in which jack abbot is the first to notice reader, who has always been used to being left behind and ignored.
contents; fem!reader, probs medical inaccuracies all my knowledge comes from shows lol, not proofread & english is my third language so if there's grammatical errors i apologize </3
a/n; im so glad sooo many ppl liked the first part!!! i love writing stuff like this (mainly bc i heavily relate to reader LMAO), so im so happy you all like them too!! <33 comment 2 be added to the jack abbot fic/blurb taglist!
first part here
masterlist ⥠ko-fi
It had been a hellish day. Sweltering heat from outside had crowded the waiting room, slowly wafting into the ER. Patients were more aggravated than usualâ thatâs what heat does to people, you figured.
Thatâs what you kept telling yourself, at least. That everyoneâs just tense and irritated from the heatâ none of the abuse patients spewed at you was personal. They were just having a bad day.
But as more and more hours passed by, convincing yourself felt harder. Youâd also gotten majorly embarrassed earlier in a traumaâ you were trying to decide on how to treat the patient, and had stuttered through half your sentence. They went with someone elses idea instead. As soon as the patient was stable, you dipped out of the trauma room out of shame.
Jack had been there. Attendings often oversee traumas, obviously. He was trying to listen to your idea of treatment, when someone spoke over you. They were louder, which got the attention of the other doctors.
He saw you shrink back into yourself, and his heart broke a little. This was the first time heâd seen you try to take lead in a trauma for a while, and to see you get shut down like that? It made him angrier than heâd like. He tried to find you after, but no luck.
UntilâŚ
âThere yâareâŚâ He hummed quietly, hands behind his back as he approached you, watching your from hunched over the computer, typing up a chart (rather annoyedly, if he says so himself).Â
Your head tilted slowly, eyes catching his, before you turned back to the computer with a small hum. This had been your routine lately. Heâd find you throughout the day, trying to spark up conversation.
You barely respondedâ still a little wary of him. Itâs like you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if he needed a reason to be talking to you.
âYâknowâŚâ He gruffed, pulling up a stool to sit down next to you, eyeing the screen, âI heard what you suggested in that trauma today. It was a really good plan.â
Like clockwork, your cheeks tinged pink. Like they did every single time Jack complimented you.
âThank you.â You murmured, hands halting on the keyboard, as you angled your body just slightly toward him, âBut umâŚI think Ogilvieâs plan of treatment was good, too.â
Jack shrugged, a small frown on his face. âWell, yeah. But, I think yours was better.â He whispered quietly, as if it was a secret between you two.
You couldnât fight the small smile lifting up your lips. This is what Jack did. He made you feel seen and heard. He pulled you into traumas with him, leaned closer to hear you speak, to let you share your opinion.
Jack's eyes stayed on your for a while longer, before his teeth dipped into his lower lip, his gaze moving to the screen now instead, studying your notes. "Your charts are neat. Easy to read, nice job." He gently patted your shoulder then, before standing up with a small groan and walking off.
It took you another five minutes to recalibrate your brain and focus back on the chart.
The next time you saw Jack was in the breakroomâ a sacred space that you were lucky enough to have a little time for. You weren't expecting Jack, though. You can hardly relax around him.
But it's weird. He doesn't make you anxious in the way others do. It's hard to explain what you feel around him. Safety? No, no, that's nonsense. He's just your attending. He has to praise you. That's how you learn, right?
You open the fridge and grab your little lunch box, the top of it decorated with all sorts of stickers, all mirroring your interests. You can practically feel Jack's eyes burning into you, as you sit down by the table, right across from him.
There's a small tremble to your hands as you pop open the box, simultaneously pulling your water bottle from your bagâ that you'd grabbed from your locker.
"That's all you're having?" Jack murmured, eyeing the small sandwich and handful of crackers in your lunchbox.
You didn't want to tell him that that's all you could scrape together. How your rent was raised again, and you're too anxious to talk to your landlord about it. Or how you're still stuck paying your mother's car off, because you know she won't listen if you ask for her to start paying her own bills.
"Yeah." You nodded, taking a small bite out of the sandwich, "I had a big meal before work. So this'll hold me over, until I get home." The lies from you came naturally, something you were far too comfortable with.
Lying is safe. You don't want people to see what a lonely mess your life actually is. As if being a pushover at work isn't enough, you're a pushover all over.
Being stuck so deep in your thoughts, you barely register the fact, that Jack had gone all quiet, watching you with that ever-familiar furrow in his brows. You avoided his gaze, making quick work of finishing your small lunch, just so you could escape.
Something about Jack is unsettling. Not in a bad way. It's just...safe. Too safe. You almost find yourself wanting to unclench your jaw, to actually tell him the truth. But he's the one person whose noticed you, and you can't risk pushing him away with your baggage.
"See you out there." You murmur as soon as your lunch is finished, the empty lunchbox shoved back into your bag, as you hurry out of the breakroom with your water bottle in hand.
The next few hours go by in a blur. You can definitely feel a little gnaw in your gut, the pitiful sandwich not really satisfying your hunger. But you had to make do. Just for now, right?
Jack noticed. He noticed the small frown on your face, and the way your hand would settle on your stomach when it threatened to rumble. He saw you eyeing the vending machine, or looking dreamily at the other lunches in the fridge.
You were so obvious. He thought it was cute, really. But also sad. You were so used to being ignored, you were sure no one would notice anything you do. But he notices.
And Jack also knew you'd never ask for anything. But he's not sure if he can take any more of your sweet puppy eyes looking at the vending machine. The food in that machine is mediocre, at best. You deserve more.
So yes, maybe Jack did order food. And maybe he 'accidentally' ordered too much, and begged you to split the food with him. He didn't want it to go to waste, he says...
You reluctantly agree. You hate taking things from people, but you hate wasting food even more, so you sat down to eat with him. He handed you more and more, swearing that he wasn't even that hungry.
An hour later, you see him buying a sandwich from the vending machine.
Synopsis:Â After her mother insists, she get out of the apartment and enjoy some fresh air, Y/N reluctantly starts running again. During one of her daily jogs, she notices a handsome, silver-haired man in scrubs whose brisk walk to the nearby hospital unintentionally becomes the perfect pace to motivate her runs.
What begins as a harmless crush and an unspoken routine soon turns into daily conversations with Dr. Jack Abbott, an exhausted emergency medicine attending whose dry humor and quiet kindness slowly become the highlight of her afternoons. As brief chats outside the Emergency Department turn into coffee dates, inside jokes, and weekend plans, both realize they've become an unexpected part of each other's lives.
A slow-burn romance about chance encounters, comforting routines, and discovering that sometimes the best relationships begin with simply walking or running the same path.
Contains: Slow-burn romance ⢠Tension ⢠Medical drama ⢠Emergency department talk ⢠Mutual flirting ⢠Emotional intimacy ⢠Flirting ⢠Running ⢠age gap ⢠Salt and pepper man
---------
You planted your hands on your head as you struggled to catch your breath. No way. Barely a mile had you huffing like this. You used to run long-distance track. Running had once been second nature, so why did one lousy mile suddenly feel like climbing a mountain?
You stepped off the sidewalk and dropped onto the bench to your right, giving the pedestrians enough room to pass while you caught your breath. Your thumb scrolled through your playlist until it landed on your favorite "get your butt moving" song.
As you hit play, you glanced up just in time to notice a man in black scrubs walking past Well...Hello, salt and pepper.
His hair was more silver than black, just enough to make him look distinguished instead of old. He was definitely older than you, but that wasn't exactly a dealbreaker. You found yourself watching the way his jaw flexed as he picked up his pace.
He walked like someone with somewhere important to be. You weren't following him. Technically. You were already running in this direction anyway. You waited a few seconds before pushing yourself off the bench and easing into a jog. Within moments, you realized just how ridiculously fast this man walked. Was he late?
You rounded the corner just in time to watch him pull open the Emergency Department entrance at PTMC. Ah. That explained the scrubs. Makes sense, too. It was the closest hospital to your apartment. He probably lived nearby if he walked to work.
Shrugging it off, you kept running. By the time you looped back toward your apartment, your watch buzzed. Two miles. And somehow...One of your fastest times in months.
Huh. Maybe you should start accidentally chasing healthcare workers more often.
---
The next day...
You stopped in almost the exact same spot as yesterday. Hands on your knees, lungs burning, you tried to remember whose brilliant idea this had been.
Your mother's. "Sweetheart, you work from home. You need sunlight. And vitamin D."
Bless that woman. You'd try just about anything she suggested. You collapsed onto the same bench and scrolled until you found yesterday's motivation song. Might as well recreate the magic.
The opening notes barely had time to play before you looked up. Speak of the devil. Mr. Salt and Pepper walked by almost on cue.
Seriously?
Did this man work every day?
You stood and waited until he'd gained a comfortable lead before setting off behind him. Again. He kept the same purposeful stride as yesterday, hands tucked into his jacket pockets while he headed straight for PTMC. He disappeared through the Emergency Department doors.
You ran past the hospital, looped around the block, and headed home. Your watch buzzed. Another two miles. One minute faster than yesterday.
You stared at the screen.
Okay...
Now that was weird.
---
By the third day, something had changed.
You ran past the bench without stopping. The YouTube stretches you'd started doing every night must have actually worked because your legs felt lighter and your breathing steadier. You were settling into a comfortable pace when something felt...off.
You looked down. Untied shoe. Seriously?
You stepped to the side of the sidewalk and crouched to tie it. As you pulled the laces tight, another pair of shoes entered your peripheral vision. Recognizable running shoes. You looked up. Mr. Salt and Pepper. Three days in a row.
Either he worked the strangest schedule imaginable, or hospitals secretly never closed. You stood and started jogging again. That's when you noticed it. A slight limp. Barely noticeable. The kind you'd miss if you weren't already paying far too much attention to this man.
Maybe an old injury. Maybe a prosthetic. Your grandfather had walked with a prosthetic after losing his leg years ago. Could be something like that. Was it weird that somehow it made him even more attractive?
Not prosthetics in general.
Just...
On him.
Definitely not Grandpa. That would be horrifying. He disappeared into the Emergency Department like clockwork while you finished your route home.
---
By the end of the week, it had become a routine.
Wake up.
Work.
Stretch.
Work.
Run.
Accidentally meet Mr. Salt and Pepper.
Run faster than you ever have before.
It wasn't until Saturday morning that the routine broke. You were halfway to your usual bench when you realized the sidewalk felt...Empty. No purposeful footsteps. No black scrubs. No silver hair disappearing around the corner.
You slowed to a walk before you could stop yourself. Maybe today was his day off. Weird. You hadn't realized you'd started expecting him.
Shaking it off, you finished your run anyway.
Your watch buzzed.
Two miles.
Thirty-eight seconds slower than yesterday.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
So apparently your cardio was emotionally attached to a middle-aged emergency department employee who didn't even know your name.
Fantastic.
---
Monday afternoon, he was back.
You spotted him before he spotted you. Something looked...off. His limp was worse. Much worse. He wasn't walking with the same quick confidence anymore. His shoulders were tense, and every few steps he subtly shifted his weight as if trying to hide the pain.
Without thinking, you slowed your pace. Then he stumbled. Not enough to fall. Just enough for the coffee in his travel mug to slosh over the rim. He muttered something under his breath.
You hesitated.
This was the first time you'd ever been close enough to actually speak to him.
Do you say something?
Or keep pretending the two of you haven't shared the same sidewalk every afternoon at exactly 6 pm for over a week?
You kept running. You didnât say anything. You watched him walk through the ED doors and you went your normal route back to your apartment.
What a scaredy cat.
----
Tuesday afternoon.
There he was. Back to his normal pace. Well...mostly. The limp was still there, though less noticeable than it had been on Monday. If you hadn't been paying an almost embarrassing amount of attention, you probably wouldn't have caught it.
Not that you were paying attention. Obviously.
You stretched one last time before starting your run, making sure to give him his usual head start. You'd perfected the timing by now. Twenty seconds. Long enough that it didn't look like you were following him.
Short enough that you'd catch up just enough to let his ridiculously fast walking pace bully you into running faster. It was a system. A weird system. But a system nonetheless. You settled into your jog, your playlist drowning out the sound of traffic.
Half a mile in, your watch vibrated. Fastest split yet.
"Okay," you muttered between breaths. "This is getting ridiculous."
The Emergency Department entrance came into view. Mr. Salt and Pepper pushed through the automatic doors without a second glance. Just like always.
---
Wednesday.
You saw him before he saw you. Or...At least you thought he hadn't seen you. He adjusted the strap of the backpack slung over one shoulder and continued toward the hospital. You fell into your now familiar pace.
Not too close. Not too far.
Your breathing was easier now. Your legs didn't burn nearly as much. You almost missed it. As he reached the crosswalk, he looked over his shoulder.
Not enough to stare. Just...A glance.
Your heart immediately decided to attempt escape through your throat.
Did he...No. Couldn't have.
You looked away so fast you nearly ran into a mailbox.
Smooth.
Very smooth.
---
Thursday.
The moment you sat down on your usual spot on your usual bench, you spotted the familiar silver streak in the distance. You smiled before you could stop yourself.
"...This is becoming a problem."
Still, you resumed your watch, let him get his head start, and took off.
Everything was normal until you reached the hospital. He stopped.
Actually stopped.
Not at the doors.
At the crosswalk.
You slowed too, pretending to stretch your calves while waiting for the light to change. The pedestrian signal flashed. He crossed. You followed several yards behind. The automatic doors slid open.
He disappeared inside. Only......he looked back. Actually looked back. Your eyes met for maybe half a second before the doors closed.
"Oh my God."
He knew. He absolutely knew. You buried your face in your hands while still jogging.
"I'm moving."
You announced to absolutely no one.
"I'm changing cities."
---
Friday.
You almost didn't go. Embarrassment was a surprisingly effective cardio deterrent.
But by five-thirty, your running shoes were on. You were halfway down the block before you convinced yourself you were overthinking everything. He probably hadn't even looked at you.
People looked around. It was normal. You reached your usual bench.
There he was. Same scrubs. Same backpack. Same purposeful stride. Everything was normal.
Good. You waited your twenty seconds. Started running. Halfway to the hospital-
"You know..."
A voice beside you nearly made you trip over your own feet. You looked over. Mr. Salt and Pepper.
Walking.
Right.
Beside.
You.
"You know," he repeated, one corner of his mouth twitching upward, "if you're going to pace me every afternoon, you could at least say good afternoon."
...
...
...
Your soul left your body. "I-"
Nothing. No words. Not a single functioning thought.
Your brain had simply shut off. "I wasn't-"
You stopped talking. Because yes. Yes, you absolutely had been.
His smile widened just enough to be noticeable. "I promise I'm not filing a police report."
"Oh, my God."
"I figured if you were dangerous, you would've made your move by now."
Heat flooded your face so quickly you thought you might actually combust. "I swear I'm not following you."
"I know."
"You do?"
"You always slow down at the same bench."
"..."
"You wait."
"..."
"Count to about twenty."
"..."
"Then start running."
Your jaw slowly fell open. "No..."
He nodded once.
"I noticed on day two."
"DAY TWO?"
"I was curious."
You covered your face with both hands. "I cannot believe this."
"I found it more amusing than concerning."
"I have to move."
He laughed. Actually laughed. It wasn't loud. Just tired. Warm. The kind of laugh that sounded like he hadn't done it much lately.
"You don't have to move."
"I absolutely do."
"You've committed to the bit for almost two weeks now."
"I genuinely thought I was being subtle."
"You were not."
"Oh my God."
"You did get significantly faster."
You blinked. "...You noticed that too?"
"I work in emergency medicine." He shrugged. "Observation is kind of the job."
The hospital came into view.
He adjusted his backpack. "I'm Jack."
You stared for a second.
Right. Names. Humans exchanged names.
"Y/N."
"It's nice to officially meet my motivational runner."
"I hate that title."
"I think it suits you."
Before you could respond, he stepped backward toward the Emergency Department entrance.
"Have a good run, Y/N."
The doors slid open. Then he was gone. You stood there for several seconds. Your watch buzzed. Personal best.
What the fuck.
---
After that, pretending not to know each other would've been weird. So, every afternoon, somewhere between your apartment and the hospital, one of you would say hello. Sometimes it lasted thirty seconds. Sometimes almost five minutes if the crosswalk light was particularly stubborn.
You learned little things. He preferred black coffee. You preferred iced coffee regardless of the weather. He hated running. You hated hospitals. He'd lived in the city for 10 years.
You'd been there for 10 months.
He'd started teasing you about your playlist after overhearing one too many aggressively motivational songs blasting through your headphones.
"'Eye of the Tiger'?" he'd asked one afternoon.
"Judge me all you want."
"I am."
"It works."
"You know what else works?"
"What?"
"Running without pretending you're in a sports movie."
"You'll never convince me."
"I wasn't planning on it."
Every conversation ended the same way.
"I've got to go."
"Don't let anyone die."
"I'll do my best."
Then he'd disappear into the Emergency Department while you finished your route.
It became...Normal. Comfortably normal.
Until one afternoon, curiosity finally got the better of you.
"So..." you said as you reached the crosswalk. "What exactly do you do?"
Jack looked over.
"I'm an attending."
You frowned. "...I don't actually know what that means."
"It means after a lot of years of medical school and residency, people trust me enough to supervise everyone else."
"Oh."
"So if something goes catastrophically wrong..." He pointed to himself. "...it's usually my problem."
Your eyes widened. "That sounds stressful."
"It is."
"You make it sound like it's no big deal."
He looked toward the hospital. "I've gotten good at pretending."
For the first time since meeting him, you really looked. The faint circles beneath his eyes. The coffee he'd barely touched. The way he rolled his left shoulder like it ached.
The limp. The exhaustion hidden behind an easy smile.
"When's the last time you had a day off?"
Jack laughed.
"...Good question."
"You don't know?"
"I honestly don't."
Before you could say anything else, his pager vibrated. He glanced down. His expression shifted instantly.
Relaxed. To focused.
"That's my cue."
"You go save lives."
"I'll try."
"And maybe sleep?"
"I'll add it to the list." He smiled.
It looked a little more tired than usual. Then he disappeared inside. You watched the doors close behind him.
Somehow...Mr. Salt and Pepper had become Jack. And that felt significantly more dangerous.
----
Monday afternoon...
Jack left his apartment at exactly 5:26. Not because he was obsessive. Because after years in emergency medicine, his internal clock had become annoyingly precise.
Coffee in one hand.
Backpack over one shoulder.
Keys in his pocket.
The same route he'd walked hundreds of times. He made it halfway down the block before his eyes drifted toward the familiar bench.
Empty.
He frowned.
Huh.
Maybe she was running late. He kept walking. By the time he reached the crosswalk, he glanced over his shoulder almost absentmindedly. Nothing. No determined jog. No headphones. No oversized water bottle bouncing against her hip.
The pedestrian light changed. Jack crossed. She'd probably got busy. Or maybe she'd finally gotten tired of being relentlessly teased by the middle-aged doctor she'd accidentally been pacing for the last three weeks.
Fair enough. He disappeared into the Emergency Department.
---
Tuesday afternoon...
The bench was empty again.
Jack noticed this time. Not intentionally. It just...Registered. He slowed slightly as he passed. No Y/N. He looked toward the apartment buildings lining the street. Nothing. His watch buzzed with the reminder he'd set to leave ten minutes earlier.
He'd started leaving a little sooner after realizing he'd spend two or three minutes talking to her before work. Not because he'd planned to.
It had just...Happened.
He shook the thought away. People missed runs. It wasn't strange. He continued toward the hospital.
---
Wednesday evening.
"You're late."
Jack looked up from washing his hands in the physician lounge.
Dr. Robby leaned against the doorway, already dressed to leave after finishing his shift.
"Thirty-seven seconds."
"I'll notify the media." Robby snorted.
"You usually walk in here at exactly 6."
"I hit every red light."
"You walk."
"I hit every...slow pedestrian."
Robby raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."
Jack grabbed his coffee and headed toward the trauma bay. He didn't think about the empty bench again.
Not once.
---
He absolutely thought about it.
Thursday.
Empty.
He looked without meaning to. The bench. The sidewalk. The crosswalk. The corner where youâd usually slow down enough to pull one earbud out whenever she spotted him. Nothing. Jack frowned.
Maybe you'd gone home to visit family.
Maybe you'd joined a gym.
Maybe you'd finally realized running outside in Pittsburgh humidity was a form of self-inflicted punishment.
He wasn't worried. He barely knew you. He just...Noticed. That was all.
---
Friday.
The Emergency Department was chaos. An eight-car pileup. Two strokes. Three pediatric fevers. One intoxicated man who insisted he'd swallowed his car keys. Jack barely had time to think. Yet when he finally left after thirteen hours, exhausted enough that his knees ached with every step, he caught himself looking toward the apartment buildings across the street.
Empty sidewalk.
---
Monday afternoon.
"You lose your running buddy?"
Jack looked up from the chart he'd been reviewing.
Lena stood across the nurses' station with an unmistakably smug smile.
"What?"
"The girl."
"What girl?"
"The one you talk to every afternoon before coming in."
"I talk to lots of people."
Lena laughed.
"No, you don't."
"..."
"You barely talk to us."
One of the residents looked up from his computer. "Oh, are we talking about Running Girl?"
Jack blinked. "...Running Girl?"
"The one who's always jogging next to you." Another nurse chimed in.
"The cute one with the pink headphones."
"They're blue," Jack corrected automatically.
The nurses went completely silent.
Lena slowly folded her arms. "...Interesting."
Jack looked around. "What?"
"You know what color her headphones are."
"..."
"I have eyes."
Lena grinned.
"Mhm."
"They're very obviously blue."
"Sure."
"You all have entirely too much free time."
"It's an emergency department."
"We absolutely don't." Dr Ellis laughed.
"I thought she was your daughter."
Jack nearly choked on his coffee. "My what?"
"You seemed...comfortable."
"I'm forty-six, not eighty."
"Okay, okay."
Lena leaned closer.
"So where is she?"
Jack opened his mouth. Closed it again. "...I don't know."
The words felt strangely heavy.
"You don't know?" Lena asked.
He shook his head once. "She hasn't been there."
"For how long?"
Jack frowned.
"...Five days."
Silence.
Five days? Had it really been five days?
Lena's expression softened. "You've been checking."
"I have not."
"You literally just counted the days."
"I..." Jack stopped.
Because...He had. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't even realized he'd been keeping track. Every afternoon, he'd look toward the bench. The crosswalk. The sidewalk.
He'd told himself each day that she'd probably be there tomorrow. And every tomorrow had come and gone.
"...Huh." Lena smiled to herself.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one people get right before they realize something."
"I haven't realized anything."
"You sure?"
Jack looked back down at his chart. The words blurred together. Somewhere between discussing terrible playlists...Arguing over whether iced coffee counted as coffee... And hearing about your mother's weekly phone calls reminding you to get outside...
You'd become part of his day. Not in some grand, life-changing way.
Just...Comfortably. Reliably. Like grabbing coffee before work. Or checking the trauma board after clocking in. He'd gotten used to seeing you.
And now...He missed you. The realization landed with surprising force. Not because he knew you particularly well. But because he wanted to.
Lena nudged his shoulder as she walked away.
"For what it's worth..."
Jack looked up.
"...I hope your running buddy's okay."
He watched her disappear down the hallway. Then, despite himself...He looked at the clock.
5:43 p.m.
Right about now...You would've been passing the Emergency Department doors.
Instead...The sidewalk outside was empty.
And somehow...It felt just a little too quiet.
----
Nine days later...
Your mother's cooking had been worth the drive. The unsolicited life advice? Debatable.
"You work too much."
"I work from home, Mom."
"Exactly."
"I still work."
"You stare at a computer all day."
"It's called a career."
"It's called needing sunlight."
You smiled into your coffee. Some things never changed. Your mom had insisted you spend the week at home after hearing how exhausted you'd sounded over the phone.
"You've been running every day," she'd said. "Good. Now, come let your mother feed you."
So...She had. For eight straight days. You'd gone on a few runs while you were there, but they weren't the same. No familiar route. No hospital. No Mr.-
Jack.
The realization caught you off guard sometime around day four. You missed your afternoon conversations. Not because they were long. Most lasted less than five minutes. But somewhere between debating whether pineapple belonged on pizza and Jack's dramatic hatred of your workout playlist...
He'd quietly become part of your day. You hadn't expected that.
And...You probably should've told him. Not because you owed him an explanation. You didn't. But disappearing without saying anything suddenly felt...rude.
Especially after three weeks of seeing each other almost every afternoon.
---
Tuesday.
You laced your running shoes with a ridiculous amount of nervousness. Why were you nervous? It wasn't like you were showing up for a date. You were going for a run. A completely normal run.
That just happened to overlap with the commute of one sarcastic emergency physician. No big deal. You started your watch. Stepped outside. And smiled despite yourself. It felt good to be back. You reached your usual bench.
Empty.
You glanced down the street.
No silver hair.
No black scrubs.
Maybe he'd already gone. That tiny flicker of disappointment surprised you. You shrugged and started running anyway.
Not even 3 seconds later...
"There you are."
You nearly jumped out of your skin. You turned. Jack was walking a few feet behind you, coffee in hand, looking entirely too amused.
"I was beginning to think you'd decided my music taste was unforgivable."
He'd...He'd noticed.
"I-" You laughed nervously. "I went to visit my mom."
Jack nodded once. "I figured."
"You did?"
"You don't strike me as someone who'd quit."
Your smile softened. "I almost texted you."
His eyebrows lifted.
"...Then I remembered I don't have your number."
"Minor logistical issue."
"Kind of an important one."
"It would've helped."
You laughed. "Sorry."
He tilted his head. "For what?"
"For just..." You rubbed the back of your neck. "...Disappearing. I didn't even think about saying anything until like the third day I was gone."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I know." You looked down at the sidewalk. "But I wanted to."
Jack was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke. "I noticed."
Just two words. Calm. Matter of fact. But they landed somewhere right beneath your ribs.
"You...noticed?"
"You stopped showing up."
"Oh."
"I kept looking toward the bench."
Your heart skipped.
"And the crosswalk."
"..."
"I figured you'd probably gone somewhere."
"You...looked for me?"
He gave a small shrug like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You became part of the walk."
The simplicity of it made your chest ache. Not because it was romantic. Because it was honest. Neither of you had planned this. Somewhere along the way, your routines had simply...woven together.
"I missed our conversations," you admitted quietly.
Jack smiled. "So did I."
Silence settled between you. Comfortable. Easy. The kind that didn't need filling.
Finally, he looked over. "So..."
You glanced at him.
"How many casseroles did your mother send back with you?"
You burst into laughter. "How did you know?"
"I've met mothers."
"I have enough baked ziti in my freezer to survive a natural disaster."
"I was going to guess lasagna."
"She sent that too."
"Of course she did."
You shook your head. "I swear she thinks I don't know how to feed myself."
"Do you?"
"...That's not the point."
"It feels like the point."
"It is rude to attack someone before they finish their run."
"I'm an attending."
"So?"
"I assess people."
"You profile strangers based on frozen pasta?"
"I profile everyone."
"You sound insufferable."
"I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have."
You reached the familiar crosswalk together. For the first time...Neither of them seemed in a hurry to cross.
Jack took a sip of his coffee. "So..."
You looked over.
"...How was your week?"
You blinked. He wasn't asking to be polite. He actually wanted to know.
"It was nice."
"You needed it."
"I think I did."
"You look more rested."
"You noticed that too?"
"I told you." That small smile returned. "Observation is kind of the job."
You rolled your eyes. "I walked right into that one."
"You did."
The pedestrian signal changed. Jack glanced toward the Emergency Department entrance before looking back at you.
"I should go."
"You should."
He took a few steps backward. Then stopped. "You know..."
"What?"
"If you're planning on disappearing again..."
You held your breath.
"...At least leave a forwarding address for your motivational physician."
You laughed so hard you had to grab your side. "My motivational physician?"
"It has a nice ring to it."
"I absolutely refuse to call you that."
"You don't have to." He smiled.
"I already did."
The automatic doors slid open behind him.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
It was a simple question. Casual. But somehow... It felt like the first invitation either of them had ever extended.
You smiled. "Yeah."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Jack nodded once before disappearing into the Emergency Department. You stood there for another second before looking down at your watch. You hadn't even realized you'd stopped running. For the first time since you started this whole ridiculous health kick...
Getting to the hospital hadn't been the part you looked forward to most.
Seeing Jack had.
----
The next few weeks settled into something neither of you ever acknowledged. A routine. Every afternoon around five, you'd meet somewhere between your apartment and the hospital.
Some days, it was only long enough for a quick,
"How's your day?"
"Ask me again after my shift."
Other days...The crosswalk seemed determined to keep the two of you standing there.
"You know," Jack said one afternoon, staring at your phone. "If that playlist has one more early 2000s pop song on it, I'm reporting you."
You gasped dramatically. "You leave Britney Spears out of this."
"I'm trying."
"You've never voluntarily listened to Britney?"
"I don't believe I said that."
You narrowed your eyes. "You absolutely danced to 'Toxic' at some point."
"I have no comment."
"Aha."
"I said no comment."
"That's basically an admission."
Jack sighed toward the sky. "I save lives for a living."
"And?"
"I don't deserve this interrogation."
"You absolutely do."
---
A week later...
"You don't cook."
You looked offended. "I cook."
"You assemble."
"There is a difference."
"You told me dinner yesterday was cereal."
"Cereal is food."
"It is breakfast."
"It was eight o'clock."
"It was still cereal."
"You are remarkably judgmental for someone who voluntarily drinks black coffee."
"It builds character."
"It builds resentment."
He laughed. "You've never had good coffee."
"I've had coffee."
"You've had coffee-flavored milkshakes."
"I'll have you know my caramel latte is sophisticated."
"It has whipped cream."
"So?"
"So..."
Jack looked at you with complete seriousness. "...that's dessert."
You crossed your arms. "I don't appreciate this level of hostility."
"I think you'll survive."
---
The conversations got longer.
Somehow. Neither of you knew exactly when it happened. At first, they ended at the crosswalk. Then they stretched all the way to the Emergency Department entrance.
Then...Some afternoons, you'd both linger outside the sliding doors for another minute or two.
One afternoon, you found yourself talking about your grandmother.
Another, Jack admitted he'd once wanted to become a history teacher before medical school happened.
"You?" You looked genuinely shocked.
"You wanted to teach?"
"I know."
"You just seem so..."
"So?"
"...Doctor-y."
"What exactly does doctor-y mean?"
"You have this face."
"...This face?"
"You know." You gestured vaguely toward him.
"Like you've seen things."
"I have."
"I mean emotionally."
"I've also done that."
You laughed. "I walked into that one."
"You do that often."
---
The more you talked...The more you noticed. Jack always rubbed the bridge of his nose when he was tired. He favored his left leg after particularly long shifts. Some afternoons he'd smile the second he spotted you.
Like seeing you helped him leave work behind for a few minutes before walking into it. You started bringing an extra bottle of water in your running belt.
The first time you handed it to him, he looked confused.
"What's this?"
"You always finish your coffee before you get to work."
"..."
"So now you have water."
Jack stared at the bottle. Then at you. "You've been paying attention."
You shrugged. "I observe people."
His eyebrows lifted. "You stole my line."
"I improved it."
"I'll allow it."
---
One Thursday, you found him sitting on your usual bench. Actually sitting. Not walking. Not checking his watch.
Just...
Sitting.
You slowed to a stop. "...Everything okay?"
Jack looked up. "You ever have one of those days where you're tired before work even starts?"
You frowned. "Bad shift yesterday?"
He nodded. "Sixteen hours."
"Ouch."
"I went home."
"Mhm."
"Slept four."
You winced.
"Then came back."
"You know that's terrible, right?"
"I've heard."
"From who?"
"My mother."
You laughed. "My mother and your mother would probably get along."
"They'd unionize."
"They'd absolutely unionize."
"'Concerned Mothers Against Their Adult Children.'"
"They'd have matching T-shirts."
Jack smiled into his coffee. The tired lines around his eyes softened.
"You probably just solved world peace."
"I have many talents."
"You've mentioned none."
"I've got to keep some mystery."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
---
Friday afternoon...
Jack was waiting at the crosswalk when you caught up.
"You know..." He didn't look at you as he spoke.
"Hm?"
"I'm off tomorrow."
You smiled. "Congratulations."
"I intend to sleep until noon."
"I support that decision."
"I probably won't."
"You definitely won't."
"No."
The light remained stubbornly red. Cars rolled past. Jack shifted his coffee from one hand to the other.
"There's a coffee shop..." He cleared his throat. "...about two blocks from here."
"Oh?"
"They make significantly better coffee than the hospital."
"I mean...that sounds like a low bar."
"It is."
Silence. Another car passed.
"If you're running tomorrow anyway..." He finally looked at you. "...I was probably going to walk over there."
Your heart did a very impressive cartwheel. Was he...Was this...He wasn't calling it a date. It definitely wasn't a date.
Right?
"You know." Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "You've been trying to convince me caramel belongs in coffee."
"I've been educating you."
"Sure."
"So..."
You tried very hard to sound casual. "...you need someone to demonstrate?"
"I suppose I do."
"You know..." You smiled. "...I might happen to be running in that direction."
"What a coincidence."
"What time?"
Jack looked almost relieved that you'd said yes.
"Ten?"
"I can do ten."
He nodded once. "I'll meet you there."
There. Not here. Not accidentally. Not because your schedules happened to overlap. Because you'd both chosen it.
For the first time...You weren't just part of each other's routine. You were making plans. As you turned to finish your run, Jack called after you.
"Y/N."
You looked back.
"Wear normal shoes."
You glanced down at your running shoes. "...Rude."
"I don't want to spend an hour watching you complain that your feet hurt."
"I wasn't going to."
"You absolutely were."
"I don't appreciate how well you know me."
Jack smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."
His voice was quiet. Almost...hopeful. You couldn't stop smiling for the rest of your run.
Your watch buzzed. Fastest mile of the month.
You had a feeling...It had absolutely nothing to do with cardio.
note: if you've made it this far, hi, part 2 will be up shortly. It's already written, but I figured I'd leave some suspense just for fun :)
summary: your boyfriend proves that loving you is as easy as breathing.
pairing: jack abbot x girlfriend!reader
tags: afab reader, pre-established relationship, an age gap mentioned but not specified, reader described as having longer hair, domesticity, fluff, acts of service jack abbot, talks of failed last relationships (reader), just some cutie stuff
word count: 1.5k
notes: gentle jack abbot my love
âIâll handle it, honey.â
A common statement inside of your household, however it never seems to fall from your lips. Instead, your boyfriend seems to be holding it hostage, consistently ready to fix whatever problem you may have. Even when you complained about a problem and already told him about the solution youâd planned in your head, he had handled it before you could even get home from work.
Once you were within the four main walls of your shared apartment, you didnât have to worry about a single thing. Jack worked nights and yet still managed to get everything done during the day while you were gone, leaving your clean laundry folded on the bed and an empty sink. When you complained about the fact that you felt like you werenât helping at all, he simply kissed you on the forehead with a hand on your bicep and told you that you helped by just sitting down and looking pretty.
This morning, as a test, you had written out a to-do list for yourself and kept it private. It was filled with things you hadnât yet brought to the attention of your acts-of-service boyfriend, such as unclogging the shower drain or finally putting away the stack of books that had just been accumulating in the corner of your bedroom as you purchased more and more. Things he wouldnât even be able to think of without you mentioning it.
Work is gruesome, as it usually is. Jackâs outside of your apartment when you get home, t-shirt pulling taut around his shoulders as he leans down to grab the numerous packages sitting on your doorstep. His face lights up when he sees you, sitting up straight so that he can loop his index finger into your beltloop and bring you closer for a welcome home kiss. âHey, sweetheart,â he mumbles against your mouth. âHow was your day?â
You reach to grab one of the packages, trying to help him from having to hold them all, but he skillfully manuvers away from your reaching hands and opens the front door for you instead. When you stop to give him a stern look, he just nudges the back of your ankle with his foot, gesturing with his head for you to step inside.
Surrendering on this fact, you sigh, stepping into the apartment. Youâre quick to shed your bag and hang it up, kicking off your shoes and abandoning them next to the door. Seeing Jack eye them out of the corner of your eye, you lean down to grab them, setting them down on the shoe rack. âExhausting,â you admit.
He places the packages on the kitchen counter, stacking them neatly. A palm flattens against the granite as he turns to look at you, the muscle of his bicep just begging to be let out the confines of his shirt. âWant me to run you a bath?â He asks.
You laugh at the pure incredulousity of the moment. Months ago, you had been dating guys your age, worshipping the small things like opening doors or paying for your drinks. You had been fighting about feeling insignificant, about having to pull them away from video games long enough to have an at-home dinner with you, about feeling ignored when you hung out with their friends.
And now thereâs Jack Abbot. Older than you, sure, but he was everything you had been asking for on every birthday wish. He spoke about you when you werenât there, had you plastered upon everything that everyone would see (his home and lockscreen, your initials engraved on the inside of his watch) and chose to hang out with you over everyone else. His phone was abandoned on the kitchen counter from when you got home until the both of you went to bed, the ringer on so he didnât have to check it just in case anything from the hospital came in.
Everyone who had been with you throughout the trials and tribulations that was dating in the modern age had told you the same thing â the perfect one will come by when you least expect it. Of course, you didn't believe them. It was hard to have hope in the later days when every person you became slightly interested in treated you so horribly, like you were just another person rather than you.
But then Jack came about. A charming smile, a calmness about him, an empathetic soul that you thought only existed in books and movies written by women. He had courted you kindly, although carefully, not wanting to come off as some older creep who wanted you just for your youth. Your first date had been filled with flowers and butterfly feelings, showing off everything Jack Abbot was rather than a facade of everything you wanted him to be.
You smile as you step closer, leaning up to kiss him again. A âthank youâ to something he did without knowing he did it. âItâs alright, baby. Iâll probably just quickly shower before dinner.â And then you kiss him once more, just because you want to.
âAlright,â he concedes. He places a final kiss on your forehead, hand playfully swatting your ass as he steps away. âIâll get dinner started so you donât have to cook while youâre hungry.
Shaking your head, you laugh as you step into your shared bedroom. You donât close the door when you strip off your work clothes, a girlish giggle leaving your lips when Jack playfully whistles from the kitchen. After fixing him with a matching glare, you finally disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind you to keep the steam from seeping out.
Once youâre in the shower, you look down at the shower drain, remembering your list from this morning. A task for tomorrow morning, you decide, a good way to spend your day off when Jack is at work. For now, youâd have to deal with a little bit of water pooling around your feet while you washed off the grime of the day.
Except the water never catches. Instead, it flows down the drain easily, never staying in the tub for longer than a moment. Shock flows down your body the same way the shower spray does, your jaw dropping.Â
You finish up quickly before hopping out, drying off and wrapping yourself in the fluffy robe Jack had bought you the moment you had complained about not wanting to get dressed as soon as you got out of the shower. After ensuring you wonât drip water all over the apartment, you bombard your way into the kitchen, where your boyfriend is happily cooking while humming some old rock tune to himself.
âDid you unclog the shower drain?â You ask, letting your tone be as accusatory as it wanted to be.
Jack glances over his shoulder at you, the wrinkles around his eyes softening at the look of you all bundled up. He remembers your question and looks up at your face, shrugging. âYeah. I noticed it wasnât draining as well, only took about two minutes to do.â His horrible habit of brushing off everything he did comes roaring to a head, his focus turning back to the stove.
âJack,â you whine. You sidle up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist from behind and placing your cheek between his shoulder blades. His hand grabs yours, lifting them up slightly so you werenât accidentally burned. âYou didnât have to do that. Itâs my hair.â
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling beneath your cheek. âIâm insulted that you think my luscious locks wouldnât help clog the shower drain,â he deflects. âOh, I also put away those books in the bedroom. Iâm not sure if itâs exactly how you organized them, so let me know if you need me to move them.â
That just pulls another groan out of you, turning your head to press your face fully into his skin. âYouâre so annoying. I was going to do both of those things tomorrow.â Your voice turns whiny as you trail off, fingertips pressing into his abdomen.
âBut I did them today so now you donât have to. You can enjoy your day off the way youâre supposed to.â Jack steps away from the stove, grabbing your hands so that he can turn around and pull you into his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your hairline, smiling into your hair. âSittinâ pretty and spending my money.â
Your brow knits as you look up at him, hands sliding down to his waist. âYouâre mean.â
âI love you,â he responds easily. Still grinning like a child on Christmas morning, he tucks a strand of your wet hair away from your face before tilting your chin up, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. âCanât be mad at me for lovinâ you, sweetheart.â
As he intended, you relax into his touch, chasing his lips when he pulls away. Then, you pout, huffing your indignation. âFine. But only because I love you, too.â
âI know.â Jack laughs at your petulant look, swatting your ass again. âNow get out of the kitchen so I can feed my woman.â
summary: good things happen to those who are found crying in the supply closet by their hot, older, maybe flirty boss-slash-mentor.
wc: 14.5k (i have no idea how that happened)
tags/tropes: age gap (duh), slow burn with an insane amount of tension, lowkey very emotionally rife, hurt/comfort, not-so-unrealistic amounts of crying, langdonmel in the background if you squint (you donât have to squint very hard i love them so much guys im sorry) vaguely referenced but not subtlety implied bad childhood, gratuitous and frankly ridiculous medical inaccuracies because i took a lot of creative liberty, reader is an ode to Matilda by Harry Styles and Youâre Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan, Pitt Crew becomes readerâs family :)
a/n: this was supposed to be a sort-of drabble for @leeknowpegger. idk what happened. pegger iâm sorry iâve been so dead recently (always) will you take this as an apology. If youâd like more cohesive tags, more context, extra details, and more in depth warnings, this fic has been cross-posted on ao3, and will be linked below :]
acknowledgments: thank you to @patrick-stewart for the amazing gif! my deepest, deepest apologies for not crediting sooner
You have been the perfect day shift intern for five months. Five freaking months of listening to mostly constructive criticism, five months of adapting and learning on the go with not a single complaint voiced, five months of diligent note-taking, studying, and practice. Five months of weaseling your way into the list of interns-slash-young-doctors that your residents actually respect. Five months of grueling shifts, hard losses, and never saying no when someone needs you to do something.
Five months of being the untouchable, âperfectâ intern. Robbyâs newest addition to his growing list of âwork-wards.â
Five months of unflinching effort and dedication and it took four hours of your third night-shift to reduce you to a miserable, snotty mess on the supply closet floor. Tucked into the space between the two shelves, just the toes of your blood and snot and god knows what else covered shoes peeking out, the rest of you obscured.
Five months, four hours, and back to back fuck-ups that escalated into Dr. Jack Abbot, the man you may or may not have had the hugest crush on since beginning your intern year, removing you from a case. Five months, four hours, and two parents screaming at Dr. Abbot, telling him that youâre not fit to be a doctor.
Tonight isnât the first night a patient has yelled at you. Tonight isnât even the first time youâve been removed from a case. Itâs not the first time Dr. Abbot has had to correct you, and itâs certainly not the first time youâve made a mistake.
Youâre an intern. Itâs your job to fuck up, learn from it, and keep going. Thatâs what Dr. Mohan said to one of the other interns awhile back. Theyâd ended up flunking out, but oh well. It was good advice. It wasnât meant for you, but hell if you donât say it to yourself every night like a prayer.
But right now, the usual calming mantra is doing absolutely nothing. Youâre stifling ugly sobs into the tops of your knees, arms wrapped around and squeezing as tight as you can, your chest shaking and shuddering with the force of your complete and total freak-out.
The patient isnât dead. Despite your mistakes, they didnât die. Thereâs really nothing to cry about. Nothing to hide in the supply closet for.
And yet, here you are.
Your first mistake wasnât terrible, but it was ridiculously stupid and incredibly embarrassing. Triage room, emergency measures being taken. And you, tired and off kilter from being so used to the day-shift, broke the sterile field. Like some dumb medical student, not a fairly seasoned intern whoâs drilled sterile protocol into her head until itâs muscle memory.
For a scalpel. You dropped a scalpel. Arguably the worst thing to drop. And then, like an idiot, you picked it back up.
And, well. Thereâs no time to re-scrub, so there wasnât a need for you in the triage room anymore.
Your second mistake was equally stupid and avoidable, if youâd focused more. Dr. Garcia was kind enough to let you scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.
It was a test. Not your first.
And you ripped the fucking purse strings.
Once again, you were unceremoniously booted from the room (being kicked out of an OR feels a hell of a lot worse than being kicked out of a triage room) and sent back to the pit. Dr. Abbot immediately caught wind of it and demoted you to scut work until âyou get your head back in the game.â
And, well. You tried really hard to devote yourself to your new task, but you had to keep blinking tears out of your eyes every five seconds and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of literally any of your coworkers, lest they think you some weak-willed weak-stomached intern who canât handle some criticism and correction. Youâre a hard worker. Youâre good at this. You have to be.
So yeah. Crying in the supply closet.
Youâve always been a frustrated cryer, which is annoying on a good day and downright awful on a bad one (case in point.)
Youâre just so upset with yourself. Youâre better than this. You know you are. Youâve proven that you are. You donât drop scalpels. You donât break the sterile field. You donât rip purse strings.
But you did tonight. And maybe one day youâll laugh, but today is not that day.
You just donât get it. Day shift? Incredible. Manageable. Youâre on top of things, put together, and worthy of Dr. Robbyâs respect.
But tonight? Quite literally the exact opposite.
You canât be burning out, right? Thatâs not how burn out works. Thereâs like, signs, and you start to feel terrible and awful and exhausted and sure you definitely feel all of those things, but thatâs because you work in medicine. And youâre an intern. Youâre supposed to feel terrible and awful and exhausted. But maybe youâre not? You do enjoy your work, and itâs exhilarating, especially when you try something for the first time and execute it well, because you always do, you always get things right on the first try, obviously, so that means that this canât be burn out. You donât burn out. Thatâs not you. Right? No. Of course not.
You gasp a particularly rough sob into your knees, air feeling like knives as you inhale, making you cough horrendously. You must be quite a sight.
Unfortunately, due to your alternating hacking coughs and dramatic crying, you donât quite hear the door open.
You do, however, hear the quiet âOh.â thatâs mumbled a few moments later.
Of-fucking-course.
You scramble upright, aggressively wiping at your face and attempting to make it look like you werenât just crying on the ground.
âDr. Abbot! Iâm so sorry, this is very unprofessional and I know you have me on scut work but I promise Iâm still working on itââ
He holds up a hand, and you slam your jaw shut with an audible click.
âJust needed some four by fours, kid.â
Always one to be helpful (especially to the guy you have a crush on who also happens to be your boss, aka the same person who professionally told you to get your shit together about forty minutes ago) you reach beside yourself and hand him the package of gauze, an awkward smile fixed on your face.
ââŚThose are three by threes.â
Bitch. Motherfucker. Fuck your life.
âRight,â You mumble, dragging your hand down your face. âIâll just get out of your way. Sorry.â
You turn to walk past him, attempting to go quick enough that he might not notice the new tears shining in your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder.
âLook,â Dr. Abbot starts. âYouâre one of Robbyâs adopted interns, right? Robby-Junior?â
âThat is one of the rumors Santos has been spreading, yes.â
His hand is on your shoulder. His hand is on your shoulder. (!!!)
You donât know what to do. Heâs looking at you. Your boss doesnât fluster you. Youâre chill. Youâre normal. Youâre cool as a cucumber, yep yep yep.
âRobby doesnât adopt interns lightly. Donât let one bad shift mess you up. It happens to everyone.â
You purse your lips. You should let it go. Take his advice. Thank him.
The all-consuming-guilt and ever-present-need to prove yourself itches too painfully to ignore.
Dr. Abbot seems to notice, and he catches your gaze again.
âWhat, it doesnât happen to you?â
A jolt of panic stabs your chest. âNo! Of course it happens to me, I didnât mean to imply that Iâm like, above making mistakes or having bad shifts at allââ
Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why the fuck does he do this you. Youâre a smart, confident woman who apparently chucks her brain into the garbage bin whenever her boss is around.
Dr. Abbot, probably picking up on a pattern of behavior by now, levels you with another look that shuts you up fairly quickly. Heâs got a sort of impish grin on his face, and it shouldnât be hot, but heâs got his hand on your shoulder and youâre having a ridiculously shitty night. Does anything matter anymore?
âUsually, we try to mix up interns schedules so you donât get into a rhythm on one specific shift so that when you inevitably switch, the change doesnât mess up your flow. But I'm sure your knack for keeping your head down and doing good work let you fall through the cracks.â
He takes his hand off your shoulder and shoves it into his pocket, but you almost donât notice because he said you do good work.
Abbot gives you another grin. âAnd I didnât stick you on scut as a punishment. Mindless work tends to be calming, which in turn helps focus your mind.â
âBut I ripped the purse strings,â You blurt like a Catholic school girl in a particularly rife confessional, âLike an idiot.â
âYou ripped them like an intern doing something for the first time.â
âI practiced hundreds of times to make sure it didnât happen!â
He tilts his head, almost cat-like. âDid you also practice on a live person in a higher stakes situation while your body is messed up from a sudden and huge sleep schedule change?â
ââŚNo?â
He snorts. âExactly. Dr. Garcia probably wonât hold it against you. Sheâll give you shit for it, but itâs not like sheâs never going to give you another chance.â
You wipe the last bit of wetness of your cheeks with the back of your hand, embarrassment heating your face. Despite the awfulness of being caught crying in the supply closet, the beginnings of pleasant warmth is spreading through your chest, Dr. Abbotâs reassurances echoing in your head.
âThank you, Dr. Abbot. Um. Sorry about the crying. I promise I donât usually do that.â
Dr. Abbot snorts as he saunters towards the door. âWouldnât judge you if you did, kid.â
â
Dr. Jack Abbot is bored.
He has his work, which is great. He became a doctor after being discharged because heâs always been the kind of man that needs something to do. Something to mind, something to watch, something to fix. Robby and him and much the same in this way.
Working at the ED was enough for a while. There was a certain challenge to it, an unpredictability that itch sated, kept him sane. And, well. Now heâs an attending. Night shift lead.
He started to get restless again.
He thought a pet might work. He was going to get a dog, but it didnât sit right with him to get an animal built for companionship and then leave it at home for over twelve hours a day. Then he thought a cat might do the trick. He looked online first, saw beautiful, well bred felines that could probably compete and win for best in show for whatever the cat equivalent is for the Westminster Dog Show.
And then he made the mistake of going to the shelter and seeing an old, one eared tuxedo cat that stared at him with something in between fear and spite and its eyes. And well. The shelter attendants assured him that the cat in question prefers being left alone and having its own space, but might warm up eventually, and he brought him home that day.
And then it was just Jack, occasionally Robby, and now his asshole cat who might not love him back.
That also worked for a while. Having Charlie was fun. It was nice having another living creature in his house that wasnât him. Even if he did have a habit of chewing on power cords when left unattended and eventually progressed into attempting to destroy Jackâs stethoscope if he left it anywhere he could find.
Minding the cat gave him something to do that wasnât tedious, and it was a special sort of bonus to wake up every now and then and see the cat sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring away. He didnât actually know cats could snore like that.
Around the time that the itch came back and Jack was considering adopting a second cat from the shelter (well on his path to becoming a crazy cat lady, as Robby said in the park over beers) he met you for the first time.
Sometimes Jack slips quietly into the ED and watches the chaos of day shiftâs conclusions. Heâs picked up a very special language of gauging what heâs getting into based on the body language and behavior of the rest of the hospital staff. Robby had told him about the latest internâ a motivated, stubborn sort of girl that frequently went toe-to-toe with Santos but without any of the pushback when receiving correction or criticism. Heâd heard that you were smart, capable, and well on your way of becoming a great doctor.
Robby failed to mention that you were pretty.
Heâd watch you, comparing notes with Mohan with a certain intense focus on your face, worrying your lip between your teeth and repeatedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear because itâd fallen out of your disheveled pony tail he thinks âOh.â
And then, a few months later, he finds you crying in a closet, subtly confessing fears of failure and falling short of expectations, and then he thinks âWell, thereâs something to do.â
Jack tries not to think about you, at first. You, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip jutted out just a bit, hugging your knees. He tries not to think about how youâd looked at him when heâd assured you that you did good work, the awkward thank you, and the way that for the rest of the shift, all the annoying menial tasks that get forgotten in the chaos were all mysteriously taken care of.
He tells himself that heâs just going to keep an eye on you. For Robbyâs sake. Heâd do the same for Whitaker.
The next time you have a night shift, youâre clearly more prepared for the exhaustion, and when he finally sees you in true, proper action, he understands immediately why Robby likes you and Mohan frequently attaches you to her cases. Skill, patience, and focus.
When he watches you trach a patient with a certain ease that only comes from practicing hundreds of times, Ellis shoots him a knowing look. Raised eyebrows and smirk. When she passes him in the hall a few hours later, she jabs her thumb behind her shoulder at where youâre diligently filling out a chart.
âThat one yours, then?â
Jack shakes his head. âItâs not like that. You make me sound like a creep.â
Another raised eyebrow. âSure it isnât.â
âSheâs Robbyâs intern.â
âMhm.â
âSheâs way too young.â
Parker shrugs. âSheâs good.â
âShe is.â
The senior resident cuts a glance back to you. âThink sheâll burn out?â
âMaybe.â
Parker crosses his arms. âAre you gonna let it happen?â
âSheâs not my intern.â
Up to three Parker Ellis looks and counting.
âItâs an HR nightmare.â
Parker shrugs. âYou just said sheâs not your intern.â
He narrows his eyes. âYou know what I meant.â
âDo I? Itâs been awhile, Jack. No one would really judge you for having some fun.â
âParker.â
âJack.â
He shakes his head, walks towards the boards. âYouâre the worst.â
Parker just laughs. âSure I am.â
To your credit, he doesnât find you crying in a supply closet again to see evidence of you doing so for a solid few weeks. But, like most things in the ED, the peace doesnât last.
You came into work soaking wet, which is odd, considering the fact that he knows you drive, and the walk to the parking lot isnât far enough to account how youâre shivering in your freshly changed scrubs. He brushes it off, chalks it up to freakish Pittsburg weather.
Some night shifts are relatively slow and mild. Tonight is not one of those shifts. Patients are extra irritable at late hours, which is to be expected, but what heâs not expecting is to walk by South 15 and see a 50-something year old man slap you.
Jack blinks, and in the next second heâs in the room, standing in between you and the patient.
âExcuse me, what the fuck is going on here?â
Gloria will probably give him shit for his language later, but right now all he can think about is the startled look on your face and the echo that the contact made.
âI said I want a real doctor, not this fuckingââ
âGet the fuck out of my hospital.â
Shen peaks his head in. âSecurityâs on their way.â
Jack reaches behind him to where youâre still standing, your hand covering your cheek, and gently pushes you towards Shen, towards the door. You stumble over your feet a bit, but truly, Jackâs never been more thankful for his residents because then Parker is right there, ushering you out the door with a hand on your shoulder. Jack resolutely ignores your mumbled âIâm fine, really, he just surprised me.â
Thankfully, security doesnât take that long to get to the room, and the second Jack is finished explaining, heâs out the door and scanning the ED for your face. Nurse Young jerks her head towards the break room, and he thinks he manages to give her what he hopes is a thankful smile before heâs beelining for it.
When he opens the door, youâre sitting on the floor again, holding an ice pack to your cheek with one hand and dabbing at your lip with a paper towel. Like youâve never heard of medical protocol in your entire life.
âWhat the fuck are you doing?â
You jerk your head up, a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
âDr. Abbot!â
Lowering himself to the ground is awkward, physically. Prosthetics donât lend to much mobility and heâs too old to be doing this, but he just. There are little beads of blood collecting and then sliding down your chin, dripping onto the leg of your scrubs. At the same angle of the split in your lip, thereâs a little cut he can see peaking out from under the ice pack.
He reaches forward, fingers itching towards the deep scarlet dripping steadily. He pauses, remembering things like words and questions and sees the wild look in your eyes.
âCan IâŚ?â Jackâs voice trails off, the words clunky and useless in this bubble thatâs seemed to form around the two of you, on the probably disgusting floor of the ED break room.
You slowly drop the napkin, let the ice pack lower to your lap and nod.
âHe had a ring on. I guess it caught me. I didnât really notice until I got here.â
âParker and Shen didnât notice?â
You look at your lap. âI told them I was fine⌠And covered it with my hand. There are other patients. Itâs just a little cut.â
Jackâs fingers finally reach your face, and he almost takes them back when you flinch on the initial contact, shaking ever so slightly.
But then, with noticeable effort, you relax into his palm, his fingers curling around the side of your jaw. He should grab gloves. He should get up, take his hand off your face.
Anyone could walk in right now and call Gloria on his ass.
His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, just below the cut, which does have some faint bruising around it. And truthfully, the split in your lip doesnât look that bad either.
But thereâs still little dots and trails of scarlet and he doesnât think heâs going to be able to calm down until he fixes it. He needs to fix something.
âIf I leave you here so I can get supplies,â He starts, voice a little rough, âCan I trust that youâll stay here and not do anything stupid?â
âUh, yes? Should I move to a real chair though?â
Jack huffs as he hauls himself to his feet. âThatâd be preferable.â
Later, when heâs at home in his bed, heâll assure himself that the night shift wasnât truly that busy and he trusts his residents to handle things while heâs busy.
No one stops him on his way to the medical supply closet (the irony of the location is not lost on him) and he makes it back without interruption. Upon opening the door, you have in fact moved to a chair, and it seems the bleeding slowed in his absence.
What he should do is sit down in the chair opposite of you and handle this situation like a professional, like the Dr. Abbot, night shift attending, not Jack whoâs got a thing for fixing.
He does try to remove his emotions and feelings from the situation, he really does. Itâs something heâs generally very good at âwhich is where he and Robby differ; Robby would prefer to feel too much and Jack would prefer to feel nothing at allâ but youâre looking up at him and thereâs something really dangerous in the air and it mustâve gotten into your blood stream or something cause itâs swimming in your eyes and he realizes that removing his feelings is not going to be possible.
He decides he could at least tone it down. Youâre an intern. Robbyâs intern. So what if youâre bleeding all over the break room? Jackâs just doing his job as the attending to look after the doctors and nurses under his jurisdiction or whatever. Thatâs all.
âTilt your head up.â
He sets to work cleaning up the cut and split as detached and clinically as possible, even puts on gloves so thereâs no skin to skin contact, just protocol, but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the latex and you keep sucking in these tiny little breathes when something stings and he canât get the sound of the slap out of his head and itâs all just kind of a lot.
He readjusts his hand on the side of your face, sort of holding your forehead now to have better access and control over the cut on your cheek and wow. Your skin is really warm. It kind of feels like youâre burning up.
Jack tosses the piece of gauze he was using and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. Shit, you are burning up.
He thinks back to you, walking in today, soaked to the bone.
âDid you walk to work today?â
You wince. âMy car kind of died? On the way here? I was only a mile away. But I called a towing company, so I didnât just leave my car in the middle of the road.â
He blinks.
âYour car died, so you had it towed and walked a mile to work, in the rain, late at night, and didnât tell anybody?â
You just keep staring at him, brows furrowed.
âYeah? I carry a knife and Iâve taken self defense classes, and my car was just towed back to my place, so. I had a shift to work.â
Thereâs⌠a lot to unpack in your answer.
âKid,â He starts, wondering why Robby never thought to give him a heads up before you started working more night shifts, âWhat was your plan to get home?â
âWalk, probably. I was thinking about taking the bus. Dr. King knows the bus schedule, so Iâm probably going to text her.â
Jack decides to just finish cleaning you up, before he does something stupid like shake you by your shoulders and ask why you didnât think to let your boss know that your car broke down and youâd be walking home in the rain. Or that when a patient slapped you in the face, his ring cut your face and lip open.
God.
âItâs really fine though,â You say, gesticulating animatedly with your hands. âMy place isnât that far, and itâs not the first time my carâs died. The batteryâs kind of shot, but I guess my car has a weird battery, and itâs like, crazy expensive to get a new one, so. Besides, I like walking. Iâve been meaning to catch up on my audiobooks.â
He wishes youâd stop talking so heâd stop hearing things that make him want to do things he canât and shouldnât do. Like find out what car you drive so he can buy you a new battery. Or buy you a new car all together.
Christ, you have him wrapped around your fucking finger.
âIâll drive you home. If youâre fine with that.â
Jack has to fight a grin at how comically wide your eyes grow at his suggestion.
âOh no, you really donât have to. I promise Iâmââ
âPlease stop saying you're fine,â He begs, âYou donât have a working car, a patient slapped you in the face, and I think youâre coming down with something.â
The smile thatâs seemed permanently fixed on your face since he came into the break room falters, for a bit.
âWell,â You grimace, hands fisting the hem of your scrub top, âThings certainly arenât⌠great, but Iâll survive. Iâm not like, incapable, or anything.â
Jacks quiet for a bit, not just mulling over your words but the way you said them; the cadence and tone.
He hums. âIs that what you think? That I or someone else here will think youâre not competent or that youâre weak if you take a break or ask for help?â
Your face falters again. âNo, no, of course not I just⌠I donât know. Iâm an intern. Itâs my job, supposedly, to mess up and have to be looked after in case I accidentally kill someone and stuff like that. I just donât want to be someone that people think they have to worry about. I needâ internships are competitive. Theyâre competitions, really. And I want to win.â
Jack Abbot knows what itâs like to want to win. That need to prove yourself, prove that youâre capable and strong and unfailing.
So Jack also knows how quickly that can all go south.
âYouâre a smart kid,â He says, voice ever so slightly soft in the quiet tension of the break room, empty except for the two of you, âAnd youâre going to make a great resident, and one day, a damn good attending. But none of that means shit if you burn out or get run yourself into the ground before you get there.â
He avoids eye-contact while he carefully applies the bandage to your cheek. âThis industry will chew you up and spit you back out if you donât take care of yourself. I get it. Weâre doctors. We make the worst patients. But you got slapped in the face during a shitty day. Itâs okay to⌠not be okay for a minute.â
You huff a watery laugh. âIsnât that what energy drinks are for?â
He shakes his head. âWhat, trying to die faster?â
âAnything to shake those student loans. Canât be in debt if youâre dead.â
âDonât they just pass it to your family? Next of kin or whatever?â
âI donât think they can give student loans to a cactus. I mean, I consider her my daughter, but I hardly think itâll hold up in court.â
Jack mentally files that information away for later. What later is, he isnât sure.
He stands, pulls off his gloves and tosses all the used gauze and shit in the trash can.
âI gotta get back out there,â He jams his thumb towards the door, âBut feel free to take five. No oneâs judging you. Matter of fact, as your boss, Iâm telling you to take a break.â
You roll your eyes. âWhatever you say, Dr. Abbot. But thank you. For theâŚâ
You gesture to your bandaged cheek and lip. ââŚAnd for the advice.â
He shrugs, like taking care of you hasnât become a persona fantasy he may or may not fall asleep imagining most nights. Like it doesnât matter, like heâs just doing his job.
âOffer for the rideâs still open. Just let me know by the end of shift.â
And with that, heâs out the door.
Itâs the end of shift, and youâre staring at the double doors that lead to the outside world, and beyond that, absolutely fucking miserable weather for walking, a dead car, and cold as shit apartment.
Youâre not exactly rushing out the door.
Youâre clutching at the strap of your bag, regular clothes on, still damp despite the fact that itâs been over thirteen hours since you originally took them off, begging the universe to strike you down where you stand. Spontaneous lightning bolts happen indoors too, right?
The doors just stare back at you, unchanging in their miserable-ness, and after a solid ten minutes of staring, you feel rather than see Jack sidle up next to you.
âStill raining out there?â
âYep. Looks worse now.â
âNot great weather to walk in. Especially considering the low-grade fever.â
âMhm.â
âDid you text Dr. King for the bus schedule?â
âNo. I didnât want to wake her up.â
Jack huffs a breath, then jerks his head towards the doors that lead to the employee parking lot.
âCome on, kid.â
The ride is quiet and awkward. Well. Dr. Abbot probably doesnât think itâs awkward, because he seems like the kind of man not to be bothered by long stretches of silence. Or silence at all.
Heâd been kind enough to turn the heat on full blast (you started shivering the moment you stepped outside) and the radio is softly playing, and itâs only thanks to Sabrina Carpenterâs voice that you donât feel like completely freaking out.
You mouth along to the lyrics, quietly humming the chorus under your breath.
ââI get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guyââ
ââTreating me like youâre supposed to do, tears run down my thighsââ
By the time youâve realized that perhaps this isnât the best song choice to sing along to, considering the situation and whoâs car youâre currently riding in, the words âI get wetâ have already left your mouth so thereâs no real point in stopping.
On a completely unrelated note, Dr. Abbot starts smiling a little bit when you hum.
Pittsburgh traffic is terrible, so the drive kind of drags on. The radio is playing Chappell Roan now. Casual specifically. Youâre considering changing the radio station because god.
âSo,â You start, just to say anything that drowns out âknee-deep in the passenger seat and youâre eating me out, is it casual now?â, âDid you⌠have a good shift?â
That was a terrible question. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? How did you get through medical school?
Dr. Abbot snorts. âShouldnât I be asking you that question?â
Ah. Right. The Incident.
âI told you Iâmââ
âDidnât I tell you to stop saying that?â
Your lap has never looked more interesting. Wow, is that a loose thread on your sweats?
He continues. âFine or not, a patient assaulted you. Even if he didnât leave a mark, thatâs still shitty.â
âHave you been hit by a patient before?â
He huffs. âHell yeah. It happens to everyone eventually. Itâll happen again. You get better at keeping your cool.â
âSorry you had to step in. Iâve been hit by a patient before and I was fine.â
âOh yeah?â
You nod. âIt was during my Pedes rotation, actually. Iâve always known working with kids probably wasnât going to be for me, but, well. Kid came in for intussusception, and she was screaming and writhing in pain, and I failed to restrain her properly.â
âWhat, did she slap you too?â
âNope. Kicked me in the chin. Ended up biting almost clean through my tongue.â
âFucking hell, kid. Whatâd you do?â
You shrug. âKept my blood in my mouth until we finished sedating the patient. Ended up with three stitches.â
Dr. Abbot lets out a low whistle. âAlways the patients you least expect.â
âThe importance of proper patient restraint was thoroughly impressed upon me, I assure you.â
The silence after your short conversation is slightly more comfortable, and thankfully the radio station has decided to play less pointed music.
Between the warmth of the car, the smell permeating the seats that smells distinctly like Dr. Abbot, and the drumming of rain outside, it doesnât take long for drowsiness to begin to overtake you.
Your last thought before falling asleep is that you donât remember if you gave Dr. Abbot your address or not.
Someone is gently shaking your shoulder, and you feel like shit.
âWhat?â You attempt to say, but the side of your mouth is pressed against the seatbelt and your shoulder so it comes out sounding like: âWhamfgh?â
Opening your eyes is a herculean task, like someone sewed miniature weights to your eyelids while you were asleep. Youâre absolutely freezing, despite the steady hum of the car's heat, still on high, and you vaguely recognize the street the car is currently parked on.
Oh right, your apartment.
âOh,â You yawn, hauling yourself semi-upright, aiming for woman who has it together, and less disheveled swooning woman in a Baroque painting.
Dr. Abbot is staring at you with equal parts humor and concern.
You rub at your eyes. âHow long have I been asleep?â
âLittle over forty minutes. You looked like you needed it.â
âIt doesnât take that long to drive to my place, even with traffic.â
Your brain is moving like molasses, so it takes you a second to catch up with the implication of his statement.
âDid you just⌠park in front of my house? So I could keep sleeping?â
He just shrugs. âLike I said. You looked like you needed it.â
Embarrassment and a touch of something else floods through your body, hot and cold at the same time.
âSorry. You didnât have to wait.â
âIf I didnât want to, I wouldnât have.â
Still moving slowly, you gather up your bag from where it partially spilled on the floor all over your feet, shoving old receipts and pads and chapstick back in with the reckless abandon of a person who isnât nearly aware enough of social cues to be in a car alone with their hot boss.
Whilst you're grabbing and shoving, Dr. Abbot reaches into his back seat, rifles around for a bit, and then drops something rather unceremoniously over your head and shoulders. After a quiet âheyâ you pull it into your lap, and then that hot feeling is back in full force.
Itâs a rain jacket. Clearly Dr. Abbotâs. You can see his name written on the inside pocket. Itâs nice too. Definitely not the kind of rain jacket you could afford on an internâs budget.
âFor the next time your car dies,â He clarifies, as if the jacketâs purpose is the thing thatâs stupefied you, not the fact that heâs the one giving it to you, âIn case of rain.â
âYou really donât have to,â your words are rushed and clunky in your mouth, tumbling over each other in your haste to say something, anything, âI mean, I can just buy my ownââ
âFirst of all,â He cuts you off, voice smooth and rough at the same time, âDo I seem to be the kind of guy in the habit of doing things I donât want to? And second of allâŚâ
He tilts his head, gaze sharp. âAre you really going to buy one for yourself?â
Your mouth goes dry.
âI was planning on looking onlineââ
Dr. Abbot interrupts you. âNow you donât have to.â
Like itâs that easy. Does he want it to be?
âDr. Abbot, Iââ
âJack.â
His grin goes from mild to shit-eating as you stare at him, obviously radiating confusion.
âJack,â you start, testing out the name in your mouth, hearing how it sounds in the air. âI can take care of myself. You donât need to give me your jacket. Iâve been doing just fine on my own.â
âKidââ
The prickling of perceived weakness makes anger spark in your chest.
âDonât call me kid like Iâm stupid.â
Dr. Abbâ Jack seems simultaneously impressed that you interrupted him for a change and vaguely put out.
He holds up a finger, effectively silencing anything else you were thinking of saying.
âI donât call you kid because I think youâre stupid. I donât think youâre stupid. Youâd know if I thought you were stupid, because I would tell you. âKidâ is aâŚâ He trails off, free hand tapping thoughtful rhythms on the steering wheel, ââŚNickname. Term of endearment. Whatever you want to call it, but itâs not derogatory.â
Jack holds up a second finger.
âYou have not been taking care of yourself. If you were, you wouldnât have a low grade fever, and you wouldâve called me as your boss or one of your friends to drive you instead of walking after your car died. Youâve been surviving. Thereâs a difference.â
Shame burns white hot through youâ all your recent failings laid out by the person you want least to notice them. Clearly, he has.
Possibly out of pity in response to your no doubt miserable expression, Jack continues.
âDonât beat yourself up about it. Itâd be an honest-to-god miracle if any intern managed to properly take care of themself. Hell, residents donât do it either, and neither do attendings. Does Robby strike you as the kind of man who takes perfect care of himself?â
âThat depends. Is my answer going to make it back to him?â
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. âExactly. Doctors make the worst patients, in and out of a hospital setting. Knowing better doesnât actually make us all that inclined to do better. Terrible misconception.â
He nudges the jacket on your lap. âSo just take the jacket. One less thing to worry about.â
Emboldened by his recent streak of kindness towards you and the flush of fever running through your veins, you look over to him.
âYou worry about me?â
Something dances in his eyes for a split second, gone before you can blink.
âI worry about all the interns and residents on my service, but especially the ones my best friend has taken a liking to.â
Right. Of course. He only cares because of Robby. And Robby only cares so he can add another doctor to the already short-staffed PTMC. Itâs not like Jack actually likes you or anything.
You clutch the jacket to your stomach, finally finding the energy to get out of the car. Jackâs car.
âWell. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Abbot. And the jacket.â
âNo problem, kid.â
And if later on that evening, in the safety of your tiny apartment, you take in the deep, fresh, almost spicy smell that makes up Jack, lingering on the jacket, thatâs no oneâs business but yours.
â
From that night on, it feels like Jack Abbot is everywhere.
Whether itâs something heâs doing on purpose or youâve just developed a heightened sense to his whereaboutsâ it doesnât matter. Sometimes itâs a whiff of his cologne (eerily similar to Dior Sauvage, which makes you shudder. Certainly he didnât choose a cologne similar to the number one male manipulator scent on purpose?) or seeing his handwriting on a whiteboard or his notes in a chart, heâs there.
Youâre being scheduled for night shifts fairly regularly now, in addition to the 24-hour shifts you have the pleasure of being put on as an intern.
Working a double isnât horrific, really. Exhausting, sure, but Robby and Jackâs solid presence makes the shifts more bearable. Plus, youâre quickly becoming friends with the fresher residents, Whitaker and Santos, plus some of the older residents like Mohan and King. Even Dr. Langdon gives pretty solid advice and mentorship, despite the tension in the air whenever he happens to be working with or near Robby.
Normally, 24 hour shifts are grueling, but not impossible. Somewhere around the 15 or 16 hour mark, the sleep deprivation hits, and you can just coast on stress-induced inertia and a healthy does of energy drinks and mania.
Today, though, has been particularly fucking awful. Maybe itâs the fact that the fever never really went away, or the fact that you started your period the day before (being sick on your period should be illegal.) Itâs probably both of those things.
But there isnât really anything to do but grin and bear it. The day will pass, and you have the next two days off anyways. Just survive the next however-many hours of the shift and then you can go home, dress in exclusively fluffy clothes, and binge watch tv whilst eating heart-stopping junk food.
Youâre distracted from your charting, propped up on the counter at the nurses station by a light tap on your shoulder and someone saying your name.
Dr. Langdon has sidled up next you, voice hushed.
âHey, uh. I just wanted to let you know that you seem to have⌠bled through.â
If a spontaneous earthquake could open a chasm beneath your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time.
âFuck fuck-ity fuck fuck,â You mumble, wiping your hands down your face. âRight. Yeah. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.â
In a moment that is as mortifying as it is kind of sweet, Langdon passes you a hoodie that is clearly his.
âTo tie around your waist,â He clarifies, holding the object out across the meager space between the two of you, voice a bit awkward and stilted, like you might decide to spit in his face or something.
You donât actually know what it is that Dr. Langdon did before your arrival that makes the break room go quiet when he walks in (unless Dr. King is there) but you donât particularly care. If it was truly something horrific that you should be worried about, he wouldnât be working here. Robby wouldnât let that kind of thing slide.
So you take the offered hoodie with a strained smile (can this shift just be over) and speed-walk to the break room, praying no one decides to snag you on the way there.
What you should do is go to your locker where your stash of pads, tampons, spare underwear, and extra scrubs are, and then probably the bathroom to get changed, so you can keep on going but you also just saw Dr. King go into the break room and you just really need a hit of her specific brand of optimism.
The woman in question perks up when she notices your arrival, hastily eating the same snack she always eats around this timeâ a tiny bag of pretzels.
She watches as you collapse into the chair across from her, letting your head thunk onto the table.
âBad shift?â
âBad life,â You grumble. âDr. Langdon had to give me his hoodie to tie around my waist because I bled through onto my scrubs. Like a middle schooler who doesnât know what pad sizes are for.â
Dr. King nods thoughtfully. âHe asked me if it would be weird of him to let you know and offer his hoodie. To which I replied that periods are a normal bodily function and heâs a doctor.â
âHere here,â You half-heartedly cheer, any actual cheer or enthusiasm severely lacking in your voice. âHow did you survive your intern year, Dr. King?â
âWeâve been working together for awhile, you can call me Mel,â
She pops another pretzel in her mouth before answering. âBut to answer your question, I mostly just kept telling myself that failing wasnât an option. Which. Probably isnât helpful, or good advice, but it worked for me. Something thatâs nice is if you have a fellow intern or doctor that you enjoy working with. I know the other two interns who matched into the PTMC dropped out of the course, so itâs just you, but you have Dr. Robby, right?â
You nod, picking absently at a spot on the table and ignoring the way that it wasnât Robby who popped into your head, but Jack.
Your teeny, ignorable crush on him has become a full-blown thing, with semi-weekly dreams about him in various⌠situations, and casual daydreams at all hours of the day of what it would be like to just be with him, or hear him, in any capacity that couldnât be qualified as work or a boss checking on his employee. Intern. Whatever.
Hormonal and fever-ish, you suddenly feel like youâre going to explode and die if you donât have someone to confide in right this very second. You havenât heard Mel really talk about anyone you work with outside of professional doctor-to-doctor conversation, not even about Dr. Langdon, who she seems almost suspiciously close with.
âMel,â You start, voice a little too thick and watery to just be talking about your stupid, annoying, one-sided workplace crush, âCan I tell you a secret?â
She seems to consider the pros and cons first, and looks fairly caught off guard, but she answers. âUm. Sure?â
âHave you ever had a crush on a coworker before? Or like, a boss or mentor?â
Mel sets down her bag of pretzels. âIs this about Dr.ââ
âI have the biggest crush on Dr. Abbot and I think itâs ruining my life.â
The words burst out of you all at once, and Melâs expression goes from shocked, to confused, before finally settling in abject amusement.
âAh,â She says, sliding the pretzels across to you. âUm. Well I personally donât have a crush on Dr. Abbot, but I think I understand the sentiment.â
You bury your face into your hands and groan. âItâs awful. Itâs so cliche. Itâs so fucking Greyâs Anatomy.â
âIâve never actually seen that show. Becca likes it though.â
Mel allows you a few moments of wallowing and pretzel eating before she speaks again.
âHave you⌠acted on it?â
âNo!â You snap your head up. âI mean. No, I havenât. Iâm not naive enough to think that he would reciprocate. Heâs an attending and Iâm an intern.â
She leans in. âButâŚ?â
âBut sometimes⌠I wonder? I donât know. Iâm probably crazy. He drove me home the other day, cause my car died, and it was raining, and I got slapped by a patient, and that was when I first came down with this stupid fever, and like, thatâs normal, right?â
Mel nods. âFrâ Langdon drives me to work when we share shifts, and sometimes when we donât. I think Dr. Santos and Dr. Whitaker carpool too. So maybe?â
âRight. Yeah.â
She takes the pretzel bag back. âIs there more evidence that makes you feel crazy?â
Your skin flushes hot at the memory alone.
âHe gave me his rain jacket. To keep.â
âOh.â
âYeah.â
Mel once again takes a few minutes, and the rest of her pretzels before responding.
âIâm honestly not the best person to ask for advice about this. Iâve been told I can be⌠dense when it comes to romantic endeavors.â
You shrug. âYouâre a great listener, and you havenât steered me wrong in the past.â
She brightens. âThatâs good! I think my advice would be to talk to Dr. Mohan. She has experience with your⌠particular situation.â
Mel tosses the empty pretzel bag and heads toward the door. âIâll let Robby know youâre taking ten, so donât worry about someone looking for you while youâre changing.â
âYouâre the best. I love you.â
The resident flushes at your gratitude, and then ducks out the door, leaving you alone to stew on her advice.
â
Talking to Dr. Mohan proves difficult, at first. How exactly do you start that conversation? âHey, I heard you had advice on having a world-ending crush on your boss, got any tips?â
Additionally, sheâs kind of hard to track down. You greatly respect Dr. Mohanâs work ethic and truly aspire to her unflinching devotion to patient care at the PTMC.
After a few days (which turns into a few weeks, because you are an emotional coward) of trying (and failing) to find a moment to talk, Dr. Mohan actually ends up finding you.
âHey!â She jogs up to you as youâre walking to your car, a too-bright smile on her face for the fact that you both just got off a fourteen hour shift.
âSorry to be that annoying coworker who talks to you in the parking lot, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Mel said you wanted to talk to me?â
âRight!â You stammer, slightly mortified. You admire Dr. Mohan so much and really want her to think youâre capable but you really need some advice on Jack Abbot as a whole, and it sounds like sheâs the only expert around. âYes. That. Itâs a really normal question, you know.â
Dr. Mohan just nods, a smile still fixed on her face, like this is a totally normal conversation. âUh, sure?â
Thereâs a beat of silence where you both stare at each other, and then she gasps.
âThis is about Abbot, isnât it?â
You groan, throwing your head back in defeat. âAm I that obvious?â
She laughs goodnaturedly. âNo. Probably not. Youâre just the only intern in the ED right now so I try to make it a habit to keep an eye on you. Plus, Mel is literally the only person in the world who knows about my now-dead crush on him, so. I just connected the dots.â
âHeâs so hot, Dr. Mohan. I feel like Iâm dying.â
She makes a noise of sympathy. âHe is. Itâs fucking annoying, at a certain point.â
âThank you!â You shout, âLike itâs just so there. It should be illegal to just walk around and look like that. I should be focusing on like, studying and learning, but instead Iâm just harboring this stupid crush on an attending.â
âHave you ever seen Greyâsââ
âYes. I know. I canât be Meredith. Meredith was like, always a mess. Am I a mess?â
Mohan purses her lips. âWell. You did just say you felt like you were dying.â
âI know,â You sigh. âIt makes me feel⌠shallow. I like being a doctor. I was so excited to get matched into the PTMC, and this stupid crush is throwing me off my game.â
âIt canât be that bad.â
âOn my first night shift rotation I dropped a scalpel, picked it back up, and then ripped the purse strings on my first appendectomy.â
She winces. âOh. Thatâs not⌠great.â
Your hand finds its way to your comfort necklace. âHe found me crying in the supply closet like some medical student, and then he comforted me. It was terrible.â
Mohan starts ambling towards the direction you assume her car is in. âWell, if itâs any consolation, Iâve been caught crying in the supply closet several times. I think itâs a right of passage. And as for that second partâŚâ
She shrugs. âAbbot gives credit where credit is due, but he wonât coddle you. If he actually offered real comfort or advice or whatever, then he meant it.â
âThatâs what he said. It just didnât really help the whole crush-on-him part. And then there was the slapping incident, and he drove me home, and now I have his rain jacket in my backseat in case my car dies again.â
Mohan actually looks taken back.
âOkay. It sounds to me like this is a situation that is in serious need of wine. Do you drink?â
âWhenever I have a spare twenty dollars.â
She grins. âI happen to have a couple bottles at home that might do the trick. Follow me back to my place?â
âYes please.â
Wine and, eventually, takeout at Samiraâs is much more enjoyable than you expectedâ considering the fact that youâre an intern and sheâs a resident. She confides that she doesnât have very many friends outside of the ED and was excited at the opportunity to have âreal girl-timeâ.
She shares how she weathered her own seemingly life-ending crush on Jack, gasps and screams at the appropriate times when you tell her about the slapping, the events that occurred in the break room afterwards, the drive home, and the jacket.
You leave her apartment feeling lighter than ever. Like life might be worth living. Like you could survive your intern year.
Maybe everything will be okay.
â
Everything is not okay.
Youâre now two full weeks into a never-ending fever, you keep getting stuck with shitty shifts (how many times a month can one person possibly be scheduled to work a double?) and top it all off, youâve been pissed on not once, but twice in the same fucking shift.
Santos snorts when she sees you go by in your third set of scrubs for the day.
You shoot her a look. âSupportive as ever, Dr. Santos.â
âI try.â
You sink into the chair next to hers, taking a moment to press the heels of your hands into your eyes and maybe, like, take a thirty second nap.
It doesnât help much.
Thereâs a particular misery in watching the day-shift rotation handoff with the night shift and not being able to join in the process. Because youâre still there. And will be, until you see them again for your handoff, in twelve fucking hours.
Patients tend to get bitchier the later it gets, and itâs one of those nights where every patient bleeds into the next in a never-ending sea of complaints, pain, and fixing.
The fixing is fine. You like the fixing.
Youâre just⌠having a hard time keeping up with everything while the fever perpetually runs you down. Itâs the kind of thing where no amount of sleep can help you. Unless it was for 48 hours straight and then you got another 48 hours off after that to relax while youâre awake, and then another 48 hours to be productive.
A vacation. A week off. Youâre describing taking a week off work. Itâs comical, actually. Imagine requesting a week off from work. Gloria or whoever it is would never grant that. Not as an intern.
You notice Jack lingering around your general vicinity, which is fairly normal on a night like tonight. Technically, as the only intern on shift, youâre the only liability he has to really worry about.
Somewhere around the eighteen hour mark, he slides into the chair next to you while youâre charting.
âYouâre flagging.â
Your eyes burn as you tap information into the tablet, then check on the computer in front of you. âIâm fine. I just need a Redbull or something.â
He slides the tablet out of your hands. âPart of being a good doctor is knowing when to take a break. Canât be a good doctor if youâre falling asleep during the exam, right?â
âI would never fall asleep during an exam.â
He shrugs. âIâve seen it happen.â
Jack jerks his head towards the break room. âTake five. Get an energy drink or whatever. Then I want you on chairs for at least an hour.â
âYes sir.â
He rolls his eyes. âGet going.â
Chairs don't prove to be as uneventful as you (and probably Jack) hoped it would be. You get vomited on by a teenage girl, who apologizes profusely when she finally manages to stop throwing up, narrowly avoid a swing from a patient that quickly becomes a behavioral case, and become an unwilling participant in another patientâs doctor fantasy.
Security had to get involved with that last one. It was. Something.
Your shift ends with little fanfare. Itâs honestly a miracle you survived. Youâre exhausted, achey, and still feverish. The only thing you can think about is crawling into your bed, indulging in a rare expense of turning your heat up, and sleeping until your next shift.
Walking into your apartment ends up being a slap in the face. First of all, itâs fucking freezing. As if you left every single window open while you were gone. Secondly, itâs dark. Like, not even the clock on the microwave is on.
âFuck,â you mumble under your breath, tears beginning to burn with unshed tears digging through your bag and fumbling with your phone, about to text your landlord when you see that heâs already texted.
Eric (Landlord): Power and AC is down. Might take some time to fix. Power should be back on by tonight.
And thatâs just the last straw, really.
You slam the door behind you, not even bothering to go inside your apartment at all, chest tight and face hot, you race down the stairs, trying to find Samiraâs contact through blurry eyes. When you think youâve found it you click call, collapsing on the curb with your body doubled over, crying like a crazy person into your knees, at something like nine in the morning.
The phone rings for a bit, and youâre about to give up when the line finally stops and somebody picks up.
âHello?â
Itâs not Samira who answers. Itâs Jack.
You sniffle. âWhy are you answering Samiraâs phone?â
âI didnât. I answered my phone. Because you called me. Are you okay?â
âOh,â You decide to ignore his question, âI meant to call Samira. Sorry.â
âWait,â Jackâs voice comes out all rough and tinny through the speaker, but even distorted through a phone, you could listen to it for hours, âAnswer the question. Are you okay?â
Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously.
âThe powerâs out in my building. And the heating went out too. My landlord said the power wonât be on until tonight, and I just wanted to go to sleep, but itâs cold and I'm tired and this stupid fever wonât go away.â
âDo you have a place to stay?â
Always a man of action, Jack is.
You shrug, then make a non-committal noise when you remember he canât see it. âI was supposed to call Samira and see if sheâd let me sleep on her couch.â
âI have a guest bedroom.â
The statement hangs in the crisp morning air. You think of Jackâs encouraging advice, Jackâs steady presence, Jackâs warm car and his nice smelling rain- jacket. Jack, Jack, Jack.
âJack?â
âYes?â
âWhatâs your address?â
The drive over involves bawling your eyes out to Vienna by Billy Joel. Itâs just that kind of day.
You have no problems finding parking (miraculously) and no one stops you as you head up to Jackâs apartment as directed.
Itâs⌠fancy. Like, polished floor lobby, lounge area adjacent to the front desk fancy.
The actual building itself isnât very tall, nothing like a skyscraper, so itâs not exactly surprising that Jackâs apartment is the penthouse. Itâs just suddenly very awkward standing in front of the door, in the same sweatshirt youâve had since high school, sweats that have seen better years, looking exactly like the kind of girl who sobbed on the ride over to Billy Joel.
Jack opens the door almost immediately after you knock, and.
If seeing him in scrubs was bad, it doesnât hold a fucking candle to him in a tight, army green shirt and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. That couldnât have been intentional, right? Is he online enough to know these things? God.
His features soften when he takes in your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.
He makes a low noise in his throat.
âOh, you poor thing. Come here,â
Jack had actually been gesturing to the apartment, saying âcome insideâ but the dam breaks the moment he says âpoor thingâ and you donât have the wherewithal to think anything more complex than âJack=Comfort and Safety".
Your bag drops with a dull thud onto the ground and then youâre crashing into him, face pressed into his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. You can barely find it within yourself to be embarrassed.
Jack doesnât react at first, going completely stiff in your hold, and you think maybe youâve gone and fucked this up too, like everything good in your life, but right when you move to pull away a hand finds its way to the back of your head, and another rubs circles on your back.
âPoor girl,â he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble with your ear close to his chest, âThey been running you ragged?â
You nod uselessly, feeling raw and cut openâ like youâve been smashed against a rock and everything you keep tucked inside is spilling out and you canât stop it.
âIâm so tired.â You half-mumble-half-sob into him, a sentiment that feels too light to convey everything thatâs happened since you became an intern at the PTMC, and everything else you donât talk about that happened before.
âI know sweetheart, I know,â Jack is solid beneath your cheek and arms, a lifeboat in a storm. âHow about we get you inside and get you warm, huh? That sound nice?â
At the promise of warmth you finally detach from him, shame burning through you when you eye the wet spot on his shirt.
âSorry,â You say, voice barely above a whisper. âI think I got snot on your shirt.â
âTrust me kid, itâs seen worse.â
He grabs your bag before you can even make a move for it, and you trail behind him into his apartment, attempting to ground yourself by looking around his apartment.
Itâs nice. Lived in, not sterile. It doesnât, actually, look the inside of a dentistâs office, like you were half expecting. Most new apartments have that doctorâs office lobby feel. Not exactly comfortable when youâre a doctor and the goal of home is to not remind you of your job.
Jack hangs your bag on a hook by the door, right next to his own. Something twinges in your chest at the sight.
Thereâs a feeling under your skin you canât place as you shuffle into his apartment, something warm and skittish that aches for this to not be a one time thing, to be able to compare the pale morning light youâre watching now to late afternoon sun. To know where he keeps his mugs, what drawer the silverware is in, if heâs got a junk drawer with random shit in it, and what the random shit is. What it feels like to be in his kitchen, shoulders brushing.
But thatâs a lot of complicated things to name or voice just past the threshold of the foyer, so you wrap your arms around yourself and toe your shoes off, then pad quietly after him.
Jack isâ inviting, or maybe enticing; all those words that beckon the skittish thing closer and it feels just on the tip of danger to obediently sit on the couch he ushers you to.
âBy the way,â Jack says somewhere behind you, maybe in the kitchen? âI have a cat. His name is Charlie. He probably wonât come near you, but be warned, heâs an asshole when he wants to be.â
âOh, thatâs fine. I like cats. Especially the asshole ones.â
âThat explains a lot of things.â
His statement is kind of loaded, chock full of subtext you donât care to parse through at the moment.
âUm,â You start, feeling a bit unsteady, âIsâ Do you mind if I shower? I kind of smell gross probably, and I feel⌠grimy. Your apartment seems clean and Iâd hate to get my hospital grime on anything.â
Jack just chuckles. âOne, I wouldnât care if you got âhospital grimeâ on anything because that would be a very hypocritical thing to care about, and two, of course you can shower. Do you have spare clothes?â
âI mightâve forgotten to grab those.â
Another huffy laugh. âThatâs fine. You can borrow some of mine. Iâll leave them on the bed.â
Thatâs like. Wow. Yeah. Youâre just gonna borrow some clothes from him. From Jack. Youâre going to shower in Jackâs shower and use whatever bodywash he has (hopefully not 5-in-one) and then put on his clothes and you are totally capable of being Completely Normal about these things.
âI already started on dinner when you said you were coming over. Should be done by the time you get out of the shower. Chicken noodle okay?â
Damn Jack Abbot and damn your shitty emotional regulation and damn your life for putting you in these situations.
âYeah,â You croak, thinking about things like soup and family and being cold and strong and alone, âYeah thatâs fine. Thank you.â
Jack politely does not comment on the fact that soup is reducing you to a tangled heap of emotions and tears, and instead directs you to where his shower is and says to use whatever you want and take however long you want. He says want, not need. Youâre not sure if thereâs an intention behind the word choice.
Once in the shower, you allow yourself time to cry, to feel awful and self-pitying and all those things that are terrible to go through in front of another person. His shower is expensive and the water is warm and he does not have 5-in-one. Thereâs a litter box nestled next to the toilet, and itâs not funny, but it kind of is, because Jack would be the kind of guy to look at a litter box and put it right next to the toilet. Everything in its place.
Maybe thatâs your problem. You havenât felt like anything is in the right place in years.
You want to stay in the shower, in the bubble of protection it provides, but the idea of running up Jackâs water bill is enough to guilt you into getting out. You shiver, dry, aggressively attempt to make yourself look less like a wreck at the sink, and then tip-toe into the attached bedroom and carefully pull on the clothes Jack left for you on the bed; a faded, oversized college shirt, and a comfy pair of sweatpants.
They smell like him. You smell like him, like his body wash. The house smells like him. Everything you take in is a pleasant assault of Jack, Jack, Jack.
Enough guilt to fuel an entire room of ex-Catholicâs is the only thing keeping you from snooping around his room. The idea of stumbling upon something private or hidden away makes you feel slimy and gross, so you exit the bedroom and pretend like you donât feel like a foster dog on its first night home from the shelter.
(Do shelter dogs miss the shelter? Do they miss its familiarity? Do dogs miss anything at all?)
The apartment smells of more spices and good smelling food than you privately thought Jack capable of. Youâd read him as the kind of guy to subsist on takeout and maybe like, protein bars. But heâs dutifully stirring a metal pot with all the diligence of the military man that he once was.
Quietly, as if he might throw the wooden spoon heâs stirring with if you make too much noise or take up too much space, you carefully pull out a barstool in front of his kitchen island, the one closest to the door, and haul yourself onto it.
He gives you an examining glance over his shoulder, turns a knob on the stove, then rests his forearms on the island counter across from you. His rather delicious looking forearms, you might add.
âFeeling better after your shower?â
You hum an affirmation, folding your arms and resting your chin on them.
âIsnât it kind of weird to make soup for breakfast?â
He shrugs. âItâs dinner for us. Or, well, me. Iâm not sure your body knows what meal it is.â
He taps a pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. âAny word from your landlord?â
âNo. Sorry for⌠all of this. I know youâre tired.â
âI wish youâd stop apologizing for things I donât mind doing for you.â
You donât really know how to respond to that, or what to do with how it makes you feel, so you elect to save it for later. Good at compartmentalizing, ED doctors are.
You clear your throat. âI can call Samira whenever. Sheâd probably be excited to have girl time. So you know. Donât feel likeâ I have other options. If or when you want me to leave.â
âDo you want to leave?â
You wish heâd stop asking questions you donât want to answer.
You try to play it off, smother your fear and exhaustion with humor. Robbyâs kid, through and through.
âWell, I canât have you getting sick of me. Youâre the only person I know who has a very rob-able house if this whole internship doesnât pan out.â
Jack straightens, shoulders pulling and flexing. âWho said Iâd get sick of you? Maybe I like the idea of you in my house.â
âDo you?â
You ask the question before youâre aware of how terrified you are of the answer. But youâve already said it, and it feels nice to be the one asking the hard question instead.
Jack, likely experienced in this sort of thing, doesnât look outwardly bothered by it, but he gets a sort-of-sad look on his face, almost like heâs disappointed that you had to ask.
âHave I given you any reason to think otherwise?â
âI donât know,â You look down, picking at a hangnail to avoid his expression and his eyes and his everything, âI donât want to assume anything.â
âYouâve already assumed quite a bit.â
You scrunch your face. âThatâs different. Those are safe assumptions.â
âAre they?â
âObviously, itâs safer to assume that you donât want me to stay here, or at least not for very long, because if I assume that I do Iâll bother you and I want you toââ
You cut yourself off, jaw shutting with a firm click, but the end of the sentence hangs in the air unspoken anyways. Itâs not hard to figure out what you were going to say.
I want you to like me.
Jack sighs, and alarm blares are going off in your head and your chest starts to feel tight and cold despite the warmth of his apartment, and then heâs rounding the island and you turn your body to follow him ânever turn you back, never let your guard downâ and then heâs standing in front of you, over you, and youâre not sure if you want to run or metaphorically curl up at his feet, tail tucked.
Itâs pathetic. Itâs embarrassing. Itâs impossible to ignore.
(What does a shelter dog think, on that first night? Do they hope? Do dogs hope?)
He raises a hand, slowly, giving you a chance to lean away, and when you donât, it comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb swiping at the barely-there wetness from earlier tears.
Itâs cleaning the cut from the slap, itâs a kindness you can curl into, and it might be a threat. Might be bad, might turn harsh and painful, might leave without a word.
Unlike that day in the break room, thereâs no fluorescent lights to suck any heat out of the room and no gloves as a barrier; as a reminder of who he is, of what you are, of how things work.
Itâs just you and Jack, in Jackâs apartment, wearing Jackâs clothes, and pretty soon youâre going to eat food that Jack made. Just for you.
And you think maybe, possibly, if he stops here you could kind of hold onto this moment for the rest of your life and it would get you through being alive and strong and alone, and youâd make it through this, whatever this is, if he stops here.
He doesnât. He starts talking.
âI like knowing that youâre safe. That youâre taken care of. I like knowing with certainty that these things are true because Iâm the one making sure of it.â
Your breath hitches in your chest.
âThatâs kind of a lot of work, though.â
He hums. âIt is. Luckily, I just so happen to be a pretty hard worker.â
Everything about the current situation is a lot and your nerves are over-taxed and dialed up to hundred, so itâs not surprising that you start crying again.
Jack brings up a second hand to the other side of your face and gently wipes away the tears as they come. It feels sort of like the physical version of everything heâs been doing for you since that day in the supply closet.
âYou donât have to do anything, or say anything, or make any kind of decision right now, okay? We can do whatever you want. Iâll do whatever you want.â
Thereâs the word choice again; want, not need. Is there a difference? What does the difference mean to him? What does he mean? Why is he doing any of this?
Jack's phone goes off in his pocket, and he steps back, drops his hands, and goes back to the stove.
Jack said you donât have to make a decision right now, but you kind of feel like if you donât do something youâre going to be sick with everything thatâs swirling and clawing inside you, threatening to burst. Like the very essence of you is going to explode, and your soul will be painted on Jackâs perfectly decorated walls.
That would be something, wouldnât it.
You stay seated at the island, turning to stare at Jackâs back while he adds the final touches to the soup. He doesnât talk anymore, but he keeps looking back every few minutes, like heâs making sure youâre still there.
Eventually Jack turns the stove off, dishes up a bowl of soup for you, and sets it gently in front of you. He uses his pinky to cushion the placing of the bowl, so thereâs no loud clinking noise when he sets the bowl down.
Thereâs a tiny sprig of parsley on top of the soup, right in the center. Like a Panera ad for soup in September.
You start crying again, in earnest.
âIâm sorry,â You gasp, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. âIâm sorry, I donât know why Iâmâ I donât know. I donât know.â
Youâre hoping the last sentence encompasses an entire lifetime of events, accidents, mistakes, and memories that have never been able to find a place in your head except dead center, at the forefront of your mind at all times, stamped on your forehead for anyone with eyes to see.
Your life hasnât been wants or choices for a very long time. And here Jack is, giving you an array of both, and saying things like he wants you to want.
âIâll do whatever you want.â
âHey, hey hey hey, shhh,â Strong arms wrap around you, tucking your head into a warm chest, effectively shutting off all sensory input that isnât Jack. âYouâre okay, youâre safe, youâre okay, I got you.â
He rubs circles into your back, then switches to tracing shapes, and he lets you cry into him again and he doesnât tell you to stop, or to calm down, or youâre being too much too fast.
âYouâre okay, youâre gonna be okay sweetheart. Take your time. Iâm not going anywhere.â
âIâm not going anywhere.â
â
You, embarrassingly, fall asleep right there, sitting at the kitchen island over a bowl of soup and twenty-something years of holding up your life with hands that never quite seemed big enough to do it.
You wake up in Jackâs bed, his comforter pulled up to your chin and the clock at the bedside table reading 8:17 p.m. Thereâs the muffled sound of several voices coming from beyond the door.
Holy shit. What the fuck.
Deciding to ignore the implication that Jack carried you to bed, you mentally take stock of whatâs around you.
In front of the clock is your phone (plugged in to charge), a glass of water, and a note with Jackâs handwriting on it.
Kid-
Iâll probably be in the ED for the night shift by the time you wake up. I called Mohan (who called Mel, who was with Langdon, for reasons unknown) to go to your place and grab you some things. There may be people in the apartment when you wake up. You are in no way obligated to interact with them. They have to leave eventually.
Charlie is in the room with you because he hates strangers, but he probably wonât leave the bathroom. Probably. Drink water and eat something, if you can. Text me if you need anything.
The voices beyond the door are, more than likely, the aforementioned individuals who have now seen the glorified closet you call home. Itâs not ideal, but youâre wrung out and donât have the energy to really care. Besides, Samira and Mel are too nice to judge you that hard (you hope) and from what youâve heard, Langdon isnât really in a place to say anything.
On one hand, going out there requires socializing. Which, ew. On the other hand, Samira and Mel are the best. Langdon is maybe okay.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you shuffle out of bed and then continue shuffling to the door, hoping that whatever you look like isnât too terribly awful.
Samira, Mel, and Langdon are standing around the kitchen island, various takeout containers and bottles of alcohol littering the space. For some reason, Trinity, Dennis, and Robby are also present.
Samira and Langdon are engaged in what looks to be a rather animated discussion-slash-argument, and Mel is standing just a little closer to Langdon than what could be considered normal for friends. Trinity is very obviously ignoring Langdonâs general existence, bickering with Dennis on the couch, and Robby is seated in the armchair by the window, nursing a beer and watching both conversations unfold.
You sniff aggressively, and all heads snap to you.
âThere are more of you here then thereâs supposed to be,â You grumble, scrubbing at your face. âWhy are you all here?â
Mel is the first to speak.
âIt was Frank actually!â Trinity rolls her eyes, and part of you wants to share the sentiment, âHe figured Trinity would be upset that something happened to you and he knew and didnât tell her, so Trinity decided that me and Samira would get your stuff while everyone else stayed here in case you woke up before we came back!â
Wow, okay, thatâs. A Lot.
You squint. âThat doesnât explain why youâre all here. I mean it does, but only like, why youâre here physically.â
Robby frowns. âWe heard that you were going through a rough time and you had to stay with Jack, so we came.â
Trinity snorts on the couch and Dennis, next to her, looks like heâs about to have an aneurysm.
Robby shoots her a look, but continues. âWe care about you. Weâ I donât want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own. In or out of the ED.â
Trinity blows out a loud sigh and low whistle. âJee-zus Robby, give the woman some time to wake up before trying to induce tears again.â
Robby does look a little apologetic, maybe a teensy bit chastised (and annoyed that Trinity was the one doing the chastising) and turns his deep brown eyes back to you.
"Sorry. Can't help these Dad tendencies, you know."
Your face gets hot, maybe a tiny, wet prickle behind your eyes forms while Robby smiles, and the tension leaves the room all in one go, and you start to think that maybe things are in the right place.
â
At the ED, Jack Abbot, who's been checking his phone whenever he gets a free moment like a highschooler with a crush, opens the first text that pops up on his screen after hours of waiting.
It's a picture from Robby. You, with your head thrown back in a cackle of a laugh, not a single bit of stress evident in any of the lines of your body. There's one text accompanying the picture:
Please don't make me give you a shovel talk. I think you already know what's at stake here.
Jack snorts and pockets his phone, because yeah, he does.
â
When Jack finally gets back to his apartment, he's half-expecting to see the kind of mess that a large grouping of obnoxious people leave behind. Trash, maybe a few red solo cups, empty takeout containers, someone asleep on his couch, someone passed out on the floor.
He's not expecting to see a clean space. The only evidence that people were there at all is some rearranged pillows, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and some new takeout menus on his fridge.
And then there's you. You're lying on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, watching a show he doesn't really recognize. There's a well-loved backpack on the floor, just under the coffee table. The shocking bit is Charlie, his resident asshole, is 'loafing' right on your chest, purring away.
You lift your head when you hear the jingle of his keys, a smile immediately brightening your face. He mentally takes a picture, right there, so he can remember this exact moment forever.
"What'd you bribe him with?" Jack says instead of something much more neurotic, like 'You don't have to go back to your place when the power comes back on.'
You shrug, unaware of his emotional and romantic pain. "You were right. He came out from under the bed after everybody left. He kind of growled at me for a little bit, but once I settled down here he just kind of... came right up."
You plant a little kiss to the top of his head, right in between furry ears. Great, now Jack's jealous of a senior cat with one ear who licks his own butt. "How could I resist this face? I see why you brought him home."
Jack rounds the end of the couch, shuffling by, and Charlie opens his eyes just enough to shoot him a look that Jack takes to mean: If you make her get up and move me, I will kill you in your sleep.
Jack does not disturb his cat as he sits down on the couch. There's a moment when things almost get hairy- you pull your legs back when he goes to sit, slightly jostling The Asshole, who pins his only ear back in annoyance.
Jack solves this problem by taking your legs, clad in some soft flannel pajama pants and pink fuzzy socks, and lays them across his lap. There. Problem solved.
The warmth of your legs on his lap and the look on your face is reward enough for him. He can't think of a way he'd rather spend his time.
Jack, in a rare show of mercy, does not tease you, and decides that you've probably had enough excitement for one day.
"So," He says instead, looking up at the TV and grimacing at the mutilated corpse on the screen, "What are we watching?"
He watches you shrink into yourself. He hates it when you do that. He hates that you feel like you have to.
"Uh, Bones. I can turn it off, though. I'm sure you don't want to watch this."
He doesn't answer the question you've not-subtly voiced, instead choosing to redirect the conversation.
"Why did you put it on?"
You start chewing on your lower lip. Your signature 'I don't want to answer this question so I'm going to think really hard about it' move.
"It's kind of my comfort show? I don't know. I watched it a lot growing up. We didn't have cable, but the hotels I stayed at sometimes did. I'd wait until my dad fell asleep and then I'd turn on the TV and watch from the sci-fi or drama channels. Watched a lot of Bones. Supernatural too, and sometimes Doctor Who, if it was on. But Bones was my favorite."
The characters on the screen are involved in some sort of car chase now, police siren flashing on a black SUV. Jack isn't paying attention to that at all, because this is the first time since the day you walked into the PTMC and introduced yourself that he's ever heard you talk about your childhood.
"How come?"
"I don't know. I've always liked procedural shows. Had a huge House MD phase. Death and bones and corpses and stuff has never really grossed me out, which is part of the reason I became a doctor. But also..."
You point to the male character. "You see him? That's Booth. Seeley Booth. They all have kind of crazy names. He's an FBI agent, and his partner is that woman there. Temperance Brennan. Booth calls her Bones."
"She doesn't look like an FBI agent."
You smile. "She's not. She's a forensic anthropologist, but she consults on murder cases and stuff like that because she's kind of a genius. She's smart, strong, and capable. She and Booth don't always get along, because they both can be headstrong and stubborn. But he respects and trusts her, implicitly. No matter what. They love each other."
Your throat bobs, but your voice is steady when you speak.
"And when Brennan needs him, if she's in trouble or she needs him by her side, even if she doesn't know she does, he's always there. He always saves her."
Jack can picture it, in his mind. You, small and alone, watching these characters on some shitty hotel TV and getting it into your head that this kind of thing only exists in TV shows. He pictures you dreaming of having a Booth, of having someone to be there for you, to pick you up when you fall. He thinks of you crying in the supply closet and how quietly you'd done it. Almost silent.
He thinks of what happens to a person to make them learn how to cry without making a sound.
He rests a hand on your ankle, fingers instinctively drifting towards the pulse point there- posterior tibial. He keeps two fingers on it, even though he can't feel it through your fuzzy socks. With his thumb he makes circles, because he's seen how you lean into Robby's shoulder grabs, how you preen at physical and verbal praise, how you'd slumped like a marionette with its strings cut into his arms just yesterday.
"Jack?" Your voice is tentative, unsure.
"Hmm?"
"Am I..." You start chewing your lip again, "Are youâ I don't to assume anything. So if I fuck this up and make you uncomfortableâ"
"I want to kiss you."
Jack has learned how to speak fluent you. He knows how to stop an incoming spiral, how to soothe old wounds rearing their heads.
He continues when you don't speak.
"I want you to wear my clothes. I want to take care of you. I want you, in whatever way you'll let me."
"Oh."
"I was laying it on pretty thick, kid."
You look away from him, and this is another moment he'd like to keep forever.
"I thought I was just reading into things!"
"Do you think I call every intern sweetheart?"
Jack is positive Charlie's presence on your stomach is the only thing keeping you from actively squirming in place.
"I thought maybe you were just one of those guys. Samira said it was possible!"
He rolls his eyes. "You can't ask Mohan for romantic advice. She's you in a different font."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
You turn back to your show, losing yourself in the plot for a while. When the murderer has been caught and the credits are playing, you look at him again.
"We don't. Um. Can we just keep doing this? For now?"
For the first time since meeting you, Jack gets to say exactly what he's thinking.
"We can do this forever. We can do whatever you want."
OMG đŠđ¤đĽ MASTERPIECE MY LOVE 𼚠i love how he yearns and goes full blown protective!jack đđŽâđ¨ like yes i too have season passes for the hot mess express, having a jack would solve 99 problems no doubt đđ
Synopsis: After falling off a ladder, Y/N decides that calling an Uber is probably the safer option for getting to the ED. While Dr. Abbot treats her injured wrist, Robby, Y/Nâs brother, finally returns the voicemail left for him. However, he isnât thrilled by the way his best friend and little sister are interacting, or by the tension he senses between them.
Contains: Slow-burn romance ⢠Workplace tension ⢠Medical drama ⢠Emergency department setting ⢠Mutual flirting ⢠Emotional intimacy ⢠Flirting ⢠Professional boundaries ⢠Found family ⢠Forbidden feelings
The school year was finally over. Which meant you could finally give your teacher brain a much-needed break before spending the rest of the summer pretending you weren't already thinking about next year's classroom.
You loved being a kindergarten teacher.
Sure, five-year-olds were tiny tornadoes with endless questions and even more energy, but you couldn't imagine doing anything else. Your classroom was always filled with bright colors, tiny artwork taped to every available surface, and enough glitter to last a lifetime. You'd miss your class this summer, but at least you'd still get to see them in the hallways next year as first graders.
For now, though, your focus was on making your apartment feel a little more like home. You stepped back to admire the nearly finished gallery wall in your living room.
One blank spot.
One last painting.
Easy enough.
Well... in theory.
You let out a small sigh as you adjusted the ladder against the wall and looked up at the empty space.
"I hate heights," you muttered to yourself.
From the couch, Cheddar, your very judgmental orange tabby, barely lifted his head, watching you with what could only be described as disappointment.
You pointed the hammer at him.
"Do you want to do it?"
Cheddar blinked.
"Yeah, I didn't think so."
He stretched dramatically before settling back down.
"Exactly. Quit judging me if you're not going to help."
Taking one last deep breath, you climbed the ladder with a hammer in one hand and a nail in the other. The nail went into the wall without a problem.
"So far, so good," you mumbled.
Now came the hard part.
You climbed back down and picked up the large, framed painting resting against the wall. It wasn't incredibly heavy, but it was awkward to carry, wide enough that you couldn't get a good grip on it without extending your arms.
"You've got to be kidding me," you groaned, readjusting your hold.
Slowly, you climbed the ladder again, carefully balancing the painting against your body.
One step.
Then another.
By the time you reached the top, your arms were already beginning to shake from holding the frame out in front of you.
"Almost there..."
You lifted the painting toward the nail, trying to hook the wire onto it.
Just a little higher...
As you shifted your weight to reach a little farther, the ladder wobbled beneath you.
Your stomach dropped.
"Oh, no..."
Instinctively, you tried to steady yourself, but the weight of the painting pulled you off balance. Your foot slipped from the rung, and before you could recover, gravity took over. The painting lurched forward. You lurched with it. Everything happened at once.
The frame slipped from your hands. Your body twisted sideways. And as you fell, you threw your right hand out to brace yourself. Pain exploded through your wrist the instant it hit the hardwood floor. You landed hard on your hip, the painting crashing beside you with a loud thud that echoed through the apartment.
For a few seconds, all you could do was stare at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened. Cheddar, completely unbothered, hopped off the couch and wandered over. He sat beside you, tilted his head, and let out a single, judgmental meow.
You groaned. "Not. One. Word."
Carefully, you tried to push yourself upright. The second you put weight on your right hand, a sharp, searing pain shot from your wrist all the way up your forearm. You immediately jerked it back toward your chest.
"...Well," you hissed through gritted teeth, cradling your wrist. "I think that's broken."
Eventually, you managed to stand, wincing and groaning through every movement as you searched the apartment for your phone. You'd called your brother, Michael, earlier that afternoon. He'd told you about his shift, and you'd excitedly mentioned finally hanging the new painting you'd bought.
He'd told you to wait until he came over to help. You, of course, hadn't listened. You hit his contact and held the phone to your ear.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
You frowned. "Come on..."
Another ring. "The one time I actually need you to answer."
The call rolled over to voicemail. Normally, you never left your brother voicemails. Today seemed like a good exception.
"Hey... so, uh... I guess I'm taking myself to the hospital." You looked down at your rapidly swelling wrist.
"Turns out, while hanging that painting, you know, the one you specifically told me to wait and let you help with, I may have fallen off the ladder."
You sighed dramatically. "And I may or may not have broken my wrist." Another pause. "I'm heading to your hospital now. Just thought you'd want to know before you randomly get a call from them because you're my emergency contact."
A small laugh escaped you. "Anyway... love you. Bye."
You ended the call and dropped your head back against the couch cushion. Driving suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. With one functioning hand, you opened the Uber app and requested a ride.
A driver named Taz accepted within minutes.
---
Thankfully, Taz was easy to talk to. He asked what had happened, and before you knew it, you were explaining the painting, the ladder, and your complete lack of common sense.
"So..." he said with a grin as he glanced at your wrist at a stoplight. "...I'm no doctor, but that's looking pretty swollen."
You looked down. It had definitely gotten bigger since you'd left the apartment.
"Yeah..." You frowned.
"That's... concerning." Taz chuckled.
"I'd get that looked at."
"That's the plan." You sighed dramatically. "This is a really inconvenient time to have a broken wrist."
"Big summer plans?"
"Not really." You held up your injured arm. "It's just my right hand."
He nodded sympathetically. "Oof."
"Exactly."
---
A few minutes later, Taz pulled up to the emergency department entrance.
"Good luck," he said.
"Thanks."
You climbed out carefully, waving goodbye with your uninjured hand before making your way through the sliding glass doors. The familiar smell of antiseptic immediately hit you. The waiting room wasn't packed...But it definitely wasn't empty.
You glanced toward the registration desk and let out a quiet sigh.
"Well...This should be fun."
A short line had already formed, so you waited patiently while each person checked in ahead of you. Eventually, it was your turn. The woman behind the desk offered you a polite smile.
"Name, date of birth, and what brings you in today?"
You returned the smile. "Y/N Robinavitch. My birthday is February twenty-third, two thousand. I fell off a ladder and I think I broke my wrist."
She typed your information into the computer. As she read your chart, her eyebrows lifted just slightly. You noticed the look but couldn't quite place why. A moment later, she grabbed a clipboard and a packet of paperwork.
"Here you go." She handed it across the desk. "Have a seat, and we'll call your name as soon as we're ready."
"Thank you."
You took the paperwork and found an empty chair in the waiting room. Now...You wait.
You hadn't even finished filling out the first page of paperwork when the door leading back to the emergency department swung open.
A kind of tall nurse stepped into the waiting room.
He looked to be around your age, maybe a few years younger, with dark, curly hair that had clearly given up on staying neat halfway through his shift. A pair of blue scrubs hung comfortably on his athletic frame, and a pair of trauma shears clipped to his waistband bounced lightly as he walked.
He glanced down at the chart in his hand before looking up. "Y/N Robinavitch?"
You stood, careful not to jostle your wrist. "That's me."
He offered an easy smile. "I'm Mateo."
He held the door open for you. "Come on back."
You followed him through the secure doors, immediately hit by the familiar sounds of an emergency department in full swing. Monitor alarms chimed in the distance. Someone laughed from one of the nurses' stations. A physician was speed-walking toward a patient room while reading something on an iPad.
It somehow looked both completely chaotic and completely organized.
Mateo led you into a small triage room. "Go ahead and have a seat."
You climbed onto the bed as carefully as possible, cradling your injured wrist against your chest. Mateo rolled over on his stool, computer already awake.
"So..." he said as he logged into the chart. "What happened?"
You sighed dramatically. "I lost a fight with a ladder."
He paused. "The ladder won?"
"Oh, by a landslide."
A laugh escaped him. "I appreciate the honesty."
He clicked through a few boxes.
"Walk me through it."
"I was hanging a painting."
"By yourself?"
"Unfortunately."
"YouTube tutorial?"
"No."
"My own poor decision-making."
He chuckled as he typed. "So you fell?"
"I was standing on the ladder trying to hook the painting onto the nail." You motioned toward your wrist with your free hand. "The painting was bigger than I expected, I lost my footing, and I put my hand out to catch myself."
"Ouch."
"Yeah."
Mateo finally looked down at your wrist. His eyebrows immediately climbed. "...Yeah."
You followed his gaze. "It wasn't that swollen twenty minutes ago."
"I believe you." He gently reached for your forearm.
"I'm just going to take a quick look, okay?"
You nodded. The second his fingers barely supported your wrist, you winced.
He immediately eased off. "Sorry."
"No, you're good."
He rotated your hand only a few degrees before stopping.
"Nope."
"What?"
"I'm not doing any more of that." He looked back at the computer. "I'm willing to bet we're getting X-rays."
"That's what I was afraid of."
He smiled sympathetically. "Any numbness or tingling?"
You wiggled your fingers carefully.
"No."
"Can you move them?"
"Barely."
"Good enough." He entered another note before wrapping a temporary ice pack in a towel and handing it to you. "Here."
You carefully rested it over your wrist.
The cool pressure was an immediate relief. "Thank you."
"No problem." He looked back at the chart. "Pain on a scale of one to ten?"
You thought for a second. "If I'm sitting still?"
"Mhm."
"Maybe a... six?"
"And if you try to use it?"
You laughed once. "Let's not find out."
He grinned. "I'll put down an eight."
"That feels fair."
He continued clicking through your chart before suddenly pausing.
"Huh." You tilted your head. "What?"
He looked back at the screen.
"Your emergency contact is Michael Robinavitch?"
"Yeah."
"My brother."
Mateo nodded slowly. "I thought the last name sounded familiar."
"You know him?"
A smile spread across his face. "Know him?" He leaned back in his chair. "I work with him."
Your eyes widened. "Oh..."
"Yeah." He laughed.
"He's one of our Chief Attending Physicians."
You let out a dramatic groan. "Oh no."
Mateo couldn't help but laugh. "Oh yes."
"You haven't called him, have you?"
"I haven't."
You sighed in relief. "He already knows."
Mateo blinked. "He does?"
"I left him a voicemail after I fell."
"Ah." He nodded knowingly.
"Then I won't be the one getting you in trouble."
"You think I'm in trouble?"
Mateo gave you a look that could only be described as amused. "You ignored the advice of an older sibling."
He stood from his stool. "I have three sisters. They always think they know better."
You smiled sheepishly. "...He's never going to let me live this down, is he?"
Mateo opened the triage room door with a grin. "Absolutely not. And honestly?"
He glanced back over his shoulder. "I can't wait to watch."
----
Mateo stepped out of the triage room, chart tucked under one arm. He made it about halfway to the physician station before spotting Abbot reviewing lab results on an iPad.
"Hey, Doc."
Abbott looked up. "What've you got?"
"Twenty-six-year-old female. Fall from a ladder while hanging a painting."
Abbott nodded. "Wrist injury?"
Mateo handed him the chart. "Pretty swollen. Limited range of motion. Mechanism sounds like she caught herself with an outstretched hand."
Abbott skimmed the chart. "Any numbness?"
"No."
"Pulse?"
"Strong."
Abbot continued reading before his eyes stopped on the name. His eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.
"Robinavitch?"
Mateo nodded. "Yeah. You know her?"
A small smile crossed Abbott's face. "I know her brother."
"Such a small world," Mateo stated, kind of sarcastically.
Abbott closed the chart. "I'll go take a look."
---
A soft knock sounded on the wall before the curtain opened. You looked up from your phone. The man who stepped inside looked to be in his mid-forties, tall, neatly dressed in black scrubs with a stethoscope hanging around his neck.
He offered a warm smile. "Hi. I'm Dr. Jack Abbott."
You returned the smile. "Y/N."
"I know." He glanced at the chart. âI hear ladders aren't your friend."
You groaned. "They're dead to me."
He chuckled. "I'll make a note to avoid introducing the two of you again."
Despite the pain, you laughed.
"So..." He washed his hands. "Tell me what happened."
You gave him the shortened version.
"The painting was heavier than I expected. I lost my footing. I tried to catch myself."
"And your wrist lost the argument."
"Pretty much."
Abbott pulled the rolling stool closer. "I'm going to take a look." He looked up first. "If anything hurts too much, tell me and I'll stop."
"Deal."
His touch was careful. Gentle. He supported your forearm before lightly examining your wrist. The moment he palpated the outer side, you sucked in a sharp breath.
"There?"
You nodded. "Definitely there."
"I'm sorry." His voice softened.
"I know."
He compared both wrists before checking your fingers. "Can you wiggle these for me?"
You managed a small movement.
"Good."
"And squeeze my fingers."
You tried.
He smiled. "Not your strongest handshake."
"I'll work on it."
"I'd appreciate that."
He laughed quietly before becoming serious again.
"I think we should get some X-rays."
"I was afraid you were going to say that."
"I'd rather be wrong than miss something, sweetheart."
Before you could answer, the curtain flew open.
"Y/N?"
You looked up. Your brother stood in the doorway wearing his pajama pants, hair slightly disheveled like he'd been running through the department.
"Oh, hey Michael."
He crossed the room in three long strides. "What happened?"
"I fell."
"You what?"
"I fell."
"Off what?"
"A ladder."
He stared. "...Seriously?"
You smiled sheepishly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Abbot stood, trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. "I'll go put in those X-ray orders."
Robby nodded distractedly. "Thanks, Jack."
Abbot gave you one last reassuring smile before slipping out of the room. The curtain closed behind him.
Your brother folded his arms. "So..." You already knew that tone. "Why didnât you call me twice?"
You blinked innocently. "Oh, I don't know. I figured if your little sister was calling, you'd probably answer."
He winced. "I was messing with my bike, my phone was inside."
"So I figured..." You shrugged. "... I left you a voicemail at leastâ
Robby sighed dramatically. "You left me a voicemail saying, 'I may or may not have broken my wrist,' and then hung up."
"I also said I loved you."
"That's not the point!"
"It softens the blow."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I specifically told you to wait until I came over."
"I know."
"And you didn't."
"I didn't."
He looked toward the curtain where Abbot had disappeared.
"You know..."
"What?"
"The way Jack was looking at you."
You froze. "...What about it?"
Robby narrowed his eyes. "He doesn't look at most patients like that."
You tried very hard to keep your face neutral. "I think you're imagining things."
"Oh, am I?"
"You are."
He smirked. "I've known that man for ten years."
"So?"
"So I know his 'doctor face.'"
"And?"
"That wasn't just his doctor face."
You laughed, trying to brush it off. "You're ridiculous."
Robby pointed toward the door. "He called you 'sweetheart.'"
"He did not."
"He absolutely did."
You paused.
"...Maybe once."
Michael folded his arms. "Mhm."
You couldn't help smiling. "Well..."
He raised an eyebrow.
"If he keeps calling me sweetheart..." You grinned. "...you're about to have the brother you've always wanted."
Robby stared at you for two full seconds. Then he barked out a laugh. "Oh, absolutely not."
"What?"
"I am not dealing with you dating my best friend."
"I didn't say I was dating anybody."
"You implied it."
"I joked."
"You never joke like that unless you're thinking about it."
You opened your mouth. Closed it. "...I hate that you know me so well."
Robby smiled triumphantly. "I changed your diapers."
"You did not."
"I could've."
"You literally weren't old enough."
"Details."
Before either of you could continue, the curtain slid open again. Abbot stepped back inside with a portable splint tucked under one arm.
He looked between the two of you.
"...Should I be concerned?"
Robby answered immediately. "Very."
You rolled your eyes. "Ignore him."
Abbot smiled, somehow sensing he'd walked into the middle of something.
"I usually do."
Robby pointed at him.
"See? He flirts."
Abbott looked genuinely confused. "I... what?"
You covered your face with your good hand. "Oh my God."
This was going to be a very long visit.
-----
About forty minutes later, you were wheeled back into the same exam room after X-rays. You didn't even need someone to tell you the news. The radiology tech had done an impressive job of keeping a straight face, but the sympathetic smile she'd given you on the way out hadn't exactly inspired confidence.
You stared at your swollen wrist. "...You're expensive."
A soft knock interrupted your conversation with your arm. The curtain slid open, and Dr. Abbot stepped inside with a tablet tucked under one arm and a box of casting supplies balanced in the other.
Robby looked up from the chair he'd claimed in the corner. "So?"
Abbot couldn't help but smile. "There is a fracture."
Robby immediately leaned forward. "Where?"
Abbot turned the tablet so both of you could see the X-ray.
"This bone here." He pointed toward the larger bone in your forearm. "You've got a nondisplaced distal radius fracture."
You blinked. "...In English?"
"The good news," he said, "is nothing shifted out of place."
"So I don't need surgery?"
"No."
The relief was immediate. "Thank God."
Abbot nodded. "We're going to put you in a cast today to keep everything immobilized."
"How long?"
"Probably about six weeks."
Your face fell. "Six weeks?"
"I'm afraid so."
You groaned dramatically. "I teach kindergarten."
"I know." Abbot's lips twitched. "I imagine you'll be signing a lot more things with your left hand."
"I can barely write with my left hand."
Robby snorted. "You can barely write with your right."
You looked over. "Traitor."
"I've seen your grocery lists."
"They're perfectly legible."
"They're hieroglyphics."
Abbot laughed quietly as he set the casting supplies on the bedside table.
"I'll let the two of you debate handwriting while I get everything ready."
Robby stood. "I'm gonna go to the restroom before she starts throwing things at me."
You held up your cast-less wrist. "I physically can't."
"Exactly." He grinned. "My timing is perfect."
The curtain swished closed behind him. The room became noticeably quieter.
Abbot pulled the stool closer. "Ready?"
"I don't really have another option."
"Not unless you'd like to keep the broken wrist."
"I'll pass."
He carefully positioned your arm on a pillow before picking up the soft white padding.
"I'm going to wrap this first."
His movements were slow and deliberate, making sure your wrist stayed supported.
"Let me know if anything hurts."
You watched his hands work. "You've done this a few times."
"A few."
"What's the worst injury you've seen from someone hanging a painting?"
He looked up with an amused smile. "Oddly specific."
"I'm trying to see where I rank."
"You don't crack the top ten."
"I feel oddly proud of that."
"I wouldn't."
"I'll take what I can get."
He chuckled, continuing to smooth the padding around your forearm. "You caught yourself at just the right angle."
"So I got lucky?"
"You did." He reached for the fiberglass casting rolls.
"What color?"
You looked at the small selection.
Blue.
Black.
Purple.
Green.
Thenâ
"Oh." Your face lit up. "There."
Abbot followed your gaze. "The pink?"
"The very pink."
He smiled. "I should've known."
"You should've?"
"You strike me as someone who enjoys color."
"I teach five-year-olds."
"Fair point."
"My classroom is basically a rainbow."
"I believe it."
"You don't even know me."
He met your eyes for just a moment. "I know enough."
Your cheeks warmed ever so slightly. He seemed to notice, but wisely said nothing. Instead, he dipped the fiberglass roll into warm water before beginning to wrap your wrist. The material molded smoothly beneath his hands.
"Try not to move."
"I'm trying."
"I know." His voice was calm. Encouraging.
The kind that somehow made everything hurt a little less.
"You'll probably notice the cast getting warm."
"It already is."
"That's normal."
"It feels weird."
"It'll harden over the next few minutes."
You studied the bright pink layers forming around your arm. "I look like Barbie lost a fight."
Abbot laughed. "I was going to say it suits you."
Your eyebrows lifted. "The cast?"
"The color."
You smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was intended as one."
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. He focused on smoothing the edges near your thumb. You watched him work.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You said you're a kindergarten teacher."
"Mhm."
"What grade?"
"Kindergarten."
"You like the little ones?"
"I love them." A smile spread across your face without you realizing it. "They're exhausting. They're messy. They ask me why the moon follows the school bus. But they have my heart"
Abbott laughed. "I don't know how you answer that."
"I make something up until I can Google it later."
He smiled, shaking his head. "I had a feeling you'd say something like that."
"You did?"
"I've gathered you're... optimistic."
"I try."
"And patient."
"Most days."
He finished molding the last section of the cast before gently lifting your hand. "How does that feel?"
You carefully flexed your fingers. "Much better, actually."
"Good."
He inspected the cast one final time before resting your arm back on the pillow.
"I want you to keep it dry. No swimming."
"There goes my Olympic career."
"No lifting."
"There goes moving my couch."
"And no climbing ladders."
You looked at him innocently. "...That one feels oddly personal."
"It is."
You laughed. "I'll do my best."
He smiled. "I believe you."
Then he reached for the discharge papers. "I'd like you to follow up in about a week."
"With orthopedics?"
He nodded. "We'll repeat the X-rays to make sure everything's healing the way we want."
You hesitated. "...Will I see you again?"
The question slipped out before you could stop it. Abbot looked up from the paperwork.
"If I'm working that day..." A small smile appeared. "...I'll make a point to check on how the pink cast is holding up."
Your own smile mirrored his. "I'd like that."
For just a second, neither of you looked away. The curtain suddenly swung open. Robby walked back in carrying a bottle of water.
"Did I miss anything?"
You and Abbott looked away from each other at the same time. Abbot cleared his throat and handed Michael the discharge paperwork.
"Just instructions."
Michael looked between the two of you, then down at the exceptionally bright cast.
"...Pink?"
You admired your arm proudly. "It matches my personality."
Robby sighed dramatically. "I've created a monster."
Abbot smiled to himself as he gathered the remaining supplies. "I think that happened long before today."
---
One week later...
You had become surprisingly efficient at doing everything one-handed.
Opening jars? Impossible.
Buttoning jeans? A daily exercise in patience.
Trying to carry more than one thing at a time? A disaster waiting to happen. The bright pink cast had become a permanent accessory, and honestly, you were starting to get attached to it. Your summer break had been going great before the whole "falling off a ladder and breaking your wrist" incident, and now your days mostly consisted of finding creative ways to entertain yourself while avoiding doing anything that might make your injury worse.
Robby had been checking in constantly, which you appreciated...
Even if he was being slightly dramatic.
Okay. Very dramatic.
Your follow-up appointment had gone exactly as expected. The orthopedic team repeated your X-rays, confirmed everything was healing well, and told you to keep the cast on for a few more weeks.
The doctor smiled when she saw the color. "Pink?"
You looked down at your arm. "Obviously."
She laughed. "Good choice."
You left with another appointment scheduled and one less thing to worry about.
---
The next stop on your day was much more exciting.
Robby.
Your brother was working that day in the emergency department, and after hearing him complain for three days straight that the cafeteria coffee was "borderline criminal," you'd decided to surprise him with a coffee from his favorite shop.
It was the least you could do after giving him a mild heart attack the week before. The emergency department was already buzzing by the time you walked through the sliding doors.
You smiled at the receptionist as you approached. "Hi."
"Hi there."
"I'm just dropping off a coffee for my brother."
She looked at the cup in your hand. "Robby?"
"That's the one."
"He should still be in the department."
"Perfect."
She pointed toward the badge-controlled doors. "You know where you're going?"
"Unfortunately."
She laughed. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
You thanked her before heading through the familiar hallway. It felt strange being here without checking in as a patient. Stranger still......without your wrist throbbing every time you moved.
You rounded the corner toward what looked like a nurses station and nearly walked straight into someone.
"Oh!"
A steady hand caught your elbow before you could stumble backward.
"Easy."
You looked up. Dr. Jack Abbott.
He smiled. "Hello, sweetheart."
The nickname slipped out so naturally that neither of you seemed to notice it at first.
Then his eyebrows lifted. "I mean..." He cleared his throat. "...Y/N."
A grin spread across your face. "I heard the first one."
"I gathered."
"You can stick with it."
His lips curved into a small smile. "I probably shouldn't."
"Probably not."
For a second, neither of you moved. Then his eyes dropped to your arm.
"The cast survived."
You lifted it proudly. "Barely."
He laughed. "I like the stickers and the doodles."
You glanced down. Your cast was covered in colorful drawings, glittery stickers, and tiny doodles from you being bored at home and finding an assortment of colorful pens and stickers you didnât use with your last class.
âI got a little bored and figured it could use some more dĂŠcorâ
âIt looks very decorative for sureâ His eyes lingered on the cast for another second before returning to your face. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better."
"Any pain?"
"Mostly just when I forget I can't use this hand."
"You've been behaving?"
You gave him an innocent look. "I've thought about behaving."
He folded his arms. "That's not what I asked."
You smiled. "I've been mostly behaving."
"I'll take mostly." He looked genuinely relieved.
"I'm glad." You studied him for a moment.
"You look... awake."
He blinked. "I've never been accused of that before."
"I mean it. From what Robby says, you usually look like you've already worked half a shift."
A laugh escaped him. "That's because I usually have."
You frowned. "What time did you come in today?"
He hesitated just long enough for you to notice. "...Earlier than usual."
"How early?"
"About forty-five minutes."
You raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
His gaze drifted briefly toward the nurses' station before returning to you. "I had some charting to finish."
"Mhm."
"And I wanted to check in with ortho."
"Mhm."
"And..." He stopped himself.
"And?"
A small, almost embarrassed smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I remembered today was your follow-up."
Your heartbeat skipped.
"So..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...I thought I'd come in a little early."
You stared at him.
"...Just in case I ran into you."
Silence. Not awkward. Just honest.
You couldn't stop smiling. "You came to work early..."
His smile turned sheepish. "...Maybe."
"...to see me?"
"I wasn't counting on it."
"But you were hoping."
Another pause.
"...Yes."
The admission was quiet. So quiet you almost missed it beneath the distant monitor alarms. Your chest tightened.
"You know..." You shifted the coffee carrier to your left hand. "...that's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever admitted to me."
His ears turned the faintest shade of pink. "I wasn't planning on saying it out loud."
"I'm glad you did."
Before Abbott could answer, another voice echoed from the nurses' station.
"Well... this explains why I couldn't find either of you."
The two of you turned at the same time. Robby was walking toward, looking tired but noticeably more awake the second he spotted the coffee in your hand.
"There she is."
You held up the cup with a grin. "I come bearing peace offerings."
His eyes lit up. "My favorite?"
"You've complained about the hospital coffee every day for a week."
"I have."
"So I fixed the problem."
He accepted the cup like you'd just handed him a winning lottery ticket. "You are officially my favorite sibling."
"I'm your only sibling."
"Exactly."
You rolled your eyes. "You're welcome."
Robby took a grateful sip before looking between you and Abbott.
"...How long have you two been standing here?"
Abbott answered first. "Only a few minutes."
"Mhm."
Robby nodded slowly. "A few minutes."
His eyes drifted down for just a second. Then back up. Abbot followed his gaze. Realization immediately crossed his face. Without a word, he stepped back. His hand, which had been resting lightly against the small of your back while the two of you talked, slipped away almost instinctively.
You hadn't even realized it was there. Apparently...Neither had he. Robby blinked once.
Then looked at you.
Then at Abbott.
Then back at you.
"...Jack."
Abbot rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah."
"You know your hand was on my sister's lower back that entire conversation... right?"
Silence.
Your eyes widened. "It was?"
Abbott looked genuinely caught off guard. "I..."
He glanced at you before looking back at Robby. "I didn't realize."
Robby let out a slow breath before taking another sip of coffee. "Huh."
"What?"
"I've known you for almost twelve years."
Abbot sighed. "I know."
"I've watched you comfort family members after losing loved ones."
"I know."
"I've watched you run trauma codes without your heart rate changing."
"I know where this is going."
Robby pointed the coffee cup toward him. "I have never..." He paused for emphasis. "...seen you accidentally touch someone."
Your cheeks immediately warmed.
Abbot looked somewhere between embarrassed and amused. "It wasn't intentional."
Robby raised an eyebrow. "No?"
Abbott shook his head. "No."
Another beat.
"...At least not consciously."
Robby laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee. "Oh, buddy."
Abbot closed his eyes. "Please don't."
"I was wondering why you showed up forty-five minutes early."
You looked over at Abbott. "You really never come in that early?"
Robby barked out another laugh. "He fights coming in twenty minutes early."
Abbot muttered under his breath. "I like my sleep."
"And yet," Robby continued with a grin, "today, somehow, you were here before half the nurses."
Abbot looked at the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I think we've established that it wasn't a coincidence."
Your smile softened. "I think we have."
Robby looked between the two of you one last time before taking another long sip of his coffee.
"...You know..." He pointed toward Abbott. "If this man keeps looking at you like that, I'm going to have to start pretending I don't know either of you."
You laughed. "I thought you wanted another sibling."
Robby groaned dramatically.
"I was joking."
Abbot couldn't help but laugh.
"I figured." Robby sighed as he shook his head. "Just..." He pointed a finger between the two of you. "...Whatever this is, don't make me fill out paperwork."
Abbot smiled. "I'll do my best."
Robby looked at him. "I wasn't talking to you."
That earned a genuine laugh from both of you.
Abbot checked the time on his watch. "I should probably go pretend I'm here to work."
"You probably should," Robby agreed.
Abbot looked back at you one last time. "It was good seeing you."
"You too."
"I'll see you around."
"I hope so." His smile lingered for just a second before he turned and disappeared down the hallway toward the physicianâs workroom.
You watched him go until he rounded the corner. Robby noticed. Of course he noticed. Without looking away from the hallway, he casually bumped your shoulder with his.
"...You're in trouble."
You smiled to yourself. "...I know."
"And I don't think it's because of the broken wrist anymore."
You looked down at the bright pink cast and laughed. "No...I don't think it is either."
CW: allergic reactions, medical inaccuracies, always research this is from my knowledge of allergies and allergic reactions & some research of my own. Reader is stated to be allergic to Citrus & Tomato but more is possible
Summary: growing up you allergies always seemed like the the most awkward confession. So avoiding outings with a high probability of cross contamination became a must. But when you're hot af attenting learns you half-hazardly agreed to a night out, you can't say no.
AN: Jack is kinda OOC here my bad- but I love an Awkward!jack headcannon (i think he'd struggle to approach women after leaving his wif
Based on a request (kinda) from @lunarayletters (show her some love)
WC: 2.6 k
âHmmmmmmmmmmâŚ.â Shen toyed with the paper straw with his tongue, the ER was absolutely dead, usually was around the 4am to 6am stretch at the end of the shift. Usually just coping through a flood of residual patients that came in from a rough night partying. âNever eat pizza againâŚ.orrrr all of your sodas are always room tempâŚâ
âNever eat pizza! Are you kidding!?â Mateo erupted as if youâd asked him to choose between his wife and child. âI guess I'd never eat pizza but thats fucked up man-â mateo pointed a finger into Shenâs arm.Â
âI would die without a cold diet coke after a shiftâŚâ Lena leaned back in her swivel chair with a sigh.Â
Shenâs elbow pushed into your arm as you watched the conversation âoh me?â your finger pointed into your own chest, âDonât like Pizza,â your lips pressed together awkwardly. âTomatoes make my stomach sickâŚâ A slight down play to the reality of your allergy.
It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is to admit to someone that you have potentially life threatening allergies. But it had a striking emotional resemblance to having to order off the kids menu in a fancy restaurant in front of all of your friends.Â
âYouâre kidding- that must fucking suck.â Ellis joined the group on your free side. âNo lasagne, spaghetti bolognese- fuck no bloody marys!â your stomach rumbled at the thought, even if you couldnât eat it, the mental image of delicious hot italian food taunted you.Â
âYou get used to itâŚâ your chin rested on the counter over your hands which were folded over each other. âThe only annoying thing is that stupid restaurants never put it on the menu in meals, so it's like a mystery until itâs sat in front of me.â
âDamn.â Shenâs brows raised as the conversation spotlight landed on you, and well, you most definitely had stage fright.
âSorry- I made it awkward- my bad-â you stumbled over your words.
âNo itâs better that we know-â Ellis bumped her hip against yours, âotherwise we would invite you to an Italian themed bar tomorrow nightâŚâ her voice lilted upwards slightly as you rolled your eyes. 3 months in the ER had cushioned you in, still you were yet to meet them on one of their monthly nights out. Bars just weren't really your scene, cross contamination was a constant worry even in high end restaurants. It didnât help having the most obscure list of allergies that ranged from peanuts to a specific kind of chemical in most makeup.Â
âI donât knowâ your shoulders curled in on themselves âI donât do great in busy places in public-â
âAll of us will be there and make sure youâre okay?â Shen leaned in âpleaaseeeeeeeeâ your palm went over his face with a groan.Â
âFineeeeâ you whined looking back up at the patient board, âI should check on North 5-â you turned to make your way towards the bay only to knock into a solid wall of flesh. The smell of leather and pinewood filled your nostrils as he recalibrated his center of gravity, hands steadying you by gripping onto either forearm.Â
âCareful thereâŚâ Jack abbots devilishly attractive smirk seared into your retinaâs, the angle, the way the fluorescent light caught on the grey stubble which was growing in, picking out the small evidence of his auburn hair now that he had gone almost fully grey. His hands could wrap around your arms with a seductive ease, sending a dizzying flood of blood up to your cheeks. âI canât believe my ears⌠are we finally finishing up Wispâs nightcrawler initiation?â he smirked, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in under his arm without thinking about it.
Youâd kept it down to the single allergy letting âI- Yeah-â your heart thumped heavy in your chest. Either Jack knew you had an absolutely humiliatingly huge crush on him and this was some kind of humiliation ritual or he was completely oblivious which was equally as bad because everyone in the ER knew. Either way, without his consent, youâd decided that there was no possible way that a universe could exist where you and Jack Abbot would be a plausible coupling.
âWell then we better make it a big one!â he clapped his hands together with a wolfish grin, your shoulder aching where his arm had been, clearly missing its company. âNow- get back to work-â his hand patted down on your back and you were all sent off your separate ways.
The end of the shift came and weariness settled deep within your bones, hands cracked raw from the ERâs soap which youâd been forced to use for the last 12 hours, one which you were most definitely not tolerant of.Â
The awkward outfit selection didnât do anything to relax you, the little worms in your brain reminding you that anything you wore was going to be witnessed by your literal boss. And unhelpfully your crush.Â
A low cut top- hell no imagine dropping your purse, leaning over to get it and giving the whole emergency department nightshift staff a whole show. Instead reaching for the turtleneck sleeveless shirt which was just the perfect shade of brown for your skin.Â
That cute skirt that you kinda stole from your college roommate? Canât it very much give away your past desire to pick up any old random by basically mooning them. But the summer heat was too much so you instead settled for a pair of decent yet sexy shorts. A brown belt to match your shirt hooked around your waist. The added pro was easy access in case you needed to use the epipen tonight.Â
You shoved the thought down in the exact name you shoved the two epipens into the outfits matching purse, tugging on a pair of sneakers and grabbing your keys before heading straight out the door.Â
Was walking to the bar at all responsible? No. But it was only two blocks from your apartment, a trek youâd pulled more times than you could count with your roommates after a couple too many cocktails.Â
âTheres Wisp!â Jack cheered as you walked into the bar being met by the claps and smiles of the nightcrawlers, his arm landed where it often did, slung around your shoulders patting your arm before pulling away. Wisp was a nickname created by several iterations. In the first two weeks, of you working in the ED everyone swore that they hadnât heard you say a word outside of treatment. Then when you did speak it was mostly a polite shy whisper. Then âWhisperâ was affectionately shortened to âWispâ which barely fit anymore as they had successfully pulled you far enough out of your shell to handle a large bout of small talk.Â
âHi guysâ you shyly raised a hand before taking your place in the booth, swiftly followed by Jack sliding into place beside you. He may be oblivious to the cheeky looks of the crew but you were unfortunately anything but. Settling into the conversation was easier than you had believed it would be but eventually Jack's elbow nudged into yours.Â
âWanna grab a drink?â Jackâs breath fanned over your ear, trying to cut through the chaos of the conversation which surrounded you. You forced out a nod before making your way over to the bar, Jack parting the crowd like the red sea to give you a clear path through the chaos.Â
You pulled yourself up onto the bar stool as jack stood by your side, waiting for the bartender to walk over, your knees pressed to the warmth of his tree trunk thigh. âWhats your drink of choice?â you smiled over at him, desperately trying to grip onto sanity at the touch.
âUsually a whiskey neatâŚâ he exhaled his hands going into his pockets, he leaned in to make sure his voice reached you, crowding over you slightly. âBut when Iâm out with these guys I usually try to stay soberâŚâÂ
âAre they really in that much trouble?â you chuckled, staring into his hazel eyes as the bar buzzed around you. Jack shook his head with a small laugh.Â
âThe stories you have yet to hear,â he smirked, as the bartender approached the sticky part of the bar youâd sat by. âIâll have a Miller zero and aâŚâ his hand gestured towards you. âSorry-â he moved over to the table for a few seconds to listen to some random bullshit debate she and Ellis were having.
âC- can I have a Moscow mule? But uh- leave out the lime please iâm allergic-â you offered a polite smile, turning back to Jack, whoâd retaken his spot by your side, before you could realise that the bartender sarcastically rolled his eyes. The conversation flowed easily as you waited on the drinks, Jack buffering anyone from moving into your space.Â
The drinks were placed in front of you, Jack insisting it be added to his bill. âSorry- iâm-â your hand went to his bicep holding him in place, âlook I know this is forward and probably completely inappropriate given the fact that youâre my fucking boss- but iâm really having fun talking to you one on one and I kinda wanna keep that going?â you physically braced for the injection as Jack stood with his eyes wide staring at you. His head shook lightly before he leaned his body down on the counter with a sly smile. His crows' feet curled deliciously. The LED bar lights perfectly highlighted the pronounced biceps attached to the carved chest which was conveniently on full display because of his tight black shirt.
His eyebrows stayed raised as blood rushed up to his cheeks, his dogtags bounced against his chest as he moved onto the stool next to you, tilting his head over at you. âUh- dittoâŚâÂ
You barked out a laugh âSmooth.âÂ
âSorry- iâm just kinda rusty?â
âWhat do you mean rusty?â
He raised the bottle of faux beer to his lips, taking a gulp as if it could give him a placebo liquid courage. âWell I donât get to talk to women as perfect as you on the regular.âÂ
You damn near choked on the mix of gingerbeer and vodka as you sipped it, whole body tingling at his comment. The words stalling in your throat as you glanced over at him. âWow.â
âWas that good?â his brows furrowed as he held in a chuckle, his hand pulling over his face.Â
âAmazing-â your voice croaked as your hand tentatively moved up to your neck, palpating lightly.Â
âAre you okay?â Jack leaned in closer to you, his hand moving to your drink, immediately inspecting the bottom of the glass for any residue.Â
âYeah-â your tongue began to swell as you pushed him away gently âbathroom-â you clutched your purse to your chest before making a break for the toilet. Jack stood at the bar his head hung slightly, assuming he had somehow managed to insult you or read your intentions completely incorrectly, despite the fact you had just told him you enjoyed speaking with him.
You stumbled past a couple of lesbians making out on the sink, giving them a polite nod as you shuffled into the stall and pulled out the epipen.Â
âFuck fuck fuck-â the bartender rushed over to the bar just as jack was about to leave, grasping your cup and realising what heâd done. âUh- that chick you were with- did she drink this?â
âYeahâŚâ Jack turned slowly, his gut dropping.Â
You fumbled with the cap feeling your lungs burn and scratch for air, sweat collecting on your brow as your tongue tingled. âFuck-â the needle stung as you pushed down against your thigh.
âFuck- you might um-â the bartender ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders tensed up as he smelled the drink. âYou need to go check on her- I mixed up her order- that girl over there just complained her mule had no lime- so i must have- mixed them up-â
âThatsâŚnot a huge deal-â
âShe said sheâs allergic to lime-â Jack moved as quickly as he could, the door clattering against the adjacent wall, pausing only slightly to see the girls separate and rush out to find somewhere more private. âLadies-â he gulped, ducking his head and pounding on each bathroom door to find you, yelling your name.Â
You unlocked the door, wheezing giving away your presence. You put your palm out with two pens in hand, Jack's heart dropping. âItâs okay- you used it- okay-â he inspected the pen seeing the 3 year old expiry date. âDo- do you feel better?âÂ
You nodded âonly a little- the first one didn- didnt work and- the second one- helped-â
âWeâre gonna go to the ED come on-â he pulled you off the toilet, holding your bag and parting your way outside of the bar. âWeâre taking my truck come on-â he basically dragged you out of the bar and lifted you into his car as time passed. He figured the bar covering the bill was the least they could do.Â
âItâs getting better-â
âYou know reactions can come back itâs always better to go to the hospital- especially when epipens past 2 years expiry are only- 80% effective-â
âDo you always rattle off medical shit when youâre stressed-â Jackâs head snapped over to you for a few seconds, worry baked into his perfect brow furrow. He stumbled over his words as he put the car into gear.
âYeah- yeah I do-â he sighed before taking off, driving as responsibly as possible towards the hospital. He couldn't help but stare over every few seconds to check in on your condition âhowâs your throat-?â
âNever had complaints-â your hand shot over your mouth as Jack let out an unintelligible sound of pure surprise. âSorry i think the adrenaline makes me lose my filter-â
âUh- I-â Jack shook his head, flustered beyond belief.
âI donât know why i said that- iâm not like-âÂ
âStop- donât say anything else- I think youâll kill me if another word leaves that mouth of yours-"Jack pulled into the parking lot, stepping out into the night and just taking a moment to regain his sanity. You stepped out, making your way down to the ER with him.Â
You laid in the hospital bed, just needing to be monitored for a few hours as jack stayed posted up by your side. âYou know you should tell me all your allergies just in caseâŚâ Jack held your chart on his lap.
âIâm not allergic to any medication thankfully- donât respond well to morphine but otherwise not relevant-â
âNo I meanâŚâ Jack rested his hands on the handles of your bed leaning in over you slightly. âI should know, for when I take you out to breakfast.â
summary: you show up to the bar with the intention of leaving with someone. which you wouldn't have to do if you didn't have such an embarrassing crush on the nightshift attending. jack abbot is hellbent on making sure that you don't leave with anyone else tonight. which he would tell you, except for that fact that he's under the impression that you have no idea he exists.
notes: based on this request! not proofread
masterlist đ request
âLook who finally decided to join us!â An all-too familiar voice jeers from a hightop table, making you snap your head to the left.Â
Trinity is already out of her seat, arms up in the air to celebrate your arrival. Not that arriving at this dusty, cramped bar should be celebrated by anyone. It was the only bar that was open this late-- or early, depending on how you look at it. Youâre wrapped up into a cinnamon-scented hug before you can protest, her arms squeezing tightly around your shoulders.Â
Behind her, you see Dennis, Robby, Princess, and Jack all sitting in a booth.Â
What the hell kind of grouping is this? You wonder silently as you double-take the crowd.Â
âYouâre like⌠really late!â Trinity shouts over the music as she pulls away, grabbing you by the elbow to drag you to the table.Â
âIâm like⌠not here to see you!â You call back mockingly, but donât force your arm away from her tight grip. Of course youâll come over to say hi to your coworkers. Regardless of whether or not youâre being hauled by a small powerhouse of a woman.Â
âThen who are you here to see?â She narrows her eyes.Â
âWell, hopefully,â you start, then pause to scan the crowd until your eyes land on a guy with a dark buzzcut playing darts, âthat guy over there.â
Her gaze follows yours and then she snorts out a laugh.Â
âCheap thrills tonight, doc?â The two of you are close enough to the table that Robby howls out a laugh. At the same time, heâs sliding closer to Princess in the booth to make room for you. Trinity waves her hand at them. âNo need. Sheâs got her eyes on other company tonight. Didnât come to see us.â
God, sheâs too drunk and youâre too sober. Though, by the looks of the other four, theyâre not any better than her. Another raspy laugh from Robby and Princessâ loud snort confirm that suspicion.Â
You canât help the way your eyes dart from them across the table to Jack. Heâs sitting straight as ever, curls a little messy and eyes a little glassy as they dance between you and Trinity with amusement.
And God, he looks so good doing it. Itâs impossible not to stare as he lifts the lip of a beer bottle to his mouth and tips it all the way up. Thereâs a little trail of gold liquid trailing from the corner of his mouth to his jaw.Â
Pulling your lip between your teeth and averting your gaze is the only way you manage to keep from licking it clean.
âYou look hot,â Princess says as she rakes her eyes over the outfit you chose with the specific intention of going home with someone tonight.Â
A shocked laugh is the only thing you reply with, pinching the bridge of your nose with a shake of your head.Â
âOh yeah, stay away from the rad tech,â Robby chimes from next to her. At your frown, he continues. âHe had some⌠things to say about you.â
Your chest tightens slightly as you cross your brows, trying to think about what wrongs you may have committed to have radiology venting about you over drinks with your attendings.Â
âHe wants to fuck you,â Princess stage-whispers across the table.Â
With this information, you drop into the seat next to Robby, knocking a knee into Jackâs across from you as you settle in.
Trinity has found her way back between Jack and Dennis, the latter arguing with her over something minute as always. Beside you, Robby shifts, hooking an arm over the back of your seat.Â
âI donât think that was the exact verbage,â Jack corrects with a finger pointed to him.Â
âRight, no. He asked if you were single,â Robby amends.Â
That sends a memory flashing through your head.Â
âOh! Brown curly hair? Young guy, cute?â You ask, and Princessâ enthusiastic nod confirms. âOkay, yeah, yeah. I knew that already, he asked me out a few weeks ago.â
Her jaw drops, eyes widening to the size of saucers.Â
âWhat?â She shouts, leaning over Robby to smack you on the arm. âHow did nobody know about this? When did this happen?â
âYeah, when did this happen?â Jack asks dryly from across the table, bringing the beer to his lips as he watches you through narrowed eyes.Â
Giving him a confused look, you shrug.Â
âCouple weeks ago, I guess. It was like a two-second interaction, I guess nobody saw it. He came up as I was charting and asked me to go to some theater thing,â you reply with a dismissive wave of your hand.Â
âTheater?â Robby chortles. âThat feels like a bold choice for a first date.â
Again, you shrug. It was genuinely the only conversation youâve ever had with the man, and you hadnât even seen him since. Really, you were incredibly surprised that heâd brought you up at all tonight after so long.Â
Princess starts telling Robby something about how the nosebleeds are a great place to fool around without anyone seeing, and thatâs your cue to go get a drink. Across from you, Jack pushes himself to his feet at the same time, a little unsteadier than you expect him to be.Â
âToo much to drink, Abbot?â You tease, letting your eyes fall over him now that heâs standing.Â
Heâs wearing a black tee shirt that pulls taut across his chest, and a black and white flannel over it. The extra layer is probably contributing to the pink flush on his drunken cheeks. Through all the layers you can still see the bulge of his biceps as you take him in. You already know youâll be staring at his ass in those blue jeans the moment you get the chance.
âNot enough for whatever conversation theyâre havinâ,â he jerks his head in the direction of the table as the two of you start walking away. âDidnât know you knew the radiology guy.â
âI donât. Him asking me out was the first and last conversation we ever had.â You eye him carefully.Â
âHuh.â He hums, nodding as if not believing you.
Then he takes a final drag from his beer, tosses it in the trash, and breaks away from your path and toward the menâs bathroom.Â
Weird.Â
You continue walking to the bar, where the crowd is significantly more than youâd expect at 3 a.m. on a weekday. Thereâs one space where you can easily saddle up between two other people, so you do.Â
As luck would have it, one of those people would be the man you pointed out to Trinity earlier. Heâs cute, a bit of a firefighter look to him that youâre sure charms plenty of women. Strong, too, though in a way thatâs more lean and less bulk. Handsome, strong, and judging by the amount of shots heâs buying right now, employed.Â
Bumping into him, you pretend to act surprised, as if you hadnât just orchestrated the move for the sole reason of getting his attention. As you planned, he turns to face you, arms darting out to steady you on your feet.
âIâm so sorry!â You call over the noise around you, resting a hand on his chest and pushing yourself up to your toes to get closer to his ear. âAre you ok?â
That puts a little grin on his face. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and he nods, amusement written all over his features.Â
ââM fine. You good?â His eyes are moving up and down the outfit youâre wearing. Just like you hoped they would. Based on the long exhale he blows out, youâd say the mission was accomplished.Â
âIâm good. Thank you!â You give a sweet smile and then turn back to face the bar, hoping heâll--
âWhatâs your name?âÂ
Fuck yeah.
The typical flirty conversation carries on between the both of you while you stand there waiting for your turn to order drinks. His name is Brett and he is a firefighter. Heâs twenty-nine and moved here from some city out West that you donât much care to remember.Â
Most importantly: heâs single.Â
The two of you have two drinks at the bar while you talk. Eventually, you follow him back to his friends where he drops off the shots and then let him bring you to a high top closer to the bar. He pulls the chair out for you and you can only hope that his chivalry extends to the bedroom as well.Â
âWhat do you like to do for fun?â He asks, standing next to your chair with his hand on your side. With the height of the stool, youâre about shoulder-height to him.Â
âI could show y-â
Your worst nightmare comes true.Â
âHi! Iâm Princess.â Sheâs cuddling up next to him.Â
Brett furrows his brows for a moment, but upon seeing your knowing look, chuckles.
âBrett. You two know each other?â He wraps his arm around her and watches as you roll your eyes.Â
âPrincess, fuck all the way off,â you groan, nudging her with the toe of your shoe.Â
She shakes her head, a sorry little smile appearing. Her leaning into your date while she does it sure does nothing to convey any sincerity.Â
âCanât. If I can get you to come back to the table I get $50. And if you let me stay here for longer than 3 minutes I get an extra $10 on top.â
Of fucking course she does. These people are gambling addicts. You didnât even know that they were still here, let alone watching you. Grumpily, you bring your drink to your mouth and empty it.Â
Brett laughs again, patting Princess on the back and then moving to stand behind your chair, placing both hands on your shoulders.Â
âHow about $100 and you let me take her back to my place?â He proposes.Â
Your stomach twists, and you feel bile rise in your throat. He had been nice up until now, and youâre sure he probably didnât mean for it to come out like he was paying to have sex with you. But holy fuck, youâve never been turned off so fast.Â
Princess is quiet, and you donât look at her as you get out of your chair and grab your purse.Â
âI probably should go back with my friends,â you excuse, giving a tight-lipped smile to the man who has so suddenly soured your night. âIt was nice to meet you, Brett. Have a good night.â
Before either of them can say anything else, youâre throwing open the door to the womenâs restroom and locking it.Â
God, why did they have to ruin that? What the fuck were you even doing here? Why canât you just sit at home and listen to fucking audio erotica to get your rocks off like the rest of the universe? Why do you have to put your faith into non-fictional men who make jokes about paying for sex with you?
And why the fuck are your friends so goddamn annoying?
Frustration tightens your chest in a way that makes you feel mean. The alcohol isnât sitting well, itâs ready to bubble over into this stupid situation and make you lash out at what few friends you have because they made a stupid joke that ruined your stupid hookup.
Youâre washing your hands as if you can cleanse the anger away. The water is cold, sobering, in a way, and you let it run over your skin to soothe the sting of anger.
Outside the door, muffled voices begin to spill in through the crack in the door.Â
âYou should just go, man.â Itâs Jack that you hear outside. His tone makes you turn the water off to be able to hear better.
âI want to make sure sheâs ok. I didnât mean to-â Itâs Brett.
âItâs over, kid. Have a good night.âÂ
Kid. Your cheeks grow hot as you let yourself become even more upset. Thatâs the fucking reason youâre here. Because Jack Abbot is the only man youâve ever wanted to like you, and here he is calling a man older than yourself kid.Â
You canât be enough for him. Could never, no matter how hard you try, youâll never be his age. Never have his experience. Never come close to breaking down those walls that guard him because he will never care about you enough to let you try.Â
The urge to scream appears, and when you tamper it, itâs only replaced with the urge to hit something.Â
Here we go again. Itâs time to go home.Â
As you barge into the hallway outside the bar, you donât expect to trip over your own feet and right into Jack, who is alone now.Â
âWhoa, hey. You okay?â His strong arms hold your waist.Â
âFuck off,â you mumble, pushing yourself off of his chest. But his grip on you is too tight.Â
One hand stays on your waist while the other finds your jaw, lifting it from where youâve locked your eyes on the wall over his shoulder. The thought of seeing his handsome face when you canât have him feels like a lead weight in your bones. But his grip forces you to meet his eyes. Theyâre soft, searching in a way youâve never seen him before. Not like heâs being a doctor, but a friend.Â
Thereâs a neon sign above the bathroom door that shines all sorts of colors across his pretty grey curls. Heâs ditched the flannel, too, now only clad in that tight black shirt that has your lips parting to get enough air.
âAre you okay, sweetheart?â His question frustrates you to no end.Â
âLet me go, Jack.â
âTell me whatâs wrong,â he insists, and you see the bit of desperation on his face.Â
Itâs far too intense for this situation, and too vulnerable for Jack. But heâs drunk, and these are some pretty typical drunken dramatics by any definition.
Rolling your eyes, you find your footing and move his hands from your body. They drop back to his sides with a thud against the wall behind him. You back away from him until youâre flush with the opposite wall so that you can breathe your own air. The first inhale feels cool, settling.Â
Until you hear your name from down the hall.Â
Brett is walking toward you, starting another apology when Jack steps up from the wall and blocks you from the other man.Â
âI told you to leave,â he warns, and a shiver runs up your spine at the danger in his voice.Â
âDude, just let me-â
âFuck off!â Jack shouts now, and you jump a little, shock and fear running through you all at once.Â
Before you have much time to process anything, youâre being swept into Jackâs arms and into the womenâs bathroom once again. He comes in with you and locks you both inside. Once heâs done that, heâs lowering you to your feet and grabbing your face with both of his hands.Â
The pace of your heart is concerning. Itâs hammering in your chest, and you wonder if Jack can feel it where his fingertips hold the bottom of your jaw.Â
âDonât forgive him,â he pleads, and you startle because what the fuck.
âWhat?â You ask dumbly, face a little squished by his palms.
âThat guy. He-- I donât-- just donât.â
His hands go from smashing your face to cradling it, fingers curling around the nape of your neck and thumb stroking your cheekbone. It feels like you have whiplash.Â
Why is your hot attending holding you in the womenâs bathroom right now? Why did he just shout at your date? Why does he seem so invested in whatever is happening here right now?
âJack,â you whisper, âIâm a little confused.â
A little laugh leaves his lips as he nods, then drops his head until his forehead meets yours.Â
âI didnât know you knew who I was,â he replies quietly. This surprises you, brows crinkling beneath him. âI saw you, with that guy. And I guess I made a face. Santos told me that you⌠like me.â
Youâve forgotten how to breathe.
âI didnât send Princess. That was her own idea and I told her not to,â he assures quickly. âI just, I didnât think youâd ever glance twice at the grumpy old guy who works the night shift. I didnât know I had a chance, and I didnât want to make you uncom-â
The words die as you press your lips to his. In their absence, his mouth melts against yours, tongue instantly darting out to reach for your bottom lip. With a soft sigh you part your lips for him, letting him deepen the kiss to explore your mouth.Â
His hands tighten around your face, fingers curling into the hair at the base of your neck to hold you in place. At the slight tug he gives it, you whine, reaching out to grab him and finding his shirt bunched into your fists tightly to pull him closer. Itâs futile. Youâre as close as you can be without molding into one.Â
Then your feet leave the ground, and heâs hoisting you up into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, expecting him to carry you somewhere, maybe to the countertop, but he just stands there, backing you into the wall and keeping you settled around his torso.Â
âJack,â you pant as his mouth dips to leave hot kisses down your neck. âFuck you feel good.â
His breath is warm as he hums against your skin, working his way behind your ear and then along the shell of it. When he reaches the very peak, he pauses and drops his head against yours to whisper.Â
âNeeded this for so long, sweetheart.â
Itâs raw, itâs fucking sexy.Â
Youâre running your hands all over him when his lips collide with yours in another heated kiss. As time passes, he gets more comfortable. Low moans rumble from his chest as you run your fingers through his hair.Â
Then heâs pulling away, trailing chaste, sweet kisses across your face as he draws his head back.Â
âHmm, something wrong?â Your eyes flutter open, a lazy grin on your face when you see his deep flush and blown pupils.Â
âCome home with me.â Itâs not a question, really, but you nod anyway.Â
You expect your feet to hit the floor, to wipe your lipstick from his neck and face and ears before going back out to face the rest of the bar. But, no. Jack keeps you held tightly against his waist as he carries you back to the table (still full of your coworkers), grabs his flannel and your purse, and then leaves wordlessly.Â
Youâd be lying if you said you werenât a little proud, despite trying to hide your face in his neck the whole time (leaving lots of kisses there, of course).Â
in which jack abbot is the first to notice the wallflower resident of the ER.
summary; reader has always been used to being left behind, and eventually stopped trying to make space for themselves. she doesn't think anyone notices her, until jack abbot starts paying attention.
warnings; fem!reader. use of y/n, use of she/her, probably medical inaccuracies bc all my medical knowledge comes from shows lol, also NO AI used !!! i use em dashes sometimes but i PROMISE this is strictly a no-ai account!! also reader has a cat bc i said so
i might make a part two of this tbh but i wont label it as a series bc then my brain will start procastinating and i'll lose all motivation to write it LOL
The noise of the ER buzzed around you. The muscles in your neck ached, begging to be stretched and massaged. One of your hands came up to gently rub on your neck, the other slowly typing out the chart of your latest patient.
Some of the interns were huddled together, giggling to each other about something. It had become a habit of yours to listen in on themâ on whatever gossip they had going on this time. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you were part of it. That you got to gossip with friends just like they do.
That'd never been the case for you. In your intern year, you were the only one. Already feeling alienated, you struggled to find your place in the ER. Everyone seemed to already know who they were, aside from you.
For a while, you tried. You tried to include yourself. You joined the others when they went for a beer after a heavy shift. But as time went on, you didn't feel any closer to belonging. It didn't feel like anyone was making room for you either. So, you stopped showing up. And no one said anything.
Now, you just worked. You took all the patients no one else wanted. You stayed a little later to make sure another coworker could get home on time. You helped in traumas, then slipped away as soon as it was done.
This routine worked. It'd been your routine for years now. It wasn't that you were a bad doctor, no. You just didn't fit in.
A small wince covered your features as you rubbed your neck again. You truly couldn't wait to get off shift, and go home. You know your cat must already be sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the sight of you walking through the door.
"Nice catch, earlier." You heard a gruff voice behind youâ one you recognized as your attending, Jack Abbot. Being the eavesdropper you are, you waited to hear the response of the person he was complimenting. You wondered if they'd be humble or gleeful. You know that if you were complimented like that, you'd be over the moon.
The light of the monitor made your eyes burn a little, but you just had to push through this last chart.
Then, you felt a hand tap your shoulder.
"Kid?" Dr. Abbot hummed, looking down at you, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. "Did'ya hear me?"
Your eyes go wide, and you swear you can feel your heart jumping up into your throat, making your breath hitch. He was talking to you. No one ever bothered talking to you, not if it wasn't necessary.
"Iâ er- sorry, what did you say, Dr. Abbot?" You cleared your throat, trying to get your heart to return to a normal pace, the chart all forgotten now.
He watched you for a moment, his gaze softening from playful to a more gentle one. "I said..." His hands gripped both ends of his stethoscope, the one he always had around his neck, "Good catch earlier. With the silent heart attack patient. Not many of us could've caught that."
The apples of your cheeks shifted into a deep red color, your eyes darting from him to your keyboard, then to your water bottle, the floor, keyboard, him...
"Oh- um, yeah, thank you, sir." You nodded in response, already mentally degrading yourself for being so awkward. This is your attending, for gods sake. You should be professional.
But that easy grin rested on his face, and he nodded. "Oh, sure, kid. You're one hell of a doctor. Keep it up." He gently squeezed your shoulder, and walked off. And that was that. He complimented you like it was nothing.
That simple compliment swam in your head the entire day. It made you smile as you prepared your lunch for work at home that evening. It made you hum with content as you settled into bed, curtains drawn shut to hide the rising sun.
Good catch earlier.
It started happening more and more. Abbot would pull you into traumas with him, let you take the lead on them, and then give you a small compliment, and one of those warm smiles. He'd linger when you charted, always trying to spark up small talk.
You never came out of your shell, though. It was driving him insane. He tried everything. But you always shut it down and got back to work. For a while, he thought you might just dislike him. But he could see the small smiles you gave him, and the pink tint in your cheeks at his compliments.
So, he tried asking the other residents about you. Imagine his shock when no one knew anything about you. Everyone just responded off-handedly.
'Oh, Y/N? Yeah, she's a quiet one. Dunno much about her.'
'Y/N? Great doctor. Haven't talked to her much.'
'Saw her a few times in her first year of residency. Then she stopped coming out.'
No one knew anything. That's what made Jack perk up a little more. He tried to subtly keep notes on you throughout the day. See who you spoke to. If maybe you left with someone. Maybe discussed patients. But he got nothing.
You were all alone.
The last straw was when he spotted you slipping into the abandoned wing of the hospital, settling yourself on the dusty staircase, and opening your lunchbox. You even hid away to eat.
He had to fix that.
So, he became a little more persistent. He'd ask you to eat lunch with him, and before you had a chance to decline, he'd already led you into the breakroom, making you sit down with one pinned stare.
He could tell you were a little anxious. So he always made the first move. He'd ask questions that required more than a nod for an answer, just to get you talking. And he would listen. Full attention, eyes glued to you the entire time you spoke.
No dismissive nods, no hums of acknowledgement in a way to just make you feel heard, no. He made sure you knew he was listening. When you mentioned your cat, he asked for its name. He asked to see pictures. When you made an offhanded complaint about the hospital coffee, he asked what your favorite coffee place was.
The next day, a coffee from said place was waiting for you.
Summary: After an unfortunate mixup of pain medication and your friend's party substances at Pitt Fest, you're rushed to the Pitt and placed in the care of Jack Abbot. As he oversees your care, you get a little too touchy, and a little too honest.Â
Word Count: 6.6k
Content: accidental drug use (MDMA), mention of alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is mid 20s), fluff, comfort, a hint of smut (18+ MDNI) - literally like two seconds of thigh riding, mention of ovulation
A/N: listen⌠Iâve never done MDMA. I did a lot of research, but I had to fudge some stuff for plot. donât do drugs kids
Pitt Fest was not your idea. When your friend Beth offered you her spare ticket, you waffled at first. You're not really a crowds person, or a partying person. Beth was always the partier in college. But you do like live music, and she pointed out that your top Spotify artist from last year is in the concert lineup.
So youâd caved.
That decision is coming back to bite you in the ass, and bite hard.
Itâs hot as balls outside. Youâre covered in sweat, which mingles in a sticky and unpleasant mix with the sunscreen youâve been dutifully applying since the afternoon to avoid frying like an egg. When the sun finally set, you no longer had to worry about the burgeoning threat of skin cancer, but the heat doesnât break. In fact, it almost seems to get worse, because more and more people arrive to crowd you as night descends and the bigger names with larger fanbases grace the stage.
Youâre waiting for Beth outside of the bathroom facilities. She's been ingesting a steady stream of margaritas since sundown, so she leaves you holding the bag, literally. At least it's a nice excuse to separate yourself from the throng of jumping, sweaty bodies gathered by the stage.
Itâs nearly two in the morning. Youâre hungry. Your feet are killing you. You have a headache from the festivalâs sugary cocktails. Youâre sweating through the top Beth lent you. And on top of everything else, your ovulation cramps are kicking in like a motherfucker.
Growing desperate, you dig through Beth's bag, searching for the little Altoid tin that she always keeps her pain meds in. At long last, your hands make contact with the metal tin at the bottom of her tote. Nearly crying with relief, you pop an aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the tepid bottled water youâve been clutching for the last hour.
Beth's voice rings out from behind you, talking over the din of the nearby DJ set. âWhat are you doing?â
You turn towards her, and see Beth staring at the tin in your hand. âI have cramps,â you explain, and just as youâre about to shove the tin back in her bag and hand it to her, she grabs your wrist.
ââŚplease tell me you didnât just take one of those,â she says urgently.
You raise an eyebrow. âWhy?â
âBecause those are not aspirin, babe.â
Your blood runs cold. Your brain quickly does the math â Beth had told you how much sheâs looking forward to meeting up with her rave friends tomorrow for the second night of Pitt Fest. Beth has always been quite the partier. And she often partied with her good friend Molly.
Your eyes widen in horror. âOh no.â
Pitt Fest, as always, is a huge pain in the ass for the night shift.
Handoff gets messy. There's a shit ton of substance cases, even more of heatstroke. Robby stays longer than he should and snaps at everyone, clearly in his feelings remembering last yearâs Pitt Fest. Understandable, yes, but it also makes everyoneâs life that much harder when theyâre within sniping distance of him.
Needless to say, Jack is already over this shift, and itâs not even halfway done. It doesn't help that his favorite resident happens to have the night off, which deposits his mood firmly in the hospital basement. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the location of the morgue.
Now that Robby has been politely ordered to go the fuck home, Jack feels like he can finally focus on his job instead of doing damage control with the med students. As he walks down the hall, Lena catches his attention from the hub desk.
âWe have an ambulance two minutes out with a mid-20s female, collapsed at Pitt Fest,â she informs him. âProbable dehydration, likely drug-related, because, well⌠Pitt Fest.â
This festival truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Jack cracks his knuckles and eyes the ambulance bay doors. âAll right. Let's get ready to receive the party girl.â
A few minutes later, the gurney is wheeled in by two paramedics and received by Lena and Parker. Parker shoots an alarmed and confused look over her shoulder at Jack, who steps forward to supervise.
âDr. Abbot!"
Of all the things Jack expected to see tonight, this is at the bottom of the list. You're strapped to the gurney, scantily clad and gleaming with sweat, a goofy smile on your face and your pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow your irises.
Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. âYou're shitting me.â
This is quite the surprising turn of events.
After Lena sets you up in South 16, Jack discreetly shoos away Parker so he can handle your examination himself. He doubts you would be comfortable with one of your fellow residents seeing you like this, considering your condition and your current state of dress.
Jack closes the door behind him and saunters over to you. His eyes snag on your tight, strappy top, and the strategically placed cutouts baring sections of your midriff and chest. Heâs holding onto his professionalism by a thread, especially with the way youâre shifting around on the exam table, causing the hem of your miniskirt to ride up.
He has no choice but to focus up. You need medical attention, not the kind of attention his brain and body really want to give you right now. First, Lena takes your temperature and shows him the number on the display. 100.2 degrees F. It's coming down from what the paramedics recorded in the ambulance, and not so high that heâs still worried about heat stroke. But youâll need cooling down regardless.
âThatâs quite the outfit you got on,â he mutters as he gently raises your chin and shines his penlight into your pupils.
âDo you like it?â you ask, beaming up at him even as you squint. âI borrowed it from my friend. Sheâs so nice.â
Your pupils are so dilated that your eyes are almost completely black.
âYup.â Jack clicks off the light and sighs, turning to Lena. âSheâs rolling, all right. Letâs get a tox to make sure thereâs nothing else to be worried about.â
You donât seem to even register the pain of the needle prick, but you let out a delighted little hum when Lena smooths a bandage over your arm and adds gentle pressure over top of it.
âThat feels good,â you murmur with a lazy smile.
âI bet.â Jack crosses his arms and tries to give you a stern look. âCan I ask what my best resident is doing taking ecstasy at a music festival?â
âI didnât take it on purpose, I swear,â you protest, your eyes widening in a brief panic. âIt was my friendâs. I thought it was aspirin, for my cramps.â
âYouâre menstruating?â he asks, picking up his tablet and sitting in the edge of the exam table next to you to amend your chart.
You shake your head and say matter-of-factly, âOvulation cramps.â
His eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling in surprise.Â
You continue babbling, unaware of the grenade you just lobbed at Jack. âShe tried to get me to throw it up, but I couldnât because I donât really have a gag reflex.â
Jack takes a deep breath to prevent his brain from completely short-circuiting.Â
Your face breaks into a sheepish smile, and you giggle, âOops. Sorry, that was probably too much information.â Leaning forward on the exam table, you bring your face inches away from his and observe with a sigh, âYour eyes are really pretty.â
From behind him, Jack hears Lena snickering under her breath. He clears his throat and straightens up to standing.
Avoiding Lena's eyes, he instructs her, âLetâs, uh, get her some fluids and cooling packs, huh? Maybe a Saf-T-Pop, too. Keep her mouth occupied, so she wonât say any more nonsense sheâll regret in the morning.â
Lena just shoots him an amused look and heads off to gather supplies. Nurses, he thinks ruefully to himself. They see everything.
Movement and sound draw his attention back to you. You're laid back on the exam table, eyes fluttering closed. And youâre running your hands through your hair, letting out a pleased little noise like the sensation is better than sex.Â
Jack breathes carefully through his nose. He needs out of this room with you, before this becomes mortifying for everyone involved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse for escape.
His voice is thin when he speaks, and for a moment, heâs glad youâre too high to notice. âYou sit tight, sunshine.âÂ
As he turns to leave the room, your hand catches the edge of his scrubs.
âYouâre leaving?â your mouth turns down into a pout, those huge eyes shining up at him. He very nearly gives in, very nearly reaches out a hand to stroke a thumb across your cheek just to hear the kind of sound it would pull from you. But his phone buzzes insistently, so he briefly pats your knee instead.
âI have other patients to see. But I'll be back before you know it,â he assures you, pulling open the door and diving headfirst back into the glorious chaos.
At least itâll be a convenient distraction from the thought of you, eagerly waiting in south fifteen for him to return.
He shakes his head in disbelief. Ovulation cramps. Youâre gonna be the death of him.
An MVA, a ketamine overdose, and a cardiac event later, the Pitt finally slows down enough for Jack to breathe. Enough to check your tox screen and sigh with relief that the MDMA you mistakenly took wasnât cut with anything. Alcohol is the only other thing in your system, in levels not high enough to be concerning. Although, combined with the ecstasy, it means you probably wonât remember much of this exciting little escapade.
At long last, he manages to find some time to check on you.Â
In his absence, Lena had set you up with a gown to preserve a little more of your modesty. Youâre laying on the exam table amongst the cooling packs, an IV attached to your arm and a Saf-T-Pop in your mouth thatâs turning your tongue red.Â
A smile breaks like sunrise over your face as soon as you see him.
âHey there, sunshine,â he greets you, approaching you with a little more warmth now that Lena's sharp eyes arenât here to observe.
âHi. I missed you,â you sigh.
Jack smirks. âDid you now?â
You nod happily. âMm-hmm.â
âHow are you feeling?â he asks, his gaze attentive, checking you over.
âCold,â you answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He reaches up a hand to feel your forehead. Still warm, but still steadily coming down over time. Heâs satisfied enough with your progress. You'll be out of here in no time.
The prospect disappoints him just a little.
âYeah, your body is having trouble regulating its temperature,â he explains, his thumb stroking delicately along your hairline. âWeâll need to keep these cool packs on you a little while longer.â
Just as his hand retreats, your hand catches his wrist. You press his palm to your cheek, almost nuzzling into it like an affectionate kitten.
âYour hands are so warm,â you murmur, eyelids slipping shut as you revel in the sensation.
The gesture catches him off guard, but he doesnât pull away. He couldnât even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesnât want to.
âEasy there, gorgeous,â he chuckles softly. âI need that hand for doctoring.â
Your eyelids flutter halfway open, and you look up at him with a lazy grin, clearly pleased as punch. âYou think I'm gorgeous?â
Jack freezes for a moment. The word had slipped out without him even registering it, familiar and endeared and entirely too revealing.Â
âI plead the fifth,â he replies, warmth creeping up his neck.
You giggle again. God, that sound does things to his heart that are medically concerning.
âI think youâre gorgeous,â you mumble dreamily.
Jack blinks in surprise.
Heâs been a little too fond of you for a while now, been staring a little too long when you brush past him in the halls. And heâs suspected before that it might not be completely one-sided. He sees how you receive his attention and praise differently than the other attendings, how you look at him with more than just the admiration of a mentor. But suspecting it and having it be confirmed are two different things. Especially since you wouldnât be saying any of this if you were sober.
He tries to laugh it off before his ego can run away with the compliment. âI think youâre high.â
You shrug. âMaybe. But I always think youâre gorgeous.â
Removing his palm from your cheek, you examine it with fascination, running a finger along the deep set lines. âI think about these,â you say thoughtfully. âAll the time.â
Jack is a little ashamed at how quickly that comment goes straight to his cock. His favorite resident, fantasizing about his hands, maybe even touching yourself to the thought of them, wishing your own fingers were hisâ
He drags his free hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus Christ."
âCan I tell you a secret?â You peer up at him again, that goofy, starstruck smile returning. âIâve got, like, the biggest crush on you.â
Unfortunately for Jack, there is very little time to process this very interesting information before his phone buzzes again. Just beyond the doors, he can hear the familiar sound of what is likely a high-priority trauma heading into the bay. Voices overlapping in urgent tones, gurney wheels on tile floor, grunts and yelps of pain from a patient.
Jack crosses to the door in two steps, and speaks over his shoulder to you. âHey, baby, I gotta handle something. Stay out of trouble, okay?â
As the door swings shut behind him, he just manages to catch the sound of you happily mumbling to yourself, âHe called me baby.â
Which is how he heads into Trauma 1 with a smile on his face, entirely too cheerful for a man facing down a compound femur fracture.Â
The shift that would never fucking end is almost fucking over. And all Jack can think about is you. You and your moony, lovey-dovey eyes and your wide, childlike smile. You gazing up at him and crooning I have the biggest crush on you. You giggling and telling him point-blank that youâre ovulating.
As he rolls out of yet another demanding trauma, Lena updates him on your condition. Youâre rehydrated and back to a normal temperature, pretty much ready for discharge if you can be released to someone who will take care of you. He returns to your room, finding you unhooked from your IV and cold-pack-free, happily set up with another lollipop.
âJack, youâre back!â you exclaim, and then laugh at your accidental rhyme.
Still rolling, he thinks. He checks his watch. According to your best guess of when you took the âaspirinâ in your friendâs purse, itâs been about four hours. You'll be due to start coming down anytime in the next two hours or so. He's due to head out, but he canât bring himself to go home until he knows youâre leaving in capable hands.
âHey, sunshine.â He offers you a tired but warm smile. âSeems like youâre in pretty good shape here, and you should be tapering off pretty soon. You got anybody to take you home, keep an eye on you?â
A little crease forms between your brows as you think hard. âI donât know where my friend went when the ambulance came. And I think my phone died,â you add pathetically, gesturing to the device in your lap and its terminally black screen.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He canât in good conscience leave you to your own devices, especially when youâve never taken ecstasy before. At worst, thereâs still a chance you could have some kind of reaction. At best, the comedown is sure to knock you on your ass.Â
He can only think of one thing to do. It's not the best idea. It might not even be a good idea. But his brain is too addled from the long shift to come up with anything better. And you need someone to take care of you.
âJesus. Okay,â he mutters to himself, then sits on the edge of the exam table, bringing his face level to yours. âListen up, sunshine.â
You gaze at him intently, attention vacillating occasionally between his eyes and his mouth. Jack has a feeling that what heâs about to say will go in one ear and right out the other. But thereâs a chance youâll retain it, so he says it anyway.
âYou're gonna have a pretty serious crash when you come down. All those happy little chemicals that are making you feel good right now?â He gives you a soft little tap against your temple, and you giggle softly. He continues, âTheyâre gonna go on vacation for a day or two. I don't want you dealing with that on your own. So I'm gonna take you to my place, just to watch out for you until youâre feeling a little more like yourself.â
Youâre quiet for a minute, your brain catching up and computing the meaning of what he just said. When it finishes, the lightbulb goes off behind your eyes, and you ask excitedly, âWeâre having a sleepover?â
Of course that would be your takeaway.Â
He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. âThat's right. You got it.â
When Jack drapes his hoodie over your shoulders and guides you out of the Pitt to his car, heâs reminded of all the reasons that this is probably a terrible idea.
He sees the watchful eyes and the knowing smirks of the nurses. He sees Parker and Crus snickering behind their hands. He sees Shen counting up his winnings from the betting pool, because he wrote down molly and tripsitter Abbot.
And he feels your hand clinging to his bicep, sees how you gaze up at him with a dreamy expression as he walks you out to his car. Heâs knows heâs really going to need to behave himself for a few hours, because thereâs a very good chance that you wonât, and Jack doesnât want to accidentally take advantage of your⌠impaired judgement.
You spend most of the ride with your face by the cracked car window, feeling the wind on your face, eyes blissfully closed. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he thought to give the apartment a once-over before shift, so he isnât bringing you into a total mess.
He walks you into his bedroom and gestures to the en-suite. âBathroomâs there, if you want to take a shower. I'll find you something a little more⌠comfortable to wear,â he adds, peeling his eyes away from your tiny little shirt and how youâre already fussing with the straps.
As he turns to his bureau to find you a t-shirt, he feels arms wrapping around his middle, your body molding to his back as you embrace him with a sigh. âThank you for being so nice to me.â
Jack swallows and delicately removes your hands, stepping out of your embrace and ushering you in the direction of the bathroom.
âGo on, then,â he instructs you. âWhile youâre still upright.â
You barely even register it as rejection, heading towards the shower and wiggling out of your top before Jack even has the chance to close the door behind you. Which he does, quickly and with his eyes glued to the floor.
His instincts were right. He will very much need to behave himself while youâre here.
He busies himself while you shower by changing out of his scrubs and assembling a meal. It's a humble offering â just a couple of sandwiches and frozen french fries heated up in the oven, but itâs better than nothing.Â
After about twenty minutes, you emerge from the bedroom with damp hair and your face scrubbed clean, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, smelling like his soap. You lean on his kitchen island with a contented little sigh.Â
Jack repeats it to himself like a mantra â behave yourself.
âTime to eat something,â he says, sliding one of the plates toward you.
âIâm not hungry.â
âI know. But I'm trying to set you up for success here, so you donât feel as awful when this is out of your system. When's the last time you ate?â he asks.
You rest your chin on your hand as you think back. âI had⌠lunch.â
âThought so.â He puts the plate into your hands and steers you in the direction of the couch with a hand on your lower back. âYou and I are gonna eat these sandwiches, drink some water, and watch Planet Earth.â
You gasp in delight and plop down onto the couch. âI love Planet Earth!â
He knows you do. You'd gushed about it being your favorite docuseries at work, and heâd bragged about owning the box set. It had been the first day you and he had really started to bond.
Once the tv is on, it thankfully keeps you occupied. You chew your food slowly, enraptured with the beautiful imagery on the screen. Managing a decent effort with the meal, you eat half the sandwich and most of the fries before you start to lose a little steam.
You abandon your plate on the coffee table, then take Jack completely by surprise as you lean over to lay your head in his lap.
He goes still for a moment, unsure if he should be allowing this. But he doesnât have the heart to push you away, so he puts his plate aside and lets a hand come to rest on your shoulder.
You sigh happily and snuggle closer.
It's been so long since Jack has taken care of someone like this that heâd almost forgotten what it feels like. How good it feels to be needed. The easy intimacy of sharing a space, sharing a meal, of letting someone melt against you after a long night.
Affectionately, he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, and you practically purr in response, leaning into his hand. So Jack keeps doing it, keeps gently stroking his fingers through your hair, preferring to watch your relaxing form instead of the polar bears on screen.
The two of you spend nearly an hour like that, until your breath starts to take on that even, drowsy quality and Jackâs own brain starts calling for rest. He gently eases you off his lap to sit up, takes you by the hand and leads you to bed, already resigning himself to the aching back that a couch nap is going to earn him.
Jack sets you up with a glass of water and the best blankets in the linen closet. As he turns to head back to the living room, your hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.
âStay.â
Your voice is low and warm. You're sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooled around your knees. Your eyes are dark, tempting, pleading.
Jack knows dangerous territory when he sees it.
Still, your serotonin is due to start dropping any time now, and hurt feelings are only going to be worsened once it does. Jack sits carefully on the edge of the bed, maintaining a few inches of distance, his other hand gently cradling your cheek.
âSorry, sunshine. Not a good idea.â
You move closer, your gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. âWhy?â
Best behavior, Jack.Â
âBecause youâre still tapering off. Plus, I just worked a long shift and I need to sleep.â He takes in a deep breath as he feels your hand slide across his shoulders. âAnd I've got a feeling I won't be getting much rest next to you.â
In a move so surprising that Jack is momentarily powerless to stop it, you rise up onto your knees and shift to straddle one of his thighs.
âWhat if I promise to be really, really good?â you murmur sweetly.
Jack knows he should stop you, and he almost does. But then you rock your hips on his thigh, the tiniest little life-ruining movement, and you let out the softest, neediest little sound. Suddenly, Jack is hanging onto his sanity and self control-by a thread. And that thread is fraying rapidly.
âBaby,â he whispers, half warning and half plea. His hands come to your hips, torn between stopping you and spurring you on.
Your hips rock again, more purposeful this time. âPlease,â you beg quietly, so close now that your lips just barely brush against his.
For a few shameful moments, Jack forgets about his fatigue and the ache in his leg and he wonders⌠how morally reprehensible would it really be to just let you get off on his thigh? Youâd said yourself that youâre ovulating, probably making you even needier. Fuck, he can feel how badly you want it, wetness soaking through the boxers youâre wearing and Jackâs sweatpants. Would it really be so awful of him to sit passively as you hump his leg to get the relief youâre clearly so desperate for? To take pity on you and let you use him for your pleasure?Â
But he knows it would be wrong, because heâd be getting off on it even if you didnât touch him. You're not in your right mind, and he doesnât want to make you come for the first time when youâre whacked out on MDMA.
Summoning the will from deep inside himself, he stills your hips and eases you off of his thigh, ignoring your whines as he nudges you back onto the pillows.
âIt wouldnât be right. I'm not touching you until youâre sober,â he says firmly.
Jack gets to his feet and tucks the blankets around you. âIâll see you in a few hours. Wake me if you need anything.â He laughs softly at the pointed pouting look you shoot his way. âOther than that.â
âYouâre no fun,â you call after him as he retreats into the living room.
Once the bedroom door is shut behind him, he collapses on the couch and wrestles off his prosthetic, punching a throw pillow a few times to soften it before going horizontal. Even after what felt like the longest shift heâs had in months, heâs unsure how much sleep heâll actually manage to get knowing youâre in the next room. Probably snuggling one of his pillows as if itâs him, probably squeezing your thighs together until the last of the drugs leave your system.
He groans and rolls over, willing his body and his still half-hard cock to go to sleep.
You wake feeling like death warmed over.
Youâre in a bed that doesnât belong to you, but smells familiar and comforting. Same with your clothes. A few memories make it through the fog, blurry and out of order. Planet Earth. Jackâs hand, warm and pleasant on your cheek. An ambulance ride. Lena ruffling your hair and handing you a lollipop. A shower with a chair and a grab bar and soap that smells like Jack.
Youâre at Jack's apartment, you realize with a start.
Checking the time groggily, you observe that you've slept from the early morning until late afternoon. Thank god youâd asked for tonight off as well, anticipating youâd need recovery time after Pitt Fest.Â
You can vaguely recall the warm, fuzzy feelings youâd experienced last night. In the abstract, at least. Now, you feel mostly guilt and shame and embarrassment and anxiety. How could you have been so stupid?
Sounds of life echo from the kitchen, which means Jack has woken up ahead of you. Your guilt sharpens. Jack is spending his hard-earned downtime taking care of you, because of your own carelessness.
Fatigue clings to your bones as you shuffle to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is less than kind. Dark shadows frame your eyes, worse than the usual bags worn by the night shift crew. Your hair is a mess, and you sigh as you comb your fingers through to tame it.
Time to face the music.
You trudge out into the kitchen, where Jack is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and sweats and cooking an omelette, looking awfully chipper for having slept seven hours on the couch. He looks so good that it briefly makes you angry. Fuck him for looking so good, while you look and feel like utter dogshit.
Of course, that annoyance turns to guilt again when he looks up and smiles.
âHey, lover girl,â he greets you warmly as you lean on the kitchen island. âHow are you feeling?â
You rub your eyes and groan, âLike I got hit by a Mack truck.â
He squeezes your shoulder fondly and grabs a plate from an overhead cabinet. âLetâs get some food and water in you.â
âThank you,â you mutter sheepishly. âIâm sorry about⌠all this.â
âDon't even worry about it, sunshine.âÂ
Jack hands you a glass of water and starts making you a plate. You accept it with a grimace. âI'm not feeling very sunshine-y right about now. I can't remember half of what happened after I went down at the concert.â
âI hope weâve learned not to go digging for meds in that particular friendâs purse.â He smirks and sets a plate in front of you. A vegetable omelette and buttered toast. Your appetite hasnât yet returned to its normal levels, but your doctor brain knows that you really need to eat, so you reach for the toast first.
âNever again,â you vow as you take a bite.
In the light of day and out from under the influence of Beth's âaspirin,â you get a good look at Jack's apartment for the first time as he assembles his own plate. It's not spotless, but itâs generally tidy, and itâs a very nice place. Good furniture, great windows with better blackout shades, a nice floor plan. Its niceness only makes you feel smaller.
You poke at your omelette, stewing. âJack?â
âYes?â
âDon't take this the wrong way, butâŚwhy am I here?â
He plates his own omelette and leans a hip against the kitchen island. âYouâd never taken MDMA before, and I knew youâd be in for a hell of a drop. I didn't want you to be on your own.â
You resist the urge to frown. This whole saga is doing nothing to remedy your tragic crush on him. Did he have to be so nice and caring on top of everything else? It feels a little unfair at the moment.
âThatâs⌠very considerate,â you mumble.
âWhat can I say? I'm a considerate guy.â He pops a bite of omelette into his mouth with a wink.
A thought occurs to you that briefly makes your stomach turn. âDoes the whole Pitt know?â
Jack's expression tells you everything you need to know before he even speaks. âThere⌠might have been a betting pool on the subject. Shen cleaned up.â
You drop your face into your hands. âAwesome. That's really awesome.â
Every single one of your coworkers knows that you spent the night rolling. Tears prick at your eyes beneath your palms, which only worsens your humiliation. The last thing you need right now is to cry in front of Jack Abbot. Even if itâs just because the chemicals in your brain are out of whack, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.
âHey.â Jack's hand finds your shoulder again. âDonât worry about it. They're good people, no one is judging you.â
Despite your best efforts, a mortifying little sniffle slips out at the kindness in his voice.Â
 âOh, sweetheart,â he murmurs. âCome here.â
You canât bear to look up, but your breath hitches in surprise when Jack pulls you into his arms. Instantly, your brain begins to quiet, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the reassuring weight of his arms around you, the slow arc of his thumb rhythmically stroking your shoulder blade.
It's medicine. Oxytocin and dopamine, feel-good chemicals produced by physical touch, bolstering your brain against the sapped well of serotonin the ecstasy left in its wake. It also makes your heart flutter pathetically in your chest.
He holds you for a long moment, his grip tightening when you finally loop your arms around his waist and return the embrace.
âThank you for taking care of me,â you whisper, allowing the comfort to sink into your skin and fill your lungs.Â
âOf course.â
Jack only pulls away when you do, gently swiping a calloused thumb underneath your eye to banish the straggling tear that managed to escape.Â
âLetâs get comfortable on the couch,â he says, a hand settling on your back to guide you. âYouâre still on the comedown.â
You worry you might be overstaying your welcome. But Jack seems to be in no rush to get you out of his apartment, content to let you rot on his couch as long as you need to. Surely he must have better things to do on his night off than take care of you, but he sits sentry at your side without complaint.
After some consideration, Planet Earth is tabled for the time being â even if youâve seen it before, animal death is sure to bring back the waterworks in your current state. Flipping through channels, you settle on a cheesy mid-2000s rom-com that youâve seen before and snuggle back into the couch cushions.Â
Through it all, you feel the comfort of his steady presence, his hand rubbing idle circles on your back, like an IV drip of Vitamin Jack straight to your brain. You give into the feeling, too worn out to fight it, curling into his side. Eventually, you feel a gentle graze at your scalp as he idly plays with your hair. It surprises you for a moment, but youâre not complaining in the slightest. You melt into it, eyes fluttering closed until youâre slipping in and out of a light doze.
Afternoon fades to evening, to dinnertime, to nighttime, to bedtime. Even after your intermittent sleep, your fatigue is still bone deep, and Jack insists you can stay the night. You really try to convince him to let you take the couch, but he refuses, insisting that your body needs proper rest to return to baseline. At the end of the night, he sends you off to bed with a smirk.
When you wake up in Jack's bed for the second time, itâs much less disorienting. It helps that youâre much clearer than you were seventeen hours ago. The clock reads 9:05 am â you have the whole day ahead of you to shower, change, and steel yourself for the humiliation ritual that is bound to be your shift tonight.
You stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. Jack is reclined on the couch with a laptop and readers perched on the end of his nose. Ugh, fuck him again for looking so good.
His eyes find yours over the edge of the screen. âHey there. You sleep good?â
âMm-hmm,â you reply, stretching. âI'm feeling much better, I think.â
His mouth curves at the corner. âGood.â
Leaning on the edge of the couch, you sigh and glance at the clock on the wall. âI should probably head home soon, get my life together before shift tonight. Would you be able to drive me home?â
âSure thing, sunshine.âÂ
After you eat breakfast and shower off the cast of bedrotting from the day before, you change back into the clothes you arrived in, which Jack took the liberty of washing for you. As much as you appreciate the gesture, you blanch at the idea of Jack handling your underwear, and try very hard not to think about that mental image.
As the quiet car ride progresses, you ponder your looming fate, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing youâll get from the nurses and other residents. It's disorienting to not know what youâre walking into, to have been mentally absent for most of it.
You canât resist the urge to ask anymore. âWas I a total mess?â
He nods, amused. âYes. But a very cute mess.â
âGod, this is so embarrassing,â you groan. âWhat did I say?â
âAre you sure you wanna know?â he asks with a raised eyebrow.
That makes you pause, glancing at him warily. ââŚwas it bad?âÂ
âYou got a little fixated on hands for a while.â Jack pauses, like he isnât sure how much to reveal, if youâre ready to handle it. âSaid you think about mine all the time.â
Suddenly, you feel a bit sick, even though the car is headed in a straight line down the road. If that's just where it starts⌠if thatâs not the worst of it, then what is?
âOh god,â you whisper in horror.Â
âYou said you think I'm gorgeous,â he continues, voice thick with amusement. âAnd that you have a big olâ crush on me. And⌠you mightâve tried to seduce me a little at bedtime.â
Your cheeks flare hot. This is quite possibly the worst outcome of the situation aside from death. At the moment, death feels preferable.
You stare straight ahead, sinking in your seat and pressing your hands to your forehead to try and keep your brain from exploding. âExcuse me, I'm just gonna open the door and go lay down in traffic.â
He laughs, the sound warm and fond and doing absolutely nothing to temper your embarrassment. âIt's okay.â
âIt is completely not okay, Jack,â you protest, turning your body away from him and towards the passenger side door, like that will save you from this conversation.
Jack places a hand on your thigh.
All the systems in your brain go down simultaneously.
His palm rests just above your knee, not high enough to be too inappropriate, but itâs intimate. Especially because your choice of garment for Pitt Fest leaves your leg bare and exposed to his touch. Never once does he take his eyes off the road.
âIt was flattering,â he says coolly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. âAnd extremely cute.â
He lets the assertion hang in the silence, and he doesnât move his hand, letting it rest warm and comfortable against the soft skin of your thigh.
After some considerable effort, you remember how to breathe. Once the oxygen makes it to your brain, you manage to peel your hands away from your face and peek sideways at him.Â
ââŚreally?â you ask, because you need the confirmation. Does Jack Abbot â your mentor, the object of all your desires, and the man who just babysat you through an unwitting MDMA trip â really think youâre cute?
He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. âReally.â
There isnât much else to say for the rest of the car ride. Jack keeps his hand on your thigh until he turns down your street and throws the car in park. You try and fail to suppress a smile the whole way, and allow him to walk you up to your buildingâs front step, palms tingling with anticipation.
âIâd like to do this again sometime,â he says as you unlock the main entrance. âMinus the party drugs.â
You grin up at him, slightly emboldened by the revelations that occurred in the car. âYou wanna have another sleepover?â
âVery much.â His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles back. âSee you tonight?â
âSee you tonight.â
You turn to head inside, but Jack catches your elbow. âHey. One last thing.â
Before you have time to register his closeness, a hand slides along your waist, another cupping your jaw, and Jack is kissing you.
A warm, pleasant feeling floods you from top to toe, a high rivalling the chemical one youâd experienced twenty-eight hours ago. He kisses you like heâs been thinking about it that entire twenty-eight hours. It's tender and hungry at the same time. By the time he pulls away, your lips follow after his and you almost stumble forward into his arms.
You open your eyes and blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and starstruck again.
âHad to wait until you were level,â Jack murmurs. He gives you a lingering peck at the corner of your mouth and descends down the front steps to his car.
Content warning; Reader has slight fear or abandoment, brief mention of family member suffering a heartattack in the past
Summary; Jack is your best friend, but best friends shouldn't feel this way
Your apartment was too quiet. You dropped your keys into the bowl by the door and stood in the hallway for a long moment, not really looking at anything. After shifts like today, there was usually a routine. A shower and then clean clothes. Something boring on tv and, your hand hovered over your pocket. Without really thinking, you were about to text Jack.Â
Takeout?
The realization made you pause, not because it was unusual. But because it wasnât. It had become normal. If you got off early, you would grab dinner. If one of you had a bad shift, then the other would end up on their couch. If a new restaurant opened, you would both end up trying it together. You didnât make plans, you both just assumed.Â
You wandered into your kitchen, opening the fridge. His bottle of hot sauce sat in the door, with his favourite sparkling water. Leftover containers with masking tape labels in his handwriting âEat this before Thursday.â
You smiled to yourself, your apartment looked a little like his. A half-finished jigsaw puzzle you both had started months ago and never completed. A pair of his sunglasses sitting by the door, next to the tiny cactus he had bought for you because he has said your apartment needed something alive, besides you.
You leaned against the counter, arms folded. A thought arrived so quickly that it almost slipped past you. Jack was your best friend. The words felt unfamiliar, you hadn't called anyone that in years. âBest friendâ implied permanence. Someone you counted on, someone you wanted beside you before anyone else. Someone who had quietly become part of your life before you even noticed it happening. Your chest tightened, because if you were being honest with yourself, that was Jack. If something funny happened, or something terrible, you told Jack. If you had a free evening, you wondered if Jack was busy. He had become your favourite person. That realization was both comforting and terrifying in equal measures.Â
There were never any awkward conversations. No pressure to entertain. Just company. It was dangerous, really and you knew it. People weren't supposed to become routine. Routines disappeared. You had learned a long time ago not to build your life around anyone else's presence. Yet somehow, Jack had quietly become part of it anyway. Friday takeout, movie nights where neither of you actually watched the movie. He had slipped into the empty spaces of your life so naturally that one day you started expecting him to be there.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket.Â
Jack;I found a movie for us to watch. It looks terrible.Â
You laughed, a real laugh. You shook your head as you typed back.
You;That's a terrible sales pitch.
His reply came almost instantly.
Jack;
Iâll be over in ten.
You could worry about everything else another day. Tonight, your best friend was bringing takeout.
Jack didn't bother to knock, he rarely did. He let himself in with the spare key he had insisted he needed, âfor emergencies.â He kicked the door shut and you heard the familiar shuffle of his boots.Â
"I come bearing gifts." He said and you looked up from where you had sprawled across the couch.
"In the form of?"
He held up two plastic bags.
"Chinese."
Your eyes lit up.
"I'm here to save you from whatever depressing meal you were about to make."
"I was going to have toast."
Jack stopped, staring at you with a disapproving frown.Â
"Wow."
âDonât worry, I was going to butter it.â You rolled off the couch, following Jack as he wandered into your tiny kitchen. He knew where you kept the plates. Where the forks were. Which cupboard held glasses and which one you filled with random Tupperware lids. He pulled open the drawer fishing out the spare chopsticks youâd stashed away.Â
"Why are there batteries in here?"
"Because the junk drawer got full."
"You have three junk drawers."
âYeah, and theyâre all full.â
You didn't even look up, still digging in the bags on the counter.
âUgh, this smells so good. What would I do without you?â
âStarve.â
By the time you settled on the couch, containers had covered most of the coffee table. The opening credits had barely finished before Jack groaned.
"Oh, come on."
You looked over.
"What?"
He pointed at the television with a spring roll.
"The guy's doing chest compressions."
"So?"
"He's on the patient's stomach."
You looked back at the screen.
"Oh my God, he is,â you snored, âmaybe itâs experimental.â
âItâs murder.â
The patient dramatically gasped back to life and Jack threw his head back against the couch.
"The miracle recovery."
You laughed at his frustration.Â
"Two compressions and he's cured just as medical science intended."
You both continued to eat, Jack occasionally moaning about all the inaccuracies until you reminded him that he picked the movie. You watched in silence for a bit, until you finally spoke.Â
âYou know, I donât think I could have gone into surgery.â
He looked over at you.Â
âNo?â
You shook your head.Â
âI like not knowing what's coming next.â
Jack smiled.
"I figured. You thrive in chaos."
You laughed, kicking him from across the couch. You watched the trauma team sprint across the screen.
"I like that everyone comes in on the worst day of their life."
Jack frowned.
"That's an interesting way of putting it."
âWe get to make it less awful.â
He nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
âWhen I was younger, my grandad had a heart attack, and I was so scared.â
He reached over, grabbing onto your ankle.
âI remember how calm the doctors were,â you laughed, âI know now they were not as calm as I thought they were. But they hid it well.â
He smiled faintly.
"I remember thinking if I could make one person feel the way they made me feel, like somebody knew what they were doing. Like someone competent was in charge. I wanted to do that.â
His thumb circled your ankle silently.Â
âWhat about you?â You asked him. âWhy emergency medicine?â
He didnât take a minute to think, the answer was an obvious one.
âI like fixing things. People come in, and we all show up, and try our best. We save one life, then move onto the next.â
It was true, Jack noticed things, and he fixed them. The same way that he fixed your cabinet door that used to squeak. Your dripping kitchen tap. The lightbulb in the hallway you kept forgetting to replace. No questions asked. If there was a problem, he fixed it. You smiled faintly.
"I like that. Thatâs a very you answer."
He glanced at you.
"Is it?"
"Yeah."
Jack smiled to himself, turning back to the tv.Â
The movie ended without either of you remembering how. The credits rolled and neither of you moved. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and after a while Jack stretched, groaning dramatically. You had slid lower into the couch until you were practically laid down.Â
Jack looked over, poking at you.Â
"You alive?"
"Mhm."
"You've barely moved in the last forty minutes."
"I'm comfortable."
"I should probably head home."
You lifted your head just enough to look toward the clock.
âProbably.
Jack stood, grabbing the empty takeout containers.
"I'll throw these away."
"You don't have to."
He ignored you, carrying them into the kitchen. You watched him disappear around the corner. He knew where the trash bags were. He knew all of it. You listened to the familiar sound of him rinsing cups, opening cupboards, loading the dishwasher. A minute later he wandered back into the living room, slipping on his jacket. You hadnât moved, your eyes closed now.Â
âHey.âÂ
You cracked one eye open.Â
âMm?â
"You'll wake up with a crick in your neck if you sleep like that."
"Iâll get up in a minute." You lied.
"No you wonât." Jack laughed, reached down and picked up the blanket that had fallen onto the floor. He shook it out before draping it gently over you. For a second, he just stood there. Looking at you. You thought about your messy hair, and sleepy eyes and knew you should feel slightly embarrassed, but you were too comfortable to let yourself.Â
"Get some sleep."
You nodded sleepily.
"Get home safe, text me when you get in."
He reached for the lamp by the door, pausing.
"You want me to leave this one on?"
You smiled, he remembered that you hated waking up in the dark.
âPlease.â
He left the lamp glowing softly. Jack slipped his shoes back on. He smiled over at you, barely awake.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
You smiled back.
"See you tomorrow, Jack."
He let himself out as quietly as he'd come in.
The lock clicked. Silence settled over the apartment once more. Nights like these were your favourites, but you always hated when he left. You couldnât help but wonder when it would stop. Not because anything would happen. But because life would happen. Jack would meet someone. Your schedules would stop lining up. Maybe one day youâd text him asking what takeout he wanted and he would reply, Sorry, canât tonight. Then the same thing next week and the week after that. Until these evenings became something you used to do. The thought tightened something painfully in your chest. But, you would see him tomorrow and that was enough to make your chest feel a little less empty.
You hated days off. Most people at the hospital counted down to them. But not you. Work was predictable. There was always something to do, someone to help, somewhere to be. At home, you had too much time on your hands. And your day had only gone from bad to worse. Nothing major, but you couldnât shake the mood you were in. You woke up feeling wrong, your head pounding from the minute you opened your eyes, and coffee hadnât helped, if anything it made it worse. Then of course, you had dropped a mug, and sat on the floor crying. You werenât sure what to be more sad over, the fact you had cut your hand or how ridiculous you felt crying over a mug. Then your printer stopped working in the middle of trying to print out a return label, and you spent the next forty five minutes on hold with customer service. By seven in the afternoon, you had given up pretending you were going to be able to salvage the day. You grabbed your keys, with no destination in mind and you drove away. The city blurred past outside your windows. You drove without thinking as the radio played quietly. You werenât really paying it any attention, you werenât paying attention to anything. You turned left, then right. Another right. A few minutes later, you frowned. The street looked familiar and you slowed the car. Your eyes landed on the row of brick townhouses. You laughed once under your breath. Jack's street. You hadn't meant to come here. You hadn't even realised where you had been driving, but you pulled over anyway. The engine idled and you stared through the windscreen at his front door.
Go home.
That was the sensible thing. You should go home. You shouldnât just turn up at someoneâs house because you had a bad day. Especially not crying. But it wasnât just someone, it was Jack. You wiped at your face and started the car, then immediately stopped with your hand on the gearstick. You didnât want to go home. You didnât want to be alone. You wanted Jack. Not because he would fix anything, because there really wasnât anything to fix. But you knew that just sitting on the opposite end of the couch while you made fun of a terrible movie would make things seem not so bad. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before climbing out of the car. By the time you reached his front door, you had almost talked yourself out of knocking six different times. You raised your hand, then lowered it. Raised it again then knocked before you could stop yourself. The sound echoed far louder than you had expected. Immediately, you regretted it.Â
Footsteps approached and it was too late now. Your stomach tightened and for one ridiculous second, relief washed over you. Jack was home. You were trying to think of something to say, then you heard him.
"Can you get that?"Â
Then the door swung open. A woman smiled politely from the other side. She wasnât Jack.
You froze.
She was wrapped in a blanket, one you recognised instantly. Jackâs. A mug rested between her hands.
"Oh." The woman blinked. "Hi."
Your stomach dropped.
"Hi."
There was an awkward beat.
"Can I help you?"
Your mouth had gone completely dry.
"I was just,"
Another voice drifted from somewhere inside.
"Who is it?"
Jack appeared around the corner, drying his hands on a tea towel. He smiled automatically when he saw you.
"Hey," Then he stopped. His eyes found your face and his smile disappeared instantly. Red eyes. Wet cheeks. The way you were hugging your arms around yourself like you were trying to disappear. His face immediately filled with concern. He crossed the room without hesitation.
"What's wrong?"
You forced a smile so quickly it hurt.
"Nothing."
He frowned.
"You're crying."
You gave a small, embarrassed laugh, brushing at your cheeks.
âOh no, itâs just hayfever. You know how I get.â You lied. You didnât have hayfever, and Jack knew that.Â
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
You glanced past him. The woman stood awkwardly by the kitchen doorway. Heat flooded your face. Of course. You had interrupted.
"I," you cleared her throat. "I was nearby."
Jack looked unconvinced.
"And I wanted to ask if I could swap a shift out next Thursday."
Silence. Jack blinked. You fiddled with your car keys, laughing a shrug.Â
âYou know, I could have just waited until tomorrow. Iâm sorry.â You took a step backwards.
"I shouldn't have just shown up."
"What?"
"I know it's late. I didn't think." You smiled politely.Â
Jack looked genuinely confused. His voice was gentle but firm.
"You don't need an invitation."
You looked at him.
"You're always welcome here."
The words landed harder than he intended. Because you looked at the woman again. Then back at him. And something in your expression quietly folded in on itself.
"That's nice of you."
You were already backing away.
"I'll see you tomorrow. I'm sorry for interrupting."
"You didn't," You quickly turned before he could stop you. Jack stepped onto the porch.
âWait a second!â You lifted a hand without looking back.
"I'm fine."Â
He watched you climb into your car. Watched as you wiped at your face before you started the engine, and then he watched you drive away.Â
You couldnât believe you had done that. You couldnât believe you drove across the city because you were having a bad day. You couldnât believe you showed up at his door. Because what were you expecting? That he'd open the door and drop everything? Your throat tightened. You didnât know if he was relieved you had gone. The thought hurt more than you wanted to admit. You hated that. You hated how quickly your mind went there, because Jack had never given you a reason to think that. Not once. But you had spent so long preparing yourself for people to leave that sometimes you forgot not everyone was already halfway out the door.
The drive home was quiet. You didnât turn on the radio, you just drove. Every red light gave you another opportunity to replay it. The woman opening the door. The way Jack had looked at you. The way you felt when you walked away.Â
By the time you got home, you were exhausted. You unlocked your apartment and stepped inside and the quiet hit immediately. Tonight, it felt like it was waiting for someone who wasnât coming. You put your keys down and kicked off your shoes, throwing yourself onto the sofa, and not planning on moving all night. Until your phone buzzed in your bag at the door, and you froze. You didnât want to look, because if it wasnât Jack then you would feel stupid for hoping. And if it was him, you werenât sure how to handle that either. You pulled it from your bag, looking at it slowly.Â
Jack; Are you okay?
You swallowed, your fingers hovered over the screen. You didnât know what to say. Because the truth felt too honest.
No. I had a terrible day. I didnât know where else to go. I wanted you.
You couldnât send any of that. So you typed the safest thing you knew.
You;Yeah. Iâm fine.
You stared at the words. A lie. Another message came through seconds later.
Jack;You donât have to apologise for coming over.And you didnât interrupt anything.
You closed your eyes. Your chest ached. Because he sounded like Jack. Steady and certain. Like there was no version of events where you showing up had been a problem. You sat down slowly on the edge of your couch. Your phone buzzed again.
Jack;You donât have to knock next time.
A tiny laugh escaped you. Next time. Such a simple phrase but a dangerous one. Because Jack said it like there would be a next time. Like he expected you to come back. Like he wanted you to. You looked around your apartment. His old hoodie folded in the hamper by the couch. His mug by the sink. You had no idea what you and Jack had become, but you did know that when everything was going wrong, he was all you wanted. You had barely set your phone down when it started ringing. You looked at the screen.
Jack
Your chest tightened. Of course he was calling. Because texting was easy. Texting made it easier for you to lie, a phone call meant he would hear your voice. He would hear the crack in it and he would know. Your eyes burned again as you stared at his name flashing across the screen. You wanted to answer, you wanted to hear him say your name. But the second you imagined him asking "Are you okay?" you knew you wouldn't be able to lie. The call stopped. The silence afterward felt louder. You pressed your palms against your eyes. You hated how emotional you felt. Nothing had happened. That was the worst part. There was no reason for this. No explanation. No single thing you could point to and say that's why. Just a day where everything felt heavier than usual.
Your phone buzzed and you picked it up.Â
Jack;I know you're probably not answering because you're crying.
Your throat tightened.
Jack;Not because you don't want to talk.And before you tell me you're fine, I already know you're not.
A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't even bother wiping it away.
Jack:I'm coming over.
That was the thing about Jack. He never made you feel like you were a problem. He never made you feel like you were too much. He just showed up.
The knock surprised you. Not because you weren't expecting him, because you were. But because Jack never knocked. But tonight, he knocked. Softly. Like he wasn't sure he was allowed. You wiped quickly at your face, even though you knew it wouldn't make much difference. Then you opened the door, and Jack barely gave you a second to say anything. The second he saw you, his expression softened and then he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Your hands curled into the back of his hoodie. Just for a second, just until you felt steady again. Jack held you like he wasn't in a hurry, like there was nowhere else he needed to be.
"I'm here," he murmured. Your eyes burned.
"I know."
Eventually, you pulled back.
"Hi."
He gave you a small smile.
"Hi."
You stepped aside. He walked in, but slower than usual. Like he was letting you decide the pace until you ended up on the couch with Jack beside you. For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Then he looked at you.
"Talk to me."
You looked down.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Come on."
You sighed.
"I mean it."
He waited and you picked at the edge of your sleeve.
"I just had a bad day."
He nodded.
"Ok."
"That's it."
You shrugged.
"Nothing happened."
"No disasters?â
"Nothing worth mentioning.â You laughed, shaking your head.Â
"It was just," you swallowed. "One of those days."
Jack nodded.
"I get those."
You looked at him and he smiled lightly, reaching for your hand.
"I have days where I wake up and everything feels harder than it should." He shrugged.
"Sometimes there's no big reason. You just feel off."
You nodded.
"Exactly."
"That's normal."
Your eyes filled before you could stop them and you hated it. You hated crying when you couldn't even explain why.
"I don't know why I'm crying."
Jack immediately shifted closer.
"Hey."
"I'm sorry."
"No."
"I don't even have a reason."
"You don't need one."
Your face crumpled and before you could apologise again, Jack pulled you back into him. You leaned against him, trying to stop the tears. After a while, when you had calmed down slightly, Jack leaned back.
"There is something I should explain."
You immediately shook your head.
"No Jack, you don't have to."
"I do."
You looked at him and he rubbed his hands together.
"The woman you saw in my house. She lives two doors down."
You listened.
"She locked herself out. Her husband was stuck at work." He shrugged."So I let her wait inside."
You nodded slowly.
"She was just waiting for him to get home."
A silence passed. Then you looked away.
"You don't need to explain yourself."
Jack's expression changed slightly.
"Yes, I do." His voice was gentle.
"Because if I had come here and there was some guy answering your door,â Jack looked almost embarrassed admitting it.
"I would've been jealous."
The room went quiet and you stared back at him.
"You would've?"
"Yeah."
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
"Probably would've handled it better than you did."
You laughed softly, nudging your shoulder into him.
"Rude."
"It's true."
You shook your head.
"You were jealous?" He asked, and you were too scared to answer. You were jealous, horribly so. But admitting it felt like too much. If you were jealous, that told him everything you were trying to hide.
"Jack."
His expression softened, and he reached for your hand once more.
"Hey.â
You looked at him.
"You got scared."
You swallowed hard, looked down at your hand in his.Â
âYou keep a spare charger at my apartment, and you have a toothbrush in the bathroom for when you fall asleep on my couch. I have scrubs at your house, and a change of clothes Jack. And when I saw that woman answering your door, I imagined someone else stepping into your space the way that I have. Someone else, getting your evenings. Someone else being the person that you called first.â
Your voice was shaking as your heart started beating faster. Jack didnât say anything because he knew what you were saying. You looked up briefly.
âI donât know what we are doing Jack.â
The words finally came out small. You shook your head.
"I don't know when you stopped just being my friend and became," You stopped. Because even saying the words felt dangerous.
"Became what?" His voice was soft.
"You became the person I go to."
Your eyes burned as another tear slipped down your cheek. You shook your head.
"I could've stayed home. I could've gone to sleep."
Your voice cracked.
"But I didn't."
You looked at him.
"I drove to your house. Because I wanted youâ
Jack reached up and brushed his thumb gently beneath your eye.
âIsnât that a good thing?â He smiled sadly.
âItâs a scary thing.â
âI know, I am scared too.â The words were simple, but they surprised you. You watched him carefully.
âFalling for someone is terrifying,â Jack gave a small laugh, "But it's also so good." His grip on your hand tightened and you were both quiet for a moment, letting everything shift between you. He was falling for you, just like you were falling for him.Â
âIâm scared, but I am also so excited for everything to come,â your heart stuttered as the words left his mouth.Â
"With us?"
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
"Yeah. With us."
A tear slipped down your cheek.
"You're the most important person in my life." The words came out before you could reconsider them. Jack went still. You laughed softly, embarrassed. You wiped at your face.
âYouâre my best friend Jack, and I donât want to lose that.â
"You are never going to lose me."
"You can't promise that."
"I can."
"Jack,"
"No."
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
"I can't promise life won't change. I can't promise things will always be easy. But I can promise you that whatever happens," he looked at you. "You wonât lose me. You're stuck with me."
A laugh escaped you.
"That's your romantic line?"
"Pretty good, right?"
"No."
"Little bit?"
"Absolutely not."
He smiled, his hand was still holding yours. You looked down at your fingers tangled together.
At how natural it felt, and that was the strangest part. How something that terrified you could also feel so right. When you looked back up at him, something had shifted. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips. Then back to your eyes. And you saw it. The hesitation, the same fear you felt. The same thought, What happens after this? But then Jack shook his head slightly. Like he was making a decision. And before he could overthink it, before he could find another reason to wait, Jack leaned forward and kissed you. A kiss that felt like he had been wanting to do it for longer than he was willing to admit. For a second, you forgot every reason you had been afraid. There was just Jack and you. His hand still holding yours. The warmth of him beside you. The familiar comfort of someone who already knew you. When he pulled back, he didn't move far, his forehead rested against yours, both smiling slightly. A little stunned. A little relieved. A little terrified.
"We don't have to figure everything out tonight." He smiled. "We just have to stop pretending this isn't already something."
CW: parental neglect, struggles with self care, bad living enviornment, (black) mold, extreme illness, self neglect, disorientation, non sexual nudity, doesnt have to be read as romantic
WC: 3.1k
MASTERLIST
AN: keep yourself safe out-there, spreading more "jack abbot has a savior complex" propaganda as if its not 100% cannon
You were okay. It was a mantra you recited every single day as you shut the door of your shitty studio apartment with leaky faucets and cracks in the drywall. The same thing youâd recited since moving away from a home that never treated you well, from parents who couldn't give a damn about you.Â
It was a familiar rhythm, pure independence. Although over time youâd realised that it teetered a line dangerously close to isolation.Â
Were you ashamed of your living situation? The everpresent slight grease of your hair? The acne that littered your skin? Yes. Of course, which is why your hair was always in a slicked back updo and the only skill youâd developed was makeup, which even now you werenât great at.Â
The bright side of working in an ER as a socially inept nurse, nobody really cared what you looked like, as long as no one died under your care you could go home happy.Â
âAre you coming to the lake with us? You donât have to swim or anything- just gonna have a kinda picnic thingâŚâ Ellis prodded as you finished off some charting.Â
âUhâŚi donât knowâŚâ there was several layers:
You had no idea how to swim
You had no idea how to shave, usually it only ended up in cuts and in-grownsÂ
It would require socialising with a large group of people
âI donât really like the lakeâŚâ youâd force out the shitty excuse of not taking your eyes off the screen.
âWho doesnât like the lake?â Shen sassed, taking a long sip of his iced coffee, mixing it by twirling his wrist. A pressure came down on your diaphragm, a seizing of panic as you fiddled with the drawstring of your scrubs.Â
âIâve actually never beenâŚâ you looked up at Ellis through your lashes as her jaw dropped.Â
âOkay now we have to bring you-!â Ellis beamed as the discomfort washed over you in waves.Â
âI donât know-â the words scratched out of your throat just as Abbot passed by.Â
âYou hear that old man? Doe is coming down to the lake with us-!â There were many feelings you never really managed to identify, it took a while and a good few conversations with Javadi from the day shift to realise the stomach churning tingling you felt whenever you were around Abbot was actually a crush.Â
âGood to hearâŚâ the nickname, Doe, was given for two reasons. The first being that no one actually knew your name for the first 2 months of your employment in the pitt. And at some point your introversion made it to the point that people were too afraid to scare you off by letting you know that none of them knew your real name. The second was because apparently your crush on Abbot was obvious to everyone except the two of you. Mostly because you looked like a deer in headlights any time he spoke to you.Â
You opened your mouth to respond only to deflate as words failed to escape you. The awkwardness choking out the small conversation. âI have a patient.â you quickly stood, the roll of the wheely chair filling the silence as you rushed off.Â
Jack let out a long sigh âI will never get a read on herâŚâ.
âŚâŚâŚ
âLena?â you approached her during a lull, her eyes on her emails as you carefully lowered yourself to sit beside her.Â
âWhat's up sweetheart?â her affections made you slightly uneasy, yet you constantly seeked them.Â
âCan I ask you something and you do not askâŚâ you inhaled looking up âany questionsâŚâ your hands rubbed together in your lap. Lena turned to give you her full attention, fixing her glasses on the bridge of her nose.Â
âShoot.â
At this point it would be easy enough to lie, make up some random question about death which she could surely give you a philosophical and mind blowing answer to. Somehow that was a more palatable concept than asking another woman how to shave in your 20s. âWhyâŚâ you looked up to the ceiling, âwhy when other people shave are their legs super soft and smooth and when I do it I always get bumps and rashes?â you couldn't look back at her.
âSweetie, did your mom never teach you how to shave?â you couldn't stand the fact that it made you tear up as you nodded. Lena moved in closer to you lowering her voice so only you could hear âyou do have a mom, or a sister or something?â shame barrelled through you as you saw the pity in her face.Â
âNevermind it's stupid-â you pushed your body up to flee off to a patient youâve checked on at least 10 times in one night.Â
âDoe-â
âI said nevermind-â your throat tightened as you rushed off through the bays.Â
âŚ..
While being a nurse has taught you a lot about caring for other people, the same could not be said for your own selfcare. The slight scratch in your throat you had passed off as dryness hadn't disappeared with your sips of ice water during your shift. Sweat dripping down your back as you rushed around the ED, youâd decided you could put down to the AC being faulty. It was the dizziness and confusion that had broken the camel's back.Â
A trauma burst through the doors of the ED as you jumped up from your seat to help, the room span, but not like in movies, as if the floor beneath you teetered side to side, static and a loud high pitched squeal piercing through your brain. The decision to lower yourself slowly was something you put down to years of training.Â
âDoe?â Shen rotated his head, trying to scope you out as you clutched to the corner of the nursing bay, eyes scrunched shut, crouched into an asian squat. âAbbot-â he clicked his fingers at the older attending before redirecting him to you.Â
Jack dashed over, at least as quickly as his leg would allow him. He grunted as he kneeled with his good knee pressed to the floor. âDoe?â his hand gently brushed down your shoulder, only for you to flinch away. âWhat's going on?â
âI don't knowâŚI donât understand-â your voice sounded almost childish as you lowered yourself onto your ass, pressing your head against the nursing station. âItâs so warm in hereâŚâ you mumble. Jackâs eyebrows furrowed as he was comfy in his sweater.Â
âItâsâŚi donât thinkâŚâ he sighed gesturing over a wheelchair, âokay sweetheartâŚweâre gonna move youâŚâ
âNo no I wanna- i donât knowâŚwhat I want-â your eyes remained clenched shut starting to lose all grip of what was going on around you, whining as jack tried to lift you into the chair. âNo- no-â you squirmed and resisted his grip, your hands landed on the wheelchair cushion pulling up into it.Â
âLet me help you,â Jack muttered, needing Mateoâs help to stand up. He pushed the chair into a bay. It sent pangs of sadness through him as you pushed at him as he tried to help you into the hospital med. âLet me take your temp-â your hand pushed against his chest as you whimpered. âI canât treat you if you keep pushing at me-â the hurt was now audible.
âI donât want help, i just wanna go home-â your stomach retched as fever invaded your brain.Â
âYou need help-â
âNO!â The scream was raw as you pushed yourself back up into the bed. Jack groaned Mateo had to hold you down so you he could get his readings and put in an IV. By the time he stepped out of the case, he looked like it was his entire 12 hour shift.Â
You stirred around 7am, pushing yourself up to sit, sinuses blocked to the brim, a throbbing headache and fever clouding your mind. You gripped the IV pole and waddled out of the room, eyes fluttering around until silver curls floated back into your vision. âBack to bed with youâŚâ
ânoâŚI wanna go homeâŚâ you whispered. Growing up youâd almost never gotten sick yourself, even if you had it was a simple situation of confining yourself to your room for days with the exception of ratting around for any form of food in the shitty cabinets where near everything had grown mold.Â
âLook.â he ushered you, ducking into your vision. âIf you want to go home, I have to go home with you, because you canât be discharged alone right now.â youâd not realised he was already changed into his street clothes. âDo you understand me?â
You nodded âyeahâŚyeahâŚâ you brushed off, returning into the room, changing into your normal clothes which had been put on the chair by your bedside. By the time you pulled on your pants you were so out of breath youâd flopped down against the bed again.Â
âDid itâs been a bit, iâm gonna come inâŚâ he pushed the curtain back, sighing at the sorry sight in front of him before lifting you back up to sit and sitting on the chair. âFoot.â He pulled it up onto his thigh, grabbing one of your shoes and putting it on, tying the laces carefully. He repeated the action and pressed a hand against your forehead. âIâd prefer to keep you here until that pesky fever breaks.â
âNo no noâŚâ he couldn't help but smile at your mumble as he stood you against him carefully.Â
âHow do you come to work?â he kept ducking into your vision to make sure you kept your focus as he brought you to the carpark.Â
âWalkâŚâ
âDo you walk everyday?â It had been pouring down rain for the last few weeks giving him a slight clue as to how you might have gotten yourself this sick.Â
You nodded feverishly, "I don't know how to get a bus passâŚâ you explained as he put you into the car, his body pausing for a second at the words before moving to reassure you.Â
âI got your address from your chart. I'm gonna take you there okay?â you barely processed the words as you laid your cheek against the cold window, very much insulted by the morning sun. By the time he pulled up Jack already had a bad feeling, disapproving of the neighborhood youâd ended up in. He managed you up the stairs and held you up as you fumbled with the keys.Â
âI donât want you to come inâŚâ you explained, Jack's eyes narrowing as you blocked the entrance with your body.Â
âWhy not sweetheart?â
âIâm not goodâŚâ it seemed like you wanted to finish the sentence as a wave of lightheadedness took over you.Â
âYou are goodâŚyou are-â Jack had to basically carry your full body weight as he got through the door, the state of your apartment was horrific. Tissues scattered all over your sheets which had clearly not been changed in a while, the kitchen was filled with dirty dishes, the bathroom was grimy as if it hadnât been cleaned properly since youâd moved in. His heart dropped into his ass seeing that this was how you lived.Â
The second his eyes caught on the mold in the top right corner above your bed it was lights for him. âNope nope nope-â he lifted you at the legs, forcing you to become a koala around him. âYouâre coming home with me- you will not live like this-â
âItâs not that badâŚâ you mumbled as he put you back into the car.Â
âBlack mold.â he snapped at you, sending your recoiling into the chair as he buckled your seatbelt. âYou are sick because there is black mold in your apartment and you didnt fix it- what is it why- WHY would you let yourself live like this-â he ranted as he slipped into the driver's seat. Big thick tears came streaming down your cheeks, hiccuping sobs escaping your lips. âNo- please donât- fuckâ his fingers blanched around the steering wheel.Â
The full ride was a blur of your sobs and Abbotâs frustration with himself, not with you, never with you. But rather for not pressing to understand why you didnât look after yourself, for not picking up on whatever reason it was for you to behave like this. Depression? Chronic pain?
âŚ.
Your eyes weakly cracked open, sinuses blocked but not enough to cut out the strength of the smell of detergent and cleanliness. You turned in the sheets, their comfort pillowing your sickness, yet you remained hyper aware of the fact you were probably ruining them. The second wave was realising you had woken up in a clean unfamiliar place, panic crushing your lungs as you carefully slipped out of bed. You gripped onto a vase which had been placed on your nightstand, weakly creeping into the hallway to see one Jack Abbot sat watching TV in the living room.Â
âAbbot?â you rubbed your eyes, churning in your stomach returning as you braced yourself against the wall. âWhy are you here? Where am I?â Jack stood using his crutches as you moved over to you.Â
âWhat are you doing out of bed?â his voice was deeper than usual, giving away that he had just woken up. Your chest tightened, lungs burning as you struggled to get air. âYouâre notâŚin trouble I just- youâre really sick sweetheart, youâre in my house because you passed out at work.â
âI want to go home-â you confessed as jack shook his head, moving you towards the couch.Â
âYouâre not going back thereâŚweâre gonna find you a new place, you can stay here for now.â you wanted to protest yet your brain short circuited as you looked around his tidy apartment. âItâs niceâŚhuh?â
You nodded, fists rubbing over your eyes âitâs soâŚcleanâ you sighed, âi was gonna ruin your sheetsâŚâ
âWhy?â
âBecause I'm all sweaty and dirtyâŚand I donâtâŚI donât knowâŚâ you groaned as the fever dulled your filter. âYouâre cleanâŚâ
âYou want to shower?â Jack tried to clarify but you only gave him a confused face before nodding. âDo you need help?â you sighed before nodding again. He pulled on his leg just to get to the bathroom before sighing at how exactly he was going to execute this. Youâd followed him in but just stood making no move to strip. âSweetheart if iâm gonna help you shower you have to get nakedâŚâÂ
It took a couple minutes to strip the sweat soaked shirt and slacks from your body, Jack turned away while you did so. âHow are you gonna help me? You questioned as Jack sat on his shower chair in his boxers and shirt.Â
âWell youâre gonna sit, which I think you need anywayâŚgiven your blood pressure is so lowâŚâ he led you into the walk-in shower which was decked out to be accessible for his leg. You lowered yourself onto the tiled floor. The cold water shocked your system when it hit your bare back eliciting a squeak âsorry honeyâŚâ the water warmed as he used one hand to undo your now messied updo. âOh dollâŚâ the hair was greasy to the touch, sending a shiver through Jack at the sight.Â
You started crying again as Jack wet your hair, needing you to give it a few minutes to soak, when he switched it off temporarily you went to stand. His large hand came down onto your shoulder pushing you back down to sit. âWe arenât doneâŚâ your mind buffered slightly when Jack went to pour shampoo into his hands, you couldn't help the little hum when his fingers started scrubbing into your scalp. His mind switched back into safe guarding âdo you use shampoo when you shower?â Jack remembered not seeing any in the bathroom in your studio.Â
âMy mom always told me that that's for fancy people.â With one little statement the clogs in Jack's brain sped up, piecing together the sloppiness of your living situation, your mess and incapability to look after your own body when ill.
âWell she's wrongâŚâ Jackâs hand petted your shoulder as he tipped your head back, âclose your eyes.â he washed the suds out of your hair âso I always shampoo my hair twiceâŚâ he lathered up his hands before massaging back into your scalp. He repeated the process of washing it out before putting a new bottle in front of your face. âThis is a conditioner, it makes your hair more hydrated, I'm going to put it in your hair and leave it for a few minutes.â He did as he described, putting your hair up in a shower cap.Â
âOkay Iâm gonna let you do the bodywash yourselfâ he explained handing you the bottle as you stared at it, initially pouring a bit much of his extremely expensive body wash before he grabbed the bottle âthats enough doll.â he was glad as you managed to clean yourself as he rinsed you and the conditioner. âYour parents will teach you basic life skills.â He didn't mean it to come out so cruelly.Â
âUmâŚmy mom was sickâŚand my dad wasnât aroundâŚso I justâŚlooked after myself and then IâŚmoved outâŚâ it was the first time youâd ever explained your life âI just moved in andâŚmy homes have alwaysâŚlooked like thatâŚâ Jack's eyes softened as they locked into every single word.Â
âWell we canât have that happening anymoreâŚâ Jack stated decisively, handing you a fresh towel as you sat on his bathroom floor, using his crutches to move back into his room and grab fresh clothes.Â
âHuh?â you quickly dried off and dressed yourself as jack got you to sit in a stool by the sink, drying himself off and fitting back on the prosthesis. âI have some stuffâŚâ you said, scarring at him moving in the mirror, âbrushing my teeth, my hairâŚbut stuff like shampoo is expensive, I never wanted to use other peoples stuff and steal.â
Jack didnât reply, only ran the brush through your hair, it was far softer than youâd seen it in years, you weren't a dirty person, you never were you just werenât quite sure how to take care of yourself. âDo you know how to cook?â
âNoodlesâ you joked a little. Only to be met with a very concerned abbot. âSorry abbot.â
âCall me jackâŚroomieâ he joked himself, a small smile on your face through the mirror.Â
âYouâve gotten yourself in quite the situationâŚâ you leaned back, too fatigued from illness to care if it was appropriate to lean your head back against the slight pouch of Jackâs stomach.Â
âI certainly haveâŚâ he petted your hair down with a sigh.
The Pittlings can't help but gawk and ask you what it's like to be in a relationship with their Pitt dad.
AN: Hiiii guys. I am so so sorry about basically being mia for the last two months. Its just been a mixture of being busy at work and my personal life as well as getting into a new show/fandom (thus I spent the last little bit reading more fics than writing them). That being said, I've decided to just start posting a whole bunch of short blurbs/one shots to get engagement going again and work up to writing longer pieces. I'm always taking requests so if you have something you want me to write about, please feel free to send it my way!! Love you guys!!
(I do NOT give anyone consent to use/publish my work. Any copying or translating of my writing is considered plagiarism. If you come across my work on any other site or app, please let me know and report them as well)
"At this point, I'm going to throw this thing into the ocean."
You couldn't help but laugh at Trinity's exasperation as she checks her phone for the fifth time in under fifteen minutes, willing it to notify her that Garcia had finally messaged her back.
The six of you had managed to squeeze yourselves into a small booth at the back of the bar after your shifts had ended. Mel was sitting to your right at the end of the booth, allowing her enough space to not feel so claustrophobic. Javadi was to your left, phone out filming Whittaker trying to coax Trinity's phone out of her hand and failing miserably; while Samira was on the other end of the table shaking her head at all of their antics.
After a full twelve hour shift at the pitt, unwinding with your friends was exactly what you needed. You took another sip of your colourful, fruity drink, the alcohol certainly doing its job, before turning slightly to face Trinity's forlorn expression.
"C'mon Trin, you know you're a catch. If Garcia isn't going to give you the time of day, it's her loss. I'm sure there's lots of other people out there who would love you date you. You know, plenty of fish in the sea and all" you giggled.
"Easy for you to say" she teased, "you've got doctor daddy waiting at your beck and call whenever you want."
You couldn't help the blush that spread across your face as the rest of the table erupted in laughter and oohs.
It wasn't a secret that you and Jack have been dating ever since he transferred over to day shift. You and the veteran attending had been exchanging flirty looks and comments long before that so it was only a matter of time before the two of you started dating once you were spending upwards of twelve hours a day together.
Initially, when you started at PTMC as a new grad nurse, your friends, who had dubbed themselves as the pittlings, had immediately included you into their little makeshift family; where Jack and Robby are the dads and everyone else were their kids ie. pittling. However, once your feelings for Jack became evident, they lovingly teased you about it relentlessly; joking about how even though you were younger than most of them, you were now effectively their "step mom."
Now, every time you guys are out, the conversation inevitably goes back to yours and Jack's relationship. Their fascination with the seemingly gruff and tough attending who turns into mush whenever you're around never fails to entertain them.
"Yeah, sometimes I still can't believe you're dating the doctor Abbot" Javadi giggled.
"What's that even like?" Trinity asked before clearing her throat to imitate a deep voice before saying your name, "You and I are going on a date at 8pm sharp, do not be late or I'll send you off to do scut next shift."
The table burst out laughing again before you could retort back.
"He's actually very sweet" you argued, "He's a big softy really."
"Dr. Abbot? A softy? Are you serious?" Samira laughed. The rest of the table looked at you incredulously as you tried to explain that Jack's rough exterior at work was nowhere near what he was like with you.
"You know what, the other day, I was over at his house and after dinner, he gifted me a Lego rose that he made all on his own because he wanted to give me flowers that quote, 'wouldn't wilt away'."
Mel had to hold back on choking on her own drink while Javadi looked at you with wide eyes.
"I'm sorry," Javadi started, "Are you saying doctor Abbot actually said that?"
"The same doctor Abbot who glared me down because I accidentally got a crumb on his keyboard" Whittaker adds on.
"Well in fairness, you were messing up his desk" you replied, throwing Whittaker a look that said am I wrong?
The night continued on with the rest of them asking about your date nights, what trips he's taken you on, or the multitude of gifts Jack seems to shower you with. Considering they ask about your relationship every chance they get, it's surprising how they manage to always find something new to obsess about.
An hour later, you all finally decide the head out and make your way outside. Whittaker and Trinity were obviously going home together while Samira offered to drive Mel and Trinity home. As you all stood on the curb saying your goodbyes, Javadi turned around before loudly asking, "is that doctor Abbot?"
Across from you, Jack's car was parked on the street while he sat there waiting for you, seemingly occupied on his phone. When he turned to look over, he immediately got out of the car once he saw that you were out.
"Oh yeah, he's been waiting here for like 20 minutes. He texted me when he got here but told me not to rush since we were having fun" You smiled.
The five of them stared at you in disbelief as Jack walked over to greet you, immediately pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head. You giggled as you playfully shoved him, the smirk on his face evident as he stared down at you. However, as soon as he turned to the rest of them, the doctor Jack Abbot they knew from the ED immediately took over as he gave them all a short nod of acknowledgement before guiding you back to his car.
You waved goodbye to the rest of them over your shoulder as they continued to watch as Jack took your purse from you in order to carry it the 25 feet it took to get to the car and how he opened the door for you, even putting his hand on top of the car door ensuring you don't hit your head.
As the two of you sped off, the rest of the pittlings stared at one another.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm pretty sure there isn't another fish in the sea like that one" Trinity murmured. The rest of them couldn't help but agree.
Can you do a park story about his wife being really shy and does crafts and baking and sales them online and gets hurt baking or doing a craft and comes to the emergency room nobody there knows she's parks wife thanks
To say you were busy was an understatement. As a small local baker, you didn't tend to get too many orders on a regular basis. But this week? Absolutely slammed for your business of one worker, yourself.
You started tackling orders at 6 a.m., briefly saying goodbye to Brendon as he kissed you on the cheek before leaving for his shift.
Itâs now 10 a.m. and you're almost caught up on orders. Right now youâre working on a few apple pies. Itâs not the worst thing but peeling and cutting apples? Thatâs the annoying part.
Youâre scrolling through emails as you cut the apples, trying to manage orders while keeping up with the ones youâre working on.
One email snags your attention as you work
âTen cakes for next weekend? Are they insane? Thatâs way too mâFUCK!â
Your mumbling turns into a scream as you glance down and see a deep gash in the palm of your hand, bleeding pretty bad.
âShit, shit, shâowwwâ you wince as you make your way to the sink.
I guess thatâs whatâs bound to happen when you cut an apple in your hand.
Brendon had warned you time after time to use a real cutting board and not sacrifice your hand as one.
Of course heâd eventually be right about this.
You find a clean dish rag and tightly wrap it around your hand as you turn off all the appliances before heading to the pitt.
You walk into the pitt nervously. You had never met anyone from the hospital and Brendon had kept you private from his work life. He just loved being able to unload the dayâs stress in the safety of home, specifically in your arms.
You had been to the pitt a few times for friends, family, and a few injuries of your own. You didnât really know who anyone was other than names and they definitely had no idea about you.
â-
After checking in you only sat in chairs for around 30 minutes before being called back. You sit on the bed and count to twenty in your head to try and distract yourself from the pain thatâs now setting in.
âGood morning, Iâm Dr. Langdon, what brings you in todâoh!â
Your face warms in slight embarrassment. In your haste to make it to the hospital you didnât check your appearance. One that consisted of being covered in flour, sugar and now some blood.
âLangdon, you know itâs rude to stare at our obviously injured patients.â
A man as you recognize as Dr. Michael Robinavitch ,or Robby, speaks as he follows Dr. Langdon in. You had seen him on the hospitalâs website in the list of doctors when you had wanted to see who Brendon worked with.
The same voice draws your attention back.
âGood morning MissâŚâ he looks at your chart âMiss Park.â
You can tell he doesnât make any connection to your husband.
âWhat brings you in today?â
You slightly lift your wrapped hand âMe vs. a knife and it's safe to say I didnât winâ you manage to say with a smile as a tear falls.
âWell, I hope you put up a fair fight.â Robby jokes to help ease your nerves.
He gently grabs your hand and unwraps the towel for a closer look.
You wince as it peels away and turn your head to the side.
âSorry, sorry. Yeah, you got yourself pretty good here. Itâs gonna require stitches unfortunately.â
You nod as you wipe your face.
âThatâs fine. I shouldâve known cutting things in my hand would end badly one day. My husband told me this would happen.â
Robby chuckles as he gathers the medical instruments.
âSmart man.â
ââ
The elevator dings as it makes it to the pitt floor and opens, revealing Brendon Park. He stalks towards the nurses station in search of information on a consult.
As he shuffles through some charts, he quickly glances up at the patient board and looks back down.
Suddenly his head snaps up and he reads the board again
âY/n Parkâ
The name makes his blood run cold and he moves quick towards the room listed, not even looking at the reason youâre there.
He comes to a halt at the doorway of your room. Robby is gathering supplies and Frank sits by the tray holding your hand out to examine it before numbing it.
Dr. Langdon or Frank, as Robby has also referred to him as, holds your hand out to look over it one more time before administering the numbing medicine.
He grabs the needle off of the tray and goes to inject it when a deep familiar voice grabs everyoneâs attention.
âGet your hands off her.â
You look up towards the doorway and are met with the eyes of your husband.
Brendon stands there very still, frown in place, and eyes locked on you.
âBren, Iââ he cuts you off, repeating the same phrase to Frank.
âGet your hands off of her now.â
Frank looks over his shoulder as Robby looks at Brendon. âPark? What's going on? We didnât ask for a consult. Nothing's broken.â
âYeah Park,â Frank says as he turns back to you âThis has nothing to do with you.â
Brendonâs eyes harden, as they shift towards Frank.
âSheâs my wife.â
Everyone looks at each other. Then you. Then Brendon. Then back at you again.
âYour wife? You have a wife?â Frank questions in shock.
Brendon pulls out the ring attached to the chain around his neck.
âShitâ Frank mutters.
Robby steps forward âLook Park, you know the rule about working on family. You can be here but you canât help.â
Brendon silently looks at you before nodding slightly.
âBut only you or Abbot can do the stitching.â
Frank makes a face âLook Iâm perfectly capable ofââ
âNo.â Brendon states firmly âSheâs my wife and she gets the best care thatâs available. You can put a bandaid on at the end if it makes you feel better but anything else is attending work. I wonât have anything less for her.â
He sits behind you on the bed and pulls you back against his chest.
âHey baby.â you whisper over your shoulder.
He rests his chin on your shoulder and whispers to you.
âWhat happened, sweetheart? You okay?â
You laugh a little âI think I might take your advice on using a cutting board after today.â
âCutting those damn apples in your hand, huh?â you feel him smile against your cheek.
You roll your eyes playfully âYeah, yeah, yeah you were right, big guy.â
His hands come up to your face and gently wipe the last few tears away.
Your moment is interrupted by Robby grabbing your hand and administering the lidocaine.
Brendon holds you tighter when he hears you wince.
âSorry, Mrs. Parkâ Robby cracks a half smile with you.
âNo,â you smile. âIâm sorry about my husband and his oh so gentle words.â
That pulls a laugh from Robby. âNo worries. Heâs prickly because he cares. Canât say I wouldnât do the same if this happened to someone I loved.â
You blush as Brendon rubs your hip gently with one hand as he securely holds you around the waist with the other.
â-
Unbeknownst to you three, there's a small group at the nurseâs station watching the interaction.
âWho wouldâve guessed the Park the Shark would have a wife. She looks like such a sweetheart too.â Trinity says to Dana as they both watch Brendon hold you.
âShe is but him? What a fuckin peach.â Frank mutters with his head on his fist.
Trinity glances back at him with a teasing look
âYouâre just mad because Park made you look like an intern compared to everyone else.â
âIâd say heâs husband material if you think about it. Very book trope codedâ Samira says looking at the other two.
âBlack cat x golden retriever.â Frank states.
âMmmm, more like grumpy x sunshine. Only soft for her.â Trinity says.
They all three look at you and Brendon in the room.
You show up to the PTMCâs emergency department with an injury. Unlucky for you, your boyfriend happens to have sharp teeth that decided to sink into your skin the night before.
tags/warnings: mentions of sex, cursing, brief medical talk, reader has EDS but itâs mentioned once and not pivotal, I think thatâs it.
_
You were fucked. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. Last night, Brendon had drove you so far into the mattress that you thought the bed frame was going to break. His sweet words contrasted with the sharp ache that his teeth would bring, clamping down on whatever skin he could find. Your poor chest absolutely littered with bruises and indents of his teeth. Not that you were complaining about that fucked. Youâd never admit it but you mightâve even begged for it.
No, the fucked you were dreading was the fact that youâd managed to dislocate your collarbone and most likely your ribs, too. Every time you tried to take a deep breath the stabbing pain would nearly double you over. Your left arm was out of commission, tingling pain shooting down it with every shift. Normally, youâd tough out the pain, used to the occasional dislocations and subluxations.
This time wasnât like that. This pain was radiating in a way you werenât used to and you couldnât say with confidence which way your collarbone went. Knowing if it went posterior it could rupture an artery, you decided to err on the side of caution. Which means youâve been sitting in the ERâs waiting room for the last hour.
Langdon is the one who calls you back, still stuck working chairs at Robbyâs orders. The PTMC staff knew you. The numerous times youâd show up with lunch for Brendon, the occasional times youâd stop in with an injury of your own, various work events. Everyone got along with you well, much more than with your predator of a boyfriend. Jokes that werenât actually jokes but comments disguised behind a laugh would often flow about how Park the Shark ended up with you.
That being said, you knew someone definitely bumped you up in line. You werenât going to complain though. The pain was bad enough that you just wanted to go home and pass out in bed the second this was over.
Frank smiles at you, genuinely happy to see you. âHey Shark Bait, whatâre you doing here?â The nickname manages to bring a small smile to your face. The shift in Frankâs tells you it resembles more of a grimace, though.
âFucked up my collarbone, probably a couple ribs too.â You groan as you settle down on the exam chair.
His fingers gently probe over your shirt. Running as light as possible down the side of your ribs, clearly sensing the pain in your face the second he applies pressure. âYeah, definitely feel some things outta place there. Letâs get you sent back for some imaging. Iâll page Park.â
Your only acknowledgement is a small nod and thumbs up. Within minutes, Perlahâs at your side and walking beside you as you slowly make your way to exam 8.
The curtain is pulled back abruptly and the sight of Robby comes into view, his hands furiously rubbing sanitizer over themselves. âHeard we had a VIP in the ER, figured I should come take care of it myself.â He jokes, eyes focused on reviewing your chart.
âAw, Abbot not in yet?â You tease. Robby shoots you a raised brow over his glasses with a sharp glare and you chuckle. The movement sends a shock of pain through your entire left side, causing your lungs to constrict. Itâs another 10 seconds before youâre able to take a semi-full breath again.
Robbyâs face falls into sympathy, âWant anything for the pain?â
âSâalright. Iâve gotta drive home. Besides, you know it doesnât do much for me anyways.â Nodding solemnly, Robby moves to your side.
âYou mind if I have some students sit in with us? Not every day we get a hypermobile Ehlers Danlos patient in here. No one better to teach âem than you.â His hands are carefully starting to feel down your left arm, checking for a pulse and nerve reactions. You look up and see the med students already standing there.
Javadi you know well enough. Some new students, Ogilvie and Kwon, youâre pretty sure. Behind them Santos and Whitaker are walking past the nurses station and when Santos sees you, she quickly pivots and pulls Whitaker with her.
âWhat did we do to deserve fresh bait in here?â Santos jokes.
You shift awkwardly, face flushing and throat suddenly dry. It makes a grating sound when you clear it and speak lowly to Robby, âCould this maybe not be a teaching moment?â
It took a good three hours of gaslighting yourself before you let yourself believe maybe, you should get medical attention. Another two after that to finally accept yes, I should get this checked out just to be safe. The hickeys and bruises from last night were impossible to hide. The second closest ER wouldâve taken another half hour to get to and youâre pretty sure it wasnât wise to drive in your current state as is.
The last thing you wanted was half of the PTMCâs emergency department staff to see the evidence of your latest fuck with one of their surgeons who regularly does orthopedic consults. Robby alone would be bad enough.
Robbyâs face scrunches in confusion but he immediately complies, nodding. âYeah, yeah thatâs fine. Let me go get Dana to sit in.â
Turning, he ushers the small crowd that started forming out of the room and ducks his head into the hallway to call for Dana. She walks in a few moments later and closes the curtain behind her and sighs when she looks at you. âWhatâs going on, hun?â
âOh you know. Think I dislocated a couple things trying to walk and chew gum at the same time.â She grants you a small laugh and comes over beside you, hand hovering over your shirt.
âNeed a hand with this?â Nodding you lean back a bit to give her a better angle to help reach for the hem. âGot anything underneath? Should I grab you a gown?â
âNo Iâve got something on, thanks. Besides, not like yâall havenât seen tits before.â
Dana huffs a true laugh out at that, âMore than Iâd like to sometimes, kid.â
Robbyâs keeping his head down as he pulls on his gloves. Despite the fact heâs about to be touching your exposed chest he still wants to give you a sense of privacy. When the shirt starts to come up over your stomach you startle.
âUhm-â
Dana halts her movements, shirt held in place. Robby looks up then, trying to see what went wrong.
âListen, just, please donât say anything. Okay?â
Robbyâs brows shoot up, confused by what you could mean as you let Dana slide the shirt the rest of the way off. From her place slightly behind you, she doesnât have the same view as Robby.
Robby who takes in the sight in front of him and mutters out, âFuckinâ- what the hell?â Voice full of concern and disbelief.
Dana comes around to see what Robbyâs reacting to and instead of shock gracing her face, it hardens. After a moment she tilts her head down to force you to meet her eyes. âPark do this to you?â
You say nothing, just place your head in your right hand with a pathetic whimper of embarrassment. The sound mustâve come across wounded because Dana pushes on, âSomeone you love shouldnât do that to you, sweetie. We can help.â
Robby finally finds his voice. âThere is zero tolerance for domestic assault in this hospital. We have people in the building right now who can handle this in minutes.â
Your head shoots up, âNo! God, no, itâs not what it looks like.â You try and explain, but how the hell do you explain the situation without telling your dirty, kinky secrets to your partnerâs coworkers.
âIt looks like someoneâs been hurting you.â Robby says flatly.
âI wanted it.â Danaâs brows shoot up at that. You struggle for the words to continue.
âListen we,â you sigh, âBrendon and I are-â. Your voice breaks off in an insanity fueled laugh, âI mean have you seen him?â
Robby is clearly not following what youâre saying.
âNeither of us are exactly, gentle lovers. Last night was just a little intense. It wasnât anything I didnât want though, I asked for it.â You explain. Voice speeding up as you ramble, âPlease donât think Brendon would ever hurt me like that. Fuck no. Heâs the most caring, loving man Iâve ever met. Really.â
Dana just started shaking her head with a small laugh, smirk tugging on her lips. âAlright then. Whatever floats your boat.â
Robby still looks like heâs trying to compute the information heâs gained in the last forty seconds. Dana starts attaching leads to you to get a vitals check and by the time sheâs done, Robby is still just standing there.
âDr. Robby! Would you please assess our patient?â As if broken from a trance, Robbyâs eyes meet yours and quickly flit to Dana.
âYes, of course.â
Robby is barely looking at the injury for three minutes when the curtain is dragged open. The space wide enough to expose you to the nurseâs station, leaving your secret vulnerable to anyone nearby. Well, at least it would be if it werenât for the 6â2â, hulking man standing in its gap.
The same man whose teeth had sunken into your flesh over and over and over again last night, making you cry out noises you didnât even know you were capable of. His eyes dark as he drank down every sound were now filled with concern.
âWhat happened?â Heâs quickly closing the curtain behind him, not a single inch of your skin being exposed to the curious and prying eyes of a certain pair of nurses with an R2 behind them. His tone is sharp, quick and to the point. Like it always is whenever heâs worried about you.
âNothing, baby. Iâm fine I promise. I just wanted to be safe and get it checked out.â You try and soothe him, his hands immediately coming to rest over your collarbone.
The warmth of his skin is the only thing you feel, or maybe itâs the only thing you let yourself focus on. âWhen did this happen?â
You quickly drop eye contact with him. âEarly this morning. âBout an hour or so after you left.â
âSweetheart, I left at 5am this morning. Itâs past 1pm.â His hand finds your chin, making you look at him. All you give him is a small smile.
âOops?â
âWhy didnât you call me.â He removes his hands, done with his assessment.
âI didnât want to worry you. Figured it would go away within a few hours, but it just kept getting worse.â
âThe clavicle dislocation is anterior. I want to get an x-ray on the ribs just to be safe but I think itâs just pinching a nerve this time.â Brendon explains, looking over at Robby who nods and places the order.
Brendon sits down on the bed next to you, hand stroking over your cheek lovingly. âWeâre done here.â He doesnât even glance over his shoulder towards the other people in the room as he dismisses them.
âIâll be back to take her up for imaging myself.â Dana calls as she and Robby slide out from the curtain.
âIâm so getting you back for this later.â You tell Brendon and he only smirks as he lets his eyes fall to appreciate his handiwork.
âI hope you do.â
_
âLooks like Shark was a more accurate nickname than we thought, huh, Robinavitch?â
Robby doesnât dignify Dana with a response.
Heâd like a moment of silence to try and remove the intricate knowledge of his coworkerâs sex life from his mind.
clearly I really liked this idea as I wrote this in less than two hours :) shoutout to anon𦷠for this!!!
summary:Â a conundrum of oddly familiar circumstances leads to you meeting someone straight out of your teenage self's wildest dreams.
contents: non-life threatining injury, concussed reader, light medical malpractice... i think that's it...
wc: 2.5k
a/n: call this my own personal 50 shades, in other words, this is so heavily inspired by twilight it's ridiculous. i don't even know if it's any good, but the idea came to me in a sleep deprived haze months ago, and it needed an outlet. no matter the outcome, though, i've never giggled harder while writing something in my life, and i hope this makes you giggle too. not proofread; sorry if my grammar sucks!
This is some real Bella Swan shit. Thereâs no other way to explain it. Obviously, youâre living the modern day equivalent of Twilight, complete with the impressive ability to injure yourself, just like Little Miss Spidermonkey. How else does one justify taking a miraculous tumble down the stairs at your hotel, and crashing through the window to the ground below?
No one had been with you when you fell, but the crash alerted the front desk, and theyâd called an ambulance. You thought you were mostly fine, but by the time the sirens had stopped in front of you, consciousness was more of a suggestion than a state of being.Â
The ambulance ride was a blip, and then you were being wheeled into somewhere that smelled like antiseptic, and looked imposingly white and sterile.
âWhat do we have?â Oh! A new voice, tranquil and smooth. You liked it.
âJane Doe. Fell down a flight of stairs and out a window. In and out of consciousness, possible concussion, fibular fracture in the right leg, and glass shards in her right side.â This voice seemed familiar enough, it reminded you of flashing lights. Wait, Jane Doeâs not your name. Why would they say that?
âOkay. Ellis, I want you on the glass, weâve gottaâŚâ the smooth voice continued as you drifted into unconsciousness once more.
You awoke to a rhythmic beeping, opening your eyes to see the tiled ceiling and dimmed lights of what must be a hospital room. Why were you here again? Everything seemed a bit fuzzy. Taking stock, you saw bandages running down your right arm, and an IV in your left. Your head was hurting, and you felt constriction around your lower leg â a cast then, but why? Thatâs when it came back to you, the Twilight of it all. God, you couldnât even remember what had possessed you to go sprinting to the ground floor at nine-thirty pm. What you did know is that your impromptu descent had dire consequences, and you were definitely not making it to the client meeting downtown. Your place had been having temperature control issues, so youâd needed to stay somewhere anyways, and youâd picked that hotel expressly for its proximity to the building you were supposed to meet that client in
It was in that moment you recalled that â due to your inability to remain awake and lack of ID â you were a Jane Doe to the people in whatever medical facility this was, and there was definitely no way theyâd gotten ahold of your boss to start apologizing profusely for this unfortunate turn of events.Â
Figuring you could at least fix the incorrect name they had on your chart, you reached for the help button, readying to explain yourself. Just that same second, someone stepped into your room, closed the door behind himself, and turned to face you. He wore black scrubs with an ID badge pinned to the pocket and had a stethoscope around his neck. He looked to be in his late 40s and had the most impressive cinnamon and sugar curls atop his head. He was, without a doubt, the hottest man youâd ever seen.
Yeah you were 100% in some fucked up version of Twilight. There was no other justification as to why your own personal Carlisle Cullen was in your hospital room, looking shocked to see you awake.
You started to laugh, a small giggle turning into full blown cackles. They made your head pound, but you didnât even care. A smile cracked across the hot doctorâs face, not sure what had you so jocund, but finding the scene amusing nonetheless.Â
After what felt like an eternity, you managed to inhale a few deep breaths, and finally made eye contact with him.
âLooks like I made quite the first impression. Iâm glad to see you awake.â His voice was vaguely familiar, maybe the one youâd heard when you first got there. Your memories didnât do him justice, though, his voice smooth with an edge you couldnât quite place. The one thing youâd gotten right in your delirium was that you did, in fact, really like his voice.
You giggled, âYou just reminded me of someone, is all.â
âA good someone, I hope.â
You fought the urge to laugh again. âDefinitely good.â
He introduced himself as Dr. Jack Abbot, and approached your bedside. You gave him your name and age in return.
âWell Iâm glad to see you awake, and just as happy that we can stop calling you Jane Doe out there.â You both smiled at each other for a moment before he continued. âYou were brought in a couple of hours ago with a concussion, a broken leg, and some glass shards embedded in your side. Do you remember what happened?â
âI fell down the stairs and out a window, something that had previously only ever been done in fiction, and even then, it was a setup.â
He blinked at you, before saying with the slightest tinge of apprehension, âIâm not super sure what that means, but yeah, according to EMTs you went for quite the swan dive.â
That sends you giggling again. By now, he must think you're more out of it than you let on, but only his blissful ignorance could father such a perfectly timed reference.
âYouâre gonna have to tell me whatâs so funny later,â he says offhandedly. âDo you know where you are?â
Youâve reached the tail end of this laughing fit just in time to respond: âPittsburgh, but no clue which hospital.â
âWelcome to the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, then. Youâre still in the ER because we wanted to monitor you with that concussion. How are you feeling?â
You thank him, and he leaves. Your head is still a little muddled â perks of being on pain meds while concussed â and with nothing better to do, you let your mind wander.
âOther than supremely embarrassed? Pretty good, all things considered.â
âWell, weâll keep you here a bit longer for observation, see what works for you in terms of pain management and mobility aids, and then youâll be free to go.âÂ
Unrestrained, your thoughts return to the hot doctor. Dr. Abbot, you chide, knowing that your loosened inhibitions would lead to you calling him hot out loud if you didnât check yourself.Â
Your mind lingered on the finer details, the lines around his eyes as he smiled at you in mild bewilderment, the delicate rasp of his voice, the broad set of his shoulders, and the quiet joviality that poured off him in conversation.
Aw shit. This is more than thinking heâs hot. You have a genuine crush on this doctor.
You glanced at the clock and saw 03:45 blinking back at you, surprised at how long youâd been out. With nothing to do but lay there and think, your mind returned to Dr. Abbot, and somewhere, your conscious thoughts turned into dreams.
By some miracle, your ambulance call had been the only case of any urgence, and â by PTMC standards, at least â it was a slow night for the ER staff. Everyone else reveled in the relative quiet, but somehow, Abbot found himself walking past your room far more often than was necessary. He made a show of walking around the whole ER, but he knew, and he was starting to suspect that Shen and Ellis were making note as well, that he almost lingered by your door. It was also his point of duty that every time you needed to be checked on, he was the one to step into your dark room and make sure you were tolerating medications well, maybe chat for a bit if he happened to catch you awake. If he happened to check on you at the bottom of the hour like clockwork, that was no oneâs business but his own.
And Ellisâ.
And Shenâs.
After what had to have been his 10th âlapâ, somewhere between his second check in and third, they both cornered him at the nursesâ station.
âI donât think Iâve ever seen you this worried about a patient before, Abbot. Ever,â Ellis said as he approached, a gleam in her eye heâd never seen before.
âYeah I really donât know if she needs you standing sentry outside her door,â Shen hid the accompanying smirk behind his straw.
âYouâre doing a great job of guarding her from the boogeyman, though.â
âIâm just monitoring her concussion, she took a really nasty fall, I wanna be nearby in case anything changes.â Damn, had he ever sounded less convincing in his life?
âBullshit,â came Lenaâs voice from behind the counter. âYouâd have passed off any other patient in her condition to one of the students by now, or at least a resident. You like her. Do something about it.â
And on that note they dispersed, checking on patients, charts, results, and the like.
Do something about it, Jack.
So laps 11 and 12 were spent planning, and by his third check in at 6:30am, where he told you a nurse would be in with discharge papers and a set of crutches, heâd finalized his plan.Â
He asked Lena to handle your discharge info, and to confirm, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your phone number was correct on those papers.
He also asked her to âforgetâ to give you the correct follow up instructions⌠or any follow up instructions at all.Â
There was a reason he chose Lena for this; besides, is it really malpractice if he fixes the mistake within the hour?
He watched as casually as possible, as you crutched your way out of the ER like a newborn deer right before shift change, and smiled to himself when you disappeared, absolutely sure that heâd find a way to see you again.
Jack was a very predictable guy, he got to work early, he left work late, and he had a second job just to avoid being alone, so it was perfectly normal for him to stay an hour after his shift was over, helping out where he was needed, looking a little bit more like he was lingering than usual. Once he finally decided to leave, there was a chance that he took forever to grab his things, but maybe it had just been a long night, right? And perhaps he made it almost all the way outside before miraculously realizing that no one called his patient with follow up instructions, but whoâs to say.Â
And so he walked right back in, found your forms, found a phone, and made the call that heâd plotted and scripted down to the second.Â
You jolted when your phone rang. It had been a humiliating experience maneuvering yourself like Bambi to get into your cab, and then back out of it at your hotel. You still had to call your boss, and the client about the unfortunate turn of events that would result in their editor not being able to go over details with them as planned. But youâd barely made it back to your room, somehow whacking yourself in the ankle with your crutches as you sat down and laid back to rest for just a second, when your Clair de Lune pealed out from your phone, which youâd left on the nightstand. The number came up automatically as PTMC, and you picked up, not entirely sure why theyâd be calling you already.
âHello?â
âHi, itâs Jac- Dr. Abbot, I was looking after you at the hospital last nightâ a familiar voice said through the speakers, and your heart gave a flutter.
âHi Dr. Abbot. Did I forget something or fill out the forms wrong? Iâm still a little out of it-â
âNo, no, nothing like that. I was talking to the nurse that discharged you, and we were both under the impression that the other had given you the necessary follow-up instructions, and I donât believe either of us did.â
You thought for a second, and realized that, yeah, no one had told you when to come back or anything, they just gave you a pill bottle and sent you on your merry way. âOh yeah, I guess not. Itâs no big deal, though, we all had a pretty long night.â
âThat we did,â he said on a laugh. âStill, I wanna keep a close eye on that concussion, so if you can, Iâd like to see you back here in about a week and a half just to monitor you and make sure everythingâs okay.â
âOkay, a week and a half, got it.â If you didnât know any better, youâd think that was almost too soon, but he was the medical professional, and you wouldnât be mad about getting to see him again.
âIâve got a couple more things. I love this place to pieces, but the day shift is such a shitshow that youâll get here and wait forever if you try to come during daylight hours. Your best bet would be around 8PM if you can, and weâll get you in and out of here pretty quick.â
âSo any time after 8?â
âExactly, youâve got it.âÂ
The things his positive reinforcement were doing to your nervous system couldnât be normal.Â
âLike I said, itâs impossible to get anything done here during the day, and even at night, weâve only got one person handling the phones. Sheâs a force of nature, but sheâs not an octopus, so Iâm gonna give you my cell number. You have any questions, anything at all, donât hesitate to call or text me, okay?â
He continued âWeâre also gonna want to see you in about 6 weeks to get that cast off. Same deal, getting here before 8PM isnât worth it.â
â6 weeks for the leg, after 8 again. Okay, Dr. Abbot, anything else?â There was a small smile on your face now, like maybe with this time you could scheme your way to getting him on a date. Or in your pants, but baby stepsâŚ
âOkay. Thank you, Dr. Abbot, youâre very kind.â Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit he just gave you his number, and gave you free license to use it. Youâre no mind reader, but that has to mean something, right?
âItâs my pleasure. And call me Jack, please.â You could hear the smile in his voice now too.Â
âWell, Jack, Iâll see you in a week and a half.â You liked saying his name, you also liked that you had permission to use it. Oh hell, you were down bad.
âSee you then, Beautiful.â
Before you could say anything about that, the line went dead.
p.s. i am still in disbelief that yall trusted me enough to want to be brought back, but @savemefromanepicoftimewasted @4ria790 here it is!
p.p.s. perhaps i've already written part 2... maybe... and the streets are saying it might be long enough to warrant being turned to more of a part 2 and 3...
summary: when you struck the arrangement with damian wayne to act as your fake boyfriend for a party hosted by your ex and ex-best friendâyou thought your choice made perfect sense. choosing damian wayne, the most logical, unattainable person you knew, removes the complication of feelings being involved. till of course, damian stops pretending.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: flufff, damian wayne is a yearner and takes his role of being your pretend boyfriend very seriously.
"You are suggesting I partake in a fake relationshipâ" Damian Wayne stares down at you, still dressed in his lab coat, with what may be the closest to genuine concern you've ever seen on him, all cramped into the crease of his brows. "To help with your dilemma?"
"Exactly." Your grin is the only positive staple throughout this entire exchange, after your successful cornering of only the most unattainable medical student of Gotham University. "It's like a fancy title for an assignment partner but removing the word 'assignment', right?"
"Assuming that your ambitious plan would even work." Crossing his arms, Damian looks more unimpressed over your carefully planned spreadsheet titled 'Fake-Dating Operation' than the earlier assigned pairings by Dr. Lake. "Do humour me on your astounding confidence that I would even offer my assistance."
"We're already assigned together for the semester." You shrug. "What's one reunion party, and an hour spent pretending you don't hate my guts like you do with everyone else?"
He stares at you for a long beat, before his lips twitch into the smallest smirk. "I appreciate your attempts at lowering my expectations further on how idlers are able to accomplish wasting hours in a day. I expect your section of the report to be done by Sunday."
"Wait!" Your hand reaches out to grab at the ends of his sleeve as he moves past you. "I am an amazing fake partner. I provide free dog walks, cookies, amazing work ethicâit's practically a free service just for a little acting on your part!"
"I appreciate the desperation, and the answer is still a no."
"Wayne!" You call out as his sleeve slips out of your fingers, stopping in your tracks right in front of himâblocking the exit. "Damian, please."
His head tilts to cast you a disapproving expression. "My word of advice, is to gain enough respect for yourself to not be bothered by what others think."
Your lips pull together into a frown, but you refuse to be dissuaded, not when you've already laid all your cards on the table. You didn't expect it to be easy, and you had already prepared yourself for his vicious tongue.
"My self-respect has already been trampled on when they decided to send me the invitation." You state honestly. "It's scheduled for its revival in five weeks, after the party. I'll be a changed person by then, scout's honour."
His brow pulls higher, as if silently questioning if you had even part of the Gotham Scouts, but you're not done.
"But before then, I plan on being the pettiest, deranged person in all of Gotham University." You declare. "And that includes you in my plans, because you, Damian Wayne, are the only person who checks all my requirements of a fake boyfriend."
"I'm honoured." He mocks, gaze flickering past towards the hallway.
"You are Walter's role-model, he would kiss the test tubes you lay your fingers on. Paige has a Pinterest folder labelled with your name, and it has all your news sightings saved by colour coordination."
"Sounds like your issues derive more from the company you keep." He mutters, expression pulled together in disgust.
"Point besides, I want it to be you, Damian Wayne." You confess.
It sounds ridiculous, but this was fully concerning your pride and something you've forgotten in your years of working yourself away for your dreams, which was the taste for controlled chaos. He blinks once, staring at you incredulously as if deciding where to place you in his ranking of newly discovered lunatics.
"You're the only person who will drive them as insane as they've made me." Your voice chokes, filled with determination or buried rage, the difference didnât seem to matter. "You could walk in there for just an hour to save my life, and I know that you won't have the slightest chance of complicating things, or falling in love with meâand that's what makes this perfect. This may sound crazy to you, but you're the only person that's made sense to me ever since my life was turned upside-down."
Your chest heaves, and your arms are still outstretched to stop him from leaving the lab. You're nothing like thisâimpulsive, frantic, verging on insanityâbut you're also done being complacent. Of letting things go just because it's the right thing to do.
After what feels like eternity, Damian's expression flickers. Implicit and almost undetectable, but his gaze is on you as if he's finally registering your existence and trying to catalogue you into a different box than the one he's placed you in.
"Send the spreadsheet to my email." He answers apprehensively, as if he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "I will review through the calendar on its... feasibility. Expect a response by eight p.m.."
You let out a held breath, a smile finally breaking through. "Thank you, reallyâ"
"On the condition that I expect you to finish your section by tonight."
Your expression freezes. "Tonight?"
"To prove your desperation's worth considering." He tosses you a mocking smile, all sharp edge and nothing considerable of warmth. "You have ten more hours before my interest wanes."
Your smile weakens, blinking rapidly as you calculate your remaining time to draft something of substance. "Okay, sureâ that's not going to be a problem."
It's worth it. Dealing with Damian Wayne is going to be worth it.
I have reviewed through your spreadsheet in detail. Do answer my enquiries on my comments below.
- I believe watching romance comedy as 'theory practice' is highly inefficient and prone to fantastical expectations. Do amend this.
- As for my 'meeting' availabilities, I am free on Thursdays and Fridays at noon to two, on the condition that at least an hour be reserved for actual assignment discussions. You are required to provide evidence of actual progress for the assignment, or this arrangement will be considered void.
- Provide me a list summary on details for answers regarding possible interrogation questions during the party. It will be more efficient as compared to you providing me the details in person.
As for the assignment, your section draft is acceptable, and I expect our lab findings to be updated into your table by the following lab session next week.
Regards,
Damian.
You can barely contain your grin, kicking into the sheets despite the exhaustion that plagues your bones from grueling non-stop over the section and multiple tabs later. He had looked through your multi-coloured spreadsheet calendar, and actually considered it with his own enquiries. Typing out your own response, you give serious thought into his enquiries.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Reply: 'Fake-Dating Operation' Spreadsheet Review
Thank you for your detailed consideration of my spreadsheet. Your efforts are acknowledged and appreciated.
- I believe we are required to watch at least one rom-com that involves fake-dating. Neither of us have had previous experience in this department (unless you'd like to share valuable information), and it will boost our success rate.
- Perfect! I'm available on Fridays, and scout's honour, I promise to have my progress brought for each meeting session.
- As for the list, I will provide you possible answers, but some may require in-person explanations. I'll explain more this Friday!
Can't even express my thanks on how grateful I am, you're the best Wayne in history!
Signing off your name, you close your laptop with the giddiest smile you've had sinceâat the reminder, your grin falters. Your chest thuds faintly, as if reminding you that the fun you've just experienced can still be dampened by reality. No, you refuse to let it ruin your enjoyment.
This is the most alive you've felt in weeks, and you're going to make the most of it. If your life feels like it's finally picking up through colourful spreadsheet rows and columns, and waiting on an email reply from the most terrifying student in Gotham Universityâso be it.
Damian slides your extremely lengthy list across the lunch table, and you can barely hide your shock that he actually printed it outâbefore you catch sight of many red circles marked neatly around your points.
"Your least favourite vigilante is Robin?" He interrogates.
You blink in surprise, not expecting him to start there. "Well, he's not exactly originalâI mean, câmon, theyâre multiple versions of him."
His lips part, aghast in a half-caught scoff. "He's one of the most prominent vigilante figures in Gotham."
You shrug. "Spoiler's cooler."
He clicks at his tongue. "You have horrible taste."
"You are not telling me that you, Damian Wayne, have a favourite and that is Robin?"
He doesn't blink. "There are several other questionable details in your list."
"Yes, I can see that." Peering back at your list, your brows furrow. "What's wrong with liking Gotham's Pizza?"
"Only that you're clearly fond of days-old grease and artificial cheese."
"Hey, that's where it gets its flavour."
He shakes his head, disgusted. "I refuse to be associated with someone who has non-functioning taste buds."
"Fineâwe'll say we often have dates at Romeo's instead." You shrug. "Not like I'll be caught there after our agreement's expired."
He raises a brow. "Expired?"
Pointing at your open tab, you reference a newly added row. "Our break-up, scheduled for Monday after the party."
He stares at the date, before his gaze roams over you with a questioning look. "Despite my lack of experience, should you not consider the likely suspicions if you were to end a relationship three days after the party?"
Your lips part into an 'oh'. "I thought you would want to get it over and done with as quickly as possible."
His expression closes in, gaze narrowing. "I will not put my reputation at stake by agreeing to this facade, if it means having our efforts go down the drain because of an obvious flaw.â
Your grin slips out uncontrollably. âYou just said âourâ efforts. Look at us, the perfect team.â
His expression remains impassive, before he raises a slow brow. âSwitch to the assignment tab.â
âYes, sir.â
Resting below a willow tree, your third Friday with Damian is spent resting below the shade on your picnic clothâone you used to share with Paige. The sight of its red plaid, stuffed behind your piles of clothes in your wardrobe, was getting sadâeven for you.
Damianâs back is resting against the tree bark, shoulders nearly taking up the widthâbrows impossibly furrowed as his gaze narrows on your laptop displaying âTo All The Boys I Loved Beforeâ.â
âThis movie is non-sensical.â
âI think itâs romantic.â You shrug.
He tosses you a judgmental glance. âHaving your own blood betray you by revealing your own personal letters, is your idea of romance?â
âI mean Lara Jean and Peter, Damian.â You snort. âThatâs our main source of inspiration.â
âHeâs hardly appealing.â He scoffs, arms crossing over the other. âIs this the standards you expect from our arrangement?â
âIf this is mediocreââ You respond, aghast. âYou have no idea how dire love can be nowadays.â
His frown deepens. âYou are not expecting me to perform in this manner?â
âWhatâfalling in love with me?â You grin. âNo, I do not expect you to be Peter Lavinsky.â
He stares at you with barely concealed frustration. Before you can tease him further, something purple is tossed into your face.
A yelp escapes your mouth, the light weight of an object falling into your lap.
âThatâsâthe discontinued, limited edition Spoiler cap!â You gasp, eyes widening in realisation. âHow did you get this?â
He shrugs begrudgingly. âMy sister used to be a collector. She doesnât mind giving it away.â
âGiving it away?â You mutter incredulously. âThis is actual gold. Your sister is my favourite person on Earth.â
His brow twitches. âI bargained for that cap.â
You snort. âWhat did you exchange it for, your dignity?â
âYou have no clue on my sacrifice." He grimaces.
âYour sacrifice is acknowledged." You tease, before letting out another huff of amazement. âThis is the best day of my life.â
When your gaze falls back to the cap, tracing your fingers over the logoâyou miss the twitch of his lips into a semblance of a smile.
You missed todayâs meeting without prior notice. Not that your absence has affected my ability to resume our assignment, but after your frequent reminders to not miss on our mandatory meetingsâit leaves me with doubt that you intentionally missed our sessions on your end. Do update me as soon as possible on your status.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent yesterday, 1.20 p.m.)
Subject: Reply: Reminder on Friday Meetings
I feel I must reinstate that my previous email regarding your absence, as well as this reply, should not be twisted in its meaning as more than a mere enquiry. Given previous evidence of the average speed of your responses, a full 24 hours with a lack of response prompts me to send another email. Do respond when you are able.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent today, 1.32 p.m.)
Three respectable knocks resound against your dormitoryâs door. A groan escapes your lips, your head pounding from the cold youâve caught from a late night running through pouring rain. You had missed the bus and had to make it back before curfew, and now your body is reminding you of its frail mortality, chills shaking throughout your limbs and rendering you heavily immobile.
The knocks echo again when you shift your head deeper into the pillows. You muffle curses into the cotton, gripping at your sheets to steady yourself as you force your body upright. The world sways on its axis as you make your wayâshifting pathetically with every step, towards the door.
Missing your lock a few times, you finally grab a hold of the chain and slide it off, clicking the door open. Youâre immediately faced with a broad chest, donning a familiar black sweater. Shifting your gaze up, youâre met with Damian Wayneâs narrowed gaze, sweat trailing down his temple.
âDamian?â Your voice croaks, and even the attempt of speaking hurts. âWhat are you doing here?â
He takes one glance, and immediately, his expression contorts in⌠concern? You barely have time to explain about the cold, or an apology for missing the meeting, when you feel the warmth of his palm press against your forehead.
You blink, stunned as he measures your temperature. He shakes his head slightly in a disapproving manner. âYour temperature is too high.â His tongue clicks with his observation.
You suppose he was right. You did feel one wrong step from keening over and lying on your welcome mat.
âI got caught in the rain.â You explain, trying your best to pull together a more reassuring expression, one less filled with nausea-induced tension. âIâll be fineâjust need rest.â
His frown creases deeper. âHave you taken medicine?â
You try shaking your head, but that loses whatever balance you had left. The world actually tilts, or maybe you are the one who's obeying gravityâbut strong arms catch you before you collapse.
âLook at your state.â Damian grits, pulling you back upright but closer. There's barely any space left between the two of you. âThis fever, has it worsened considerably?â
âYeahâbut I didnât have anyone to call.â You mutter in truth, cheek still smushed against his chest as support. âI ran out of medicine a while ago, and by the time I woke upâI couldnât get out of bed.â
You feel his arms tense around you. Above the crown of your head, you feel a soft sigh. âYou have me.â He mutters, almost reprimanding.
Your brows furrow in confusion. âYou would get me medicine?â
âThat would be a start.â He states, his grip shifting with his words.
The world shifts again when his hands wrap around the under of your thighs, lifting you into his arms gently to not worsen your state. If your mind wasnât completely swarmed by the symptoms of your cold, youâd stop to think of how strangely sweet it was that Damian had come all the way to your dormitory, and that he was carrying you bridal-style towards your bed.
âItâs not usually this messy.â You feel the need to point out, words muffled against his sweater. âYou just have impeccable timing.â
His lip twitches involuntarily as he sets you down against the thrashed sheets. âOrganised according to your system?â
You smile weakly at the thought of your colour-coded spreadsheet. âExactly.â
He places his palm against your forehead again, and you subconsciously find yourself leaning into his touch. âYouâre likeâreally warm.â You murmur. âDo you always run hot?â
He swallows, touch lingering on your skin. âYour temperature is dysregulated. Iâll return soon with medicine. Rest. I wonât be gone long.â
âOkay.â Your lids fall shut, the pounding lessening with your head burrowed into the pillows, and his touch a gentle anchor. âYou knowâyouâd be a great boyfriend for someone one day.â
You donât hear a response, and your honest thoughts continue to tumble out from your skull like a cracked jar. âYouâre really nice, Dami.â The shortening of his name feels like cotton candy stuffed in your mouth, and you barely register the stiffening of his fingers. âFierce, but I like that about you. I like you a lot, actually. Not in a swooning way, but in aâIâm really glad I met you kind of way.â
He doesnât pull away when your lips finally clamp shut, but the silence is almost deafening. You peek open with one eye, catching his expression. Heâs staring at you⌠as if no oneâs ever said that to his faceâever.
âDonât make it weird.â You tease softly, voice tethered with exhaustion. âIâm just giving you your deserved five stars.â
You hear the soft echo of his scoff, withheld from its usual bite, but you donât hear much else after. Only that the lingering touch of his fingers over your skin stays put till sleep catches up on you, and the world falls silent under the weight of Damianâs gaze. Okay, maybe you were lying a little about the swooning.
Fevers fade, but the warmth that lingers seems to seep past the well-defined borders of a spreadsheet, or the predictable order of a listâlike the one currently in your hand.
"Favourite vigilante?" You quiz, red pen bitten between your lips as you laid stretched on the wooden bench.
"Spoiler." He answers, tossing you an expression as if to convey that he couldn't believe you even bothered with such a question.
"Good job." You tease, fiddling with the cap of your pen, attached at the end. "Favourite date spot?"
"Gotham's Pizza." He huffs.
You blink. "Hey, it's supposed to be Romeo's."
"You prefer Gotham's." He mutters.
"But you don't." You remind him.
Averting his gaze to your lips, his fingers loop around the red pen, dragging it gently out from your teeth's grip, and adjusting the answer with a cross. "That's irrelevant. I'm merely pointing out an inconsistency."
Your lips quirk up into a smile. "You don't even need this list anymore. Why bother keeping it?"
Tension pulls briefly at his jaw, but it relaxes before you can trace it to an emotion. "You haven't tested me on all the questions."
You lean in, the crinkled paper resting below your fingers as you gaze into his eyes. "Alright? Something off the books." You hum. "What do I think of Damian Wayne?"
He blinks, surprised. You wait patiently, the warmth of summer carrying the scent of grass blades past the picnic table, the world narrowing into the space between the two of you.
His lips part after a moment. "Fierce." He answers. "Though you're one of the few who doesn't run from it."
"What's there to run from?" You hum. "I think he's nice, you should give him some credit for that."
His brow raises, amusement flickering in his gaze. "That's not a common perception."
"Yeah, but no one else gets to experience him being their partner." You tease. "He even offers to rearrange your dormitory to a better system if you're lucky."
He scoffs lightly. "That's only considering if the existing system barely works."
"Just say you hate colour-coding, Dami." You snort. "I know you're itching to fix our spreadsheet."
His expression flickers for a moment. "Not exactly."
You tilt your head, questioning. His gaze averts to the open spreadsheet, something familiar after the weeks spent together. "It's grown on me."
Grown on himâdespite it being everything he initially found horrendous, from the many details pasted in long paragraphs into the comments, and the bright colours for the special shared Fridays between you two. Something warm pools in your chest, and you find your gaze trailing to the red pen held between his fingers instead.
"You're more prepared for this party than I am." You admit softly.
You feel his attention switch onto you, trained on the nervous tick you have where you hyper-focus on something brightly coloured. He twirls the pen once, considering.
"You don't have to go through with this." He says. "Just say the word. I'll honour whatever decision you make."
His reassurance makes you consider it, you really do. With the dreaded anticipation finally reaching its peak, with the party being tonightâyou have stopped to think if it was worth it. To show up in a room where the story's long gone sour, and your presence is more likely to be a blight than a welcomed gift.
Then again, you hadn't prepared this all for nothing. You hadn't gotten to know Damianâfor nothing.
"No, it'll be fun." You smile, meeting his gaze. "We'll be just like Lara Jean and Peter, but with better standards."
Damian's mouth twitches, almost imperceptible. "Agreed."
Your fingers catch onto the silk-like fabric of your dress. Once bought as a birthday present, you never had the chance to wear something like this. Walter had called it overkill, and you convinced yourself that youâd eventually find a day to wear the gorgeous shade without feeling inadequate for it. Nothing required overkill more than tonight.
Damian's promised to pick you up, even when you had reassured him that meeting at the venue was fine. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and something quivers in your gut.
You don't feel as brave as you'd like, not even in your favourite dress. The thought of the two people you once trusted most being together, exchanging normal niceties with you as if nothing had ever happenedâyou're seriously beginning to overthink just how horribly awkward this situation was going to be.
What if it wasn't like the movies? What if Damian saw tooâjust how horribly small you feltâand decided you weren't worth the spreadsheets and lists and medicine kit he over-splurged on when you caught that cold?
The party was going to be over in an hour, you had promised Damian the both of you would be present for no more than that durationâand now, you feel ridiculous in your own skin. You're tempted to text him if he wanted to ditch and just head to Romeo's insteadâwhen you hear the signature three knocks of his against your door.
You swallow your fear-induced nausea back into your gut, and force yourself to open the door with something akin to a smile. Your expression freezes in place at the sight... of Damian tidied up.
You knew he was handsome, you obviously had eyes, but to see him in that white collared shirt that made his green eyes pop, loosened at the buttons, with his hair pulled back and justâwow. Damian Wayne, you were seriously going to the party with this guy? As your fake boyfriend?
You don't notice the way his own expression completely falters at the sight of you. Nor the way his fingers tightened into a fist, digging into his palms.
You only notice how the silence stretched out between the two of you lingers long enough to matter.
"Hey, handsome." You start, trying to regain your composure. "You cleaned up nice."
He blinks, as if stunned. His response comes out delayed, brows pinching together into something honest. "You are beautiful."
Not you lookâas if he's only noticed. No, he emphasised the 'are', as if he's always seen it. Your heart doesn't quite know what to do with that information, or how to catalogue the way he's looking at you as if he'sânot pretending.
"Thank you." Your voice comes out weaker than you intended, because for all his intensity, Damian being soft is what renders you stunned. "I still don't know if I should do this."
His gaze clears, something steady offered to you when you return it. "You don't need to be sure." He answers, offering his hand. "That's what I'm here forâso you will not be alone."
He's right. Despite your doubts, seeing him in front of you reminds you of the steady presence he's offered from the very beginning. Through your nonsensical email threads, the Friday lunches, the rom-com binging, rushing to the store to buy you cold medicineâyour fears always quieted when Damian was near. Your smile brightens, taking his hand in yours. "Let's get this operation over with."
Walter catches sight of you first. His vision is perfectly facing the entrance, your ex's gaze meeting yours as soon as you step through the doorwayâand he immediately taps on Paigeâs shoulder. An insincere smile arrives on his expression, but it freezes in place the moment Damian enters with you.
He isn't the only one to notice. You knew the effect Damian had on others, standing out without even meaning to, much less in an environment like this. Damian doesn't seem bothered at all, because you feel his attention acutely trained on you instead. His hand rubs a soothing notion over your lower back, as if you're the only person he's aware that exists in the room.
Walter's gaze drifts, from the dress he hated to Damianâs hand wrapping around your waist. He puts the facts together, faster than you had when he and Paige had approached you with the news. The warmth leaves his welcoming expression, and he whispers something into Paige's ear.
Damian registers this entire exchange in under a second, and his hand tightens briefly on your waist, as if reassuring you that he was right beside you.
The distance closes in between you and the two people your life once revolved around, and you train your gaze on Walter, because you can tell immediately that Paige is struck by Damian's appearance, more so by his hand on your waist.
"It's been a while." Walter starts off, though his gaze barely lingers on you before switching to Damian. "Wayne, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"There hasn't been a need." Damian shuts him down.
The atmosphere turns icy the moment Walter registers the tone of Damian's voice. He laughs, astonishedâand embarrassed. Paige finally recovers in an attempt to salvage the situation, pulling together her best smile.
"Well, it's lovely to have you both here." Paige starts, and her voice is distantânothing like the girl you used to know, hidden under the blankets of your beaten IKEA sofa when watching Scream for the tenth time. "You look amazing, andâsorry, I'm just curious on how the two of you know each other?"
Her question is directed towards you, but Damian takes the lead. "She's my partner."
"Partner?" Walter chokes on his breath. "As inâ"
You finally find your voice to speak. "We are seeing each other." It comes out levelled, matching Damian's.
Their shock registers in different levels. Walter's nears disbelief, while Paigeâlooks at you, betrayed.
"I didn't know about this." Paige stammers.
"Yes, you didn't." You answer shortly.
She stares at you as if she's seeing a stranger. "Right. I guess it's been a long time since we've caught up."
You're tempted to laugh. A long time is an understatement. You can feel Damian's low scoff against your shoulder, and the absurdity of the situation feels less gut-wrenching with him by your side.
"You know she's a real mess." Walter speaks involuntarily. "Like her apartment's an actual hazard. Isn't that right, Paige?"
Paige freezes, lips parting into a gap, but Damian's faster.
"I am awareâthat she has her own unique system." Damian states, gaze narrowing in discontent. "It didn't take long for me to understand it, or to appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?" Walter sneers. "Are you sure you're talking about the right person?"
"Yes." Damian doesn't hesitate, eyes steady, fixing yours. As if he was conveying it to you instead of the audience, he answers. "I'm sure."
You swallow dryly, unable to hide the softened smile you usually reserved for him only when it was the two of you. Both of them catch sight of it, and you can sense the question becoming less of whether it was real, and more of the how.
It's easy to act in love when Damian's this close, muttering words like that, with his familiar warmth grounding you through the stagnant conversation. So instinctive, that you think it's easier than breathing.
You sense Paige shifting closer and you force yourself to focus, and casting her another glance, only to finally catch a glimpse of the girl who used to be your closest person.
âHey, can we talk?â Her expression is vulnerable, tentative in her offer. "Y'know, catch up in private."
Damian immediately shifts you back slightly with his weight, but you place a hand tentatively on his arm. His gaze locks onto you, reading into your expression. His brow raises as if to ask, 'You're sure?'. You give him a nod.
"Fine by me." You murmur, because despite everythingâmaybe a part of you still wanted to hear the honest truth. For her decision, on when she decided you shouldâve been cut out of the picture then forcefully glued back into what they envisioned to be the perfect way to continue their lives. Maybe you just wanted to see if the Paige you knew still existed.
The moment you enter an unoccupied bathroom, Paige presses the door shut and immediately turns to you. "You have to spill."
Your brows furrow. "On?"
"Damian Wayne." She points out as if it's obvious. "You don't even know him."
You blink once then twice, and something colder settles in the cavity of your chest. "Things change, Paige."
âIâm just worried. It's all just so sudden.â Her hand reaches out to grasp yours, and you resist the instinctive flinch. âYouâve always been sensitive, and a guy like him is just bad news. I meanâDamian Wayne? I get that it feels exciting, but he barely knew of your existence before and now, he's suddenly dating you? I just want us to be on the same page here, that it doesn't really make sense."
A scoff rises up your throat, barely constrained as she continues on, her softened voice a perfect replica of how she had been when you first made your decision to break up with Walter.
âYou know Iâll always support you if you need me.â She reassures. âYou can tell me anything.â
The anger bubbles so violently, and it hits you. That despite everything, you had came into this party hoping that maybe a fraction of the girl you knewâwho cried with you on bathroom floors when you experienced homesickness, who celebrated when you managed to pass your first year of medical school, who was there for your entire life in Gothamâwould still exist. That something would give way, and her leaving would make sense, to have a reason. You realise now, that you've only been giving her excuses on the basis of what she used to mean to you.
Your wrath gives way to something cold, absent of griefâonly the need to rip your hand out of hers. You do just that, and her shock barely registers before you open your mouth. âNo.â Your voice carries a finality, strength youâve been trying to garner since the day you lost her. âYou donât get to define my relationship with Damian, when you never addressed ours.â
She blinks, affronted. âIs this about Walter? We've already explainedâwe only felt what we did after the two of you broke upââ
âNo, this isnât about Walter. This is about us.â The coldness in your tone finally strikes something honest in her expression. âYou broke my trust, Paige, and then you invite me to this party cause you thought it would help make amends? I thought you brought me in here, to at least explain to me on what happened to us."
"You should've told me." She says, a frown stretched at her lips. "If you weren't comfortable being around me and Walter, we wouldn't have forced you to come."
Weâthe word runs through your mind like a tire screech.
âYes, I wasn't comfortableâI nearly died inside when it happened." You raise your head. "I lost my best friend, who drove me to karaoke night whenever I needed to forget about home. I lost the girl who swore to re-watch all rom-coms that ever existed in the 90s before we both turned fifty. I lost the only person I trusted since I moved into this city, over whatâa man? Was it worth it, was our friendship worth it?â
She swallows thickly, and you see a fracture of the girl you recognise under the glitter, and the tears collecting at her lower lashes. âI thought you understoodâthat I love him differently than you did.â
Your gaze doesnât flinch at the admission. âYou were by my side when he broke up with me, when I told you that he called my dresses ugly, when he said my attitude was too much, when he made me smaller because it was more convenient for him when I was quieter, and you still got together with him. Maybe I thought you loved me enough too, to understand why I wasn't comfortable with it.â
Her expression shatters, and tears drip down her cheeks before she harshly wipes at them, smearing her eyeshadow. âYou donât get to say that.â She spits out. âMaking it seem like I chose Walter over you, when you brought in Damian Wayne.â
Your brows contort. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYou decided to come to the party toâprove you suddenly became better than us just by being with a Wayne?â She snaps. âYou're acting like this because you think he's going to stayâbut you donât seriously believe itâll actually last when Walter could barely stand you?â
That anger, buried deep, comes alive with a roar. You take a step forward, causing her to inch backward as you close in. âThat's all your taking from this?" Your scoff resounds coldly. "Damian was the one who was there for me when you leftâso yeah, I have more trust in him to treat me like an actual person."
She flinches, her lips parting in the same way she had done earlier when Walter tried to make you small. Silent, and unable to do anything but lay there in her guilt of absorbing an idea of who you are in Walter's head, and erasing what made you human in her eyes.
"Rest assured. You will never gain my trust again to even know whatâs going on in my life and the people in it, and you never will.â
Taking a step back, you look at her one last time. Of the mess of her makeup, the same puffy eyes whenever she cries that you used to immediately follow up with the instinct to comfort her. You feel none of that now. âGoodbye, Paige.â
She doesnât call out your name when you turn your back on her, and she doesnât come after you. You needed that, more than you needed her to be the person you thought she was. To be blunt, and truthful to yourselfâeven if no one but you believed in it.
The euphoric lightness of your body from finally severing the bond doesnât last long, when a rough hand grabs at your wrist. Being twisted around, youâre faced with Walterâs accusing expression.
âWhat did you say to her?â
âWhat I discussed with Paige stays between us.â You answer coldly, tugging at your wrist.
His hand tightens more, almost bruising. âYouâre bringing in that attitude of yours, when we were kind enough to think of you? To let you stick around our lives?"
Youâre sick of this narrative, of acting like you shouldâve been grateful they thought to include you into this sick little group from your past life as if they hadnât completely burnt it into flames.
âWalter, get your hands off before I shoveââ
A fist slams into the side of Walterâs face before you even have a chance to finish your sentence. Screams erupt from the crowd, or cheersâyou can barely tell because your eyes are locked onto Damian, whoâs grabbing Walter by the collar with chafed knuckles.
Multiple eyes are on them, but your own gaze is fixed on Damianâs expression, who has gone completely cold. Nearly murderous, and filled with uncontained wrath. His glare, almost deadly, is trained on his target in a way youâve never seen him before. The composed, distant Damianâis nowhere to be found.
"You stay away from her." Damian growls.
"What the hell, man!" Walter spits, blood sprayed over his nose. "Do you seriously think she's worthâ"
Damian drags him closer by the collar, and something inhuman flashes past his concentrated gaze. "She's worth more than you ever will dream of trying to be. You are nothing, and even daring to lay a hand on her is something you will pay for."
âDamian!â You shout.
That finally reaches him, past the simultaneous gawking and murmurs. Itâs as if heâs reentered his own body, and Damian immediately drops Walter to the ground with a loud thud. Walter lands embarrassingly on his bottom, and his entire face has gone red with shame.
His gaze switches to you, and his wrath fades immediately into concern. His eyes fall onto your bruising skin, and his emotions fall apart into something colder. You have a feeling if you donât get him out of this room, this fight may escalate into something much worse.
Pushing through the forming crowd, you reach out. âLetâs get out of here.â You plead, holding out your hand.
His gaze drops to your fingers, then back to the forming outline of a hand gripped around your wrist, and you see his calculating assessment. Damian leans lower, muttering something low into Walterâs ear. It is quick, but you see the way Walter completely freezes in placeâhis struggle evading from his body like a statue. When Damianâs eyes meet your frightened ones once more, he doesnât hesitate a second longer before grabbing your hand.
Damian doesn't waste time in leading you through the crowd, towards the exit and away from the escalating noiseâand into the night breeze. When the cold wind finally hits your skin, his hand remains firmly intertwined with yours as he guides you somewhere far awayâthe fact still lingers that Damian, perfect track record and Wayne prodigy, just punched someone for you.
âYou punched him.â You mutter faintly, seated at a bench youâve both found, crisp leaves surrounding you with the faint singing of crickets.
âHe was hurting you.â
âDamian, the whole schoolâs going to talk about this.â You stress. âYouâre going to get in trouble, possibly a suspension.â
His jaw clenches. âI am your partner.â
Damianâs agitated. Over the situation, despite there no longer being any witnesses to his supposed protection. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched and his gazeâyou recall how he had looked at Walter when he landed that first hit, the pure anger that seized him.
âNot a real one.â
He flinches, as if struck, and you knew immediately that your words landed wrongly. His emotions topple over the other, and youâre unable to name any that arises before it all falls apart like his bodyâs regained consciousness. Concealed, and distant.
âMy mistake.â He mutters. âIâve forgotten my standing.â
âDamianââ
âI do not wish to inconvenience you.â He states, words leaving in a bitter rush. âI have overstepped, I realise that.â
âDamian.â You call out for the second time, fingers reaching for hisâand he finally breathes when your warmth seeps through his skin. Youâre relieved he doesnât pull away. âThat came out wrong. Iâm not mad you punched the jerk, I wouldâve done it myself. I am glad you stood up for me, but Iâm just confused on why you did it, because there's nothing at stake for you, only something to lose.â
His expression stiffens at the verbal admission of his visible frustration. This conversation sounds much too real, and the lines that have been carefully drawn are erasing themselves, leaving behind uncharted territory. One you werenât sure how to navigate.
âYou do matter to me, as more than a role.â You plead. âI donât want you to think youâre someone I chose out of convenience. Please donât believe that.â
His breath exhales low, controlled. His gaze flickers with the briefest uncertainty, and you realise how selfish youâve been. This arrangement had been perfect for you, that you simply assumed it was the same for him.
âNo, you are not at fault.â He mutters after a moment. âIt is not your responsibility to handle the consequence of my actions. We had agreed on no complications, and I have done exactly that.â
His jaw tightens, before he finally spits it out. âI punched him because the boundaries of what was was real or imagined between us has never made a difference to me. He had hurt you, not only physicallyââ His gaze shifts to your reddened wrist, and it darkens completely. ââbut he is a culprit to your existing pain. I was angry, because I couldnât comprehend that I was finally faced with the two morons who thought losing you was even a consideration, and to see them hold no remorse for it made me forget my place.â
âIâve always excelled in being what others expected of me.â He mutters. âWhen you approached me, it was the first time I had not wanted to be confined to a role. I did not want to partake in a façade, becauseâI had wanted your request to be for something real. Then, you mentioned that you picked me because I had not the slightest chance of falling for you. It was ironic, and I knew then that I should've rejected your request."
"But I started to earnestly believeâthat I could separate emotion and duty. I could be in your presence, and not feel the consequences if the arrangement endedâbecause nothing would be real.â
âTill I realisedâhow much it affected me to not have you truly at all.â He confesses. âI shouldâve been honest, that this arrangement had become the opposite of what weâve agreed upon. But I was afraid, of admitting that I wasnât capable of control, of driving you away."
âDamian." Your frown deepens. "Youâre not going to lose me.â
âI donât know.â He blurts honestly. âI do not know how to handle want. I am built of structure, of worth to prove why I deserve to keep my position, that has always been what Iâve provided. I do not know how to want without providing substance to covet a person.â
âBut I want you.â He exhales. âNot once has it been pretend for me, not when it had already existed before our arrangement. Every moment I reached for your hand, every time I checked that horrendous shaded calendar of yours. I rushed over the moment you went missing when you were sick, because I had wanted to look for you. I have never once hesitated in calling myself your partner, even knowing the role was temporary. I want you, in the real, complicated wayâthat I've failed in being what you needed me to be."
"That's not true." You break. "That's not what I need you to be at all, Damian."
He finally looks at you, a little less restrainedâand almost startled at your words.
"If you had been real about this the entire time, Damian, then so have I." You admit. "I chose you because I thought you wouldn't have fallen for me, that is trueâbut that is because I also thought it was safe because I knew I was going to fall for you."
"I wasn't kidding when I said I like you." You confess. "In all of the complicated, real sense of the word, and you were always going be the one I was going to choose. Even if you had said no, I wouldn't have asked anyone else. I wanted you from the start, Damian, and that hasn't changed. I was going to ask you at freaking Romeo's after this, if you wanted this to be real too."
The moment those words leave your lips, Damian closes in. His fingers tug you by your waist, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, and his lips are on yours. Damian Wayne, who still has forming bruises at his knuckles from a fight he landed in to defend you, is kissing you on a park bench in the middle of the nightâand you're not dreaming.
It's clearly his first, but there's something so tenderly sweet about it that your heart trembles uncontrollablyâenough to render something wet at your lashes by the time he's pulled back.
He pulls apart just to meet your gaze, and you've never seen him this relieved. "This is real." He restates, as if he can't quite truly believe it.
âWe did just have our first official fight.â You murmur, cheek pressed to his chest.
"Official." He hums in acknowledgement. "I like that."
Your smile teethers into something soft when you feel the soft press of his mouth against the shell of your ear. "Yeah, guess our operation tonight ended in a success."
I LIVE FOR THIS đŠđĽ°đ it just kept getting better and better⌠I love Damian so much!!! Itâs the way his actions backed every single word heâs ever spoken đ the boys knows how to romance, Iâm still swooning
Genre: Romantic comedy, smutty fluff, slow burn with chaotic truth spills light smut talk
Summery: George and Lee thought it would be funny to slip some truth serum into Fredâs butterbeer how could an innocent joke turn into such chaosďżź
Ps: the truth serum lasts a lot longer than it realistically would đ¤Ť
Part 1: The Joke That Shouldâve Stayed a Joke
It began with a prank.
Like most terrible, brilliant ideas in Fred Weasleyâs life, it started with laughter and ended in chaos.
âCâmon,â Lee whispered to George behind the broom shed, glancing down at the tiny vial of Veritaserum pinched between his fingers. âJust a drop or two. Heâs been far too smug lately.â
George snorted. âYou mean heâs been rubbing in the fact that he beat you at Strip Exploding Snap.â
âI wasnât that naked.â
âYou were down to socks.â
Lee scowled. âHe cheated.â
âHe always cheats.â
Which was exactly why they felt this was justified. A little dose in Fredâs butterbeer at dinner, a few cheeky questions, and maybe a public confession or two about how he once wet the bed in second year. Easy fun. Harmless.
They didnât know.
They didnât realize.
Fred Weasley was harbouring filth. Deep, obsessive, terrifyingly horny filthâand every single thought centred around you.
⸝
Dinner was uneventful at first.
You sat across the table from Fred, laughing with Ginny and Hermione, unaware that two mischievous bastards had slipped your longtime friend a potion designed to bypass every filter he had.
He was already three sips in when he locked eyes with you.
And then the spiral began.
Sheâs so fucking fit. That skirt should be illegal. Merlinâs saggy left nut, her lips look like heaven. I wonder if she knows Iâd crawl through the Forbidden Forest just to lick her neck.
Fredâs face went pink.
âFred?â you asked, noticing his expression.
He blinked, shook his head quickly. âNothing. Fine. Iâm fine. Dandy. Peachy.â
You narrowed your eyes. âYou look like you swallowed a Niffler.â
âProbably deserves it,â Lee muttered, nudging George.
Then George, grinning wide, leaned in across the table. âHey Fred, who would you say has the best⌠assets in Gryffindor?â
Fredâs mouth opened. âY/Nâs tits could end wars.â
Silence.
You choked on your pumpkin juice. Ron dropped a fork. Hermioneâs mouth fell open.
Fred blinked, then smacked his own forehead. âOh bollocks.â
Leeâs expression morphed into horror. âThat was⌠not what I expected.â
George grabbed Fred by the arm. âWeâre leaving.â
âIâd let her ride my face for hours,â Fred added as he was yanked from the bench.
âFRED!â Hermione shrieked.
You sat frozen in place, mouth slightly open, cheeks burning red.
What the actual fuck was that?
⸝
Part 2: The Escape Plan
âWHAT were you thinking?â Fred hissed in the dorm later that night, pacing like a man possessed. âTruth serum? Veritaserum?! On me?! Have you met me?â
âTo be fair,â George said, trying not to laugh, âwe thought weâd get you to admit to stealing Leeâs Quidditch socks. NotâŚâ
âThat I wank to the sound of her voice?!â
Lee winced. âYeah, that was⌠vivid.â
Fred dragged a hand through his hair. âSheâs never going to look at me again.â
âWell, she did look at you. Her face was redder than a tomato.â
âShe probably thinks Iâm a creep!â
âYou are a creep,â George muttered. âBut a very charming one.â
Fred groaned. âI need to avoid her.â
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause if I see her again, Iâll say something worse. You donât know what I think about.â
Lee raised an eyebrow. âWorse than wanting to be her human furniture?â
Fred gave them a haunted look. âSo much worse.â
⸝
Part 3: The First Confrontation
You tried to corner him two days later.
He was fleeing the Great Hall like a man on fire.
âFred!â you called, jogging after him. âOi! Slow down!â
Fred turned a corner and ran straight into Peeves.
âBugger,â he muttered.
That gave you time to catch up. You grabbed his sleeve. âAre you seriously avoiding me?â
âIânoâyesâI meanâdonât take it personally!â
âI am taking it personally!â
Fred backed into the wall, looking anywhere but at you. âItâs the serum. I didnât mean to say all that.â
âBut you did say it.â
âI didnât want to!â
âBut you meant it.â
Fred whimpered. âMerlin, yes, I meant it! Have you seen yourself?! Your legs go on forever and Iâve literally written poems about your arse in Divination!â
You blinked. ââŚWhat?â
âI once dropped a book on purpose just to watch you bend over,â Fred said helplessly. âYou moaned when you picked it up and I nearly fainted.â
Your mouth dropped open.
Just then, George appeared.
âThere you are!â he said loudly, grabbing Fredâs arm. âCome on, weâve got detention, remember?â
Fred practically leapt away from you.
âIâLL WRITE YOU A LETTER!â he shouted over his shoulder as George dragged him off.
⸝
Part 4: The Confessions Escalate
By the fourth time, you werenât even surprised.
You found Fred alone in the Astronomy Tower, hiding behind a tapestry.
He looked up at you with a guilty expression. âI was hoping you wouldnât find me.â
âI always find you.â
He sighed. âI know. You smell like ink and sugar quills. Itâsâughâitâs delicious.â
You bit your lip.
He stood slowly. âIâve imagined you riding me in that chair in McGonagallâs classroom.â
âFred.â
âIn the library. Up against the restricted section. Iâd lift your skirt andâfuck, I need to shut up.â
Your legs went weak.
âI canât stop, Y/N. Every time I see you, my brain goes straight to filth. You make me feel like Iâm thirteen again and discovering what a hard-on is.â
You opened your mouthâjust as Leeâs voice echoed from below.
âFred, come on! You said five minutes!â
Fred sighed in relief. âSaved by the bastard.â
You grabbed his sleeve. âOne day, they wonât be around to save you.â
Fredâs expression changed. âAnd on that day, Iâm going to ruin you.â
Fred avoided you for another week.
You couldnât so much as glance at him without George or Lee flanking him like Aurors on guard duty. If you sat down beside him, one of them magically needed him somewhere else. Every time he opened his mouth, one of them interrupted.
And yet⌠the things he did manage to say?
They haunted you.
âYou make me feel like Iâm thirteen again and discovering what a hard-on is.â
âIâve imagined you riding me in that chair in McGonagallâs classroom.â
âYou moaned and I nearly fainted.â
You replayed them in bed. At breakfast. During bloody Charms. And worst of all: Fred knew it.
Because every time your eyes met across the Great Hall or a corridor, heâd flush deep red and mutter something under his breath you couldnât quite catch.
And you were getting impatient.
Dangerously so.
⸝
The Breaking Point
It was late.
The Gryffindor common room had thinned out to just a few scattered students dozing near the fire. You were curled up in an armchair with a Transfiguration book you werenât really reading.
And then Fred walked in.
Alone.
Your heart nearly exploded.
He froze when he saw you.
You didnât even hesitate. âSit down.â
Fred looked torn between bolting or throwing himself into the fire.
âFred.â
He gave in with a heavy sigh and slumped onto the sofa across from you. His legs spread wide, one hand gripping the back of his neck.
âGeorge and Lee arenât here to save you this time,â you said.
âI noticed,â he muttered.
You closed your book. âThen tell me.â
Fred stared into the flames for a long moment, jaw tight, lips parted like he was catching his breath.
And thenâ
âI think about fucking you more than I think about food.â
Your entire body went still.
Fred didnât stop.
âI wake up hard. Every morning. From dreams about you. Last week I came in my pants because I dreamed you were sitting on my face.â
Your legs pressed together instinctively.
Fredâs voice dropped, ragged and low. âYou were begging. Grinding down on me. Your thighs shaking. I could taste you in the dream.â
You swallowed hard.
Fred ran a hand over his face. âEvery time you wear that little skirtâthe grey oneâI imagine you bent over a desk. Iâd lift it, pull your knickers to the side, and fuck you so hard the books fall off.â
Your thighs clenched.
âI want you to make those little sounds Iâve only ever imagined. I want to bury my face between your legs and not come up for air. I want your fingers in my hair while I make you fall apart.â
âFredâŚâ you whispered.
âI want to ruin every surface in this bloody castle with you. I want your nails down my back, your voice hoarse from screaming my name.â
Your breath hitched. âJesus.â
âAnd itâs not just sex,â he went on, words speeding up like they were desperate to escape. âItâs you. Itâs your laugh. The way you make me feel like Iâm flying when you look at me. I love you. Iâm completely, helplessly, humiliatingly in love with you.â
Silence.
Fred stared at you, chest rising and falling hard, like heâd just run a marathon. âAnd I wasnât supposed to say any of that. I was supposed to keep pretending I was fine.â
You were on your feet before your brain could catch up.
You crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him.
It was fire. Messy. Desperate. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his hands gripping your hips like heâd die if he let go.
He moaned against your mouth, and it shot straight through your core.
You pulled back just enough to speak. âFred?â
âYeah?â
âStill under the serum?â
âWearing off,â he whispered. âBut Iâd say it anyway.â
You kissed him again, harder.
Fred groaned, pulling you into his lap without warning, and you straddled him without hesitation. His hands dragged up your thighs, pushing your skirt up until his palms were hot against your bare skin.
âYouâre even better than the dreams,â he mumbled, lips brushing your neck.
âThen make new ones,â you breathed. âWith me.â
Fredâs grin was sinful. âWitch, Iâm going to ruin you.â
Fredâs expression changed. âAnd on that day, Iâm going to ruin you.â HELLO MASTERPIECE đŠđĽđŽâđ¨ my jaw on the floor, my heart in his hands đ
