pretending to help pay the bill with nanami !! >_0 based on this req by @chosoliciouss ty !!
nanami always adored dinner dates—they were an excuse to have you all dolled up and pretty, with him sitting across the table in his crisp suit, with candles adoring the middle of the table while your face was lit in the pretty moonlight.
ever the gentleman that he is, he always refused to let you pay, fighting you for the check to near violence, because having you in his presence is just enough for him. and treating you to good food is something that he wants to do for you, watching the way your eyes light up when you eat a dish you enjoy is enough to have him drop his entire wallet at your every beck and call.
this little setback didn’t stop you from having your own fun, of course.
right as the waiter dropped the bill at your table, nanami’s taking out his wallet—you’ve given up fighting him for the bill now, the moment you clutch your own purse, zipping it open to fish around it, seemingly to look for you own wallet has nanami pouting like a child for a. moment.
“my love, what on earth are you doing?” he questions, right before you grab what looked like lipgloss and a handful of seashells before setting it down on the table.
“im helping you pay the bill, of course.”
your face was stoic, almost dead serious, with the container of lipgloss and three pretty shells that rested before you.
“will this not cover it?” you say before setting down mermaid shells, and the tiniest jar of glitter on the table before you tilted your head in confusion while staring right into his eyes.
he tries to be serious for a second—he’s used to your antics by now, but something about the way you’re eyeing him while your collection rests next your purse is barely holding him back from bursting into a fit of giggles.
merely seconds later nanami’s snickering, trying to cover his face with his hands while you let out a soft giggle, watching his face tinge in pink while he slowly laughs at your previously dead serious expression while you set down trinkets on the table like a cat.
“gods, i’m gonna marry you some day.” is all he says, before paying the bill and setting it aside, all the while you can see the dimples crease his face at your stupid joke.
“if this was all it took, i would’ve started doing it ages ago.”
I LOVE HIMHIEMSH oki @yoonsucks pray for yer notifs and tumblr is so balls for labelling this oml
all work belongs to @liliklei , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!
i think nanami is used to being pretty quiet in bed. he doesn’t want to sound like a caveman when he’s blowing your back out, you know?
but when he starts dating you… well, you have a voice kink, and quiet just won’t work for you.
you breathe his name in his ear, you beg for more when he pulls back, you cry out with your head thrown back when he makes you cum. and his ears blush pinker at the tips the louder you are.
one night, when he’s been gone for a mission for nearly a week and came back and literally fell to his knees for you, his hands gripping your thighs as he sinks inside, you don’t even realize you’re moaning as he stretches you out.
“shh, baby,” he whispers, his breath hitching as you clench around him. “don’t wanna wake the neighbors.”
“s-sorry,” you whisper back breathlessly. “j-just— feels so good— don’t i make you feel good ken?”
he lets out a little chuckle, tucking his head in the crook of your neck as he starts slowly thrusting, pausing at the end so the tip of his thick cock can grind against your g-spot before he pulls back again. “of course you do, sweetheart. isn’t it obvious?”
you pout a little, though the expression is interrupted twice as your lips drop open in pleasure. “no it — nghh — it’s not. you don’t even moan when you’re inside me.” and despite the playful tone, there’s a slight edge of true hurt and insecurity.
he pulls back to look at you, hazel eyes searching your face and watching your expression start to crumple as pleasure starts to burn hotter inside you. “you really think i don’t enjoy this?”
“n-no, but—“
he cuts you off, leaning in until his lips are pressed right against your ear. the low sound of his voice, his breath on your back, his body on top of yours as he continues fucking you; it all makes you gasp, arching up into him. “you need me to make noise? need me to tell you how much i love this pussy, hm? how good it feels when you grip me — haa — that tightly?”
and for the very first time, nanami lets his moans fall from his lips right in your ear.
it’s insanely erotic, his voice only meant for you as he spills all the dirty thoughts he had of you while he was gone. how he couldn’t wait to stuff you full. how he’s going to wake you with his mouth in the morning just to have the taste on his tongue.
and as his pleasure crests like a wave, his voice pitches to a low rasp, his moans gravelly, almost pained as he fights off his impending orgasm.
“this cock is yours, baby,” he pants in your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “you’ve earned it.”
you stare up at him in awe, and when he cums, his voice, breathless with pleasure as he moans sends you over the edge as well.
a/n: if he moaned in my ear i would not rest until i merged with him like a symbiote. like he would never escape me.
After some investigating I think this is how far the live action OPLA will actually go. They will wrap production in S3 in June and it'll come out in 2027. So for the remaining 4 seasons, they'll be done by 2031 if they release every year or 2035 if it's every 2 years.
The live action show ending in the next 5-9 years isn't bad at all. The main cast should be under 40 by then lmfao
The Pitt Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Requests: Open
Synopsis: Jack Abbot never saw himself becoming a father. Flash forward 17 years and there's a girl with auburn curls and hazel eyes that has his whole heart. Jack does all he can to protect her from the world, but she ends up in the ER, in the arms of her boyfriend, during the city's worst mass casualty incident the city has ever seen. || wc: 6.7k
Request: "Jack Abbot x daughter!reader where she goes to PittFest with Jake and gets shot multiple times. It looks as if she won't make it, but by the grace of God, she does make it."
warnings: mass shooting, inaccurate medical terminology, military lingo, mentions of past MASCAL events, child loss, cursing, PTSD, suicidal ideation, death, description of life threatening injuries
Note: I changed things up a bit from the OG request. Reader is Jack's wife and they have a daughter and she's Jake's GF:) more trauma for the whole fam!
Jack Abbot never saw himself becoming a father.
He especially didn’t see himself becoming a girl dad.
It was after his first tour in Afghanistan that he met you. The young first lieutenant that had joined the med battalion as a new trauma surgeon. You were smart, a little too green when it came to being in charge, but a damn good surgeon. Jack had fallen for you instantly, not only because you were absolutely beautiful but because you could match him in wit. It was only a matter of time that you two had gotten together.
Like most military relationships, you moved quickly. Having only been dating for three months when Jack had proposed. And the engagement only lasted three weeks, before you two were running out of the courthouse, marriage license in hand, Jack in his dress uniform, you in a twenty-five dollar dress you bought at TJ MAXX. You and Jack were only four months into your marriage when the deployment notice came across your desk. Jack had tried to fight his dwell period status and become deployable. It was a tearful goodbye, Jack holding you close, knowing the horror you were about to experience. You weren’t as green as you once were, but Jack didn’t want you to lose your spark.
“You call me if it gets dark,” Jack said, pressing his lips to your hair line. “I’ll call as much as I can. I’ll send letters all the time.”
Jack was true to his word, sending multiple letters at a time, all in various lengths. Some were like books, others were postcards or pictures he had printed off. He kept you up to date on the combat medics you left back in the states, and you updated him on the patients you had seen every day. The times you did get to call, you would spend the whole time giggling hearing his stories of the shenanigans the E4 Mafia was getting up to.
The moment your boots hit the ground you took off running into his arms. Jack had caught you, his lips instantly on yours. You had barely said hello to your family, whisking Jack off to your own base apartment, and stripping him down.
It was six months to the day that you found out you were pregnant. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when you walked in with the profile, handing it off to your chain of command, Jack standing behind you with a smirk on his face.
“Couldn’t leave her alone, Abbot?” One of your fellow officers joked.
You had just gotten through your first trimester when Jack got his deployment notice. You both knew that there was nothing you could do to get him out of it. Things had heated up overseas, they needed competent medics and doctors, and Jack was one of the best 212th MASH had seen. They almost begged for him to come back during your last rotation over there. You reluctantly hugged Jack goodbye, watching him walk up the stairs of the plane, one hand on your belly and the other on your heart.
During Jack’s deployment, you had gotten out of the Army, picking up your DD214 with a bright smile on your face. You loved your time in the service, but knew you didn’t want the lingering doom of being sent overseas while raising children. You had great respect for the men and women who could do it, but you knew you couldn’t. Jack had put you in touch with his medical school friend, Michael Robinavitch, helping you move to Pittsburgh, Jack’s hometown to be closer to his family, and familiar faces.
Clementine Marie Abbot was born at 30 weeks gestation. You had woken up in the middle of the night in blinding pain, the kind of pain that stole your breath. Completely soaked in amniotic fluid. Your husband was 6,000 miles away.
You didn’t even think twice when you grabbed the landline and called Robby. He had driven to your house in record time, beating the ambulance he had called. You’d been pacing the floor of your bedroom, trying to get a red cross message to Jack’s unit to alert him of what’s going on when Robby arrived, paramedics right behind him. He’d put in a call to PTMC to have a trauma room ready, page OB and have an incubator on standby.
But baby Abbot wasn’t waiting for anyone. Dana hadn’t even gotten you fully hooked up to the monitor when you said you had to push. Robby quickly gowned and gloved, not even batting an eye as he got into position to deliver your baby. The OB had barely stepped foot out of the elevator when Robby had cut the umbilical cord, and moved quickly to the incubator. He’ll never forget the panic that surged through him as he prayed to any god that would answer to get your baby to breathe, to cry. Dana had done her best to keep you calm as you cried Robby’s name and begged him to save your baby. At last, that sweet sound of a newborn filled the room and Robby’s tearful voice sounded out ‘it’s a girl!’
Jack had flown home three days later, not even bothering to go home and changing, coming straight to the hospital in uniform, 72-hour assault pack with him. It was the first time you’d seen him cry, as he stood in the doorway of the NICU, watching you do skin to skin contact with a baby that looked no bigger than a water bottle.
Flash forward seventeen years, Clementine Abbot was her father’s twin. Same auburn curls, same hazel eyes, same pale skin dotted with freckles. She even had the habit of talking out of the side of her mouth like Jack does. She was sassy, and quick with her remarks. But above all else, she was compassionate. She felt deeply for everything and everyone, a trait she had inherited innately from her father.
Clementine had been stomping around the house for a better part of an hour. Already haven taken two phone calls which you could assume was from her boyfriend, verifying their plans to attend PittFest later in the afternoon. Your alarm had gone off twice, but you couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed. It was past 7AM, and Jack wasn’t home yet. Robby had sent you a text, and you wanted to wait until Jack got home, wanting to lay eyes on him and make sure he was home safe.
A soft knock sounded on the door, before it was pushed in. The quiet footsteps, one heavier than the other, before the edge of the bed dipped down. You could hear a small groan as Jack took his prosthetic off, leaning it against the wall.
“Hi,” You mumbled as Jack climbed in bed behind you. He was quiet, letting his weight sink into the bed, and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you. You knew his body language all too well, knowing that whatever happened last night was bad and he probably spent the morning on the roof.
After a while, Jack moved, placing a kiss on your neck. “Long night.”
You rolled over in his arms, laying on your back and facing him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jack shook his head, leaning in to kiss you. You knew in moments like these all he needed was intimacy and touch to make himself feel grounded.
“You work today?” He asked, his hands skimming your body as he placed kisses on your skin.
You nod, letting out a small sigh at the feeling of his facial hair against your neck. “Swapped with Shamsi for the day shift.” Jack adjusted his hips, slightly grinding into you. “I could call in.” Jack looked up at you, “To see you.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Jack said. “I’ve got the kid here to entertain me.”
You sighed, “Jake asked her to go to PittFest today since Robby is working.”
Jack furrowed his eyebrows, turning over slightly, “Clem!” He yelled. You heard a faint ‘what?!’ and Jack responded, “Get in here!”
Footsteps stomped down the hallway, and the door was pushed open, “What- Oh my god, you better not be having sex.” Clementine covered her eyes with her hand. You laughed, slightly untangling yourself from your husband, despite his small pout against it.
“You’re going to PittFest?” Jack asked.
“Mom,” Clem grumbled and you raised your hand in surrender. No matter how old Clementine got, Jack still saw her as the little premie wrapped in a pink blanket. “Yes, Jake asked me and mom said I could.” Jack looked at you.
“I said to clear it with your dad first,” You corrected her.
Clementine huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jake asked me to go to PittFest, and I wanted to know if I could go with him.”
Jack was quite a moment, “Your homework done?” You chuckled, covering your mouth with your hand.
“It’s the second week of school, Dad,” Clementine rolled her eyes. Jack gave her a look, waiting for the answer to her question. “Yes, my homework is done.”
“Okay,” Jack said, and Clementine squealed, rushing to his side of the bed, and throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, Daddy!” And as quick as she rushed in, she rushed out, going to her room to presumably call Jake.
“As long as you take your first aid kit!” Jack yelled down the hall, getting a loud groan in return. You chuckled, as Jack flopped back down into your embrace, “I don’t like Jake.” Jack mumbled against your chest.
You scoffed. “And why not?”
“He’s Robby’s.”
“He is not Robby’s.”
“Yeah but Robby raised him. Therefore, he’s Robby’s. And Robby is. . .”
“A slut?”
“Yeah.” Jack agreed, knowing all too well about his friend’s sexual escapades. “I don’t want Clem to get her heart broken.”
“She won’t,” You looked at Jack, “Jake’s a good boy. Janey raised him right. And he loves-“
“Ah! Nah! La la la la!” Jack plugged his ears with his fingers like a child. You rolled your eyes, playfully hitting him. “She’s too young to know what the L word is.”
“She’s seventeen.”
“Yeah, too young,” Jack sighed, “When did she get so grown?”
“I ask myself that all the time. Our only baby isn't a baby.”
You had tried for a second child a year or two after Clem was born. You had struggled to get pregnant a second time, having found luck a few times but each ended in tragedy. You and Jack had a long conversation about it, and ultimately decided that one was enough for the two of you.
Jack huffed, snuggling more into your stomach, basically burying his face in your frame. You ran your hand through his curls. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t think Yolo would mind.”
Jack sighed, rolling onto his back, “No,” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he was trying to push his tiredness away. “Robby is going to need you.”
“He’s working today?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Jack looked up at you with a knowing look. “Alright.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, before pushing out from underneath his frame. Jack sat up on his elbow, a lovestruck look on his eyes as he took in the sight of you in nothing but a tanktop and panties. “Quit staring, perv.”
“Never,” Jack smirked. You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pair of scrubs out of your dresser before walking to the bathroom to get ready. Once you were dressed, hair back in a low bun, you pushed the bathroom door open, to find Jack completely passed out. You smiled to yourself, drawing the blackout curtains, and kissing his forehead on your way out of the bedroom.
— — —
The emergency department was bursting at the seams when you clocked in. You rounded on your patients up on the surgical floor before making your way to the ED, checking in on some consults, when you got pulled in on a trauma. You loved it when you got to cover the ER, swooping in like some kind of super hero, showing the medical students some cool life saving maneuver they’ve never seen, before whisking the patient away to the seventh floor.
“Mom!” Clementine yells, waving you over to her.
“Clem,” You greet her and she gives you a quick hug. “Jake.”
“Dr. Abbot,” Jake says, standing from his chair to shake your hand.
“Just Y/N works,” You politely correct the boy, “Dr. Abbot is too professional sounding.” You almost shudder. Your name gets shouted across the ED by a frantic med student. “I gotta bail Robby out in trauma one. Don’t leave without getting cash from me.”
“Never turning down money from the ‘rents,” Clem smirked, as you walked off towards the trauma room. Clem shuffled a bit closer towards the window, watching as you commanded the room, jumping right in and calling out orders. She always loved watching you and Jack work, even from a young age. The way you worked in perfect silence, everyone around you already knew what you needed before you even said it.
“Quit watching that shit,” Jake grimaced. Clem looked over her shoulder at her boyfriend.
“It’s cool.” She shrugged walking over to him at the nurses station. “Don’t tell my dad I said what he does is cool. He’ll never let me live it down.”
Once you and Robby got the patient stable, you passed them off to Garcia, waiting on the surgical floor. You washed your hands in the scrub sink, going over your mental notes in your head for the patients chart, and letting your heart settle back into a normal rhythm. Even after years as a trauma surgeon, you still got that rush of adrenaline whenever you got a new patient. Robby patted you on the shoulder, commending your good work, before going to the nurses station to greet Jake.
“Clem,” You said, motioning for your daughter. She smiled at Dana, excusing herself to go over to you. You walked down the hall a bit, getting away from the commotion of the central nurses station. “I think this goes without saying, but be safe.” Clem rolled her eyes, “I’m serious. I’m not going to give you the whole run down, I’ll save that for your dad.”
“Thank god,” Clem huffed. “If I get one more lecture about how to place a tourniquet, I’m going to scream.”
“Yeah that’s your dad,” You chuckle, and reach into your jacket pocket, handing her some cash. “Spend it wisely. Stay away from drugs.”
“Yes mom,” Clem smiled, “Thank you.”
“And,” You hold your hand out, giving her a condom.
“Mom!”
“It’s a precaution!” You justify, “I restocked the box in your bathroom. Your dad doesn’t know.”
“Jesus,” Clem blushes as she takes the condom from you, stomping back down the hall towards the nurses station. You watch as she gives Jake a quick run down of the conversation, and as she discreetly passes the condom to Jake, who also blushes furiously. He looks up briefly, meeting your look from across the ED, and quickly looks away.
Dana steps in next to you, tablet in her hand and glasses on, looking in the same direction you are. “Sex talk?”
“What other way do we embarrass our kids at that age?” You question. Dana just laughs, throwing her arm around your shoulders as you walk back towards the nurses station. “You two get going, before the subway is jammed full.”
“Alright,” Clementine gives you a hug, “Bye, Mom.”
“Bye baby,” You say softly, giving her a squeeze before she pulls away. “Text me when you get there!” Clem nods, grabbing Jake’s hand and walking towards the ED doors. You close your eyes as she steps out into the September air. It always felt like a piece of your heart was leaving whenever you watched her walk out the door.
“I offered Jake money and he told me to not give him a condom,” Robby said, coming up beside you, his brown eyes trained on the door that the two teens walked out of.
“Well, I’m too young and hot to be a grandparent.” You sigh, “Besides if Jack found out that Jake and Clem were having sex. . . God help us all.”
Robby laughed, “Yeah I can only imagine- Wait! They’re really having sex?”
You pat Robby’s shoulder, a smirk on your face as you head back up to the OR floor.
— — —
The rest of your day goes pretty routinely. Two scheduled laparoscopic surgeries, and a few ED consultations. You were in the middle of charting in your office when the page came across your phone. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of the message you were seeing. You felt your heart stop in your chest, standing up from your desk, not even bothering to lock your computer as you ran towards the elevator.
“What the fuck, Abbot?” Garcia yelled after you, but you couldn’t even explain it to her. You didn’t even know what was going on as you repeatedly jammed the button for the first floor.
You ran quickly to the ED, pushing the doors open, eyes scanning for the familiar head of dark hair. He was already standing at the nurses station, phone glued to his ear as he was no doubt already making calls to get as many hands on deck as he could.
“Robinavitch!” You yell, breathlessly running up to him. “What the fuck is going on? A shooting at PittFest?”
Robby held his hands up, trying to calm you, “We just got the call. We’re the closest trauma center so the majority are coming here.” You open your mouth again, but Robby answers for you, “I haven’t gotten ahold of Jake or Clem.”
You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes and anxiety making your hands shake. “I’ll try calling her.” Robby nodded knowing that it probably was going to end the same way his attempts did. “What do you need from surgery?”
“You gotta call in the calvary. As many surgeons and teams as you can get.”
“I’ll put the call out and start turning over rooms,” You turned back towards the elevators, phone pressed to your ear. Robby has seen this quiet calm in you before, Jack liked to call it “Army Mode”, when you’d shut down the noise from the outside and focus solely on the task of saving as many lives as efficiently as possible. Dana gave Robby a look, the same look she had given him when the call came through.
“She’ll be fine,” Robby assured the charge nurse, “She’s done this before.”
Within minutes, the emergency department was totally flipped into a MASH unit. You called in as many surgeons as you possibly could, giving a quick briefing to the OR floor on what to expect. You were thankful that Emery had come in early, one of the only other people who had worked a high-stress mass casualty event like this before. You knew that she was going to be able to keep calm during this, being able to see through the blood and the gore, and keep a level head. You were able to get fifteen of the twenty-five ORs quickly staffed, and send down Emery, Yolanda, and yourself to work in the ED.
“You ready for this?” Emery asked as you looked over one of the MCI books.
“Aren’t you always?” You gave her a tired smile. You could see it in her eyes, the flashback that was playing in her head. The feeling of dirt and grime on your skin, the sand that got into your mouth, the hot blast of air that felt like you had opened the oven door. Emery gave you a simple nod, her eyes finding something just over your shoulder. You turned around, a wave of relief crashed over your body. Your feet moved before you could even process, your body crashing into him.
“Jack,” You held your husband tightly, a few stray tears falling from your face. Jack’s body was steady and warm against your cold, shaking frame. He breathed in your scent, that faint smell of your laundry detergent, antiseptic, and your favorite hand sanitizer.
“I heard it on the police scanner.” Jack said and placed a kiss on your temple as he pulled away. His green eyes did a quick search of you, making a quick assessment. Blood shot eyes, red nose, all the color drained from your face. He hasn’t seen you rattled like this in a long time, and it scares him a bit. But he also knows how you work in high stress situations, seeing you run traumas in the middle of a MASCAL while still actively under fire.
“She’s not answering,” You say.
“Cell towers are going to be overloaded,” Jack responded and all you could do was nod. “She’ll call us when she can. She knows what to do in these situations. We’ve had conversations.” Perks of growing up with two veterans and doctors for parents. Clem had gotten a total run down of what to do in every single possible situation, plus her own version of a ‘go bag’ in her backpack.
You let out a calming breath as everyone in the ED arrived, standing around for Robby’s debrief.
“Walsh,” Jack said, gently pulling the surgeon to the side. He watched you walk away with Garcia, making some sort of plan for the OR layout. “I need you to keep her in the OR-“
Emery looked puzzled, “What? She’s the subject matter expert in these-“
“Clementine is at PittFest with Jake and she’s not answering.” Jack explained and realization dawned on Emery’s face, as she looked over at you.
“No problem. I’ll take primary surgery, and send her up. She’ll be quicker than anyone on turning over ORs.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, squeezing Emery’s arm before walking back towards the gathering group.
“Alright,” Robby said, gathering everyone’s attention. Jack stepped in closer to you, his warmth radiating off of him, almost like a grounding force as Robby explained the situation to everyone. You felt like you had been transported back in time, and the granite floor of the Pitt was now wooden planks laid on top of sand. The distant hum of people still setting up supplies was that of a dust-off waiting to land on the helipad. Your soft scrubs were suddenly the starchy material of UCPs, the On-Cloud tennis shoes were heavy standard issued boots that always gave you blisters but were easy to throw away and get new if you needed them.
“We’re a MASH unit now,” Jack said, “There’s no charting, no electronic medical records, no board.”
“How do we document treatment?” Someone asked.
“With this,” You pulled out a sharpie from your pocket. The med students looked at you like you had lost your mind. “I’m serious. This is your new form of charting. Worked just fine in MASCAL in Afghanistan.”
“This isn’t the Gulf War,” Someone else chimed in.
“It might as well be,” You answered. “Every patient will have a wrist chart, and if there’s no room on that, you write on their forehead.” You handed your sharpie to a med student. “Trust your attendings. We’ll get you through this.”
“Damn right we will,” Jack said, a proud smile on his face.
“Who’s got primary surgery?” Robby asked, holding the binders out. Jack nodded towards Emery, who stepped up before you could say anything.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” She smirked, looking at you briefly before putting the orange vest on. You glared at Jack, knowing that he had put her up to this. “Head upstairs. You’ll want to get your favorite OR before Miller does.”
You scoffed, “If you see her-”
“I’ll page you,” Emery said, finishing your sentence for you. “Go, we got this. I might’ve spent my time on a ship, but I’ve seen a thing or two.” You gave her a fist bump before heading upstairs to get to work.
— — —
The first hour felt like a blur. You had been running from OR to OR, getting patients stable, patching them up and sending them off to the ICU or for some other speciality to take over. That was your job as a trauma surgeon, get them stable enough for the cardiac specialist to come in or the neurology specialist to come in and do what they do best. You felt like you couldn’t even breathe when the chief of surgery had sent you down stairs to help with the flow of surgical patients.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” Robby asked as you stepped into the ambulance bay.
“I need air,” You said, putting on a yellow gown. Robby stepped behind you to tie it. “Miller kicked me out of my OR, said Walsh needs help down here.” You glanced over your shoulder, “The longer this goes on, the more critical they become.”
“I know,” Robby said. You gave him another fleeting look, “Nothing from Jake.”
“Nothing from Clem.”
“Maybe us worrying about them having sex was the least of our problems.” You let out a loud laugh. Robby opened his mouth to say something else, as a truck drove into the ambulance bay, the back full of victims. You quickly moved out of the way as the driver slammed on his breaks, jumping out of the cab, and opening the backdoor, which was also full of victims.
“Sir, are you hurt?” You asked, walking up to him, giving him a quick once over. Ellis and Shen jumped into the back of the truck, triaging the patients back there.
“No, all of them are.” He pointed to the victims, all bloodied.
You grabbed the first one in the truck, “GSW to the shoulder, through and through,” You spoke out loud, “Faint pulse, red band!” You called out, a gurney arriving next to you as you and a nurse pulled the patient out. Robby slapped a band on the victim’s wrist, and someone took them inside.
“GSW to the chest,” Ellis said.
“There was a lot of blood. I tried to stop it.”
“Jake?” Robby yelled, the young boy looking up.
“Robby! Clem got shot!”
You felt like your whole world had stopped spinning, your heart going dead still in your chest. Your feet moved on their own towards the truck bed full of victims, Ellis and Shen working quickly to triage them all. Jake looked around frantically, holding your unconscious daughter in his arms, blood coating his pale skin and clothes.
“Oh,” You gasped, seeing the bullet wound in your daughter’s chest, “Oh. Oh no. Clem.”
“Y/N,” Robby said, stepping in behind you.
“She was talking when we loaded her up,” Jake whispered to you. You looked at him, tears in his eyes, “I tried to save her.”
All you could do was nod, and let your body be moved aside, as a gurney was brought over, Robby and Shen quickly moving your daughter’s limp body on to it and rushing towards the trauma bay. Jake stepped down from the truck bed, standing next to you. You looked at the boy, his eyes wide with unshed tears. You knew that you should say something, that you should comfort him somehow or take him in to get looked at. But all you could do at that moment was head into the emergency room, leaving the scared boy alone.
You scanned the emergency department, it all rushed by you in slow motion. Suddenly, you were back in Afghanistan, the bright walls of PMTC shifting into the tan walls of the operating tent. The black scrubs faded into UCP uniforms. The sounds of yelling were covered up by the sound of the big voice calling out “TRIAGE, TRIAGE, TRIAGE.” You closed your eyes, your surroundings blurring into one.
“Abbot!” Someone called out, bringing you back to the present. You opened your eyes, frantically searching the room, landing on Robby. You moved over to him, pushing your way through the crowd surrounding your daughter.
“Need an airway,” Robby said. You didn’t even think twice, grabbing the laryngoscope.
“She’s B Neg,” You stated, tilting her chin back, so you could get a clear visual of her trachea, “Match exactly that, and have extra O neg in standby.” You seamlessly placed the intubation tube. “Tidal?”
“Yellow,” Jesse responded.
“Y/N,” Robby said, “You can’t work on her.”
“The fuck I can,” You argued, “It’s all hands.”
“Not on this one,” Robby grabbed your hand, “Not on this one.”
You scoffed, “Fuck you, Robinavitch. This is my child!”
“Do you want me to save your daughter or argue with you?” You gaped at him. “Go! Now!” You just stared in shock as Robby yelled at you. Never in the many years of knowing him has he ever raised his voice at you like that. You had of course heard his gruff yell from years of working together and somewhat raising children together. But it has never been directed at you.
“I can’t feel a carotid, start compressions,” Robby instructed one of the nurses, who started to press on Clementine’s chest.
Dana appeared at your side, gently guiding you away from the red zone and away from your daughter. Jack had watched the whole thing unfold from where he was working on a patient. Once the patient was stable enough, he moved over to where Robby was, needing to lay eyes on his daughter. Jack’s jaw clenched, taking in the sight of her body.
“Not you too,” Robby snapped.
Jack shook his head, “I just need to see her.”
“Please,” Robby pleaded, “Let me work on her, brother.”
Jack looked up at his friend, and nodded. “Don’t be Superman. Know the limit. If she’s unable-“
“No-“
“If she’s unable to be saved. . . Don’t waste precious resources to try to delay the inevitable.” Robby shook his head, not believing what his friend was saying to him. This was his goddaughter. In no way was he just going to let her die.
“She needs an IO,” Robby said, brushing Jack off and continuing to work on Clementine. Robby grabbed the small drill, placing an IO in Clem’s leg, inserting the tubing as a nurse handed him a blood bag. He squeezed in the bag, watching it drain down the tubing and into her small, pale body. “More, she needs more. Squeeze in another bag, and do a pulse check. Start a second line.”
Dana looked at him puzzled, “Another line?” She took in the girl’s body, she wasn’t sure if Clementine could handle having two lines.
“For FFP and platelets,” Robby instructed, as he attached another blood bag, squeezing it the same way he had the first one.
“You sure, Robby?” Dana asked and the attending nodded.
“Switch me on compression,” He ordered a nurse, moving over so he could press on Clementine’s chest. “Pulse check.” Robby stopped compressions, pressing his fingers to Clem’s neck, while Dana placed hers on her femoral artery. “No carotid.”
“No femoral,” Dana reported.
“More blood, get me that fucking plasma.”
“Robby,” Dana said softly, as Robby continued to push another bag of blood into the IV.
“No,” Robby shook his head as if he were a stubborn child who didn’t want to share his toys. “I delivered this child and have watched her grow up. She’s not dying in my fucking department!” He discarded the empty blood bag, “More blood!”
Dana shared a look with Jack over Robby’s shoulder. All Jack could do was nod, his jaw clenched tightly as he continued to work on another patient, knowing his daughter’s life was slipping through the fingers of his best friend.
“Need to swap out?” Emery asked, and Jack shook his head.
“Nope,” He said, “This one can go up stairs.” Jack pushed the patient towards Emery, who gave him a nod and rolled the patient towards the elevator. He snapped off his gloves, going over to where Robby was working on Clem. Blood covered her exposed chest, empty units of blood littered the ground while Dana held up the pleuro-vac filled with Clementine’s blood.
“Four units,” Dana answered Jack’s silent question.
“She just had a pulse,” Robby answered. “Emery couldn’t feel it, but I did. She had a pulse.”
Jack nodded, “But four units? Blood is for the ones we can-”
“We can save her,” Robby snapped, “She’s on the edge. One more.” Robby’s brown eyes were full of unshed tears.
“Fine. One more.” Jack said, taking a step back to grab another unit and hand it to his friend. Robby moved quickly, grabbing the IO line and sticking it into the unit of blood.
“Dana, a little TXA,” Robby ordered, squeezing every last drop of blood into Clem’s body. Dana looked at Jack, wanting to get his approval before she gave his daughter any more medicine. Jack just shrugged, knowing whatever they were going to give her, was probably not going to work. The damage had been done already. Jack was too far gone into his trauma mode to even realize what he was watching. He was watching the last moments of his little girl’s life. Watching as his friend, his best man, pressed on the delicate chest of his only daughter, trying to will her heart to keep beating.
“The bullet tore through her heart,” Jack said, tears welling in his eyes. “Anyone else with an injury like this is pronounced dead in the field.”
“She’s not anyone else,” Robby said, continuing chest compressions.
“You can’t keep up with the blood loss-”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Robby snapped. “Pulse check!” Dana blinked back tears as she pressed her fingers again to Clementine’s femoral artery, as Robby pressed against her neck. He closed his eyes, praying to whatever God was listening, to whatever God he hadn’t pissed off yet that he would feel something. That he wouldn’t have to call time of death right in front of her father. It seemed as though the ED had gone silent, as Robby pressed his fingers harder against her neck, trying to find some semblance of a pulse.
Dana gasped, “I got a femoral. It’s weak, but it’s there.”
“I got a carotid,” Robby mumbled.
Jack shoved his way through the crowd around Clem, his fingers replacing Robby’s and then replacing Dana’s. “It’s there. Emery!”
“I already said I’m not taking this one up without-” Emery placed her fingers on Clem’s hip. “Holy shit, you got a pulse. I’m taking her up myself.” Emery quickly shucked off her orange vest and gown, handing it to Dana. “Get Y/N to take over primary. I’m not letting this kid out of my sight.”
“Thank you,” Jack said as tears ran down his cheeks, “Thank you.” He leaned down to press a quick kiss to his daughter’s head, running a hand over her bloody, matted red hair. “You’re going to be in good hands. I love you.” Emery gave Jack’s arm a squeeze as she wheeled Clementine towards the elevators. Jack felt a sigh of relief as he looked up at the bright lights of the ED, trying to stop the tears from running down his face. Dana squeezed his shoulder, knowing that the worse wasn’t over yet.
“Thank you,” Jack said, looking at the charge nurse. “Thank you, Rob-” Jack turned to see his friend had basically vanished into thin air. “Where’s Robby?”
— — —
It had been three hours since the call had come in about PittFest. Two hours since Jack watched his daughter fight for her life in the middle of the emergency room, his best friend worked miracles to save her. Robby had disappeared for a moment, Jack had heard a rumor that he had a total breakdown in pedes. Robby eventually came back to the floor, assisting with the aftermath of the PittFest victims, shipping them upstairs for surgery. The second you got cut free, Emery coming back down to replace you, you ran upstairs to the OR, ignoring Yolanda’s demands for you to leave, and sat by Clementine’s head, running your hand over her hair as the cardiovascular team worked on her.
Jack knew that he should’ve stopped by the ICU, he knew that Clementine was out of surgery and was in a room, being watched over. It paid sometimes to have parents who worked at the hospital, she didn’t have to wait in the ED, or on some other floor for a room to open up. Jack knew that he should’ve gone and held your hand, and gotten the run down of Clem’s condition, but instead, he pushed the button for the top floor, the one with roof top access.
Robby stood exactly where Jack knew he was going to be, except this time, he was on the other side of the safety railing, his stethoscope hanging on the railing.
“You’re in my spot,” Jack said as he walked towards him. Robby closed his eyes. The last person he really wanted to talk to was Jack. “Just so you know, Grubhub will not deliver to the roof. But there is a DoorDash guy, Marco, who will trek up here for an extra ten dollars.” Jack leaned against the railing, staring at Robby’s back. “Nice speech you gave down there. I wish I had given it.”
Robby scoffed, “No you don’t.” If there was one person who hated talking in front of crowds more, it was Jack Abbot. You had told Robby about the “motivational speeches” Jack had given during your time overseas.
“No, fuck no,” Jack chuckled. “But I’m glad somebody did.”
“Yeah,” Robby nodded, still staring out over the ledge of the hospital.
“I think I finally understand,” Jack said. “Why I keep coming back now. It’s in our DNA, it's what we do. We can’t help it. We are the bees that protect the hive.”
Robby couldn’t help but chuckle at Jack’s poor analogy of what the ER department was like. Robby shook his head, grief falling over him again. “Maybe you, not me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” Robby was quiet for a moment, “I broke. At the moment everybody needed me-” Robby shuddered, pushing tears back the best he could. He had cried enough for one day, and he wasn’t about to break again in front of his best friend. “I couldn’t do it. I choked.”
“For what? 40 seconds? Three minutes? Ten minutes?” Jack asked, “So fucking what? We all have that. That’s what happens when you’re in a war.”
“Everyone needed me. Clem, she-“
“She’s alive because of you.” Jack could tell by Robby’s body language, he really wasn’t listening to him.
“Y/N, she-“
“Didn’t need to be in there,” Jack said softly, “She only yelled at you because you did exactly what she would’ve done but she couldn’t. You did the right thing by sending her away. She would’ve just clouded everything. She was clouding everything.”
Robby turned around to look at his friend. “Clem’s going to be okay?”
“She’s got a long road ahead of her, but she’ll make it eventually. You know us Abbots,” Jack gave him a sad smile, “We just can’t seem to die.”
Ok, so this list was born after I read the beautiful fic called The Devil’s White Knight. It’s about Harry traveling to an alternative universe where Voldemort was killed in his youth, where his parents are alive and his whole life played out differently. He still has his memories though, and a whole lot of trauma, so he goes through a journey of getting to know a family that loves him unconditionally while struggling with everything else.
I was obsessed to say the least. I started looking for similar fics that gave me the same feelings and that explored Harry’s trauma and power as the key to Voldemort’s defeat, and how he fit into his new life. Thse are some I enjoyed a lot.
- [ ] Devils White Knight: 65k, complete: Please give it a try. https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854605/chapters/15646567
- [ ] To make it better: 175k, incomplete: It’s Drarry, Wolfstar and Jegulus. How beautiful is that? It explores Harry’s mental health and his alcohol addiction post war. Honestly breathtaking. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39312627/chapters/98377947
- [ ] In Another Life (I would make you stay): The Potters are from Pakistan. Harry’s alter ego stays in his mind like an annoying Jiminy Cricket. He has a little brother. 112k, complete: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903207/chapters/47142952
- [ ] Across the Universe: 3k one shot told from James’ point of view. It’s a shame its not longer, this one hits all those sweet spots for me. https://m.fanfiction.net/s/4180686/1/Across-the-Universe
- [ ] To be Human: 80k, incomplete: In the middle of Bill and Fleur’s wedding Harry is called into another dimension by suspicious forces. https://archiveofourown.org/works/47583439/chapters/119924326
- [ ] Potter by any other name: 85k, complete: After the war Auror Harry gets in the middle of an attack on Diagon Alley and suddenly appears in front of Auror Mad-Eye Moody and Auror James Potter. He lies about his name and decides to help them. The family feels were strong on this one. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39836340/chapters/99738360
- [ ] The Incalculable Power: 76k, incomplete: So so so SO good, Draco and Harry travel back in time to the Marauder’s time in Hogwarts. They are intrigued by the new transfer students. https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632333/chapters/70181604
- [ ] Stunning Shifts: 106k, incomplete: During a publicity stunt, Harry and five others are sent to another world where a well timed Stupefy made all the difference. As Harry looks for his peers and a way home, another Harry investigates the odd arrival of his doppelganger. https://archiveofourown.org/works/552828/chapters/985108
- [ ] You’re somebody else: 54k, incomplete: Harry escapes Malfoy Manor and appears in the middle of the Potter’s home. He is freaked out to say the least. https://archiveofourown.org/works/36528937/chapters/91094224
Let me know if you’re intersted in more recommendations! I’ve been reading a few similar fics.
Summary: While her husband is deployed overseas, Yn Ln Abbot boards a flight that never reaches its destination. They called it an aviation crash. He called it the worst day of his life.
notes: I have been playing Tomb Raider the past few days and I couldn't hold myself back. Don't worry, It's a girl (3/3) is in the works. Some Ogilvie bashing cause I couldn't find another character. No hate to the actor, he's doing an amazing job.
warnings: mention of death. Alleged death of reader. Reader description to match what she went through, I did try to make it as vague as possible. Reader mentioned to have been rich. Reader mentioned to have scars and burned herself (cauterization). A funeral being held. Burying someone without a body. Angst with happy ending.
wc♡4.1k
When YN died, it was loud.
The aircraft came undone in pieces as metal and people alike shrieked through the sky. The sound carried, thin and swallowed by wind. The smell of fuel burned sharp in the air, thick and choking, mingling with the stench of burning wires. Fire bloomed where metal met ground as smoke clawed upwards into an indifferent sky.
It was chaos. It was catastrophic. It was final.
Jack was suturing a soldier’s arm when the lieutenant approached him.
The medical tent was suffocating, thick with the metallic scent of blood and antiseptic that never quite masked it. Outside, boots pounded over packed sand, radios crackled, and somewhere someone laughed too loudly at something that probably was not that funny.
“Sir.”
Jack didn’t look up at first. His hands were steady, gloved fingers precise as he guided the needle through torn flesh. “Hold still,” he murmured to the soldier on the cot.
“Sir,” the lieutenant repeated, voice tighter now. “There’s a personal message from command center.”
Personal.
Around here, personal never meant good news.
Jack tied off the final suture and cut the thread. He stripped his gloves off slowly, as if delaying his knowledge of the news might change it.
“I’ll take it." he said.
The lieutenant walked him across the base, the desert sun glaring overhead and the air shimmered with heat as sand shifted underneath their boots.
Inside the communications tent, a walkie sat on the metal desk. The lieutenant gestured to it gently, like it might explode if came too close.
“I’ll give you space, sir,” he said quietly.
Jack stepped forward as the younger man stepped out. For a second, he just stared at the device, his pulse was loud in his ears. And then, he picked it up.
“This is Abbot.”
Static crackled before a voice came through- calm, official and detached. Like he had delivered too many personal calls for him to be affected by them anymore.
“Doctor Abbot, I am Commander Reeves. I am calling in regards of your wife, Mrs. Yn Ln Abbot.”
Jack held his breath without realizing it.
“Yes?”
“There was an aviation incident early this morning. Flight 756. She was on the flight. There were no further updates after the mayday call, it was lost.”
Lost was military language for devastation, for saying that there are no proper coordinates where we can search, for saying that the last known location is beyond survival.
Lost was military language for your wife is dead and we will not say it plainly.
The noise outside the tent didn’t change- soldiers were still talking, guns clinked softly as they were cleaned and the wind pushed sand in restless whispers against fabric made walls.
But something inside him went quiet. Utterly and devastatingly quite. A silence so deep it felt like the world had been vacuumed hollow.
“We are so sorry for your loss, doctor.”
And with those words, his world collapsed. There was no dramatic reaction, no shouting and no begging. He just stood there, still holding the walkie, staring at nothing.
When YN came back to life, it was quiet. Too quiet. The roar of the crash had faded into a distant memory of fire and groaning metal as the hush of tide kept pulling it back from shore. And then the pain arrived.
Her shoulder was wrong- visibly, horribly wrong- as it was pushed out of its socket at an unnatural angle, her clavicle throbbed with the deep, sick certainty of a fracture, every breath sent a sharp, splintering agony through her ribs, and a long laceration along her thigh burned where blood had dried against her skin.
Her head rang like someone had dropped cathedral bells inside her skull and set them swinging. She laid on her back on wet ground, staring up at a sky that was impossibly blue. It was too calm, too beautiful.
She dragged herself out of the tide with the one functioning arm, nails digging into mud, body trembling with every inch gained as the ocean tried to pull her back as if claiming what it had been promised.
She cried out when she moved, raw, broken sounds ripped from her throat as pain flared through her body.
“Help,” she gasped.
Her voice disappeared into wind, then she tried again. Louder.
“Please!”
And again, and again. But no one answered. There were no sirens, no search teams, no hands reaching for her. No Jack. It was just the vast stretch of muddy grass and the indifferent sea.
That first night, she dragged a broken wing panel across the clay and propped it against debris sticking to the side of the bottom of a cliff to form a crude shelter. Every movement felt like she was tearing herself open again.
She knelt beside a rock, breath ragged, as she stared at her dislocated shoulder. There was no one else. And so, she pressed her shoulder against the stone and forced the joint into place. The sound it made was sickening and the pain was blinding- it tore a scream from her that echoed against empty cliffs before collapsing into silence.
Jack buried an empty coffin.
She blacked out from it and when she woke, the stars were out. And she was still alone.
He had been told that the ocean had swept away what was left of the flight. There had been no body to identify, no hand to hold one last time and no forehead to kiss goodbye. Just a polished wooden box filled with nothing.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
The phrase repeated so often that it lost meaning. People watched him carefully during the service, eyes tracking him like he was something fragile and volatile, like they expected him to shatter, to explode and to fall apart in front of the grave.
But he did not cry. Not when they lowered the coffin, not when the dirt hit wood with that final, unforgiving sound and not at the funeral reception where people whispered about how tragic it all was. He stood straight, he thanked people and he shook hands.
Three days later, he requested going back to base.
The house was the worst part, the silence there was different from the one in the desert, it wasn't just vast, it was intimate. Her shoes were still by the door, her mug still in the cabinet and her books marked halfway through chapters she would never get to finish.
And even years later, when he had exchanged the simmering, blinding desert for the cool white walls, he still hated the empty space on their bed and the way he still turned towards her side in his sleep. He saved lives in the ER like it was penance. Like every pulse he restarted, every wound he closed, every life he dragged back from the brink was a payment toward a debt he could never settle. Like he could restart her pulse and his own along with it.
Fourteen years was a long time for grief to stop being sharp and start being normal. It rooted itself into him, it influenced his decisions quietly and persistently; the shifts he took, the promotions he refused, the distances he kept from people who tried to get too close.
He built his life around her absence, he learned which memories he could afford to touch and which would unravel him completely. He never moved her books, he never packed away their photographs, he never erased her voicemail and he never took off his wedding band. It remained there, a thin circle of metal around his finger, a promise to a woman the world believed was gone.
Hunger teaches you humility. Yn had grown up in estates and private academies, she had worn silk and debated on real estate over wine. But the island didn't care; she learned how to split open a fish with a sharpened shard of turbine casing, learned how to trap small animals with vines, learned which berries blistered your tongue and which kept you alive.
Grief became his constant companion- silent, unyielding and unbearably alive.
She learned the sound of approaching storms by the way the birds vanished first and she learned how to stitch her own skin with fishing wire salvaged from the wreckage.
The first time fever took her, she hallucinated Jack’s voice. He was standing at the edge of the jungle, clean and pressed and furious.
“Yn,” he said in that controlled tone that always meant he was afraid.
She crawled toward him, but before she could get to him, he dissolved into light.
When she woke, her wound was infected and she had to burn it clean with heated metal. She did not scream, there was no one to hear her anyway, so instead she bit down on leather stripped from a seatbelt and let the smell of her own burning flesh sink into her bones.
She mapped the island in her head; freshwater spring to the north, jagged cliffs east, dense jungle that swallowed light and sound west.
She named nothing, because naming meant claiming, and claiming meant believing she had some control over this place. And that was hope- it was what made her wait for rescue that never came, it was what made her count days until she stopped feeling them at all.
Hope wasn't a lifeline, it was a wreckage- laying waste at the ocean's shore and scattered across unreachable cliffs.
At night she would sit on a cliff overlooking the ocean and press her palm against the hollow at her throat where her necklace used to rest. She pictured Jack the way he had looked the morning he left, half-dressed, hair still damp from the shower, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“I'll be fine,” he'd promised, he'd kissed her like every morning, like every time he was deployed and came back. He'd kissed her like he was so sure that he would come back and see her again. Only it wasn't him that didn’t make it back.
She wondered how long they waited before they told him. She wondered if he heard the words of her demise on repeat in his head. She wondered if he thought she was afraid at the end.
Years blurred. Her body changed fast, adapting; muscle layered over old softness, scars mapped her skin- thin white lines, jagged seams, a puckered mark along her thigh from where an infection nearly took her. Her hands grew calloused and her voice grew unused- sometimes she would speak aloud just to remember what it sounded like.
“My name is Yn Ln Abbot.”
Once, a tree collapsed onto her shelter in the middle of the night, it pinned her beneath splintered wood, cold metal and mud as she laid there in the dark, ribs screaming, lungs struggling. And for a moment- just a moment- she considered letting it end.
But then she saw Jack’s face in her mind- not as he was, but as he would be, she saw him standing at a grave with no body.
She shoved the tree off inch by inch. Survival was no longer instinct.
It was defiance.
Every day since, she climbed the highest ridge where an old radio tower leaned like a monument about to fall.
She stripped wires, rewired circuits, reinstated metal from the plane’s grave, only for static to answer her every time. Until something came through.
“Mayday, mayday, this is Yn Ln Abbot. Survivor of Flight 756. If anyone can hear me- please.”
Static filtered back like always, and then a voice- faint and distant but a human voice, a pilot rerouting around bad weather and he heard her.
The ED was busy, not just busy- it was alive. The kind of alive that glared in fluorescent light and pulsed through tile floors. Monitors beeped in mismatched rhythms, stretchers rattled across, voices overlapped in controlled urgency.
For the first time since she clawed her way out of the wreckage, she let herself feel hope.
Jack was hands deep in chaos, working alongside Robby, gloves on, jaw tight, eyes steady.
Ever since he’d come to The Pitt years ago, he had spent more time here than at his own house. His therapist had told him it wasn’t good. He had used words like avoidance and displacement and healthy grief response. He even dared to suggest that he should move houses.
Move. As if his grief was tied to wallpaper, broken bedroom locks and a wooden hairbrush. As if the memories of her wouldn’t follow him like a second shadow. As if leaving the home they built together would erase the way her laughter once echoed off those kitchen walls.
He couldn’t remember the exact year he moved into the guest room, he could only remembered why.
The first few years after her funeral, he’d still slept in their bed- on his side- careful not to drift too far into the cold space where she should have been. He used to lie awake and imagine he felt the mattress dip beside him. He would cry quietly at first when he'd look at her side, then he learned to do it without sound. He tried to trick himself into believing he was doing fine.
He wasn’t.
He still bought her favorite tea brand from the grocery store- even though he didn’t drink tea- the boxes stacked quietly in the pantry like a ritual offering. He would dust her vanity and line up the products exactly how she used to, lipstick angled slightly to the right, make up brushes in height order. He’d spray her perfume across the bedroom some nights, standing there as the scent settled into sheets and curtains and for a few minutes, if he closed his eyes, he could pretend she had just stepped into the shower.
The universe, however, had never been particularly kind to him.
The perfume went out of production. He found out in a brightly lit department store aisle, holding the empty tester bottle in his hand while a teenager apologized that it had been discontinued.
Discontinued. Like her. After that, he couldn’t step foot into the bedroom.
Not when even the closest thing he had left to her scent was gone.
“Careful." Jack muttered, voice controlled but edged.
Jack was hands deep inside a patient’s abdomen, correcting a mistake made by an ambitious new med student.
The heart monitor beeped steadily. His phone buzzed in his pocket, he ignored it. Then it buzzed again, he exhaled sharply through his nose. By the third time, the vibration felt invasive.
“Can someone,” he said tightly, not looking up from the open cavity in front of him, “get that thing out of my pocket and answer it for me before I throw it across the room?”
Unfortunately for everyone, Ogilvie was the only one not gloved up. The tall med student fumbled awkwardly, fishing the phone out like it might bite him.
“Hi,” he answered, a little too casually for someone holding his attending’s phone.
Jack tuned him out, refocusing on suturing the bleeding vessel. There was a long pause from the med student as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the call. It was long enough that even through the surgical haze, something felt off.
Ogilvie’s posture changed first. His shoulders straightened as his expression shifted between confusion, curiosity and disbelief. And after a few seconds, he looked up.
“It’s the Pittsburgh Police Station,” he said, voice suddenly small in the quite room. “They’re saying that your wife is there.”
God, Robby wished he could physically push the kid out of the room.
Jack’s hand froze mid-motion but his head snapped up, the heart monitor spiked wildly as if it was connected to Jack.
Joy went rigid from across the table. She was ready to strangle Ogilvie herself. Sure, she wasn’t planning on staying in the ED long-term, it had never been her end goal. But Jack Abbot was the kind of attending students stayed for.
The first time she’d spoken to him, she’d teased him about his age. He’d shot back with something dry and self-aware, he even made a joke out of it. He was good, insanely kind in ways that didn’t feel performative. And she knew that if she ever changed her mind about emergency medicine, it would be because of him.
Everyone knew about his wife. Even her, the new med student who came in one month ago, and she was sure that the tall bonehead standing there holding the phone knew as well.
It was whispered through hallways, uttered between shifts and coffee breaks. Jack Abbot is still in love with his wife who died fourteen years ago. It was said with reverence and quiet heartbreak.
Joy respected him more when she heard about it, even if it hurt to see. It was sweet in a way that made your chest ache. Love like that wasn’t common and now Ogilvie had just torn open something sacred in the middle of a trauma bay.
Jack stared at him- not blinking, not breathing- with fourteen years of layered wounds threatening to spill down the center.
His mind rejected it instantly. Cruel joke. Mistake. Wrong file. Wrong Abbot. The monitor kept screaming its erratic rhythm.
“Repeat that.” Jack said quietly.
Ogilvie swallowed. “They’re saying your wife is at the station.”
Silence fell heavy over the operating table, even the chaos seemed to dull around them. Jack’s world tilted violently, his wife was dead, he had a funeral, he had stood over an empty coffin, he had memorized the date of her death like a second birthday.
Hope was not something he allowed himself anymore, hope was dangerous, hope destroyed people, hope ruined him.
“Go, brother. I got it.”
Robby was already moving, sliding seamlessly into Jack’s position, gloved hands steady as he took over. His eyes flicked between reassurance for Jack and a glare at Ogilvie.
Jack didn’t move at first, his chest felt tight, constricted, like something enormous was trying to claw its way out. Fourteen years of grief stood against one impossible sentence.
Your wife is there.
Alive wasn’t even a word his brain would form in relation to her anymore. If this was a mistake, it would shatter him in a way he wasn’t sure he’d survive. And if it wasn’t- he didn’t let himself finish the thought.
Because hope, after fourteen years, felt more terrifying than loss ever had.
The police station was painfully ordinary, fluorescent lights hummed overhead, printer spat out paper somewhere on the other side of the front desk, an officer murmured into a phone like it was any other shift, any other day.
The world was continuing. Jack felt like it should have stopped.
Interview room three.
His hand rested on the handle longer than it should have. It trembled, just slightly. He told himself this was a mistake, an error, a woman with the same name, a cruel prank that would gut him in front of strangers.
And then he opened the door.
She was sitting at a metal table, wrapped in a grey emergency blanket that did nothing to hide how much the years had changed her. Her posture was straight, almost guarded, and her hands rested on top of the table- scarred and calloused.
Yn Ln Abbot, alive and in front of him.
Her hair fell around her shoulders, uneven and rough at the ends. Her skin stretched over sharp lines and a jagged scar traced along her collarbone. She looked leaner, stronger, like she survived something that she wasn't meant to.
But her eyes- when she lifted her head and their gazes collided, the air left his lungs so abruptly it felt painful- those were her eyes.
“Jack.”
His name fell from her lips softly, but it hit him like a gunshot. It wasn’t a memory, it wasn’t the echo of a voicemail he refused to delete- it was real, it carried breath and warmth and tremor. For a second, he thought he might be hallucinating, that grief had finally split his mind open and that this was his punishment.
“You’re- ” His voice broke, he swallowed hard, but it didn’t steady him. “You’re dead.”
The words were jagged, disbelieving. A flicker of pain crossed her face, but she didn’t look away.
“I know,” she whispered.
He took a step forward without remembering deciding to, then another. His entire body felt foreign, heavy and trembling all at once.
“They told me you were gone,” he said hoarsely. “They said there were no survivors. They said-” His voice fractured. “They said lost.”
Her fingers curled against the edge of the table.
“I was lost,” she said quietly. “But I wasn’t gone.”
He stopped a few feet away, staring at her like he was afraid she might evaporate if he got too close.
“You have any idea what that did to me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. They weren’t anger, they were agony.
Her face crumpled slightly, and that nearly undid him.
“I tried getting back to you, Jack,” she said, her voice trembling now, raw in a way that sounded unused to softness. “Every day, I tried. I climbed that damn ridge,” she continued, breath hitching. “I fixed that shitty broken radio tower over and over. I waited for planes. I lit fires. I-” Her voice broke entirely.
“I tried getting back to you, Jackie, every day, I tried.” she whispered. “I was screaming for you on that island. I thought- ” Her voice broke. “I hoped that if I screamed loud enough you’d hear me.”
His vision blurred. He saw it then, her alone on some endless stretch of a coastline, broken and bleeding, calling his name into a sky that never answered while he had been standing at a grave, sleeping in the guest room because their bed felt like a betrayal and spraying perfume that no longer existed just to breathe her in for a few seconds.
He closed the distance between them, hand lifted hesitantly, hovering near her face like he was afraid she might recoil. He touched her cheek; warm, solid, alive. She closed her eyes at the contact, and the small, involuntary exhale that left her lips nearly brought him to his knees.
“You’re real,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
“I’m real.” she said, and her voice cracked on the last word.
That was when control abandoned him. He pulled her into his arms, not gently, not cautiously, but desperately. His arms wrapped around her like he could fuse her back into the past fourteen years by sheer force. She made a sound against his chest- a broken, relieved sob- and her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt like she was afraid he might disappear.
His hands slid up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing over skin that had endured more than he could imagine.
She gripped his wrists, holding him there like the universe might throw her back into that dark, lonely place. Her fingers found his left hand and traced the wedding band that still rested there.
“You kept it,” she breathed.
“Why wouldn't I? You were my wife. You're still my wife.” he said, and the simplicity of it made it devastating.
“I’m not the same,” she said.
The words hit harder than anything else. He pulled back enough to fully look at her- really look at her.
“Neither am I,” he answered immediately. "But you're here."
“Yeah, I am.” she breathed against his chest, like she needed to convince herself as much as him. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, almost painfully so.
“I started sleeping in the guest room,” he confessed quietly. “I couldn’t stay in our bed. I kept reaching for you in the dark. I’d wake up angry at myself for expecting you to be there.”
She made a broken sound at that and leaned into him further, the years between them felt both infinite and nonexistent all at once.
“I was sleeping on grass,” she said faintly. “Under a piece of wing metal. I would close my eyes and pretend I was back in our bedroom. I would pretend you were next to me.”
The symmetry of it nearly crushed him- fourteen years of parallel loneliness, fourteen years of reaching for each other across impossible distance.
He realised that she fit differently in his arms- harder edges, new scars- but she fit, her body trembled against his as she clung to him with a desperation that matched his own.
And for the first time in fourteen years, the silence inside him wasn’t hollow.
A reminder that darker fiction has a right to exist and explore themes that people are uncomfortable with. Yes, even if it's romanticized. Yes, even if you personally don't like it.
Authors have always written about things that they don't agree with morally, and I hope to god they always will, despite how shitty people treat them for doing that now.
fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didn’t grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like “bro what is this 😭.” why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.
“college is absolutely nothing like this” “why are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one game” “so tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!”
if you don’t like a fic, and if you can’t suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you don’t have to read it. you don’t have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you don’t have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. it’s not giving baby’s first fandom anymore, it’s giving entitled asshole and it isn’t as cute as you think it is.
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
titsay
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
stormborns
