you texted in floods, six messages deep before he’d gotten to the first, but the ringing meant the thing had gotten past the point where typing it out would hold. 

He looked at your laughing face buzzing on his phone for a second too long, the cold little instinct, and thumbed it green.

“Hey,” he said. “You know it’s almost eleven on my night-off. This better be good.”

You stayed silent for a second, and he could hear your breath and the hollow of a call connected in a car, the cooling engine’s tick and automotive acoustics. 

“Hey,” you said finally, and Jack felt it wrongly. The back half of the word had gone soft and unsteady at the end.

Jack was already sitting up. “Hey, yourself,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He heard you swallow quickly. “Sorry. God, this is so dumb. You — were you asleep?” 

“I was almost through with your iceberg, if you want the truth.” 

You made a sound that tried to be a laugh but didn’t clear the runway, breaking apart halfway. “You watched it?”

“Almost.” His fingers were drumming against his prosthetic leaning by the couch now. “Are you out?”

“I’m —” You paused, then hummed like you were debating. “I’m kind of near your place, actually?” Your voice rose toward the end, like you were embarrassed or questioning it all yourself. “I know. It’s creepy. But I think I need to — talk to you.” 

“Yeah?” He tried to keep his voice light, though he could already feel something in his body start racing, panicking. “You break something?”

“No. No. Promise. It’s nothing like that.”

For some reason, that put a deeper hook in him. If it wasn’t a wrist, an ankle, or your body doing something it shouldn’t, then it was the other kind, and he had no idea how to hold something like that. He wasn’t sure what he could do with a sprain he couldn’t ice.

“Okay — ”

“Wait,” you interrupted, voice pitching higher, and he could see you were psyching yourself out. “I could just say it now, honestly. It’d probably be easier over the phone.”

Jack’s eyes widened a fraction at that. His stomach suddenly felt cold. 

“No,” he said, voice rougher than he’d intended. “I won’t make it hard. Whatever you want to say, I promise. Just — not like this, okay? Come here.” 

He listened to you breathe as you weighed it and knew, with bone-deep certainty, that he wouldn’t like what you were going to say. “Okay,” you breathed. “I’ll be there in fifteen.” 

Jack opened the door after the first knock, unembarrassed of waiting. You’d come as you were, a coat thrown open over sleep clothes, good wool hanging loose over a thin cami with lace at the collar and soft shorts and bare legs down to the sneakers you hadn’t laced properly. The second fact that registered to Jack was that you’d been crying; there was a soft ruin around your eyes, the mascara long gone, wiped with a sleeve somewhere back in the evening. Your hair was up and losing, a claw clip hanging looser than he believed it was meant to.

“Hi,” you said, eyes raising to meet his. “Thanks for letting me come by.”

Jack felt his shoulders rise to his ears just slightly at the formality. He felt like a bucket of ice had been dropped upon him because somewhere in the past few weeks, you’d stopped apologizing to him as much, which had felt like a small victory he never told you he was counting. And here it was again, your stiff little courtesy, the door swung back shut on a thing that had been open. Jack didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. 

“You don’t thank me for coming by,” he said gruffly, opening the door wider.

You came in, but only just. Before he could steer you to the warmth of his apartment, you were already reaching into the bag on your shoulder — hands shaking, he realized, with a fine tremor — and pulling out a folded piece of paper, creased hard down the middle and then again like you’d tried to bundle it up into a fist.

He unfolded it and smoothed out the edges, eyes looking for yours briefly, but you’d already looked away. Your bottom lip was between your teeth and you were looking at the ground. He forced himself to look down.

It was your pharmacology exam. Your cramped looping handwriting scattered the margins, a star drawn to one question because you starred everything. There was red pen all down the side and a number circled on the top. The number, Jack saw immediately, was not catastrophic, not a failure even. It was a low pass, the sort of grade that would’ve stung for Jack in his school days and evaporated by the next exam. He’d expected worse from the way you’d been shaking holding it. 

He looked back at you, confused more than anything. “Congratulations, you passed.” 

Your jaw tightened, and he could see your eyes go bright and wounded. “It’s a seventy-one.”

“That’s a pass.”

“Barely. Barely.” You took the paper out of his hands, folding it away like you couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. “And you helped me with this so much and I still couldn’t. I’m so tired of — ” You stopped, looking up at the ceiling as you pressed your lips flat. “It’s not about the test.”

“Okay.” He leaned back against the counter, giving you the whole floor of the room. “Talk, then.” 

You looked at him, and he watched you gather it all up, deciding, as it settled into your face, your mouth, whatever you’d come here to say.

“I don’t wanna waste your time anymore,” you said, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes landed on the wall behind him. “I can’t — it’s not fair.” 

Jack felt the whole floor shift under him and felt his brows go up an inch as he tried to keep his face seem collected. 

“You’re you,” you continued. “You’ve got a whole life, a hard one, and I’ve been just — dumping mine on you. Making you sit there and hold my hand through studying and I’m — ” You shook your head, face going grim as you said the words. “It’s not fair to you. You’ve been carrying me for so long, and it’s not fair. None of this is yours to carry. I’m not yours to carry.” 

His nose scrunched just slightly, something like burning blooming at the center of his face. Something in his chest had cracked along the seam he had no idea was there, because he’d never had to look at it once straight on. It was easy to carry your own weight when there was no one asking to take some. It was easy to call solitude a principle when nobody had ever made the alternative real. And you had. You’d made it real for months, and here you were proposing — no, telling — to take it back, to hand him his loneliness again because of some measurement of fairness. 

The horror of how much Jack didn’t want it — how badly, how completely he didn’t want to go back to how it was before you — was the first honest look he’d taken at himself in longer than he could stand to count. 

“That so?” was all he could say, voice roughening as his brows narrowed at you. 

“Yes.” You mistook the roughness for agreement, or maybe you just needed to do so, because you kept going. “You don’t have to help me. The only thing I can think is you’re — you are a good person and I was there. And you help people, it’s what you do.” Your hand waved in the general direction of him as your voice cracked. “So help someone who’d actually make it worth it. Who won’t barely pass and keep getting too drunk and — ” You laughed slightly, and it was all wet and terrible, the sound. “I’m a bad use of you. You’re this — you are so much, Jack, and I’m a bad place to put it. So put it somewhere better.” 

Jack had to force a swallow when you ended your words with a sharp intake of breath, the pool behind your eyes slipping free slowly down your cheeks. You’d run out of anything that’d make you wipe it away now, and that undid him worse than the crying itself, that you were standing there and letting it fall, done hiding, wrung all the way out. 

“I’m sorry — ” he started.

“It’s okay,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

“For making you think that’s what it was,” he said, lowering his voice. “That’s on me, that you talked yourself into thinking this has been some sort of charity.” He cocked his head to the side then, wishing you’d look up at him. “But you’re gonna quit shaking your head for one minute, and hear the rest, ‘cause you got it wrong. All of it, backwards and upside down.”

He came off the counter and closed the space himself, until you had to lift your chin to keep his eyes. 

“I’m not a man who spends his nights on a stray out of the goodness of his heart. Ask anyone I work with what I’m like. I don’t have that lying around spare.” His jaw tightened. “So take the halo off. That’s not what this was.”

“Then why — ”

“You,” he said plainly, for he learned it cost him nothing to do so, and a lot if he didn’t. “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. There’s nowhere else I want to put it.”

He watched everything in your face tighten at his words, the disbelief and reflex to argue all curdling underneath. 

“If you don’t want this.” Me. Me, he wanted to say. “Say it. I’ll leave you alone. You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not — ”

“But don’t act like it’s some favor for me.” He was closer now than he’d been. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving for my sake. That’s a lie.”

“It’s not — ”

“It’s a lie,” he said, voice going flat and so final, as he slowly nodded his head. He looked at you a second, lips coming between his teeth, then looked away as he felt something physical seize over his entire body.

Jack himself had to process the words as he said them, because he was only just realizing how much truth they held.

“You make it good.”

He forced himself to look back at you, and you had tilted your head now to look up at him, caught and still as stone, the arguing gone completely off your face now and replaced with something more frightened.

“Don’t — ” One of Jack’s shoulders came up in a half-hearted shrug. “You’re the one part of my day that doesn’t take anything out of me. Just — get that straight, sweetheart.” 

You were just looking up at him with your whole face undone, the tears gone still on it, as though his words had knocked your own clean out of you.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” you said quietly. “People don’t — that’s not a thing that happens to me, Jack. Being — ” Your sentence broke apart and your hand had come up and fisted loosely in front of his shirt without either of you deciding it should, holding on, holding him there. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Nothing.” His hand came up slowly and covered yours where it fisted in his shirt, holding it flat there against his chest. “It’s just true.”

You made a small, pained sound and dropped your forehead against his sternum, right where his hand held yours, and he felt the whole strung-tight weight of you gave at once and settled into him. He felt you breathe against his shirt at the same time he felt his own pulse going too fast on your knuckles; he wasn’t bothered enough to try and slow it, because there was no point now. You’d already found out. 

“Very grateful for you,” he murmured, his other hand pulled up to rest over the back of your skull. “Told you so earlier. Meant it more than you let yourself hear.”

You huffed against his shirt — half a sob, half a laugh, maybe the ruined cousin of both — and he felt it go through the cotton and land warm against his skin, felt your fingers uncurl a fraction from the fist they’d made then re-fist, like even now some part of you was checking he was still there to hold onto. 

Jack held still for it, same as you had in the family room for him. He was good at holding still, it was half the job, but this was a different kind — he supposed — where there was a plain animal willingness to be a wall for as long as you needed one and not move a muscle that might spook you out of it. 

He rested his chin at the top of your head, murmuring, “I don’t have to tutor you anymore, if that’ll help.” He swallowed, closing his eyes as he breathed in your faint perfume. “We can scrap the whole thing, if that’s what’s making you feel so bad.”

You stilled for a second, then made a small sound against him. 

Despite himself, despite it all, he let out a short chuckle. “S’okay. I’m the reason you got a seventy-one. You’re allowed to switch.” 

“You’re the reason it’s a seventy-one and not a thirty,” you said, and it came out muffled and immediate. You almost sounded cross, like you didn’t want the slander against him to stand even now.

After a moment against him, you added, “I don’t want to be just someone you help, I think. I don’t want to be somebody — I guess — that you’re just good to.”

When Jack hummed, you continued, “I don’t know what I wanna be instead. Just — a friend — or, I don’t know. Something that goes both ways.”

Jack’s chest swelled at the words. He felt that he’d have been anything you asked of him, simply because it had just become how it was. It was almost outrageous how, if you’d asked, he’d have handed it over, the whole rest of it, whatever you wanted the name to be, whatever box you needed him in.

A man his age was supposed to be past this. He was supposed to have calcified somewhere in the second decade of the job into something that didn’t reorganize himself around what someone he’d known properly only for the better part of the year had asked him.

“Consider it done,” he murmured, letting the word settle. Friend.

You breathed against him, and Jack felt himself want to remain exactly here and knew that he shouldn’t. He knew that the kind thing now was to give you somewhere to put your face that wasn’t his chest, some ordinary ground for you to set your feet back down on. 

“C’mon.” He got a hand on your shoulder and eased you off him gently, a slow, slow reclaiming of the eight inches of air between your body and his. He dipped his head to catch your eyes, which were pink-rimmed and swollen and doing their utter best to avoid his now that the worst was out of you. “Do you want me to order food?”

Your neck rolled back slightly as you met his eyes, caught slightly off-guard at the shift of tone. You blinked. “That was a lot, and now you’re asking about food?”

“It was a lot,” he agreed. He reached up and thumbed a smudge of leftover mascara from under your eye briskly, and you let him. “And now it’s done. So, food, and we can watch the stupid video you sent me before you head home.”

It had been six days since you showed up at his apartment, and Jack had embarrassingly counted every single one of them. You’d left his apartment somewhere past two with your eyes finally dry and a paper bag of his leftover Thai you’d protested and taken anyway, and he’d walked you down to your car and stood in the lot like some idiot in a movie until your taillights turned off his street, and then he’d gone back up to a quiet that felt, for the first time in years, like something had been in it.

Since then it had gone like it always had and nothing like it; you still turned up with flashcards and left a graveyard of half-drunk coffees on every surface. But he’d noticed how you started letting him sit closer now, let a compliment land without flinching off, and once, mid-story, had reached over and fixed his scrub top where it had folded under, casual as breathing. 

Friend was the word you’d settled on. Jack was thinking about that when Shen dropped into step beside Jack with a cup of fresh Dunkin sweating in his hand. 

“You know it’s not standard to let your girlfriend occupy the family room for three hours of your shift, right?” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jack immediately clarified. It seemed more important to do now than it was earlier, when people only knew you when you came in as an emergency. Still, it felt wrong, like a key going in the wrong hole. “And you got a problem with it?” 

Shen lifted the coffee in surrender, unbothered. “You know we’ve grown to her. She and I do the Wordle every midnight.” Then, he spread one hand. “Administratively, she’s not staff. She’s not a patient. She’s not family of a patient. Which leaves the category I’d have to call —” He tilted his head, faux thoughtfulness. “ — Abbot’s girlfriend, and I don’t think that’s in the handbook.” 

“Try again,” Jack drawled, thumbing a form he wasn’t reading that didn’t need to be read. “She’s a nursing student getting hours of free tutoring off a board-certified attending. Put that in the handbook. Teaching hospital. I’m teaching.”

Shen shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “Alright. Alright. She’s not your girlfriend. Mind if I ask her out, then?” 

Jack snorted. “If you could only be so lucky.” 

“Clearly she has a type for attendings,” he pressed, grinning. “Or is it just the ones with gray hair?”

Jack looked at him sideways. “This is getting a bit weird, even for you.” 

“I’m happy for you, man. Even if you’re gonna make us all watch you not do anything about it for the next six months.”

“Mind your own damn business.”

“Sure,” he turned, lifting a hand over his shoulder as he went. “Close the blinds anyway. There’s a window on that door. Everyone can see her making you dumb.” 

Jack looked down the hall and set the form down before going there to close the blinds — telling himself it was for the window, for Shen’s real talk — and knowing, somewhere under that, that he was really just going to you. 

He could see you through the window in the door before he reached it, which was, he supposed, exactly Shen’s point. You had a textbook open in your lap and you were chewing the end of your highlighter, brow pulled in, mouthing something to yourself, working a card over your head. You’d pulled the sleeves of one of his old sweatshirts down to your hands, the one you’d swiped from his locker two weeks ago and never given back and that he’d never once asked for, because he’d found he didn’t want it back, found he liked seeing it swallow you.

You gave him a smile when he walked in. He reached up and tipped the blinds shut on the window with two fingers, the floor outside tipping away. 

“Why’d you close them?” you asked, slightly bored.

“Apparently the whole department’s been getting a show.”

You furrowed your brows then. “A show of what? Me failing?”

“Somethin’ like that.” He let it go at that, coming around and lowering himself onto the couch beside you, the cushion dipping and tipping you toward him a degree, what it always did that neither of you ever corrected. “How’s it going? Honest.”

“Honestly?” You blew out a breath, closing the highlighter. “I’d kill for a drink.”

“Oh?” Jack settled back against the couch, his arm coming up along the top of it behind you. “Telling that to the one man who’s seen what you look like at the bottom of the bottle.”

“Jaaaack,” you said, almost in a whine. “Let’s go to a bar.”

He snorted, dragging a hand down his face. “Now I’m wondering what’s pushing you toward the edge.”

He picked the flashcard you had set on the textbook, the one you’d been studying. He read the front of it without much intention — your handwriting was cramped and looping, a star drawn next to it — and turned over and checked the back. He did the same thing he always did, the story, the image; he’d done it a hundred times by now. He could do it half-asleep, and most nights he half was. 

You thought about it for a second, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth, then walked yourself to the answer. 

“Mhm. See. Good,” he murmured. He flipped the card to the back to check you, and you’d had it. Of course you’d had it, you’d had more of this than you ever gave yourself credit for. “Tell you what. Get the next three right, and I’ll get us a drink once your exams are done.” 

Your brows narrowed. “Bribe?”

“It’s an incentive.” He held up the next card, eyes on you. “Don’t think. Just answer me.” 

You did. One, then the next, then the one after. You were quicker now that there was something on the end of it, your lip caught between your teeth as you walked yourself there each time. He noticed you worked when there was something to earn. After all three, he hummed. “See. Good girl, there you go.” 

He felt you go still beside him, and his eyes flickered up to you to see your eyes dropping to your textbook. He stayed silent a second, eyes raking over you, your thumb running the worn edge of a card back and forth. 

Jack knew better than to point out how you being flustered was almost silly when he’d said the same words many times while taping you up or shining a penlight in your eyes. He let his arm stay where it was along the couch, hand not quite touching your shoulder, and watched the side of your face.

“You wanna do some more?” he said finally, voice coming out rougher. “Or are we done for the night?”

You held up a finger, as if telling him to wait.

“Okay, then,” he mumbled, leaning back further against the couch. “Take your time.”

After a second, he turned to say something dry to break the silence. You’d turned your head, too, and were closer than he initially realized, your eyes coming up off the card and finding his, near enough that whatever he had bubbling in his throat died there immediately. 

Jack hummed involuntarily. You closed the sound by pressing your mouth to his, the feeling of the plushness so very featherlight, there and barely there, the softest press. 

He went still as stone, every system in him locking at once. His hand was still along the back of the couch and his mouth hadn’t answered yours, not because he didn’t want to — God, he did — but because the entirety of him had gone still with the disbelief of it, with the you, here, choosing this — him — and the half-second of nothing stretched into a second, too damn long. 

He’d seized on you, the fact you’d nearly walked, had stood in his kitchen finding the kindest way to disappear, and here you were, closing the last of the distance yourself.

You pulled back like you’d touched a stove, a gasp leaving your mouth, replacing where his own had been. 

“Oh god.” Your hand flew up to your mouth, your eyes going wide before pinching shut completely. “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, Jack. I read that so, so wrong. You’ve been so nice and I — fuck, I’m sorry.”

Jack made a pained sound that was lost somewhere in your ramble, at the sight of you snatching it back. Nothing had gone wrong. Jack knew you’d read nothing wrong, and that the only thing that had happened was that he’d been too slow, too stunned, too thirty-years-rusty to catch what had been handed to him in good reflex.

His hand came off the back of the couch and he caught your jaw, thumb on your chin as he pushed slightly against your skin. He was distantly aware that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so afraid about leaning in to kiss a woman, and went in to try and give you back the second he lost, mouth finding yours the exact way every bone in his body knew he should’ve the first time. 

You made a startled sound against him before the entirety of you melted. His mouth worked against yours, thoroughly, making sure not to fumble it twice. His thumb stayed on your chin, tilting your face the half-degree he wanted it, and when your lips parted on half a breath, his entire upper body leaned in to follow it, deepening it. 

It was you who moved first. Of course, it was you, always you. You followed it, the kiss pulling you up and forward, your knee coming over his thigh, and then you were settling over him. Jack let out the throatiest of a chuckle, still intent on keeping your mouth, as your hands slid from the front of his scrubs to his jaw. 

Jack’s hands caught yours on instinct — one at your waist, one at your hip — steadying you down to him, your hips still slightly in the air like you weren’t sure you could close the last of the distance, your weight held in the suspended air in the ache of almost, thighs braced on either side of his. 

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch, dragging his eyes up the length of you poised over him. He blew out a short breath, the corners of his lips kicking up as his palm glided up and down on the side of your waist, catching onto your tank top on accident to show a sliver of skin at your lip — warm, soft, the band of your shorts sitting low — and he watched his own hand do it before he dragged his eyes back to your face.

“Nothing halfway with you, huh?” he said, the words practically coming out from his chest. His thumb rested against that bared sliver of you. “Climbing me at my work.”

You lowered your head, and your nose grazed against his. “You started it.”

“I did?”

“You closed the blinds.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “I can promise you I didn’t expect this when I did that.” 

Your lips ghosted over his for a second, and his chest swelled at the sight of you trying to tamp down the sweetest smile. “Problem?” 

“No.” The words came out immediately, because apparently somewhere in him, there was still something insatiable and teenage that had lurched up at the sight of you. “No. No problem.”

His hand spread flat and warm against the small of your back, fingers slipping under the hem of the top to your warm skin there, and he drew you down, finally, that last suspended inch collapsing as he settled your weight flush over him. 

He had to pinch his eyes shut a second, then open them again to take in the whole sight of you. His hand came up to your jaw. The light caught the loose hair at your temple, the bare line of your shoulder where the strap had slipped. Your mouth was full and flushed from his, parted slightly, your breath coming. The skin under his hand at your back was hot to the touch, and he spread his fingers wider against it just to feel more of it. 

You were trying not to smile. Your lip caught between your teeth, the corners pulling anyway. 

His finger perched against your jaw moved to your lips, dragging slowly across the lower one, parting it under the pad of his thumb. He watched it give, your breath warm against his skin. 

Your eyes flicked up to his as your lip closed around the first knuckle, your tongue hesitantly pressing flat against the pad, the wet heat of it catching him so completely off guard that the air went out of him in a rough exhale. His other hand fisted at the small of your back, turning over to gather the hem of your tank in his grip. 

“Oh.” His eyes had dropped to your mouth and fixed there, his jaw slack as his head cocked to the side. “Pretty.” 

His gaze was locked on the sight of his thumb disappearing past your lips, no hesitation in it, that same no-halfway boldness turned filthy and sweet all at once. The tired man in him went down all at once. 

His thumb dragged free, catching on your bottom lip and tugging it down before it slipped loose. His chest heaved harder now under the warm weight of you. 

“Where’d that come from?” he muttered gruffly, almost to himself, thumb pressing the slick of your own lip back against you. His palm moved to cradle your face, tapping your cheek softly once. “Can’t be doing things like that here, doll. I’m on call.” 

“Then don’t make it so easy.” Your lips brushed his thumb, then you moved down to press your mouth to the line of his jaw, the stubble catching your lips, then lower to the warm of his throat.

“You callin’ me easy?” he said through a chuckle, letting his head tip back. You scraped your teeth over the cord of his neck and felt the whole of him go tight underneath you, his fingers flexing hard into the bare skin of your back. 

“Alright.” His voice had dropped to stone. “You’ve had your fun.. No more of that,” he said, though made no move to stop you.

You peppered a line of pecks down his throat down to where his collar had started, your lips dragging over the jut of his collarbone through the thin cotton. He swallowed. One of your hands slid up to the back of your neck, fingers pushing into the soft gray at his nape, scratching light, and the other flattened over his chest, over the steady-then-not rhythm, fisting slow in the fabric just to feel him breathe wrong because of you.

You sat back an inch to look at him. His head was still tipped back against the couch, his throat bared where you’d left it momentarily pink and glossy, his eyes half-lidded. His hands had gone heavy and possessive at your hips, giving up pretending he wanted them anywhere else, you anywhere else.

You dragged your thumb over his bottom lip, watched it give, the same way he did to you. 

“Can I ask you something?” you asked, quietly, your hips settling more firmly into his lap. 

“Mm.” His hands spread wide, settling you down harder against him. “My social security number is — ”

You laughed. 

“Two-two-six — ”

“Jack — ” You swatted at his chest, the seriousness dissolving into something giddier. “I’m being serious. Stop.” 

“Okay, okay.” The corners of his mouth lifted up, and his hands squeezed slightly at your hips. He pulled his head up off the couch to meet your eyes properly. “Shoot. Doubt I could stop you.” 

“Are you seeing anyone?”

He let the question sit, humming. His thumbs moved idly at your hips, head tilting against the couch like the question required any real thought. “There’s a few women,” he said, lowering his voice as he looked at you, like he was letting you in on a secret. “There’s a nice lady who brings me fruit baskets.”

Your hand, on the flat of his chest, slid up slow to his throat and he kept talking like he didn’t notice.

“ — there’s this nurse on days who keeps leaving me her number at the station — ”

You leaned in and closed your teeth slightly on his earlobe. He let out a short laugh, one that was dragged out of him, his head tipped to give more of it to you without permission. 

“Alright. Okay,” he said as your nose dragged the line of his jaw. “Stop doin’ that. I don’t wanna explain teeth marks to the whole floor.” 

Your hips set firmer into his lap. “Jack,” you warned. “I can’t do this if you’re seeing fifty other women.” 

He sobered a degree, his thumb going still at your waist, his eyes coming up to actually hold yours. The joke drained out of his face as he realised the edge of seriousness you tried to tamp down, and he momentarily short-circuited at how it was even possible for you to wonder. 

“Hey.” His hand came up off your hip, pushed the hair back from your face and stayed there, cradling. “Until five minutes ago, there were zero women. Forget fifty.” 

Your only response to that was a smile and your cheek leaning further against his palm. He let his thumb move once across his cheekbone, watching the way your cheek turned into his hand. Your eyes drifted half-shut. There was a speck of dried highlighter ink on the side of your finger where it curled against his throat. The strap of your top had slid off your shoulder again; he looked at all of you and stopped bothering to pretend, even to himself, that he was looking at anything other than the only thing in the room he wanted.

“What about you? You seein’ anyone?” His thumb stayed where it was, but his voice had gone quieter. “‘Cause I’ve seen people bring you in. And I never liked one of ‘em.”

You huffed a small laugh, your nose grazing his. “Jealous, Doctor?” 

“Yeah.” He watched the laugh stall on your face at how easy he gave it up. “If there is, he should be worried. I’d like to take you on a nice date to change that.” 

“Ohhhh,” you drawled through a laugh. “There’s no one, but I won’t say no to the date.”

“Then you’ve got yourself one, doll.” He kissed you on it — short, sure, his hand still cradling your face — sealing the thing as the corner of his mouth caught yours before he pulled back. He let his forehead rest against yours for a second and breathed you in. 

Then, with a short groan, he tipped his head back off of yours. 

“I gotta get back out there.” His thumb was still moving at your jaw, clearly working against the very thing he was saying. “My work ethic’s going wrong and my residents might actually report me.” 

Then, his hands found your waist and he lifted you off, setting you off his lap and onto the cushion beside him where the entire thing had started. You landed with a small affronted sound, your hand fisting in his collar a beat longer before he had to let it go. 

You flopped back into the cushion where he’d deposited you, one hand pressed flat to your chest, the picture of wounded. “I guess it’s true what they say about old men. They use you. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” 

He stood up and scrubbed his palm down his face like he could wipe the last ten minutes off it before he had to walk out and be a doctor again. He could still feel the heat sitting at the back of his neck and even though he’d tried to scrub your gloss off, he was sure there was a remnant somewhere the worst possible person would notice. 

“Yup, got exactly what I wanted. Thank you, ma’am.” His hand came down to rest at the top of your head and gave it a slow, condescending pat, ruffling the wreck of your hair worse than it already was. “I’m a terrible man. You’re welcome to stay here while I go be one somewhere else.” 

He made himself step back and snagged his pen off the table, the badge, the small armor of the job clipping back into place piece-by-piece. The whole time his eyes kept catching on you, sprawled and rumpled where he’d set you down, looking up at him like the night had gone exactly where it was supposed to. He’d seen this room a thousand nights. He’d never once not wanted to leave it. 

“Mm. Gotta go home. S’almost three,” you mumbled. “And you get off at seven.” 

“I do.”

“So.” You pushed yourself off the cushion, slow, gathering your hair back off your face and pushing up your strap, putting yourself back together piece by piece the same way he was, the night closing in on both ends. “I’ll go and let you be a doctor. You’ve been very neglectful.” 

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered. He watched you reach for your textbook, your highlighter, the flashcards, and sweep it all back into your bag, feeling the small stupid pull of not wanting the room to empty out. 

He stepped in before you finished, catching your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss you once more. You went still under it, the bag forgotten halfway zipped, your hand coming up to rest light on his chest. He pulled back an inch to look at you.

“Text me when you get home,” he said, thumb dragging along your jaw. 

You chuckled, brows pulling in. “It’s a ten minute drive.”

“Text me. Humor an old man, since I’m so terrible to you already.”

[residentheartache]

Ok so feel free to not write this but Frank Langdon x peds doctor reader who ends up having a severe chronic pain flare up at work and is struggling a lot mentally because of it and was checked into the er after collapsing from pain. Again feel free to not write it and I hope it he request makes sense I’m tired since Ive been in a bad flare since Friday

Summary — after a chronic flare up causes you to pass out in the job you beat yourself up over it luckily Frank is there to reassure you.

Word count —1150

Warnings — chronic pain/flare ups reader passes out reader is too hard on themselves.

The fluorescent lights in pediatrics always felt a little softer than the rest of the hospital. Warmer. Safer. You’d always liked that it didn’t feel like the ER, didn’t feel like constant chaos and pressure and loss.

Today, though, even that gentle glow felt like knives behind your eyes. You pressed your palm harder against the counter, willing your hand to steady as you finished charting. The words blurred slightly on the screen. Your body had been off all morning tight, aching, like something deep inside you had been slowly winding itself tighter and tighter.

You knew what it was. You just didn’t want it to be one hundred percent true.

“Hey.”

You flinched slightly at the voice, glancing up to see Frank Langdon leaning against the doorway, watching you with that quiet, observant look he got when he was already three steps ahead.

“You good?” he asked.

Too quick. Too easy. “Yeah. Just tired.”

His eyes flicked over your posture, the way you were bracing yourself against the desk, the tension in your shoulders.

“Mm,” he hummed, not convinced.

You turned back to the computer before he could push further. “I’ve got two more charts and then I’m grabbing lunch.”

“You haven’t eaten?” he asked immediately.

“I will,” you insisted, sharper than you meant to.

Silence stretched for a second too long.

When you risked a glance back, he was still there. Still watching. Not pushing but not leaving either.

“Okay,” he said finally, quietly. “I’ll check on you later.”

You nodded, relief and guilt tangled in your chest as he walked away. You made it through one more patient. Then halfway through the next, the pain hit.

Not gradual. Not subtle. It spiked. It stole the breath straight out of your lungs mid-sentence, your words cutting off as your vision swam. You gripped the edge of the exam table, knuckles going white as something deep in your body twisted, sharp, electric, and unbearable.

“Doctor?” the parent asked, alarmed.

“I just give me a second,” you managed, forcing a tight smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

You couldn’t breathe right.

Your heart was racing too fast, your skin prickling, your entire body suddenly too heavy and too fragile at the same time. You tried to push through it because you always did but this wasn’t something you could just override.

Not this time.

“Can you—” your voice faltered. “Can you grab another doctor for me?”

That was all it took.

Everything unraveled after that.

The hallway felt too long. Too loud. Too chaotic.

You barely registered who took over your patient, barely registered the concerned voices around you as you tried to make it to the nurses’ station. Each step sent another wave of pain up your spine, through your chest, down your legs until your knees felt like they might give out.

You told yourself you just needed to sit down. Just a minute to gather yourself but your vision tunneled and The floor rushed up faster than you could process.

When you came to, everything was different. The lights were harsher. The sounds were sharper and there were no cartoon paintings on the walls to greet you as you woke up.

“Hey, hey take it easy.”

That voice was familiar and grounding. You blinked, disoriented, and turned your head slightly to see Frank at your side, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he wasn’t sure if touching you would help or make it worse.

“You’re in the ER,” he said gently. “You passed out.”

Embarrassment hits you first, it was hot and immediate.

“I’m fine,” you tried, pushing yourself up slightly.

The movement backfired instantly the pain flaring so violently you gasped, your body curling in on instinct. Frank’s expression changed in an instant.

“Hey no, no, don’t” His hand came down, steadying you without pinning you. “You’re not fine.”

“I just need” your voice cracked, frustration bleeding through. “I just need a minute”

“You collapsed,” he said, not harsh, but firm enough to cut through the fog. “That’s not ‘a minute.’”

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head slightly. You hated this. Hated the loss of control. Hated being on this side of things. Hated that your body, your own body could betray you like this in the middle of a shift.

“I had patients,” you whispered.

“They’re covered,” he said immediately.

“I shouldn’t have”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your laugh came out shaky and thin. “I literally passed out at work, Frank.”

“Because you’re in pain,” he shot back, softer now. “And you’ve been pushing through something you shouldn’t have to push through alone.”

That hit harder than anything else.

Your throat tightened.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I can’t keep pretending I’m fine when I’m not. I can’t keep—” your voice broke. “—losing control like that.”

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to fix it. He just stayed there listening to what you had to say.

“I’m supposed to be the one helping,” you said, staring at the blanket twisted in your hands. “Not lying in bed and completely useless.”

Frank exhaled slowly, pulling a chair closer so he was level with you.

“Yeah,” he said. “You are.”

You looked up at him, confused.

“And right now,” he continued, “the best way you help anyone including your patients is by not destroying yourself trying to prove you can handle everything.”

Your eyes stung.

“That’s not how this works,” you whispered.

“It is today.”

Silence settled between you, heavy but not suffocating.

Your body still hurts deep, relentless but something in your chest eased just a fraction.

“I hate this,” you admitted.

“I know.”

“I feel useless.”

“You’re not.”

“I am right now.”

He shook his head, leaning forward slightly, his voice quieter but unwavering.

“You’re a doctor who hit her limit and needed help. That doesn’t make you useless. It makes you human.”

The words sat with you.

Your breathing steadied a little.

“Does it always feel like this?” he asked carefully.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Flares like this? Yeah.” A pause. “Sometimes worse.”

His jaw tightened just slightly.

“And you’ve just been working through it?”

You gave a small, tired shrug.

“Yeah.”

He sat back, running a hand over his face like he was trying to rein in his reaction.

“Okay,” he said after a second. “We’re not doing that anymore.”

Despite everything, a faint, humorless huff escaped you. “We?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “We.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have the energy to and a small part of you didn’t want to because as the pain continued to throb through your body and the ER buzzed around you, the only thing that felt steady was him sitting there, refusing to let you carry it alone. And for the first time all day, you let your eyes close.

[lnchicagosreads]

As a med student flare ups while working scare the shit out of me

[fangirl-dot-com]

Hey!! I would love to request a Whitaker x Langdon. Where Langdon is dating Whitakers sister and that has made them to become buddies all of a sudden but the Pitt crew has no idea that whitaker has a sister or that Langdon is dating anyone (you can chose which one fits better) so they are randomly thrown off guard where this new friendship began and start speculating their own ideas. And it’s in mixed media form! (hope that makes sense lol it’s my first time making a request)

A vet and a resident walk into a bar(n) . . .

tags: frank langdon x whitaker!reader, equine vet reader, medical inaccuracies, reader gets hurt (kicked in the stomach), secret relationship, overprotective dennis and frank, mixed media (smau + written portion), abby and kids do not exist in this universe

notes: thank you anon for sending in this request! i went with the pitt knows reader is dennis's sister but no one knows she's in a relationship with frank (including dennis), if you'd like to join my permanent taglist please comment on this post ! enjoy!

word count: 2.5k

social media aspect: instagram and text messages

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Dennis had just put his phone down when the ambulance bay doors slid open. He knew exactly who was coming through, and even with your in-advance warning, he still couldn’t help but panic when you were wheeled through on the gurney looking pale and very much so in pain. 

The sight of you immediately short-circuited every ounce of composure he usually carried in the Pitt. Your face had gone almost gray in the lighting, contrasting the dark scrubs you wore, your breathing shallow and uneven as one arm stayed clamped tightly to your side. Even from halfway across the station, he could see the train around your eyes every time the stretcher jostled as the EMTs steered you through. The paramedic walking beside you was talking, giving report in the steady cadence medical professionals used when they needed to stay calm, but Dennis barely processed half of it because all he could focus on was the fact that his older sister had been kicked hard enough by a horse to end up here. 

“Hey, Dennis,” you muttered weakly when you spotted him moving toward the stretcher. “My favorite younger brother.” 

“I’m your only younger brother.” 

“And yet you still overachieve.” 

Dennis ignored you entirely, already scanning you head to toe like he could somehow diagnose you by glaring hard enough. “You look terrible,” he breathed. 

You let your head fall back dramatically against the headrest. “You’re actually being really hurtful right now.” 

“The EMT just said you crashed into a fence.” 

“Okay, well, in my defense, the fence came out of nowhere.” 

The younger paramedic snorted loudly while adjusting the sides of the gurney. “The fence was stationary.” 

“Can you not take the fence’s side in this?” you asked, wincing after because laughing sent a sharp stab through your ribs. “Ow. Nope. No one be funny for at least a hot minute.” 

Dennis was already in tandem with the gurney as they pushed you deeper into the ER, concern bleeding through every attempt he made to stay clinical. “What happened exactly.” 

You took a careful breath through your nose before answering. “Colic call. Six-year-old gelding. Sweetest horse on earth until a tractor backfired behind him.” Your mouth twisted at the memory. “Guess who was standing in the perfect spot to ruin the afternoon.” 

“Did you lose consciousness?” 

“No.” 

“Hit your head?” 

“No.” 

“Shortness of breath?” 

“Yes, but I’m pretty sure that’s because breathing currently sucks.” 

One of the nurses nearby pointed toward an open room while another peeled back the blanket covering you to attach monitors. The controlled noise of the ER wrapped around you with beeping machines, squeaking shoes, and overlapping voices from neighboring rooms. Usually hospitals didn’t bother you much; between Dennis and your own job, medical environments had become weirdly normal over the years. But being the one in the gurney instead of standing beside four-legged patients was significantly less fun. 

“Pain’s where?” the nurse asked. 

You shifted your hand slightly against your side. “Right ribs. Feels like someone shoved a knife in there every time I inhale.” 

“Scale of one to ten?” 

“Currently?” You thought about it for a second. “Like . . . an eight, maybe nine if Dennis keeps staring at me like I’m dying.” 

“You texted me ‘that your whimsy was still intact,’ and somehow that was supposed to make me feel better?” he shot back. 

“I stand by that statement.” 

“You got kicked by a horse.” 

“Occupational hazard?” 

“You work with thousand-pound animals because you love them,” he said incredulously, using air quotes with enough annoyance to make you smile. “Meanwhile I work with people, and statistically they’re less likely to break my ribs.” 

“That feels debatable in this hospital.” 

The nurse covering a laugh coughed into her sleeve while hooking leads onto your chest. Dennis looked severely unimpressed. But before he could say anything else, another voice cut through the room. 

“What’ve we got?” 

Dr. Robby stepped through the curtain with a practiced ease, tablet tucked beneath one arm as his attention moved quickly between the monitors and your chart. Unlike Dennis, the older man looked calm enough to keep the entire room grounded by himself, though you caught the brief flicker of recognition when he realized exactly who was lying in the bed. 

“Well," he said drying after a beat, “I usually hear about family disasters after the shift, not during.” 

You pointed weakly toward Dennis. “He’s being too panicky for a doctor.” 

Dennis looked offended. “You could have internal bleeding, and you’re telling me I’m too panicked.” 

“You should get a gold star or something. Do they give those out here?” 

Robby huffed out something dangerously close to a laugh before stepping closer to examine your side. “All right, let’s see how bad this actually is. Mechanism of injury?”

“Horse kick to the right upper quadrant,” Dennis answered before you could. 

“The horse was rude,” you corrected. 

“The horse was a horse.” 

“Wow. Victim blaming.” 

Robby pulled on gloves, lips quirking up in amusement. “You always this talkative with possible fractures.” 

“She gets worse with pain meds,” Dennis muttered, earning him an eyeroll. 

“Good to know.” Robby looked back at you. “Any abdominal pain?” 

You hesitated. “Mostly ribs.” 

“Mostly?” 

“There’s some soreness lower down, but I also fell into a fence, so I feel like my entire torso is filing complaints right now.” 

“You’re concerningly descriptive.” 

“I’m an equine vet. We describe things dramatically for a living.” 

Robby carefully pressed along your abdomen first, methodically and steady. You managed the first few seconds before his hand moved slightly higher, and a sharp pain ripped through your side hard enough to pull a broken sound from your throat. 

“Okay,” you gasped immediately, gripping the edge of the mattress. “Yep. Hate that one.”

Dennis was by your side within moments, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. “Easy.”

Robby’s expression pinched, all traces of humor fading as he watched your reaction. “Any pain in your shoulder? Dizziness? Nausea?” 

“No shoulder pain. Little dizzy earlier, but I figured that was from getting hit by a horse.” 

“You’d be surprised how often the two are linked.” 

He continued the exam carefully, asking questions while watching for every involuntary flinch and hitch in your breathing. When he was done poking and prodding, he wheeled over an ultrasound, gelled up your stomach, and pressed the wand down near your ribs to make sure nothing inside you had ruptured. You knew enough about medicine to understand why everyone suddenly looked more serious. Internal bleeding was no joke, and blunt-force trauma from a horse kick had more than enough power behind it to cause real damage. 

Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t stop your sense of humor. 

“So,” you said after a moment, voice thinner now from pain, “hypothetically, if I did die—”

“You’re not dying,” Dennis interrupted. 

“Hypothetically,” you repeated pointedly, “I think the horse shouldn’t be charged with involuntary manslaughter.” 

Robby finally snorted. “You planning to get on the stand to defend him?” 

“I would, but breathing’s become very inconvenient.” 

“You’re still making jokes,” Dennis muttered under his breath, through the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased once since you arrived. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, eyes glancing over at him properly for the first time since arriving. “I’m fine.” 

Dennis looked unconvinced until he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and visibly deflated when Robby announced there was no free fluid, ergo no internal bleeding. Robby stripped off one glove thoughtfully before nodding toward the monitors.

“Your vitals are stable; that’s good. But I want imaging to rule out internal injuries and get your ribs checked out.” His eyes flickered toward you again. “Because if you cracked one, every breath for the next month is going to make you deeply regret your career choices.” 

You closed your eyes dramatically. “I knew I should’ve become a dermatologist.” 

_______________________

Out at the nurses’ station, the Pitt watched as charts shuffled from hand to hand, listened to monitors beep irradicably, and groaned when a patient loudly insisted WebMD had diagnosed him correctly. In all the madness, Frank stood near the tracking board with a coffee that had long since gone cold, half-listening to Robby explain a consult while his eyes skimmed over room assignments.

He was on the cusp of picking a patient when he picked up on the end of Trinty’s sentence.

“. . . yeah, Huckleberry’s sister came in after being kicked by a horse.”  

He froze. 

Across from him, Dana blinked rapidly. “By an actual horse?” 

“Yeah,” Trinity answered. “What other kind of horse is there?” 

“I don’t know, Santos, maybe a metaphorical one?” 

“She’s an equine vet,” Trinity continued, already invested in the story. “Cracked rib, maybe more bruising, but no internal bleeding, which honestly feels lucky considering—”

Frank was already moving before she finished her sentence. 

Robby had looked up just in time to catch the abrupt change in direction. “Langdon—” 

But Frank barely heard him. The words Huckleberry's sister and kicked by a horse had hit him like a defibrillator to the chest. Because you hadn’t texted him, which meant either you were unconscious—clearly you weren’t—or you’d been in enough pain not to think about it, which somehow felt worse. 

The curtain to your room snapped open hard enough to make both you and Dennis look up. Frank stepped inside looking far more rattled than anyone in the hospital had probably ever seen him. His eyes landed on you almost instantly, blue hues scanning over the hospital gown, the monitor leads, the way you were sitting stiffly against the raised bed with one arm wrapped around you. 

“What the hell?” he demanded breathlessly. “Why didn’t you text me?” 

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Hi to you too.” 

“You got kicked by a horse.” 

“That seems to be the headline today, yeah.” 

Frank crossed the room in three quick strides, all sharp concern and adrenaline, not even remotely thinking before one hand cupped gently against the side of your face. "Baby,” he muttered, voice softer now as his thumb brushed beneath your eye. “Are you okay?” 

You softened under the candor in his voice. “I’m okay. Cracked rib. Bruised ego.” 

“You were in an ambulance.” 

“And now I’m here.” You gave him a tiny smile. “Conveniently close to you, actually.” 

Frank exhaled shakily through his nose before leaning down and pressing a kiss against your lips. 

At the motion, the room fell into the type of silence where you could literally hear an entire human soul exit their body for a second. Frank stilled against your lips before turning his head slowly, eyes meeting Dennis’s comically large ones. 

For the deration he was in the room, Frank had completely forgotten about your younger brother and the possibility that he was still in the room with you, watching every move.

“Oh,” Frank said after a very long, intense pause. 

You closed your eyes. “Surpriseeeee.” 

Dennis stared at both of you like his brain had fully blue-screened. “What,” he said flatly, “is happening right now?” 

Frank, to his credit, recovered faster than most people would have after a major secret had been spilled. He straightened, chest slightly puffed, though his hand stayed resting against your shoulder almost instinctively. 

Dennis pointed between the two of you. ‘No, seriously. What. Is. This?” 

You cracked one eye open carefully. “This is probably the worst way possible for you to find out I’m dating you coworker.” 

“And you chose Frank out of all the options?” 

Frank cleared his throat. “In fairness, we were going to tell you.” 

“When?” 

Both of you answered at the exact same time. 

“Soon.” 

“Eventually.”

Your brother looked personally betrayed. “I can’t believe this is happening right now.” 

You winced as laughter tugged painfully against your ribs. “Please don’t make me laugh; I’m injured.” 

Dennis said your name with the disappointment of a thousand generations. “You kept this from me for how long?” 

“A few . . . months,” you admitted cautiously. 

“A few—” Dennis looked over at the ER Ken. “You?” 

Frank at least had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Yes.” 

“You’re my coworker.” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re dating my sister.” 

“Yes.” 

Dennis leaned back in his chair slowly, staring at the ceiling for one long suffering moment like he was searching for divine patience. “I actually cannot believe this.” 

“Technically,” you offered weakly. “You can believe it very easily.” 

“Not helping.”

Frank finally relaxed just a bit, shoulders dropping just enough to show he wasn’t about to bolt for the nearest exit. If anything, the initial panic that had driven him there settled into something manageable now that he could see you were genuinely all right. 

“You should have called me,” he said quietly, blue eyes returning to you. 

You bit your bottom lip slightly. “I know. I just didn’t want you freaking out during shift. I can handle one panicking doctor not two.” 

“To be fair, I’m still freaking out right now.” 

Dennis looked between the two of you again, annoyance slowly being overtaken by reluctant realization. Because Frank’s attention never strayed far from you for more than a few seconds. Every glance checked your breathing, your posture, whether you were in pain. His hand kept drifting toward you unconsciously, touching your arm, your shoulder, your hairline like reassuring himself you were actually okay. 

It was disgustingly genuine, and Dennis hated how Frank’s eyes melted as he looked at you. 

“You’re serious about her?” he finally asked, arms crossing in front of his chest to make him appear bigger than he felt. 

Frank didn’t even hesitate. “Very.” 

“And you couldn’t tell me?” 

“I wanted to.” Frank glanced briefly toward you before looking back at Dennis. “She was worried it’d make things weird at work.” 

“It’s a bit too late for that; it’s already weird.” 

“You’re right.”

Dennis narrowed his eyes. “If you hurt her—” 

“I love her, Whitaker.” 

Your breath caught while Frank looked almost surprised that he’d said it out loud so quickly, but he didn’t take it back. If anything, he just looked more certain after the fact, meeting Dennis’s stare evenly. 

“I love her,” he repeated more firmly. “And I would never do anything to hurt her.” 

Dennis’s entire threatening brother speech visibly derailed. 

“Oh,” you said quietly before you could stop yourself. 

Frank glanced at you then, some of the tension easing from his face at the look in your eyes. You expected him to continue his speech, to pronounce his love for you again so that you could melt into his arms or pull him down for another kiss. 

Instead, he said, “You got kicked by a horse,” like he was still emotionally stuck there. 

You smiled despite the ache in your chest. “You keep saying that like it personally offended you.” 

“It did personally offend me. The horse hurt my girlfriend. The audacity.” 

A small giggle flowed from your lips. “Maybe I’ll let you play doctor on me later.” 

Dennis groaned loudly, scrubbing both hands down his face. “This is horrible. I’m trapped in a medical drama where my sister is wanting to roleplay a patient as a patient with her doctor boyfriend—my coworker—who’s also a doctor!” 

y/n.whitaker has posted

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y/n.whitaker had a great day back at work! especially when Frankie brought my whole team drinks! ily 😘

tagged: flangdon

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gabby.val please keep him!

y/n.whitaker but of course! gotta have someone useful :D

dennis.whitaker okay so the guy you were soft launching this entire time was FRANK??

y/n.whitaker yep!

dennis.whitaker how could I have missed all the signs!

y/n.whitaker cause you were busying looking at old men

dennis.whitaker please do not air out my business in your instagram comments

y/n.whitaker but it's just so much fun

trinity.santos you could have done so much better 🙄

y/n.whitaker dw he's never going to take away our thursday karaoke sessions <3

trinity.santos if he ever THOUGHT of taking them away, I'd make sure he'd never be found

flangdon glad you're doing much better, baby ❤️ and I'm glad I could do something for you and your team!

y/n.whitaker we need you around more often. I think the horses liked you!

flangdon my job is horse 🐴

el.bee so glad to have you back at work doc!

y/n.whitaker I'm glad to be back too!

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flangdon so if I bought her a horse . . . do I get boyfriend of the year award?

tagged: y/n.whitaker

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dennis.whitaker she already has two back home 🙄

y/n.whitaker key words: back home

flangdon she asked so nicely, I just had to listen

dennis.whitaker she did the eyes didn't she?

flangdon yep. I lost the war before it even started.

mel.king nice!

y/n.whitaker definitely need you and becca out here for some good horse vibes

mel.king sounds amazing 🤩

trinity.santos no because y/n deserves a girlfriend

y/n.whitaker maybe I'll just be independent on my own!

flangdon I also make an amazing footrest if a boyfriend isn't needed

y/n.whitaker I LOVE YOU AND OUR NEW SON!!!!

flangdon what are we naming him?

y/n.whitaker either frank jr. or hotdog

flangdon whatever you want baby whatever you want

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @sofianotvergara @keepingitundercover

[internetsidequest]

The Difference Between Us Masterlist

Summary: After being honourably discharged from the Army, you arrive in Pittsburgh with a half-finished residency, a body you are still learning how to live in, and a past you have no intention of unpacking. Dr. Jack Abbot is supposed to be a professional contact, nothing more. But he notices too much, understands things he should not understand, and carries himself with a familiarity you cannot quite place. What begins as professional tension slowly becomes something harder to ignore.

Warnings: age gap (reader is 28, Jack is 49) · mentor/mentee dynamic · medical trauma · military trauma · PTSD symptoms · grief · spouse death · widowhood · amputation · prosthetic limb adjustment · survivor’s guilt · emotional repression · panic and nightmare episodes · captivity and torture references (non-graphic) · violence · blood and injury · medical procedures · slow burn · eventual smut · swearing · alcohol · smoking

About this fic: This is a slow burn. The emotional groundwork is being laid carefully and nothing is being rushed. If you’re here for the long game, welcome. Updates are not on a fixed schedule but I am actively writing.

Author’s Note: Hi :) This is my first time posting, so please be kind. I am still figuring things out, but this story has been rattling around in my head and I finally decided to start getting it out. I am mostly posting this for myself, but I hope at least one person enjoys it too. I have tried to research the medical and military details as carefully as I can, but I am not an expert in either, so please forgive any inaccuracies. Comments, reblogs, and thoughts are welcome.

The Difference Between Us: (Ongoing)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

[rr-after-dark]

Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park Masterlist

♡ -> smut

❀ -> fluff

⚠︎ -> angst/sensitive topics

☆ -> personal favorite

Series

Unavoidable (Complete)

Series Summary: The moment you meet Dr. Brendon Park, your entire world changes. He's your mate. The person you're destined to be with. But, god, does he have to be such an asshole all the time? Really, does he?

Chapter One: Mulled Wine (4.4k) Chapter Summary: You've known that harsh, frustrating Dr. Park is your fated mate for months, a fact you've been able to keep to yourself thanks to your suppressants. Then he shows you a rare moment of human kindness. And catches your scent. And things feel very, very different. Chapter Two: Standing Offer (7.3k) ❀ Chapter Summary: While your friends meddle and your nesting urges start, Park keeps finding himself drawn to you as you start to smell better and better. Chapter Three: For Good Luck ❀ ☆ Chapter Summary: Your attention and affection rapidly soften Brendon into an alpha you think you could be with for real. Chapter Four: Gonna Make Our Own Lightning (2.6k) ❀ ☆ Chapter Summary: How Brendon Park realizes you're his with a first kiss that triggers his rut. Chapter Five: Safe (2.1k) Chapter Summary: An emergency code in the hospital finally pushes you and Brendon into each other's arms for good. Chapter Six: Made for Me (7.6k) ♡ ☆Chapter Summary: Once Brendon has you safe and comfortable at home, your shared heat and rut take over. You finally learn the perfection that comes with accepting your fated mate.

Statistically Speaking (Ongoing)

Series Summary: After completing your residency, you join the staff at the Pitt, the hospital where your husband of nearly ten years (who you already have five kids with) works. With a common last name and radically different personalities, you make a bet on how long it'll take everyone to figure out that you're married.

Chapter One: Trinity Santos ♡ ❀ Chapter Summary: You and Brendon celebrate your upcoming first shift at PTMC with a huge family bash and a hot night together. Coming 5/13: Chapter Two: Frank Langdon, Samira Mohan, & James Ogilvie Chapter Summary: During your first week at PTMC, a few particularly foolish staff members decide to test you by throwing you to the Shark, not realizing the huge mistake they're making.

One Shots

Hooked (14.2k) ❀ ♡ ☆

Summary: After transferring to the Pitt in the middle of your fellowship, you manage to impress PTMC's meanest surgeon with your bubbly confidence, leading to you both catching feelings.

Blurbs & Ficlets

park punches robby for you (1.2k) getting back together/body worship (1.6k) betting pool/love confession (1.7k) omegaverse code silver (omegas shelter in place) (1.7k) ⚠︎

[deathvalleyqueen]

Ducky's Ongoing Fics Masterlist

I will probably make this look nicer as time goes on...

Jack Abbot x Dana's Niece!Reader - Still Unnamed Series

Sometimes, you need a fresh start [1]

Aftermath [2]

And Life Goes On... [3]

Trick or Treat [4]

Merry Whatever [5]

"You're warm, don't move" - ask drabble

Titus Danforth x Wife!Reader - The Wedding Season

Chapter 1: Love and Marriage

Chapter 2: Plots and Plans (NSFW)

Andrew 'Pope' Cody x GF!Reader - Secrets

Chapter 1: Out

Chapter 2: A Dream

Chapter 3: Found Out

Chapter 4: You Can't Choose Family

Family Photos and Memories of Better Times - Oneshot - NSFW

[lnchicagosreads]

For me to read tomorrow

[ptolomia]

i am here now as you run from me still

or: You've loved Jack Abbot in the frontlines of war, held him bloody, and endured it when he said he'd never marry. So why did he invite you to his wedding? How did you end up in his hospital with a gunshot wound?

(im so sorry this is asscheeks... ive been so sick and this concept has been gnawing at my brain so i had to write.)

read on ao3

join the ptolomia taglist!

want more ptolomia?

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The sky was a bruised, permanent grey, choked by the constant rain of ash and the smoke of distant artillery. In the mud-slicked trenches of the front, time didn't move in hours, but in the intervals between shells.

You were crouched in a dugout that smelled of wet wool and copper, trying to clean the grime from a jammed receiver. Your fingers were numb, shaking slightly from the cold that bit through your standard-issue fatigues.

"Give it here," a voice rasped.

Jack slid down the trench wall beside you. He looked haggard—dark circles under his eyes and a fresh, jagged scratch across his cheekbone that was still oozing. He didn't wait for an answer, taking the weapon from your hands. His movements were efficient and steady, his larger hands working with a practiced calm that always managed to quiet the static in your brain.

"You're shivering," he noted, not looking up from the metal components.

"It's the adrenaline wearing off," you muttered, pulling your knees to your chest. "That last push... I didn't think we were coming back from that one, Jack."

Jack paused, his thumb tracing the housing of the rifle. For a moment, the hardened sergeant disappeared, and you saw the man underneath—the one who was just as exhausted and terrified as the rest of the unit. He leaned his shoulder against yours, a heavy, solid weight that anchored you to the earth.

"I told you," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur that barely carried over the whistle of the wind. "As long as I'm standing, you're coming back. I don't care what the brass says about 'acceptable losses.' You aren't one of them."

He finished the repair and handed the rifle back, but he didn't pull away. In the cramped, dark space of the dugout, the air felt suddenly thick. He reached out, his gloved hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you forward until your foreheads rested against each other. It was a desperate, silent communion.

"When this is over," you whispered, the words a dangerous hope you rarely allowed yourself to feel. "When the fighting stops, what happens to us?"

You felt him stiffen. The tenderness was there, radiating from him in waves, but his jaw set in that familiar, stubborn line.

"Don't," he breathed against your skin. "Don't talk about 'after.' There is only right now. There is only the next hour, and making sure you’re alive for it."

He kissed your forehead—a gesture that felt more like a prayer than a romantic overture—but he didn't look you in the eye. Even then, amidst the ruins of the world, Jack was already building the walls that would eventually become his fortress. He would hold you, protect you, and bleed for you, but he wouldn't give you the promise you were looking for.

"Get some sleep," he commanded, his voice returning to its iron-clad authorotative tone. "I've got the first watch."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The shelling started again three hours later. It wasn't the rhythmic pounding of a barrage, but the sporadic, terrifying crump of heavy mortars that felt like the earth was trying to shake you off its surface.

You woke to the sound of Jack barking orders, his silhouette illuminated by the orange flares that bathed the trench in a sickly, artificial light. He looked like a god of war carved from soot and granite. When a shell landed too close, showering the dugout in dirt and splinters, he didn't flinch. He simply stepped over a pile of crates and hauled you to your feet by the webbing of your vest.

"Stay low! Move toward the western egress!" he shouted over the roar.

The night became a blur of frantic movement and the sharp, metallic taste of fear. You followed him through a labyrinth of collapsing tunnels, the two of you moving like a single entity. When a beam gave way, you were the one who caught his arm to keep him from being buried. When a scout from the opposing line rounded a corner with a bayonet leveled at your chest, it was Jack’s combat knife that found its mark before the man could draw breath.

By dawn, the sector was a graveyard. The remaining members of your squad were scattered or silent. You found yourself huddled with Jack in the ruins of a farmhouse that had been pulverized into a jagged skeleton of timber and stone.

The rain had started—a cold, relentless drizzle that turned the ash to a grey sludge. Jack was sitting against a charred beam, his hands finally shaking. He was trying to light a damp cigarette, the match flaring and dying against the wind.

You reached out, shielding his hands with your own. The small flame caught, and for a second, the heat between your palms was the only warmth in the world. He took a long drag, the smoke curling around his tired face.

"We shouldn't have made it through that," he said quietly. It was the first time you’d ever heard him admit to the possibility of failure.

"But we did," you said, sitting beside him, your thigh pressed against his. You were both covered in the same grime, the same blood that wasn't yours. "Jack, look at me."

He didn't. He kept his gaze fixed on the smoking horizon, where the fires of the front line were still burning.

"Back in the dugout, you told me not to talk about 'after,'" you began, your voice thick with the exhaustion of a thousand nights like this. "But I need something to hold onto. Everyone else out here is fighting for a flag or a cause that died years ago. I’m fighting for you. I need to know that there's a version of this where we aren't just surviving. Where we’re...something more."

Jack closed his eyes. The muscle in his jaw worked tirelessly. He reached out and took your hand, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. His skin was rough, calloused, and felt like home.

"You think I don't want that?" he asked, his voice cracking. "You think I don't spend every minute of every day imagining a place where the air doesn't taste like cordite? A place where I can wake up and see you without wondering if it's the last time?"

"Then give me a name for it," you pleaded. "Give me a promise. Just one."

He finally looked at you. His eyes weren't filled with the love you felt for him; they were filled with a terrible, protective sort of grief.

"If I promise you a life, I'm a liar," he said harshly. "If I say we have a future, I’m putting a target on it. The moment I decide you’re mine—truly mine—is the moment I lose the focus I need to keep you breathing. I can be your commanding officer, I can be your shield, and I can be the man who fights for your life. But I will not be your husband, and I will not be your 'happily ever after.' Not in this world."

He stood up then, the moment of vulnerability ending as abruptly as a snapped wire. He adjusted his gear, the leather creaking as he tightened his straps.

"Check your magazines," he said, his voice once again the cold, flat instrument of the military. "We move out in ten."

You stayed on the floor for a moment, looking at your hand—the one he had just been holding. The warmth was already fading, replaced by the biting dampness of the farmhouse. He had loved you in the only way he knew how—by refusing to let you get close enough to hurt him when the inevitable happened. He was saving himself the agony of loss by denying the reality of the gain.

You followed him out into the grey light of morning, two soldiers in a war that had no end in sight. You walked behind him, watching the broad set of his shoulders, knowing that while he would die for you, he would never truly live with you.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The war had been over for two years, but the quiet of civilian life was its own kind of battlefield. You had spent those twenty-four months learning how to exist in a world that didn't smell like cordite or taste like ash. You had found a small, nondescript apartment on the edge of the city and finally made it to law school like you’d always hoped.

The ghost of Jack Abbot was a relentless cold thing that no candle nor prayer would burn away. You were there, even as he ran from loving you. You could still hear his heartbeat as you slept, the sound more haunting than the shrill echo of gunfire. 

The nights were the hardest. In the silence of your living room, the absence of the war’s constant roar echoed like the laughter you and Jack had shared. But you were doing it. You were sleeping through the night without reaching for a rifle that wasn't there. You were eating regular meals. You were almost whole.

Then the mail arrived.

It was sitting on your kitchen table, tucked between a magazine and a utility bill. A heavy, cream-colored envelope. The paper was high-grade, the kind of linen-finish cardstock that felt like an insult in your modest kitchen.

You knew the handwriting before you even saw the return address. It was Jack’s—bold, precise, and uncompromising.

Your breath hitched. For two years, there had been nothing. No letters, no phone calls, no "are you alive" checks. You had assumed he had vanished into the chaos of a hospital, just as he said he would. You had tried to bury him in the same shallow grave where you left your uniform.

You opened it with trembling fingers.

The honor of your presence is requested at the marriage of Jack Abbot...

The world around you dissolved. You collapsed into the wooden chair, the invitation fluttering to the floor like a dying bird.

Two years.

Your mind raced back to that final, rain-slicked night at the staging area before discharge. You could still smell the diesel of the transport trucks. You had begged him then. You had asked for a future, any future, even a difficult one.

“I’m not a man who gets married,” he’d snarled, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon. “I don’t believe in it. Vows, ceremonies... it’s all a performance I don't have the heart for. I’ve seen too much blood to believe in a 'happily ever after.' If I stay with you, I'll only destroy you. I'm doing you a favor by walking away.”

He had looked you in the eye and convinced you that he was fundamentally broken—that he was protecting you by refusing to tether your life to his hollowed-out shell. You had wept for him. You had spent months mourning the man he told you he was incapable of being.

And yet, here it was. He wasn't too broken for her. He wasn't too scarred for a "formal union."

A cold, hysterical laugh bubbled up in your throat. He hadn't been avoiding marriage; he had been avoiding you. He had lied to your face in the ruins of a war zone so he could discard you like a spent casing once he reached the safety of home. He hadn't been protecting you from his "hollow shell"; he had been clearing his plate for a better offer.

You looked around your apartment. Every piece of furniture, every routine you had built to keep the PTSD at bay, suddenly felt like a monument to a lie. You had stayed single, unable to let anyone else close because you still felt the phantom weight of Jack’s hands. You had waited for a man who had told you he was incapable of commitment, only to find out he just didn't think you were worth the effort.

The spiral started then—the familiar, dark hum of the war creeping back into your chest. The walls of the room seemed to close in, turning into the damp, suffocating stone of a trench.

He had let you believe he was a monster so he wouldn't have to admit you were just a wartime convenience.

You reached for the invitation again, your vision blurring with hot, angry tears. He wanted your "presence." He wanted you to sit in a decorated hall and watch him give a woman everything he swore to you didn't exist.

"You coward," you whispered to the empty room, the expensive paper tearing under the force of your grip. "You absolute coward."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Eight years had passed since the war ended, and six since the day you had shredded Jack Abbot’s wedding invitation.

You weren't that girl anymore—the one who lived in a nondescript apartment waiting for a ghost to call. You were formidable. You were a prosecutor for the city, a career you had dreamed of since you were a child sitting in your father's study. The law was clean. It was logical. It was the opposite of the mud and chaos of the front lines.

Your life was quiet, and for the first time the silence didn't feel like a threat. Your plain cramped apartment had been traded for  a light-filled condo with floor-to-ceiling windows, a shelf full of leather-bound statutes, and a reputation for being the coldest, most efficient closer in the District Attorney’s office. You didn't need anyone's "protection" or a Jack's hollow vows. You had made yourself whole.

"Another late night, Attorney?"

You looked up from your desk as the evening janitor, Elias, poked his head into your office.

"Just finishing the sentencing memo for the Moretti case, Elias," you said, offering a genuine smile. "I want to make sure he stays away for the full twenty-five."

Elias whistled. "Victor Moretti? Careful with that one. Men like him don't take kindly to losing. Especially to someone they can't buy."

"He had his day in court," you said, closing the file with a satisfying thud. "Now he gets his decades in a cell."

You packed your briefcase, feeling a sense of accomplishment. You had sent one of Pittsburgh's most vicious cartel enforcers to prison, and you had done it without firing a single shot.

The city air was crisp as you walked toward the parking garage. The trauma of the war still lingered in small ways—you still walked with your back to the wall, and you still noticed every shadow—but you had repurposed that vigilance. It made you a better lawyer.

You reached your car and pressed the unlock button. The lights flashed twice, a friendly chirp in the dim concrete structure.

As you reached for the door handle, a flicker of movement caught your eye in the reflection of your side mirror. A man was stepping out from behind a concrete pillar. He was dressed in dark workwear, his face obscured by a low-profile cap.

Your military training kicked in before your brain could process the threat. You didn't scream. You dropped your briefcase and spun, putting the car between you and the stranger.

"Can I help you?" you asked, your voice projecting that same ice-cold authority you used in the courtroom.

The man didn't speak. He reached into his jacket, and the silhouette of a suppressed pistol became unmistakable.

"Moretti sends his regards," the man rasped.

You didn't wait for him to level the weapon. You dove toward the front of the car just as a dull thwip sounded, a bullet shattering the window of the vehicle next to yours.

Adrenaline, sharp and familiar, flooded your system. You weren't a victim. You were a soldier who had survived the worst the world had to offer, and you were a woman who had fought too hard for her peace to let a hitman take it away in a parking garage.

You scrambled toward the concrete stairs, your heart hammering a rhythm you hadn't felt in years. You needed to get to a public space. You needed to survive.

As you burst through the heavy fire doors and out onto the street, your mind went to the one thing you hadn't thought about in years. Not the man who had broken your heart, but the man who had taught you how to stay alive when the odds were stacked against you.

The hit was out. The peace was over. And as you ducked into a crowded alleyway, you knew your past and your present were about to collide in a way you never expected.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The second shot didn't sound like a gunshot. It sounded like a heavy, wet punch to your shoulder.

The momentum of your sprint carried you another three steps before your legs turned to water. You hit the pavement of the alleyway hard, the iron tang of blood and the smell of damp asphalt filling your senses. You tried to press your hand to the wound, but your fingers felt like lead. The world was beginning to fray at the edges, the streetlights above stretching into long, distorted needles of white light.

"Help..." you tried to gasp, but it was barely a whisper.

The sound of footsteps approaching was heavy and rhythmic. One. Two. One. Two. Just like a patrol. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the final thwip of the suppressor.

Instead, a siren wailed in the distance, growing louder with every second. Voices erupted from the mouth of the alley. The footsteps near you faltered, then retreated in a hurried scramble. You were drifting now, the cold of the pavement seeped into your bones, replaced by a strange, numb warmth spreading from your chest.

"Trauma three! We’ve got a female, late thirties, gunshot wound to the upper left quadrant, heavy blood loss, BP is sixty over forty and dropping!"

The world came back in flashes of fluorescent white and the frantic squeak of gurney wheels. You were flat on your back, staring at a ceiling that moved too fast. People in black and grey scrubs were hovering over you, their faces blurred masks of urgency.

"She’s crashing!"

"Pressure is bottoming out!"

You tried to speak, to tell them you were a prosecutor, to tell them about Moretti, but your throat was filled with the metallic taste of shock. Then, the gurney slammed through a set of double doors, and the chaos seemed to sharpen.

"What have we got?" a voice commanded.

The sound of it hit you harder than the bullet. It was deeper now, polished by years of authority and the sterile air of the city's most prestigious medical center, but the cadence was unmistakable. It was the voice that had guided you through the trenches. It was the voice that had told you it didn't believe in forever.

"Gunshot, through and through, hit the subclavian artery," a nurse shouted.

"Move," the voice snapped.

Suddenly, a face appeared in your field of vision. Your Jack was gone–in his place was a man in all black, hair white and soft with eyes that were sharper and colder than you remembered.

Jack Abbot.

He froze for a fraction of a second. The trauma room, with its beeping monitors and shouting staff, seemed to go silent. You saw the moment his professional mask shattered, the pupils of his eyes blowing wide as he recognized the woman bleeding out on his table.

"Jack..." you choked out, a bubble of blood escaping your lips.

"Don't talk," he rasped, his voice cracking before he slammed his emotional walls back into place. His hands, gloved in latex, came down on your shoulder with a familiar, firm pressure. "Don't you dare close your eyes. That’s an order."

"You... left..." you whispered, your heart monitor flatlining into a steady, terrifying drone as your eyes shut.

It was so cold and dark, your chest heavy with blood as you allowed yourself to stop breathing. The world around you was soft and quiet, warming your numb limbs as it swallowed you.

"I said stay with me!" Jack roared, ignoring the startled looks from the nurses. He pumped your chest wildly, his face a mask of desperate, focused rage. “Charging to 200!” Parkers voice ripped through the air into Jack’s head. "Clear!"

The last thing you felt was the violent jolt of electricity through your chest and the sight of Jack Abbot—the man who wouldn't commit to you in life—fighting like a demon to keep you from death.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The first thing you felt was the cold. Not the damp, bone-deep chill of a foxhole, but the sterile, biting air of the ICU. Then came the rhythm—the steady, mechanical hiss-click of a ventilator and the rhythmic beep... beep... of a heart monitor that sounded far too fragile to be yours.

You blinked, your eyelashes heavy with sleep and crust. The room was bathed in the dim blue light of late evening.

"Don't fight the tube," a voice said.

He was sitting in a chair by the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Jack looked like he hadn't slept in the two days you’d been under. His scrubs were wrinkled, his leg resting against the sterile walls, and the shadow of a beard darkened his jaw. He looked older, the lines around his eyes etched deep by something more than just time.

He moved with precision, reaching over to adjust the settings before expertly helping you through the discomfort as he removed the breathing tube. You coughed, your throat feeling like it had been scraped with glass.

"Easy," he murmured, handing you a small cup of water with a straw. "Small sips."

You drank, the coolness hitting your parched throat. You looked at him over the rim of the cup, memories of the parking garage and the trauma room flooding back. But deeper than that, the memory of a cream-colored envelope.

"Two days," Jack said, his voice a low rasp. "You lost a lot of blood. I didn't think..." He stopped, clearing his throat. "The police are outside. They know about Moretti. You're safe here."

"Safe," you croaked, the word tasting like ash. You sank back into the pillows, your eyes roaming over the wedding band still visible on his left hand—though it looked duller than you imagined it would be. "How is she, Jack? Your wife?"

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Jack’s hands stilled on the edge of your bed. He looked down at his lap, the silence stretching until it became unbearable.

"She’s gone," he said finally. "Three years ago."

You felt a sharp pang of something—not joy, but a hollow, complicated grief. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, and for a moment, the coldness you remembered from the war returned. "I got to love her while she was here. That’s enough for me." His voice cracked. “After everything I had seen and all the blood I had spilt, seeing her felt like coming home.” 

"And was it worth it?" you asked, your voice gaining a jagged edge. "Was it worth the lie you told me in that motor pool? You told me you couldn't be a husband. You told me you didn't have a soul left. Then I spent two years trying to breathe again, only to find out you weren't unable—you were just finished with me."

Jack stayed silent. He didn't look up. He didn't defend himself.

"I spent years wondering what was wrong with me," you continued, the pain in your shoulder sparking with every breath. "I thought I was the reminder of the war you couldn't live with. I built a life out of nothing, Jack. I became a lawyer. I chased a dream because the man I loved told me I was a liability. Every step of the way, I carried the weight of your rejection like a second shadow."

You waited. You waited for the "I'm sorry." You waited for him to say he had made a mistake, that the grief of losing his wife had made him realize what he’d thrown away in the mud. You waited for him to reach out and take your hand like he used to when the shells were falling.

But Jack Abbot just sat there. His face was a mask of professional neutrality. He looked at your charts, checked the IV drip, and stood up.

"The nurse will be in shortly to check your vitals," he said, his voice flat. "My shift is over."

"That's it?" you whispered, the betrayal burning hotter than the bullet wound. "No apology? No explanation for why you let me spiral for years thinking I wasn't enough?"

Jack paused at the door. He didn't turn around. His shoulders were slumped, his posture devoid of the military pride he used to carry.

"I saved your life, [Name]," he said quietly. "That's the only vow I can keep."

The door clicked shut behind him.

You lay there in the blue light, the beep... beep... of the monitor mocking you. He had found you again, saved you again, and then walked away without a single word of regret. He was still the same man from the trenches—he would bleed for you, but he would never, ever tell you he was sorry for leaving you behind.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You had spent a week in that bed, watching Jack move in and out of your room like a ghost—professional, efficient, and maddeningly distant. Every time he checked in on you it was devoid of the heat that had once defined your every interaction.

You were standing by the window of your room, dressed in the fresh clothes your assistant had brought, when the door opened. You expected a nurse with a wheelchair. You got Jack.

He wasn't in his scrubs anymore He was wearing a dark sweater and slacks, looking like the man who had pulled you out of a collapsing farmhouse eight years ago.

"I’m taking you home," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I called a car, Jack. I can manage."

"The police still haven't found the second shooter, and you’re still recovering," he said, picking up your bag. "I’m driving you. Let’s go."

The walk to the parking garage was silent. He tucked you into the passenger seat of a car that was far too expensive for the man you used to know, but he handled it with the same rugged intensity he used to handle a troop transport.

As he pulled out into the city traffic, the silence in the cabin became deafening. You stared out the window at the passing lights, the neon signs of the city blurring into the same grey haze as the front lines.

"I shouldn't have sent that invitation," Jack said suddenly.

His voice was low, barely audible over the hum of the engine. He didn't look at you; his hands were gripped tight at ten and two on the steering wheel.

"Is that it?" you asked, your voice weary. 

"No," he snapped, then softened. He pulled the car over into a quiet turn-out overlooking the river, cutting the engine. The silence that followed was heavy. "It wasn't just the invitation. It was everything. The war... I told myself that if I left you behind, I was saving you. I told myself that the things we did, the things we saw—they would poison anything 'normal' we tried to build."

He finally turned to look at you. In the dim light of the dashboard, his eyes were wet.

"But the truth is, I was just a coward," he whispered. "I was terrified that if I stayed with you, I would have to keep feeling. And I was so tired of feeling. She was safe. She didn't know the soldier. She didn't know the blood. With her, I could pretend the war never happened. But every time I looked at her, I felt the guilt of what I’d done to you."

He reached out, his hand hovering over yours before he finally gathered the courage to touch your skin. His palm was warm, shaking just a fraction.

"I am sorry," he said, the words finally breaking through. "I’m sorry for the two years of silence. I’m sorry for the wedding. I’m sorry I let you believe you weren't enough. I’ve spent years building a fortress in that hospital, but I’m still just that man in the trench, wishing I’d had the guts to say 'yes' when you asked me to love you."

You looked at his hand, then up at his face. The anger was still there, a dull ache beneath your ribs, but the sincerity in his gaze was a balm you hadn't expected to receive.

"I’m a different person now, Jack," you said quietly. "I’m not the girl waiting in a foxhole."

"I know," he said, a small, sad smile touching his lips. "You’re incredible. And I’d like the chance to actually get to know this version of you."

He took a deep breath, looking like he was about to jump into a hail of gunfire.

"When you're recovered... properly recovered... let me take you to dinner. No hospital talk. No ghosts of the war. Just a proper date. A real one. The kind I should have given you a decade ago."

You looked out at the river, the water reflecting the city lights. For the first time in eight years, the weight of the "why" had been lifted.

"Dinner," you repeated, testing the word. "Just dinner?"

"To start," Jack said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "It’s a late invitation, but I'm done running."

You didn't say yes immediately, but you didn't pull your hand away. As he started the engine to finish the drive, the air in the car felt, for the first time, like it belonged to the present.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

When you stepped out of your apartment, you caught him leaning against his car, checking his watch. He wore a charcoal shirt rolled over his forearms and tucked gently beneath his bicep. 

He straightened up when he saw you, his breath hitching audibly. You were wearing a dress the color of deep wine, your hair styled away from the fading scar on your shoulder. You looked like a woman who had won her battles, not one who was still fighting them.

"You look..." Jack started, then shook his head, a rare, boyish smile breaking through his usual sternness. "I don't think I have the vocabulary for how you look tonight."

"Try 'ready for dinner,'" you teased, though your heart hammered a rhythm that felt dangerously like hope.

The bistro was intimate. They sat you in a corner booth, the velvet upholstery providing a soft barrier from the rest of the world. For the first twenty minutes, the conversation was light—an intentional dance around the heavy things. He told you about the absurd politics of the hospital board; you told him about a particularly eccentric judge who insisted on bringing his bulldog to the bench.

But as the main course arrived, the levity settled into something deeper. The candlelight caught the silver at Jack’s temples, reminding you of how much time had truly passed.

"I realized something today," Jack said, toyed with his glass. "I’ve spent my life anticipating the worst-case scenario. In the war, it kept us alive. In the ED, it makes me a good doctor. But sitting here with you...I realize I never learned how to just enjoy things as they come.'"

You looked at him, really looked at him. "You spent years shutting everyone out.” The truth came plainly from your lips. 

He reached across the table. This time, he didn't hesitate. He took your hand, his palm warm and steady. "I’m here now. And I want to know what you like to do on Sunday mornings. How you study when you aren't preparing for a trial. I want to know what music you listen to when the world is too loud."

"Sunday mornings are for coffee and the crossword," you said softly, your fingers intertwining with his. "And I listen to old blues records when I need to drown out the city."

"Old blues," he echoed, his eyes softening. "I should have guessed.”

"And you?" you asked. "Who is Jack Abbot when he isn't saving lives or running a city?"

Jack leaned back, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. "I think he’s a man who made a lot of mistakes. A man who let the best thing that ever happened to him walk away because he was too afraid to be happy. But mostly... he’s a man who’s very, very grateful for a second chance."

There was no talk of marriage. No talk of the farmhouse or the hit on your life. You weren't two survivors clinging to each other in the dark anymore. You were two people sharing a meal, a laugh, and the terrifying, beautiful possibility of a future.

As the check came and the night wound down, Jack didn't rush to leave. He stayed in the booth, his hand still holding yours, watching the way the light played in your eyes.

"So," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. "How did I do? For a first date?"

"It was a good start, Abbot," you said, using the old title with a playful wink. "But I think I might need a second one to be sure."

"You've got it," he promised, his voice thick with a sincerity that didn't need a contract to back it up. "As many as you want."

When you left the bistro, the city air didn't feel cold. It felt wide open.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The sky over the city was a clear, brilliant blue—the kind of sky Jack once claimed didn't exist for people like you.

The small chapel on the outskirts of the city was filled with the people who had seen you both at your worst: a few grey-haired veterans from the old unit, Elias from the D.A.'s office, Jack’s new family from The Pitt.

You stood at the back of the aisle, your heart hammering against your ribs. The dress was simple, elegant, and moved like water. Over your left shoulder, the fine white line of the scar from the parking garage was a permanent part of your skin—a reminder of the day your life had truly begun again.

As the music shifted, you stepped forward.

Jack was standing at the altar, Robby standing behind him grinning like a child. Jack was looking at you, his eyes bright and uncharacteristically wet. He wore a tuxedo with the same straight back that he had donned his battlegear or scrubs, but his posture was different—relaxed, open, and entirely yours.

When you reached him, he took your hands. His palms were warm, steady, and familiar.

The officiant spoke of love and endurance, but you and Jack were locked in a silent conversation that had spanned over a decade. It started in a muddy trench, broke in a motor pool, and was rebuilt in an ICU room at the Pitt.

"I spent years telling you that I didn't believe in 'forever' because I was afraid of the weight of it. I told you that marriage was a cage, and that I was too broken to be anyone's home."

He paused, a small, self-deprecating smile touching his lips.

"I was wrong. I realize now that I wasn't protecting you back then; I was hiding from the fact that you knew me more than I did myself. You held me bloody, and endured me whole—and I ran like an idiot. But oh, my love, how grateful I am that I found my way home to you."

You felt the tears finally spill over as you took your turn.

"Jack, I spent years trying to erase you from my story. I tried to build a life that didn't have room for ghosts. But I realize now that we aren't ghosts of the war. We’re the proof that something good can survive it. I don't need a perfect life, I need somewhere to belong. Wherever you are is where I belong."

When Jack slid the ring onto your finger. It sealed the deal on something you knew all along.

"You may kiss the bride," the officiant said.

Jack didn't wait. He pulled you in, his hand cupping the back of your neck in that same protective gesture from the dugout, but this time, there was no desperation. There was only peace. As he kissed you, the last of the shadows from the Pitt and the front lines seemed to melt away into the light of the afternoon.

He squeezed your hand, leaned in close to your ear, and whispered three words he had waited a lifetime to say.

"Let's go home."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

[unattractive04]

Comfort - Jack Abbot x Reader

Everyone be kind and supportive this is my first time sharing my work I'm so ill I cannot believe this omggggg who's gonna stop me omggg????

Includes: Fluff, slight flirting, Robby being rude af, comfort, age gap reader is mid 20's (hot), reader is a nurse, she/her pronouns used, tried to be an non-descriptive as possible.

Summary: Robby snaps when reader makes a mistake and is missing a patient, and sends her home. She's stressed and runs into Jack Abbot in the parking lot.

Enjoy!

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

6:29 pm

"What do you mean?"

"He left. I came back from the sandwich cart and-"

"No. I meant what do you mean he left when you were supposed to keep an eye on him?" Robby says, exhausted and very short with you.

You swallow the lump in your throat before attempting to speak to him again. You've been working at the Pitt for over a year now, you should know better than to take your eyes off a patient who has had a long history of being difficult just from the two and a half hours he was here for. Even if he was demanding a sandwich and insisting he would be much more compliant if he just had something to eat. What a load of shit.

"I'm-I... I'm really sorry, Robby," You start, "I've been looking all over the department and I haven't seen him anywhere I- he must've left AMA I just-"

"I cannot believe this. Perfect. Just what I need," He's looking anywhere but at you running a hand over his hair, "I gave you one task, and you couldn't even do that?"

You just stare at him. You've been spit on, punched, elbowed, verbally assaulted. The list goes on and on. But these words coming from Robby had a much stronger effect on you than any patient's words have. You heard from around the ED that he was snappy today, and now you were wishing you had found Dr. Al-Hashimi instead. Actually, if you could go back in time that is exactly what you'd do.

"You know what, I want you out of my ER for the rest of the shift. It's obvious to me, and probably the rest of the department, that you...," He inhales trying to calm down, "You aren't competent enough to be here today."

"Are you serious?" You ask wide-eyed. Never in your time in the ED has he ever spoken to you like this, much less sent you home. You knew you had made a mistake. You knew he probably wasn't going to give you a whole lot of grace either. But sending you home was something you never even thought about.

"Absolutely. I'll let Dana know, just go. Now." Robby says sternly, and then walks away from you. You stand there in shock for a few seconds before walking over to your locker in a rush. Tears were already brimming in your waterline, face hot from the embarrassment of what had just happened. Shoes, bag, hoodie, go.

You make it out into the parking lot before you break, tears beginning to stream down your face. How could you be so stupid? How could you let a patient leave under your watch? You make it maybe ten feet from your car when someone stops you.

"Where you going in such a rush, huh?"

Of course. The one person who was going to catch you in this state was of course the last person you'd want to see you like this. All puffy eyed, cheeks wet with tears, lower lip curled. Dr. Jack Abbot just had perfect timing. You and Jack had worked together plenty in the ED. Plenty enough that you two became a distraction to your coworkers, and yourselves. Constant flirty behavior, joking around. A lot of bets too on which one of you would open your eyes and make a damn move already, unbeknownst to you two though.

You stood with your back to him, thank god, and wiped the tears from your face. You cleared your throat, "Just heading home early. 'M not feeling well." Your voice was still rocky as you haven't calmed down yet. You knew Jack could tell. He always knows when somethings wrong.

Jack's face turns more serious and he starts walking closer, "Hey, hey. What's goin' on, doll?" He asks with concern. You take a small glance over your shoulder meeting his eyes, and immediately he's at your side.

"Come here, talk to me." He opens his arms slightly, unsure if you were a hugger or not. You usually weren't, but with Jack everything was different. You immediately move and hide into his chest, crying even more at his kindness.

"Robby sent me home," You sniffle and Jack wraps his arms around you, "I was supposed to be watching a difficult patient, but then he wanted something to eat and insisted he'd be more compliant if he just ate. I left for a minute just to grab a sandwich and when I came back he was gone."

Jack kept his arms around you and gently swayed back and forth to comfort you. But now he wore a confused look on his face.

"Robby sent you home because of that? You're joking."

You start to calm down, breathing now under control, "He's been snappy all day, and I guess I was his last straw."

You inhale Jack's scent, wanting to stay in this moment for a little longer. He probably thinks your face is so warm from the crying, which isn't entirely wrong, but it was now mainly because of the embrace he was holding you in.

I wish I could stay like this forever.

While you were beginning to be content and now comforted, Jack began questioning Robby's judgement. He was also too nosey to not be questioning it anyways, wondering how bad day shift was to set him off so easily.

"How bad of a shift was it that he sent you home for that?" Jack asked while beginning to softly rub your back to further comfort you. Instantly you melted more into him.

Oh my god it gets better.

You process Jack's question finally and replay the shift in your head. It had been a long day. Starting the morning with a peds trauma case, continuing the day with a shooting over some stupid fight, an attempt, and 3 losses. None were preventable, everyone did everything they could. But that doesn't mean it doesn't weigh on everyone's mind.

"Bad." You answer. Short and to the point to avoid further thinking about it on top of Robby almost biting your head off. You suppose you got off easy compared to others he's bitched out.

Jack nodded his head in understanding.

"I'm sorry, doll," He murmurs into your hair against your head, "I'll chat with him when I get inside. You doin' okay?"

You nod pulling your head off of his chest and sniffled, "Yeah, I'm okay. I guess it could've been worse."

Jack scoffed, "No way he would've fired you over that. He likes you I swear," he says readjusting the backpack on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," You reply looking down at your hands, "Thank god I'm back on nights next week."

"Counting down the days I bet," Jack winks looking down at you, "You must miss me so much."

You giggle blushing slightly, "You know it. No good eye candy on day shift."

Jack smiles, "What are you doing tomorrow night, you're off, right?"

"Yeah," You reply maybe a little too quickly, "don't think I have any plans. Why?"

"Good, don't make any. Let me take you out for dinner. You've been so stressed with all these day shifts." He's smirking now looking down at you.

You try containing your smile which proves to be insanely difficult, and you know he can most definitely tell. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, a nervous habit you've picked up after years of carrying it.

"Yeah, that'd be great actually," You're smiling wide now, "Wanna text about the details? I don't wanna keep you up."

Jack looks down at his watch. 6:42pm.

"Absolutely," His eyes connect with yours again, "You get some good rest tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He smiles, "Night, doll. I better not get any late night TikToks again."

You're both walking away from each other.

"No promises, hon," You say back, unlocking your car, "Have a good shift!"

You get in the car and lock your doors. And you just sit for a few minutes wondering if everything that had just happened actually happened.

"Holy shit."

You smile, and buckle up and start the car. Humming on the way home.

Later that night you're in bed scrolling on TikTok.

11:43pm

You hadn't noticed it was getting so late, but you were noticing how tired you were getting. Eyes struggling to stay open as you scrolled through endless videos. You've been watching a silly cat video and giggling tiredly at it. Of course this was a joy you had to share with your most favorite attending. Opening the share option you immediately found Jack's contact in your phone and pressed send.

Delivered.

You made it two more scrolls before you got a reply.

Senile n Hot like a message.

Senile and Hot: It's like everything I say to you goes in one ear and out the other.

You giggle when you read his text.

You: Yeah pretty much

You: Except for all your compliments I soak those up like a sponge

Senile and Hot: So egotistical per usual 🙄.

Senile and Hot: Get some sleep, pretty. You've had a long day.

You couldn't help but blush reading his text.

You: Ugh okay fine I'll go to bed

You: Goodnight or whatever 🙄

Senile and Hot: Sweet dreams, doll.

Internally you are screaming, but your body is too tired to properly express that while being on the verge of passing out. You turn off your phone and close your eyes, drifting off in seconds.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨

Okay guys what did we think be nice plz omg. Also might do a part two guys omg let me knowwwww. I'll make sure to link it to this fic if I do! Also let me know if you'd like to see anything else from me or whatever tehehehe omg. Pic is from 'darling' on Pinterest!

[deathvalleyqueen]

Sometimes, you need a fresh start

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Dana's Niece, Single Mom, Nurse Prac!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 9.3K

Tags/Warnings: Female reader, Single Mom reader, Reader is Dana's Niece, Dana playing matchmaker, Parker Ellis friendship, implied age gap relationship (reader would be in her mid 30's), workplace romance, reader has experienced DV in the past, mentions reader's father ended his own life, reader's mom is a hot mess, her baby daddy is a total ass and a deadbeat, mentions past grooming by ex (not detailed), major confronation between Jack and reader's ex, intimidation tactics, reader's child has a non-life threating injury and ends up in the ED, no use of Y/N, defo major HURT/COMFORT vibes.

A/N: This one is pretty personal to me because I put a lot of my own lived experiences with my ex into it, because lord, would I love Jack Abbot to put him in his place. Also, if I write anything more for Jack in the future, I will probably be using this "reader" who basically is an unnamed OC let's be real. So if you would like to see more of them please feel free to send me asks, would love to write some fluff for them at some point. I made her nurse prac because I feel like there is a major lack of nurse pracs and PAs on the Pitt and they need more rep. Also they NEVER mention Children's Hospital on the Pitt and that pisses me off because that's where a lot of medically complex kiddo's care was done till we moved from Pittsburgh so I had to give them and Kennywood a shout out in this story. I also wrote this all in one day, so if missed something in quick edit I did of it please forgive me.

When your Aunt Dana suggested you try to get onto the night shift, you genuinely laughed at the idea. However, her argument for it was a strong one. You would have days free if your five-year-old son needed you. He was starting kindergarten, so you could sleep while he was at school. You were already living back with your parents, so working nights would be much easier on them since it would just be having to get your son to bed. Little did you know at the time she had an ulterior motive for getting you on the night shift, and his name was Dr.Jack Abbot. 

The first night you were on nights, when you were talking with Dana as she was getting ready to leave for the night and she pulled over this handsome, old attending, you knew right away what he plan was. “Abbot, this is my niece, your new nurse prac for nights.” She said warmly as she gestured to you. You could feel your cheeks begin to flush as you smiled nervously. “She is a sweetheart, sharp as a tack. You are very lucky to have her.” 

Jack gave you a warm smile and a little nod. “I’m sure we are, though no one can replace you Dana.” He chuckled as he leaned against the counter of the nurse’s station. He was older than you, maybe ten years or so. Very handsome, in shape, and worst of all you could already tell he was dangerously charming. 

“Oh I am not trying to replace my Aunt, but she did help train me when I was still a nurse.” You start softly, wringing your hands nervously. “I just got my nurse prac license last year, was working over at Children’s ED part-time, but I needed a full-time position so Dana helped me get back in at PTMC.” You explain. In the back of your mind, you knew you were rambling out of nerves but that didn’t seem to faze Jack who was listening intently. 

He smiled, “Good, it will be good to have someone with some good Peds experience. We don’t get a ton of Peds cases, but I will admit we were lacking a little in that department.” The smile he gave you as he spoke cut deep. It was such a disarming smile that you knew was going to get you into trouble. 

You let out a low nervous laugh. “Yeah, I can definitely help in that department. Though I left peds because seeing all those kids close to my son’s age going through some horrible things just wrecked me.” You ramble. 

Jack just smiled and leaned forward. “You have a kid? How old?” 

“He just turned five last month, Ian. He starts kindergarten next week.” You can feel the blush on your cheeks get brighter. 

“Yeah, that’s great. You and his dad must be so proud.” 

At the mention of ‘his dad’, you stiffen, and Dana leans forward, “We do not speak of that piece of shit. The only good thing he has ever done is Ian.” Dana rubs your arm and looks up at Jack. “It was a bad situation, and we are so blessed this girl right here got out in one piece.” 

Jack obviously didn’t need to hear more. He just nodded as he started to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You laugh nervously, “How could you? We just met.” You reach down and pick up your cup of Iced Coffee. “Um, I should go get ready for my shift.” In that moment, all you wanted to do was disappear and not be acknowledged the rest of the night. 

Dana rubbed your arm one more time before she smiled over at you. “Have a good shift, kiddo. I will see you in the morning.” She whispered before you started to walk off. 

As you were walking away, you heard Jack ask sharply. “Why didn’t you warn me about the kid’s dad being a sore subject?” You tried to angle yourself behind a pillar to keep eavesdropping unnoticed. 

“I told you she had just gotten out of a bad situation. I thought you were smart enough to put two and two together.” Dana snapped softly. Jack shrugged and looked genuinely confused. “He beat her half to death a little over a year ago, got off on probation because his dad is a cop. It’s a messy situation, but if he ever shows up here, you do not let him get near her. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Jack said quickly as you watched him stand up and rest his hand on the counter. “I would have understood it before if you had just said something, Dana. I pulled strings for you to get her on the night shift as a favor to you. The least you could have done is warn me.” 

“Well, now you know,” Dana said as she brought her hand to the bridge of her nose. “She is smart, a hard worker, and just needs a fresh start without that asshole’s shadow following her everyplace she goes.” 

“I will do my best to give it to her,” Jack said firmly. “I kinda feel honored you trust me enough to have her work with me,” he added sheepishly. 

“I knew if she was on days, Robby would have made her cry the first day if he were in one of his moods, and I would have been forced to kill him.” Your Aunt said flatly. “I practically raised her. My sister was not always the most stable of women. She has gotten better but she is practically my kid. So treat her as such.” 

“Got it,” Jack said, throwing his hands up. “Princess treatment.” 

Dana took a step forward towards Jack and held her finger out. “Not princess treatment. Just treat her with respect, kindness, don’t make her fucking cry on her first day.” 

“Deal.” He said, quickly taking a step back. “Now I gotta go see patients, and you need to get home.” 

After what was a rocky start to your first night, things started to flow a little easier. You were given a warm welcome by the others on the night shift. Dr. Ellis made a point to team up with you and help you get acclimated to how things went. Something you were grateful for. When the action started to slow down around the predawn hours, you sat down at one of the work stations, working on your charting, when Jack walked over. You glanced up from your screen as he leaned on the counter. “Got a minute?” He asked softly. 

“Yeah, sure.” You said as you stopped typing and smiled up at him. 

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier, if I upset you or anything.” He started with a warm smile. “You are doing a great job, working well with the rest of the team. I’m really happy to have you here.” 

“We’re good, no worries, and thank you. It means a lot.” You smile as you look down at your hands, trying to hide the fact that you knew you were starting to blush again. 

“Awesome, good talk,” he said a little awkwardly as he gave you two thumbs up and started to back away. You watched him as he shook his head and muttered ‘What the fuck was that’ to himself as he walked away. 

++++++

Over the next month, you settled into the night shift. You actually grew to enjoy it.

Jack was a great attending, and you two had this awkward flirting back and forth on occasion, which you tried not to think much about, but couldn’t help to think too much about every time he smiled in your direction or leaned in to ask you to go check on a patient. On Thursdays, Shen would grab you an Iced Coffee from Dunkin's, and on Fridays, you would grab him one. You were iced coffee buddies, which amused you a lot. Ellis was easily your favorite on the night shift. You two worked together most often and were developing a solid friendship even outside of work. So much so she had managed to talk you into going out with her that weekend when you both had off on a Saturday night. When you mentioned it to Dana she told you to bring Ian into work, and she would be happy to babysit him for the weekend so you could go have a fun girls' night out.

So that Friday, extra coffee for Shen in hand as usual, your son followed beside you as you walked in. His little Bluey backpack all packed for his weekend with Auntie Dana on. You were too focused on making sure Ian didn’t run off to notice that Jack was walking up behind you. 

“Is that my new med student?” Jack teased as he settled beside you, his backpack slung over his shoulder. 

You glance to your side and smile. “No.” You laugh softly. “Say hello to Dr.Abbot, Ian.” 

Ian looked up at Jack and gave him a little smile, his missing front tooth making it all the more adorable. “Hi.” He said softly. “You work with my mommy?” 

“Hey little man,” Jack said with a warm smile as he nodded. “I do work with your mom, she is pretty cool.” Ian shrugged at Jack’s assertion that you were cool. “Promise she really is.” Jack then turned back to you. In a hushed tone, asked, “Is he okay? Sick?” 

“No, no.” You laugh nervously. “Dana is taking him for the weekend because Ellis wants to take me out to some bar tomorrow night, and my mom is out of town on this spiritual retreat or something. I don’t know, I think it’s just an excuse for her to go up to her friend's cabin in upstate New York and eat a ridiculous amount of pot gummies.” 

Jack stifles a laugh as he looks down for a moment. “The more I hear about your mom, the more I am convinced you are actually Dana’s kid.” he paused as he looked back up at you with a crooked grin that made your heart skip a beat. “Are you even sure they are biologically related?” 

“Oh they are, my mom is just the wildly irresponsible older sister who got pregnant with me at 19.” You chuckled softly. “Wait till I tell you about my mom’s latest get rich quick scheme.” 

He chuckled again as you neared the nurse's desk. “Oh, I gotta hear this.” 

“She thinks she is gonna be a social media influencer, at 63. Has somehow gotten like 12 thousand followers on TikTok. Our living room is filled with all these insane samples from the TikTok shop she keeps getting sent.” Jack tries to hold back as he laughs to himself. “Do you need a rotary slicer? Air purifier? An automatic litter box for the cat we don’t have?” 

“Jesus.” He muttered as he set his bag down under the desk. “Has she actually made any money, though?” 

“Like 20 bucks, thinks she is always just one video away from going viral.” As you and Jack smile at each other, Ian goes racing towards Dana, who is watching you both intently. 

“Oh, there is my favorite nephew.” She says warmly as she wraps her arms around him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You two look like you are getting on well,” Dana said with a self-satisfied smirk, watching as you and Jack stood next to each other, both with a slightly confused look on your faces. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” You ask with a shrug. “Jack is great.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Jack said, turning to you as he rested his hand on the counter for a moment. “I gotta go do handoffs with Robby.” He paused and leaned down for a moment to talk to Ian. “Good meeting you, little dude.” He said with a smile. “Have fun with your Aunt Dana this weekend.” 

“Thanks,” Ian said with a little smile before he turned back to Dana. “Do we get to have pizza and will Uncle Benji let me watch Captain America with me?” 

“Of course, baby. Whatever you want.” Dana said warmly. “So you and Abbot…” she started with a playful smirk. 

“Are friends.” You finish sounding way more defensive than you wanted to. 

“You two would make a cute couple, I am just saying,” Dana said as she looked down at Ian for a moment. Her gaze returned to you as she smiled an all to familiar smile that told you this was all part of her plan. “He is a good man, lost his wife a few years ago. Was in the Army like your dad was, a real solid guy.” You shift uncomfortably as you are about to deflect her statements. “He likes you.” 

“How do you know that?” You ask, a little shocked. 

Dana nodded to where Jack stood talking to Ellis and smiled. “I bet any money he is trying to find out which bar you and Ellis are going to tomorrow. I looked at his schedule. He’s off.” 

You let out a frustrated huff. “Stop it.” You whisper. “It was cute when you tried to set me up when I was in high school, but I am not in high school anymore.” You couldn’t deny you had a little thing developing for Jack. He was kind, attentive, and your flirty little back and forth came naturally. However, in your mind, it was nothing more than playful work banter. You wished it were more, but you had no expectations of anything developing between you and Jack. 

“I know potential when I see it, kiddo,” Dana said flatly. “You and Jack have it in spades.” She grabbed her purse and stood up, taking Ian’s hand. “Tell mommy to give the handsome doctor a chance.” 

“Don’t you dare use my son against me.” You grumbled as you walked around the desk and kissed your son on the cheek. “Be good for Aunt Dana and Uncle Benji, okay?” He nods as you stand back up. “And drop this stuff with Jack, it’s probably never going to happen, and you are reading too much into nothing.” 

You watched Dana walk off with your son, as you started to get ready for your shift, but your eyes fell on Jack, who was still talking with Ellis. Maybe Dana wasn’t reading too much into things? Maybe Jack did like you? 

Shaking your head, you push the thought from your mind and get ready for that night’s shift. 

+++++++

The next night. You met Ellis at the little dive bar near the hospital that you agreed on. You were dressed fairly casually. Your ‘good’ jeans that fit you like a glove and a cute top with the neckline that was just low enough to possibly get you a free drink or two. As you walked in, you spotted Ellis at the bar on her phone texting someone, a drink already in her hand. “Hey,” you greet as you walk towards her. 

“Girl, you look good.” She said with a warm smile as she set her phone on the bar and turned to give you a quick side hug. “So.” She started slowly. “Don’t be mad because I know in theory this was going to be a little girls’ night, but a few people from work might stop by.” 

You purse your lips as you cross your arms in front of your chest. Fuck, maybe Dana was right. You muse as you take a sharp breath in. “Who?” You ask slowly. 

“Shen said he might swing by but I doubt it, Santos and her little farmboy roommate mentioned they may come by after their shift.” She looks away as she reaches for her drink and mutters into it. “Abbot is probably coming.” 

“Jack!” You say sharply. “I swear, Parker…” Ellis was the one person at work who knew that your flirtation with Jack wasn’t fully just playful work banter. That you actually liked Jack. 

Ellis set her drink down on the bar and leaned in. “He asked me where we were going, and said you mentioned we were going out.” She started defending herself. “So I told him, sue me. I think you two would be great together. You both just need to get your heads out of your asses and see that all that ‘playful’ flirting you do isn’t playful. You both obviously like each other. Everyone sees it. The way you look at him with those little puppy dog eyes. The way he watches every single time you walk out of a room. It’s getting ridiculous.” 

You laugh nervously as you move to set your purse on the bar trying to look back over your interactions with Jack over the last few weeks. He was attentive with you, complementary. The playful, flirtatious banter happened naturally. “Oh shit.” You muttered as you realized slowly that maybe the feelings were mutual. “He really watches me when I walk out of a room?”

Ellis laughed softly to herself. “Oh his eyes are glued to your ass.” she said, highly amused that you hadn’t noticed it. “I thought he was going to have a stroke when you had to change into street clothes last week to go meet with Ian’s teacher.” She glances down at what you are wearing. “You were wearing those jeans. They do wonders for your figure, just saying. 10 out of 10 choice, no notes.” 

The color starts to drain from your face as you sit down on bar stool, “I need a drink,” you mutter as you hold your hand up waiting for the bartender. When he comes over you order a vodka and lemonade to give you some liquid courage as you process all the information you were just given. 

You and Ellis start to settle in at the bar, talking about anything else besides Jack Abbot as you sip on your drink. Soon, you are joined by Santos and Whitaker from the day shift, still in their scrubs after a long shift. They regale you with a story of the hectic trauma that came in around lunch that day. You were listening to the story intently, watching as Whitaker explained how things went from bad to worse. You didn’t notice that Jack had just walked in. He was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, looking more casual than you had ever seen him. 

He slowly made his way over to the bar where the four of you were gathered, “You started without me?” He greeted you with a smile as he took a seat on the barstool next to you. You looked over and gave him a warm smile. “Hey.” He greeted softly as the bartender started to make their way over. 

“Hey.” You whisper softly as you take a drink of your mostly empty drink. “Fancy seeing you here.” You smile softly as you look down at your hands but as you do, you catch Jack’s eyes, lowering to the small amount of cleavage that was peaking out of your shirt. It was just a quick glance, but it made your cheeks flush a little. 

Before things got too awkward, the bartender walked over. “What can I get ya?” He asked Jack. 

“I’ll have a Rolling Rock,” he paused and noticed your mostly empty drink. “You want another? My treat.” He asked, leaning closer to you. You give him a little nod, thinking, ‘what the hell’. “And one of whatever she had.” 

“One Rolling Rock and Vodka and Lemonaid coming up.” He said before walking off to get your drinks. 

“Thanks, you really didn’t have to.” You say with a coy smile. 

Jack shrugs, “It’s no big deal.” He cracks the totally disarming, crooked smile of his and you feel your heart flutter a little. As the bartender brings your drinks over you shift slightly so your thigh brushes against his. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Jack’s eyes are on your hands resting on the bar. He moves his hand a little closer so his pinky brushes against yours for a moment as he takes the first drink of his beer. 

You two begin talking softly among yourselves, while Ellis is still engaged with Santos and Whitiker, talking shop. You and Jack are all but ignoring that they are even there. “I am really glad to have you working with us, you bring such good energy to the night shift.” 

“Do I?” You whisper with a little laugh as you chew on your straw from your drink. “Even when I tripped in that Trauma the other day, and you had to catch me before I landed face-first into that poor woman’s chest wound.” You could almost still feel Jack’s arm around your waist from when he caught you, pulling you back against him as he whispered ‘I got you’ in your ear. It had sent shivers down your spine in the moment. Even just the flash of the memory that played in your mind sent another down your spine again. 

“Eh, it wasn’t that big of a deal. The room was crowded. It was a hectic trauma.” He leaned a little closer, his hand brushing yours again. “I didn’t mind having to grab you to save you from getting some horrible nickname, like ‘Crash’.” He smiled at you. 

You nudged your hand closer to his as you turned a little closer to him. “Oh, really?” You muse softly. 

He shifts on the barstool a little awkwardly as he finally rests his hand over yours, fully turns to you. “I like you.” He admits as his thumb strokes the top of your hand. “I thought when Dana first told me about you, showed me your picture, that she was full of shit when she said that I would like you. She has been trying to play matchmaker with me for the last six months. Each time she missed the mark.” He admitted, and in the back of your mind, you realized exactly why Dana had suggested you come back to PTMC and work nights. It wasn’t for the best schedule for Ian. It was for Jack. “But the more I have gotten to know, I don’t think she missed the mark this time.” 

“Of course, Dana was trying to play matchmaker.” You mused, and both you and Jack laughed. “But I like too. I see the way you are with patients, how you handle these stressful situations we deal with every single day. It’s hard not to.” His fingers curled around yours as you spoke, his eyes locked on yours as you spoke. 

He leaned in and whispered, “Do you wanna go get dinner?” 

“Yeah.” you answer back, his eyes watching your lips intently as you speak. 

You and Jack were lost in the moment, not even paying attention to the three sets of eyes locked on you as you had this exchange. Ellis leaned over and whispered to Santos. “About fucking time.” With a smirk. 

It was fairly easy to slip out of the bar without much fuss. Ellis hugged you as she whispered, “Have fun, I would say be good, but I am begging you not to be, for your sake, because you deserve to be a little naughty. Also, I don’t want the details. There are parts of Jack Abbot I never want to know about.” She said with a laugh before you turned back to Jack, who held your purse up for you. 

You slipped it over your shoulder as you took his hand, interlacing your fingers with his as you rested your cheek against his bicep. “What do you want to eat?” He asked softly as he pushed the door open. 

“I would kill for a cheeseburger, some cheese fries, like a big chocolate milkshake.” You smiled up at him as he opened his car door for you. 

“That actually sounds really good.” He thinks for a moment. “I know this little dinner that’s about 15 minutes from here. The SWAT guys I work with go there all the time.” 

“Sounds great.” You say as he helps you into the passenger seat. 

Your dinner was just what you had envisioned, greasy perfection to sop up the alcohol you had at the bar. The little bit of a buzz you had was all but gone by the time you returned to Jack’s car. Jack was funny, sweet, as flirty as ever, and you couldn’t have asked for a better ‘first date’ experience with him. You really got a clear picture of why Dana was trying to set you two up. The conversation came easily, even when the subject was a little more personal. 

You leaned against the passenger door you looked up at him. You couldn’t believe that you and Jack Abbot had just technically gone out on your first date. His hand rested on your waist as he looked down at you. “I really want to kiss you.” He whispered. You didn’t give him a chance to continue asking you. Your hands gripped his t-shirt and pulled him down to you as you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. His other hand snaked around the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss, and it felt electric. His body pressed you into the door before he pulled back slightly. “You want me to take you home?” 

“No,” you whisper thoughtlessly. “Take me back to your place.” 

+++++++

Over the next two months, your relationship with Jack only continued to grow. You tried to match your days off the best you could. When they did line up, you would often spend them together. At first, you were worried about involving Jack in Ian’s life, but Jack had a good point. If it were a casual thing, he didn’t have to have a relationship with your son, but if it was serious, it was something that was going to have to happen, and he made it very clear he didn’t want just a casual relationship. So you started bringing Ian around a little more, first it was a park, then the Children’s museum, and slowly Ian bonded with Jack. He was good with your son, made him laugh. Didn’t mind playing rough with him. It made your heart flutter each time that Ian asked, “Are we going to see Jack?” because this was starting to become something real. 

Work also flowed well. You and Jack started developing shorthand in traumas. He trusted your judgment calls when you pushed back against the residents. You two were becoming a solid team both at work and outside of work. 

It was a rainy, early summer night when that bond was put to the test. It was still early in your shift, a little after 9, when Jack walked over. His hand rested on your hip as he leaned as he stood behind you. “Peds trauma in bound, I am gonna need you on this one.” 

You take in a sharp breath as you nod, “Alright, what do we know?” 

“Five, male, fell or jumped off the top bunk. Open fracture to the arm. That was all the EMTs said over the radio.” He explained as he stepped to the side to look at you as you nodded. “I know it’s gonna be rough for you, same age as Ian, but you are the one with the most peds experience.” 

“Yeah, and my mom just got him bunk beds, which you know I am not happy about for this exact reason.” You mutter, taking a deep breath as you bring your hands to your face. “This is my personal nightmare as a mother.” 

“I know, babe.” He whispered as he reached out and pulled your hands away from your face. “But you are strong, you can handle it, and remember it’s not Ian. He is safe at home with your mom. Probably watching some superhero movie, like he always wants to watch. Not to mention, I gave him the big ‘don’t jump off the top bunk’ lecture three days ago.” You nod along, trying to focus on the fact that the likelihood that it was Ian was slim to none. “Go check on your patients and then meet me in Trauma 2.” 

“Okay.” You whisper as you take a step away and go do what Jack asked you. 

The air in the ED shifted when the EMT’s came rushing in. Ellis and Jack were the ones to meet them at the door. They both stopped dead in their tracks when they saw who was on the stretcher. “Oh shit,” Ellis muttered softly.

Ian. 

He was screaming, tears running down his cheeks, as your mom tried her best to calm him but was failing. On pure instinct, Jack rushed over, “Hey, little man.” He said softly as he helped the EMTs push the stretcher. “What happened?” Jack asked your mother sharply, his own anger over the situation slipping through. 

“I want mommy,” Ian screamed 

“I know buddy, we are gonna go get mommy in a minute, but I gotta talk to grandma first.” Jack whispered as he smoothed down Ian’s wild hair, trying to not only calm your son but also to calm himself as he waited for your mother to answer. 

It took her longer than it should have for her to finally answer, “I thought he was asleep, then I heard a crash, and he was screaming,” your mom muttered, still in shock on some level. 

Jack glared at her, “You stoned?” He asked sharply, but your mom remained silent, which told Jack everything he needed to know. He turned to Ian and leaned down, running his hand over his head. “You remember your mommy’s friend Parker, right? She came out with us to the park a couple weeks ago.” He asked softly and Ian nodded through the tears. “She is gonna get you some pain meds, and we are gonna get some pictures of your arm and head. I will be right back. I am gonna go get your mom.” 

As he turned away from Ian, your mom reached out and grabbed Jack’s arm, stopping him. “I fucked up, Jack.” She whispered. “She wasn’t answering her phone. I knew he was going to need a parent to sign consent, and I didn’t know what hospital they were taking him to.” She was rambling, but Jack put the pieces together fast. 

His jaw clenched as he leaned in. “You called fucking Josh?” He said lowly. “You called him?” 

“He is on his way,” she whispered. 

Jack was livid. He didn’t know all the details. You wanted to spare him those, but he did know enough to know the last thing that he wanted was to have a run-in with your ex-husband Josh, in the middle of the ED. He opened his mouth to snap at your mother, but stopped himself as he held up a finger as he took breath. “She is gonna be pissed at you. You know that, right?” He asked in a low, gruff tone. “I am pissed at you.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” she stammered, her eyes darting back to Ian as Ellis was getting an IV in him to give him some pain meds.

“You could have called the main line. She could have been paged. Next time, use the last brain cell you have.” He snapped as he threw his hands up and stormed out of the room to find you. 

You were already making your way towards Trauma 2, knowing they were going to need you for the peds case, when you saw Jack standing outside of the trauma bay with his head in his hands, obviously trying to collect himself. You started racing towards him when he noticed you and caught you around the waist, spinning you so your back was facing the trauma bay. “Babe, I am gonna need you to just stay calm as I tell you this..” 

“Jack, that makes me not want to be calm.” You state as panic starts to rise in your chest. “Jack…” 

“It’s Ian, Ian is the trauma case…” He said his voice was shaking a little, but enough for you to notice, as you start to try to pull away from him to run to your son. He stops you. “Baby, listen… listen to me. Ellis is in there, she is giving him pain meds, we are already fast tracking him to X-ray and CT.” He tried to explain as you continued to try to pull away from him. “There is more.” You were barely holding it together as he pulled you into a tight hug before he whispered. “Your mom called Josh.” As soon as he said that, you broke. Tears rolling down your cheeks as you buried your face into his shoulder. All the years of hell with Josh started flashing in your mind as the panic began to consume every cell of your body. He held you tightly as you sobbed into his scrub top. He didn’t try to tell you it was going to be okay because he couldn’t promise you it would. He did the one thing he could, hold you.

“I want my baby.” You whisper, trying to pull yourself back together and failing as you lift your head. 

Jack drops his arms from around you, but you don’t move. He reaches up and wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Ian is gonna be fine, probably will need surgery, follow-ups with ortho, but he is okay.” You nod slowly. “Are you going to be able to handle Josh?” You don’t move. Not a shake or nod of your head. Your eyes go blank thinking about seeing him again. “I will be right there, he tries anything. He’s done.” 

“Jack, I need to see my baby.” Your voice is calmer, but you are still obviously rattled. 

“Alright, come on.” He whispered as he took your hand and started to walk you into the trauma bay, where Ellis and Shen were doing their best to keep Ian calm, while your mother stood in the corner just trying to stay out of the way. You couldn’t even look at your mother. You were so angry with her at that moment. All your focus was on Ian. Ellis was sitting on a stool by Ian’s head, talking to him softly as you and Jack walked in. He didn’t let go of your hand till you were at the side of the bed, and then he just stood one step back. “Told you I was getting mom.” He smiled softly at Ian. 

Ellis shifted to look at you. “Full disclosure, to make him promise to stop screaming while the pain meds kicked in. I may have promised him to take him to Kennywood. We can work out the details later. He drives a hard bargain for a five year old. He should be a lawyer when he grows.” You almost cracked a smile at that. It made perfect sense. Ian had been begging you to take him to the amusement park since he saw a commercial a few weeks ago. You and Jack had talked about it, but hadn’t made plans yet. 

Taking a deep breath, you lean down and kiss the top of Ian’s head. “You being brave?” You asked softly, and he nodded. He is a little out of it because of the meds, but he doesn’t seem like he is in pain from his heart rate. “So what happened?” 

“I wanted to be like Superman.” He admitted in a low voice, knowing he was going to be in trouble. “I watched the Superman movie with Grandma before bed, and I thought that if I tied my blanket around my neck and jumped off my bed, I could fly.” Solid kindergarten logic, by all standards. 

Jack leaned in, hearing the explanation, “What did I tell you about jumping off the top bunk, buddy?” His tone was soft, he wasn’t angry. He was more mystified that Ian thought it would work. 

“To not to if I didn’t want to come visit you and mommy at work.” Ian smirked as he looked up at Jack who was shaking his head. “But, I wanted to see you and mommy. I also wanted to fly like Superman.” 

“We were gonna go to the Zoo tomorrow, now you are gonna have to stay the night here because I am pretty sure from the bone sticking out of your arm, you are gonna need surgery and a cast.” Jack leaned forward and rested his hand on Ian’s good arm. “Now we don’t get to go to the Zoo.” 

“But Parker is gonna take me to Kennywood,” Ian said as if he had just won the biggest victory of his life. 

“Fair point,” Jack said with a laugh. “But you are forgetting about the part where you scared your mother half to death.” 

Ian shrugged as he lifted his good arm and tucked it behind his head. “Mommy is fine.” 

“I was not fine when I found out you got hurt.” You quickly, but gently correcting him. “I was crying.” 

“I’ll live, and I get a cast. When Brayden had a cast, everyone at school thought he was so cool. Now I get to be cool.” Ian quips as he closes his eyes with his one arm tucked behind his head. 

Shen is standing on the other side of the bed, cleaning Ian’s wound where the bone is sticking out, and looks up at you. “Are we positive he is not Abbot’s kid?” He said with a little laugh, trying to lighten the mood. 

You and Jack both give almost identical looks of pure disbelief at the same time. “My wife was still alive, and I did not know her when she got pregnant with him,” Jack muttered.

Shen just shrugged, “Minor details.” 

You roll your eyes and start shaking your head as you turn into Jack, who just wrapped an arm around your shoulder so you could hide the fact that you were trying not to laugh. “Remember when that woman at the burger place thought he was ‘your spitting image’ the other night at dinner,” you whispered to Jack as you peeked up at him. He had a stupid grin on his face. 

“Fuck, maybe Shen is right. He is my kid.” Jack whispered back. 

The sweet moment was interrupted when Mateo peeked his head into the trauma bay. “So, not to alarm anyone, but there is this guy out in the waiting room claiming to be Ian’s dad. He is getting really loud, demanding to come back and see him.”  

You let out a ragged sigh as you take a step away from Jack and towards the door. “Bring him back, Mateo. I’ll deal with him, make sure security is around. Josh can be a bit unpredictable at times, depending on his mood.” 

Your mom finally steps forward. “I can deal with..” 

“No mom, you should go home. You have obviously done more than enough.” You snap coldly as you start to move towards the door, following Mateo out. 

Ellis looks up at Jack and gives him a sharp look. “We really are going to let her go deal with her ex-husband, who broke four of her ribs and gave her a concussion. Who is still on probation for it if I remember correctly? I thought they had a PFA?” 

“It expired last month. They wouldn’t renew it.” Jack muttered as he glanced at Ellis out of the corner of his eye. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything in the middle of the ED.” 

“Are you sure?” Ellis asked pointedly. Jack shook his head. “Then maybe follow her, make sure he doesn’t, and if he does, I don’t know, call one of those SWAT buddies of yours.” 

“That’s the plan,” Jack whispered as he started to move towards the door. “Stay with Ian, radiology should be ready for him soon.” 

“Of course, I am not leaving my little buddy,” Ellis said as her attention turned back to Ian, who had fallen asleep. 

As Jack walked out of the trauma bay, he had a sinking feeling that things had the potential to get really explosive, really fast. 

++++++

You stood near the nurses' desk, wringing your hands, anticipating that whatever was about to happen was going to be as far from pleasant as possible. You had flashes of the very last confrontation you had with your ex. It was during the divorce proceedings that you were awarded full custody of Ian, and he was only allowed supervised visits. He screamed at the judge like a raving madman. Blaming the female judge, she only sided with you because she was a woman.  If it were a male judge, he would have let him see his son. Or at least that was Josh’s logic as he screamed at the judge that day and was almost held in contempt. He didn’t even want to see Ian, he never went to the visitations and only continued to break Ian’s heart. 

As you stood with your eyes closed, trying to force yourself out of your own memories, you heard him before you saw him. Josh’s voice carried. It could fill even the biggest of spaces, particularly when he was angry, which is was. “Bro, just show me, my kid. Where is his mother? Doesn’t she work here?” his voice made your stomach turn, and a panic rose in your chest. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, instinctively trying to comfort yourself as you took a step away from the nurse's desk. You finally forced your eyes open and saw him stomping towards the trauma bay where Ian was. 

You move quickly, but smoothly, towards him. “Joshua,” you say, simply trying to keep your voice as calm as possible. “Ian is resting, we are waiting to take him for some X-rays, and then we will know more, but it’s very likely he is going to have to have surgery to set the bone properly.” Mateo stayed back, but was close enough to watch as Josh took a step towards you. You flinched for just a second before taking a deep breath. “He really is going to be fine.” 

“What the fuck happened?” Josh snapped as he leaned down, trying to get in your face. You take a step back, but he presses. “I knew you living with your bitch of a mother was a horrible idea. She never watched him closely enough. She didn’t give a shit about you, and she certainly doesn’t give a shit about my son.” 

“Our son.” You correct sharply. “The one you haven’t seen in eight months, haven’t even called to talk to in six.” Your voice shakes as you try to calm yourself. “And don’t you dare speak about my mother like. She isn’t perfect, but she does love Ian.” You take another deep breath as you hold your arms tighter around your chest. “He was just being a reckless little boy, he jumped off the top of the bunk beds in his room because he thought he could be Superman. Broke his arm.” 

“Because she wasn’t paying close enough attention to him. Because you insist on working fucking nights and leave him with her all night when she is doing god knows what.” You let out a ragged breath as he speaks, watching as he moves closer. “You shouldn’t be working nights and leaving him with people who can’t be trusted.” 

“Don’t talk to me about leaving him with people who can’t be trusted, you used to leave him with your bother who is a fucking junkie, shooting up god knows what when Ian was napping three feet from him.” You clench your jaw as you suck in a sharp breath. “What would you rather have me do? Not work? Not be able to pay my bills. I already live at home with my mother because of my student loans, the debt that you saddled me with when we were married, and, not to mention the complete lack of child support you pay. I am left with next to fucking nothing.”

“I am between jobs.” He tried to defend himself. 

“You have been between jobs for three fucking years, Josh.” As you let out another ragged breath, you turn your head and see Jack leaning against the wall, watching the whole thing play out from a distance. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, and there was a look in his eyes that you had never seen before. It was something beyond upset. His jaw was set tight, and he looked as if it was taking every single ounce of control he had to keep from running over and just knocking Josh’s front teeth in. He was waiting for a moment, the moment Josh went too far, and you were silently praying that it wasn’t going to happen. 

Josh shifted as he leaned forward, getting close to you as he whispered menacingly, “I want to see my son.” 

“No.” You respond sharply. “It’s just going to upset him more. He hasn’t seen you in months.” 

“Your mom called me because she couldn’t get through to you.” He snarled. “Because I am still legally his father.” 

“Trust me, I wish that was not the case.” You snap. “I am at work, my phone is on silent. She should have just called the main line, and they would have paged me, but we both know my mother is not the sharpest tool in the shed. So she called you, which is something she should have never done.” 

“I am here, I want to see him.” He said, inching closer to you. “Stop being a fucking bitch and let me see my son.” He snapped as he grabbed your arm roughly, squeezing it so tightly you knew he was going to leave a bruise, trying to intimidate you. 

That was the line. 

Jack didn’t run over. He didn’t shout. He walked with purpose over to where you two stood and simply stood behind you. “You can get your hand off her.” He said in a low, menacing tone. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Josh snapped, his fingers digging deeper into your arm as you tried to pull away. 

Jack reached over and pulled his hand off your arm and moved between you and Josh. “Who the fuck am I?” He asked with the look in his eyes, getting more menacing as he shook his head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” His voice was low. He wasn’t shouting, but it was the tone that made your breath catch in your throat as you gripped the back of his shirt. 

“Jack,” you whispered. You just wanted this to be over, you wanted to run back into the room with Ian and stay far away from all this. 

“You fucking him?” Josh asked as he craned his neck to try to look you in the eyes, but you were now fully hiding behind Jack, as there were more eyes on the three of you. Mateo was on the phone, you suspect, calling security. Shen was standing in the doorway of the trauma bay, putting himself between any way Josh had of getting to Ian.

“Of course you are fucking him.” Josh laughed as he shook his head. “You know she has daddy issues for fucking days cuz her old man ate his gun when she was a kid,” Josh said with a grin on his face as he looked Jack in the eyes. Josh knew talking about your father would upset you, and it did. You let out a little whimper against Jack’s back as you hold onto him tighter, trying anything you could to steady yourself. “Her dad was in the fucking Army or some shit and came back all fucked up in the head. Couldn’t hack it, blew his fucking brain out. Her mom found him, hence why she is the shit show she is.” You wanted to scream, but all you did was silently sob against Jack’s back. 

“I fucking know, man.” Jack finally yelled. All eyes were now on the three of you watching this mess play out. Jack didn’t care, he was furious, he wanted to make this guy feel what he was making you feel. “I know because we’re together, and she told me in tears. I know because I was in the Army, like her dad. I know how dark shit can get.” He snapped. Josh had pushed too far. “I know all about you, man. I know you are fucking tool, an idiot who got lucky that she even gave you the goddamn time of day when she was in high school and you were a grown ass man preying on a traumatized teenage girl. You should have been in jail 20 years ago when you were 25 and fucking a 16-year-old.”

Josh stood silent. It was the first time that someone had ever said this to him because Jack was the first person outside of your family you had ever told about the worst parts of your Josh’s relationship to. You barely peeked out from behind Jack as he spoke and saw Josh’s shoulders slump, his jaw clench because someone was standing up for you, not because someone was standing up to him. 

 Jack leaned in, and in a lower, even more menacing tone, he continued. “Then you got your claws into her, convinced her to marry you when she was 19. She put herself through nursing school so she could support your lazy ass, who wanted to sit around all day on your Xbox, smoke weed, and drink beers. Then you got her pregnant the first time she tried to leave. Fucking clever shit. Have a baby, make her stay.” He paused for a second and looked Josh dead in the eyes. “The irony that was probably the best thing you ever did because Ian is a great kid, I love that kid like he is my own. But he is a great kid because of her, not you.” 

For half a breath, you almost relaxed as you felt Jack’s hand reach back and briefly touch your arm, reminding you he was right there. 

“When she finally tried to leave with the baby, you beat her black and blue, you choked and slammed her head into the fucking wall. I saw the police reports.” You didn’t know this but this also didn’t surprise you. Jack had friends on the force from working as the SWAT team’s medic. So it was likely he had one of his friends pull the file so he could find out everything you hadn’t told him. “But, you had your crooked as fuck cop dad cover for you. You should be sitting in jail, everyone knows that, but you got lucky once. Never again.” You stayed behind Jack, your hands still clutching his shirt as you buried your face in his back with your eyes squeezed shut, terrified that things were going to get even worse. But it didn’t, because Jack wasn’t going to let it. 

“Now, why don’t you get the fuck out of my ED and leave her and Ian the fuck alone. Or the next time you show your ugly face anywhere near either of them, I am gonna call my buddies down at the PD, and they will haul your ass off to jail because people well above your daddy’s pay grade own me favors.” There was menace in the way Jack spoke, a tone you had never heard before, and if it had been directed at you would have crumbled. However, it was enough to rattle Josh. The first time you had ever seen that man truly rattled.

“The fuck you think..” Josh started, dumbfounded. 

“OUT!” Jack shouted. Standing his ground. “Now..” He growled 

Josh slowly started to back away as he saw all the eyes on him in the ED and the two security guards approaching. “I’m going…” he muttered. His eyes were darting around the ED where everyone was standing frozen, watching him. All of them having just heard every single word Jack had just said.

“Let’s go.” The security guard said, gesturing back towards the waiting room. “Don’t make me ask you again.” With that, the two security guards started ushering Josh away. 

As soon as Josh was out of sight, Jack let out a long, heavy breath. His whole demeanor shifty. Jack turned around and wrapped his arms around, “Hey, hey..” He whispered as you were shaking in his arms. “I told you, he is never gonna fuck with you again.” He whispered as your hands grabbed at his back, trying to find something to anchor you because you felt like your legs were going to give out. “Come on, let’s go sit down,” he whispered, trying to usher you towards one of the desk chairs where he got you settled. 

Shen walked up behind Jack and whispered. “You are pretty fucking scary there, boss.” 

“He was lucky I was at work if he pulled that shit outside the ED. I would have beat the shit out of him.” Jack muttered before turning all this attention back to you. 

“I’m DoorDashing you some Dunkins before they close,” Shen said with a warm smile down at you, pulling his phone out and starting to walk away, leaving you with Jack. 

“You good?” Jack asked, caressing your cheek before he reached over and pushed up the sleeve of your scrub top to see the bruises starting to form from how roughly Josh had grabbed your upper arm. 

“No.” You whispered. 

“I’m gonna call Robby to come back in cover for me since he is off tomorrow, and he fucking owes me. I am gonna sign out, gonna sign you out. Our focus is gonna be Ian. Period, end of story. Okay?” He asked softly, and you nodded slowly. “You are gonna stay here, I’m gonna get Mateo to come sit with you, and I will be right back.” You nodded, not really even listening, but all you knew was that you were beyond thankful that Jack was there. 

Sure enough, Mateo came over and sat next to you. He didn’t say a word, only sat next to you, rubbing your arm, trying to help you calm as you were still shaking. Jack was gone, maybe five minutes before he came back over and knelt down in front of you. “Alright, Robby is coming back. Ellis is up with Ian getting his X-ray, and he will be right back, and we are gonna move him into peds, and that's where we’re gonna go.” He whispered as he reached up and rested his hand on the back of your neck. “Take a deep breath.” 

You take in a deep breath as you look at him, it starts to dawn on you. You were in love with Jack. He was the first person in years who made you feel safe. He cared about Ian more than Josh ever had. You reached out and gripped his arms. “Jack.” You whispered, and he nodded, looking you in your eyes. “I think… no, I know, I am in love with you.” You whispered, still half in a daze and wrapped in your own thoughts. 

He leaned forward a little bit and smiled as he whispered. “I love you too. Why do you think I lost my shit when I saw him grab you?” He reached out and took your face in his hands. “No one gets to treat my girl like that.” 

[annsfics]

♡ things a man provides ♡

♡ pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: after catching you on tinder at work, jack puts himself on a mission to get you off of the obnoxious app & into a meaningful relationship with him instead before it's too late. learning you've never so much as been on a date before & are doubtful about ever finding someone worthwhile, he expends every effort to win you over.

♡ content: jealous!jack, jack treats you to dinner on the roof, buys you flowers, spoils you with attention etc, fingering, dacryphilia (kinda), pet names, teasing, flirting

♡ a/n: based off this request, ty!

With forearms planted atop the back of the office chair you occupy, Santos peers over your shoulder as you swipe left.

And left.

And left.

And—

"Oh, he's cute," she remarks.

Looking up from the rolling computer cart Jack stands at, he eyes the two of you from over the rim of his glasses.

Pushing the phone back in her direction for a closer look, you half turn toward her with a raised brow.

"I was talking about the dog," Trinity explains.

You roll your eyes, then swipe again.

"Honestly, you'd have a better time picking up a guy from Chairs than Tinder. Least that way you can test him for drugs and STDs before taking him home like a stray." After drumming her hands against the back of your seat, she steps away.

"Hey!" Jack calls from a few feet away.

Your head jerks up.

Stalking over to the nurse's station, he plants his hands on his hips. "Get off the phone. No more...Tindering," he spits.

You blink twice, then lock the device before storing it away in your pocket. "Sorry," you mumble, now humiliated.

"Look at me," he commands.

You do as instructed and shrink beneath his authoritative gaze.

Jack leans forward. "I catch you on it again, and I'm taking it away. Understood?"

You nod before dropping your chin in shame.

"Only man you should be giving your attention to is me: your attending," he grumbles.

You shift uncomfortably, praying he'll soon walk away in search of someone else to berate instead.

"C'mon, follow me. Time for you to put your hands to uses other than clicking through your Tinder."

Your shoulders slump, but you nevertheless rise and follow his lead.

Once you've finished wrapping the forehead of a ten-year-old girl in soft white gauze who was nothing short of a trooper while you administered seven stitches, due to a nasty skateboarding accident, you grant her a smile. "You were so brave today. But don't hesitate to tell your parents if your head starts hurting, alright? I'm going to give them some medicine to take home just incase."

A concussion was the first thing Diaz ruled out when she was brought back, thankfully.

The girl nods and sends slick black curls bouncing from the motion. "Okay."

You grin, then turn to look at Abbot.

Bumping the back of your head against his abdomen because he's standing that close to you, you mutter a quiet apology.

"Somethin' you need?" Jack asks while uncrossing his arms.

"Yeah. Can you, uh... Get me the jar of suckers from the shelf behind you? And a roll of stickers, too?"

He nods before turning around to retrieve the requested items. "Sure."

Handing you the jar first, his fingers linger against the warmth of your palm. When you glance up to him with an inquisitive brow, he merely takes a small step back while nodding toward your adorable patient. "I'll give you the stickers next."

You blink, then return your attentions to her. "Alright, sweetie, which flavor?"

"You were good with her," Jack says while cupping his hand around the crown of your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Ignoring the vibrating phone in your pocket, you smile softly. "Kids are easier, I think. Adults are the ones who think they know everything. Or just know better than us because they have a degree from Google University."

He snorts. "It's why cellphones are such a bad idea," he says matter-of-factly while shrugging casually.

You roll your eyes. "I promise to save my 'Tindering' only for breaks and after-hours," you reply while rounding a corner and heading in the direction of your computer so that you can get back to charting.

Sliding his hand from your shoulder to the small of your back, Jack's lips tug into a frown. "I mean, I don't exactly know a lot about it, but isn't that some kind of a hookup app?" He leans in close to your ear. "Where people go to get laid?" He whispers lowly.

It sends a shiver up your spine.

Breaking from his side, you make a beeline for your desktop. "It's...It's the most popular dating app there is, which is the only reason I'm on it. Not everyone uses it for...that, though." You flush. "Most men seem to," you complain with a frown. "But I have what I want outlined in my bio. Then again, that would require them to bother reading it."

You shake your head, then plop down in your seat and toss your phone face-down beside you.

Jack slides his forearms atop the counter in front of you. "Let me take a peek," he says with beckoning fingers.

You think you may fall out of your chair. "I—What? You wanna see my Tinder profile?" You ask incredulously.

He lays his palms face-up and shrugs before clasping them together. "I mean, I could give you a male opinion. Help you figure out why all you're catching are minnows instead of trout."

Your brows knit together. "Who... Who is the trout in this scenario?"

Leaning over the counter, he snatches away your phone. You make to grab for it in a panic, but promptly seat yourself again with the reassurance that he doesn't know your pin. Thus, no entry will be gained.

Wiggling from satisfaction from atop your chair, you roll forward.

A sobering expression crosses his face at the sight. Clearing his throat, Abbot pulls out his glasses and settles them atop the bridge of his nose.

You watch with amusement as he holds the phone at a distance to see properly before pulling up the lockscreen.

"Pin?" He questions while studying you.

You busy yourself with charting. "Never."

He considers for a moment, then turns the phone around to face you. He whistles to gain your attention. "Look here, sweetheart."

The moment you glance up, the home screen reveals itself. "Hey! That's cheating!" You shout while trying to swipe the device from his hands yet again.

"Never said I had any intention of playing fair," he drawls before thumbing through... You worry as to what he's looking at, actually. Like cutesy Pinterest boards dedicated to a dream wedding you'll probably never have.

"Not gonna find any dirty photos on here, am I?" He asks while pressing the screen with his index finger. Who uses digits other than their thumbs on touchscreens, anyway? Besides geriatrics.

Your face grows warm. "No!" You hiss. "Course not!"

He purses his lips. "Here's to hopin'."

Your jaw falls slightly open, and he chuckles.

"Just kidding." He continues searching for the app in question. "Or am I?" He mumbles. "I meant to ask, you ever considered going into peds?"

You pull up your recent patient's chart. "I have. It's just that... The day will inevitably come when a child in my care..." You swallow thickly. "Dies in my care," you finish. "I don't know if I can survive that."

Jack reaches forward and slides his index finger under your chin and tilts your head back until your eyes to meet his own. "That's going to happen if you stay in emergency care anyway, baby. You have to go where the heart calls."

He returns his hand to holding the side of your phone, leaving your skin tingling from the abandoned contact.

"Ah!" He exclaims. "Here we go. Tinder," he purrs.

You focus strictly on the computer screen ahead of you while sliding a hand over the back of your tensed-up neck.

Jack remains quiet for a moment and you peer at him covertly. You will never have your personal phone out while at work ever again from this day forward. Even for emergencies. The landlines provided will do just fine.

You watch as a corner of Jack's mouth twitches before verging into full-on smirking territory.

He's going to make fun of you, you can feel it.

And then he begins to swipe.

"W-what're you doing?"

"Trying to get rid of all these assholes," he mutters. "God, how long does it go on for?"

"I have my radius set pretty wide, so—"

He lowers his head and stares at you with wide eyes. "Your what?"

"R-Radius? Like, miles around me. If men are within the search radius—"

He rolls his eyes. "Got it."

Swipe, swipe, swipe.

You glower. "One of those could be my future husband, you know?"

He jeers. "What? These douchebags? Unlikely."

You've never seen him so irritable. Who peed in his Cheerios this afternoon?

With a sigh, he tosses it down beside you onto a stack of paperwork. "You're never going to find what you're looking for on there. I know you know this."

You swiftly shove the device in your pocket. "It's my only option. It's not like it was in the olden days when people met at the market, y'know?" You commentate a tad snidely. But if he's going to shame you for trying to find someone to love, then he deserves a bit of attitude in return.

It's none of his concern, anyway.

He chuckles. "How old do you think I am, honey?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Ancient."

Rounding the counter he occupies, Jack grips the back of your chair with one hand and the desk you sit at with the other. Leaning down, he brings himself level with your ear. "I read your little bio," he rumbles. "Looking for someone to settle down with," he quotes. "To start a life with, yada yada. Those are things a man provides." He slides his hand to the back of your neck. "All I saw were boys."

His fingers tugs gently at the base of your scalp. "You wanna meet someone the old-fashioned way? Take a long, hard look at what's in your immediate vicinity."

Jack steps back then and you loose a ragged breath in an attempt to calm your thready heart.

"Just remember what I said," he states while heading into Trauma 2. "I catch you on it again..." He sucks his teeth. "Probably be better if you just removed the temptation and delete the account altogether, you ask me."

He's practically fuming while slyly spying on you from across the parking lot—watching as you smile down at your phone with an index finger gently bit between your teeth.

It's like you're trying to set him off.

Happy-go-lucky guy that Abbot normally is, after today's whole Tinder fiasco, he found himself snapping at residents in the style of Rabinovitch at every turn. He's meant to be the fun dad, and yet...

He tosses his bag in the backseat of his truck and cringes when the metal zipper clips the window. Not seeing a chip in the glass, however, he slams the door shut while shaking his head.

He keeps taking his piss-poor attitude out on his vehicle and he'll really have something to be ticked off about when it starts falling apart on the damn interstate.

He plants his palms atop the passenger seat and hangs his head between his shoulders. "Let it go, old man. You're too old for this shit," he mutters. "She's not interested. She's not interested. She's not—"

With a huff, he shuts the door before heading in your direction. "Hey, you hungry?"

Jack watches with a satiated look on his face as you munch on a basket of hot wings.

"It's really pretty up here," you say between hearty bites. "With all the lights. Quiet, too." Turning to face him, you begin wiping your hands with cheap napkins.

It's nothing fancy—the two of you are seated upon bare asphalt after all. But facing each other while making idle conversation is admittedly a lot nicer alternative to being stuck inside a noisy ED.

He chuckles and takes a sip of his beer.

"What?" You ask, sucking on a saucy finger.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You, uh, you've got some—"

Your hand flutters toward your face. When Jack scoots closer, you promptly drop it into your lap when he runs the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth.

"T-Thanks," you squeak before taking a pull from your water.

Leaning back against the railing behind him, Jack studies you for a moment. "You can do better than online dating."

Your eyes flit to his.

Holding his hands up, he continues. "I get it. It's just the way it is nowadays. But, sweetheart, the guys I saw on there?"

You interrupt him. Occupying yourself with a packet of wet-wipes, you start scrubbing at your hands. Otherwise you might just nibble them down to the bone the sauce was so yummy.

"I...I'm lonely," you whisper. "And I feel like I've fallen behind somehow." You worry your lower lip between your teeth. "I've never so much as been on a date before. There was just...never time. First, it was graduate from high school, then college, then an internship, now residency. After that, fellowship and—" You shake your head. "I told myself that once I was settled in my career and happy with my living arrangements is when I would put myself out there."

You sniffle while toying with your plastic water bottle, listening idly as the water sloshes around as you turn it one way, then the other. "I don't think I can wait that long. I don't want to. I want someone of my own to love. To call after I've had a bad day. Arms to fall asleep in, a chest to lay against when I feel scared. A body to come home to."

You shrug and wipe at yours eyes. "Then again, how many people do we work with—patients do we meet—who tell us the horror stories that are their relationships and marriages?" You frown. "Hardly makes commitment sound all that tempting."

Jack leans his head to the side, then cups your cheek in his palm. "That's why you don't settle for any less than someone who worships you. Who constantly thinks about you. Who'd kill to keep you safe."

A quiet click sounds at the back of your throat when you swallow.

He brushes his thumb along the apple of your cheek. "You've never been on a date?"

You shake your head.

He smiles softly, leans forward, then murmurs "What're we doing right now, then?" before pressing his lips to yours.

Jack never explicitly asked to enter into a relationship with you. Instead, it seems to be a decision he simply makes without warning.

On the one hand, it's so incredibly flattering to be desired by the Jack Abbot of all people. Of all men. Doctors, even. On the other, he's your attending. As well as someone who seems beyond comfortable in his own skin and abilities as a healer while you otherwise feel like you're stumbling through life.

You truly have no understanding of his decision.

There's nothing particularly special about you. You're not a young prodigy like Javadi, fast as a whip like Santos (not that he exactly seems like her type), as lovely as Mohan, or as intelligent as Mel.

The list goes on.

Maybe he's like all the rest, then? Just having fun while the iron is hot?

You dislike the thought.

It makes you feel cheap; pathetic; used.

It's why when at work...you sort of continue keeping your distance. At least initially.

Intent on hovering and crowding and smothering and touching you, however, Abbot is there nearly every time you turn around.

"I get that you're busy," he tells you one day—his hand sliding from your shoulder blade to your lower back; dangerously close to another body part. "But if you wanna keep playing hard to get even though you're already mine, then I'm happy to keep chasing."

And then he'd leaned close, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear. "Tell you the truth, the whole thing is giving my Viagra a run for its money."

Instead of it turning you on, as was clearly his intention, it'd only made you feel sick. Because you were right after all: he only saw you as a collection of parts to...objectify.

You had scurried away after, leaving him a bit perplexed.

It's only been a few days since the rooftop, so granted not much has happened thus far, but forcing yourself to have an awkward conversation with Jack where you innocently inquire What are we? feels out of the question. Not to mention humiliating. You're here to work, not star in a rom-com.

Whatever he's after, he clearly needs to start looking elsewhere.

But instead of being a damn adult about the entire ordeal and pulling him aside to talk like grown-ups...you sort of latch onto Robby instead. Not in a flirtatious sort of way. Just as a mentor and mentee one. By otherwise being occupied with learning from him, maybe Jack will move on? Grow bored? As much is inevitable, you figure.

When Jack stumbles across you all but pressed against Robby's side in Trauma 4 one day, however, it's like the pin in a grenade is pulled. All that's left is to release the lever.

He never took you for a tease, but he'll be damned if he's not going to mark his territory as a last resort before throwing in the towel.

Entering the Pitt Friday evening, you're greeted by a vision. A lovely floral arrangement sits atop the nurse's station in a crystal vase; its blooms sprouting in every direction.

You smile at Dana while walking past. "Looks like Benji is quite the romantic."

"Not for me, doll. Had to sign for 'em, but they're for you."

Halting in your tracks—causing your tennis shoes to squeak against the polished tile floor beneath you—you turn and pad over to it. Plucking the enclosure card from the plastic cardette, you read it over.

Meet me where I made you mine. — J

You glance up to Dana who throws a hand up while dialing the phone in front of her with the other. "Didn't read it. Hand to God, kid."

"Could you...keep this here for me until the end of my shift?"

Sliding it back toward herself, she nods. "You got it."

"We couldn't have done this downstairs?"

Standing just behind the railing positioned at the edge of the rooftop, Jack turns back to you with folded arms. "Felt like this should be a private conversation," he replies while stepping unsteadily toward you.

Perhaps his leg is giving him fits tonight.

Matching his strides, you meet him halfway.

He remains silent, with a thoughtful look etched upon his face. "Am I just not what you're looking for, then?"

Your brows furrow as you bat your lashes. "What?"

He huffs. "You've barely spoken to me in the last week, sweetheart. I'm getting mixed signals. You put on your Tinder," he says with an upwards wave of his hand, "that you want essentially the same things that I do. But I try to get close—give you my attention—and you glue your ass to Robby's side instead."

You open your mouth to speak, only to shut it a moment later as he continues.

"Look, I get it. I've been out of the game for awhile, so maybe I don't really know what goes nowadays. I tried giving you attention and that backfired. I flirted and I got the same result. So now I'm going old-fashioned with flowers and clandestine meetings on rooftops. I just—" he steps forward. "I need you to tell me whether to stay or go. Because the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. I'd thought we were together, but if you've changed your mind about commitment and settling down—"

"I haven't," you blurt out.

He quiets.

"You... You never asked me."

He raises a silver brow.

"To be...yours. I wasn't sure what we were. And I felt stupid at the idea of even asking. And then with the Viagra comment," you say with a flush. "It seemed like I was back to online dating, but in real life this time."

He hangs his head and sighs. "That's on me." He raises it. "I can have a peculiar sense of humor sometimes. Guess it gets even worse when I'm making a come-on."

Sliding his hand along the back of your neck, he holds you close. "I didn't think it needed saying after the night we were together up here. I just assumed we were on the same page. So I am truly sorry that I never bothered to ask if you wanted to be—" His mouth quirks to the side as he thinks. "Boyfriend and girlfriend are way too juvenile for me," he mumbles. "Partners, then."

He slides his hand to your shoulder. "Everything you listed is what I have to offer; what I want to give you."

You nervously rub at your arm. "I just didn't want to make assumptions."

He grins. "Too late."

Your eyes flit to his.

"I already did for the both of us, sweetheart. Listen, I'm not some kid on the internet throwing darts at a board until something sticks and I get a consolation prize out of it. I want you, and only you. I have since the day you were first assigned to me."

"Oh," you say, leaving your lips slightly parted.

"So," he begins while running a calloused palm down your arm before gripping your fingertips. Lifting them to his lips, he brushes a kiss along the back of your hand. "We're clear on what we're doing this time, then? That you belong to me and me alone, and I to you?"

You glance away while heat rushes to your cheeks.

You nod. "Yes, I think so."

He chuckles. "Good."

Jack wraps you in his arms and holds you firm against his chest. "Because if I see you with Robby again, I'm throwing my leg at him in the parking lot."

You cackle while burying your face in his chest and inhaling the calming, woodsy scent of his cologne.

It takes some adjusting to: being Jack's girl. From him assigning himself to being your designated driver to and from work, to cooking for you in the comfort of his well-stocked kitchen, to asking rather sheepishly if you'll rub his leg at night—what begins with butterflies and nervous laughter, ends in routine and comfortability.

The only excitement is at the ED. Because outside of it, you each share quiet nights in. Ones where you lie atop his chest on the couch while he watches TV... Or the one where he finally coaxes you out of your shirt and bra so that he can run his palms along the soft skin of your back.

He says it feels nice, since they can ache at times from arthritis.

The scratchy sensation makes your skin sing in the best of ways.

He seems rather pleased, after having moved you in before long, when you finally take liberty in using what's his, but for yourself. Like his t-shirts for sleeping in, his razor for shaving (men's are superior, you tell him), his truck for picking up groceries and his credit card to pay for them, and... Well... His stethoscope on the nights the two of you play doctor in the bedroom.

So, yes, physical intimacy is a facet of your relationship which does develop naturally in due time. And to his credit, Jack is endlessly patient with you as he teaches you all about it.

Insecurity about inexperience in every arena—sexual or otherwise—had certainly been of much concern to you. Perhaps he'd prefer someone who had familiarity with partnership, you'd worried. But he made clear that being able to claim you in every way there is stroked his masculine ego like nothing else.

And being the first to put hands on you...?

It doesn't take long for you to learn that you really enjoy extra attention being paid to your breasts, for example, when he laps at them with his tongue while his fingers explore the sopping folds between your legs. Gruffly, he says things which get you dripping with little effort applied: "That feel good, sweetheart?", "Spread your legs for me, baby.", "C'mere and lie back on the bed so that I can take your clothes off, angel."

You'd once asked shyly from atop your shared bed if he could please wear his dog tags during. With a grin, he muttered quietly "Yeah, honey, I can do that," before obliging your request.

As if he's Pavloved you, he sometimes teases even while at work just to get a rise out of you. Like when he seats himself next to you as you chart—sliding a palm along your inner thigh until it's right against your heat. Jack merely leaves it there, and smirks every time you make a typo.

Or when you do a job well done with a patient and he'll mutter "Good girl." before stepping away.

By the time the two of you get home, you're feral with want, and care little to none about waiting for his Viagra to kick in.

So, he typically makes use of his tongue instead until he's able to achieve manhood. He usually challenges himself in getting you to come twice on it before finally sinking his cock between your fluttering walls and kissing away your tears, you're that overstimulated from him rutting away between your thighs.

You'd been so afraid before—paranoid, even—of winding up in an unhealthy, and deeply unhappy relationship, but with all the love and tenderness he gives you, you can scarcely imagine ever wanting another.

Besides, Jack tells you that just the thought of you with someone else is likely to make his head explode. So, for better or worse, you're stuck with him.

You find that you're just fine with that fact. Especially at night when he holds your naked body close to his—his arms wrapped tightly around you—and as you drift off to sleep, he whispers how he's never letting you go now that he's found you.

[belleeebelleee]

“Are you safe?”

Jack Abbot x fem!reader (it's not explicitly romantic but could be read that way or as mentor!Jack)

Trinity Santos x fem!reader (platonic)

Warnings: this piece deals with heavier themes, including depression and mentions of suicidal thoughts. It’s written with a focus on the character’s internal struggles and emotions, rather than graphic or explicit detail, but it can still be a difficult read depending on where you’re at.

Please take care of yourself first. If this kind of content feels like it might be too much right now, it’s completely okay to skip it, pause partway through, or come back when you’re in a better headspace. There’s no pressure to keep reading something that could be harmful to you.

If you are struggling or feeling overwhelmed, you don’t have to deal with it alone. Reaching out for support can make a real difference, whether that’s talking to someone you trust, a mental health professional, or a support service in your area. If you’re in Australia, you can contact Lifeline on 13 11 14 (available 24/7) or chat online at lifeline.org.au. If you’re elsewhere, local crisis or mental health hotlines are a good starting point too.

You deserve support, especially when things feel heavy, and there are people trained to help you through it.

You're a resident at PTMC in your 3rd year. During one of your night shits, shared with Trinity Santos, your best friend, you confide in her that you're depression is getting worse. Jack overhears and is immediately concerned. Later, you make a passing comment to Trinity about jumping off the roof. It's mostly a joke, but Jack overhears it and starts to spiral. He takes you to the side and sits you down for a conversation where he opens up about his own struggles with depression and sducidal thoughts. He offers support and help and is visibly distressed at the thought of you being so depressed.

The fluorescent lights in PTMC never softened.

Not at 2 a.m., not at 4, not even in that strange hour just before sunrise where the world outside felt like it might still belong to dreams. Inside the hospital, everything stayed harsh and awake and too real.

You leaned your weight against the nurses’ station, fingers curled around a paper cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. Your scrubs clung in the wrong places, your eyes burned, and there was a heaviness in your chest that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

Across from you, Trinity was flipping through a chart, her brows furrowed in concentration.

“Room twelve’s labs came back weird,” she muttered. “I swear this guy’s body just decided to freelance.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Bold of him, honestly.”

She glanced up, catching it—how the sound didn’t quite reach your eyes. Trinity knew you too well for that.

She set the chart down slowly. “Hey.”

You already knew that tone. Gentle. Careful. Not pushing, but not letting you slip away either.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been off all night.”

You shrugged, staring into your cup. “Just tired.”

“Bullshit.”

It wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Concern wrapped in familiarity.

You exhaled, long and slow. Your shoulders sagged like something inside you finally gave permission to drop.

“…It’s getting bad again.”

Trinity didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush you. She just leaned her hip against the counter, fully present.

“My depression,” you clarified, voice quieter now. “It’s… worse. Lately. Like—” you swallowed, trying to find the words. “Like everything’s heavier. Even when nothing’s wrong.”

She nodded once, like she understood exactly what that meant.

“I wake up tired,” you continued. “I go to sleep tired. And in between I’m just… pretending I’m fine enough to function.”

Trinity reached out, resting her hand over yours. Warm. Grounding.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Your throat tightened. You nodded, blinking quickly.

Neither of you noticed the man at the end of the hallway.

Jack wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

He’d been heading toward the supply room, half-focused on inventory, half-focused on the dull ache in his prosthetic that flared when the nights ran long. But your voice—soft, strained, cracking just enough—caught his attention before his brain could tell him to keep walking.

He didn’t hear everything.

But he heard enough.

It’s getting bad again.

My depression… worse.

And something in his chest twisted hard.

Jack knew that tone. Knew the quiet way people said things when they’d been carrying them alone for too long.

He should’ve walked away.

He didn’t.

He stayed just long enough to make sure Trinity stayed with you. Just long enough to hear her steady reassurance. Just long enough to convince himself you weren’t alone in it.

Then he left.

But the words followed him.

The night dragged on, as they always did.

Patients came and went, monitors beeped, charts stacked up, and you slipped back into the rhythm of being useful. Competent. Needed.

It was easier that way.

By the time you and Trinity ended up in the stairwell for a five-minute breather, the tension had settled back into something quieter. Still there. Just… tucked away again.

You leaned against the railing, tilting your head back.

“Ever think about just… disappearing for a bit?” you said, half-laughing. “Like, climbing up to the roof and jumping just for the drama of it?”

It came out light. Almost joking.

But Trinity stilled.

“…Don’t joke like that,” she said gently.

You winced. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Neither of you noticed the door behind you had opened halfway.

Jack had come looking for a quiet place to sit.

Instead, he froze.

Climbing up to the roof and jumping.

The words didn’t land like a joke to him.

They landed like a warning.

And suddenly everything from earlier clicked into place in the worst way.

His chest tightened. Breath shortened. Thoughts spiraled faster than he could catch them.

Because he knew that line too.

Knew how “jokes” could be testing the weight of something real.

He’d done it.

More times than he liked to admit.

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open the rest of the way.

You and Trinity both looked up.

Jack’s expression was… wrong.

Too tense. Too pale. His jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

“Jack?” you said, confused.

He didn’t answer right away.

His eyes were on you—sharp, searching, like he was trying to read something you weren’t saying.

“Can I—” he started, then stopped, recalibrating. “Can I talk to you? Just… for a minute.”

You blinked, glancing at Trinity.

She gave you a subtle nod. Go.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

Jack stepped back into the hallway, waiting.

You followed.

He didn’t take you far.

Just around the corner. Out of earshot. Somewhere quieter, but not isolated.

That mattered.

Everything about him right now felt deliberate.

Careful.

He dragged a chair over and turned it toward you.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a command. Not really.

But you listened anyway.

He crouched in front of you instead of taking the other chair, bringing himself to your level. His posture was tense, hands braced on his thighs like he needed something solid to anchor himself.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“I heard you.”

Your stomach dropped.

“…How much?”

“Enough.”

Not accusing. Just honest.

Heat crept up your neck. “It was a joke—”

“No.”

It came out sharper than he intended. He exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“No,” he repeated, softer this time. “Not like that. Not to me.”

You frowned slightly, confused.

Jack’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, like he was gathering something difficult.

When he looked back up, his eyes were different.

Raw.

“I need you to listen to me for a second,” he said quietly.

Something in your chest tightened.

You nodded.

He hesitated—just briefly—then pushed through it.

“I’ve been where you are.”

Your breath caught.

“I’ve said things like that,” he continued. “Passed them off as jokes. Made them sound lighter than they were because it was easier than saying the truth out loud.”

His jaw flexed.

“There were nights… where it wasn’t a joke.”

Silence stretched between you.

Heavy. Honest.

You didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t look away.

Jack swallowed.

“I’m not saying that’s where you are,” he added quickly. “I’m not putting that on you. But I heard what you said earlier. About things getting worse. And then I heard that—” his voice faltered slightly, frustration bleeding in. “And I can’t just ignore it.”

Your hands twisted in your lap.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you murmured.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s nothing.”

That landed.

You went quiet.

Jack leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

“I know what it’s like when your brain turns on you,” he said, voice lower now. “When everything feels heavier than it should. When you start thinking things you don’t want to think.”

Your throat tightened again.

He wasn’t guessing.

He knew.

“I also know how fast it can get worse when you’re dealing with it alone.”

You blinked hard, staring at the floor.

“I’m not alone,” you said, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

“Trinity helps,” he acknowledged. “That’s good. She’s good.”

A beat.

“But you need more than just surviving your shifts.”

That hit harder than anything else.

Your eyes burned.

Jack noticed immediately.

His voice softened.

“Hey… look at me.”

You hesitated, then did.

He wasn’t judging you.

He wasn’t angry.

He looked… scared.

Not for himself.

For you.

“I don’t need you to be okay,” he said. “Not right now. But I need you to be honest about where you are.”

Your lip trembled slightly.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “That’s the problem. I just… feel bad. All the time. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t have to fix it tonight.”

“…Feels like I should.”

“Yeah,” he huffed quietly. “It does.”

Another pause.

Then, more gently—

“Are you safe?”

The question was careful. Direct, but not overwhelming.

You swallowed.

“…Yeah.”

He held your gaze, searching for any hesitation.

“…Yeah,” you repeated, firmer this time.

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

Not gone.

Just… less sharp.

“Okay,” he said.

He shifted slightly, then—after a moment’s hesitation—reached out and rested his hand over yours.

Warm. Steady. Grounding.

“If that changes,” he said quietly, “you don’t keep it to yourself.”

Your chest tightened.

“You tell Trinity. You tell me. You tell someone.”

You nodded, blinking back tears.

“I mean it,” he added, voice firmer now. “You don’t carry that alone.”

“…Okay.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as heavy this time.

Jack exhaled slowly, like he was finally letting himself come down from something.

“You scared me,” he admitted.

Guilt twisted in your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said immediately. “Just… stay.”

That word lingered.

Stay.

Not fix everything.

Not be perfect.

Just… stay.

Your fingers curled slightly around his.

“…I’ll try.”

He nodded once.

“That’s enough.”

For now, at least.

And when Trinity found you both a few minutes later—sitting quietly, hands still loosely intertwined—she didn’t interrupt.

Just leaned against the wall nearby.

Keeping watch.

Like she always did.

[belleeebelleee]

Jack Abbot x fem!reader

You're known for being clumsy. So it's not all that surprising when you get injured at work (not the hospital) and are taken to PTMC, where your boyfriend Jack works. Unfortunately you've managed to break your ankle, rather than your usual small bruises. One problem: you don't Jack you're a patient. So when he does finally hear that you're in the ER, he gets garbled information and winds up thinking you're gravely injured.

You were used to it by now.

The stumbles. The clipped corners. The oh shit moments that ended in bruises you couldn’t quite explain without sounding like a walking disaster.

It was almost a running joke at this point.

Almost.

Because this time, it wasn’t a joke.

The pain had been instant—sharp and sickening, shooting straight up your leg the second your foot landed wrong on the uneven concrete outside your workplace. You’d heard it, too. That awful, unmistakable crack that made your stomach drop before you even hit the ground.

“Don’t move,” someone had said.

Like you could.

By the time you got to PTMC, the adrenaline had worn off just enough to let the pain really settle in.

Which was… unfortunate.

“Scale of one to ten?” the nurse asked.

“Can I say twelve?”

She gave you a sympathetic smile. “We’ll take care of you.”

You nodded, gripping the edge of the bed as they moved you, your ankle protesting with every slight shift.

Jack worked here.

That thought floated up, hazy and distant through the pain.

You considered asking someone to grab him—but then again, he was probably busy. And it wasn’t like you were dying. Just… dramatically inconvenienced.

You’d tell him later.

Yeah.

Later.

Jack heard about it the worst possible way.

Half a sentence.

Rushed.

Wrong.

“Hey—uh, Abbot—there’s a girl—came in from an accident—bad leg injury, maybe more—think it’s your—”

That was all it took.

Everything else blurred.

“What?” Jack snapped, already moving. “Who?”

“Your—your girlfriend, I think—”

His stomach dropped.

Hard.

“Where is she?”

“Trauma two, but I don’t—”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Because bad injury in the ER didn’t mean simple.

It meant blood.

It meant complications.

It meant worst-case scenarios that his brain was already filling in faster than he could stop it.

His chest felt tight—too tight—as he pushed through the double doors, eyes scanning, already expecting—

God.

Anything.

You were mid-sentence with a nurse when the curtain yanked open.

“—and then I tripped over literally nothing, which feels personal at this point—”

You stopped.

Jack stood there.

Breathing hard.

Eyes wide.

Scanning you like he couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“Hey—” you started, confused.

He crossed the room in two strides.

“Jesus—” his voice came out rough, uneven as his hands hovered over you like he didn’t know where to touch first. “What the hell happened?”

“Uh—gracefully injured myself, obviously—”

His jaw tightened, eyes flicking down your body, searching.

Your arms. Your ribs. Your head.

“Where else are you hurt?” he demanded.

“What? Nowhere, it’s just my—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, sharper than he meant to. “Don’t do that thing where you downplay it. Where else.”

You blinked at him.

“I’m not downplaying anything, Jack. It’s literally just my ankle.”

He didn’t look convinced.

His hands finally settled—one bracing lightly at your knee, the other hovering near your wrist, like he needed to feel something real.

“I heard ‘bad injury,’” he muttered. “No one said what. No one said how bad—”

His voice dipped, something strained threading through it.

“I thought—”

He didn’t finish that.

Didn’t need to.

“Oh,” you said softly, the realization hitting all at once. “Hey—no, I’m okay. I promise.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, searching like he was trying to catch you in a lie.

“I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself, can I?” he said, forcing a half-joke, but it didn’t land right.

Not with the way his chest was rising too fast.

Not with the way his grip hadn’t eased.

“I mean, I’m fine, so it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not okay.”

The words came out quick. Too quick.

Too real.

Jack dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head like he was trying to get a hold of himself.

“Not when I feel like I’m going to go batshit fucking crazy thinking you’ve hurt yourself.”

His voice did something strange at the end—tight, like it caught on something he couldn’t quite swallow down.

The room went quiet.

You stared at him.

Really looked this time.

At the tension in his shoulders.

The way his jaw was clenched like he’d been grinding his teeth the whole way here.

The way his eyes hadn’t stopped moving—checking, double-checking, making sure you were still in one piece.

“Jack…” you said softly.

He exhaled hard, like he’d been holding it in for too long.

“I thought it was worse,” he admitted, quieter now. “No one tells me anything, I hear half a sentence, and suddenly you’re in the ER and I don’t know if—”

He cut himself off again, shaking his head.

You reached for him, fingers brushing his wrist.

“I’m okay,” you said gently. “Just a broken ankle. That’s it.”

He stilled under your touch.

“Just,” he echoed, like he didn’t love that word.

“Okay, fine,” you amended slightly. “A very painful, extremely inconvenient broken ankle.”

That got a small huff of air out of him.

Barely.

But it was something.

His hand finally settled over yours, grip firm—grounding.

“Of course you break something,” he muttered. “Couldn’t just be a bruise like a normal person.”

“Hey,” you said, offended. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

That earned you a look.

A real one this time.

Tired. Relieved. Still a little shaken.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You do.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slower now.

More careful.

Like he was reminding himself you were actually here.

“You scared me,” he added, almost under his breath.

The honesty of it hit harder than anything else.

You squeezed his hand gently. “Sorry.”

He shook his head immediately. “Not your fault.”

“Debatable,” you said. “I did trip over air.”

That pulled the smallest hint of a smile from him.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That tracks.”

There was a pause.

Then his gaze flicked back down to your ankle, wrapped and already starting to swell.

“How bad?” he asked.

“Fracture. Maybe a break-break. They’re still figuring it out.”

He nodded, slipping back into something steadier now that he had facts.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll get you sorted.”

We.

You smiled a little at that.

“Yeah?”

His grip tightened slightly, just enough to be reassuring.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re not doing this one solo.”

And this time, when his eyes moved over you, it wasn’t frantic.

It was careful.

Protective.

Like he’d already decided he wasn’t letting you out of his sight anytime soon.

[therarityoflife]

Smoke Inhalation

Summary: The ‘Pittlings’, as Jack likes to refer to them as, are unaware that he is in a relationship. He likes to keep his life outside of the hospital private. After responding to a call out to a structural fire, you and your crew are bringing four patients to PTMC for treatment. Jack is on a rare day shift, and is in the hospital when you arrive. The Pittlings very quickly learn about your relationship when your captain rats you out for giving your breathing mask to a teenager and insists you get checked over for smoke inhalation.

Tags: Jack Abbot x Reader, Gender Neutral!Reader, Firefighter!Reader, (kinda) Secret Relationship, Light Angst, Fluff, The Pittlings are nosy

Word Count: 4K

A/N: So, in doing a bit of research for this fic I found out that firefighters and EMS are different services in Pittsburgh, but I really had my heart set on firefighter paramedic reader so we are going to just ignore that and pretend that firefighters to EMS runs in this universe. Also I love the Pittlings just being really nosy and wanting to know what’s going on with the firefighter who came in. I loved the idea of night shift plus Dana and Robby knowing who reader was but the Pittlings (and most of day shift) just having no idea because its never come up. (Update, I might end up getting sanctioned and taken off of universal credit because I was too busy writing Jack Abbot fanfiction and forgot a had a meeting today. Shit)

”Okay, thanks Medi-command.” Dana’s voice catches Jack’s attention. Something was coming in hot. “Structural fire over in Woods Run, three minutes out. We’ve got four incoming. Prep for possible burns and smoke inhalation.” She shouted out. Everyone around the nurses station springs into action, making sure both trauma bays are clear and that they have a couple of rooms ready for the imminent influx. Jack was on a rare day shift. Langdon had called out, his wife had come down with the flu and he needed to watch the kids, so Jack had stepped up to take on the senior role for the day. They didn’t need a second attending on shift, but with their senior resident out and you working that day Jack was happy to step up.

”Any idea who’s bringing them in?” Jack wraps his knuckles on the nurses station where he’d been leaning.

”You know they never tell us which house it is.” Dana scoffed. She knew why Jack was asking. You were a firefighter EMT, of course he would want to know if his partner would be making an appearance in the ED.

The two of you had been together for almost a year. Jack had been working a SWAT shift when you met. A hostage situation had gone bad and SWAT had been called in. The armed assailants had driven their car through the window of the building they were entering, and the thing had gone up in flames, meaning that your house had been called out to the scene as well. You and your guys had gotten the fire under control, giving SWAT the go ahead to go in, but had been told to stick around in case of any civilian injuries inside. You’d heard when the shooting started and your stomach dropped. It never did get any easier being on a call out like this. Eventually the SWAT boys came out and you went in to check over the people inside.

”Hey.” You called out from the back of your ambulance to one of the SWAT guys who was sporting an obvious bullet wound on his left arm. “Why don’t you come over here and let us check that out for you?”

”Nah. I’m good, thanks. It wasn’t a direct hit, just grazed me.” He shrugged and tried to walk off. You jogged over to him.

”Come on. Let me get you patched up.” You’d smiled up at him.

”Seriously. I’m a doctor, I’m fine.” He huffed.

”Well then, Doctor.” You drew out the word. “You should be aware that blood is supposed to be inside of the body, and not all over your shirt.” Jack couldn’t help but chuckle. “Come on, just let me put some gauze on that to stop the bleeding if nothing else. For my piece of mind.” Now that he was properly looking at you he couldn’t refuse. You were gorgeous. He huffed in resignation and sat down on the edge of the ambulance to let you bandage his arm.

”I’m Jack by the way. I didn’t get your name.” He muttered whilst you wrapped his arm to keep the gauze in place. You gave him your name.

”Well Jack. That’s the best I can do without bringing you in. Tell you what, how about you give me your number so I can check on you later if you won't get that checked out.” It was bold, Jack had to admire it. In fact he admired it enough to actually do it, and here you are now. Eleven months later and still going strong.

~~~

Robby had taken Samira, Whitaker, and Santos out to the ambulance bay for the first couple of patients. McKay, and Javadi were standing by ready to grab the next lot with a couple of med students. Jack was ready in Trauma One to switch off with Robby so that he could go straight back out to the ambulance bay and help out if needed. Jack knew what he was doing in here. He and Robby were a tight knit team. They worked to each other's strengths and covered their weaknesses. This part was down to a science.

”Twelve year old boy with severe smoke inhalation, we intubated at the scene but sats are still low.” Jack knew that voice anywhere. You were here. It was your house that responded to the call. You were still bagging steadily as you wheeled the kid into Trauma One. Jack’s breath hitched for just a second. He’d never get over the sight of you. Jesse took over bagging from you in the hand off.

”Jack.” Your captain called out, he had walked into the room behind the gurney. “This one needs checking over as well.” He nodded at you. His head snaps to look at you, eyes flitting over you to find the source of the injury. Santos and Whitaker shared a look of confusion and interest over the patient bed.

“Whitaker, why don’t you head back out and grab the next guy with Robby.” Samira cut in. Dennis just nodded and rushed back out of the bay.

“Samira I’ll be two minutes tops. I’ll be right outside, shout if you need me.” Jack held the door open and let you walk back out into the ward. “Sit.” He pointed at the stool at the nurses station. “What happened?” Dana was looking over at the three of you now.

“This idiot decided it would be a good idea to take their mask off whilst they were still inside the building.” Your captain snapped. It was gruff, a little mean, but Jack could hear the concern underneath it.

“That kid was decompensating cap!” You thrust your hand out towards the kid in Trauma One. “What was I supposed to do, let him die?”

“It’s not standard protocol.” He huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck standard protocol!”

“We’ve gotta get back out there.” Your captain sighed. Jack could tell you two had had this argument before. “They’re your problem now. Make sure they’re properly cleared before they leave.” He said to Jack. Jack just nodded.

“Hey Dana? I’ve got to get back in there, can you start a chart and make sure they stay on that stool until I get back” Jack spoke to Dana but his eyes never left yours. He raised an eyebrow at you, as if daring you to try and get up. You knew you couldn’t go anywhere.

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll put them in a room for ya.”

~~~

Santos was dying to know what the story was between Dr Abbot and the fire crew that had come in. She’d never seen them before, it wasn’t very often they got medic runs from the fire department, and as much as she would deny it she was certainly nosy. Whitaker had picked up on it as well, they had given each other a look over the gurney before he’d been rushed out of the room to go and help with the next patient.

”So what’s the story with Abbot and the firefighters?” She asked Samira as they rushed around administering oxygen and checking over burns. Samira was known to work night shifts, if anybody here knew it would be her.

”Focus on the patient Dr Santos.” She chided. Santos wasn’t aware that Samira did in fact know Jack’s partner. They’d met on a night shift when you had come into the ED with leftover cookies an old lady had dropped off at the firehouse.

”How’re we looking?” Jack swanned back into the room, donning gloves and coming up beside Samira.

”Administering high flow oxygen to offset the smoke inhalation, sats are stabilising. Looks like partial thickness burns on both arms and the lower left leg. They don’t look too nasty though they’ll need debreying and cleaning, but we shouldn’t need to get plastics down here. About to put orders in for bloods to check ABG’s and we’ll need to do a carboxyhemoglobin test to rule out carbon monoxide poisoning." Samira reeled off. Santos couldn’t help but watch Abbot. She wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery.

”Hey, Dr Abbot-” Santos started before being cut off.

”Okay. Good work. If you’re both okay in here, I’m gonna check McKay next door.” Jack left through the double doors connecting the two trauma bays to each other.

Outside, in the central area, you were still sitting at the nurses station. You’d discarded your over jacket, leaving you in just your uniform T-shirt and pants. You felt lighter without the heavy fire retardant material of the jacket on. Your chest was sore and you had to stifle a cough every few seconds. Dana was watching you with eagle eyes over the top of her computer screen. You knew this would all be getting back to Jack. The incoming lecture was not something you were looking forward to.

”Mel.” Dana’s voice rang out across the ED. You swiveled your head around and saw a blonde doctor stop in her tracks. “Take our firefighter friend over here and get them set up in south 15 and start a chart. Dr Abbot will be over in a couple minutes to take over.”

”Oh, I’m sure I can handle it on my own if-“ The doctor, Mel, rambled before Dana cut her off.

”No need. Abbot will want to take this one.” She gave you a pointed look and you huffed from where you were sitting, legs stretched out in front of you.

”This really isn't necessary Dana.” You sigh, but resign yourself to standing up anyway.

”Yeah, keep talking, bright spark and I’ll let Jack know how you’ve been coughing and spluttering for the past three minutes.” She smirked.

”You’re evil.”

”Just doing my job.” She shrugged trying to hide the smile on her face. You caught pace with Mel who was walking you towards south 15.

”Okay, I’m Dr King, I’ll just take a quick history from you whilst we wait for Dr Abbot.” Mel spoke as you walked into the room. “Sorry, can I ask how you know Dana and Dr Abbot?” She asked as you got yourself situated on the bed.

”It’s a long story.” You smirked, laying your head back on the pillow.

Jack was in Trauma 2 with McKay and Javadi, their patient had come out worse for wear than the boy in Trauma 1. The woman on the bed in front of them had some serious full thickness burns on her neck and upper arm. Robby poked his head through the doors.

”How are we doing in here?” He asked Jack.

”We’re getting there. Plastics’ll want to come down and look at some of these burns, but we’ve got a handle on it for now.” Jack told him. “She’s about to go up for a chest x-ray.”

”Good.” Robby nodded. “Hey, I saw it was the 38 who brought them in. Are they heading straight back back or sticking around for a little bit?” Javadi looked between the two attendants as they spoke. They both seemed awfully familiar with this firehouse, and from the inflection in Robby’s voice it was obvious to her that there was some sort of underlying question there.

”They’re heading back out, but someone has been ordered to stay put because they decided to take their mask off inside a burning building to give it to a kid.”

”Ah.” He quipped. “You want me to start a chart for you?” Javadi found it was getting increasingly more difficult to focus on her patient. Whatever was happening here between Robby and Abbot and this mysterious someone was way more interesting.

”No. Dana’s got a handle on it. You can find out what room they’re in though. Just pop in and tell them I’ll be through in a minute.” Jack shrugged. Oh this was getting juicy.

”Yeah of course man. Gives me an excuse to go say hi.” Jack just chuckled at that.

”Javadi focus.” McKay spoke and that pulled her attention back down to the patient.

”Let me know when that chest x-ray comes back.” Jack called out before he was leaving the room. Now it was just Javadi and McKay in the room once again.

”Hey, what was that about?” She grinned at McKay.

”No idea.” McKay drawled out, putting her orders into the portable computer.

”But you agree it was weird right? Like what’s the deal with this specific fire house?” McKay just sighed and tipped her forehead forward.

”I don’t know Victoria. Honestly it wouldn’t surprise me if Abbot was a volunteer firefighter on the side. He doesn’t really strike me as the kind of guy who likes to stand still for very long.” And just like that she was walking back out of the Trauma room to go and check on her other patients. Javadi just couldn’t shake the inflection on that someone. No, there was definitely more to it.

~~~

“That’s what I said!” You laughed at Robby as Jack entered south 15. You were sprawled out on the bed, one foot propped up and you hand behind your head, like you owned the place. “Hi gorgeous.” Your voice softened when you saw Jack.

“I will leave you to it.” Robby clapped Jack on the back as he headed for the door. He paused in the doorway. “I’ll pop in again later when my shift ends.” He nodded to you before walking away.

”You need to put that mask back on.” Jack stood in front of you, arms crossed. Mel had put you on a high flow oxygen mask before she’d left.

”I will. I only took it off so that I could talk.” You smiled, Jack wasn’t smiling.

”No, you need to keep it on. The oxygen will help clear the smoke out of your lungs.”

”Yeah, Jack. I know.” You roll your eyes, still holding the mask in your hand instead of putting it over your face.

”Exactly! You of all people should know how stupid it was to take your breather off out there. Do you have any idea the amount of damage you could have done-“

”Oh, so that's what this is about!” Your voice raised. “Do you seriously think I was going to let that kid die in my arms? It was two minutes, tops.”

”I know you’re not stupid so I won’t remind you what damage can actually be done in two minutes.” His voice was low, dangerous. You’d never seen Jack this angry before. “But I do think that you were being reckless and that it was a stupid thing to do regardless.”

”Yeah, well that's rich coming from the guy who enjoys getting shot at on his days off.” You smack the oxygen mask back to your face and give him a pointed look, ending the conversation. Jack walked over to the portable computer and pulled up your chart.

”I want you to go and get a chest x-ray done. I’m going to have a nurse come in and draw up bloods for an ABG and a carboxyhemoglobin panel, and then we are going to reevaluate and see if I need to swap you to a nebulizer. I don’t like the sound of that cough.” His voice was neutral, professional. It was almost worse than the shouting. “You’re going to stay in overnight so we can monitor your respiratory levels and make sure there is no delayed airway swelling. We will also be continuing this conversation later.”

”Whatever you say doctor.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

~~~

Over at the nurses station Santos, Whitaker, Javadi, and Mel were all busy charting. There was less than an hour left of their shift and they had all been relegated to charting jail, as they liked to call it, since their patients were all stable and only needed monitoring.

”Sooo.” Whitaker turned his attention towards Santos. “Did anything else happen with Abbot and that firefighter after I left?” He asked her.

”What firefighter?” Javadi’s head popped up from the screen she'd been looking at.

”One of the firefighters that came in seemed to be awfully chummy with Dr Abbot. Even their captain seemed to know him. Practically dumped them on him saying they needed to stay here and get checked over.” Santos explained. “But to answer your question, Huckleberry, no. Abbot took them both back out to the nurses station so I didn’t get to see anything else.”

”Damn. I’m really curious now.” Whitaker sighed.

”Dana asked me to start a chart on them. They also seemed friendly with her. Maybe the ED just used to get more firefighter runs than it does now. If they used to come in more often it would explain why they both seem to know them.” Mel shrugged, inserting themselves into the conversation.

”That makes sense actually. Robby sounded like he knew them as well. He told Dr Abbot that he would pop in and say hi.” Javadi nodded. The charting in front of them had been long forgotten now. They were never going to finish it before their shift ended regardless, and this conversation was a lot more fun.

”Wait, hang on. Mel, you started a chart on them?” Santos backtracked to what Mel had said.

”Yeah, Dana asked me to go put them in south 15.” They all looked over at the room that was directly behind them. The curtains were closed so they couldn’t see inside. Still it piqued their interest.

”And then what? Did you get anything out of them?” She sighed.

”Not much. I asked how they knew Dana and Dr Abbot, but they just told me that ‘it was a long story’.” Santos just groaned.

”You don’t think Dr Abbot is in a relationship do you?” Whitaker asked.

”That guy? Nah. There is only one type of person who at 50 voluntarily takes on the night shift and then spends their free time moonlighting for a SWAT team. Lonely single men.” Santos scoffed.

”McKay said he might be volunteering with the firefighters. It would make sense that he’d know the crew if he picks up shifts there.” Javadi shrugged.

”SWAT and firefighting? I think that would be a new record for levels of sad.” Santos scoffed.

”Well then maybe they’re siblings.” Whitaker offered. “Or, maybe, they really are just old friends.”

”Oh but where’s the fun in that?”

~~~

7pm rolled around and the night shift began to filter in and take over from the day. Jack was going to pull a double shift. He’d been planning to anyway since you’re shifts are 24 hours, but now that you were staying overnight in the hospital there was no way he could go home now. Especially since your last conversation had ended the way it had. He felt awful about it. Jack hadn’t meant to get so frustrated with you. You were both hotheaded and he knew you both needed the time to cool off so he gave it until the end of the day shift before he thought about going and seeing you again.

”Hey, we heard what happened earlier.” Parker came to stand next to him at the nurses station as he checked over the board. What happened earlier being that you had come in earlier, and that you were currently sitting around in a patient room. “I also hear you’re pulling a double. Shen and I can manage the floor for a couple of hours if you want to grab a nap for a bit.” The look she gave him gave way to his underlying message. ‘If you want to have a nap with your partner who is currently a patient.’ But that went unsaid. Jack just sighed.

”Yeah. No, I might.” He pushed off the worktop. He did need to speak to you again. Enough time had passed for you to have both chilled out, and Jack wanted to apologize for getting angry at you. Now was as good a time as ever.

“Hey.” He smiled as he entered your room, closing the curtain behind him. You raised an eyebrow at him. “I come bearing a white flag.” He held his hands up in defeat.

”Not here to call me stupid again?” You glare at him as he sits on the stool by your bed.

”No.” Jack picks up your hand from where it was resting on the bed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. You just really fucking scared me. I love it when you come in here and I get to see you whilst I’m at work, I don’t love it so much when you’re in here as a patient for something completely preventable.” He sighed.

”Jack, I wasn't going to let that kid die.”

”I know. I know you weren’t, and that's one of the things I love about you. I also can’t be mad at you for it, reckless as it was, because I know that I would have done the same thing.”

”Exactly. You would have, which is why I was getting so annoyed at you.”

”Yeah. I wasn’t really thinking about that. I was thinking about you, and all the things that could go wrong. Smoke inhalation is really fucking dangerous. D’you know how many people we treat, and how many of them die?”

”You think I don’t?” You counter, there’s no malice behind it this time though.

”Yeah. Sorry I know. You probably know that better than I do. I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

”Come here you big sap.” You chuckle and shift over on the bed, patting it as an invitation for him to join. “You’ve been on that leg all day, your knee must be killing.”

You and Jack lay huddled together on the hospital bed, your head on his chest and his arm around you.

”Your sats are looking better by the way.” He mumbles into your hair.

”Yeah?” You glance up at the screen by your bed.

”Yeah, the nebulizer did a lot of work to reopen your airways, and your chest x-ray came back clear.” He’s tracing patterns up and down your side as he speaks.

”Does that mean I get to go home now?”

”No. You still have to stay overnight for observation. But, I’m doing a double tonight so I get to keep you company until I can discharge you.”

”Oh do you now?” You chuckle, looking up at him.

”Yeah, I do.” Jack smiled as he lent down to kiss you.

At that exact moment one of the nurses opened the door to your room and threw back the curtain, exposing the pair of you to the world outside. From outside the door Jack heard a wolf whistle.

”Damn Dr Abbot.” The sound of Trinity Santos filtered through the now open door. Jack removed his mouth from yours and looked out through the now open door.

”Santos.” He quirked an eyebrow at the R2 sitting at the nurses station, charting presumably. “Is there something you would like to say?”

”Nothing.” She frowned, then as though she were trying to say it beneath her breath but failed spectacularly. “I just didn’t know you were banging the hot firefighter.” Jack could see the shit eating grin starting to form as she turned back to the rest of the ‘pittlings’. The nurse in the room at least had the grace to pretend to look apologetic as she pulled the curtain back across.

”This is what happens when you come in here.” Jack groaned, pressing his forehead against yours.

”What did I do?” You scoffed.

”They’re never going to take me seriously now. You’re ruining my street cred with these kids.” You couldn’t help but laugh at your pouting boyfriend.

”Darling, you never had any ‘street cred’ to begin with.”

[batslovebite]

Stubborn

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader

Summary: Your husband gets worried when he gets a call that you're in his ED (wc 1.5k)

A/N: Little blurb cause this man has taken over my mind. The stronghold Shawn Hatosy has on me.

“Alright miss-” She stops mid sentence when she pulls back the curtain of the room looking up from her chart. You can tell she’s disappointed.

“I swear if that chart says GSW- It’s a graze that's not even that bad.” You say sitting on the bed.

“Yeah it says GSW. I was wondering why you wouldn't be in a trauma room,” She puts hand under the hand sanitizer dispenser, “thought it would be more interesting.” She puts on gloves to start looking at your arm. You already have your shirt off leaving you in just a tank top to give the doctor better access to, what you would consider, a very small graze that you would argue doesn’t even warrant a hospital visit.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” You quip back at her. You’re finally able to get a glance at her badge, Dr. Santos. 

“How did you get this?” The bleeding already stopped a while ago before you got to the hospital. She starts to take the dressing you put on it off. You wince a little at the contact. She says sorry under her breath.

“Occupational hazard.” She quirks her eyebrows up, unsatisfied at your response. “I’m a CSI and I was training a new technician, when the idiots thought it would be a good idea to come back to make sure the job was done. They didn’t realize that the cops had already been called and were there. Anyways guess they got nervous and decided the best course of action was a shoot out. Made sure to cover my new tech and got grazed in doing so.” She swabbed the wound to send for testing, being more careful than she was initially. “I didn’t want to even come here but since it’s work related I was forced too.”

“It doesn’t look bad, I’ll send a sample for cultures just to be sure, clean and dress it for you.” She replies.

“Where is she?!?” You can hear your husband’s voice through the thin curtain. You can only assume Dana points him in your direction cause you can hear him stomp towards your bed. You’re bracing for impact cause you already know he’s upset. He tears the curtain open to see you on the bed with Santos sitting at your side.

“What happened? Are you okay?” His body relaxes a little when he can process that you're fine, but you can tell he’s still on edge.

“Dr. Abbot,” Santos stands up stiff as a board.

“What happened.” He repeats himself, still staring at you waiting for an answer.

“It’s nothing, a little graze that’s barely there.” You’re trying to comfort him…it’s not helping a lot. 

“Why did I get a call from the hospital that my wife had a bullet graze and not from you?” You can hear that he’s upset by his voice, his eyes never leaving you. 

“Wait, wife?” Santos asks, “but the last name…”

“It’s hyphenated, I use my maiden name for legal and work.” You explain.

Jack finally moves towards you once he decides that you look well enough. He glances at the wound and can tell that you were right, it’s not bad. He’s at your other side looking down at you, still checking over your face to see if he missed anything.

“She’s stubborn,” he adds, “why didn’t you call me? I freaked out when Dana told me what happened. Broke a few traffic laws getting here.” He’s quieter now and worry still lacing his voice. His hand goes up to touch your face, making sure you’re still here with him. Reassuring himself that you’re okay. You lean into his touch. He’s always so warm.

“I’m fine Jack,” you move your hand to cover his on your face, “I didn’t want to worry you, and they pushed me into a squad car before I even realized it, left my phone in my jacket at the scene.” You take his hand off your face and just hold it in your lap.

“I know how much you hate those cars.” His other hand goes to tuck a piece of your behind your ear. He’s moving like you're made of glass. “But really how did you get shot?”

“I wasn’t shot, I was grazed.” You correct him. “Apperently the cops don’t know how to close a scene correctly. Perp came back, saw cops and started firing.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the stupidity of what should have never happened. 

He finally takes his eyes off of you and looks over at Santos. “Did you send for culture test?” He’s sterner when he talks to her. You feel bad that she was the one that got stuck with you. Having one of your patients being your attending’s wife can’t be easy. 

“Yes. I was just about to start cleaning and dressing it.” You can tell this situation makes her a little nervous.

“Jack, she’s done everything correct, don’t scare her.” His eyes softening when he looks back at you. His stubble is a little longer than usual, and his curls are unruly. He probably jumped out of bed and rushed to his truck as soon as he got the call. He’s wearing a shirt you know was on top of the laundry hamper. 

“Just double checking.” At his words Santos goes to clean and dress the wound, very diligently you note. 

Jack stays at your side the entire time, hand still in your lap. He squeezes your hand anytime you wince, checking in on you to make sure you’re okay. His eyes are tired from lack of sleep but the look on his face is pure adoration for you. You pull him a little closer so you can lean your head on his broad, sturdy chest. You want to suck all his warmth out of him due to the chill in the ED, and knowing him, he’d let you. 

“I was scared.” Jack whispers to you.

“How do you think I feel when you go out with the SWAT team? This is a once in a blue moon for me, it feels like you’re always getting shot at.” You crane your neck so you can look at him while you say that.

“So is date night just dodging bullets for you guys?” Santos says as she’s finishing up.

You and Jack both huff out a laugh. “No, he’s a little more romantic than that.” You reply.

“A little?” Jack pushes away a little to look at you and raises his eyebrows. “If I remember correctly, you bragged to your friends about ‘how romantic’ my proposal was.” He has a smirk on his face at the fact.

“I should have never told you that, it went to your head.” You roll your eyes and pull him back closer to you. 

“Yeah but you did.” He kisses your head as he says it. He is one of the most romantic people you know when he tries. You love that about him, how thoughtful he is and how he really sees you. He knows you inside and out. He makes the most mundane parts of life exciting just by being there with you. He’s made you the happiest woman in the world and he knows it. You never miss an opportunity to let him know.

“Okay I’m going to get discharge notes and instructions but I’m sure you don’t need them.” Santos says and she starts to walk out of the room. 

“I like her.” You say once she’s out of the room and you start to put your other shirt back on. 

Jack steps back a little to give you room to do so. “Santos? She’s one of Robby’s, haven’t been around her too much. He says she’s good though.” 

You start to stand up when Jack puts his hand out for you to use to help you up. Once you’re standing next to him, you give him a quick peck on the lips. You step back a little after, but not for long. Jack is quick to grab you by the waist and pull you in for a hug. You instinctively wrap your arms around him and melt into his warmth. His other hand goes up to cradle your head, as he puts his head right in the crevice of your neck. 

“I love you. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Jack mutters into your neck. 

“No promises.” He pinches your side when you say that. 

“HEY!” You yelp out barely moving due to his grip on you. “I promise to call next time.” You concede.

“I’ll take what I can get.” He replies right before giving you a little kiss on your neck.

…

Trinity walks up to Whitaker at the hub so she can start writing up the discharge notes. “Did you know Dr. Abbot is married?” She asks him.

“Umm, yeah I think so? He wears a wedding ring right?” 

“Guess I never noticed,” she hums out, “his wife was just one of my patients. You should see the rock on her hand.”

[mariposium]

❀ : THE ABBOT EFFECT — jack abbot

summary — your boyfriend has a way about him that draws women in like bees to honey. it’s never bothered you before, but after a bad shift and an ill-timed bet, you are quickly reaching the limit of what you can handle. (5.4k)

featured — dr. jack abbot / fem!reader, dr. parker ellis, ahmad zidan, mateo diaz, lena handzo, dr. samira mohan (mentioned)

content — no spoilers for s1 or 2, heavy FLUFF v light angst, jealous!reader, jack is obsessed w you, established relationship but you and jack are keeping it a secret, ahmad's betting pool, prob some medical inaccuracies, he calls you love, there’s a made up nurse named julia in this im sorry if your name is julia

(cross-posted on ao3)

9:30p.m.

You can tell from the way she’s looking at him that she’s already under his spell.

You call it the Abbot Effect. All the silver fox has to do is breathe the right way toward a woman and they’re already planning their nuptials.

It’s not like Jack doesn’t make it worse with his sweet smiles, charismatic jokes, and his genuine compliments to anyone who cares enough to listen. When you first witnessed it as a young third year resident you’d thought it was actual attraction. You quickly learned, though, it’s just his personality.

So that’s why you don’t even blink when you notice him leaning across the counter talking to a pediatrics nurse from upstairs, his pearly teeth glittering beneath the fluorescent lights as he lets out a soft laugh. He looks unfairly handsome, especially at this time of night. His dark scrubs fit him a touch too well, and it is a bit hard for you to focus when he moves in your peripheral because your eyes are drawn to the fabric stretching around his forearms. You’ve definitely reached crazy girlfriend status, you think, standing just feet away, trying to look focused on the empty patient chart in front of you but quietly listening into their conversation.

The nurse from pedes lets out a high-pitched, nasally laugh at that very moment and you swear your ears are ringing from the assault. You bring your eyes up to see if you could figure out what was so funny, but her hand’s on his forearm and you suddenly feel dizzyingly sick.

Jack is a good attending, there’s no doubt about that. You started working for him a year ago. He would casually flirt with you in a way that he didn’t with other women. The path to dating followed after that quickly. Soon, you and Jack were spending almost every hour outside of work together. When things got serious–and they did, quickly–some ground rules had to be set.

A year ago, you thought that keeping your relationship a secret would be the best option for you. You thought that it would alleviate any issues involved with HR or people thinking you had slept your way through your residency. You were beginning to think, though, that you would rather have the rumors over having to watch every woman within a quarter mile flock to him.

“If you stare any harder, your eyes might pop out of your skull.”

You flinch when Dr. Parker Ellis’s voice interrupts your train of thought. You turn around to see the woman standing behind you, smacking a piece of gum in her mouth.

“What are you, a ninja? I thought you were with a patient?”  

“I was with a patient,” she replies with a mischievous smile, “but as I was leaving, I couldn’t help wondering why you weren’t with one”--she lowers her voice conspiratorially–“could it have something to do with the new pedes nurse hanging out with Dr. Abbot?”

You wrinkle your nose in your best attempt at seeming disgusted by the notion. “I’ve told you before…” you chide the woman, “I’m not into Jack.”

“Sureee,” Dr. Ellis says. “That’s why you’re hiding behind that empty chart in the middle of rush hour. Because you don’t like Abbot.”

“Maybe I’m actually trying to get work done,” you tell her, “like, maybe it’s actually good I’m not playing around when I should be working.”

Dr. Ellis smirks like she knows something you don’t. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone this far in denial before.”

You roll your eyes at your friend’s comment. Dr. Ellis seems amused by your irritation and that only makes you more annoyed.

She looks like she’s going to say something else, but then her eyes get caught at something behind you. She ducks her head down as if trying to seem busy and her lips barely move as she mumbles: “incoming.”

“--And here are some of my wonderful residents.” 

You turn your head so fast toward the voice that you worry you’ve gotten whiplash. You immediately cringe at your overenthusiasm when you remember you’re trying to play it coy. Jack and the nurse stand there, wearing near-identical smiles on their faces.

Jack’s eyes linger on you for a moment too long. They soften and trail down your face. You clench your tablet so hard you’re afraid it will crack under the pressure.

Ellis shoots a nonchalant nod toward them. You just smile, hoping it doesn’t come across as robotically as you think it does.

Jack grins proudly as he gestures to you both. “Julia, meet Dr. Ellis and—“

“Hey, sorry, I’ve got a patient I have to check on,” you interrupt with your best attempt at a pleasant smile, “nice to meet you, though, Jackie.”

The new nurse frowns. “It’s Julia.”

You look over at your boyfriend, who stares at you like you’ve got two heads. You grit your teeth and give the nurse a closed-mouth smile before you duck your head and step away.

Good job playing it cool, you think to yourself as you head toward Central 11. Why are you such a bitch? It’s not Nurse Jolene’s fault Jack is so… himself. 

“Hey, wait up—“ Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

You stop and look back at Jack as he lightly jogs toward you. Behind him, Nurse Joy looks around confusedly, probably wondering what soap opera she’d mistakenly stumbled into.

“I was just about to see how my scarlet fever patient is doing,” you tell him even though you know that is not why he stopped you. Perhaps a small part of you hoped that was what he’d ask.

“What was that back there?” Jack says, his light eyes sweeping over your face as if trying to read it like a book. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine… how are you doing?” 

“Fine…” he trails off, eyebrows furrowed. You notice, peculiarly, that his eyes seem wider than normal. They dart in between the two of yours like a tennis ball jumping a net.

“Well I’m glad that’s settled.” You turn to walk away when he doesn’t immediately say anything else. “And if that’s all you needed…”

He grabs your arm before you can turn your back and turn tail, and you jolt at the pressure. When he’s got your attention, he immediately lets go. You automatically look to see if anyone noticed the transgression, swallowing nervously.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I just… I want to make sure you’re okay.”

You feel yourself soften at the admission. You step closer, but not too close in fear someone might think it improper. You offer him a smile.

“I should be the one that’s sorry,” you say, “I’m just a little on-edge, that's all.” You decide not to tell him that when you saw that nurse put her hand on his arm, you had wanted to kiss him in front of the entire ER staff. Now is not the time for grand admissions like that.

Jack looks relieved. A quick smile flits across his face. “Well, the ER will do that to you.”

“You would think four years in, I’d be used to it,” your words are closely followed by a small laugh. 

“Sorry to say, love, but it never gets easier,” he says with a coy grin and your chest flutters at the nickname, “unless you somehow figure out how to turn your empathy off.”

“I hope I never do that.”

There’s a lapse in conversation for a moment too long. You furrow your brows when you notice him looking at you, studying you like you’re a puzzle. 

You touch your hair subconsciously. “Something wrong?” 

His response is immediate. “No, no, there never is with you,” he says. He leans forward and his voice lowers. “I just can’t get over how fucking hot you are.”

“Jack,” you groan. Despite your attempt at pretending to be annoyed, a small smile pulls at your lips.

“There’s something about you in your scrubs and work mode that really gets me going,” he tells you. “All studious and shit.”

“--I’m leaving,” you say, turning your back. A smile lingers on your lips as you turn away. “Bye, Jack.”

“Bye, love,” he says just loud enough for you to hear as you step away. “Have a good shift.”

12:00a.m.

You think the signs that your shift is about to go from bad to worse lies in the empty coffee maker in the break room. 

No good shift starts with an empty coffee maker. It’s just one of those superstitions that you believe in that inevitably and inexplicably ends up coming true. Tonight is no exception. 

Your scarlet fever patient barfed all over your scrubs when you shined your light down her throat. She’s only five, so you just have to force a smile and try not to combust. Right after you change your scrubs, an emergency comes in that you have to jump on. It's a stabbing victim. You can’t resectate her. You’re there when Shen tells her parents. Their cries ring in your ears for an hour afterward. Another young kid comes in with a nose bleed that turns into hemorrhaging that you have to seal up–unfortunately, blood gets all over your arms and you have to clean all that off and get tested for Hep B, C, and HIV. 

An hour later, you’re clued into the bet.

You’ve just gotten the blood cleaned off, a bandage wrapped around the crook of your elbow where the nurse had drawn your blood. You’re shuffling from room to room, staying on top of patient charts on your quick breaks and updating diagnosis and treatment plans. 

You let out a heavy sigh when you feel the back of your neck begin to cramp, the telltale signs of overwork pulling at your muscles. 

It’s safe to say that the very last thing you need to hear is what you do next.

You bump into the security guard on shift, Ahmad, when you’re walking. You immediately apologise, but he just shrugs. 

“I didn’t know you were on the night shift tonight,” you say to him.

He shrugs. “Yeah, been trying to get some extra hours.”

You give him a pat on the arm. “Just make sure not to overwork yourself, okay? I’d hate to have you end up as a patient.”

“Okay, mom,” Ahmad laughs. “Maybe you should take your own advice sometime, huh?”

You hadn’t realized your overtime had been noticed by anyone other than Jack, who always complained about your absences. You offer a smile and go to walk around him when you notice him going to say something else.

“Have you gotten in on it yet?” he asks. He gestures to a whiteboard in his little office behind him, a teasing grin pulling at his lips.

You can’t help the reciprocal delight that comes across your face. Ahmad’s gambling pools have been a thing since you first started as a resident at PTMC. They weren’t often, but whenever they started up you were always happy to participate. It provided a fun distraction to an extremely bleak work environment.

“What’s it about?” You suddenly grin as you remember something you saw on the way into work that morning. “Oh, is it about what caused that powerline to fall outside the park?”

“Nah,” Ahmad tells you, “it’s about Abbot.”

You freeze. You hug your tablet to your chest in an attempt to keep your hands from fidgeting. Abbot? What could that be about? Do they know…

“Abbot?” you echo. You put on your best attempt at a genuine smile. “What’s he done now?”

“It’s not so much what he’s done, as what he might do,” Ahmad says. You cock a curious brow. “We’re betting on what woman in the PTMC will ask him out first.”

Your blood runs cold. You try to force yourself to smile, but you think it might come off as a grimace instead. You caused this, you try to tell yourself, you were the one that made it a secret.

“Surely there aren’t that many women to list.”

“Eh, you’d probably be surprised,” Ahmad continues, “we have at least twelve right now. People keep adding candidates.”

Twelve. Twelve women that people in this ER think would make a better partner to Abbot. You tug at your stethoscope and your eyes subconsciously dart to your feet. You don’t want to know more, you don’t think you can take more, but Ahmad continues.

“I think most people are voting for Dr. Mohan, but there have been quite a few for… hey, you okay?”

You hadn’t realized your eyes had gotten foggy with tears. You force a smile on your face.

“Sorry, uh, I’m not going to participate,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, “it’s not like I have a bunch of extra cash laying around.” (That part is technically true, but it’s definitely not the reason you’re crying.)

Ahmad continues to look at you like he knows you’re hiding something. He doesn’t press on it, and he nods slowly. You take that as permission enough to leave.

You weave around Ahmad and pretend you don’t feel his eyes staring holes into the back of your head as you do. Nurses and doctors move around you like schools of fish navigating deep oceanic waters, and you’re a shark that they automatically go to avoid. You set your expression as you head over to Ahmad’s office. You glance up and down the busy hallways before you stop completely, peering in through the slats of the blinds to the board.

You see the names Doctor Mohan, Nurse Julia, Doctor Al-Hashimi–it goes on. Your name is the very last addition. There’s only a few dollars under you. Your heart sinks and you feel disappointment roll over you like a tidal wave.

You mull in the feeling for a moment too long, then you force it away. You remind yourself that at the end of the day, you were the one that asked for this. Jack has no role to play in your own self-imposed misery. You, and only you, had been the one afraid of what others might think. You made your bed, now you have to sleep in it.

You don’t want to face this fact, so you instead open up your tablet to check for any new updates on your patients. 

4:00a.m.

You stare at the red numbers flashing on the microwave in front of you with bleary eyes. It lets out a high pitched chiiiirp when the meal you’d packed is done being reheated. You grab the container and take a seat near the back of the breakroom. 

You put your forehead into your hand and begin to fork through the food you’d packed with a heavy sigh. 

The scarlet fever patient was in the ICU now. Her fever had spiked and after the emergency ice bath, she still hadn’t fully woken up from it despite her temperature being lower. A teenage boy had been shot in the shoulder and had waited an hour before coming in. He ended up being fine, but it was so stressful your hands still trembled for thirty minutes after. An older woman woke up with chest pain and rushed to the hospital. She died on your emergency table.

You force another bite of your food into your mouth.

Suddenly, the door to the breakroom opens and Jack waltzes in with that same nurse–Julia–-on his heels. You stab a piece of food particularly hard with your plastic fork at the sight.

“Isn’t that crazy? I mean, I wonder what it is that is making people think we’d be good together,” she says, a huge smile pulling at her lips. 

Jack looks over at you immediately as he walks in. You meet his eyes and flinch at the concern on his face. He twists his lips and turns to pull his lunch out of the fridge. You had packed it for him. Jack always insisted you didn’t have to, but you liked doing it, so you always did. 

“I think the whole thing is silly,” he tells her. She doesn’t get the hint he’s giving her and lets out another giggle.

You know what they’re talking about–it has to be the betting board. You had checked it at least three times over the past hour. Pure curiosity, of course. It’s not like you were secretly a masochist or anything.

The last you’d checked, Julia’s pool had officially surpassed the lead’s. Yours still hovered around the same amount. A part of you had wanted to put some money down on your name just to get in the running, but you thought it’d probably look weird to see you betting on yourself.

Instead of taking a seat at the other table, Jack walks over to you. “Hey, got room here?”

You look over at Julia and cock a brow. You shrug a shoulder lazily. “Sure, I’m just about to wrap up.”

They take the seats across from you, and you shoot a small smile toward your boyfriend. He rolls his eyes and gestures slyly to Julia, who’s currently discussing all the cases she’s had today to nobody but herself. You laugh under your breath at his annoyance. Knowing Julia now, you wonder if the ER staff’s hypothesis that pedes makes you go crazy was true after all.

He pops open his lunch and you notice him pick up the note you’d carefully written. He smiles lovingly down at it, stroking the creases from where it had been folded. You bite your lip to hide your smile and look down at your food.

“Who’s that from?”

Julia reminds you of her presence by asking the question. You flinch and your eyes shoot up to look at her. She’s staring at the note in Jack’s hands with furrowed brows. 

You stop eating mid chew, staring at Jack’s reaction. He hesitates, eyes darting up to meet yours. His lips part, then close, then part again. Julia looks between the two of you confusedly, jealously. The anger at her audacity to feel jealousy roars up out of you before you can control it.

“It’s from me.”

Jack’s eyes widen to an almost comical size. Julia’s mouth drops open.

“You two are…?”

“Yep,” you supply, standing up from the table with a sharp jolt. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself. Oh, and if you could, please stop flirting with my boyfriend.”

Julia nods slowly. 

You grab your lunch and dump the rest into the trash. As you put the empty container back in the fridge, you hear him standing, giving apologies to Julia about your behavior before slipping up behind you. You notice Julia leaving the break room as you turn around.

“I need to go,” you say, trying to weave around him.

He just steps in front of you. His arms are crossed in that delightfully sinful way he knows you like, a cocky grin on his face.

“So was I going to be told we are telling people about our relationship now or…?”

You look up at Jack and try to smile but it just feels as stretched thin as you do. You notice him deflate when you pinch your nose bridge in between your fingers.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, “I should have told you. It was more of an in-the-moment type of thing.”

“You got jealous, didn’t you?” he continues grinning at you like he’s won the lottery. He stretches his hand out to softly stroke your upper arm. You feel your skin tingle where he touches.

“I mean, what girl wouldn’t, seeing her boyfriend get treated like a piece of meat all day?” you scoff, frustration flaring up with your words but falling away with the gentle strokes on your arm. “I think I should be rewarded for lasting as long as I have.”

He tilts his head. “Really?” a grin pulls at his lips. “How would you like to be rewarded, love?” A mischievous flirtation pulls at his words, his strokes now leaving hot imprints on your skin.

You duck your head, a smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. “Jack.”

He lets out a laugh and pulls his hand away. You mourn the touch the second it leaves your skin.

“I still think we should wait,” you tell him softly, “at least until the shift is over. Anything that comes after that can be handled, but I don’t need to have any more distractions today. It’s been bad enough having to see Joanna hanging off your arm all day.”

“Julia,” Jack corrects. You shoot him a faux glare. He chuckles. 

“Well, it might be hard…” Jack says, “I mean, I’ve already waited 12 months to tell people you’re mine.”

You pat his arm unsympathetically. “Well, that means you can wait a few more hours, can’t you?”

“You’re really going to make me put up with those flirty EMTs the rest of the night,” Jack deadpans.

“I’m sorry?” you really don’t know what he’s talking about.

“Being in a secret relationship works both ways, love,” he tells you, walking backwards to the door, “you have to be jealous about nurses, I have to be jealous about hot first responders. We both got it bad.”

6:45a.m.

“Waaait, where aaam I?” the young, blonde, completely shitface-drunk college girl asks, her eyes wide and bloodshot to all Hell.

“You are in a H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L, hospital. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center,” Nurse Mateo says from where he adjusts the blood pressure cuff on her forearm.

You stifle a laugh. Sure, Mateo’s a bit grumpy with the girl, but she had tried to throw a chair at him when she was first admitted. She missed by about two feet, but the intent was there enough that Ahmad insisted on putting a pair of handcuffs around one of her wrists to her bed.

The girl just frowns. “Why’m in a h-o-sss…”

You lean over and pull up one of her eyelids, flashing your pin light into her left eye. It retracts normally, but she hisses like a vampire and pulls away with all her strength.

“You fell and hit your head,” you tell her, “almost got run over by a car. You’re lucky some friendly samaritans stopped to help you.”

She doesn’t reply. She stares at something over your shoulder. You take her distraction as an opportunity to look closely at the cut along her hairline. 

It’s got quite a bit of dirt and gravel in it, and is certainly deep enough to require stitches. 

“Well, hon, I know you’re drunk out of your mind right now, but I'm still going to let you know what we have to do,” you tell her, trying to get her to meet your eyes, “we are going to have to clean and put some stitches in that laceration on your head so it doesn’t get infected.”

The girl just stares past you. You finally turn. You look through the window to see Jack there, reading a patient chart on his tablet.

Your eyes roll without you even meaning to. Of course, yet another woman is interested in your boyfriend. You’re starting to think you’ll need to get him a neon sign to hang around his neck that says taken.

“She might listen to him better,” Mateo offers, “or I can sedate her. I am not trying to get another code hoola-hoop.”

You look back at the girl who’s clearly very out of it–staring at your boyfriend, even though it’s unlikely she could fully make him out–and let out a heavy sigh. You shrug one shoulder and snap off your gloves in the same swift movement. You stand and leave the room, headed to where your boyfriend stands next to desks.

Once you reach his side, you don’t have to say anything to grab his attention because he suddenly looks up like he sensed your presence. You offer him a weary smile and he returns it in full, turning his body to offer his full attention.

“What’s up?” he asks.

He’s in Dr. Abbot the ER attending mode now, all professionalism and seriousness. You smile to yourself at the memory of your first few shifts as a resident, crushing furiously like half the other women on the night-shift.

“I have an incredibly drunk twenty-one-year-old, BAC of .16%, large forehead contusion,” you say, “and… she’s been making goo-goo eyes at you since she first came in. She’s been fairly combative, so maybe you could come in and ‘work your magic’?”

“What I’m hearing is you want to use me as eye candy?” Jack’s words end in a soft laugh. “Man, maybe I should go to HR…”

You laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds. Just a few hours ago, you’d been upset at the very idea of your boyfriend being looked at by another woman. Now, you were using his good looks to win patients over. Screw it, your shift’s almost over. Anyone who tries to take your boyfriend in the last hour of your shift will have hell to pay.

“All I need is for her to be distracted enough that I can put some stitches in her cut,” you tell him with a grin. “Shouldn’t be that hard for you to stand there and look appealing, right? I mean, that’s what you do all the time anyway.”

Jack lets out a chuckle, but he nods his head and gestures for you to lead the way. You grin and walk him to the patient’s room.

The girl’s eyes immediately widen as she sees Abbot step into the room, like she’s looking at a movie star or something. You can’t fault her. Jack in his form-fitting scrubs and hair all disheveled is really a sight to see. 

“I got your boyfriend,” you tell the girl, shooting an amused glance to Jack, “now how about I look at that cut on your forehead, hm?”

She continues to smile all dopey and lovestruck as you put on a new pair of gloves and Mateo wheels a cart near you. The spot’s been numbed for hours, so she won’t feel a thing.

As soon as you reach to probe it, though, she shoots away from you. 

“Wait, waaait,” the girl says urgently. You stop, eyebrows furrowed as you look at her. “Can’t he do it?”

You sigh and look over your shoulder at your boyfriend. Jack shoots you a smile and a shrug as if to say “I don’t mind” and you can’t say you’re opposed to the idea. Anything you can do to get this girl treated and gone is what you’re going to do.

“Sure,” you tell her, “but play nicely.”

You stand and move toward where Jack stands, gesturing with a slightly annoyed smile toward the girl. “She’s all yours.”

Jack settles down in the rolling stool you abandoned and the girl immediately lets out a high-pitched, excited giggle. 

You watch Jack and the girl quietly talking together; him asking her what she was celebrating, her replying that it was her birthday, him asking what she’s studying, her telling him she’s in law school. All through the applying of the cleaning of the wound, the sutures, and then the bandage, the girl is calm and patient. Watching Jack work so nicely, so empathetically toward the girl reminds you why you fell for him in the first place. You stifle the fond smile pulling at your lips. You look over at Mateo and he gives you a shrug. 

Your eyes get drawn back to your boyfriend as he stands from the chair and walks your way. 

He stops in front of you and crosses his arms. “She’s all patched up.”

You nod. “I’m thinking I might order a head CT just to rule out any head injury.”

Jack smirks like he’d been hoping you’d say that. “Attagirl.”

You follow him out of the patient’s room and into the main foyer. You look around at all the doctors standing by desks and mentally prepare yourself for switching shifts. Dana’s already catching up with Lena, Javadi and Mohan are chatting and updating patient charts from their previous shifts.

You look over at Jack, whose body is angled toward you next to desks.

“You hungry?” he asks you. He’s looking at his tablet to give the impression to any nosey Nancys that he’s not talking to you. You bite back your smile.

You nod, thinking back to the small meal you’d had a few hours ago. “I could eat.”

“Chinese or Italian?”

You angle your body toward him. You draw a hand to rest upon his bicep. He turns his head toward you, surprised.

“I could eat an entire gallon of fried rice right now,” you tell him, a small smile curling on your lips. “How about you?”

Jack’s too preoccupied with the hand on his arm to answer immediately. “Uh, I guess I could get a stir fry.” As he speaks, his eyes draw up to meet your own. You squeeze his arm gently and he leans forward. “Are you coming onto me, Doctor?”

“If I was?” you say with a small smile curling at your lips.

“I’d tell you we still have ten minutes left on our shift,” he says teasingly, “I thought you didn’t want any distractions?”

You pull your hand away from his arm to rest back on the desk in front of you. “I don’t know about you,” you say, filling out the order form for the CT scan as you do, “but I'm tired of hiding.”

Your boyfriend chuckles softly from beside you.

You put the completed form into the outtake area. You go to turn toward Jack when your eyes get caught on a gathering of people near the front of desks. You pat his shoulder to get his attention and then follow the crowd forming near the front.

Ahmad’s at the center of the formation, and he has a big grin on his face. You watch confusedly as Jack weaves through bodies to get to Ahmad.

Your heart drops, now realizing the cause of the big commotion. Ahmad wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulder as he looks around the crowd. “And I’m happy to announce that the person with the highest bids is none other than our wonderful—“

You catch a glimpse of the paper in Ahmad’s hand as he gesticulates to the crowd and the words come tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. “It’s me?” you say, surprised. 

Pleased cheers go around the room. You look between Ahmad and Jack confusedly. Who’d put you in the lead? Last you checked an hour ago, Mohan was still the highest.

“In a stunning turn of events, an anonymous donor broke the tie and put her in the lead,” he continues.

You frown for just a moment as you look around the gathered faces, wondering who would do that, before realization strikes you like lightning. You grin as your eyes dart to Jack who innocently shrugs when your gaze lands on him. 

Something comes over you in that instance that has you moving through the crowd to your boyfriend. You gently grasp his face in your palm and place a chaste kiss on his lips. You don’t have a chance to savor it before a few more cheers ring out and you pull away, embarrassed by the display. Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives you a side hug, leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Okay, okay,” Lena says as she breaks through the crowd, “this isn’t an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. You all have patients to see.”

The crowd disperses quickly after that. People give each of you thumbs up and congratulations as they leave, Ellis tells you to ‘find her later’ — obviously displeased about not being the first to know, and soon you and Jack are left alone.

“Well that didn’t go as bad as I expected,” Jack says, squeezing your shoulder once more before releasing you.

You cock a brow. “If you think that’s the last of it, you’re sorely mistaken. Robby hasn’t even found out yet and I think Ellis is going to brawl me in the parking lot.”

Jack lets out a soft laugh.

You look up at him with soft eyes, a small, flirtatious grin curling on your lips. “I’ll see you after rounds are shifted over. Want to order the food so we can have it back at my place?”

“If I ever say no to coming over to your place,” Jack says, “you can just shoot me, okay?”

You let out a barking laugh as you go to leave. Before you get more than a few steps, you look back at him over your shoulder.

“Oh, and tell any women who flirt with you that you’re off the market,” you say, “I’d hate to be fired because I assaulted a patient.”