When Jack takes off his prosthetic, he has no time to prepare himself for how his daughter looks at the most complicated part of his body with her toddler curiosity.
Chubby has seen her father without his leg before, obviously. There are only so many ways to preserve mystery when she doesn’t believe in closed doors, and Jack’s routine of (slight and tight) relaxation involves removing Leggy, his prosthetic. Leggy is her friend, and sometimes it needs cleaning. She gets to put stickers on the thing and tries feeding it yogurt.
But even with all the familiarity she has with her dad’s lack of leg, you and Jack should’ve expected the question to be asked at some point.
“Chubs, c’mon. You need your pajamas.”
“No pee-jams. No!”
Sitting on your bed in her diaper, Chubby keeps escaping your attempts to pull pajamas over her head.
“You’re naked.”
She looks down at herself, considering your accusation.
“I get diaper. Not naked.”
…Well. She got you there.
“She got you there—”
“I know, Jack.”
Jack sits at the edge of the bed as he unfastens his prosthetic, and you glare at him. He pulls it free.
“She sleeps between us half the time. The body heat of two parents and enough blankets to suffocate a horse works well to keep her warm. But sweetheart, listen to your mother—”
When he sets his prosthetic against the nightstand, Chubby stops trying to crawl away. She sits between the pillows and looks at Jack’s residual limb. The sudden stillness gets your attention first.
When Jack notices, his hand moves to rest over the end of his thigh, as if there’s something indecent about her seeing too much of the part of him that she has literally helped you clean before.
She tilts her head.
“Dada, where leg go?”
Jack glances at his prosthetic, propped up. “Right there.”
“No. That’s Leggy. Other leg. Where it go?”
You lower her pajama shirt into your lap as you know Jack too well to understand that the muscles in his jaw settle in a way that tells you he doesn’t want to answer the question. That he’s arranging his body around her question, and you can’t stop him.
Even if you could, you wouldn’t, because if you know your daughter well enough, too, she’ll know how to charm the hurt into something beautiful.
“I don’t have it anymore. I lost it. You know that.”
He’s been better than good about his leg long before you. He’s let Chubby knock on the socket like it was a door.
...He pretended to answer. But this ain’t a joke. His daughter is looking at him and realizing that his body is different.
He goes still, but he doesn’t stop her when she reaches out and presses a hand to his thigh.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, not right now.”
She plops down next to him, criss-cross-applesauce style. Jack looks at you, but not to plead, which is obvious. He’d probably chew off his other leg rather than ask to be rescued from a conversation with his little girl. But…you see the clear uncertainty, because you’re so good at making big things fit inside small, soft words.
You just nod.
Go on. Tell her there was a world where you existed without either of us and almost stopped existing altogether. Maybe leave the parts that still visit you in your dreams for when she’s older. All she knows is that you kiss me too much and sometimes uses a scary voice when I accidentally leave the door unlocked.
“My leg got hurt pretty badly.”
“Mommy fix with Leggy?”
Oh. That’s a heartkiller. Jack looks at you again, swallowing.
“No, baby. I didn’t know Mommy yet.”
Chubby turns to stare at you. She’s disturbed by this. You understand totally. A world in which you and Jack did not know each other feels unreal to you, too.
“Mommy not there? Who fix you?”
“Doctors helped me. They tried to fix the hurt leg, but it was hurt too badly. So they had to take it away to help the rest of me get better.”
Chubby stares down at the rounded end of his thigh, her small fingers curling into his shirt.
“You were sick like me? Like Mommy when she cough?”
“Sicker than that. I was in the hospital for a while.”
“You cry?”
…Oop. That is also a heartkiller, the way she says it. The way Jack sighs.
“Probably.”
“You were scared?”
Jack lowers his eyes at Chubby’s question. He feels as much as he feels he should lie. He could easily…well, not easily, but he could tell her that Dada knew everything would be okay and that he was brave.
But she deserves more than that. She may be too small for the truth of fear, but she doesn’t deserve some false version of her dad. That’ll make the truth harder to take down the line. He doesn’t know if he could handle that.
“Yeah, I was scared.”
Chubby’s face goes blank before it twists at the fact she’s just learned that her father can hurt. Of course, you should expect a tantrum or a wail for her dada, the immovable object of her life. The broad chest runs into, and the deep voice that makes the monsters beneath her bed dumb for even trying.
Her eyes begin to tear up. Her lips begin to pout. You instinctively shift closer, but Jack rubs her back first.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.”
Anyway, Jack should think it beautiful and flattering that his being scared is harder for her to understand than his having one leg…considering it’s the most his heart can do before it dies on itself at her cries.
…The way yours is right now.
“Dada scared!”
“I was, but that was a long time ago.”
Her lip trembles as she sniffles.
“Your leg gone, you almost gone?”
…You’re not sure if Chubby even knows what she’s asking. Gone to her usually means work, or when you have to use the bathroom, and she can’t handle it. Or when she throws bun-bun under the couch.
But, apparently, she’s put enough of the pieces together, and when you look at Jack, you think he’s the man that must’ve been in that hospital bed.
You lay your hand over his before your tearducts can follow your daughter’s.
“I’m here now, baby—”
“No! Don’t go Dada! No Dada go!”
Chubby scrambles into him and locks her arms around his neck. Jack hugs her, which is too easy considering how tiny she is.
“I’m right here, baby.”
“No go.”
“I’m not going anywhere right now.”
You hear the care he takes with the last two words, because Jack never promises forever, not with the future that he watches like a hawk. And as annoying as it is, you understand his point.
But when your baby girl lifts her head and looks into his eyes, you understand the way he breaks in on himself.
“Stay, Dada.”
And jeez, how can he not at that? You, though? Breaking inward—silently, that’s not your style.
“...Dada’s not going anywhere. Can’t. I’ve got two girls to take care of.”
jack x reader || authors note: tiktok inspired me cuz today i saw that this girl was dating some forty two year old and he called her purse a pocketbook lol
—
there were little tiny moments, you know, the kind that made her stop and really think..
oh, he’s fifty.
like the time when they had just finished eating dinner at their favorite sushi restaurant.
as she stood, he said, "baby, don’t forget your pocketbook."
she blinked at that.
"my what?" she gawked.
"your pocketbook." he said nonchalantly. pushing his chair in
"you mean, my purse?"
he had the audacity to look at her like she was the strange one. "same thing." he scoffed.
she stared at him for a second before laughing.
"jack." she gasped.
"what?" he threw up his hands dramatically.
"who still says pocketbook?" she said, grabbing her purse before he grabbed her hand to pull her away from the table.
he gave her that look.
“no seriously!” she laughed.
"i don’t know, baby.” he playfully groaned. “people with manners?” he tried to defend as she moved her hands to wrap around his toned arm as they walked.
————
then, like clockwork he always refused to let her carry anything heavy— not because he thought she couldn't.
because, "i've got it."
"jack, it's literally two grocery bags.” she said as he took the bags out of her hands from where they stood next to car.
"and?" he called to her as he walked towards the front door.
“i can hold my own.” she pouted.
"c’mon baby, i like to do this f’you don’t be upset."
————
and don’t even get me started about how every single time they got in the car he’d rest his hand on the back of her seat while he reversed.
she bit her lip and smiled the first time she noticed it happen.
"you know your car has a backup camera." she chuckled.
"i know." he smiled, giving her the perfect view of his jawline as he glanced behind them.
"then why do you still do that?" she wanted to know.
he shrugged as he turned back towards the steering wheel.
she watched as he turned the volume up to the music as he said, "just a habit."
"it's kinda hot." she breathed, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked up at him from where she sat.
"yeah?" he smirked.
“yeah.”
————
of course he still printed boarding passes.
"jack..."
she in disbelief. she watched him fish out his backpack again to make sure they were in there.
“you know they're on your phone."
"i know." he said, zipping up the backpack and stringing it over his shoulder as they continued walking towards the terminal
"okay.. so why did you print them?"
"what if my phone dies?" he questioned, interlacing his fingers with hers.
"baby, we have a portable charger.”
"still."
she just smiled, stopping him to give him a small peck.
he hummed happily but was confused as to why she thought it was so cute.
———————
and out of habit, he'd send her articles. and nope.. not tiktok’s or reels. he sent her actual news articles.
he honestly thought she’d find them interesting.
so, she would open them almost immediately whenever she’d get the text.
jack: Check this out.
finally, one day as she sat on the couch she just needed to know
"babe..”
"hm?" he looked up from his phone, pushing up his glasses that were resting on the bridge of his nose.
"it's twelve paragraphs."
"uh, yeah." he nodded before looking down at the phone. reading the same article that he had just sent to her.
"there isn't even a video."
"why would there be?" he said in confusion, shaking his head.
hey... i have a request smau... maybe the reader is a shy bookworm, is a cat person, loves dresses and skirts, and Jack teases her a little (in a nice and slightly flirty way, of course) that his shy cute girly girlfriend reads smut, and dark romance. 🤗🤍🌸
summary: jack couldn’t stand you. not your smart mouth, not your attitude and definitely not how good of a nurse you were. he should’ve ignored it. instead, you had a way to get under his skin and ruin his controlled demeanor he spent years crafting.
content: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, age gap, no use of y/n, pet names, work romance, praise, probably medical inaccuracies, reassurance, slow burn, praises, mutual pining, tension, reader is a little bratty, night shift crew, a little day shift crew
word count: 5.9k
author’s note: i changed the appearance for this fic and i started writing with capitals like requested in my poll, tell me if you like it!!
look at my masterlist and join my taglist here!
Most of the day shift staff were going home, making their goodbyes with a smile on their faces. Dana was always the last one to go. She had a long day, so you and Lena insisted on making her leave now.
“We can handle that,” you assured, taking the tablet from her hand. "Go home, Dana.”
“You’re probably right…” she started, feeling the exhaustion run through her body. “I’ll go rest. Have a nice shift, sweetheart!” she smiled while slowly fetching her things to head out.
This beautiful moment got interrupted by the voice of your attending.
“Got news on Central 8?” he asked as he walked toward the nurse's station.
“No, results are still pending. I would’ve told you if they weren’t.”
He checked on the patient’s chart before letting you know his speculations.
“It’s most likely anxiety. He had a crisis before.”
"There are no cardiac results yet,” you added to avoid categorizing every young person with anxiety without further proof.
“He’s 22 with generalized anxiety. He doesn’t need all of that.”
“He’s also diaphoretic and rates the pain an 8.”
“He was hyperventilating and Googled his symptoms multiple times before coming in. It is a panic attack.”
“Yeah, right, because Google is known to be reliable,” you argued. “I’ll just tell him Dr. Google was right and he’s having a panic attack, even if there’s no CT scan to confirm it.”
He leaned on the nurse’s station counter, ready to enumerate his thought process. “EKG is fine, no risk factors, no family history. What makes you think it’s not anxiety?”
“Did you actually see him recently? He looks worse than when he came in!”
He took a second to think about it before nodding.
“Alright, repeat vitals, wait for troponin, and we escalate if things are getting worse, better?”
At the same time, the labs came back. You looked at them, angling the screen toward you to avoid any possible glances from him. As you read them, it was clear that it was just a panic attack.
Jack immediately got it when he saw your reaction. He tried not to act cocky to respect your professional opinion, but it felt so good to shut that smart mouth from time to time.
“Panic attack?”
“Yeah… But I had good reasons to be unsure!”
He rolled his eyes, but a small laugh betrayed what he really thought. You knew he liked having people in his team who hypothesized about everything instead of treating without thinking.
“Good job, kid,” he finally admitted, leaving for another patient’s room.
Once you were left alone, you quickly ran to the break room to take an energy drink from the vending machine that you carefully placed beside your computer.
“Need you in trauma 2!” Mateo yelled from the room.
“What happened?” you asked, ready to help how you could.
As everyone gathered around the person you needed to treat. The night shift attending repeated what was said by the paramedics who had already left.
“19-year-old male, sudden onset of shortness of breath while playing basketball. No trauma. Vitals are HR 118, BP 112/72, RR 28, and SAT 93% on room air.”
Nazely made the decision to speak with the patient face-to-face in order to comprehend his condition. “History of asthma?”
“I have a mild one, but I have an inhaler.”
“Give him a NEB and some oxygen. It could be asthma exacerbation,” Abbot ordered, placing himself at the foot of the bed with his strong arms behind his back. He was prepared to take charge.
You listened to his chest before coming to another conclusion. “Breath sounds are diminishing on the right side,” you informed while trying to keep it proficient in front of the young man in the bed.
“It can still be bronchospasm,” he validated with his confident tone.
“Look at his stats. 91% on oxygen. Probably a pneumothorax.”
“Alright… Let’s ultrasound him then.”
He knew better than to uniquely trust his judgment, especially when it came to high-priority cases. You could really get on his nerves at times, but he’d never minimize your knowledge.
He asked the new intern to do the ultrasound while he talked her through it.
“Okay, a little more on the right, Dr. Toomarian. Now, tell me, what do you see?”
“It looks like a pneumothorax,” she replied with her eyes concentrated on the screen.
“Good, let’s set up for needle decompression,” he concluded, clapping his hands together before stepping away to let the doctors and nurses work their magic.
He turned to look at you. You were right and probably going to brag about it.
In fact, you wasted no time smiling and tapping his shoulder while leaving the room. Already too crowded to make yourself useful.
“1-1, looking forward to being right again!”
He shook his head and turned toward the team of professionals working on the young guy.
You walked to another patient for an IV line with your drink in hand.
A high school girl who had way too much to drink needed fluids because of dehydration.
As you helped her, you gave her some advice.
“Akari, you need to drink water when you take alcohol; otherwise, you’ll end up here again.”
“I know… I just wanted to get drunk, but it was too much at once, I guess,” she mumbled with a tired voice.
“Why did you want to get drunk?”
“I just don’t have any actual friends, and I just wanted to forget about it and go to a party. Ended up here…”
“I understand, but I hope you know that drinking won’t solve anything, right? I see too many people die because of alcoholism to let you go down that path. As for the friends part, have you tried to talk about it with a therapist?”
“She wouldn’t give me friends…”
“No, but she could help you deal with not having friends and how to find new ones. Friendships are hard to find and harder to keep. Don’t think that high school is the only place where you’ll meet people. I don’t talk to anyone from there.
“Really? Not even one person?”
“No, I was feeling lonely for a while, but it gets better. Now, I have friends from work and nursing school that I hold close to my heart.”
“I hope it’ll get better then,” she wished in a low tone.
You were already finished with her IV drip, and you thought about all the charting you needed to complete, so you excused yourself and left.
As soon as you were seated on the chair, Abbot was there.
“What are you working on?” he confidently asked as he sat down next to you.
“None of your business. Ellis is on the case, not you.”
“I’m her boss. Give me the presentation.”
“52-year-old male, chest pain for an hour, classic symptoms. He’s stable for now.”
You tried to focus on the computer in front of you, but his presence pulled your eyes toward him. You weren’t used to having anyone close to you while you charted.
“‘For now’ isn’t a vital sign. I need numbers, kid.”
You sighed and read the information written down previously. “BP 148/92, heart rate 104, O₂ 96. Do you want me to list his horoscope too?”
“No, but I need you focused,” he severely answered, making you raise your eyebrows. He never talked back like this when you were with him. “Sorry, my leg hurts… ECG?”
You ignored the topic of his leg, not wanting to bother him with that and not knowing how to even talk about it with him.
“I was about to do one.”
“You’re too late. Chest pains get an ECG in the first ten minutes.”
“I was busy! Since when are you the protocol police?”
“Since I’m now winning, 2-1,” he winked as you were trying to pierce holes through his soul with your harsh stare.
You headed to North 22 to see this 52-year-old man without a second word to Jack.
It was way longer than necessary because of how talkative he was. Your aluminum can was empty by the end, so you discreetly stole Abbot’s coffee cup from his desk. It was quicker than making one.
Unfortunately, he noticed by the second. He had sharp eyes for an old man. You barely had time to take two sips when he approached you from behind and smoothly removed the cup from your hand.
“That’s mine; you should ask permission,” he stated, drinking from the cup to prove his point further.
“It was left alone. Finders keepers, doc.”
“Your hands are shaking because of the energy drink you took. I’m not letting you have more caffeine.”
“You want to act like my dad now? I’m a grown woman; I can drink whatever I want.”
He suddenly got called for something else. It seemed like you were going to win this one.
──୨୧──
The end of the shift came quicker than you expected. You had to make an attending physician sign your charts; you usually went with Shen, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Lena, have you seen John? I need him to sign my chart of the night,” you asked your supervisor with a tablet in your hands.
“He’s busy in trauma 1. Why don’t you ask your other attending?” She pried with a knowing expression.
“He’s too strict! I would’ve had to edit everything until 2 pm if I made him look!”
She completely ignored you and grabbed Jack by his strong arm while he was passing by.
“There you are!” She exclaimed, guiding him towards you.
“You okay, Lena? Didn’t overwork yourself tonight?” He asked in his annoyingly caring tone.
“It was a long night, I’m happy to go home, now…” She started by adding the rest in a happier voice. “Talking about going home, you need to sign her chart!” She concluded before leaving you alone.
“I’m fine, I’ll wait for Shen,” you finished directly without making him utter a single word.
“No, I’m here, he’s not. I’ll review it,” he harshly pointed out, crossing his arms and holding eye contact to drive his point home.
“You’ll make me add and edit stuff! I want to go home.”
He held out his hand to get the tablet.
“Give it to me, kid. I don’t like to argue with you.”
“Watch me.”
You looked at him for a second, but your eyes felt too heavy, and your bed never felt so appealing.
“Okay, there you go, then. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Wow, you must be very tired,” he said, with a small smirk peeking out, starting to read what you wrote down for your patient. “Last time took us a good fifteen minutes.”
You rolled your eyes, but he gave back the tablet with his signature.
“How many hours did you sleep last night?”
“Well… It’s a little too personal. I don’t think we’re at this level of-“
“You spelled 'abdominal' wrong three times. Consider yourself lucky that I care about the well-being of my nurses.“
“Oh my god, you’re letting it slide, what’s happening to professionalism?” You asked in a fake, shocked expression.
“Go to bed.”
You nodded while packing your things in your bag.
“Do you have a drive home?”
“I’ll drive myself home like the grown woman I am.”
“No, you won’t,” he ordered like it was the most obvious thing on the planet.
“No?” You repeated.
“You’re not driving, I will,” he stated before walking to his locker, expecting you to follow.
“Heck no, you aren’t! You’ll try to kidnap me or even murder me!”
He stayed silent, but walked to his locker to get his belongings.
“I had a long day, can you cut it and come with me, please?”
“Fine…”
“Good,” he smiled while putting his camo backpack on his right shoulder.
You silently walked to his car. The hard work from your night is catching up to you.
“You did great out there,” he praised as he opened the passenger door for you.
“I know…”
He let out a soft chuckle at your usual cockiness. You could tell you weren’t the only one who was exhausted. As he got into the driver’s seat, you decided to address it.
“So… tough day?”
“Yeah, I had a woman who came in today with breast cancer.”
“Tough case, why did she come in?”
“Febrile neutropenia.”
“It’s common during chemotherapy. Why did it shake you like that?”
“Probably because it made me think about my wife. I miss her a lot.”
“Oh… Sorry… I… I don’t know what to say but sorry…”
“You’re good, I just needed to let it out,” he began, his hand tightening its grip on the wheel. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good, I couldn’t handle it,” he softly chuckled as he ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair.
“Okay,” you awkwardly answered.
He was seeing a therapist, and he had friends. What were you supposed to do?
He dropped you off at your place and agreed on a time to come pick you up tomorrow.
“6:40 tomorrow?” He asked with a gentler tone than usual.
“6:45.”
“6:43?”
“6:44.”
“Don’t push it, kid.”
“Okay, see you!” You finished before leaving his truck and getting to your apartment complex.
──୨୧──
He was there at 6:40 the next day, and you opened the passenger door at 6:45. He was fidgeting with his prosthetic when you entered.
“Hi, doc!” You energetically greeted him with a large cup of iced coffee in your hand.
“You’ve never looked so happy to see me,” he pointed out with a small smile, waiting for you to buckle up before starting the car.
“I know; extremely out of character. I just got a new coffee machine, and it’s my second one of the evening.”
“You’re not having more coffee than this one. I don’t want you having a heart attack at work.”
“You’re just afraid that I’ll be too great and treat all of my patients in record time!”
“…Or that your energy will completely fade and that you’ll need breaks every two minutes.”
“I’ve survived with more caffeine during med school! I’ll be fine,” you reassured while taking a sip.
He tightened his grip on the wheel and shook his head.
You entered the hospital with him close behind you.
“Quicker, we’re almost late,” he commands with a hand close to your waist without actually touching it.
“Time is a social construct,” you corrected with a small smile toward him.
“Go to reports.”
You went to see Dana and hugged her.
“Hey, sweetheart, slept well? Ate well?”
“Well and well, you?”
She chuckled and signed something before taking her bag from under the desk.
“Wow, we’re leaving at 7 pm? Who are you, and what happened to my favorite nurse?”
“Heard that!” Lena yelled from the other side of the emergency room.
“How?” You whispered to Dana, who didn’t care about it.
“My daughter’s back in town. We’re going to dinner together,” she explained, undoing her hair from her now-messy bun.
“Good for you, then! Have a great evening. I’ll have Princess update me.”
“She’s in North 10. Got thrown up on today. Go easy on her, she won’t handle you like Abbot does.”
Paramedics entered with Jack and a woman on a stretcher. He wasted no time giving Dana a presentation.
“34-year-old female, 20-foot fall from a ladder. No reported LOC and GCS of 15. Complaining of severe lower back pain and right wrist pain, unable to ambulate after the fall. Where do I put her?”
“Trauma 2 just opened!”
“Kid, you’re with me. Ellis and Henderson, too!”
You nodded, and everything went quickly from there. It was the usual trauma bay chaos. The only place where you could enter a state of deep focus. The paramedics shot the vitals and the important information before leaving as Abbot placed himself at the foot of the bed.
“Do a FAST exam, kid,” he ordered as he moved on to something else for someone else.
“FAST is clean. Love that for us,” you commented with a smile.
“Great, do another survey!” He commanded, shifting his weight from his working to non-working leg with a small groan.
You mentally noted his visible discomfort but continued to treat the patient until she got stabilized and sent upstairs.
As she entered the elevator with a crowd of medical professionals around her, you sanitized your hands and went to your attending.
“Hey, looked older than usual out there,” you joked as his eyes were on the TV to choose a new case to work on.
“Cut it and take a patient. Lena needs help. Day shift was busy and left us with the leftovers.”
“Fine, which case are you on?”
“Take your own.”
“Then, I’ll work on my snack case.”
“No, you’re with me.”
“Yay!”
He sighed and took a tablet.
“We’re going to South 5.”
“What’s in South 5?”
“55-year-old man with right lower quadrant abdominal pain, probably early appendicitis.”
You nodded and entered his room. Abbot introduced both of you. The patient looked normal if you ignored a mildly uncomfortable expression and a hand covering his right side.
You gave Jack a spinning chair to sit down, knowing that if he refused, it would prove your point further.
“No, I’ll do the physical exam now.”
“Right,” you replied, even if it wasn’t right. “Sir, can you rate your pain on a scale from one to ten?”
“I’d say a five, maybe a six when I move.”
“Nausea?” Jack asked as he inspected his abdomen.
“A bit, but nothing else,” he reassured.
You saw your attending wince as he needed to walk to the other side of the bed to inspect his other side.
Once the exam was done, you both walked to the nurse's station. Jack was next to you, but he remained slightly behind.
“Get him bloodwork, CBC, CRP, UA, start IV, and you can keep NPO. We’ll image after labs.”
“You’re limping.”
“I’m walking,” he corrected, but anyone could see that he was favouring his right leg to the absent one.
He leaned on his desk before painfully sitting down and starting his charting of the night.
“You’re limping like an eighty-year-old man!”
“I’m fine,” he finished.
“Get up then,” you ordered, wanting to prove your point.
“It’s- Fine,” he finally obliged and got up with a pained face that he couldn’t hide at all.
“Ok, supply closet, now,” you commanded with a newfound authority.
“Labs aren’t-“
“Jack.”
He looked around and saw how everyone was doing their tasks and minding their business. He felt hands on his chest pushing him toward the closet he’d prefer to avoid.
“Come on, grandpa, limp to the closet.”
“Oh, I know you did not just call me grandpa!”
“Dang, getting deaf too?”
He let out a dry laugh before hardly sitting on the floor of the supply closet with a tiny whimper.
You closed the door and kneeled beside him.
“Let me see,”
“I’ll treat it myself, you’re needed in North 9.”
“Let me help you for once. You’d do the same for anyone else.”
He paused and looked down at his leg with a sad face. Slowly, he pushed his pants up to uncover his prosthetic before removing it.
As he revealed the injury, you tried not to react. You’re a nurse, you’ve seen way worse. However, this time was different. It was more difficult to see. The skin was reddened, indicating a pressure ulcer, probably at stage 2.
“Don’t put anything in the charts.”
“And how can I be sure that you’ll get it checked?”
“I will… Hurts like hell,” he confirmed with a raspy voice.
“Yeah, that’s usually why people go see a doctor before it gets that bad,” you replied while putting on gloves and gathering saline and a sterile gauze.
“I was managing it.”
You stared at him, putting a little more pressure on the wound, making him wince.
“Every time I thought about taking time off to get it healed, I thought about why everyone needed it more than me,” he explained, looking back at you with soft eyes.
“You think being useful is the same thing as being worthy.”
He slowly nodded to take in what you were saying.
“It’s not,” you added.
You applied a bandage to his wound with extra padding before continuing to talk.
“You can’t walk the rest of the shift with that, you’re going home, doc.”
“I’m probably going to have some days off,” he said in a low tone to prevent his voice from cracking.
“And get it treated.”
He sighed, putting his prosthetic back on.
“I’ll call them once I get home.”
“Wow, we’re making progress here!” You congratulated him as you got up and gave him a hand to go the same.
As you opened the door to go back into the ER, you almost collided with Ellis. She paused, looking at the two of you in the small supply closet, and resumed as if nothing had happened.
“I don’t even want to know,” she started, grabbing saline from one of the shelves. “You’ll text me the details later, though,” she asked you as she went back in the patient’s room.
──୨୧──
It’s been some hours since your shift started, and you felt weird. His annoying presence didn’t feel annoying anymore, but needed. One morning, after work, you subconsciously drove to his place instead of yours. You only noticed when you were parking your car.
You walked there with furrowed eyebrows. You never went somewhere uninvited, and it was so inappropriate to go to a coworker’s place on top of that.
You didn’t have time to knock, and the door opened, you flinched at the unexpected movement.
“Hi,” you smiled, not sure about what to say.
“I saw your car in the parking,” he answered as you awkwardly nodded.
He was wearing black sweatpants with a black t-shirt that was probably too tight for his big arms. It felt strange to see him in something other than scrubs but also comforting in a way you couldn’t explain.
There was a silence. You were searching for any type of excuse to explain why you were there at 9am but there were none. You had his number; you could’ve texted.
“Come in, kid,” he invited in his gentle voice.
His apartment was spacious and a little luxurious if you were being honest. The doctor’s salary obviously came with some perks. It was very minimalist with not much furniture except the important ones. Some keys on the kitchen island and a yoga mat on his isolated patio were indicating he was actually living there.
“VA benefits are something… I’d join the military if I could get all this cash,” you commented while checking out his place.
“Don’t.”
“Come on! I wasn’t serious!”
“But I am. Do you want something to eat? I was going to make some pasta.”
“I’m not going to say no to a free meal. How’s your leg?”
“They gave me cephalexin“
“That’s not what I asked.“
“I can wear my prosthetic again.”
“Still not what I asked-“
“My leg is better.”
“Good, let me help you with dinner, I’m starving.”
“No, sit down and tell me how was work today,” he asked, secretly happy to have news from someone.
“There’s a new nurse in the night shift! Her name is Emma. She was in the day shift but she’s temporary switching to cover for Gabrielle because she’s going to Cancun for a week.”
“Good for her, she needed rest. You? You alright?”
“Yeah, I just feel empty without someone… It’s dumb because he’s always so annoying, but I think about him when something isn’t done his way,” you explained, feeling very vulnerable at the revelation.
“I think Gabrielle uses she/her pronouns,” he joked to make you feel better which gave you a small chuckle. “I’ll be back in three days. My leg’s almost healed and I can walk without pain.”
“That’s good to know… I edited my charts today. It’s crazy how much I make mistakes when I write.”
“Told you. With age comes wisdom,” he proudly announced while putting pasta in the boiling water.
“It also comes with dementia and Alzheimer.”
“I’m not that old, kid.”
You shook your head as you ran your fingers through your hair and untied them. They were messy from your hard night.
“Do you want to take a shower before dinner?” he proposed.
“…Is that your way of saying I smell?”
“You work in an emergency department.”
“Wow, just tell me I stink already.”
“Go, or it’ll be ready while you’re in the shower.”
“Don’t rush me!”
You felt a little awkward at the idea of taking a shower at his place but you still went in, desperate to feel clean again.
You unfolded a towel and wrapped it around you before realizing that you didn’t have any clothes to put on.
“Abbot?”
“Mhm?” he answered, concentrated on making the sauce.
“I forgot that I don’t have any clothes to wear.”
“Of course, I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized while going to his bedroom and looking through his wardrobe with you slightly behind him, looking over his shoulder.
“You barely have clothes!”
“Don’t lie,” he started, realizing that your observation might be true. He never felt like he needed more clothes. Most of his time was spent working in a uniform or sleeping.
“Okay, I don’t have tons but I have this,” he said before presenting you an old shirt with a university logo on it, probably one he had as a med student.
“Does it still exist?” you joked as you pointed to the uni’s name behind the shirt.
“Cut the crap, I’m not that old. Get changed while I make your plate.”
“Whatever you say but I’ll Google your uni after!” You said as he left you alone in his room.
You came back in the kitchen with his shirt and a pair of backup panties you kept in your purse.
“Do you want to eat on the couch?” He asked as he handed you your plate.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.”
You were sitting together, just eating without a word.
“Long day?”
“Yeah, I just got an energy crash. Luckily, I’m off tomorrow,” you informed with a relieved smile.
“Glad to hear it. You need rest.”
“You do too…”
He paused and broke eye contact to eat again with a small nod.
“You can sleep here if you want. You know I won’t let you drive if you’re too tired.”
“Where would I sleep?”
“My bed. I can sleep here.”
“Okay…”
He didn’t say anything else and finished his meal before taking your now-empty one and placing it in the sink.
You walked into his room. The bed wasn’t made, but it still looked clean and inviting.
“I have a charger for your phone here, and I’ll be in the living room if you need anything; I’m here.”
“I know,” you smiled as he halfway closed the door.
The room was pitch black except for the small light coming from the rest of the apartment. You lay on the bed and closed your eyes.
──୨୧──
You woke up at 3pm, during the time you’d sleep in. You had a nightmare about a patient you had.
A young girl who came in after a car crash was in critical conditions. Fortunately for everyone, you were able to save her. However, you dreamt you couldn’t, and it hunted you.
The teachers at your nursing school and your fellow nurses were all wrong when they said that you get used to the idea of loosing patients. Very few understand that it takes a very good mindset to understand that it’s not your fault. It’s simply not something you could do. How could you move on from having someone die when you were the one insuring their safety?
You needed to get out of this room and do literally anything else to go back to sleep without continuing the nightmare so you walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
You saw your attending doing the same thing.
“Stealing my ideas, I see,” you commented while taking the glass he made for himself and drinking from it.
He didn’t say anything about it and took another glass.
“Nightmare?” He asked before taking a sip.
“Yes, you?”
“Nightmare. You want to talk about it?”
You thought about what to say but your eyes just watered, and you looked up to prevent the tears from falling.
“Come here,” he whispered as he opened his arms for a comforting hug.
“I’m so emotional, I’m sorry,” you apologized as you were crying in his chest.
“You don’t have to apologize for that.”
You quietly cried for a moment, and he slightly rocked you to soothe your saddened feelings. His shirt smelled like fresh laundry and a manly cologne with woody notes.
It felt natural to stay like that. Even when you finished crying, he kept holding you, resting his chin on your head.
“I put some snot on your shirt.”
He slightly pulled away to check what you were saying, but he was quick to brush it off. “I had way worse on me.”
“Me too, but still… It’s so embarrassing…”
“It’s not. Do you want to take a sip of water?”
“Yeah, good idea,” you immediately agreed to change your mind with anything you could find.
You took some sips as he ran his hand up and down your back to prolong his reassurance.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” He asked with a low voice.
“I don’t know…”
“Do you want to watch TV?”
“No, bed sounds better… And you probably watch animal documentaries like old people.”
He smiled and didn’t correct you.
“Go back to bed, kid.”
You headed back but as you were entering the room, you turned around.
“Forget what happened, okay? I’m not a cry baby or anything like that.”
“I know.”
──୨୧──
Jack finally returned to work later in the week. It was a little awkward between you two. You haven’t found a balance between your usual dynamic and whatever that was in his apartment.
“Can you check on a patient in South 9? Risk of septic shock,” he informed as he was charting.
“Good morning to you, too. Yes, I had a good evening, and I slept well. Thank you for asking!”
“South 9.”
“You’re mean!”
“You’ll survive, go.”
You went to check on the patient. It was a middle-aged woman who was playing with her phone.
“Hi Mrs Romanov, are you feeling better?”
“I am, but I can’t figure out how to call my daughter,” she complained as she tapped the screen with a progressing agitation.
“We’ll call her for you. Is she an emergency contact?”
“Yes! You already called her, I just wanted to give her an update while she’s driving her.”
“Okay, we’ll do that. You just have to relax as much as you can for your health. Do you want something to eat or a journal to read?”
“No, I’m fine…”
“Good, I’ll check your vitals and let you rest.”
Once everything seemed normal, you left her alone and updated his chart to write the last visit.
“She’s okay?” Jack asked, charting for one of his many patient.
“Yes, I need to call her daughter, though.”
“We already called her.”
“I know, she just wants to update her daughter on her condition.”
Your comment made John and Lena, who were talking about a difficult case, turn around.
“Didn’t know Mrs Romanov had a VIP room,” John said with a moralistic undertone.
“I know, it’ll be quick!” You tried to convince him, but the red phone used for outside calls was placed in your hand by Jack.
“Let her, it’ll be quick,” he added to Shen as he stayed by your side with his hands behind him.
“Thanks,” you mouthed while you typed the number, making him leave.
After three minutes of conversation on the phone, you hung up and watched the TV in order to find something to busy yourself with.
“Come with me in the psych room,” Jack commanded before giving you a granola bar.
“Who’s that for?”
“You. You haven’t eaten yet.”
“How do you know? You were stuck in the trauma bay for all of the beginning of our shift.”
“Did you eat?”
“No, but I could’ve!”
“Take it.”
You rolled your eyes but took it and headed to the psych room as he described the case to you.
“17-year-old male, chief complaints are chest tightness and paranoia. He apparently took alcohol and marijuana. Eventually got too agitated and Henderson had to tie him down. You’ll give him 5 mg of zyprexa to calm him a little while I hold him.”
“Looking safe and harmless,” you sarcastically answered as you finished your snack and took the syringe in your hand.
You entered and Jack placed himself beside the boy to explain what he was going to do. He was very calm which surprised you considering how he was described. This room wasn’t a place you liked. You never felt confident there but you tried not to show it and stood next to your attending with a reassuring smile.
It’s only after you approached that you realized that he was restrained for a reason. Instinctively, Jack placed his arm across your chest like your mother used to do when she made a sharp stop in the car. You took a step back and stared at the screaming patient.
“Do you want to continue?”
You nodded and he held him down well. You injected him quickly and left immediately.
Abbot tried to conclude the interaction but the medicine wasn’t active yet and it was essentially just yells.
“Okay man, I’ll leave you alone,” he finally said as he left.
He noticed that you were watching the TV with your arms crossed. He made a mental note to never send you in that room again.
As Abbot approached you from behind, a hand automatically wanted to place itself on your lower back, but it stayed inches away. It was like a weird attraction pulled him close to you but pushed him out once he was close enough.
“You good?” He finally asked in a low voice.
You sighed and opened your mouth to say something but closed it after.
“…Never better,” you lied, hoping and craving that he could see right through you for once in your life.
“You’ll get home soon, and it will all be better, okay? Plus, you’re off Friday.”
“Yeah…”
Suddenly, a patient screamed. Without knowing why, you flinched. You were so focused on his words that you forgot where you were. It didn’t really matter because has you backed off during your scared moment, you felt his hand on your back.
You didn’t know what to say or do. Being sarcastic about it felt wrong. You were just frozen in place, looking at him. He wasn’t fazed by your reaction and used that hand to push your body closer to the nurse station to let someone pass.
It wasn’t normal at all, but you wanted for the first time in your life to watch National Geographic documentaries with Jack Abbot and stare at his mouth while he reexplained the scenes because you zoned out during one of the numerous long scenes.
“Kid, focus for a second.”
“What?” You asked as you noticed that you were shamelessly staring at his lips like a teenage girl.
“I’m off Friday.”
“Why would I care?”
He looked around, getting scared to ruin it all.
“Do I need to spell it out, kid?”
“Yes, please,” you answered with a smirk.
“Do you want to go on a date with me?”
Your smirk didn’t last long because it quickly got replaced by a full grin.
summary : Arthur and you are at the mayor’s garden party. Arthur, not being used to that kind of social atmosphere, is anxious. You assure him in the ways you know how.
masterlist ◞ follow for more
The mayor’s garden party was everything Arthur Morgan hated about high society.
Ladies in elaborate gowns, men in tailored suits, crystal glasses clinking, laughter that sounded more like performance than joy. The air smelled like roses and expensive perfume, not the honest dirt and leather he was used to. He tugged at the collar of the borrowed suit Hosea had forced him into, feeling like a fraud in someone else’s skin.
You stood beside him, arm looped through his, looking beautiful in a simple but elegant dress you’d borrowed from one of the girls back at camp. Your hand squeezed his gently, grounding him.
“You look handsome,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “Stop fidgeting.”
Arthur huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “I look like a damn peacock. This collar’s choking me.”
You laughed softly, the sound warm and real in the middle of all the fake politeness. “You’re the best-looking peacock here. And I’m the luckiest girl.”
He glanced down at you, eyes softening. “You’re the only reason I’m still here. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have climbed the fence and run back to camp by now.”
The mission was simple on paper: Dutch, Hosea, Bill, and Arthur were supposed to mingle, gather intel on the mayor’s connections, and look for opportunities. But Arthur’s real reason for coming was you. You’d insisted on tagging along — “I can blend in better than you boys” — and he couldn’t say no to you.
Now the five of you were scattered across the garden, playing parts. Dutch was charming a group of wealthy donors. Hosea was deep in conversation with a banker. Bill was… somewhere, probably eating all the hors d’oeuvres.
Arthur stayed close to you, one hand on your lower back, protective even in this civilized setting.
A woman in a massive hat approached, smiling brightly. “Oh, what a lovely couple! You must be new to our circle. What brings you here?”
Arthur tensed. You stepped in smoothly, smiling with perfect poise. “My husband and I are visiting from out of town. He’s in business. We heard the mayor throws the best parties in Saint Denis.”
The woman beamed. “How wonderful! You must try the champagne. It’s imported.”
As she drifted away, Arthur leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Husband, huh?”
You grinned up at him. “Seemed easier than explaining we’re just… us.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “I like the sound of it.”
The afternoon wore on. You mingled when you had to, but mostly stayed close to Arthur, stealing quiet moments between conversations. He was awkward in the crowd — too tall, too broad, too honest for their polished lies. But with you, he relaxed. His hand never left your waist. His thumb stroked slow circles on your hip through your dress, a small comfort in the middle of the performance.
At one point, a pompous businessman cornered you both, droning on about investments and “the future of the city.” Arthur’s jaw tightened, the muscle jumping. You could feel the tension in his frame.
You squeezed his hand. “Darling, remember what we talked about? We’re here to enjoy ourselves.”
The man blinked. Arthur forced a smile. “Right. Enjoying ourselves.”
When the man finally left, Arthur pulled you behind a large rose bush, out of sight. He leaned against the trellis, exhaling heavily.
“I hate this,” he muttered. “Smiling and lying and pretending we belong here. I feel like a damn fool in this suit.”
You stepped between his legs, hands resting on his chest. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re Arthur Morgan. The man who rides into danger for people he barely knows, who makes me feel safe in a world that isn’t. That’s who you are. Not this suit. Not this party.”
He looked down at you, green eyes soft. “How do you always know what to say?”
You smiled, rising onto your toes to kiss him. It was soft at first, then deeper, warmer. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer. For a moment, the party faded away. There was just you and him, hidden behind roses, stealing a kiss like two kids who weren’t supposed to be there.
When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “Even when I feel like I don’t fit. You make me feel like I belong.”
You kissed him again. “You belong with me. That’s all that matters.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of polite smiles and stolen moments. Arthur stayed close, hand on your lower back, occasionally leaning down to whisper something that made you laugh. He even danced with you once — clumsy but earnest, stepping on your toes twice before you both gave up and just swayed together.
When the party finally wound down, the four of you regrouped near the gates. Dutch looked pleased with whatever intel he’d gathered. Hosea was counting cards he’d won at a side table. Bill was carrying a suspiciously large bag of leftovers.
Arthur kept his arm around you the whole ride back to camp, quiet but content.
Later that night, by the fire, he pulled you into his lap, wrapping a blanket around both of you.
“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair. “For coming with me. For making it bearable. For… being you.”
You smiled, curling closer. “Always. My favourite outlaw in a fancy suit.”
He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Only for you.”
The fire crackled. The gang laughed in the distance. And Arthur Morgan held you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.
Because to him, you were.
a/n : he’s English I’m English this works he should marry me.. I don’t really mind if this flops because I just need to write for my bb
robby felt better letting jake go without him when he found out dennis was working it. dennis had said something about needing the extra money.
it was a little ridiculous. dennis wasn’t even ten years older than jake, but he was brilliant and nosy and more mature than robby ever was at that age, for sure.
when robby was alerted about the shooter, his first thought was jake, his second was dennis, his third was how the fuck am i going to get us all through this?
when jack walked in, and robby collapsed into his arms in front of everyone, robby whispered, “they’re there.”
jack squeezed his husband. “i know. i tried to call jake, but the towers must be jammed.”
robby almost started crying right then. jake. poor jake. he stepped back and shook his head, not leaving jack’s space to say, “dennis, too. dennis is working it.”
“what?” jack stilled, his fierce compartmentalization he’d been steeling in the car ride over had slipped. “are you sure?”
robby shut his eyes tight and nodded. “i gotta go organize some things.”
“yeah, yeah,” jack responded in a daze.
they’d never really talked about dennis before. he was a favorite dinner topic, sure, but there was no acknowledged importance. neither of them had the balls to bring it up.
he had a special place in their hearts, and they could only hope dennis’s was still beating.
rabbot ‘together since the start’ social media au:
Part 13/?
Masterpost
———
“Wha -?” Jack’s sleepy confusion is muffled against Robby’s lips. It’s early, the sun only just starting to peek in through the curtains of their Airbnb.
“Just had to kiss you,” Robby murmurs. “Sorry to wake you. I just - I saw your post and I fucking love you so much.”
Jack smiles, sleep soft and eyes half lidded.
“Love you more,” he murmurs. “Happy anniversary.”
Robby smiles, kissing him again, deepening it and caging Jack below him. “Happy anniversary.”
husband sammy bryant seeing you in the local fair funnel cake line, in a cute matching red set, belly round and alive. he’s coming up behind you as the sun is setting and wrapping his arms around your waist, rubbing your tummy while kissing the side of your neck. you’re shrugging him off, giggling, but to hot and bothered at the summer heat for him to be clinging to you. and he’s grumbling a “yeah yeah” and kissing your cheek before standing beside you in line and holding your hand <33.
Getting time off together can sometimes be a challenge, so when the stars do align in their favour, Jack likes to go and pick Robby up after his shift, so they don't waste a moment of it.
tags: jack abbot x reader, younger reader (late 20s), resident reader, fangirldotcom's full pope cody debut, jack thinks pope wants that cookie (reader), jealous jack abbot, reader tries not to explode with basically jack-squared in one room, pope is just there for the ride
notes: okay funny thing is I had this almost completed before I changed gears to write doppelbangers (which if you want to read click here) but I at least wanted to get this published because I love Pope, and I cannot wait to start writing for him! so please enjoy, and if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment on this post!
word count: 6.8k
The chairs had always felt vaguely cursed to you, even on good days.
On bad days—days where the waiting room smelled too strongly of antiseptic and drying blood, where somebody’s kid was crying near the vending machines, where a grown man was acting like a child as he yelled about missing insurance—it felt like corporal punishment in its purest form. You’d been down there for nearly two hours already, bouncing between triage and lacerations and flu symptoms and a man who had somehow managed to staple his own thumb at work only fifteen minutes into his shift.
By the third anti-vax mom, your patience had worn thin. And being exiled to chairs now felt less like staffing necessity and more like karmic retaliation. How were you supposed to know Robby was right behind you, listening in on very important Pitt gossip, and that he believed in the whole “if you had time to talk, you had time to work.”
Thus, you’d been sent off to chairs until Robby deemed you cleansed of your sins.
Because, unfortunately, chairs happened to be the closest thing the Pitt had to purgatory: the perfect place for hellfire and fractures and a waiting room from hell. People were packed shoulder to shoulder while irritated family members grumbled and complained about the temperature. The television in the corner played daytime reruns at an offensively loud volume, and every few minutes somebody new approached the desk asking how much longer the wait would be for something as simple (or ridiculous) as a cut hangnail. Their questions made you believe they thought you personally controlled time itself.
Which, if you did, you would have made your shift go by a lot faster.
But no. You did not control time. Time and a chief attending named Michael Robinavitch controlled you, and you hated every second of it.
By the time you pushed back through the waiting room doors with another chart in your hand, a mechanical smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes plastered across your face. Your eyes glued to the tablet in front of you with the name Mrs. Hill stuck between your teeth.
However, the name died in your throat after you glanced up.
There, in the corner, near the far wall, sat Jack Abbot, all hunched over in one of the molded plastic chairs with his elbows on his knees, body stiff as a board almost as to not touch the chair at all, and hood pulled over his head despite the warmth of the waiting room. Your brows pinched, confusion plastered all over your face. For a second, Jack sitting there genuinely made no fucking sense.
He was the night shift attending. He could walk through the ambulance bays whenever he needed. He’d be prioritized because the Pitt didn’t just look over one of their own and ban him to the chairs off all places to sit and wait with the rest of the common people.
Jack also never sat still enough to like a garden statue. Even through exhaustion, even post-shift, you noticed that he carried this restless energy about him, like if he stopped moving for too long, he might actually wither away.
You stared at him for another beat before walking over, Mrs. Hill be damned.
“What the fuck, Dr. Abbot,” you hissed, stopping in front of him. “What happened to you, and why didn’t you walk through the back?”
Jack slowly lifted his head, and a small something snagged uncomfortably in your chest. The feeling wasn’t alarming, and it wasn’t that guy from TikTok running back and forth across a field with an overly large flag yelling Red Flag! Red Flag! either. The cause of this feeling was the small curls peaking below the hood.
Jack’s hair had always been salt-and-pepper for as long as you’d known him in the Pitt, causing the very serious nickname of a true “silver fox” to be tossed around when he wasn’t listening. But right now, Jack’s hair was dark, richer, and auburn almost. Near his temples, the deep, reddish-brown curls were flat under the fabric.
But even with the recent hair dye, his face was Jack’s, your brain filling in the gaps automatically to the point you didn’t notice the way he was missing his sun spots and wrinkles that Jack normally dawned in the sexiest ways.
“Hit my head,” he finally replied quietly.
Even his voice sounded the tiniest bit off, however, your concern for him outweighed the missing features your Jack normally had.
You frowned, couching slightly so you could get a better look at him, Robby’s “words of wisdom” about getting on the patient’s level ringing in your head.
“Okay, that explains why you look like you got dragged behind an ambulance,” you said before reaching up to gently cup his face.
This time, you didn’t miss the way he flinched under your palms before settling as you tilted his head to find the injury.
“Did you pass out? Throw up? How long ago did it happen” You didn’t really wait for his answers before continuing, already slipping deep into assessment mode. “Actually, hold on, no, don’t answer all that because your pupils are clearly telling me you’re very concussed, and if you start slurring your words, you and I won’t get anywhere with delayed responses.”
Jack’s eyes fluttered shut as you talked to him, and the weird feeling bloomed under your skin again. When his hazel met yours again, you let his face go and stood to full height.
“C’mon, Dr. Abbot,” you sighed, motioning for him to stand. “You’re not sitting out here looking like a murder suspect all afternoon. Let me get you into a room before Robby sees you and starts berating me as to why you’re still out here.”
His eyes lifted to yours fully, and the intensity almost stopped you cold. Jack looked at people all the time—quick glances, assessing looks, sharp little observations hidden behind sarcasm—but the way he was looking at you now was different. This Jack, looking at least fifteen years younger, looked directly as you with a heavy kind of focus that should’ve felt unsettling, like he was trying to learn your family’s history with once glance. Unlike your Jack (which you were still convinced was sitting right in front of you), he felt almost dangerous in how still he was and how carefully he watched.
When he didn’t stand up to follow, you asked, “You gonna pass out if I make you walk?
“No.”
“Is your leg bothering you? I can get you a wheelchair if you need.”
“I can walk.”
“Great. Love your confidence.”
He stood slowly, hands never touching the handles, body towering over you once he straightened fully. Again, another disjointed feeling washed over you. Jack was tall, yes, but he was now carrying himself so opposite of how he normally did. Here, he seemed disconnected from the room, like feeling the air was inconveniencing him. Now standing, you caught another glimpse of bruising near the edge of his jaw as you guided him through toward an empty room down the hall.
His silence was starting to get uncomfortable, so you found yourself talking just to fill the unusual quiet between you, even if talking had gotten you banished to chairs in the first place.
“You know, Dr. Abbot, most people with concussions demand to be sent through immediately even if they aren’t an attending. Please tell me this isn’t you trying to not look weak in front of everyone? I bet they would rather you come through walking and talking than someone giving you a wellness check and finding you dead because you didn’t follow concussion protocol.”
Behind you, he stayed silent.
You busied yourself by pulling gloves on, still talking as he sat on the very edge of the exam bed, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists on his thighs.
“Seriously though, Dr. Abbot, you scared me for a second out there. You looked half-dead sitting in that chair, which, honestly, kind of impressive for you because you usually can’t keep still. I guess that’s why you do SWAT and stuff, huh? One of these days you’re going to find out you’re not actually immortal even though people talk like you are. But what would I know, I’m just a nurse while you spend your free time getting shot at.”
Finally, like broken pottery, the smallest smile cracked through his face. You blinked at him while his eyes refused to move anywhere but your face.
“Okay,” you said slowly. “You are being deeply weird today. Are you okay?”
His gaze dropped briefly before returning to your face. “Head hurts.”
“That would be your concussion talking.”
You stepped closer, gently tilting his head toward the light to examine the molted bruise near his temple. Unlike in the chairs, he didn’t flinch under your fingers this time. Up close like this, Jack’s differences stood out more. The lighting in the waiting room made everything seem worse under shadows, but the direct light washed away the wrinkles and lines around his eyes.
And still, he kept staring at you with an unwavering intensity that made your knees go weak and made a warmth creep up your neck.
“You’re very stare-y today,” you murmured distractedly while checking his pupils.
“Sorry.”
Your hands paused for a half a second at his promptness for an apology.
As far as you knew, Jack never apologized that fast.
However, the though slipped through your mind before you could stop it, but again, the concussion explained enough that you ignored every strange feeling creeping higher in your chest. Head injuries changed behavior sometimes. Personalities softened, reactions slowed, and people became emotional, subdued, clingy, and disoriented. You’d seen it first-hand countless times.
Still.
You moved back slightly to jot something onto the chart. “Any nausea?”
“A little.”
“Blurred vision?”
“Yeah.”
“Memory issues?”
His eyes stayed on you. “Maybe?”
“Can you tell me where you are?”
“Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital.”
You snorted softly. “Using the full government name. I see you Dr. Abbot. I’ll give you a gold star for incredible patient participation.”
He didn’t laugh or smile at that this time. You continued to fill out his chart: name, birthdate, allergies. Thankfully, most of it was already in the system. Your eyes rose back to his when you finished up, chart getting tucked under your arm as you pulled the gloves off.
“Okay, let me go get Robby since I highly doubt you’d want anyone else in here—”
“Can you not tell anyone I’m here?”
You cocked your head. “What?”
His jaw tightened slightly, gaze flickering briefly toward the closed door before returning to you. “Don’t want people knowing.”
Concern replaced every single weird feeling. Embarrassment after injuring wasn’t uncommon, especially with doctors, and even so more with attendings who weren’t used to being the ones under care. God knew Jack hated appearing vulnerable in front of his coworkers.
“You do know they’re not going to make fun of you for getting a concussion. Robby might poke fun, but you are like his best friend.” Your eyes glanced toward the door. “Okay, maybe his only friend,” you added on with a mutter.
He didn’t answer right away.
You leaned against the counter, studying him for moment. The intensity was still there in the way he watched you, but his eyes held a sadness you’d never seen before. The hazel hues dripped with a scarcity that made your heart clench.
After a moment, you conceded. “Okay. Fine. Your secret is safe with me, Dr. Abbot.” You pointed at him with your pen. “But only because you’re looking at me like that. Special privileges are frowned upon here.”
The faintly cracked almost-smile appeared again.
And God help you, it looked surprisingly pretty on him, making you want more of it.
_______________________
Purgatory had ended the moment you stepped out of the room and went diving head-first into the incoming trauma after Robby grabbed you by the shoulders and physically steered you into Trauma Room One. The entire department had gone from irritatingly busy to borderline catastrophic after a minor highway pileup flooded intake with a dozen patients and emergencies that clogged up the CT scan because their necks felt “a little weird.”
Softened and concussed Jack Abbot fleed from your mind as you called out BP’s and administered correct dosages. You’d spent most of the last hour speed-walking between rooms with granola bar shoved into the pocket of your scrub jacket, half-finished notes beneath your arm, and a headache steadily building behind your eyes by the sterile light that never gave up buzzing for even a second.
At one point, Dana moved you toward the break room and ordered you to eat something before you passed out in front of a patient.
At another, Whitaker had nearly stepped into a pile of vomit while reading a chart, which honestly might have been the funniest thing you’d seen all week.
Through it all though, you kept thinking about softened and concussed Jack. Every time you passed through the hallway leading toward his room, your eyes drifted toward the closed door, checking without meaning to whether he was still there. And honestly, you were surprised Robby hadn’t yelled at anyone—you—for taking up a room and not having a resident check in.
When you finally nudged the exam room door open again with your shoulder, two awful vending machine coffees balanced carefully in your hands, the room was dimmer than before. He must have lowered the lights while you were gone, and you silently cured yourself for not doing that on your way out.
To your surprise (or horror) he was sitting exactly where you’d left him on the exam bed, shoulders straight, back even straighter, hands still glued to his thighs like he didn’t know he was allowed to touch the bed beneath him.
His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, hitting you with that look before you could even mentally prepare for it.
Most people only half paid attention after hours in an ER room. Patients looked tired, distracted, and uncomfortable; doctors were worse. Jack especially had always operated at a hundred miles an hour, his attention split between six different thoughts at once even when he focused on you. Here in the exam room, he looked at you completely like he was tracking every little expression crossing your face the second you walked into the room.
The familiar warmth climbed embarrassingly fast into your chest and sat there.
“Oh, good,” you said quickly, mostly because the silence suddenly made you self-conscious. “You’re still alive. I was starting to think you’d turn into a statue or died sitting up in here. That would really make my paperwork worse, so I’m very glad you’re still breathing.”
His gaze dropped to the coffee cups in your hands before dragging up back to your face.
“You brought me one.”
The way he said it almost made it sound like he couldn’t quite believe why the hell you’d go out of your way to get one for him.
You shrugged, cross the room toward him before holding one out carefully. “I use the word coffee loosely here, because I’m pretty sure the machine actually dispenses motor oil, but you looked miserable earlier, and caffeine fixes at least eighty percent of human suffering.”
His fingers brushed yours when he took the cup. The contact lasted maybe a heartbeat, but it sent chills ripping up your arms. You turned away before he could possibly notice, pretending on the monitor beside him while taking a sip of your own coffee and instantly regretting it.
“Damn,” you muttered. “That’s genuinely horrific. I change my mind; this only fixes about 30 percent of human suffering and adds to the other percentage.”
A faint hint of amusement crossed his face, and the sight made you beam.
“You look handsome when you smile,” you blurted before you could even stop it. Your hands clapped over your mouth to the point it hurt. “I don’t know why I just said that.”
Jack cocked his head, eyes still burning into your face. “Do I not normally?”
Your heart clenched as you lowered your hands. “Um, I mean you do? But normally it’s when you’re about to say something so sarcastic it makes me want to pull my hair out.”
His brows pulled together slightly at that, like he was trying to remember through the lingering fog of his concussion.
You kept talking before he could say anything, words spilling naturally into the quiet space. “Actually, let me rephrase that. Usually you do smile, and it’s very nice, but it’s not normally after something I say. Also, is your head still hurting? You’re still staring at me like I’m a dessert you just want to eat, and that’s so unfair because I normally look at you like that and—”
Another hand slap to your mouth.
“Please ignore everything I’ve said in the past fifteen seconds. Or better, I’ll just stand here and wait for the floor to swallow me up. I’m talking way too much.”
You found yourself fidgeting under his stare before stepping closer, coffee cup placed gently on the counter. “Is your head any better? Or still hurting?”
“Hurting a little.”
“Have you gotten dizzy?”
“Yeah.”
“Still feeling nauseated?”
He nodded once instead of answering, and you wondered if he had hit his word limit for the hour. You sighed sympathetically while typing notes onto the chart.
“If I had to spend hours in a chair listening to daytime TV and screaming children, I’d probably feel that way too. Your concussion doesn’t help either.”
Another tiny smile quirked his lip even though he didn’t say anything else. You “allowed” him to stare at you while you finished updating the chart, his silent presence settling under your skin as you worked. The way he looked at you should have made you reach out for Robby the minute Jack started acting this way, but the intimidating way his droopy eyes never left your figure felt strangely calming.
Which probably said concerning things about your taste in men, but the whole ER was pretty much putty in Jack Abbot’s hand. You were the white sheep in the flock, and you’d follow Shepherd Abbot anywhere.
You turned away from the chart and leaned against the counter. “You know, Dr. Abbot, you’re allowed to talk in here. I know I tend to carry the entire social interactions, but this is kinda exhausting for me. Usually, I can barely get a sentence in around you.”
His mouth twitched faintly. “Why’s that?”
Your cheeks burned. “Well, um, medically that’s not important.”
His eyes lingered on your face and the small area around your mouth longer than necessary, and once again you felt like melting and dramatically draping yourself across a Victorian fainting couch to blubber about your feelings for the concussed attending.
To compensate for these feelings and the sterile quiet, you started talking more.
“So chairs officially became a nightmare while you were hiding her, by the way,” you told him. “Some guy tried convincing triage he needed immediate treatment for a paper cut, which would’ve been annoying enough on its own except he kept trying to squeeze blood out of it like he was in a Victorian tuberculosis ward. Then Dana yelled at me for skipping lunch again, which, in my defense, I fully intended to eat until somebody—probably Ogilvie, that fucker—stole my yogurt from the fridge. Again. At this point I think he’s specifically targeting me.”
The entire time you rambled, Jack listened without interrupting. He watched you pace while talking, energy buzzing unpleasantly beneath your skin from the nonstop pace outside.
“And then this woman asked if I was old enough to be a nurse, which somehow turned into her husband asking if I were single while she was standing right here! Emergency medicine should qualify as psychological warfare.”
The last tidbit made a quiet laugh escape, and the sound pulled your attention back toward him.
“At least you think I’m funny,” you said, pointing at him with exaggerated triumph. “Robby never thinks my jokes are funny. Don’t tell him I told you, but I think someone’s swapped him with a robot or AI engine that’s trying to convince everyone he’s a functioning person under all that brooding trauma.”
His face softened, and for some reason that affected you more than the laugh had. The warm in your chest spread outward before you realized you’d been talking almost nonstop for several minutes.
“Oh fuck,” you groaned, dropping your head briefly into your hands. “I’m doing it again.”
Jack sat up a bit straighter if somehow possible. “Doing what?”
“Talking too much.” You laughed awkwardly. “You’d think after enough years in medicine I’d learn when to stop speaking, but apparently not.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly embarrassed by how much space you’d filled with your own voice. “Sorry. You probably have a splitting headache and want to nap, but I’m over here narrating my entire day.”
When you finally looked back up, his gaze was still resting on you with steady attentiveness.
“I don’t mind it,” he admitted, tone close to a whisper.
You blinked rapidly.
“Your talking.”
Something about the way he said it in the sincerest and honest way made your chest tighten. He glanced down at the coffee cup in his hands before looking back into your eyes.
“Room’s less quiet when you’re here.”
A bright smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you for listening then.”
_______________________
The night shift always arrived like a storm rolling through the Pitt.
While the ER was the ground, and the day shift staff floated around with enough caffeine to possible kill a small animal, the night shift trickled in like the rain, refreshing and very much welcomed to take over the atmosphere. The residents, including you, handed over your charts with sluggish movements, desperate to go home and sleep the day and loss of patients away.
Normally, somewhere in the middle of all that transition, you and Jack inevitably found each other. Sometimes it was purely by accident; others it absolutely wasn’t. He’d appear beside you while you were finishing your charts just to bother you. You’d steal his coffee when he stopped paying attention. Always, there was some running commentary between the two of you, whether it be playful arguing or just an update on how social life outside the Pitt was going.
Tonight, though, you barely noticed the shift change happening around you since you’d ended up back in his room again almost without realizing. Through the last few hours, checking on him had stopped feeling entirely professional. You still used plenty of legitimate excuses, of course; his concussion needed monitoring in case his symptoms changed. You were also technically responsible for him until discharge, but if you were being honest with yourself, looking after him had become dangerously easy.
While the rest of the Pitt felt loud in comparison, his room felt quiet.
You’d sit perched sideways on the rolling stool near the exam bed, updating charts while absentmindedly talking through how your shift was going. He listened quietly from where he sat on the raised bed, legs swishing back and forth now, his hoodie abandoned sometime during the last hour.
Still, every now and then, your brain caught onto his staring and stumbled.
“You know,” you said while typing notes, “Dana threatened to physically drag me into the break room earlier because apparently surviving on caffeine and spite isn’t medically advisable. Which honestly is very hypocritical considering more than half the staff here are one inconvenience away from cardiac arrest.”
You looked up from the chart in time to catch a small smile.
“I’m glad you still think I’m funny even with brain damage. The cryptic staring can only last for so long.”
His eyes stayed steady on you. “Maybe.”
You giggled. “Still terrible at conversations, though. Truly tragic.”
While you were keeping him company, across the department, Jack Abbot had just walked into the Pitt, dressed in his scrubs and already talking.
“Tell me somebody restocked trauma two, because if I have to hunt down another chest tube tonight, I’m filing a formal complaint against humanity.” His voice carried easily across the department.
He shrugged out of his jacket while walking, salt and pepper curls slightly windblown from outside, already grinning at something Dana said near the nurses’ station.
“Four minutes late, by the way,” Dana informed him when he got closer.
“Still counts as on time in emergency medicine.”
“For an attending, you sure are incredibly wrong some of the time.”
“Key word being some and not all the time.”
Robby looked up from a chart with visible exhaustion. “I need you both to come down from a level eight to a level zero.”
Jack chose to ignore him, eyes already scanning around the room. When he didn’t find who he was looking for, he frowned slightly. “Where’s she at?”
Dana smirked before Robby could respond. “Interesting that you looked for her before your patients.”
“She’s less mean to me,” he replied without thinking, tossing his bag onto the counter.
“She’s been in one room half the afternoon,” Dana responded casually. “Concussed male.”
The minute her words ended, something subtle shifted in Jack’s chest. It probably wasn’t noticeable to people who didn’t know how Jack Abbot ticked, but Dana noticed, and her smirk turned downright evil.
“Aww,” she drawled. “Somebody jealous?”
Jack scoffed a tad too quickly to sound convincing. “I’m not jealous; I’m concerned.”
“Sure you are.”
Jack rolled his eyes hard enough to qualify as a medical even before pushing away from the counter. “I’m going to make sure she hasn’t adopted another emotionally damaged patient.”
Even as he said it, irritation had already begun creeping unpleasantly under his ribs.
One room all afternoon.
He knew how you got with certain patients; you were too soft-hearted for your own good sometimes, despite how hard you tried to pretend otherwise. But something about imagining you tucked away somewhere for hours giving another man the kind of attention you usually guarded carefully made something territorial and irrational bubble under his skin.
Back inside the room, you were still smiling down at your chart when you finally pushed yourself upright from the stool.
“All right,” you sighed. “I should probably go check whether the Pitt has fully descended into anarchy without me.”
His eyes followed you as you moved toward the door. “You’ll come back?”
You stopped for half a second, turning lightly and fully surprised enough by the quietness of his question that warmth spread through your being.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’ll come back.”
Your stomach flipped when his expression changed from a tight, worriedness to a soft, placated expression. Needing to escape before you could embarrass yourself further, you swung the door open and stepped into the hallway, holding the chart to your chest while talking over your shoulder toward him.
“Seriously, though, if you try sneaking out before I get back, I’ll actually—”
You voice cut off when your eyes landed Jack standing halfway down the hallway staring directly at you. It was almost like your brain hit the power mode and shut down completely, because Jack Abbot—your Jack Abbot was standing right in front of you.
Alive.
Healthy.
Definitely not concussed unlike the Jack—now not-Jack—you had spent hours sitting beside.
Your pulse dropped so hard it almost hurt.
Behind him, Robby slowed slightly, noticing the way all color drained from your face. Jack’s teasing grin faded into confusion as he took in the way you stared at him like you’d just seen a ghost.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said slowly, concern beginning to edge beneath the nickname. “You okay?”
You couldn’t answer as your eyes darted toward the closed room behind you, then back to Jack, then back again, then back to Jack one more time. Him standing there was impossible, so entirely impossible. Your heartbeat climbed into your throat.
Jack took another small step closer when you failed to answer. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
You blinked once before bolting back into the room.
“What the hell—” Jack muttered, following after you without hesitation while Robby moved right behind him.
He was the first through the doorway and stopped right as he went in. The air dropped almost noticeably. The man sitting on the exam bed had lifted his head slowly at the sound of the door opening, and for one disorienting second, it genuinely looked like Jack was staring at another, younger version of himself.
The man’s auburn hair caught warmly in the lighting while bruising shadowed one side of his face. He sat completely still on the bed, one hand loose around a cup Jack knew you had brought him at some point, his expression unreadable as he stared back at Jack.
Jack didn’t move, and you stood frozen near the corner, chest rising too fast while your brain desperately tried to recover from the fact that somehow—somehow—you had spent nearly an entire shift accidentally flirting with a completely stranger wearing Jack Abbot’s face.
Silence stretched painfully.
Behind Jack, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely not,” he muttered under his breath. “Secret twins are above my pay grade. My sabbatical cannot come sooner enough.”
And before any of you could stop him, he turned around and walked directly back out of the room, letting the door click shit behind him, leaving only you, Jack, and the stranger sitting on the exam bed staring at one another in stunned silence.
_______________________
Nobody moved.
You still stood frozen near the corner clutching the chart so tightly your knuckles were white, while across the room Jack remained rooted just inside the doorway staring at the man like he genuinely could not process what he was seeing.
The resemblance was worse with both of them in the same room. They weren’t identical, but close enough that your brain kept trying to overlap them anyway with their same eyes, same mouth, same build. The now-stranger looked like someone had taken Jack and stripped ten years off him, softened the gray from his hair, and carved away some of the sharpness age and multiple years as an ER attending had left behind.
And suddenly you felt violently aware of every single thing you’d said over the last several hours. Heat flooded your face so quickly you thought you might actually die from humiliation right then and there.
To break the cursed silence, Jack finally spoke first. “What . . . the hell . . . is this?”
The stranger’s gaze shifted toward him calmly. Unlike you, he didn’t seem particularly unsettled by the situation. If anything, he looked mildly tired. The concussion probably wasn’t helping matters, but even beyond that there was still the same strange unwavering presence about him. You found yourself staring at him helplessly.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you blurted, voice climbing in disbelief as you looked at him. “I spent like almost twelve hours calling you Jack.”
He looked back at you for a moment before answering. “My name’s Andrew.”
Jack let out a sharp disbelieving laugh. “Andrew?”
You shook your head. “Okay, no. You had so many opportunities to correct me, and you’re just now telling me your name?”
Andrew’s expression shifted slightly into something more apologetic. “Tried to.”
“You absolutely did not!”
“A little.”
“You said maybe four words all day!”
“You talked fast.”
You dropped your face into one hand, mortification crashing over you in waves now that the shock had worn off enough for your brain to start replaying the day in horrifying detail. “I told you that you were handsome.”
Jack’s head snapped toward you so fast it was almost comical. “You what?”
“Not talking to you Jack,” you shot back.
He stared at you in open betrayal. “I walk in here and find out you’ve been flirty with my concussed doppelganger all day?”
“I DIDN’T KNOW HE WASN’T YOU! HE’S LITERALLY WEARING YOUR FACE! WHAT WAS I SUPPOED TO DO?”
“Um, I don’t know, sweetheart, check first that it was actually me?
Andrew watched the entire exchange quietly, and to your absolute horror, there was the faintest hint of delight on his face.
You looked between the two men. “This is actually my worst nightmare.”
“Mine too,” Jack muttered before his eyes narrowed slightly when he looked back toward Andrew. “Hold on. You seriously never corrected her?”
Andrew was quiet as he kept looking at you. “I liked listening to her.”
Something fluttered in your chest. His words weren’t necessarily romantic, but he said it with such earnest that you couldn’t help but melt a bit. Jack clearly felt something too because his mouth pinched in irritation. You recognized it as the look he got whenever another one of the radiologists flirted with you for too long at the nurses’ station.
Jack Abbot was reeking with actual jealousy.
He looked away first, jaw tightening slightly before he exhaled through his nose and pointed vaguely toward the hallway. “Sweetheart.”
You tore your gaze from Andrew to look at him. “What?”
“Go do your handoffs.”
Your brows lifted. “Jack—”
“Go,” he repeated, still watching Andrew instead of you. “Before Dana starts a manhunt.”
You hesitated, sensing the almost openly hostile vibe Jack was giving off. It was certainly heavy enough that you suddenly felt like you were standing in the middle of something private. Andrew sat watching Jack with the same unreadable stillness while Jack looked back at him with visible suspicion. It genuinely felt like watching two wolves silently size each other up.
You pointed between them uncertainly. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” Jack muttered.
Your eyes rolled back deeply. “You are unbelievably exhausting.”
Then, after one last glance toward Andrew and a silent wave goodbye, you slipped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind you.
Jack crossed his arms slowly over his chest, leaning back against the closed door while studying the man in front of him more carefully now that the initial shock had worn off. Up close, the differences stood out more clearly, but enough resemblance lasted to make the situation deeply irksome.
Andrew continued to stare, though his lips had quirked up well before you had left the room.
Jack exhaled sharply and shook his head. “You know, most people would correct someone after the fifth time they got called the wrong name.”
Andrew’s gaze drifted over his shoulder like he could almost see you through the wooden door. “She was nice. Didn’t want to upset her. She looked like she was enjoying the idea of getting to take care of you.”
An unpleasantly possessive feeling twisted deep in Jack’s gut at the quiet sincerity of his answer. He understood why the man in front of him had gotten such a reaction from you. Andrew didn’t deflect; he said simple truths in a low steady voice that was somehow worse than flirty in his eyes.
Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Did you flirt back?”
Andrew considered the question for a moment. “Didn’t have to since she did all the talking.”
And to his credit, he didn’t smirk afterward or act smug about it. If anything, he almost looked sad as he stood slowly from the exam bed. Even concussed, he carried himself with a height that made Jack very aware of the man when he moved. Jack puffed his chest out without meaning to, an instinctive reaction to the man who had held your attention for an entire day.
Andrew stepped close enough that now they both could look each other in the eye at the same height, making Jack almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
“You have a good girl,” Andrew said quietly, never looking away from hazel eyes that mirrored his own. “Don’t let someone else get to her first.”
The fact that Jack could picture you getting swept off your feet by another man felt like a punch directly to his chest. He’d been hiding behind teasing remarks and heavy sarcasm and blatant flirtation because it was easier than admitting how badly he wanted you. He couldn’t fathom the idea of someone, much softer and gentler than he might ever be, taking the chance he was too scared to. Andrew was an example of that man, someone who sat still long enough and quiet enough to let you feel seen and heard without interruption.
Because while he was falling behind, some concussed stranger who happened to share his exact face had managed to make you blush just by listening carefully.
Jack stared at Andrew for another long moment before muttering, “You know, I really don’t like this.”
“Do you not like this because I’m making you uncomfortable? Or do you not like this because I’m finally a wakeup call?” Andrew answered before stepping past him toward the door.
Jack whirled around. “Where are you going?”
Andrew opened the door with one hand. “To get discharge papers. Even though I enjoyed hearing her talk, I do not want to sleep in a hospital bed.” He paused. “You could probably go talk to her. Never know if another one of us might waltz through that door.”
The door swung shut behind him a second later, leaving Jack standing alone in the suddenly too-quiet room. For maybe three seconds, he stayed there staring at the empty doorway before he swore softly under his breath and headed out after you.
He found you near the nurses’ station halfway through handoff, leaning over a chart while Dana talked beside you. The second you noticed him approaching, your entire expression shifted somewhere between lingering embarrassment and outright panic. He didn’t slow down.
“Dana,” he interrupted the blond charge nurse mid-sentence.
She stared at him over her nose. “What?”
“I need her for a second.”
Her eyes tracked between him and you for a beat, and disappeared, though not before throwing you a deeply interested look over her shoulder. The moment she was gone, silence settled between you and Jack in a rather awkward way.
You looked down at your hands. “So.”
“So,” he echoed.
A soft groan pushed through your lips while your hands covered your face. “I cannot believe I spent an entire afternoon thinking your doppelganger was you with a concussion.”
“I can’t believe you called him handsome and still thought it was me when he didn’t do anything.”
“Hey,” you whined, lips jutting in a pout. “I was under emotional distress because I thought you had a severe concussion!”
“You know he liked you,” Jack teased with a smirk for half a second before his face dropped into a more serious look. “I don’t blame him, though.”
You swallowed once. “Jack—”
“I’m serious. And honest? I’m jealous as hell that he got to spend an entire shift with you.”
Warmth rushed to your face. “You’re jealous of your own face?”
“I don’t think that was my point, sweetheart.” He stared down at you. “I think I’ve been screwing this up for a while and seeing him just made me very aware of it.”
Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said slowly, “I keep joking around with you because if I actually said what I’ve been feeling, I’d probably mess it all up.” He ran a hand through his curls, almost frustrated by the lack of words to describe his feelings. “I like you,” he admitted finally. “Like . . . really like you.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly under your breath in disbelief. “It took your twin from another universe getting a concussion for you to finally say that?”
“Apparently, yeah.”
Your smile widened helplessly, and Jack’s gaze briefly dropped to your mouth before lifting back to your eyes.
“Can I kiss you?”
The fact that he asked nearly ruined you on the spot. You nodded once before your brain could catch up enough to overthink it. But apparently that’s all Jack needed because the next moment, his warm hands slid carefully against your waist as he pulled you closer. Unlike all the teasing flirtation that existed between you for months, the kiss itself felt so intensely severe your knees almost buckled.
There were no games, no smug comments, just Jack kissing you like he’d wanted to for a very long time, his concussed double finally being the last straw to do so.
By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling a little stupidly.
And somewhere down the hallway, you were almost certain you heard Dana yell, “FINALLY!”
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