like how would jack deal with an introvert reader who is shy and gets their social battery depleted fast.
💞Tags/Warnings💞: Introvert!Reader x Extrovert!Jack Abbot, fluff, comfort, shy!Reader, AttentiveBoyfriend!Jack Abbot
💞Plot💞: Jack Abbot being Y/N’s safe space/comfort person
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: You and Me
💞A/N💞: I hope you like it!!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
When Y/N first met Jack Abbot, it was at Mel’s birthday party.
It’d been a surprise event.
Something Santos had thrown together and invited the entire ED out to. It was Langdon’s job to get her to the karaoke bar, and she was completely surprised by the event. Just like that, drinks were flowing and music was blasting.
Y/N sat close to a wall, biding her time until she could walk over to Mel and wish her a happy birthday.
Then she could get out of here.
“Who’s next?! Who’s next?!” Santos laughs into the mic, tipsy and buzzing with excitement as she sets up the next song.
‘I need a hero’ by Bonnie Tyler…
Y/N wants to seep into the wall behind her. And when Santos makes eye contact with her, she definitely wants to bolt..
“Let’s go, mouse! You’ve got some lungs on you or what?” Santos snickers as she walks over with the mic. With the way Y/N stiffened, you’d think the microphone was a gun.
“Oh. No. Sore throat..” Y/N tries.
“Boo! Sing!” Santos says into the mic. “Sing! Sing! Sing!” She begins to chant, the party joining her, and Y/N can feel a tightness begin on her shoulders. She shakes a bit as she realizes she has only two options now. Make things awkward for everyone, or just give in..
As she puts on a fake smile, hand reaching for the mic, a hand grabs it first. “I know you did not just put on my song and then try and overlook me..” Jack says into the mic after grabbing it.
A few party people laugh at that and Santos smiles big as she cheers him on. He gives Y/N a slight wink. One that shows he’s got her. Y/N feels her shoulders slump a bit as she watches Jack get up on stage to start singing, making a big show out of it.
The crowd is so distracted by his performance, that Y/N can easily grab her jacket and give Mel a passing goodbye and ‘happy birthday’ before she leaves outside, breathing in the fresh air and getting far from the noise. She debates leaving, but… She stays put.
And to this day, she’s glad she did.
Jack had come out with some water for her. The two sat on the curb outside the bar and Jack didn’t speak.
He waited.
Waited till Y/N felt like she could actually handle a conversation.
“Thanks. For that.” She mutters.
“Don’t thank me. I’m a Bonnie Tyler super fan..” Jack states in a dry tone that makes Y/N debate if he’s joking or not. Until he smirks at her. Then she giggles.
“I’m Jack, by the way..” He finally says. She smiles a bit.
“Y/N…” She whispers.
*
*
*
Now enjoy these headcanons:
• Jack and Y/N’s first date wasn’t the cliche dinner date or movie night. Jack knew by this point that Y/N liked the simple aspects of life. So.. He tried to deliver. A cooking night in at her place. He had shown up with the ingredients and a promise to make her his famous pasta dish. Music played from his phone as he and Y/N made the sauce and pasta from scratch, talking the entire night and just enjoying the quiet peace.. •
• Jack learned the hard way that Y/N won’t say when she’s feeling overstimulated or drained while out somewhere. Jack is always the life of the party, so Y/N wants him to enjoy himself as much as possible. But she always gets to a breaking point sooner or later.. It actually caused their first ever fight two months into their relationship because Jack wanted her to start telling him these things.. He’d constantly say things like “I’m only having as much fun as my girlfriend is.” and “I hate seeing you like this..” •
• To fix this, Jack taught Y/N certain hand signals to use instead of her words. At first, she hesitated, thinking he wouldn’t notice her ‘subtly’ do it, but to her surprise, the first time she used a hand signal while out with friends, Jack stood right up and excused him and Y/N to go outside for a minute… •
• The hand signals were simple enough. Rubbing her chest in a circular motion, even slightly, showed Jack she needed a minute or two outside. Tugging her right earlobe twice meant she could go another ten minutes or so before she’d want to leave. Tugging her left earlobe? Oh, that meant she needed to go now. She rarely used that gesture though, because Jack was always attentive to the breaks she’d need.. •
• Jack always sits next to her while out with friends. His hand is constantly on her lower back, lazily rubbing as he focuses on the conversations around him. Sometimes he’ll put his hand flat on the middle of her back just to get a feel of her breathing patterns. If it’s too quick for his liking, he knows they need to step out.. •
• Unless they’re going out with friends or family, it’s rare that they hang out at restaurants or bars. Their date nights are usually either spent inside or sometimes in lowkey places. Bookstores, cafés, record shops. Hell, Jack’s mindset has always been ‘if you like them enough, anything can be a date’. So sometimes, he even counts the grocery store trips you guys take as a date.. •
• Y/N gets flustered at PDA, and Jack loves PDA. They’ve found common ground by doing small things. Instead of holding hands, they hook pinkies. Instead of him constantly grabbing at her waist, which is something he loves to do, she just stands close enough to him so that she can feel his body against hers. Instead of kissing, he just stares at her lips until she sheepishly gives a small air kiss which he happily accepts.. •
• When Y/N does get a low social battery, Jack knows exactly what she needs now. Quiet and comfort. He’ll get her home, run her a bath, and let her settle in to the much needed silence. He won’t speak, he won’t push her. And when she’s all done in the bath, he’ll just lay next to her while she rests. He won’t hold her, knowing she’s still trying to find her footing. He doesn’t want to suffocate her. But when she’s ready, she snuggles into him.. •
• Sometimes, Jack loves playing a little game with Y/N that he likes to call.. ‘how flustered can I make her’. Pet names, subtle touches to her hips and waist, winking at her. Whatever he can do to get her face as red as an apple. Usually done while at work because then he can snicker to himself when she finally fusses at him. He likes to playfully tease her, but he still respects her outlook on PDA, so obviously he doesn’t do it with a lot of people around.. •
• Jack loves whenever Y/N gets overly excited about something because the volume to her voice raises and it’s a rare moment that he can see.. her. The real her. The her that not many can say they know well. But he can. One night, while they were discussing the movie they just finished watching on the living tv, Y/N laughed loud without meaning to. She covered her mouth and Jack just smiled at her. “Thank you…” He finally whispered after a passing minute. “For what?” Y/N asked sheepishly. “For allowing me this…” Jack muttered before carefully kissing her forehead.. •
jack abbot x reader
thinking only about his freckled biceps...
warnings: chokehold, fluff, flirting, playfighting
It all starts with you figuring out that he’s ticklish.
You had both been laying on the couch, watching who knows what at this hour of the night. You shifted to find the remote to turn up the volume when you accidentally jab his side.
Jack’s not just a little bit ticklish. His entire body convulses and every muscle tenses when your elbow lodges into his side.
His eyes widen when he sees yours squint devilishly with this new discovery.
“You’re… ticklish?” You smile, leaning back for a brief moment, almost in disbelief.
“Oh no,” he groans, before you practically tackle him, hands flying towards his sides. He instantly recoils.
But then his laugh escapes, loud and deep, completely uncontrollable. You giggle in response, watching him squirm under your touch, an unfamiliar dynamic, opposite to what you both are used to.
Suddenly he twists away from your reach, and in one swift movement, he’s got both of your wrists trapped in his calloused hands. He pulls them away from himself while trying to catch his breath, and nothing but the sound of both your huffing fills the room.
“I had no idea…” you wheeze, your face beginning to hurt from smiling.
“Don’t you ever tickle me again,” he warns.
“Or what?”
Jack lifts your arms above his head, and shifts them into one grip.
Oh no…
“Or I’ll have to do this,” he says, tracing his free hand down to your side before digging his fingers into the spot between your hips and ribs.
Your scream turns into cackling as he tickles you back. Between the laughter ringing out from both of you, you manage to slip free of his grip, and now it’s a full-on fight, discovering new places on each other that get a reaction.
It gets hard for Jack to breathe from laughing, but he refuses to surrender. In one swift motion, he pushes you sideways off the couch and you yelp, startled enough to stop your hands from reaching for him again.
Before you can stumble, he catches you and pulls you back against him.
You’re about to turn around and retaliate when he says, “Oh no, you don’t.”
In one swift motion, his arm slides around your neck from behind and locks you in a chokehold. It’s probably one that he’s practiced from when he served in the military. He squeezes his bicep, tight while his other arm snakes around your waist, pinning you against his body
“Hey!” you wheeze.
He leans down, his breath brushing against your ear. “I warned you once. Don’t make me warn you again,” he murmurs.
But from this position, he fails to see the smug expression spreading across your face.
Everyone be kind and supportive this is my first time sharing my work I'm so ill I cannot believe this omggggg who's gonna stop me omggg????
Includes: Fluff, slight flirting, Robby being rude af, comfort, age gap reader is mid 20's (hot), reader is a nurse, she/her pronouns used, tried to be an non-descriptive as possible.
Summary: Robby snaps when reader makes a mistake and is missing a patient, and sends her home. She's stressed and runs into Jack Abbot in the parking lot.
Enjoy!
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6:29 pm
"What do you mean?"
"He left. I came back from the sandwich cart and-"
"No. I meant what do you mean he left when you were supposed to keep an eye on him?" Robby says, exhausted and very short with you.
You swallow the lump in your throat before attempting to speak to him again. You've been working at the Pitt for over a year now, you should know better than to take your eyes off a patient who has had a long history of being difficult just from the two and a half hours he was here for. Even if he was demanding a sandwich and insisting he would be much more compliant if he just had something to eat. What a load of shit.
"I'm-I... I'm really sorry, Robby," You start, "I've been looking all over the department and I haven't seen him anywhere I- he must've left AMA I just-"
"I cannot believe this. Perfect. Just what I need," He's looking anywhere but at you running a hand over his hair, "I gave you one task, and you couldn't even do that?"
You just stare at him. You've been spit on, punched, elbowed, verbally assaulted. The list goes on and on. But these words coming from Robby had a much stronger effect on you than any patient's words have. You heard from around the ED that he was snappy today, and now you were wishing you had found Dr. Al-Hashimi instead. Actually, if you could go back in time that is exactly what you'd do.
"You know what, I want you out of my ER for the rest of the shift. It's obvious to me, and probably the rest of the department, that you...," He inhales trying to calm down, "You aren't competent enough to be here today."
"Are you serious?" You ask wide-eyed. Never in your time in the ED has he ever spoken to you like this, much less sent you home. You knew you had made a mistake. You knew he probably wasn't going to give you a whole lot of grace either. But sending you home was something you never even thought about.
"Absolutely. I'll let Dana know, just go. Now." Robby says sternly, and then walks away from you. You stand there in shock for a few seconds before walking over to your locker in a rush. Tears were already brimming in your waterline, face hot from the embarrassment of what had just happened. Shoes, bag, hoodie, go.
You make it out into the parking lot before you break, tears beginning to stream down your face. How could you be so stupid? How could you let a patient leave under your watch? You make it maybe ten feet from your car when someone stops you.
"Where you going in such a rush, huh?"
Of course. The one person who was going to catch you in this state was of course the last person you'd want to see you like this. All puffy eyed, cheeks wet with tears, lower lip curled. Dr. Jack Abbot just had perfect timing. You and Jack had worked together plenty in the ED. Plenty enough that you two became a distraction to your coworkers, and yourselves. Constant flirty behavior, joking around. A lot of bets too on which one of you would open your eyes and make a damn move already, unbeknownst to you two though.
You stood with your back to him, thank god, and wiped the tears from your face. You cleared your throat, "Just heading home early. 'M not feeling well." Your voice was still rocky as you haven't calmed down yet. You knew Jack could tell. He always knows when somethings wrong.
Jack's face turns more serious and he starts walking closer, "Hey, hey. What's goin' on, doll?" He asks with concern. You take a small glance over your shoulder meeting his eyes, and immediately he's at your side.
"Come here, talk to me." He opens his arms slightly, unsure if you were a hugger or not. You usually weren't, but with Jack everything was different. You immediately move and hide into his chest, crying even more at his kindness.
"Robby sent me home," You sniffle and Jack wraps his arms around you, "I was supposed to be watching a difficult patient, but then he wanted something to eat and insisted he'd be more compliant if he just ate. I left for a minute just to grab a sandwich and when I came back he was gone."
Jack kept his arms around you and gently swayed back and forth to comfort you. But now he wore a confused look on his face.
"Robby sent you home because of that? You're joking."
You start to calm down, breathing now under control, "He's been snappy all day, and I guess I was his last straw."
You inhale Jack's scent, wanting to stay in this moment for a little longer. He probably thinks your face is so warm from the crying, which isn't entirely wrong, but it was now mainly because of the embrace he was holding you in.
I wish I could stay like this forever.
While you were beginning to be content and now comforted, Jack began questioning Robby's judgement. He was also too nosey to not be questioning it anyways, wondering how bad day shift was to set him off so easily.
"How bad of a shift was it that he sent you home for that?" Jack asked while beginning to softly rub your back to further comfort you. Instantly you melted more into him.
Oh my god it gets better.
You process Jack's question finally and replay the shift in your head. It had been a long day. Starting the morning with a peds trauma case, continuing the day with a shooting over some stupid fight, an attempt, and 3 losses. None were preventable, everyone did everything they could. But that doesn't mean it doesn't weigh on everyone's mind.
"Bad." You answer. Short and to the point to avoid further thinking about it on top of Robby almost biting your head off. You suppose you got off easy compared to others he's bitched out.
Jack nodded his head in understanding.
"I'm sorry, doll," He murmurs into your hair against your head, "I'll chat with him when I get inside. You doin' okay?"
You nod pulling your head off of his chest and sniffled, "Yeah, I'm okay. I guess it could've been worse."
Jack scoffed, "No way he would've fired you over that. He likes you I swear," he says readjusting the backpack on his shoulder.
"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," You reply looking down at your hands, "Thank god I'm back on nights next week."
"Counting down the days I bet," Jack winks looking down at you, "You must miss me so much."
You giggle blushing slightly, "You know it. No good eye candy on day shift."
Jack smiles, "What are you doing tomorrow night, you're off, right?"
"Yeah," You reply maybe a little too quickly, "don't think I have any plans. Why?"
"Good, don't make any. Let me take you out for dinner. You've been so stressed with all these day shifts." He's smirking now looking down at you.
You try containing your smile which proves to be insanely difficult, and you know he can most definitely tell. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, a nervous habit you've picked up after years of carrying it.
"Yeah, that'd be great actually," You're smiling wide now, "Wanna text about the details? I don't wanna keep you up."
Jack looks down at his watch. 6:42pm.
"Absolutely," His eyes connect with yours again, "You get some good rest tonight, yeah?"
"Yeah."
He smiles, "Night, doll. I better not get any late night TikToks again."
You're both walking away from each other.
"No promises, hon," You say back, unlocking your car, "Have a good shift!"
You get in the car and lock your doors. And you just sit for a few minutes wondering if everything that had just happened actually happened.
"Holy shit."
You smile, and buckle up and start the car. Humming on the way home.
Later that night you're in bed scrolling on TikTok.
11:43pm
You hadn't noticed it was getting so late, but you were noticing how tired you were getting. Eyes struggling to stay open as you scrolled through endless videos. You've been watching a silly cat video and giggling tiredly at it. Of course this was a joy you had to share with your most favorite attending. Opening the share option you immediately found Jack's contact in your phone and pressed send.
Delivered.
You made it two more scrolls before you got a reply.
Senile n Hot like a message.
Senile and Hot: It's like everything I say to you
goes in one ear and out the other.
You giggle when you read his text.
You: Yeah pretty much
You: Except for all your compliments I soak those up like a sponge
Senile and Hot: So egotistical per usual 🙄.
Senile and Hot: Get some sleep, pretty. You've had a long day.
You couldn't help but blush reading his text.
You: Ugh okay fine I'll go to bed
You: Goodnight or whatever 🙄
Senile and Hot: Sweet dreams, doll.
Internally you are screaming, but your body is too tired to properly express that while being on the verge of passing out. You turn off your phone and close your eyes, drifting off in seconds.
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Okay guys what did we think be nice plz omg. Also might do a part two guys omg let me knowwwww. I'll make sure to link it to this fic if I do! Also let me know if you'd like to see anything else from me or whatever tehehehe omg. Pic is from 'darling' on Pinterest!
please please please part two of the loser reader where you do go to breakfast with the rest of the group!! give her SOMETHING to smile about
i guess because i’m soooo nice🙄 KIDDING i love this reader we’ve got going on! i use y/l/n in this bc you’re a doctor and also medical terminology used WRONG sorry x also a bit of jealous Jack but no smut in this one!
your next shift comes, and you remember how you agreed to breakfast with the night crew. you’re actually excited this time, though. it’s been a while since youve been asked out, mostly because they realized you prefer to just tread on home after a long shift.
so you attach your balls on and put a little effort into your looks, some foundation, a little blush and mascara. something slight. keeping your hair down with only a headband keeping it out the way, your natural hair flowing free. something small. you really only did it for Jack (you tell yourself), seeing as he was happier as you guys get ready together. you just didn’t wanna be “sadness” on the day they invite you out.
he’s smiling ear to ear when you pull your shoes on, it’s unsettling. “what’s your problem?” you give him a quick look, tying your laces. “nothing. you seem excited, that’s all.” his voice is soft, like he’s cautious you’d wash your face and pull your hair back and then die if he prodded too much.
“you’re excited. i’m doing this for you. cmon, we’re gonna be late.” you’re quick out the door, hating the way he’s confronting you head on. it’s awkward, to you. “yes ma’am, i just…” he sighs as he locks the door. “i just hope you didn’t get glammed up because you think it’ll..make them like you more, or something. you’ve been here long enough, they like you just how you are. you’re everyone’s friend.”
he’s looking at you lovingly at the door, you hate this shit. this confrontation of feelings, it’s change. no one likes change. and you don’t like when he talks to you like this. like something more than what you guys are. “okay.” you turn away from him and walk on your way, Jacks not far behind you, but he doesn’t force anymore conversation out of you. he wants you to have a good day.
you have a lot/hate relationship with the attention you’re getting tonight, people are always trying to talk to you, even with the resting bitch face you never let falter. and you don’t necessarily care, but you’re feeling how..nice, everyone is being. “Scalpel.” you reach without taking your eyes off your patient, Mateo handing it to you quickly.
“you look different.” he whispers, it makes your eyes flicker at him. “stop talking. i’m busy.” “don’t let me stop ya’ sadness, m’just sayin’. you look pretty.” he says, and you don’t give another word as you carefully pull at your incision, though your ears fall hot at the comment.
you’re at your desk charting when parker abruptly plops in a seat next to you, making you jump. “so, you’re coming? for real this time?” she smiles, eyes wide with anticipation. you nod slow, eyes narrow at her. “ahh, good! good, what’re you craving?” “you..guys don’t already have something picked?”
“well no, it’s never really one place. sometimes it’s dunkin, hardee’s, that long branch spot down the street.” you grimace, “mmm…let’s do anything but dunkin. i was supposed to see some dude about a date there yesterday and bailed, so i’m avoiding it.” you shrug and then wave your plain bottled water, your replacement for your usual dunkin order.
more than three words. parker doesn’t think she’s ever heard this actual calm, conversational tone from you.
dr. Abbot and Shen watch from afar, to them it looks like you’re…having a conversation. that’s..not forced at gunpoint. with Parker. and you look to be enjoying yourself even. “what could they be talking about??” Jack mutters, arms crossed over his chest. you smile a little at something she says as she gets up to leave, and he has to internally put his old man heart back together.
“probably..torturing the souls of the innocent. maybe that’s why they both smiled.” Shen jokes as Parker comes up, voice low so you wouldn’t hear them boasting about you. “i got like…forty words out of her. consecutively. new record.” she gets a secret handshake out if your eyesight from Jack, both snickering along.
your night goes along smoothly, everyone’s trying to talk to you more than usual, and while it’s…interesting, you’re afraid you won’t have enough social battery left for breakfast. a flashy looking patient is pulled in by a the paramedics, and you, Jack and another resident jump on it.
“friend says his name is anthony, early 20s with a swollen eye and busted lip, bar fight and fell on the head but is mostly responsive.” your medic says, and you flash a light in the patients eye. “pupils responsive, what’s up Anthony i’m Dr. [last name], can you hear me?” Jack has his eyes on you as you take lead, and neither of your superiors interrupt you.
“yeah. my head hurts,” it comes out garbled after a groan, “I’m sure it does, heard you got into a nasty argument. you hurt your neck or anything?” “nah, just my head. my lip too. you should see the other guy though,” he says, and you give a short giggle and smile as you lift his head to assess the blood loss. “well he’s probably not that far behind you. me, dr. Abbot and Dr. Toomarian are gonna patch you up, ok? can you move your jaw?”
Jack thinks he couldn’t fall more in love with his profession, but watching you interact and care for your patients, something you’d never do for yourself, ignites something in him. he knows he’s getting attached to you, he’s no longer fighting it. and he knows that one day, you’re not gonna need him anymore, and that you’re gonna take care of yourself. probably find a nice partner too.
but for now, you’re his sleepy eyed, shut in little girl. and right now, he’s quizzing you. “Dr. [last name] why won’t we check his mouth first? what if he has a broken tooth or split tongue?” he asks you as you clean the wound around your patients head. “because he’s on risk for possible concussion, and a black eye that could lead to an infection of we don’t treat it fast enough. let’s do 3 of morphine, hold on anything else until his intox levels go down, wouldn’t want to send him into shock.”
he watches you multitask, almost stopping in his own place as he smiles, adoration clear on his face. “excellent work, lets do it.” he says low, it’s only for you.
when you walk out, your colleagues are patting you on the back, wishing you good job on your patient. you give everyone short smiles before dropping your face, walking away from the scene of the main area and a little towards bay, shaking your hands and steadying your breathing. “you feelin’ ok?” Jack checks in on you, and you don’t know what your face tells him, but whatever it is, he feels the need to worry.
“yeah, yeah. just need to cool off.” you assure, though your flustered expression doesn’t falter. he gives you a really? look before ushering you out, and you sigh feeling the cold air of the night. “you know i know you. what’s wrong, sweetheart.” he’s not asking, but you know he’s not demanding either. he knows how loud things can get in your head.
“m’fine, really. just a little overstimulated. everyone’s on me today.” you’ve got a worried look on your face, like there’s more you wanna blurt out. because they feel sad for me, because i’m wearing my face, because i haven’t been out with them in years, because—“well yeah, they’re excited to hang out with you, no biggy. you’re ok.” he assures, rubbing at your arms, and you let yourself relax, nodding with a sigh. it’s a short way of telling you you’re ok, no one’s gonna bite you, they all love you. we’re all friends.
“yeah, i’m ok. i’m fine, i dunno why i’m..being weird. my batteries low already and i’m hungry, and i didn’t finish my show yesterday so—” “you’re okay honey. i promise.” he whispers, and you nod again. you’re overthinking, like always. “you wanna stay outside some more? ill leave you alone, just find me when you come back.”
he doesn’t hug you (not here at least, you’ve told him many times how public displays of affection gross you out), but he rubs your shoulders, love in his eyes. “and…you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. if you’re not up to it, that’s fine. we’ll all go together another day.” “no i-i want to, i do, i’m just…i dunno. i haven’t been out with them in forever and i don’t want it to be like some pity thing. but i wanna go out.”
his face contorts, disbelief that turns into sadness/sympathy. “why would it be pity?? they love you in there, talk about you all the time. you’re a great doctor, and you’re still their great friend, even if things aren’t..so good for you right now.” it’s never an easy topic, how depression affects friendships. because it wasn’t always like this. and you don’t blame jack for dancing around it, wanting to protect your feelings.
“you think so?” “i know so, baby. nothings changed.” he shrugs. Jack couldn’t say he dealt with this sort of thing firsthand, with his own battles he never had much friends anyway, so the fact you take it so personally, being someone so nonchalant and emotionally shut off, it kills him. he’s known you long enough to see the decline you’ve been dealing with, hear how your friends outside of work talk to you less and less. he can’t deal.
you nod slowly, almost unsure. “we can go back in.” “yeah? you sure?” he asks, but you’re already slipping past him and inside. he doesn’t take it personally, you don’t like talking about your feelings too long.
before you know it, the day shift starts trickling in, and the suns coming up as well. you spend the last of your shift charting mostly, slipping off the headband that was most definitely giving you a bit of a headache and running at your edges on your forehead with a sigh.
“hey, pretty girl.” matteo leans down a little too close to your face with his signature smile, “you finishing up?” “yeah, barely even ten minutes left. we’re still going out, right? and we’re goin’ to hardee’s, right?” “is that what you want?” “i don’t want to go to dunkin.” “oh yeah, i heard. well, shen might not be too happy about that, but yeah. we can go there. you’ll sit by me?”
the low, cool look in his eyes makes you heat up a little as you nod, “yeah, yeah. if you want me to.” you give a small smile, eyes bouncing between him and Jack, who walks up with a bothered look on his face. “you done with charting?” he asks you, matteo straightening up at his presence.
“not yet, almost. i have two—” “well get to it then missy. matteo you wanna give me some input on a patient?” Jack nods his head behind him, his hands thatre we behind his back not budging. “of course, s’long as it doesn’t gross me out.” he jokes and follows Jack. you watch them leave, Jack doesn’t give you a second glance, unlike the other.
the small interjection of your conversation kind of threw you off, and you try not to think about it while charting, but the way Jack looked at you two, and then the way he cut you off rubs you the wrong way. you try not to look too into it, he is your attending after all.
you subtly wait for him while he speaks with Robby, taking longer than usual with rustling your things together, taking unreasonably long to pull off your scrubs top and shove it into your backpack. time would go faster if you were still friends with any of the day shift residents, you’d have one of them to talk to.
it’s not a clingey “because you like him” thing, you just…don’t wanna leave to meet the others outside until he does. these are your people, but they were his first. it’s just feel more comfortable for you. right. “you got anything left to do?” dr. shen appears at your side, sweeping his bag over his shoulder.
“no, just closing up shop now.” “cool, you and me and can wait for the others. and you can tell me about this guy.” he wraps his arm around you as he guides you away, your eyes flickering to Jack, though you keep walking. shen is probably the smartest person in the entire night shift rotation.
(he knew what you and Jack had going on. sure, he didn’t know every detail, but when you’re walking home together every morning, showing up in jackets that’re obviously too big for you, you get an idea. not to mention, Jack is so completely swooned over you every time you walk in a room, no matter how nonchalant he tries to seem. but i digress.)
“so he wasn’t cute??” “no,” you giggle, “like…he wasn’t ugly. just not my type, he was young, like definitely younger than me. and i didn’t like the way he dressed.” “how he dressed? god you’re picky.” “yeah he had those big stupid parachute lookin’ jeans and like..this stupid graphic tee with a wolf on it. you could tell he was young. i like men that’re put together. older.”
like Jack. “i see. so a dating life is out the window for you, i imagine?” “nah, i’m saving myself for Matthew Mcconaughey. he’ll come around.” you shrug playfully, a small smile on your faces. “right, right. because Mr. Mcconaughey is dying for a resident night shift doctor. he’s just playing hard to get.” shen says, as you guys share a laugh.
“hey, by the way you still like us, right?” he nudges you at the elbow, and your face turns sympathetic. “of course i do! why would you think that i didn’t?” “just had to make sure, your bedside manner isn’t exactly the friendliest, and it’s hard to tell when you look like you’re on the edge of a cliff. actually i personally don’t care about the rest of em, just had to make sure you still like me. right? you can tell me, i won’t be upset.” his voice comes low in a joking manner, one that makes you laugh again, makes you really laugh.
it’s refreshing. for you, for shen. for your fellow residents that soon meet you guys outside. for Jack, who, even though is still walking through chairs, could pick out your little laugh (that is probably hidden behind your hand) in the middle of a war zone. it lights him up inside. he remembers how just yesterday morning you were asking if they still want you around. of course they do.
“so where’re we goin’, pretty girl?” matteo asks you. it…disturbs Jack, though he tries to not let it show. everyone has their nicknames. and though yours wasn’t the nicest, it’s “sadness”. so why NOW he is calling you pretty girl? and are you into it? i mean, of course he is. you ARE a pretty girl. especially with the way your hair moves with the warm air of the morning. do you like that he—
“you comin’, sarge?” you call back, he didn’t even realize he’d been standing in thought, a few feet from where the group had stopped to check on him. “yeah, yeah. legs killin’ me, sorry.”
Jack hangs back behind the group watching you all converse, watching you look up at everyone, waiting for your turn to speak about whatever was being said. truthfully, he wasn’t listening. he tried, but all he could focus on was you, your movements, the way you twiddle with your pockets at your sides. the way you try not to walk so fast as everyone strolls leisurely, how you tuck your hair out of your face when you speak.
how you try and project your voice so everyone can hear you, but still ends up trailing low in your sentence, making whoever’s next to you lean in closer. he heard your smile in your words, your laugh rings through his ears, even if it’s from a crude joke on the other end of the setence.
“i’ll get us a table,” you say once you all head inside, and they turn to look at you. “you’re not gonna order?” parker asks, and you shake your head with a shrug. “no, i’m not that hungry. i’ve been babysitting a muffin all shift.” “not hungry? after fifteen hours.” she deadpans, making you stifle a giggle. “yeah, i’m good. just order me an orange juice. i’ll save you your seat,” you say to matteo, who smiles as you take his wildly heavy bag and walk over to a booth away from their eye sight.
Jack knows you better than that, though. he knows that you hate being watched while you eat (and he also knows you’re lying out your ass about whatever muffin you’re talking about). “she’s saving you a seat?” shen mutters amongst the group, waiting their turn to order. “because i wanna sit next to her. is that a problem?” “no, no. none here. just think it’s funny, seeing as ‘you don’t date coworkers’ and you’ve been calling her out her name all shift.” shen shrugs, subtly looking over to Jack, who pretends to eye the menu.
“i don’t date coworkers. and there’s nothing wrong with complimenting someone. she always looks pretty.” he grins with a shrug. “how come you don’t compliment me like that?” Jack nudged him with a jokey look before he steps up to order. it’s not getting to him, he swears to himself, to you internally. it’s why he’s joking, instead of telling him to shut the fuck up and keep his eyes to himself.
he doesn’t know why he has this problem. he knows you’re young, knows you’re a beautiful woman. you’ve got a lot of personality, lot to give even if you’re emotionally or mentally not ready to. of course you’re gonna be hit on, and sought after, especially by younger, hotter, more energetic men and women. you’re not gonna want this old, battered and bruised old man for long.
yet it still sets him off when he hears and sees it happening in real-time. seeing his stray cat being slowly coddled to. he thinks it’s something sick, wanting to keep you—“pancakes?” you interrupt his train of thought, and he couldn’t be happier. “jealous?” he perks up as he cuts them into tiny bits while you rest your head against your colleagues arm. oh, his sleepy sleepy girl.
“not at all, just didn’t think you’d have a sweet tooth this early.” you shrug, and it makes him smile small. he pours a small amount of syrup before holding up the fork, waiting for you to take it into your mouth, “s’not mine kiddo.” he says once you take the bite, pushing the plate your way.
you don’t like pda. but this, feeding you and staring down at you hungrily while you eye him with your big, sleep heavy eyes. (its not enough to make someone think oh they’re having sex. he’s inside her every night and making her cum so hard her leg cramps and they’re holding hands and…it’s not saying that. but it’s saying there’s a tension between you two. and that’s all he needs. the subtle..claim. the man is calculated.)
“dude if you weren’t hungry, why’d you come to breakfast?” parker asks, a laugh on her tongue. “i dunno. you guys invited me and i wanted to hang out. i don’t get out much anymore anyway.” you shrug, and Jack wants to laugh at your nonchalant act. same girl that was asking if they think she’s weird, by the way. “sweet, you’ll have to come next time.”
it’s something so simply said, but still makes you smile to yourself, your lips twitching as you fight a big toothy grin. Jack is quiet as ever throughout the conversation, yes because he doesn’t talk with his mouth full, but because he’s focused on listening to you. listening to your giggle, hold a calm conversation without a snarky remark.
trying not to watch you so closely while you run through your few talking quirks—bouncing your leg, playing with whatever was in your hand (this time, it’s your fork), playing with the tips of your hair, or combing it to the side, or tucking it behind your ear. looking down at your plate, playing with your sleeve (that’s replaced with matteo’s sleeve).
breakfast lasts longer than expected, by the time you guys stroll out you’re all yawning over yourselves. “i wanna see you next time. i’m picking the next spot.” parker punches at your shoulder, and you smile with a nod. “i’ll think about it. this was nice, though. thank you.” you say to no one in particular, but it’s felt by them all.
“have a good night, i’ll see you all later.” you wave, and now you’re the one that’s staying back to talk to talk while Jack slowly walks off. you stand close to him when you catch up, and he waits till he’s a few more feet to speak. “so?” is all he says, holding his bag tight on his chest. “it was..nice. i’m drained, though. that was a lot of energy, masking. i’m so tired too.” “thats okay,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of your head.
“i’m glad you had a good time. i liked that you enjoyed yourself, you need these moments. you’re going to the next one. we don’t do it every night, so you won’t need to..recharge as often.” “did you have a good time? you were quiet, your big mouth is never quite.” you look up at him, watching him nod hesitantly. “of course i did, i always have a good time with you. i was happy listening to you and stuff.” as well as he was silently spiraling out of his mind everytime he saw you playing footsies under the table.
“okay, thank you, again. for pushing me out the house. when we get to my place i wanna try this hair product, it’s an overnight curl thingy, i’ve seen girls do it and they come out nice and it’d make it so much easier…” he’s trying really hard to listen. swear. but all he’s thinking about is getting you in the bed, shoving your head into your pillow and plowing into you like there’s no tomorrow.
drilling into you and making you forget about the dunkin dude, and matthew mcconaugh-whatever, and matteo, and his nice grey-less hair, and handsome smile, and chiseled body and…whatever. wants to fuck you asleep because you’re his, you’re his girl, his stray cat, and you can’t leave him because he wouldn’t know what to do with himself but…you’re so tired. his girl is so sleepy.
and you’re drained from your nice breakfast with your friends. and he’s glad you’re tired from that rather than from your stressful shift. so—“i’ll help you do it then. i think it’ll look great, i like you with curls. is it something you found on the tiktok?” he asks, he knows it’s not “the tiktok”. but you always always laugh at the way he says it (because he’s an old fuck. he’s your old fuck) so he’ll say it every time.
and he’ll smile with all 36 teeth because of it every time. god help you both.
i do in fact love them :3. thank u for the ask, i’ve been really burnt out so i’m sorry it took so long. thank you.
summary: after a bad call in trauma, you don’t get the chance to process it before robby decides you’re too emotional to be there. you end up on the roof trying to pull yourself together instead, and of course jack’s the one who finds you there, like he always does when you’re at your worst. (5.4k+)
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader
content: hurt/comfort, angst, workplace tension, protective!jack, robby is kinda a asshole, established relationship, emotional repression vs feeling to much, confrontation. cw for: patient death, medical trauma, resuscitation, grief, blood, medical inaccuracies.
“Enough.”
You barely hear him.
Your palms are slick inside your gloves. The heel of one hand is planted firm against the woman’s sternum while the other braces over it, shoulders burning from the force of it, every push jarring up your arms and into your chest.
Your count has long since stopped being something you’re aware of. It is only pressure now. Down, release. Down, release. The monitor had dissolved into noise so long ago that you can’t separate one sound from another anymore. The room is all movement and blood and clipped voices and the relentless rush of trying.
You don’t stop.
You adjust the angle of your hands instead, shifting slightly over bone and cartilage, trying to find some better position, some better leverage, like maybe all that stands between this woman and another few minutes of life is a matter of inches.
“Call it,” Robby says.
“One more round.”
You are already pressing down again when you say it. Your voice comes out breathless, raw around the edges. Somebody at the head of the bed is squeezing another bag of fluid. Someone else is reciting numbers you are no longer taking in. The nurse nearest the cart glances toward Robby and then away just as quickly.
“We’ve been at this for thirty minutes.”
“I know.”
The words leave you sharper than you mean them to. You still don’t look at him. You are staring at your hands like if you focus hard enough, if you do not let your eyes leave the task in front of you, then nobody can make you quit yet.
“Just one more. Her rhythm was changing.”
“Her rhythm was V-fib for twenty minutes before it went flat.”
That one lands. You hate that it does.
Your arms keep moving for another few compressions before the sentence catches up to you properly. Your elbows start to lock. Your shoulders ache from effort and from refusal. The woman’s skin is cool in a way that does not belong to somebody who had been talking less than an hour ago.
Robby steps around the table. You can feel him there even before you look. The shift in the room gives him away. It always does. Attention folds around him without anyone meaning it to. He stops across from you with his arms crossed and his expression already set in that closed-off, unmovable way that means he has made a decision and will not be moved from it.
“The dissection was too extensive,” he says. “The bleed was too fast. There was nothing more to do.”
“You don’t know that.”
His eyes lift to yours for the first time in the last minute. “Step back from the table.”
You keep your hands where they are.
There is blood on the sheet. Blood on your wrist. Blood drying dark at the edge of one glove. You can hear your own breathing under the monitor, under the suction, under the noise of the bay outside the curtain. Your chest feels too tight to hold all of it.
“Robby—”
“Step back.”
The room stills around the order.
You don’t know what finally does it. His tone, maybe. Or maybe it is the look on the nurse’s face when you glance up and find her standing there with the next thing already in her hands and nowhere to put it because there is no next thing anymore. Maybe it is the woman on the bed herself, who does not move beneath your hands no matter what you do.
Slowly, you let your arms fall.
The absence of motion feels obscene.
You step back from the table because he told you to, because someone had to be the one to stop, because your body has reached that ugly point between exhaustion and disbelief where following an order becomes easier than fighting it. Your hands hang uselessly at your sides.
She had been awake when they brought her in.
That is the part of this your mind keeps circling back to with a kind of sick insistence. Not the open cavity. Not the sound the monitor made when the rhythm changed shape and then lost it altogether. Not the smell of cautery and blood and antiseptic clinging to the trauma bay. Just her face. Pale and frightened and trying so hard not to show it. The way she had looked from the gurney to you as they rolled her through the doors, eyes glazed with pain and still searching for someone to answer her.
She had told you her name.
As if that mattered.
As if you could keep hold of it for her.
As if there was some dignity left in being known when your body had been torn open from the inside.
You had leaned down so she could hear you over the rush of the bay and said it back to her, and for half a second she had looked less afraid.
Then, just before they pushed the sedation, she had caught your wrist with surprising strength and asked if somebody would call her kids.
You had said yes without thinking.
Of course you had.
“Time of death,” Robby says, glancing toward the clock on the wall, “22:14.”
The monitor answers him with its long, unbroken tone.
Nobody says anything after that.
The room has that terrible, familiar quiet to it now. Not silence. It is never silence in the ED. There is always noise somewhere. Phones ringing at the desk. Shoes against linoleum. A paramedic giving report in the next bay. Someone laughing too loudly at something down the hall because life keeps happening even here. But inside the trauma room, there is that suspended sort of stillness that settles when a body becomes a body again and everyone standing around it has to remember what comes next.
One of the nurses lowers her eyes to the chart in her hand with far too much concentration. Another moves toward the back counter to busy herself with wrappers that do not need gathering yet. Nobody looks directly at you.
You tug your gloves off one finger at a time because your hands have started to shake.
“Are you crying?”
Your head comes up too fast.
Robby is looking straight at you, not cruelly, that would almost be easier to absorb. There is no contempt in his face, no overt softness either. Only hard steadiness that makes everything he says sound like fact whether you agree with it or not.
Your eyes sting all at once. You hadn’t even realized it had gotten that far. Everything had felt too hot, too pressurized, too tight in your throat to separate one sensation from another, and now a tear slips over before you can stop it.
You wipe it away with the back of your wrist so quickly it smears.
“No.”
His gaze drops briefly to your face again, then back up. “You’re crying in my trauma bay.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are standing in the middle of my trauma bay in tears,” he says, flat and matter-of-fact, “and you are not useful to me right now. Step out.”
Your mouth parts. Nothing useful comes out of it. You hear yourself say, “I just need a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute.” His voice is not loud, but it sharpens enough to make you tense.
“There’s a man in bay three who has been waiting twenty minutes. I need doctors who are present. Not standing over a body feeling sorry for themselves.”
Heat rushes through you so quickly it makes your face burn.
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself.”
“Then what would you call it.”
The answer swells up in you so fast it almost chokes you. You can feel every pair of ears in the room pretending not to listen. Your throat tightens until speaking hurts.
“I would call it that she came in conscious, Robby.” Your voice catches in the middle of his name and you hate yourself for that more than anything. “She told me her name. She asked me to call her kids and I told her I would, and I think I’m allowed a second to—”
“You’re not.” The words are immediately thrown back.
You stare at him and he doesn’t look away.
“I’ve watched you do this since your first week here,” he says. “Every bad outcome. Every patient that doesn’t make it. It’s all over your face. You carry it around the department for hours after the fact, and I’ve let it go because you’re a good resident. Technically, you’re very good.”
The bay feels colder all of a sudden.
“But this is a problem.”
You do not move.
His eyes flick over your face in a way that makes you feel exposed in the ugliest way, not seen but rather assessed.
“You are too emotional for this environment.”
There it is.
Not because the sentence is especially dramatic. It isn’t. He says it as evenly as he says anything else. That is what makes it worse. It does not sound like anger or frustration or something thrown out in the heat of the moment. It sounds considered. It sounds like a thought he has had before and finally decided to voice.
The woman on the bed lies between you, silent and still and covered now to the chest.
You swallow around the ache in your throat. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not.”
He reaches for the next chart from the rack beside the door.
“But it’s true. You need to decide whether you can do this job or you can’t, because I won’t have you falling apart every time we lose someone. It’s not fair to the patients, and it’s not fair to my staff.”
“Robby—”
“Get some air.”
He says it like an order, not a kindness.
“Come back when you’ve got yourself together. I won’t have you in here like this.”
Then he turns and leaves.
The doors swing shut behind him with a soft mechanical hush.
For a moment, you can’t move.
The room blurs strangely at the edges. Someone passes you on the way to the sink. Someone else starts quietly discussing postmortem tasks with one of the nurses. Life resumes in pieces around you, practical and necessary and horribly normal.
You pull the second glove off and let it drop. Then the first. You don’t look to see where they land.
The walk out of trauma feels longer than it should.
The hallway beyond is all fluorescent light and polished floors and people moving too fast for your thoughts to keep pace with. You keep your chin up because there are only so many humiliations one person can survive in ten minutes and you’ve already endured enough for the night.
Past the nurses’ station.
Past two med students huddled over a chart.
Past a family clustered near the vending machines with the same pinched look everybody gets when they have already been waiting too long and know they will be waiting longer.
Nobody stops you. Nobody says your name. If anyone notices your face, they’re kind enough not to point it out.
“Too emotional for this environment.”
The sentence follows you all the way to the elevator.
You jab the call button and stare at the numbers above the doors with fixed intensity that comes from trying not to shatter in public. Your jaw aches from the force of holding it together. Your eyes burn. You can still feel the woman’s pulse under your fingers from earlier, back when there had still been one to feel, faint and racing and there.
You shut your eyes.
You need to decide whether you can do this job or you can’t.
The elevator opens with a soft chime. You get in before anyone else can.
The ride up is mercifully empty.
You press the button for the roof and lean back against the wall, arms folded tight over yourself like you can hold your insides in place if you just press hard enough. The mirrored panel opposite catches your reflection and you have to look away. Your face is blotchy already. Your hair is half falling out of its tie. There is dried blood near your cuff. You look exactly how you feel, which is never a good sign.
By the time the doors open again, the pressure behind your eyes has turned blinding.
The roof is cold enough to make your lungs seize on the first breath.
The night air comes hard and sharp off the city, smelling faintly like rain on concrete and the exhaust from the streets below. Pittsburgh spreads out beneath you in layers of yellow-white lights and dark buildings and distant traffic.
Somewhere down there, people are ordering takeout, walking their dogs, kissing on couches, sleeping through the night. The thought makes something in your chest twist.
You walk to the ledge at the far end of the roof and brace your forearms against it.
The first sob catches so hard it hurts.
Then another one follows.
And another.
It all leaves you in one brutal rush, like your body had only been waiting for privacy before it gave up the effort of restraint altogether. You bend over the ledge with your face in your hands and cry with all the gracelessness grief ever demands from anyone. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, your nose starts running and you wipe at it angrily with your sleeve and only make yourself cry harder because what else is there to do.
She had asked about her kids.
That keeps returning, cruelly intact.
Not whether she was going to die. Not whether she would be okay. Not even whether she was in the right place. Her kids. She had been terrified and in agony and bleeding out from the inside, and she had still thought first of them.
You had said yes.
The city below you gleams wet and indifferent.
You stay there until the worst of it empties out. Long enough for the cold to creep in through your scrubs and settle against your skin. Long enough for your face to go numb beneath the sting. Long enough that your sobs lose force and degrade into those ugly, hitching breaths that never quite feel satisfying.
Eventually you straighten.
Your palms rest flat against the ledge. Your eyes are swollen and your throat feels scraped raw. You stare out at the skyline and try to match your breathing to something steady.
The door behind you opens.
“I’m fine,” you say immediately, voice rough. You don’t turn around to see who it may be. “I just needed air. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
The footsteps that cross the roof are unhurried. There is a slight unevenness to them that your body recognizes before your mind does.
You close your eyes briefly. Of course.
“I’m serious,” you say, still facing forward. “You don’t have to stand here. Just tell whoever sent you I’m coming back down. I just needed five minutes.”
“Robby told me,” Jack says, “that a certain resident needed some air.”
His voice sits low in the night, roughened by sleep and age and that ever present rasp he seems to carry around even when he’s trying to be gentle. It lands somewhere under your ribs and stays there.
You laugh once, short and miserable. “That sounds like him.”
Jack comes to stand beside you at the ledge.
He doesn’t crowd you. He never really does. He just settles there near enough that the heat of him cuts through the cold a little, his forearms coming to rest against the ledge next to yours. You keep your face turned out toward the city because looking at him right now feels like a bad idea.
“I’m okay,” you say.
It sounds weak even to your own ears.
You try again. “Seriously. I just needed a minute.”
He is quiet for a beat. Then, “What did he say to you?”
Your throat tightens all over again.
“Nothing.”
Jack turns his head. You can feel it without seeing it. “Don’t do that.”
You let out a breath that almost shakes. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Yeah, you are.”
His tone stays calm. That somehow makes it harder.
You keep your eyes fixed on the city. “He’s tired. We all are. It was a bad case.”
“What did he say.”
When you still don’t answer, Jack shifts closer and lifts a hand to your jaw.
The touch is gentle. Warm. Calloused in a way that feels grounding instead of rough. His fingers turn your face toward him with barely any pressure at all, but you follow it anyway because resisting takes more strength than you have left.
The look on his face nearly undoes you.
It is not pity. Thank God for that. You think pity from him would kill you outright.
It is concern. His brows have drawn together, as his eyes move slowly over your face, taking in the tear tracks, the red rimmed eyes, whatever else is left of your attempt to pretend you were coming back downstairs like nothing happened.
“What,” he says quietly, “did he say?”
You hold his gaze for maybe two seconds before your chin starts to tremble.
“That I’m too emotional to be here.”
The sentence breaks in half on its way out.
Jack says nothing.
The silence gives you room to keep going and you almost wish it didn’t.
“He said he doesn’t think I can do the job if I fall apart every time we lose someone.” Your laugh comes out wet and ugly. “Which I wasn’t even doing, not really, I just…” You swallow hard. “She came in awake.”
Jack’s hand stays at your jaw. His thumb shifts once against your cheek.
“She told me her name,” you say, and now that you’ve started, it all spills too fast to stop. “She asked me if someone would call her kids before we sedated her, and I told her yes. I said yes like I could promise that, like I could promise anything, and then she was gone ten minutes later and he just called it and moved on and I know we have to move on, I know that, I know how this place works, but he looked at me like I was weak for even caring and I—”
The rest crumples in your throat.
Jack doesn’t let you finish.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, and he draws you into him before you can decide whether to resist.
You go without meaning to.
One second you are standing stiff and shaking beside him, and the next your face is buried against his chest and his arms are around you properly, one across your back and the other up at the base of your skull, broad palm resting there like he means to keep you together by sheer force of will.
The second his hand touches the back of your head, whatever was left of your composure gives out.
You grip the front of his shirt and cry into him like you have nowhere else to put it.
Jack just holds you.
He does not shush you. He does not tell you it’s okay when it very plainly isn’t. He does not offer some empty reassurance about how you did your best and that’s all anyone could have done. He seems to understand, maybe better than most people would, that the wrong words right now would make it worse. So he says nothing and lets you shake against him until the force of it starts to ease on its own.
His chest is warm beneath your cheek. You can smell soap and coffee and that faint musky cologne he wears too sparingly to ever name but that always somehow clings to him by the middle of a shift. His hand keeps moving once every so often against the back of your head, not enough to soothe in any obvious way, just enough that you know he is still there.
By the time your crying slows to uneven breaths, your fingers are bunched in his shirt.
You loosen them immediately, mortified. “Sorry.”
Jack huffs softly above you. “No.”
The one word is almost enough to make you laugh.
You pull back just far enough to look at him. His hands stay where they are for a moment, one at your back, one still cupping the base of your head. He studies your face with that same awful steadiness from before, except there is warmth in his eyes now that Robby’s had lacked entirely. Anger, too, though it sits lower.
“She had two kids,” you say, because it is somehow the only thing left that matters.
Jack’s expression shifts.
“Both their names were on her intake form.” Your voice trembles again, quieter this time. “She wrote them herself. She made a point to spell them out. Like she wanted to make sure nobody got it wrong.”
For a second, Jack doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you.
Then his hand leaves the back of your head and comes up to brush beneath one of your eyes with his thumb, wiping away a damp line you’d missed. He does the same to the other side, slow and unhurried.
“I’ll make sure somebody talks to her husband before the shift ends,” he says.
You blink. “Okay.”
“I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
Something in your chest loosens a little at that. Not much. Just enough to hurt differently.
“Okay,” you say again.
Jack lets his hands settle fully around your face then, palms warm against your chilled skin, thumbs resting near your cheekbones. He tips your head back a fraction so you have to look at him properly.
“You belong here.”
Your eyes sting all over again.
“I mean it,” he says. “Don’t let him put that shit in your head.”
You try to laugh and only manage a watery sort of exhale. “I’m trying not to.”
“Try harder.”
That gets the ghost of something out of you. Not a full smile, but close enough that his mouth softens in answer.
“She asked you to call her kids because she trusted you,” he says. “Patients know when somebody gives a damn. They know.”
His thumbs brush once more beneath your eyes.
“That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you the kind of doctor people remember when the rest of this place starts to blur together.”
You have to look away for a second because the alternative is crying all over again, and you are beginning to suspect you may never stop if given enough encouragement. Your gaze lifts to the dark stretch of sky above the hospital, then drops back to him.
“I don’t know what to do with it,” you admit.
“With what.”
“All of it.” Your throat works. “Them, after. The ones we lose. The things they say before. The families. I don’t know where I’m supposed to put it.”
Jack is quiet for long enough that you think he might not answer.
Then, “You don’t put it anywhere.”
You look back at him.
His expression has gone older somehow. More tired. Like the answer costs something to say aloud.
“You carry it,” he says simply. “That’s the job.”
The cold wind curls over the roof and tugs at the ends of your hair. Somewhere below, a siren whines past the hospital and fades.
“I don’t want to carry it like this.”
“No one does.”
His hands slide from your face to your shoulders. He squeezes once.
“But if you stop feeling it entirely, that’s when I’d worry.”
The words settle deep.
Not because they solve anything. They don’t. The woman is still dead. Her kids are still about to learn something that will split their lives into before and after. Robby still said what he said. The shift still waits downstairs, unfinished and unforgiving.
But Jack says it like somebody who has learned to live with the weight rather than outrun it. Like somebody who knows exactly how much it costs and still thinks it is worth paying.
You draw in a slow breath.
The air still bites, but it fills your lungs a little easier this time.
Jack watches you do it. “There you go.”
You roll your eyes weakly. “Don’t.”
“What.”
“That.”
A corner of his mouth turns. “You want me to stop encouraging you to breathe now?”
You lean your forehead briefly against his chest again, more from embarrassment than despair this time. “I hate you.”
“Sure you do.”
His chin dips to the top of your head for a moment. You feel the shape of a kiss there a second later, absentminded and so gentle it nearly hurts.
You stay like that longer than you mean to. The city stretching below. The roof cold underfoot. Jack standing steady in front of you like he has nowhere else he needs to be for these few minutes, even though you both know that isn’t true.
Eventually he eases back enough to look down at you.
“You coming back?”
You think about it honestly.
Your eyes still ache. Your face probably looks terrible. The thought of stepping into trauma again makes something inside you flinch. But beneath all of that, under the humiliation and the grief and the rawness of being spoken to like that in front of a full room, there is still the sharper thing that got you through med school and internship and every impossible shift before this one.
You are not done.
“Yeah,” you say.
Jack studies your face like he’s checking the answer for cracks. Then he nods once.
“Good.”
He turns toward the door and holds it open for you.
The warmth of the stairwell meets you first, then the fluorescent light, then the familiar smell of hospital air. You step through and start down the stairs beside him, not saying much. There doesn’t seem to be any need for it.
By the time you reach the floor again, the ED has swallowed up the roof and the quiet and those five stolen minutes like they never existed. The board is still full. Somebody is calling for respiratory. A child is crying somewhere near triage. Whitaker rushes past with a portable monitor tucked under one arm and barely spares you both a glance.
You fall back into step because there is nothing else to do.
At the desk, Jack peels off toward another bay with a brief hand at the back of your shoulder as he passes.
You make it three steps toward trauma before Robby appears at the end of the hall.
He is flipping through a chart as he walks, glasses low on his nose, expression as impassive as ever. If he is surprised to see you back, he does not show it. He comes to a stop in front of you and looks up.
“You good to rejoin us?”
The question is so infuriatingly clinical that for a second you cannot answer.
Jack, who had gotten halfway down the corridor, stops.
You see the moment he decides to turn around.
You also see the moment Robby notices him doing it.
“I’m fine,” you say before either of them can speak.
Robby gives a short nod and starts to move past you.
“Hey.”
Jack’s voice cuts through the hallway cleanly.
Robby stops.
A few heads lift at the station. Nothing dramatic. Just that subtle turning of attention that happens in a place where everyone is always listening for the next bad thing.
Jack comes back toward the two of you, slower this time. There is no rush in him at all. That should probably scare people more than shouting ever would.
“What,” Robby says, not looking especially bothered.
Jack stops beside you, close enough that the line of his shoulder almost touches yours. “You wanna explain to me why she came upstairs crying?”
The air around the three of you changes, and you almost instantly regret telling Jack anything, you should have known he wouldn’t have shame in telling him what he did was wrong.
Robby’s eyes flick briefly to your face, then back to Jack. “Because she got attached to a patient and picked the middle of my trauma bay to fall apart about it.”
You feel yourself go rigid.
Jack’s jaw tightens. “That right.”
Robby closes the chart in his hands. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Make time.”
The station has gone very still behind you.
Robby regards him for a moment. “I said what needed to be said. We were in the middle of a shift and she was no longer useful in the room.”
Jack’s laugh is short and humorless. “Useful.”
“That’s the job.”
“No,” Jack says. “The job is keeping people alive when you can and treating them like human beings when you can’t. That includes your residents.”
Robby’s face does not change, but his eyes harden slightly. “If she wants to be here, she needs to learn how to function.”
“She was functioning.”
“She was crying over a dead patient.”
“She was crying over a dead mother who asked about her kids before you put her under.” Jack steps a little closer. “You think that’s a some flaw?”
A muscle shifts in Robby’s jaw.
“No,” he says. “I think dragging that kind of emotion through every bay in the department is a liability.”
“Bullshit.” The word drops bluntly between them.
You glance at Jack despite yourself. He is looking at Robby now with of cold clarity you don’t often see from him unless something has truly gotten under his skin.
“You don’t get to talk to her like that because you’re tired,” Jack says. “And you sure as hell don’t get to decide she doesn’t belong here because she still has a pulse.”
Robby’s expression shutters further. “This is between me and my resident.”
Jack does not even blink. “Not if you’re saying shit like that to her, it isn’t.”
Somewhere behind the desk, someone pointedly starts typing very loudly.
Robby looks past Jack to you then, as though you are suddenly the only person in the conversation worth addressing.
“Are you able to continue your shift?”
The professionalism of it is almost funny.
You square your shoulders. “Yes.”
“Good.”
He turns to leave again.
Jack lets him get two steps this time.
Then, “You owe her an apology.”
That finally makes Robby stop in earnest.
He turns back more slowly than before. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Robby’s mouth flattens. “I am not doing this in the middle of the department.”
Jack folds his arms. “Should we go somewhere quieter, would that suit you?”
For one absurd second, you think Robby might actually laugh. He doesn’t. But something unreadable flickers across his face.
He looks at you. Really looks this time, something more difficult to parse. You don’t know what he sees there. You don’t know if he sees anything at all besides another problem waiting to be solved badly.
When he speaks, his voice is lower.
“I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
It is not much. It is nowhere near enough. But it is also probably the closest anyone in this hospital will ever get to hearing Robby say he was wrong.
The words catch you off guard anyway.
He adjusts his hold on the chart. “Take five more minutes if you need them. Then I want you back in three.”
You nod once.
Robby leaves before either of you can answer.
The tension goes with him in increments.
Jack exhales through his nose and looks down the hall after him like he is still considering whether to follow. Then he glances at you.
“You okay?”
You let out a tired breath that almost resembles a laugh. “I think so.”
“That was a terrible apology.”
“It was,” you agree.
“But?”
You look toward trauma, where the doors are swinging open and shut around the blur of another incoming patient. “But I heard it.”
Jack watches your face for a second, then nods.
“Alright.”
He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before stepping away. “Go be too emotional somewhere productive.”
This time you actually laugh, small and startled and real.
Jack’s mouth tips faintly at one corner like he’d been aiming for exactly that. Then he turns and heads back into the noise.
You stand there for one more second in the middle of the corridor, breathing.
Then you straighten your scrub top, wipe once under your eyes in case there is anything left there to betray you, and push back through the trauma doors.
The shift is still waiting.
So are the patients.
So are all the impossible, unfinished things that will remain impossible and unfinished long after tonight is over.
You go anyway.
Because the truth, ugly and inconvenient and still intact beneath everything Robby said, is that he was wrong about the part that mattered.
✶ after getting you get berated by robby, jack has some things to say to him about it.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ angst (robby's an asshole). reader has a panic attack. talks of death (patients). heavy conversations in a very unrealistic setting (HR would have a field day).
word count : 3,2k
gif by @timothyolyphant
You had been having a terrible day.
Your shift had started at 6:43 a.m., because getting in early gave you more time to ignore the reality waiting outside the hospital walls: your landlord had raised the rent, and you couldn’t afford it.
Which meant that, by next week, you probably wouldn’t have a place to live.
You’d spent your one day off scrolling through listings, chasing anything that even remotely fit your budget. Nothing did. Or at least, nothing that felt livable.
One place had walls so thin you could hear every car passing by like it was in your living room. Another reeked of damp, with pipes that looked like they might burst if you so much as turned on a faucet. And then there was the eighth-floor walk-up—no elevator, of course—as if hauling yourself up eight flights after a twelve-hour shift was somehow reasonable.
At this point, you told yourself you’d take anything. A bed, a door that locked, a space that was yours. But even that felt like too much to ask.
You also hadn’t told Jack.
You’d only been seeing each other for a month, and it felt too fragile, too new, to drop something like this into the middle of it. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off with the mess your life had suddenly become. Because then you’d be left with nothing—no apartment, no safety net, no him.
And then, because the universe clearly had a sense of humor at your expense, you lost your first patient at 7:29 a.m.
You’d worked her for over ten minutes, refusing to give in even when the odds had already slipped out of your hands. Compressions, meds, another round, your voice steady even as your chest tightened. Until Robby finally called it.
Just like that.
He didn’t soften the aftermath, didn’t give you a second to breathe before tossing out a sharp comment about how you should be better at catching STEMIs.
All in all, things weren’t going well.
It was now 17:28, barely two hours left on your shift before you’d be forced to face everything you’d been trying to outrun.
You had lost two patients so far.
And both times, Robby had made sure you felt it with sharp comments.Each one chipping away at whatever confidence you had left.
People had noticed.
They also noticed that for the past few days something about you had been off, like a storm building just beneath the surface. Today, it was impossible to ignore.
Even Dana had pulled you aside, her voice softer than usual as she asked if you were okay, if you needed a breather. You did. But admitting that felt like handing Robby another reason to hover, another excuse to dissect every mistake you made.
So you shook it off and kept going.
Now, the pressure sat heavy in your chest as you worked a GSW to the chest alongside Whitaker and Robby.
The patient was crashing too fast. Blood everywhere, slipping through your hands no matter how quickly you moved. Garcia had been paged less than a minute ago, but even in that short span of time, you could feel it—you had already lost him.
Wrong place, wrong time. That’s what the paramedics had said when they rushed him in, the police echoing the same hollow explanation. His family had been called, but they were still an hour away.
Your eyes locked on the monitor and didn’t even flinch when it flatlined.
No rush of adrenaline, no frantic movement to fix it but instead just a quiet, hollow stillness as you stepped back, letting Whitaker take over. Robby would guide him. Whitaker would listen.
You were just in the way.
So you left.
Like a ghost, you moved through the room, ignoring your name sharply being called. Ignoring the looks, the movement, the noise of the ER around you. Your feet carried you on autopilot, straight out to the ambulance bay.
You tried to breathe.
In. Out. Slow. Controlled. The way Jack had shown you once, his voice steady, his hands warm where they’d rested over yours.
It didn’t work.
The air wouldn’t come.
Your chest tightened to the point of pain, your airway closing as if something inside you had finally snapped.
The realization hit fast: you couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Not nearly enough.
Tears blurred your vision, spilling over before you could stop them, your cheeks drenched as everything you’d been holding in finally broke free.
One of the paramedics in an ambulance rushed to your side, his voice cutting through the noise, though you couldn’t make out a single word. Strong hands steadied you before lifting you up, carrying you back into the ED and drawing the attention of everyone in your path.
Langdon was there in an instant, a wheelchair already in front of you.
“What happened?” he asked, voice sharp but edged with worry.
“Can’t…” you wheezed, fingers clawing weakly at your throat and chest.
“Dana, what’s open?” He called over his shoulder.
Dana’s eyes landed on you, concern flashing across her face before she snapped back into motion. “North 5’s open!”
Langdon didn’t waste a second, guiding the wheelchair once the paramedic helped settle you onto it. The world blurred as he pushed you down the hall and into the room.
Once inside, he moved immediately.
Vitals, pupils, airway—his hands moved steadily, efficiently, practiced as he checked everything, only to find nothing wrong except your heart racing too fast and your breaths coming too shallow.
He didn’t need to call psych to know what this was.
A panic attack.
You had started to settle, focusing on matching his breathing as he reassured you that, physically, you were fine.
Once you could finally string a few words together, you thanked him.
“You have nothing to thank me for,” he said, offering you a soft, easy smile. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Still… thank you.” you whispered.
He exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll go let Robby know you’re alright.”
You nodded faintly, already dreading the inevitable.
Would he care that you were barely holding it together? That with each passing day, you felt like you were unraveling a little more? You wanted to believe he would.
But wanting didn’t make it true.
“So, I hear our doctors are just abandoning their patients over a little panic attack?”
Robby’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside. He let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as his eyes landed on you lying on the gurney.
“Robby, that’s not what—”
“I don’t care what happened,” he snapped, cutting you off. “I care that I trusted you to help me with a patient—a critical patient—and you walked out without a word.” His jaw tightened. “What would’ve happened if you’d been alone with that patient, hm? How is it that a first-year resident can handle the pressure better than a fourth-year?”
“Things have just been difficult—”
“Welcome to life,” he shot back. “Things get tough. But you’re a doctor. People depend on you, so you put it aside and you do your job. Who the fuck cares what you’re going through? Do you think that guy who just died cared?”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears slipped free.
“Don’t you dare cry,” he hissed. “I think you should go home—and seriously consider whether you’re actually cut out for this. A breakdown like this from a med student? Fine. Expected, even. But from a fourth-year resident?” He shook his head, eyes cold. “It’s pathetic.”
“I still have an hour left,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended.
He let out a sharp breath. “Then stay in triage. Or finish your charting. I don’t even care at this point. And if you’re going to have another panic attack, do it off the clock.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, swallowing everything down, and nodded.
Robby didn’t say anything else before turning and walking out.
For a second, you just sat there, forcing yourself to pull the pieces back together. You wiped at your face, steadying your breathing, willing the last traces of it to disappear.
You couldn’t afford to fall apart again.
When you finally stepped out, the shift in the air was immediate.
People were looking.
Quick glances, not-so-subtle ones—everyone who had been within earshot now pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. You exhaled slowly, pushing past it, past them, making your way to the board.
Focus. Just focus.
You scanned for a patient, anything to keep your hands moving and your mind occupied.
As the clock ticked by, the night shift began to roll in.
The worst of it had passed—at least on the surface. Your eyes were no longer swollen, but a faint redness lingered.
The cases coming through triage were manageable. Surface-level, almost mercifully so. A chronic headache. A deep but clean laceration. Nothing critical. Nothing that could slip through your fingers and haunt you later.
No way to lose anyone now.
At 18:49, you heard Jack Abbot’s voice, and it felt like a lifeline—like something solid cutting through the noise and pulling you back to shore.
You focused on your last patient, careful and thorough, even as something in you itched to go find him. To just see him. But you didn’t rush. You couldn’t. Not after everything.
A few minutes later, you heard his voice again.
But this time, it was different.
He was using the kind of tone you’d only ever heard him use with combative patients.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Your hands stilled.
“Excuse me?” Robby scoffed.
“What makes you think that berating your residents for having emotions is in any way helpful?”
Your chest tightened at the words. Before you could stop yourself, you excused yourself from your patient and followed the sound, your pulse quickening with every step.
You found them just outside the nurses’ station.
Jack stood rigid, his finger pointed at Robby’s chest, his jaw tight, brows drawn together in a way that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.
“I don’t know why that’s any of your business,” Robby shot back, crossing his arms.
“You mistreating residents isn’t my business?” Jack challenged. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what your job is, but you’re not just a doctor—you’re supposed to be teacher, too.” His voice was controlled, but the anger underneath it was unmistakable. “If they’re having a hard time, you help them. You don’t tear them down until they start questioning whether they even belong here.”
“This isn’t therapy, and I sure as hell am not their therapist. This is an ER, and they’re doctors.” Robby fired back.
“And that gives you the right to what? Humiliate them?” Jack stepped closer, his voice dropping, more dangerous now. “Push them until they break?”
Robby let out a dry laugh. “If they break, that’s on them.”
Something in Jack snapped.
“No,” he said, firm, unwavering. “That’s on you.”
The space around them had gone quiet, the usual chaos of the ED dimming as people pretended not to watch.
And then Jack spoke again, his voice cutting clean through the tension.
“You want to be an asshole? Talk to me like that. Try it.” Jack snaps, “But you don’t get to talk to her like that.”
Robby let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “So that’s what this is about?” He shook his head. “And here I thought you’d suddenly become some kind of advocate for residents. Guess it’s just the ones you’re involved with.”
“You need to back off,” Jack said, his voice low, controlled. “Now.”
“No, no—let’s be honest,” Robby pressed, gesturing loosely to the room. “Let’s make sure everyone knows just how noble you are.” His smile was thin, biting. “You don’t care that I went off on a resident. You care that I went off on your resident. It’s almost impressive how quickly you claimed the moral high ground when you’re the one who should be reported to HR.”
“Then report me,” Jack shot back without hesitation. “I’ll return the favour.”
Robby scoffed, shaking his head like the whole thing had suddenly bored him. “You know what? Fine. If you want to deal with that mess, be my guest.”
His gaze swept across the onlookers, lingering just long enough to remind everyone they’d been seen—before it landed on you.
A slow, cutting smile spread across his face.
“You’re officially on night shift, sweetheart,” he sneered. “Hope you don’t have a panic attack about that, too.”
You were left stunned, mouth slightly open as you watched Robby storm off.
“Back to work, people! There are lives to save,” Jack called out, his tone leaving no room for argument. Slowly, the tension broke, and everyone dispersed, slipping back into the rhythm of the ED like nothing had happened.
Then he turned to you.
He crossed the distance quickly, his hands coming up to rest on your arms, grounding you where you stood, still stiff at your sides.
“You okay?” He asked, his gaze softening as he took in your tear-bright eyes.
You shook your head, a hollow laugh slipping out. “This is a nightmare.”
“Hey—no,” he said immediately, his grip tightening just slightly. “This isn’t your fault. What he said was completely out of line, and I’m glad Dana told me. You should never have been put through that.”
“We’re so going to get reported to HR,” you whispered.
“You let me deal with that.”
You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spiraling faster than you could keep up with.
“I’m going to have to find a new job,” you murmured. “And I definitely can’t afford that.” You closed your eyes for a second before looking back up at him. “But… thank you. For defending me.”
“Someone had to,” Jack said, worry written all across his face. “Robby’s been out of line for a while now. But today…” He shook his head slightly. “Something snapped when I heard how he was talking to you. How often it’s been happening.”
“I’ve been off my game,” you admit quietly.
“That’s not an excuse,” he countered gently but firmly. “And even if it were, it still wouldn’t justify any of that.” His expression shifted, concern settling deeper into his features. “I’m more worried about why you had a panic attack. Langdon said you haven’t been yourself for a while.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, I’m always worried about you,” he replied softly. “So help me understand what’s going on.”
The words sat heavy in your chest for a moment before they finally spilled out.
You told him everything.
About the rent. About how you weren’t sure where you’d be living next week. About the apartments that didn’t work, the exhaustion, the patients you’d lost. About how you hadn’t given yourself even a second to process any of it—just kept going, pushing it down, pretending it wasn’t catching up to you. And how now, you would probably have to start looking for a new hospital to work at after Robby’s words.
As you spoke, the frown in his brows deepened, his hands moving slowly up and down your arms, a quiet, steady attempt to soothe you as everything unraveled.
After a moment of quiet, he spoke.
“You’re not going to lose your job. I won’t let that happen.”
“Jack…”
“I’m not finished,” he cut in gently. “I just… I wish you’d let me help you. You know I would do anything for you. I’d throw myself down a flight of stairs if it meant making things easier for you.”
A small, disbelieving breath left you. “I thought it would scare you off,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“The day I ever say you’re a burden, you better slap some sense into me,” he said, completely serious. “I mean it. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me with this kind of stuff—to let me carry some of it with you.”
You reached up, wiping away a tear before it could fall.
“Move in with me,” he said suddenly.
You froze.
“I know it’s fast—too fast, probably—but I can’t just stand by while you’re this stressed when I have a perfectly good place you can stay at,” he continued, his voice softer now, but no less certain. “You can take the guest room if you want. Or I will, if you like my bed more. I don’t care how we do it, just…” He exhaled, searching your face. “Please. Move in with me.”
You stared at him, your mind struggling to catch up with what he was offering.
Everything in you wanted to say yes—to fall into the safety he was offering, to let someone finally take some of the weight off your shoulders. But there was still that hesitation, that voice in the back of your mind reminding you how new this was, how quickly everything was moving.
“Jack, it’s only been a month,” you said quietly, searching his face.
“I know,” he admitted, not even trying to argue it. “It is. But this isn’t about how long we’ve been together. It’s about you needing somewhere safe to land. And I can give you that.”
You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to his.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” you whispered. “Whatever this is between us… I don’t want to ruin it by rushing into something.”
“You won’t,” he said without hesitation. “We’ll take it at your pace. Separate rooms, space, whatever you need. Nothing has to change unless you want it to.”
There was no pressure in his voice. No expectation.
Your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was something softer, something that made your throat ache for a completely different reason.
“…Okay,” you breathed.
His expression shifted instantly, relief flickering across his face. “Okay?”
“Okay,” you repeated, a little more certain this time. “I’ll… move in. At least for now.”
A small smile pulled at his lips, something warm and genuine, like you’d just handed him something he wasn’t going to take lightly.
“Good,” he murmured.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then the noise of the ED filtered back in, grounding you both in reality.
Jack exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you, something sharper slipping into his expression again. “I should get back to work.”
You nodded, though your hand instinctively caught his wrist for just a second before letting go.
He hesitated, then leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping.
“I also need to go find Robby and punch him for making you cry,” he muttered.
Despite everything, a weak huff of laughter escaped you.
“But,” he added, straightening, his tone shifting back to something steadier, “we’ll talk later. We’ll figure everything out, okay?”
“Okay,” you said softly.
He then leaned in—and slightly hesitantly—placed a tender kiss to your forehead, before slipping back into doctor mode as he turned and disappeared into the chaos of the ED.
You stood there for a minute taking it all in. Still shaken, still overwhelmed, but no longer feeling completely alone.
NOTE : samira mohan i have stolen your thunder. and by thunder, i mean your whole scene with robby😭 i have wanted to write this since that episode came out but didn’t quite know where to start. also is the ending totally shit? please don’t tell me if it is🫰
Description: You pushed down your desire for Dr. Abbot, not realizing he was doing the same.
TW: Mutual pining, idiots in love, soft!Jack Abbot (I’m gnawing at my enclosure), probably horribly written, no use of y/n, I guess sort of slow burn????
Word Count: 2776
You weren’t sure when exactly you became friends with Jack Abbot, but your friendship was effortless. You fell into a rhythm with the attending; he didn’t need to say anything for you to know exactly what he needed. The rest of the night shift crew started teasingly calling you “Dr Abbot’s nurse”. You weren’t going to admit that every time you hear that, your heart beats a little bit faster. If you were to tell the truth, you’d say you’ve been in love with him since day one. Telling him felt terrifying, so you were happy with being friends, even if your heart hurt a little every time you looked at him. You were good at pushing it down, hiding your true feelings from the man behind small smiles and bad jokes.
“Good morning, Dr. Abbot.” You smile at him as you enter the ER to start your shift. “You are here early.”
He hummed in response as he looked up from his tablet. “Don’t remind me.”
You giggle softly as you walk past him and head towards the lockers. The pep in your step made the other nurses look at you like you had lost your mind.
“How are you always so happy to be here?” Lena asked as you passed her in the hallway.
“There is nowhere else I’d rather be!” You responded. You weren’t about to tell her that you were just happy to spend time with Jack.
~
It was an extra busy shift. You felt like you were constantly running from room to room to draw blood and check on vitals. It was never-ending. You let out an exhausted sigh as you leaned against the nurses’ station, happy to get a moment to yourself.
“Where’d that smile go?” Lena asked teasingly.
“I think it went out the ambulance doors.” You said as your forehead hit the countertop.
“Careful,” Jack said as he walked up to the nurses’ station. “Can’t have you getting a concussion.”
You looked up at him and smirked, “Of course not. You’d miss me too much if I had to go home.”
His gaze followed you as you stood up from the counter. “On second thought, you’d be doing me a favor by leaving.”
You took in the serious look on his face, your eyes flitting between his own. Anyone else would be intimidated by the way he's looking at you. He stood straight with his head slightly backwards, his eyes staring down at you from over his nose. Instead of shying away from him, you smiled wider as you cocked your head to the side, keeping eye contact with the attending.
“Showdown at the nurse’s station,” Dr. Ellis joked as she walked past, barely looking up from her tablet.
At this, Jack started to crack as the side of his mouth started to turn upwards. Before you could say anything, you heard loud voices coming from the ambulance bay. “GSW to the side, thready pulse!” The EMT yelled as you rushed to the patient with Dr. Abbot not far behind.
“Trauma bay 2 is open!” Lana yelled from the nurses' station.
“Thanks, Lana!” You respond as you help push the bed towards the room.
It was a messy one. Blood pooled on the floor as everyone worked tirelessly to try to save the man, but in the end, Jack called it. “Time of death, 5:30 AM.”
You let out an exhausted sigh as you look down at your bloody scrubs. Your eyes are drawn to the simple pearl bracelet Jack got you for your birthday last year. “Shit, I’ve got to go clean this off.” You mutter as you run to the bathroom.
Jack watched as you rushed out of the room, making a mental note to check on you later. That is, if he had time. Time was a precious commodity in the ER.
~
“Have you seen her?” Jack asked Lena as he leaned on the countertop, trying to relieve the pressure on his prosthetic. He didn’t have to say who he was looking for, Lena knew. Everyone knew, except you apparently. They didn’t know if you were just in denial or secretly an idiot, but it seems like you were the only one who didn’t know that Jack Abbot was in love with you.
“She needed a moment and stepped outside. Leave her alone.” Lena mumbled.
Jack frowned as he looked towards the ambulance bay, worry settling in his stomach like a bag of bricks. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, something about a bracelet. I think she is just tired.” Lena responded. “Seriously, leave her be.” Truth be told, Lena was not a fan of the situation between you and Jack. She was protective of you like you were family, and she didn’t want to see you be strung along by some conceited doctor. The longer he refused to confess, the more protective she got.
Dr. Abbot sighed as he started to prepare for the day shift hand-offs. He listened to Lena, but he wasn’t happy about it. As he talked to Dr. Robby, his eyes never stopped scanning the room, looking for you. He heard you before he saw you. You laughed softly as you caught up with Dana. He felt relief flowing through his body at the sight of you happy.
“Jesus.” Dr Robby said, breaking Abbot from his spell. “Tell me you aren’t this distracted while working, because if so, this is a problem.” He scolded as he shook his head.
“I’m not,” Jack responded, his tone mirroring his annoyance at his friend.
“Right. Whatever.” Robby scoffed as he walked away.
Abbot shrugged off his friend’s concerns. Honestly, he didn’t think anything could break the hold you had on him. Before he knew it, his feet were already taking him towards you.
You smelled his cologne before you saw him. Anxiety settled in your chest at the thought of talking to him. You quickly turned and started heading for the door, but much to your dismay, he caught up quickly.
“Can I walk you to your car?” He asked, but it came out as more like a statement than a question, leaving no room for you to say no.
You nodded your head as you smiled meekly, walking in step with him in silence.
“What’s bothering you?” He finally asked as the two of you reached your car.
“I just -” You started to say before you looked down at your feet. “It is stupid.”
“Tell me, sweetheart.” He said with a soft vulnerability in his voice.
“I got blood on the bracelet you got me, and I feel like it tarnished the symbol of our relationship - I mean our friendship.” You confessed, feeling stupid now that you are saying it out loud.
“I guess I’ll have to buy you a new one then.” He said confidently, causing your head to whip upward to look at him.
“No! I mean -” You started to say, panic setting in your chest. “It washed up fine! See!” You lifted your hand to show him the bracelet. “Don’t waste your money!”
The side of his mouth ticked upwards as he watched you fumble over your words. “Too late. I’ve already decided.”
You let out an exhausted sigh, too tired to respond in words.
He tilts his head to the side as he takes in your exhausted form. ‘I’ll drive you home.”
“What?” You asked, your voice laced with confusion.
“You are exhausted. I am not letting you drive.” He says matter-of-factly as he tugs on your arm.
Despite his insistence, he is still gentle with you as he guides you to his car. You were always surprised by how gentle his touch is. Little did you know he was only this gentle with you.
The drive to your apartment was quiet, but the silence wasn’t awkward.
“I wanted to look for you. When you disappeared.” Jack admitted as he stared straight out the windshield, afraid to even look at you.
“Oh.” You said apologetically. “Sorry.”
“I was worried.” He continued. The vulnerability in your voice caused your heart to skip a beat.
Instinctively, your hand reached out for him, settling on his thigh before you even knew what you were doing. “I am okay. Really.” You melted into the seat of the car for the rest of the ride; the silence felt raw like something was hovering between the two of you. Something unspoken. You slowly take your hand back as he parks in front of your apartment building.
“Thanks for the ride, doc.” You smile at him. “And no gifts, please.”
“Oh, you are getting all the gifts.” He joked back at you, the familiar safety of your friendship returning.
~
Two days pass by before your next shift. You wished you could say you did something fun on your days off, but in reality, you just stayed in your pajamas and binge-watched your favorite show. Every once in a while, your mind drifts to Jack. You thought about how good he smelled and his strong arms as you melted into the back of the couch. You had it bad.
You sighed loudly as your phone buzzed on the cushion next to you. You grabbed your phone and immediately saw the name. Jason. You groaned. Your friend Kelly had set you up with one of her boyfriend’s buddies. With a little encouragement, you agreed to go on one date with the guy, but you made it clear to her that your heart wasn’t in it.
“Give him a chance! He’s a great guy.” She told you when you tried to object.
You gave in quickly because in your heart you knew you shouldn’t pine over Dr. Abbot forever. You’d end up alone.
You looked back down at your phone to read his text.
Jason:
We still on for coffee?
You:
Yes. My shift ends at 7.
You grimaced as you reread your text. You sounded clinical and detached.
You:
Sorry, I am just tired. I would love to meet you for coffee!”
You sent the text, trying to sound excited so you didn’t scare the guy off.
Jason:
No worries! See you in the morning!
You sighed as you reluctantly got up from the couch to get ready for your shift. You silently hoped that it would be busy and you would have to stay late so you could reschedule with Jason. As you were brushing your teeth, you heard your phone go off again. You groaned unhappily, assuming it was Jason again.
“Jesus.” You whispered, feeling annoyed. You instantly perked up when you read the text.
Jack:
Hey sweetheart. Need a ride?
It wasn't uncommon for the two of you to carpool together. Your heart tightened as you read over the nickname again. He called you that often in a playful way almost like he knew how flustered it made you. You hesitated as you thought over your options.
You:
Can’t. Need the car after work. I am meeting up with someone.
Jack:
You mean I’m not your only friend?
You could practically hear his teasing tone, something you knew all too well.
You:
Actually, I have a date.
Silence. He had left you on read. “Rude.” You grumbled as you tried not to read too much into it. He wasn’t jealous, you told yourself. “Delusional.” You said quietly as you looked yourself over in the mirror.
When you walked into work you realized it was going to be a shit show. People in the hallways in beds and wheelchairs, an overflowing waiting room, and an ambulance was pulling up to the ambulance bay.
“Maybe my wish will come true.” You said jokingly to yourself.
“Hey! With me!” Dr. Shen yelled, causing you to drop your bag and run to his side.
“I haven’t even changed into my scrubs!” You joked. “Can’t run the place without me?”
Dr. Shen let out a breathy laugh as he rushed to intubate the patient. Once the patient was stable, you headed back to the nurses’ station to collect your things and head to the lockers, only to find it wasn’t where you had left it.
“Shit.” You mumbled as you looked around frantically.
“Don’t shit yourself, I have it.” You heard Jack’s gravely voice behind you.
“I could kiss you right now.” You joked as he handed it to you, but instead of his normal banter he just grunted and walked away.
You stood at the desk in silence. Confused and bewildered by his response.
“He’s in a bad mood today,” Lena said as she leaned against the countertop.
“I wonder why.” You responded, watching his form walk between rooms.
“Not your problem,” Lena said sharply. “You aren’t his girlfriend.”
“But I am his friend!” You hissed back, unimpressed with her tone. “Looks like he’s not the only one with an attitude today.”
“Seriously. You are too invested.” Lena insisted. “You need to move on.”
Your chest ached at her words. You knew she was right. Reluctantly, you took her advice not to run to his side and try and make everything better. You fought the urge the whole shift as he, time and time again, chose different nurses, never calling your name.
“Trouble in paradise?” Dr. Ellis joked as she walked up to you.
“What?” You answered, confused and barely paying attention.
“Dr. Abbot hasn’t asked for you all day.” She responded, taking in your deflated form.
“I don’t know what I did wrong.” You said as you tried to fight back tears.
“Sorry,” You said abruptly before she could respond, “I need to go.” You say as you rush to the closest empty room. You quickly pulled the curtain to give yourself some privacy. You felt pathetic as tears fell down your face. You couldn’t imagine a world where you were no longer friends with Jack.
~
“You fucked up.” Dr Ellis said as she waltzed up to her attending.
“What?” He asked, surprised by her bluntness.
“Apologize to her.” She said as she poked his chest. “She is crying, you know.”
His body deflated at her words. He never meant to make you cry. His heart has been aching all day at the thought of you with another man. You weren’t his; he tried to remind himself. Every time he saw you he had to fight back the urge to run to you. To beg you for a chance.
“You were younger. Why would you want him?” He thought to himself.
“Do it.” Dr Ellis said, breaking him from his thoughts. “She is in Central 14.” she said before walking away.
He took in a sharp breath before heading your direction. It felt like he was pushing through mud, his body fighting the urge to run away.
“Sweetheart?” He said after opening the door, hearing nothing but a sniffle in response.
Sighing, he pushed farther into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. His fingers wrapped around the curtain and gently pulled it to the side. He wasn’t prepared to see you slumped over with your head in your hands. His heart ached at the sight. He did this to you.
“Go away.” You mumbled into your hands, refusing to look at him.
“Don’t send me away.” He quietly begged as he moved closer.
“Why not? You don’t want to be my friend anymore. You’ve made that obvious. This is the most you have said to me all day.” You mumbled as you rubbed the tears from your eyes.
“I just -” He started, placing his hand on your shoulder. “I was jealous.” He admitted.
“What?” You asked as your eyes finally met his.
“Don’t go on that date.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.
You stared in silence as you looked him over. Looking for any signs he was joking, but instead, you saw his eyes watering and his hands shaking. He was completely serious.
“Okay.” You responded softly, reaching for his hand.
As soon as you made contact, he gripped your hand like you would disappear at any moment. “Thank you.”
You had no idea what this meant for your friendship with Jack. This felt new. Your new relationship is raw and unexplored. The one thing you did know was that he needed you just as much as you needed him, and for now, that was good enough.
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