No title available
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
The Stonewall Inn
The Bowery Presents
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
NASA
todays bird
bliss lane
KIROKAZE
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Fai_Ryy
No title available
pixel skylines
h
RMH
Discoholic 🪩
No title available
PR's Tumblrdome
if i look back, i am lost
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from United States
seen from Greece
seen from Romania
seen from Russia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Pakistan
seen from Pakistan
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@pittresilience
Dr. Jack Abbot
please read Rules before interacting. mutuals only.
this is a sideblog and follow backs will come from @alwaysxinxtrouble
mains: @goodn1ghtnurse, @rabbit-bitxh, @formerfirstson, @scribedhorror, @sympatheticdominance, @thenamesallison, @slowmo-md, @vcmpiredctor
exclusives: @slowmo-md
open starters memes
For a second after she kisses him, Jack forgets every speech he'd rehearsed. The cold rooftop, the anxiety, the dozens of reasons this was a bad idea—all of it disappears beneath the simple fact that she kissed him back. His hand finds her waist almost instinctively, holding there as though he's grounding himself in something real. Around them, the city continues moving completely unaware of the life-altering conversation happening several stories above it. Headlights stream through the streets below in ribbons of white and red. A car horn blares somewhere in the distance, followed by the faint echo of someone shouting back. The sounds feel strangely far away.
When she pulls back, Jack is smiling before he can stop himself, the expression rare enough to look almost surprised on him. Then Samira starts talking, and the smile softens into something warmer.
"Samira." A quiet laugh escapes him, shaking his head once. "You really went from kissing me to planning our hypothetical breakup in under thirty seconds." The teasing is gentle, taking some of the weight out of her fears without dismissing them. His thumb brushes lightly against her side through the flannel shirt. "That's got to be some kind of record."
His expression settles after that, becoming more serious. More honest. The city lights catch in his eyes when he looks down at her. "Look at me." He waits until her eyes find his again. "I can't promise you forever. Nobody can. I can't promise that life won't get messy or that we won't screw this up occasionally." A small shrug lifts one shoulder. "But I can promise that I'm not standing out here freezing to death because I think you're convenient."
The corner of his mouth twitches faintly. "And if we're being honest, I already know you leave socks everywhere. Half the department knows you leave socks everywhere." That earns a softer look, one that lingers. "What I know is that you're smart, you're stubborn, you're one of the best doctors I've ever worked with, and somewhere along the way you became the person I look for first when I walk into a room."
The admission hangs between them while the wind shifts around the rooftop, tugging lightly at his jacket. For months he'd found reasons not to say it. Professionalism. Timing. The risk of ruining something that already mattered too much. Standing here now, all of those reasons feel smaller than they used to.
His gaze stays fixed on hers, steady and certain. "So if we're throwing caution to the wind tonight, then let's actually do that. Stop trying to predict how it ends and let it start." His hand lifts from her waist to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture gentler than anything else he's said all evening. "Because I don't want a version of this where I spend the next year wondering what would've happened if I'd just kissed you on this roof when I had the chance."
For a long moment after her forehead comes to rest against his, Jack doesn't move. The wind slips between them in slow, cold gusts, tugging at the edges of his jacket while the city hums below, oblivious to the quiet decision being made several stories above it. Ambulance sirens drift across Pittsburgh in the distance, blending with the steady rhythm of traffic, reminders that the emergency department is still only a few flights of stairs away. Patients are still arriving. Charts are still waiting. Somewhere downstairs, the hospital is carrying on exactly as it always has.
Everything about this is a terrible idea. He knows it with the same certainty he knows how to read an ECG or manage an airway. If someone walked onto the roof right now, there would be questions. Rumors. The kind neither of them could afford. He was one of the senior attendings on night shift. She was one of his senior residents. It didn't matter that she'd earned every bit of respect she commanded on her own. If people found out, there would always be someone willing to question her accomplishments, to wonder whether she'd gotten opportunities because of him instead of the years she'd spent proving herself. The thought turns his stomach. If they were going to do this, he wanted her to be seen for exactly what she was: brilliant, capable, and entirely deserving of every success that came her way.
And then there's Maria. The thought arrives quietly, without guilt or accusation, simply... there. A familiar ache that had lived beside him for so long he'd almost forgotten what life felt like without it. For a heartbeat, he wonders if she'd think he'd waited long enough. Wonders if loving someone else somehow diminished everything they'd shared. The questions have followed him for years, never with answers, only silence.
Then Samira says she wants him. Not because she needs saving. Not because she's lonely. Because she wants him.
Something in his chest loosens. He realizes those thoughts about Maria aren't pulling him backward anymore. They never really were. They were fear disguised as loyalty. Loving Samira doesn't erase the life he had before or the woman he lost. It doesn't ask him to forget. If anything, Maria is part of the reason he knows how precious this is—how quickly life can change, how dangerous it is to leave words unsaid.
A quiet breath leaves him as his hand settles a little more securely against Samira's back, holding her just a touch closer. "I can do patient," he says softly, the words carrying more weight than she probably realizes. "That one's easy."
His thumb traces a slow circle against her side as she kisses him again, slower this time, and he meets her without hesitation. Every instinct telling him to worry about tomorrow fades beneath the simple certainty of having her in his arms. When they part, he doesn't go far, his forehead still resting lightly against hers. "And for the record," he murmurs, a faint smile finally finding its way back, "I'm not very good at letting people take care of me either." A quiet laugh escapes him. "So we're probably going to annoy each other once in a while."
He studies her for another second, memorizing the smile on her face against the backdrop of the city lights. Whatever waited downstairs—the gossip, the difficult conversations, the careful balancing act they'd have to manage at work—would still be there in ten minutes. They'd face it together. For the first time in a long time, the uncertainty doesn't feel quite so overwhelming.
"Breakfast sounds perfect," he says, stealing one last unhurried kiss before finally leaning back enough to meet her eyes. The corner of his mouth lifts. "Come on." His fingers lace gently with hers as he starts toward the rooftop door. "Let's get off this roof before one of the residents comes looking for their attending... and finds both of us up here instead."
Watching Robby surrender that easily earns a quiet, satisfied huff. "There he is," Jack says, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Knew you were in there somewhere." He reaches for his phone from the coffee table, already unlocking it with practiced efficiency. "See, this is what happens when you stop wasting valuable energy arguing with me."
His thumb scrolls through the delivery app for a second before he glances back over the top of the screen. "I'm thinking Thai," he says. "Something with actual vegetables so we can lie to ourselves and call it healthy." One brow lifts. "And before you pretend you don't care, I know you well enough to know you absolutely have opinions about food. You're just currently too tired to access them."
He places the order without much further debate, sets the phone aside, and looks back at Robby. The bottle of water is already half empty, which feels like a small victory. "Food'll be here in about thirty minutes." His gaze drifts toward the couch swallowing Robby whole before he pushes himself to his feet again. "You've got one job until then." He gestures toward the water bottle. "Finish that. I'm gonna grab you a blanket before the couch convinces you it's legally your new address." The last part comes with the faintest smile, warm despite the teasing, before he disappears briefly toward the hallway closet.
By the time Jack returns from the hallway with a throw blanket draped over one arm, the empty water bottle catches his eye first. "Good," he murmurs, setting it aside before looking back at Robby. Somewhere in the last minute, he'd sunk even deeper into the couch, his head resting against the cushion, exhaustion written plainly across his face. Jack knows that look. He sees it in the mirror often enough. Without saying anything, he unfolds the blanket and settles it carefully over him. "You look about five minutes away from passing out," he says quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I think you've earned it."
He switches on the lamp beside the couch, leaving the rest of the apartment comfortably dim before leaning against the nearby wall. "Food'll be here in a bit," he says, keeping his voice low. "If you fall asleep before then, I'll wake you." After a moment, he adds with the faintest hint of amusement, "And don't apologize for being tired. I'm pretty sure your body already made that decision for you."
A quiet laugh slips out of Jack at that, low and rough from exhaustion, but warmer now than it was a few minutes ago. “Natasha,” he repeats under his breath like that somehow explains everything. His thumb shifts lightly against her wrist where he’s still holding onto her, absentminded now, more grounding than possessive. “Of course she did.”
Another slow breath leaves him when her hands work lower along his back, fingers finding muscles that have probably been locked tight since halfway through the mission. His shoulders twitch once beneath the pressure before finally giving way inch by inch, tension unraveling under her touch faster than he’d like to admit. “Remind me to thank her,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “Or possibly file a complaint for making this impossible to live without.”
The sir earns a delayed reaction a second later.
One of his eyes cracks open slightly as the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Careful with that,” Jack says quietly, voice lower now, threaded with tired amusement and something just a little more dangerous underneath it. His hand tightens faintly around her wrist before easing again. “You keep saying yes, sir like that and I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to distract me on purpose.”
A quiet breath catches before he can stop it when her lips brush the side of his neck. It's barely enough to register as a sound, but the slight tilt of his head gives him away all the same. His eyes stay closed for another second, a reluctant smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
"Oh, I know you were teasing," he murmurs. "That's the problem." His thumb traces one slow pass over her wrist before finally letting go, his hand settling loosely against his thigh instead. "You say you're not trying to distract me..." One eye opens just enough to glance back at her over his shoulder. "Then you kiss my neck immediately afterward." The smile grows another fraction. "Not exactly helping your case."
He lets his head fall forward again with a quiet sigh as her hands work lower across his back. The muscles there protest for only a moment before gradually giving in beneath the steady pressure. "And before you say anything..." he starts, already sounding mildly defensive, "...I stretch." A small pause follows. "Most of the time."
The silence lasts all of three seconds before he gives himself away with a soft huff of amusement. "Fine," he concedes. "Sometimes I convince myself carrying a fully stocked med pack for hours counts as stretching." He shakes his head once, smiling to himself. "Apparently my back has a different opinion."
His shoulders ease another fraction beneath her hands, the tension that had followed him home from the mission finally beginning to melt away. "You know," he says quietly, turning his head just enough that he can catch her in his peripheral vision, "I was planning on pretending I wasn't enjoying this nearly as much as I am." A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You keep doing that, and I'm going to lose what's left of my credibility."
The last stretch of road gives way to gravel, the Jeep crunching to a slow stop beneath a canopy of towering pines. For the first time in what feels like months, there are no sirens in the distance, no overhead pages, no phones vibrating against the center console demanding one more decision before the day is over. Just the quiet rustle of leaves and the faint scent of rain lingering in the cool mountain air. Jack kills the engine but doesn't reach for the door right away, letting the silence settle around them with an almost disbelieving smile. "I know," he says, glancing over at Sal. "Trees. Fresh air. Zero chance of decent takeout. I really went all out."
Stepping out onto the gravel, he walks around to the back of the Jeep and pulls their bags free before looking toward the cabin tucked between the trees. It isn't extravagant by any means—just a weathered little place with a wide front porch, a stone fireplace, and enough distance from the rest of the world that the hospital suddenly feels like it belongs to someone else. His shoulders seem lighter already as he hooks one duffel over his shoulder. "One week," he says, looking back at Sal with a small, genuine smile. "No consults. No pagers. No pretending we're only seeing each other in passing because someone from administration might ask questions." He nudges the cabin key in Sal's direction.
"Think you can survive being stuck out here with me that long?"
@vcmpdctor
this was exactly what salvatore needed and the fact that he was here with jack made things even better. he had hoped for a chance to get away from the hospital and this was the perfect escape. a quiet cabin in the middle of a forest with the mountains around them had the vampire feeling like he could breathe if he still had use for his lungs. it wasn't the beach or somewhere sunny, but salvatore didn't mind because he was just happy to be with his boyfriend where they could focus on each other and not have any interruptions.
"you did well." he smiled over at the younger man when they stopped and salvatore got a look at the cabin from where he sat in the passenger seat. he reached over and took his hand with a smile, giving it a small squeeze before he got out and already felt content as he stepped on the gravel and took in the cool air.
he walked over to the back and closed the trunk before he took the key in his hand that he glanced at with his gaze going back to the other man whose words brought a content hum from his lips. "it sounds perfect, jack. i can certainly handle being stuck out here for a week." he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the man's lips before putting a hand on his back to guide jack to the front door.
The kiss lingers just long enough to draw an easy smile from Jack before he pulls back. His hand settles instinctively against the small of Sal's back, more habit than thought now, and for the first time in a long while he doesn't find himself checking the parking lot or wondering who might see them.
"That's gonna take some getting used to," he admits quietly as they make their way toward the porch. "Not having to let go every time someone walks by."
The porch steps creak beneath his boots as he climbs them, duffel still slung over one shoulder. He waits while Sal unlocks the door, then glances out over the trees stretching away from the cabin. The silence feels different out here. Not empty. Peaceful.
"You know..." he says, his voice softer now, "I don't actually care what we do this week." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he looks back at Sal. "We could spend the whole time sitting on that porch with bad coffee and I'd still call it a good vacation."
His shoulder brushes lightly against Sal's as he reaches around him to open the door. "Although," he adds, a little of his dry humor returning, "I'm hoping this place has at least one chair that's comfortable enough for an afternoon nap. I plan on making up for about six months of missed sleep."
@vcmpiredctor
continued from here {x}
The offending envelope receives an immediate glare as Samira appears in the doorway. The expression lasts all of two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitches.
“You absolutely accuse trouble of following me,” he says, pointing the injured finger at her before immediately regretting it when the paper cut stings again. “Ow. See? Victim blaming.” The envelope gets another deeply offended look before he finally tosses it onto the counter.
“Also, no.” He lifts his hand to inspect the damage. “A paper cut does not count as an injury. It's barely even a wound.” A pause follows. “It's aggressive stationery. That's different.”
His gaze drifts back toward her, and some of the mock outrage softens into something warmer. The sight of her standing there waiting for him still catches him off guard sometimes. Not because it feels strange anymore. Because it doesn't. A small smile settles onto his face.
“Besides,” he continues, stepping toward her, “if we're being technical, I've now survived fourteen days without requiring stitches, surgery, hospitalization, or being yelled at by Robby for making questionable life choices.” He slides an arm around her waist when he reaches her. “That's basically a personal record.” The smile grows slightly. “Although now that you're here, I'm apparently being threatened with band-aids.”
His eyes flick down toward the tiny cut before returning to hers. “You know what's really concerning?” he asks. “The fact that I can't tell whether you're making fun of me or genuinely considering first aid supplies for this.” A brief pause follows. “Actually, don't answer that. I already know.”
@slowmo-md
The featherlight kiss catches him completely off guard. His eyes drop to the finger she'd so solemnly diagnosed moments before, then back to her face, and for a second he simply looks at her. Somewhere between amused and quietly smitten. The smile tugging at his mouth loses every trace of sarcasm. "Well," he says at last, his voice softer than before, "that's definitely not in the trauma protocol." A quiet laugh follows as he lets his forehead rest briefly against hers. "Although..." His thumb traces an absent circle against the small of her back. "I can't argue with the results." He flexes the finger experimentally before nodding once. "Pain's gone. Full range of motion. Remarkable recovery."
His gaze lingers on her a moment longer before he shakes his head, still smiling to himself. "You know," he murmurs, "I'm starting to think you've got a very suspicious incentive to keep me alive." The words are teasing, but there's an unmistakable warmth beneath them. His hand slides a little higher along her back as he draws her just a fraction closer. "Not that I'm complaining." After another quiet moment, he leans in to steal a proper kiss this time, slow and unhurried, lingering just long enough to make it clear he isn't joking anymore.
When he finally pulls back, the corner of his mouth twitches again, the humor returning as naturally as it always does. "I should probably be more careful around office supplies," he says. "At this rate, I'm going to start getting paper cuts on purpose." He pauses, glancing down at his finger once more before looking back at her with the faintest hint of a grin. "Although somehow I have a feeling you'd catch on pretty quickly."
Reblog this if you admire the person who reblogged this before you.
Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at that first comment, though the corner of his mouth gives him away almost immediately. “Wow,” he mutters dryly. “Good to know I’ve got a designated catcher now. Really inspiring confidence in my current condition.” Still, there’s something easier in the way he says it, the exhaustion worn softer around Silver than it probably should be for someone he barely knows.
The worse comment quiets him for a second, though.
Not because he doubts it. Because he believes it immediately.
His gaze lingers on Silver a little longer over the rim of his coffee, taking in the kind of tension that doesn’t come from bruises alone. “Yeah,” Jack says after a moment, voice lower now, less teasing. “I probably would.” A small pause follows before he shifts one shoulder against the counter again. “People don’t usually get that look unless life’s put them through a wall a few times first.”
Then, just as quickly, some of the heaviness eases back out of his expression. “Still think you should take it easy for another day, though,” he adds, brow lifting faintly. “Try something radical. Sitting down. Watching terrible TV. Not getting stabbed.”
It is an immediate regret that hits him when he sees the almost calculated look from Jack. Of course, from a doctor's point of view a comment like that is not taken as a fun little quirk. It doesn't give you the charming points you might get from someone else who has no idea how trauma looks on a person. Silver might carry his with a carefree recklessness, but it doesn't make him immune to pain, so he looks away. Now isn't that just great, he thinks, this habit of his to allow his words to spew out before he's had the time to filter them.
He doesn't dwell on that for too long, however, for when he next looks back at Jack, he can't help the light laughter that follows. Closer to a gentle chuckle than anything. When did he last spend an entire evening watching TV? Probably high and fighting to keep his thoughts chill instead of drowning him in terrors that always came at the worst possible time. No, there will be no TV. Nothing of that sort, for the most dangerous thing is for him to be alone with his own thoughts.
"Ah, you know, I really should, shouldn't I? Just, I have a double tonight. Someone called in sick and all that. But, I could also lie and say that I will definitely have a relaxing evening in front of the TV. All depending on what you deem most truthful"
A playful smirk, one that makes it very obvious that he will not have a relaxing evening at all, but at the same time with a look that shows that he is grateful. It isn't necessary for Jack to give advice to a stranger like himself, but it is also nice to know that even if it might be simply fleeting, there is something genuine to that concern.
"I'm fine. Really. It's just a scratch and some bruises, but thanks"
A quiet snort escapes him, the smirk on Silver's face making the answer obvious before he'd even finished talking. Jack lifts his coffee, taking another sip before shaking his head once. "You're a terrible liar," he says, not unkindly. "Might want to work on that if you're planning to fool medical professionals."
The mention of a double shift earns a faint frown. "That's unfortunate timing." He studies him for a second before letting out a slow breath. "Just don't make a habit of proving you're fine by making things worse. I see that one more often than I'd like."
Silver's reassurance draws the smallest nod. Jack doesn't argue with him. Doesn't start listing everything that could still hurt tomorrow. He has a feeling neither of them is in the mood for that conversation.
"I know," he says quietly. "And for what it's worth, I believe you." The corner of his mouth lifts again. "I also think you're going to feel every one of those bruises when you wake up tomorrow." He pushes himself away from the counter, coffee still in hand. "Do yourself a favor and at least get a decent night's sleep when the double's over." A faint smile lingers. "Your future self will complain a little less."
continued from here {x}
The question earns an immediate look from Jack. Not because of Salvatore—because of the baby. As though he's momentarily forgotten that a tiny human being sitting in the middle of the nurse's station has become normal sometime during the last twelve hours. "Apparently," he says dryly, gesturing vaguely toward the car seat. "Day shift found her in a bathroom this morning." His attention drops back to the diaper bag, rummaging through it again. "Peds put this together for me before they sent her back down." A bottle. A blanket. More wipes than should be medically necessary. "Which means somewhere upstairs is a group of pediatric nurses who have already decided I'm incapable of keeping a baby alive for a single night."
When Salvatore steps closer and adjusts the blanket, Baby Jane rewards him with a sleepy smile. Jack immediately points at her. "See? That's how she gets you." The expression softens despite his best efforts as he looks down at her. "Officially? Jane Doe. Female. Approximately two months old." A beat. "Unofficially, Peanut." The nickname slips out automatically. Familiar now. Easy. "She's been hanging out in this department for over twelve hours and somehow everybody's adopted her."
Finally giving up, he pushes the diaper bag toward his boyfriend. "Help me." The request is immediate and completely shameless. "Unless something changes, she's coming home with me tonight." The words still sound slightly surreal when he says them out loud. "I can run a trauma bay. I can manage a thoracotomy. The peds nurses apparently trust me with an infant, which feels like a questionable decision on their part." As if proving his point, Peanut lets out a small coo and waves one fist into the air. Jack looks at her, then at Salvatore. "And don't let that face fool you. She's running this entire department."
@vcmpdctor
A quiet snort escapes him as Salvatore effortlessly puts the diaper bag back together, everything somehow fitting better than it had five minutes earlier. Jack watches for a second before shaking his head. "You've officially been promoted," he says. "You're in charge of diaper bag logistics now. I made it approximately thirty seconds before turning it into a disaster."
His eyes drift back to Peanut as Salvatore tickles her stomach, the tiny burst of giggles drawing another reluctant smile from him. "Yeah," he murmurs. "That's what worries me." He folds his arms loosely across his chest, watching her tiny hand wrap around Salvatore's finger. "She's got the entire department wrapped around her little finger already. Dana's threatening to steal her, one of the residents has offered to babysit, and I caught two trauma nurses arguing over who got to hold her next."
A quiet breath leaves him before he looks back at Salvatore. "I know how to recognize a sick kid. I know how to keep one alive." The corner of his mouth twitches faintly. "But this?" He gestures toward Peanut, who's happily kicking her feet in the car seat. "This is a completely different skill set."
His gaze lingers on the little girl for another moment before settling back on Salvatore, something softer finding its way into his expression. "I'm glad you're here." The words are simple, offered without fanfare. "Because if she really is coming home with me tonight..." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "...I have a feeling I'm going to need all the help I can get. You willing to come by my place?"
@vcmpiredctor
I've had this composition in my head for ages to show Jack's probable ptsd.
SHAWN HATOSY as JACK ABBOT
➤• THE PITT (2025)
PTSD isn’t just flashbacks. while a lot of movies, books, games etc equate post traumatic stress disorder to having extremely vivid flashbacks in which one thinks the trauma is happening again, this is not the only symptom of PTSD, nor is it a requirement for having the disorder.
other symptoms of PTSD include
problems sleeping
nightmares
hypervigilance (constantly checking surroundings for safety, looking for any possible threat)
being easily startled
being emotionally numb or not experiencing joy
seeing the world as a terrible place
memory loss
trouble relating to others
physiological or strong emotional reactions to reminders of trauma
intrusive thoughts about the trauma
(full list of criteria here)
flashbacks are not the be all and end all of PTSD. it’s a much more complex disorder than it’s portrayed in a lot of media, nor is it military exclusive. i hope this post can at least help educate some people beyond the incomplete and in some cases outright wrong information that a lot of people have.
Silence settles for a moment while she talks, his gaze fixed out over the city instead of immediately looking at her. It keeps the moment from feeling cornered somehow. Less like interrogation, more like sitting beside somebody while they bleed a little without making them explain the wound before they’re ready.
The worst day I’ve ever had.
Something in his expression shifts at that, subtle but immediate. Understanding, maybe. Recognition.
“Yeah,” Jack says quietly after a moment, voice roughened by exhaustion and something older sitting underneath it. “Those happen.” His jaw tightens faintly before easing again as he glances over toward her properly this time. “And they make you think stupid shit.” The corner of his mouth twitches without humor. “Like one bad shift suddenly erased every good thing you’ve ever done here.”
He leans back lightly against the ledge then, shoulders settling for the first time since he came upstairs. “You know what I think?” Jack asks, calmer now, steadier. “I think if you didn’t belong here, you wouldn’t be wrecked over it.” His eyes hold on her a second longer. “The people who scare me are the ones who have catastrophic days and sleep just fine afterward.”
A quieter breath leaves him before he looks back out toward the skyline again. “And for what it’s worth,” he adds, softer now, “I’ve had shifts that made me sit in my car for an hour afterward trying to figure out if I should come back the next day.” His mouth pulls slightly at one corner. “Still here, unfortunately.”
For a long moment, Jack doesn't answer. He lets the silence settle between them instead of rushing to fill it, his gaze resting on the traffic several stories below while her words sink in. He can almost see what she's doing—taking every mistake, every comment, every fear from the last several hours and stitching them together into one conclusion about herself. He's done it before. More times than he'd care to admit.
"You know," he says at last, his voice quiet against the evening air, "medicine has a nasty habit of convincing us everything is connected." His eyes remain on the skyline for another second before he looks over at her. "One bad thing happens, then another, and your brain starts drawing lines between them that aren't actually there." He pauses, letting that settle. "A panic attack doesn't make you a bad doctor. Missing a diagnosis doesn't mean somebody was right about you. They're two different things, even if your brain's trying really hard to convince you they aren't."
His jaw tightens briefly before easing again. "I've missed things. Robby's missed things. Every attending in this hospital has missed things." There's no defensiveness in his voice, only the quiet certainty that comes from experience. "The difference is that nobody talks about the ones that haunt them. They carry them around, learn from them, and keep showing up for the next patient because that's the only thing you can do." His gaze drops briefly to where her thumb continues pressing into her palm before lifting back to her face. "You're carrying enough guilt for three people right now. You don't need to carry everyone else's words, too."
The corner of his mouth lifts into the faintest hint of a smile as he leans back against the ledge again. "And for what it's worth," he says, his tone settling back into something a little more familiar, "if I honestly thought you were a liability, I wouldn't be up here." He glances toward the stairwell before looking back at her. "I'd be downstairs complaining about my charting and pretending I wasn't avoiding it."
continued from here {x}
Jack huffs a quiet breath against her lips when she kisses him, something softer settling in his expression as she pulls back. His hand shifts slightly under Hannah’s back where Liza’s fingers rest over his, grounding in a different way now—steady, real, theirs. “Photo albums,” he repeats, one brow lifting faintly. “Yeah, that tracks. Just don’t start narrating them. I’m not sitting through a slideshow with commentary.”
The edge doesn’t last. Not when she says it like that. His gaze drops to Hannah again, something deeper settling in his chest at finally ours. His thumb moves along her side, slower now, more deliberate, like he’s anchoring himself in it. “In an hour,” he answers quietly. “We’ve got time.” His eyes lift back to Liza, softer than before. “And she’s already ours. This just makes it official on paper.”
At the comment about spoiling her, a faint smile tugs at his mouth, but it’s different now—less teasing, more certain. “She’s not spoiled,” Jack murmurs, glancing down at Hannah like he’s already lost the argument. A small pause, then, quieter, “She’s just taken care of.” His gaze returns to Liza, catching the wink, something warmer settling in his expression. “And for the record,” he adds, voice low, “I’m aware I’m outnumbered here.”
@agntwells
The teasing dies before Jack can answer. His eyes lift from Hannah just as the tiny sound reaches him, so quiet he almost thinks he imagined it.
Ma. Then again. Mamama.
For a second, he just stares. His gaze shifts from Hannah to Liza, taking in the tears gathering in her eyes before looking back down at the little girl tucked securely against his shoulder. Hannah, blissfully unaware she'd just changed something forever, reaches one hand toward Liza again with another happy babble, cheeks round with her smile. A slow grin spreads across Jack's face, softer than almost anyone ever gets to see. He lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, blinking once as his own eyes begin to sting. "Well..." His voice catches just enough that he has to clear his throat before trying again. "Guess that settles it."
His free hand finds Liza's as she settles beside him on the couch, their fingers lacing together without either of them giving it a second thought. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, grounding himself as much as her, while his eyes remain fixed on Hannah. "Hey, peanut," he murmurs, brushing his nose lightly against the top of her curls. "You know..." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he glances back at Liza, warmth written plainly across his face. "I think your mama likes hearing that."
For a long moment, he simply looks at the two of them, the weight of everything that had brought them here settling quietly in his chest. Then he leans over, pressing a lingering kiss to Liza's forehead before resting there for just a second. "You were right," he says softly. "She's been ours since the first night." His thumb strokes once across the back of Liza's hand as he looks down at Hannah again, still smiling to herself against his shoulder. "Looks like she finally decided to tell us."
Another quiet laugh slips out at that, followed by a small shake of his head like he’s genuinely offended by the confidence behind it. “Oh, you’re unbearable now,” Jack mutters, though the grin pulling at his mouth completely ruins any attempt at sounding annoyed. His eyes linger on Bill for a second longer than necessary, the easy warmth there impossible to miss now that the tension from earlier has finally eased out of both of them.
“The master,” he repeats dryly. “Alright, easy, Shakespeare. Let’s not get carried away.” Still, he shifts a little closer where they’re sitting, shoulder brushing lightly against Bill’s without seeming to think about it. Comfortable. Familiar.
At the offer, one brow lifts faintly before the corner of his mouth twitches again. “Really nicely?” Jack echoes, voice lower now, teasing right back. “Damn. Sounds serious.” He lets the silence hang briefly before adding, quieter but warmer underneath it, “Guess I’ll have to work for your approval then.”
A soft huff of amusement escapes him at that, his head shaking once as though he'd already accepted there was no winning this particular argument. "I'm starting to believe you," Jack says. "About the unbearable part, anyway." The words are dry, but they lose some of their bite the moment he catches that grin again. He doesn't even try to hide the smile pulling at his own mouth anymore.
He feels Bill lean in before he really registers it, their shoulders settling comfortably together. Instead of pulling away, Jack lets himself relax into the contact, turning his head just enough to meet those bright blue eyes. He notices the brief flick of Bill's gaze toward his mouth, and despite himself, his pulse gives a traitorous little jump. "Careful," he murmurs, his voice quieter now. "You keep looking at me like that, and I'm going to start thinking this whole ego of yours isn't entirely for show."
His gaze stays on Bill's for another moment, the easy quiet between them feeling far more comfortable than either of them probably expected. The corner of his mouth lifts again before he reaches over, absentmindedly smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the front of Bill's shirt. His fingers linger just a second before falling away. "I've got a couple ideas," he says, looking back up at him. "But I'm willing to be convinced."
The teasing settles into an easy smile as he stays exactly where he is, making no effort to put any distance between them. "You've been pretty persuasive so far," he admits, his voice low enough that it feels like something meant only for Bill. "Guess we'll see if you can keep the streak going."
kinks
tagged by: stolen from the dash tagging: everyone who hasn't done it yet
continued from here {x}
For a long moment, Jack doesn't say anything at all. He just looks at her, every muscle in his body still braced for the words he'd been convinced were coming. Somewhere along the line he'd prepared himself to hear her tell him it was over, that he'd imagined all of it, that whatever existed between them wasn't enough. Instead, she tells him the one thing he'd stopped believing he'd ever hear. The breath he'd been holding slips out slowly, his shoulders easing beneath it as he closes his eyes for the briefest second. When he looks at her again, there's nothing guarded left in his expression.
"I know," he says quietly. "I know there's a lot to lose. That's what scared me, too." He gives a small shake of his head. "I've spent weeks trying to convince myself that walking away before either of us got in any deeper would hurt less." A humorless smile touches his mouth before fading again. "Turns out I was wrong."
He takes one slow step toward her, stopping close enough to search her face without crowding her. "I love you," he says simply, the words no longer weighed down by fear. "I didn't ask because I wanted you to say it back. I asked because I couldn't walk away without saying it." His gaze never leaves hers. "So... that's where I am. Whatever you need to do with that... I'll live with it."
@nobodyssoldixr
For a second, he doesn't move. The feeling that settles over him is so unexpected, so overwhelming, that it steals every word he'd been holding onto. His eyes search hers as though he's waiting for her to take it back, to tell him he'd misunderstood. Instead, all he finds is her hand in his and the quiet certainty in her voice.
A slow breath leaves him, followed by the smallest shake of his head. "You really picked a hell of a way to prove me wrong," he says, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile that's equal parts relief and disbelief. His fingers tighten around hers without thinking, grounding himself in the warmth of her hand. "I've been preparing myself for every version of this conversation except the one where you tell me you love me too."
He steps the rest of the way toward her, close enough that there's barely any space left between them. His free hand comes up almost cautiously, brushing a loose strand of hair back before settling lightly against the side of her face. "You don't have to be good at it," he says quietly. "Neither do I." His thumb traces the slightest arc against her cheek. "We just... figure it out. One day at a time."
