hello there!!! I’m just your average person obsessed with fictional characters to the point I write fics about my current obsessions… aka mostly fictional men
I hope you have a good time reading my fics, and a good continuation of your day/night 🌟
Imagine: another hospital visit but this time under Jack’s care and some very sad news
Warnings: mention of parental neglect, mention of child abandonment, reader is still sick, reader has a mom and dad, I do see the reader as short in this so that may affect the writing slightly, probably inaccurate medical things, overuse of Y/n probably
A/N decided to write that second part
Lowkey a filler bc all I wanted to do was write part 3 but had to write this in between for context, poorly written ending bc i didn’t know how to end it
Around 4400 words
the pitt masterlist | previous part | next part
How do you tell a kid their parents abandoned them? Jack had been stuck with that question for the better part of two days now. Your parents hadn’t been seen by anyone. It was as if they’d left earth's surface and never looked back. For all he and everyone else knew they could have moved to another country. At the very least they didn’t reside in Pittsburgh anymore, at least according to the police.
Jack had been watching you from the kitchen for the last hour. You’d settled onto the couch with a warm blanket around you. Your favorite plushie tucked under your arm as you slept soundlessly, except for the soft snores that left you ever so often since you were still sick. The cartoon in the background was still playing softly, the black end credits already on.
In the last two days you’d stayed with him he’d gotten your things from your parents house. Said home that had been empty for two days. Your parents' belongings had been gone when the cops had let him inside the house. Abandoned shirts they’d opted not to take with them hanging from the drawers. The apples in the kitchen had gone bad, he hadn’t particularly liked the smell from the kitchen. No doubt your parents hadn’t changed the trash for a week at least or something had been left out to get moldy for some days.
Your room had been the chaotic mess it had been the day you got sick. The paper sheets half colored on the floor instead of your desk, the pens you’d used spread all over the floor. He’d cringed when he accidentally stepped on a lego piece with his non prosthetic foot.
On your request he’d grabbed the plushie on the bed. It was well loved to say the least. The stuffing was all in one place and one of the eyes was barely hanging on by a thin thread. He’d also per your request grabbed a blanket that was in the living room. Jack couldn’t help the way his lips curled down in a frown as he saw the family photos either turned away or with the picture facing the surface it had once stood on. It was as if your parents in their haste to leave had turned the once happy pictures away to hide the guilt that seeped into the cracks of their hearts. To hide the shame and in Jack's opinion the horrible decision they’d made. He didn’t understand how they could abandon you. Despite you being sick a lot you were a good kid. They had raised you well despite their recent act of abandonment. So he didn’t actually understand why they’d dropped you off at the hospital and just left.
No matter what he thought of the situation he was stuck with you at the moment. Not that he minded all that much. You were one of his favourite patients. And despite knowing it wasn’t good to get involved with your patients in any way he couldn’t help it. You were living with him, he was taking care of you. It was hard to not see you as his kid. He’d thought about it. If he fostered you, adopted you. If you got sick again he could easily help you. He’d come to acknowledge that he wasn’t horrible as a dad.
Then again as soon as those thoughts came the doubt would slither itself into his mind. Whisper that you were better off with a stable family, two parents, maybe siblings. He couldn’t give you that, at least not as of now.
“Jack?” He blinked, a hum leaving him as he was cast out of his thoughts. Walking over to you, he sat down by the end of the couch. Your head poked out from the blanket burrito you’d entangled yourself in as he settled down. Watching as he placed your meds and a glass of water on the coffee table.
“When will mom and dad be back” Jack had to look away from you to hide the frown on his face. Not only because of your innocent question but because your voice sounded so weak. His hand automatically went to your forehead. If the fever didn’t break until tomorrow he’d bring you to the hospital again.
He didn’t answer at first. How could he? Jack didn’t know the answer to your question, no one did. He glanced back at you, the hopeful expression, and something cracked inside of him. While his wife had left involuntarily your parents had left purposely. It wasn’t a coincidence they left you at his hospital.
Jack couldn’t just outright tell you they abandoned you. Or maybe he could, but it felt wrong to do so. “I don’t know” he looked towards the tv, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe, maybe they aren’t”
Your hopeful expression fell. Face scrunching up in confusion, abandonment wasn’t something that existed in your world. Not until now. “Are they in a better place, like grandma?”
That might have very well been a stab to his heart.
“No, they-“ he paused trying to find the right words. “They couldn’t take care of you anymore, but maybe” Jack handed you the medicine giving you a look of ‘don’t argue with me’.
“Maybe you if you want, I could care for you” when had he decided that was a good idea? Like actually decided.
“Like forever?” Your brows knitted in confusion. Was he going to be your new dad? “Like-like my new dad?” A cough left you.
“If you want” he had not thought this through.
You blink. Still somewhat confused, Jack didn’t fault you for it, it was confusing to a kid who’d only known the love of their parents before this. “Okay” you swallowed the pill with a grimace, your throat still hurt. Downing the rest of the water you curled back into the corner of the couch. Closing your eyes. You liked Jack and didn’t mind staying with him.
Okay. Okay. He could do this right? He took care of patients every night, how hard could a child be? His wife had always wanted kids, but that had clearly not gone to plan. Looking down at you now. Arms curled around your plushie, half asleep. Yes he could do this. For his wife. She would have helped you, and Jack could only wish he made his wife proud. For you. If you felt safe with him, if you wanted to stay with him he’d make that happen.
──────────_*- 🩻 -*_──────────
By morning the fever still hadn’t broke through even with the help of the meds. The trip back to the hospital was inevitable at that point. Especially since the fever kept rising.
Grabbing the keys to his house he glanced into the kitchen to see that the light was off before he turned to walk towards you who was sat on the bench by the door. “Alright, got your jacket?”
You don’t look at him. Instead your gaze stays on your feet that’s dangling back and forth as you sit on the small bench-like seating area he had by the entry way to be able to put on his shoes easier when he didn’t have his prosthetic on.
“No” He raised a brow at the sheepish tone that tinted your otherwise hoarse voice. At least your voice sounded better than yesterday where it’s barely been a whisper.
His head turned towards you disapprovingly. It had rained all night, the wind was still blowing outside in cold gusts. And you were still sick.
Jack glanced at your short sleeves then back outside where he could hear the patter of rain against the road. Along with the puddle by the side walk, a hole that had yet to be fixed by the city. Watching the rain he shook his head. Hell no, you were putting your jacket on if he had anything to say about it.
“Put it on” his voice was stern but still held that gentleness he always reserved for you. “don’t want you getting more sick now, do we?” He grabbed your jacket and handed it to you, he couldn’t help but to frown at how thin it was, he’d have to get you a new one.
Your hands curled around the fabric before you, with a pout, put one arm through the sleeve and then the other. It did make the shivers from the fever go away slightly, not that you’d admit that Jack was right. You might be sick, but you were still a stubborn kid.
Jacks zipped your jacket, an assessing gaze as his eyes flicked up and down on your form. Making sure you were comfortable and warm. “Anything else you want to bring?” He didn’t know how long you’d stay at the hospital, at the very least overnight, his two days of work were up and he’d have to work today, no one to cover his shift.
He watched you walk into the living room, coming back out with your plushie. Of course.
His hand went onto your shoulder and he steered you towards his car. Opening the door to the passenger seat for you he watched you climb inside. Maybe if you were to stay with him he’d have to get a different car that wasn’t so far off the ground. But he did love his ridiculous big truck.
A smile tugged at his lips as he rounded the car and got into the driver's seat, watching you place the plushie nearly in your lap before you put on your seatbelt. Putting on his own seatbelt he started the car.
The drive wasn’t too long. Since his wife died he’d moved closer to the hospital. He hadn’t been able to stay in the same house they’d once happily lived in. The house that was planned to fill with the laughter of children and the smell of home cooked meals. But maybe now at least he could get one of those things.
As the two of you made it inside the hospital he kept a tight, not too tight, grip on your shoulder. Steering you past everyone in the waiting room. Shielding you slightly from a man that was coughing. He did not need you catching anything else.
You give a shy wave to Lupe as the two of you stop in front of the protective glass, walking right past the line of sick people. But Jack didn’t care all that much. Lupe smiled back at you. By now you recognized her and most other doctors, maybe one of the positive things about having to go to the hospital a lot. She recognized you too, as most of the staff did.
“Hi hon, you still sick?” You nod slightly, pressing yourself slightly into Jack as you look back at the angry glares from the people you’d skipped ahead of. Jack’s response was to unconsciously move you in front of him, his back receiving the glares instead.
“Robby in yet?” He kept you in place as he spoke to Lupe, keeping you from wandering off.
Your eyes glanced around the room. It felt different now, being here without your parents. It was like an emptiness in your chest you wanted to scratch away but couldn’t. It was scary. Jack had said they weren’t coming back. Maybe he’d said. But maybe had always been a no. When your parents said you could maybe get ice cream you never got it. So your parents weren’t coming back, Jack just didn’t know how to tell it to you.
It was true that kids were more perceptive than adults thought.
Lupe opened the door for you and Jack as they finished talking. Giving you a sympathetic smile before she got right back to the many complaining people waiting to get seen.
Jack steered you deeper into the hospital until he stopped by the nurses station. On the way he’d crouched down slightly to pick you up as he’d noticed your steps faltering from lack of energy.
He greeted Dana with a hushed voice not wanting to talk straight into your ear. Remembering you telling him loud noises rang in your ears almost painfully. Which had brought him to think that maybe you had an ear infection, but then it could just be the fever and headache doing its miserable job.
Perhaps against the usual protocol he gently placed you on the desk. Arms going on either side of you, caging you in so he could keep his eyes on you. He doubted you’d wander away but it was for extra precautions he told himself. Not because he was extremely worried for you and wanted to keep you as close as possible.
His body was slightly leaning to the right so he could see Dana clearly behind you. “Got a room open?” Any other day he would have greeted her but he was here for far more important things.
“Langdon just finished with a patient in room 9, can add the kid to the board and page Robby for you” working at the hospital was good for one thing at least.
“You’re a life saver Dana”
“Don’t I know it, take care of the kid now” she gave Jack a gentle but stern look as if to tell him what she’d bring down on him if he didn’t treat you well. Not that she doubted him, she could see the care and worry he held for you. The paternal instincts that had formed over two days. Even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself yet. You were already his kid now, no matter what would happen.
──────────_*- 🩻 -*_──────────
It didn’t take long for Robby to arrive to your room in the ER. Personal cases usually tended to take priority even if it wasn’t serious. Besides since you only ever let Jack or Robby treat you, it’d be better for everyone if he took your case as soon as possible without the hassle if anyone else tried to treat you.
“Go easy on him will you, the newly made dad is really worried in there”
Robby couldn’t help the shit eating grin as he shook his head at Dana. “I always go easy on him”
“Sure you do- Antoine stop arguing with your girlfriend and get back to wo-“ Robby closed the door softly behind him as he stepped into your room. He felt like he almost intruded onto a sacred place as his eyes glanced over the room. The lights were dimmed, no doubt you had a headache then. Jack had scooted the stiff hospital chair closer to the bed you laid on. Your hands fiddling with the soft fur of a worn out plushie. Robby didn’t dare say anything at first, not when Jack talked to you in hushed words. Whispers that could only be heard to those included in the bubble of two.
The room felt much calmer than the rest of the ER. Maybe that’s why Robby stayed by the door for a few seconds. Catching his own breath. No beeping, no yelling, no people walking in every direction stretching themselves thin. Just a sick kid, Jack and a dark room.
“Still a fever?” Jack hadn’t just mentioned you when talking to Robby the last two days. It was all he ever talked about. Your symptoms. A cute thing you’d said. The way he was planning to start the process of adopting you. You were all he’d talked about for two days straight. And in the room right now, Robby could see clear as day that Jack could as well have been your dad by blood with the way he looked at you.
It wasn’t all that odd to him or Dana that Jack had so quickly fit right into the pattern as your caregiver. Because the fact was it hadn't happened overnight. Jack had been your primary doctor for the last few years, he’d always been extra gentle with you, and now you were fully under his care. He’d been bound to this fate years ago, even if no one knew it back then.
Jack bites the inside of his lip in worry. “Still a fever, last time I checked it was 105.8” He shook his head slightly before looking at Robby who gently hooks you up to the monitors. “It just keeps going higher”
“What tests did you do last time?” Robby’s fingers grab his glasses, while his other hand uses his doctor badge to log into the computer and into your medical chart.
“Just the blood test, parents wanted to leave as soon as they could” he relaxes his hand when he feels you try to force his fingers into a fist. “Like I said three days ago when we talked I told them to come back in the morning before I left but they never did”
“Think we’ll redo them just to be safe, maybe add a UA… pee test” Robby clarified for you as he turned his body to face you more, seeing the confusion written in your scrunched up face. “Think you can do that?” He gives you a soft smile in return as he watches you nod. You’d done them before, but both Jack and Robby learned long ago to always ask if you were okay doing it, and telling you what it was if you didn’t know. “We could do some scans but Jack they’re always clean, doubt it’ll change this time around”
“Better safe than sorry” at Jack’s words, Robby added the tests into your chart before moving forward to take your blood. Then he proceeded with all the other tests. Luckily they all came back clean. Like every time they deemed it that you had a really bad case of a common flu or infection. Perhaps someone from your school had been sick and since your immune system never seemed to kick in that was probably the culprit.
After two days at the hospital the fever finally broke. It took two more days for Jack to feel okay with taking you home again. The fever was practically gone. Your sore throat and headache were practically nonexistent by now.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled this much. You’d been with him for five more days after the hospital trip. The fifth night, today, had been the first night you slept through. You hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat from the sickness, no tears from wanting your parents. You’d stopped asking when they were coming back, Jack had stopped answering the question anyway. It was one of the factors as to why Jack realized some kids adapt faster than others. Even if he hadn’t outright told you, some part of you understood that they’d never come back and so you adapted. Or at least you tried to. You weren’t as discreet as you thought you were when watching the cartoons on tv. Whenever a family would appear, when they’d say I love you and hug. Jack always noticed the crease in your brow from sadness or the way the corners of your lips dipped down, the glistening eyes before you hid in your plushie.
It was all very sad.
But then you’d do something so innocent as asking politely for a midday snack and the sadness that tinged his lips tilted up into a smile. You were polite as he’d noticed, he couldn’t deny it. Though your patient manners could certainly improve for others that weren’t him or Robby.
A soft expression splayed on his face as he watched you munch on the snack he’d given you, eyes transfixed on the screen. A cartoon was playing, Jack had tried to understand it but it was all too bright colored and loud for him to actually be able to sit down and enjoy it with you. Then again it wasn’t exactly made for people his age was it?
His phone was laying on the counter right in front of him. He’d been watching you from the kitchen. Eyes traveling from the phone and back to you every so often. He was scared to call your social worker. Scared to ask what it’d take for him to adopt you.
The social workers had already approved the home visit, they had to when you’d stayed for over a week. He knew the actual process would take time but he was ready for it. You’d said you wanted to stay with him. He’d make that happen. For you. Besides he’d rather have you stay with him than some stranger that might just be there for the paycheck.
You’d nuzzled into the couch by now. Talking slightly to yourself about what happened on the screen. As if you could make the characters listen. If he was honest it reminded him slightly of him and Robby when they’d yell at the referee.
The buzzing sound of his phone vibrating against the hard counter was enough to bring his focus elsewhere. Your social worker.
Jack’s hand froze halfway towards the phone. Heart hammering. It felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped significantly. His head swarmed. This was it.
With the feeling of his heart running out of his chest his finger slid over the screen to answer. He closed his eyes for a second to collect his breath and thoughts before he brought the phone to his ear.
He was met with a hello which he answered back. The woman on the other side spoke in a short snippy tone and she sounded far too business-like to work with kids. Jack hadn’t particularly liked her when she stopped by a day or so ago to check if you were ready to be moved. You’d still been sick and Jack had been able to talk his way through “doctor opinions” to let you stay a bit longer while he worked up the nerve to actually adopt you.
“We’ve been trying to reach you Mr. Abbot”
“Jack please, and I was just about to call actually, I wanted to le-“
“We have found a placement for Y/N” Jack didn’t even realize he stopped breathing when the social worker cut him off with those words. “The couple” of course, a couple, stability Jack didn’t have. “can take Y/N tomorrow, it’s always easier to do it as soon as possible for the child” Jack didn’t utter a word. Tomorrow. You’d be leaving tomorrow. “Mr. Abbot? You still there?”
“Y-yeah” he forced the words out even though his heart just cracked into a million more pieces since his wife died. “Can’t Y/n stay with me?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Abbot but it is in Y/n’s best interest to go with this couple. They have other kids there, to play with, a big backyard with a swing set, they live close to one of the best schools, Y/n will thrive with them” them, not him, not Jack, like you wanted.
“But-“
“I’m sorry Jack but you can’t change it” at the very least she had the sense to sound sympathetic this time.
“Y/n wants to stay here, I’m a doctor that must acco-“
“It’s not about what the child wants but what’s good for them, and I’m sorry to say it but you work nights Jack, despite Y/n being sick a lot you can’t look after a sick kid while working nights, if you switched to days, perhaps, but this family is already expecting Y/n, I can’t just change it now, it wouldn’t be fair to them, I promise you they’ll take good care of Y/n” Jack forced himself to keep back the snappy comeback. He was certain they didn’t know what was good for you. Not when they didn’t even take into account what you wanted.
His eyes traveled back to you as he drowned out the social worker's words. He’d have to tell you today didn’t he. Had to get you ready for tomorrow to leave.
“So if yo-“
“Yeah I got it” Probably not his best reaction, certainly wouldn’t help to get you back by being unfriendly to the people who’d take you. But he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye, he just wanted to end the call and sit by you. For as long as he still had left with you.
So that’s what he did. He sat down beside you with a soft groan, he’d been standing for far too long. His eyes traveled to the cartoon. Listening to your soft breathing.
“Kid?” He chuckled quietly at the way your head practically snapped towards him. “I need to tell you something, it may upset you, and that’s okay”
“My parents aren’t coming back are they?” You said it so softly Jack almost didn’t hear it. Blinking down at you he was left speechless for a few seconds. He hadn’t realised you’d comprehended his earlier words as such. But of course you did. You were a kid, not stupid.
He licked his lips and let out a soft sigh. “That is true” he looked back down at you. You looked far too cozy under the fluffy blanket for the news. “but it’s not what I wanted to tell you” he watched your face scrunch up in confusion, he never realized just how animated kids were in their expression sometimes until now.
“Your social worker, you remember Mrs. Johnson right?” You nod. “She just called” he swallows to brace himself. “She’s found you a new home, a new place to live”
Eyes cast down, your brows crease further. A new home? Not with Jack? Buy he’d said… “but I wanted to live with you” tears gather, first your parents abandoned you, now Jack too. Deep down you knew Jack wasn’t abandoning you but it still felt like it. Even if it was out of Jack’s control at the moment. “I don’t want strangers”
“I know kiddo” he can’t stop the grimace from forming on his face. “You’ll still live in Pittsburgh, and we’ll still see each other every time you get sick, my hospital will still be the closest one to where you will live”
His breath catches as you fling yourself forward. Your arms wrapping around him tightly. Almost too tight, but he wasn’t about to tell you to stop.
Jack just hugged you right back, as if you’d disappear if he let you go. Because by tomorrow morning that’s exactly what would happen. And Jack was powerless to stop it. He’d been too late.
I’m gonna finish the second part to “A New Home” and then finish the dad!rabbot & dyslexic!adopted reader request, and then the military request I got for Jack or Robby’s daughter, and then we’ll see what’s next after that
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!”
I’m gonna finish the second part to “A New Home” and then finish the dad!rabbot & dyslexic!adopted reader request, and then the military request I got for Jack or Robby’s daughter, and then we’ll see what’s next after that
Social anxiety is the worst, bc what do you mean I wanna speak with the others I’m playing with on marvel rivals when I’m using vc, but I can’t get a single word out so I just leave them hanging
Imagine Jack being in the military to get away from home, only to feel an endless of guilt bc he left Pope, Julia, and his other siblings behind with Smurf, and now he’s in Pittsburgh with no contact to his family, they probably don’t even know he lost a leg or that he had a wife, and he probably doesn’t even know that Julia is dead, maybe he doesn’t even know he is an uncle bc he truly has no contact with them, and then one day Pope shows up at the hospital Jack works at, maybe he’s hurt and the first time Jack sees his twin (more like triplet I guess) again is when he’s hurt, which makes him feel more guilty for leaving, because he and Julia was supposed to protect Pope.
Maybe Pope isn’t even angry that Jack left, because he’s thought about doing the same thing so many times, he just could never get himself to do it
And perhaps if it’s a reader fic, the reader is maybe together with Jack, like Jack remarried or just has a new partner overall, and the reader recognises pope instantly.
Or maybe the reader is jacks child and works at the hospital too or just stopped by to check on Jack and stumbles into Pope
Or maybe it’s Pope’s partner or child that finally got him to move away from home after he got hurt. And the Cody’s last knew Jack to move to Pittsburgh so that’s what the reader makes them do to hopefully find Jack
Also Jack took his ex-wife’s last name so thereby he’s an Abbot and not Cody (bc he wanted to get as far away from Smurf as possible)
… idk I’m still thinking about this and what way to go, maybe I won’t even make it a reader fic
