Today, 18-19ish of April, where something has happened. Something that is sad, gut wrecthing. Where the 9-1-1 family had lost their captain. A father, a leader, the light at the end of the tunnel, the rainbow after the storm, the mind, the soul, the heart, the very reason of our existence.šššš 9-1-1 saved me in time when no one did and taught me everything I needed to know. I know Bobby from season 1-3 (4-8 hasn't watched because at that time I was busy and the channel I'm watching cancel our subscriptions, so...)š„ŗ. Bobby is 9-1-1. 9-1-1 is him. Without him, 9-1-1 can't function. I know it's the writer's decision to kill him off. But he didn't have too. Peter doesn't want to leave the show, fans need him as humans need air. š„ŗ But I respect their decisions. I'm just hoping that maybe this is just a dream or anything else other than what I just saw during 8x15. Thank you everyone!!! Thank you Bobby!!! Thank you Peter!!! Saluteš«”
I just found out that Sam Neill had died!! šššššš My sweet dinasour man, my Vasili, my Captain Campbell, oh how I missed you. I just started crying and in disbelief ššššš You make my love for dinasour, you entertain my childhood, I loves them because of you, my siblings loves them because of you, my family loves them because of you. I once had a dream to be an archeologist because of youš I thought you're getting better after being cancer freeš You look so happy the last time I saw you. Now, I can't see the films since it wouldn't be the same without you, I'm gonna missed you so much š So long Dr Alan Grant, till we meet again for the next discovery šš
Summary: Baelor teaching you High Valyrian while he braids your hair.
Warning: NONE. (OMG CAN YOU BELIEVE IT)
"Perzys hen Å«nogon," he corrected.
You sighed, letting your forehead fall against your hand. "Itās not my fault your ancestors put too many sās in their speech. Every word sounds like hissing."
Being married to Baelor was easy. Bearing the title of Princess of Dragonstone proved less daunting than you had anticipated. Even sitting upon the high bench to watch knights batter one another bloody in the yard was simpler still.
Mastering Valyrian, however, proved to be something else entirely. A language that had bested you where swords and courtly politics had failed. Every strange sound twisted itself around your tongue until speaking felt more akin to sparring than conversation.
"You will be queen one day," Baelor said. "Queens ought not require translators."
An hour earlier, the two of you had sat side by side in a quiet nook of the library. As your focus began to wane and the text blurred before your eyes, he pulled you between his legs. His broad thighs penned you in, leaving little choice but to continue the lesson.
"Again," he said from behind you.
Before you could protest, one large hand settled at the base of your neck. A soft sigh escaped you.
His thumb pressed slowly into the tense muscle there, working in small circles. The pressure was firm enough to ease the ache that had gathered from hunching over old books all evening.
You felt your shoulders loosen almost immediately. "Baelor..."
His hand moved lower. "Read, my love."
The broad span of his palm slid across your shoulder, kneading carefully through the stiffness he found there. The lesson was quickly losing its battle for your attention.
You sighed in surrender. "Perzysssā" The word died on your lips once more.
"The s is not to be pressed, my dear." His voice settled warmly against your back. "Valyrian is not a force. The sound comes from lower."
Two fingers came to rest against the hollow of your throat. "Here."
You swallowed at the touch, but it lingered for only a moment before he withdrew.
Then his hand slipped into your hair. Slowly, he spread the strands apart, untangling each knot. His fingertips skimmed your scalp as he worked, never pulling when he met resistance. Instead, he separated each tangle until your hair slipped like silk through his hands.
When a loose curl escaped beside your ear, he caught it immediately, brushing his thumb along your cheek before guiding it back into place and folding it neatly into the plait.
Those scarred hands, marked by countless years in the yard and large enough to encircle a man's throat, moved through your hair with astonishing gentleness.
After a while, he smoothed your hair down your back and divided it into three sections. One strand crossed over another, then the third, and the braid slowly began to take shape.
You tried to focus on the page before you, but every gentle pass made the words blur a little further.
"It's almost supper, Baelor," you sighed. "Can we go now?"
āAlmost.ā He paid your words no mind, working in silence. With each movement, his hands continued lower as the braid formed, gentle pulls following every weave as he crossed and wove the strands into place.
He worked the braid to its end, fastening the final twists before reaching for the silk ribbon upon the desk. He tied it off and let it cascade over your shoulder.
"There you go." His lips brushed against your ear. "Gevie," he whispered.
At the word, you turned slightly. He was close enough that you could count the dark lashes framing his mismatched eyes.
"I know that one. It means beautiful."
A smile softened his features. "Yes." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. "Now read, Ʊuha gevie dÄria. Then we'll head to supper."
His strong arms wrapped around you, drawing you flush against his chest. And you found yourself hoping that if death ever came for you, it would find you like this; safe in his arms, his warmth surrounding you, the last thing you would ever feel before darkness took you.
Zee (she/her) - 20s - currently listening to: you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love by olivia rodrigo and the great divide by noah kahan
currently write for: akotsk, hotd, rivals (for others see request guidelines)
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Summary : You and Titus have your first born, a little girl. Titus wanted a boy mainly to carry out the Danforth name, but when he held your little girl for the first time, he swore no harm would come to his little miss.
Warnings : 18+ DNI MINORS!!! - Age gap, (not specifically mentioned but Titus is described as āmuchā older than yourself.) Swearing, one mention of bullying and name calling. (Carrot head), suggestive smut at the end, slight possession (on Titusās side)
Authors note : First time writing for Titus, he is one of my favourite Shawn Characters so far! I love a sassy man who is freaked out. I hope I did him justice, I felt like he would definitely have a softer side in front of his daughter. No one bullies his sweet baby girl.
divider by @diviniyae ā¤ļø
You could say that Titus was a little sad that your firstborn child was a little girl, but as soon as he held her in his arms, his face softened. He was looking down at his daughter with pride and joy. Alsoā¦ You could both always try for another baby once you were ready.
As she was growing up, Titus was very protective over her. Never let anyone else touch her other than you and his sister, Ursula. After she turned 1, her first birthday needed to be perfect! He completely closed the resort for the weekend, and planned everything to the smallest detail. You had to explain to him that she wouldnāt remember her birthday at this age.
āDo you remember your first birthday? I know it was a looong time ago for you.ā You teased him, as he was much older than you. You always loved to tease him about his age, it made for a very fun time after your daughter was fast asleep.
He smirked as the staff was bringing out the large pink cake, gently placing it onto the table. You couldnāt help but laugh as he kissed your cheek, pulling you closer.
āBetter watch that mouth, Mrs Danforth.. wouldnāt want to miss our daughter's first birthday because you were getting smart with me.ā
You rolled your eyes as Ursula brings in the birthday girl. They were picking out her birthday outfit because she told Titus that she needed to pick it, not him. Your little girl was in a cute pink and white dress with socks and little shoes to match.
āThere she is! The birthday girl!ā You walked over as you grabbed her from Ursula's arm, kissing her little chubby cheeks over and over. Her little giggles filled the room as Titus walked over to you both. Her little eyes widened as she saw her daddy, making grabby hands for him.
āOkay baby, you can have some daddy-daughter time before your big party.ā Titus grabbed Eleanor as she cuddled onto him. Her little ginger curls flattened as she rested her head on him. She was very much a daddyās girl, and who could blame her? Titus would do anything for his little princess.
When she was around 4 years old, you had to remind Titus that Eleanor needed to socialize with kids her own age and a little older to develop good relationships and social skills. Titus was a little picky with who his daughter played with, but that was to be expected. It was mainly frequent rich families kids that he knew wouldnāt try anything.
Until one day, some rich kid who briefly visited with his parents due to his school record being poor but recently was acting āaccordinglyā came down by the pool. He was looking around, mainly trying to find an easy target and immediately noticed your daughterās bright red hair as she was colouring on the tables near the pool. She had her little hat on, sunglasses on the table, little legs kicking around. The kid walked over to her and immediately started to call her names about her hair colour. Eleanor frowned, her eyes filling with tears as she jumped off her chair and ran inside, looking for you, Titus or even Ursula.
The staff member that was supposed to be watching your daughter noticed that she had disappeared. They looked around the resort for her, but another member of staff had taken her to Titus immediately. She ran into her daddyās arms as he looked at her. You both were completely shocked at her tears as she was happily colouring and had someone watching her.
āWhatās wrong princess? Tell daddy. You know daddy can fix anything.ā There was an edge to his voice as he said the word āfixā as you knew what that meant. You gently hit his arm as you gave him that look of āmurder isnāt always the solution.. sometimesā
Your little babyās voice wobbled as she looked at her daddy, her hat almost falling off.
āA v-very m-mean boy.. c-called me c-carrot head.ā Eleanor buried her head into Titusās neck as she sobbed. Titus was beyond furious, who dared someone call his little girl a carrot head.
The three of you went back to the pool so she could point out the boy who picked on her. He had made it onto a new target, proceeding to dunk another poor kid under the water. You had to stop Titus from marching himself over and dunking that bastard kid underwater himself. You made him take a seat with Eleanor to try and calm her and (himself) down. Fortunately for the kid, you had a lighter approach.
You walked over to the kid and asked him if he picked on your little girl, pointing to your baby and your husband. He immediately deflected and said no. You asked him again, your voice became more pronounced and he again said no and told you āget lost ladyā splashing you with the pool water. Titus saw everything, his anger was growing more by the second, Eleanor was gently calming down from her tears as Titus whispered that her hair was beautiful and just like his when he was younger.
After the kid splashed you, he swam away, looking back to see if you were still looking at him. You had already begun walking back to Titus and explained what happened.
āI am going to find Ursula to see if we can find the parents of that kid. He clearly needs to be taught better values than to mess with the Danforth familyā
Titus kept an eagle eye on the kid. āOh. Trust me. I have more than enough values to teach.ā
āTitus, thatās a kid.ā You sighed. You loved your husband dearly, but sometimes you did get annoyed by his actions when it came to wanting to handle problematic people with violence.
āStay with Eleanor.. I am going to find Ursula and sort this out. The non-violent way.ā Titus looked annoyed, then opened his mouth to speak. You pointed your finger at him, Eleanor looked up at her daddyās little pout and giggled.
āNaughty daddy..ā She giggled more as Titus looked like a scolded puppy.
āYou laughing at daddy getting told off by mummy?āHe said as he kissed her hair, as she nodded. You smiled, kissing both Titus then your Eleanorās forehead.
After around 5 minutes, you found the parents of that kid. You told them what their boy said to your daughter and how he was very disrespectful to you. They were both mortified, all colour drained. They apologized on their sonās behalf multiple times on the way back to the pool.
āOh, your apology means nothing to me. Itās your sonās fault. He made our child cry about something she couldnāt change. Her father is very angry.ā
The boyās family noticed Titus andĀ your little girl at the table. She had her little sunglasses back to help her sensitive eyes from crying. Ursula walked over to the staff who was supposed to be watching her niece, giving them a good talking in private.
Once Ursula returned, you told her to take Eleanor for some ice cream. She smiled big at the thought of ice cream and spending time with her auntie. She reached up to Ursula, wrapping her arms around her neck. Ursula began to walk away to the kitchens as you heard them both talk about what ice cream she wanted.
You had turned to the family with your back to Titus. Oh, you knew Titus loved this as much as you did. They looked completely shit scared just by Titus glaring at them. You gently sat yourself on Titusās lap, hand playing with his curls.
āDid you know that our daughterās beautiful red hair is from Titus himself?ā You prompted to the couple, they both shook their heads as you continued. āWhen Titus was younger.. he had the most gorgeous red hair. Iāve only seen it in photosā¦ā You sighed, as you continued to play with your husbandās curls at the back of his neck.
The father pleaded to you both. āMr and Mrs Danforth, we are both extremely and deeply sorry that our son called your daughter names about her gorgeous hair. We are extremely-ā
Titus lifted his hand up to silent the man from speaking. He had heard enough, the tone of his voice and pitch annoyed him. God, this man was pathetic. The wife had grabbed her son and scolded him. You and Titus saw that the kid looked like he didnāt care. Thatās what made you make your last decision final.
āYouāre banned for the Danforth Estate. If you have any share holders with us? Gone. You see, we donāt appreciate bullies.. of any kind. Doesnāt matter what age. A bully is a bully.ā
The husband looked shocked, and the wife began to cry. Their family was one of the monthly regulars. You and Titus couldnāt care less. Their son made your beautiful baby cry.
āCry me a river.. go. Pack your shit and get the fuck out.ā You scoffed, as the husband looked like he was going to defend his wife but Titus grip got heavier on your hip.
āDonāt. My wifeās word is final. Get the fuck outā¦ā He said with a low rumble in his throat. Fuck, you loved it when he got overly protective of you. It made your thighs push together gently as you turned to look at him.
āI would do as my husband says or I may let him approach this.. his way and we wouldnāt want that.ā
You kept eye contact with Titus as you warned the family. You saw his tongue gently dart across his lips as the family accepted their offer of leaving. Unharmed. You could hear the woman screaming at her husband and child for both being idiots.
āSee? My plan worked perfectly. Save all of your energy for the hunt next week.. I heard itās gonna be a pretty big one..ā You gently kissed his lips, coming off his lap.
āLetās go back to our room.. I saw the way your thighs squeezed together. Want some help.. bunny?ā
SUMMARY: Jack is that stage in life where a day off can never really be a day off. He always finds something that needs fixing, and as his wife, youāve grown accustomed to that. You donāt expect him to be so clumsy at it, and you donāt expect to get hurt helping him when the doctor becomes the patient.
NOTES: Injuries (laceration on the arm, fractured ankle), household accidents, mentions of blood, medical setting, established marriage, very sweet and selfless Jack, hurt/comfort vibes.
REQUESTED BY: @dillydallyy
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The rhythmic, heavy thud of the mallet against wood had been echoing through the house for the better part of an hour. Jack was upstairs on the landing, finally tackling the squeaky floorboard that had been driving you mad for weeks. You were down in the kitchen, enjoying the quiet weekend and waiting for the kettle to boil so you could bring him a cup of tea.
The comforting routine shattered in an instant. A sudden, metallic crunch echoed down the stairs, followed by a heavy thud and a sharp, choked gasp of pure agony. The silence that immediately followed was heavy and terrifying.
"Jack?" you called out, your heart leaping into your throat. There was no answer, just the sound of low, ragged breathing. Dropping the mug onto the counter, you bolted up the stairs, your socks slipping slightly on the carpet as you rounded the corner to the landing.
Jack had collapsed against the wall, his face entirely drained of colour and slick with a sudden, cold sweat. His eyes were clamped shut, and his right hand was wrapped desperately around his left forearm. Dark, thick blood was already spilling through his fingers, pooling rapidly on the pale timber he had just been prying up.
"Fuck, Jack," you breathed, dropping to your knees beside him. The sheer volume of blood made your stomach drop, your hands hovering over him, trembling violently. You had seen him in his hospital scrubs a thousand times, completely unshakable in the face of trauma, but seeing him as the patient completely paralysed you.
Jack opened his eyes, the pupils blown wide with shock and pain. Even as his breathing hitched, the seasoned emergency doctor in him fought through the agony. He looked at your shaking hands and forced his voice to remain steady, though it came out as a strained, gravelly rasp.
"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart," Jack whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as a fresh wave of pain hit him. "Don't look at the floor. Look at me. I need you to be my hands right now, okay? I slipped with the chisel. Itās deep."
"What do I do? Tell me what to do," you pleaded, your voice cracking as you tried to anchor yourself to his gaze.
"Go to the bathroom. Grab the first aid kit from the cabinet, and grab a clean towel," he instructed, his breath hitching as he shifted his weight. "Move fast, honey. Go on."
You scrambled to your feet, your socks skidding on the hallway runner as you burst into the bathroom. You grabbed the heavy medical kit and yanked a towel off the shelf, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Within seconds, you were back on the floor beside him, unfolding the towel with trembling fingers.
"Okay, I'm here. I have it," you said, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Good girl," Jack murmured, his head leaning back against the wallpaper. "I need you to open the kit and get the thickest trauma dressing in there. If not, the towel will do. You need to apply direct pressure right over my hand. Don't be gentle, sweetheart. You have to push down hard."
You nodded, swallowing down the rising panic. You folded the towel into a thick pad and placed it directly over his bleeding arm. As Jack slowly pulled his own crimson-stained hand away, the sight of the jagged, deep laceration made your vision swim, but you didn't hesitate. You placed both hands on the towel and leaned your entire body weight into his arm.
Jack let out a sharp, agonised groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans as his body went rigid.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, tears finally blurring your vision.
"Don't be sorry," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder now, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "You're doing perfectly. Keep holding it like that. We need to stem the flow before I can try to stand up."
For a few minutes, the landing was silent save for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing. You kept every ounce of your weight pressed onto his arm, feeling the warm pulse of his blood beneath the heavy fabric. Slowly, the bright red seeping through the white towel seemed to slow down, the direct pressure doing its job.
"Is it stopping?" you whispered, looking down at his pale face.
"It's slowing," Jack managed, offering a weak, strained version of his usual reassuring smile. "You're amazing, you know that? My brilliant girl. Now, we need to tie it off tight. Use the roller bandage from the kit. Wrap it over the towel, as tight as you can manage."
Working with one hand while keeping pressure with the other, you managed to fish out the heavy bandage. Under his quiet, patient whispers, you wrapped the fabric securely around his arm, pulling it taut until Jack gave a tight nod of approval.
"Thatās it. Thatās got it for now," Jack breathed, leaning back against the wall with a sigh of sheer exhaustion. His face was still ghostly pale, but the immediate, terrifying torrent of blood had been contained. "Now, can you grab your phone? We need to get the crew out here."
"It's on the top step," you said, turning your head to look at the mobile device resting just a few feet away near the banister.
You started to shift your weight to stand up, your muscles stiff from the tension. But as you moved, your foot found the slick, wet patch of blood that had splattered onto the edge of the exposed, loose floorboards. Before you could even register the lack of friction, your foot shot out from under you.
"Whoaā!" you cried out, your hands flailing for a grip that wasn't there.
Your momentum carried you sideways, right over the lip of the top step. With a sharp gasp of terror, you tumbled awkwardly down the first half-flight of stairs, your body bouncing painfully against the carpeted steps before you landed with a dull, heavy thud against the wall of the half-landing.
A searing, white-hot pain immediately exploded in your left ankle, so intense that it stole the air right out of your lungs. You lay there on your side, pinned to the floor by the sudden, throbbing agony, clutching your leg as tears stung your eyes.
"Honey? Sweetheart, talk to me!" Jackās voice echoed down the stairwell, completely stripped of its professional calm. It was pure, unadulterated panic. "Are you alright? Answer me!"
"My ankle," you gasped out, your voice small and choked with pain. "Jack, I can't move it. It hurts so bad."
From the top of the stairs, you heard a heavy drag and a grunt of pain as Jack, completely disregarding his own severe injury, began crawling toward the edge of the landing. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with horror as he saw you curled into a ball on the landing below.
"Don't move, honey. Just stay completely still," Jack commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he held his bandaged arm tightly against his chest. "I'm coming down to you."
"Stay there, Jack, don't move!" you cried out, looking up at him through a blur of tears. The sight of him dragging himself toward the edge of the stairs, his face entirely grey and his newly wrapped bandage already showing a fresh blossom of crimson, was almost worse than the white-hot agony radiating from your ankle.
"I'm not leaving you down there, sweetheart," Jack panted, his voice strained as he carefully manoeuvred his weight onto his good arm, slowly lowering himself down the first step. Every movement was a battle against shock, his breath catching sharply in his throat with each hitch of his body. "Just keep breathing. Nice, deep breaths for me."
It took him what felt like an eternity, but Jack finally managed to slide down the half-flight of stairs, collapsing heavily onto the landing beside you. He let out a ragged groan, leaning his back against the wall and immediately reaching out with his uninjured right hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch warm and desperate.
"Look at me, honey. Let me see you," he murmured, his eyes scanning your face, looking for any signs of a head injury before his gaze drifted down to your left leg. "Where does it hurt the most? Is it just the ankle?"
"Yeah," you choked out, squeezing his hand tightly. "I just slipped on the... on the blood, Jack. I tried to grab the phone and my foot just went. It snapped so loud."
"Okay, okay, let me have a look. I'm going to be very gentle, I promise," he whispered, leaning forward slightly. With practiced, tender precision, his steady fingers gently hovered over your ankle, barely brushing the skin. Even that tiny movement made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulder.
"I know, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, his brow furrowed in deep concern as he assessed the rapidly swelling, distorted joint. "Itās a nasty sprain, possibly a fracture. We need to get that elevated and iced, but first, we need to actually call the ambulance. Where's the phone?"
You pointed a shaking finger up toward the top step where your mobile was still resting, completely out of reach for both of you.
Jack let out a dry, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Plan B. My phone is in my back pocket. Do you think you can reach it? My left arm is completely useless right now."
Carefully shifting your weight while trying not to jar your leg, you slid your hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. Your fingers were still trembling so hard you almost dropped it, but you managed to unlock the screen and hand it over to him.
Jack didn't dial the standard emergency number; instead, he tapped in a direct line straight to the local ambulance dispatch handling the Pittās intake area. He pressed the speaker button, setting the phone down on the carpet between you. Within two rings, a familiar, crisp voice boomed through the speaker.
"Ambulance dispatch, what is the nature of the emergency?"
"Hey, it's Jack Abbot," Jack said, leaning his head back against the wall, his voice dropping into that calm, authoritative tone he used when directing a chaotic trauma bay. "Listen, I need a crew at my house. We've got a bit of a situation here."
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the sound of furious typing. "Jack? Dude, whatās gone on? Youāre supposed to be off until Monday."
"Yeah, well, the world had other plans," Jack grunted, wincing as he shifted his bandaged arm. "I've managed to put a chisel through my left forearm. Deep laceration, heavy bleeding, but we've got a pressure dressing on it now. My wife just slipped on the landing trying to help me and has taken a tumble down the stairs. Suspected fractured left ankle, severe pain, non-weight bearing."
"Jesus, Jack, you don't do things by halves, do you?" he replied, his voice a mix of professional urgency and fond disbelief. "Alright, Iāve got a unit just three minutes away from your street. Itās Mac and Sally. They're en route now. Keep that pressure on your arm, and keep your wife still."
"Thanks. Tell them the front door is unlocked," Jack said before hanging up. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening instantly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Hear that? Three minutes, honey. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."
"I was trying to help you, and I just made it worse," you whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes. "Now you're stuck on the floor because of me."
"Don't you dare worry about that," Jack chided gently, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you as close to his side as he could manage without hurting either of your injuries. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "You stopped the bleeding, sweetheart. You saved me from a massive haemorrhage. If anyone is to blame, itās me and my DIY projects."
A few minutes later, the heavy thud of the front door swinging open echoed from downstairs, followed by the hurried footsteps of two paramedics moving into the hallway.
"Jack? Where are you, buddy?" a loud, cheerful voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.
"Up on the half-landing, Mac!" Jack shouted back, his voice cracking slightly with the effort. "Mind your step as you come up, itās a bit of a disaster."
Two paramedics, loaded down with trauma bags and an extraction chair, rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Mac, a burly man with a thick beard, stared at the two of you huddled together on the small landing. Jack pale and blood-stained, and you clutching a ballooning ankle.
Sally, his partner, let out a loud, astonished bark of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, you have got to be joking. Jack, what on earth have you done to your poor wife?"
"I didn't do anything to her, she was trying to rescue me!" Jack protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he winced as Mac knelt down beside him.
"Hm, likely story, doc," Mac teased, his hands already moving efficiently to check the pulse in Jackās wrist below the bloody bandage. "Honestly, Jack, we leave you unsupervised for one weekend."
While Mac focused on Jack, Sally slid gracefully onto the floor next to you, opening her kit with a reassuring smile. "Alright, let's have a look at this leg. Jackās a terrible patient, so you're my priority right now."
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of efficient, careful movement. Sally administered a dose of medication for your pain, which finally took the sharp, agonizing edge off your ankle, while Mac reinforced Jackās dressing and got him a dose of something strong.
Despite their teasing, the paramedics were incredibly gentle, carefully loading you both onto separate carrying chairs to navigate the rest of the stairs. Jack refused to be loaded into the ambulance first, stubbornly waiting until you were securely inside so he could have his stretcher positioned right next to yours. The entire drive to the hospital, his hand never left yours, his thumb rhythmically stroking the back of your knuckles as he murmured sweet, groggy assurances that everything was going to be fine.
The moment the ambulance doors burst open at the Pitt, the familiar, sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of bleeping monitors washed over you. But the usual professional quiet of the admissions bay was shattered the instant Mac and Sally wheeled your matching gurneys through the automatic sliding doors.
"Heads up, team, we've got a double intake!" Mac called out at the top of his lungs, a massive, mischievous grin on his face. "Your best doctor has managed to incapacitate the entire Abbot household."
The reaction was instantaneous. Langdon, who had been charting at the central desk, dropped his pen entirely, his jaw hitting the floor. "What the... Dr Abbot?"
Dana emerged from Bay 4, a clipboard tucked under her arm, but stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes darting from Jackās heavily bandaged, blood-stained arm to your elevated, ballooning ankle. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The hell did you do to this lovely lady, Jack?"
Within seconds, a small crowd of familiar faces converged on the two stretchers. Mel hurried over from the staff room, a half-eaten sandwich still in her hand, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and absolute amusement. "Oh myā¦ are you okay? Well clearly not butā¦ what happened?ā
"I slipped on his blood!" you called out, the pain medication making you laugh weakly as the stretchers were wheeled side-by-side into the major trauma bays.
Robby walked out of the resuscitation unit, snapping off a pair of surgical gloves, his expression instantly melting into a look of profound, theatrical despair. He walked over to the foot of Jackās bed, crossing his arms. "Abbot. I leave you in charge of your own home for twenty-four hours, and you bring your lovely wife into my ER on a stretcher? Explain yourself."
"It was a loose floorboard, Robby," Jack groaned, the morphine making his voice deep and slightly slurred, though he still managed to shoot a mean glare. "The chisel slipped. She was brilliant, actually. Total natural."
"And then she fell down the stairs because you're a terrible husband," Trinity chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of the bay with a massive smirk on her face. She looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic wink. "Don't worry, beautiful, we'll make sure his stitches hurt extra bad for making you go through this."
Samira pushed through the crowd, carrying a fresh bag of IV fluids and a splinting kit. She looked at the two of you, shaking her head in fond disbelief as she began setting up near your bed. "Right, let's get a look at this ankle, shall we?"
Despite the relentless teasing and the chorus of laughter echoing through the department, the underlying warmth and care from the staff were palpable. The curtains between your bays were pulled completely back, creating one large room so Jack could keep his eyes on you. Even as Samira gently examined your leg and Langdon began prepping Jackās arm for a neat row of sutures, Jack kept his right hand stretched across the gap between the gurneys, his fingers hooked securely around yours.
"You're in good hands, sweetheart," Jack whispered, completely ignoring Trinity and Robby, who were currently debating which one of them got to write āDIY FAILā on his medical chart. He squeezed your hand tightly, his eyes soft with devotion. "They're going to fix us both up, and I promise you, I am never touching a tool again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Abbot," Langdon chuckled, pouring sterile saline over Jackās forearm to clear away the dried blood. He winced on Jack's behalf as the true depth of the laceration was revealed. "Though looking at this, you won't be holding a chisel or a scalpel for at least a few weeks. You've sliced right down. You're lucky you missed the important stuff."
"I told you, she stopped the bleeding," Jack said, his voice thick with pride despite the sharp intake of breath he let out as Langdon administered the local anaesthetic around the edges of the wound. He kept his eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your fingers tightening as the needle did its work. "She was incredible, Langdon. Didn't even faint."
Over on your side of the bay, Samira was carefully wrapping a temporary fiberglass splint around your rapidly bruising ankle, having just come back from reviewing the digital X-rays that Robby had rushed through the scanner. "Well, your brilliant wife has a nasty grade-three sprain and a tiny fracture. No surgery needed, thank goodness, but you're going to be on crutches and a boot for a while."
"Hear that, honey?" Jack murmured, a look of profound relief washing over his pale features as the morphine and the local numbing agent finally took the edge off his pain. "No surgery. You're going to be just fine."
"I'm more worried about you," you admitted, your voice still a little breathless from the lingering adrenaline and the effects of the medication. "You look like you've been through hell."
Dana walked back into the bay, holding a selection of takeaway menus, placing them on the bedside table between your gurneys. "Right, since you two managed to completely ruin your Saturday, the department is buying dinner. Santos wants pizza, Mel wants Thai, so you two get the deciding vote. Consider it a consolation prize for having the most embarrassing admissions of the year."
"Pizza," Jack grunted without hesitation, earning a loud cheer from Santos, who was still lingering near the desk. Jack looked back at you, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. "We'll get the one you like, sweetheart."
As Langdon methodically began placing neat sutures into Jackās arm, the initial chaotic energy of the department began to settle back into its usual professional rhythm. Robby and Dana headed back to the central desk to handle a new influx of patients from the waiting room, leaving the curtains open just enough for the staff to keep an eye on their favorite patient duo.
By the time Jackās arm was neatly bandaged and your leg was securely immobilized in a heavy boot, the evening sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, warm shadows across the trauma bay. A delivery driver had dropped off three massive boxes of pizza, and Samira had kindly brought over two cups of tea, served in the mismatched mugs from the staff room.
Jack managed to shift his gurney a fraction closer to yours, his right arm slung comfortably over the metal guardrail so he could remain completely connected to you. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to both of you, the quiet hum of the hospital a strangely comforting background noise compared to the terror on the stairs just hours earlier.
"I really am sorry, honey," Jack whispered, his voice soft and entirely devoid of the bravado he had shown in front of his colleagues. He leaned his head against the side of his pillow, looking at you with an expression of pure, unfiltered devotion. "I wanted to fix that stupid floorboard so you wouldn't trip on it, and I ended up putting you in a cast instead."
"We're a matching set now," you teased gently, reaching over to squeeze his uninjured hand, gesturing to his heavily wrapped arm and your massive black boot. "Besides, you heard the crew. We really don't do things by halves."
Jack let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound warm and familiar as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your skin. "No, I suppose we don't. But from now on, we are hiring a professional for absolutely everything. Next weekend, you and I are staying on the couch."
A series about Team Principal of Mercedes AMG Petronas Formula 1 team Toto Wolff, and a female journalist. The story starts in July 2020, around one year into their relationship, which they managed to keep secret up to this point.
It tells a story of a healthy couple, who respects and loves each other, and their journey through the highs and lows of life.
This series includes both real and fictional characters, but the story itself is A COMPLETE WORK OF FICTION.
Last updated: 11.06.2023
Current approximated W/C: 31k
Trigger Warnings will be tagged and mentioned before the chapter they apply to.
Rating: PG, age gap
A playlist made for this series
FLASHBACKS:
No Longer a Secret - flashback 08.06.2019 - The moment it became serious.
MAIN STORY:
July 2020
No longer a secret pt 1 - Youāre a reporter in a secret relationship with Toto, and he gives you some great advice.
No longer a secret pt 2 - The one with a healthy couple being a coupleā¦ Supporting each other and living a soft, slow domestic life.
No longer a secret pt 3 - The one where InternetTM has ideas and the relationship officially goes public.
No longer a secret pt 4 - The one with goodbyes and introductions
No longer a secret pt 5 - The one with the race and plans for the immediate future.
No longer a secret pt 6 - The one with A LOT of planning and phone-calls.
A/N: This started as a joke and for the people that said I wouldnāt, I absolutely would and I have. You know who you are, and I would say this is all your fault but this was actually fun. The summary makes it sound smutty and itās not, I just donāt know how else to word it. Anyway, heās daddy and hereās a fic for him.
Requested by: no one, but kind of the people on my main
Warnings: none
Summary: The morning after a loss, he needs a little de-stressing.
Ik I'm late but..... WE DID IT!!!!! FUCKING FINALLY!!!!! NEVER STOP BELIEVING!!!!! YOU DID IT MIKEL!!!!! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU!!!!! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM!!! š„¹š„¹š„¹š„¹š„¹š„¹
