it’s late when sukuna returns, shards of moonlight peeking through the blinds of your shared home like pieces of glass. you’d been up late waiting for him, same as every night.
you lift your head up from your palm when you hear the sound of shoes scuffling, tired expression letting up into a soft smile at the sight of your boyfriend. you get up immediately to make your way over.
you don’t notice it: the tension in his features or the almost-scowl on his face, the aura of irritation he’s carrying like a weight. you’re blinded by affection.
“hi, kuna,” you smile sweetly, tiptoeing to wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into him. he tenses up under your touch and you coo sympathetically, rubbing his back. “long day?”
“um, yeah,” sukuna grunts, not moving to reciprocate the embrace. he shifts slightly, irritation radiating off him in waves. “could you let go? ‘m gonna go take a shower.”
he sounds annoyed, you realise, but he’s probably just exhausted. of course you’re gonna try your best to help, and cuddles always helped, at least for you. you could do that.
“nuh-uh,” you reply instantly, smiling as you cling to sukuna tighter. your face drops onto his shoulder, nuzzling as you inhale his heady scent. “you can shower later, let’s cuddle first. i miss you.”
“later.” his voice rises.
you pout childishly. “no, now, you’re tired and i can hug you and —“
“i said, later.” sukuna finally snaps, tone poisonous and voice tight like coiled wire. he crosses his arms, his way of pushing you off without actually doing it. “you just never fuckin’ know when to quit, do you?”
you freeze.
he doesn’t yell, never does, but this is worse somehow. harder to swallow because you can feel the pure anger in it.
you don’t trust your voice enough to respond. slowly dropping your hands off him, you take a quiet, shaky step back. sukuna grunts in approval, rubbing his temples. “i’ve had a long day. can’t deal with you right now.”
that pierces through your heart like a bullet. suddenly, all you’re filled with is hurt and guilt and the slightest twinge of anger. you fight to keep a straight face as your eyes sting.
can’t deal with you right now.
what the hell was that supposed to mean?
sukuna had never once made you feel like a burden, ever. you knew what he was like before you started dating, you’d heard everything about how he fucked people over.
but he always treated you like you were the most precious thing on earth, like you were something to be handled with gentleness. you almost believed it, stupid girl.
now you got it. you understood exactly what everyone had been telling you. he finally got sick of you, eventually realised that you were too annoying. too bright, too nice, too much for him.
but maybe he didn’t have to be such an asshole about it, you think as you bite down on your lip to hold back tears.
“okay,” you exhale, struggling to keep your voice even. “i’m sorry. i, um- i ran you a bath.”
the tense silence is deafening. you swallow, voice growing quieter. “i’ll just go to bed then.”
sukuna doesn’t respond, glaring at something on the floor. you quickly turn around and make your way to the bedroom, the dam quietly breaking as soon as the door’s closed and you're out of his view.
you settle into bed, tucking in with your hands wrapped tightly around your body like a shield. the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut makes you flinch.
the clink of the shower turning on follows right after; he didn’t even use the bath you set up for him.
you hate feeling this way. like you did something wrong and you don’t know what, like he did something wrong and you don’t want to admit it.
quiet sniffles escape you as you close your eyes, feeling the cold tears drip down the bridge of your nose, down your temples. you will yourself to sleep, despite knowing it won’t come.
it’s a long time before you feel a dip in the bed, sukuna’s weight climbing in next to you. you’re in that weird headspace between wakefulness and sleep, but immediately tense awake at the jostling.
it takes a moment before he says anything. almost like he’s hesitating. you hear his heavy breaths.
“hey, baby,” he finally murmurs from behind you, hand reaching out, hovering before he gently puts it on your waist. checking if it’s okay.
you turn rigid, and sukuna retracts his hand like he’s been burned, frowning slightly.
“you’re upset,” he mutters. not a question.
he’s unsurprised when you don’t reply, but he hopes you’ll give him a sliver of a chance anyway. “could you at least turn around?” he grunts. “look at me?”
silence.
he sighs, softer now. he grumbles something under his breath before speaking up again. “please?”
it takes a minute before you begrudgingly shift, rolling over so you’re facing him instead of the wall. you glare up at him, sitting on the covers and looking down at you.
sukuna looks you over.
he thinks he feels something in him crack at the sight of your dried tear tracks, puffy red eyes.
he made you, his sweet, angelic girl, cry. you were just trying to take care of him. only trying to make him feel better, and he snapped at you, and now he feels like the biggest loser on earth. all because of what? a fucking bad day?
idiot, he thinks to himself as he reaches out, both hands cupping your cheeks. he wipes your tears away firmly, so gentle despite it all.
you huff, trying to pull back, but sukuna doesn’t budge. his hands stay on your jaw, soft as his thumbs brush your cheeks.
“let go,” you muster angrily, but it’s a weak attempt.
“no.”
“sukuna, let me go. you’re such an —“
“asshole, i know,” he exhales roughly. his thumbs pause in their ministrations, pressing down on your skin softly. “bitch, jerk, fucking dick. i know. and i’m sorry.”
one hand moves to card gently through your hair, and he feels you grow more pliant under his touch. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you,” sukuna continues. “i had a bad fucking day, people saying the stupidest shit and pissing me off in every way possible. but that wasn’t… i shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
you swallow.
“no, you shouldn’t have,” you mumble, all your anger dissipating into something akin to hurt. you tilt your head down to look at your fiddling fingers. “i thought i did something wrong. or maybe you just finally realised you were sick of me, and you hated me.”
“no, baby —“ sukuna responds, almost desperate as he tilts your chin up to look back up at him. he presses a rough kiss to the side of your mouth, hating to see his bright girl looking so dim. “— fuck, no. you did nothing wrong, yeah? i was an absolute idiot, taking out my anger on you, when you were just trying to be nice.”
you bite your tongue. “you really are,” you say quietly, gaze locked on him. “an absolute idiot.”
“i am, baby,” sukuna agrees, brushing a curl back from your face. “you didn’t deserve that.”
he’s looking at you with not just guilt, but that quiet affection now, the one reserved just for you.
slowly, he bends down but doesn’t yet close the gap. he’s waiting for you to do it, or maybe to pull away if you want to. you give in.
you wrap your arms around his neck, using it as leverage to pull yourself up to meet his lips. he holds you up easily.
the kiss is soft, reverent, sorry, like sukuna’s never kissed before. his passion is still obvious, but it’s gentler now. moulding into something sweeter just for you.
it’s a while before you pull away, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he rests his forehead against yours.
his hands are warm where they’ve slipped under your top, drawing quiet patterns on your hip. you melt into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder with your fingers tangling in the hair at his nape.
“so,” he murmurs, and you feel the vibrations of his voice. “does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
“maybe,” you mumble, lips twitching. “if you buy me a slice of that strawberry shortcake tomorrow, i’ll consider it.”
“how many ever you want, baby,” sukuna presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “i’ll get you the whole damn bakery.”
"Sorry to bother, Si, but can you grab me some Ibuprofen on your way home?" You asked, phone pressed to your ear as you toughed it though your typical pre-period(?) cramps.
A sigh came through the other end, "Sorry, love, it'll be late before I get home. I'll pick some up after I'm done here, though. There should be some Tylenol under the sink in the first aid kit," he said, his words unusually tense. You sat up on your elbows, brows furrowed.
"You, okay?"
"'Course, just these pricks at work getting on my last nerve," he grunted, making you chuckle.
"Well good luck, love you."
"Love you too."
Ghost hung up the phone and stuffed it away into his locker--right alongside his wedding ring. He let out a long sigh as he pressed his temple against the back of his hand, just trying to ease the guilt rearing up in the form of an ugly headache.
"Mate, you good?" Gaz asked, walking into the base's break room with Soap, still dressed in their gear from their most recent completed mission.
"I keep tellin' 'im to break it off sooner rather than later," Soap sighed dramatically.
Gaz's head snapped over. "You're still with her? We got all the information we needed from her three months ago."
"It's not that simple," Ghost grunted.
"You're the one who married her," Soap tacked on. "You made it complicated."
"Does she know yet?" Gaz asked before Ghost could snap at his Scottish friend. Ghost pushed himself off the break room wall, moving towards the observation room, where--thought a one-way mirror--he could see the woman at the table, your best friend, the bridesmaid at his and your wedding, and just sighed.
"No, she'll probably learn soon enough."
"Will she know you were involved?" Gax asked, hesitant to pry further into Ghost's less than ideal married life.
summary: andrew cody has never been a man who smiles, not until you started waking him up by littering kisses onto every freckle on his face.
wc: 1.3k words
warnings: brief allusion to sex, just fluff basically
a/n: i was listening to olivia's new album and honeybee is so, so andrew coded. my baby just needed someone to love him. that's the fic. divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: honeybee by olivia rodrigo
For the first time in a very long time, Andrew Cody is dreaming.
The constant thrum in his head, the constant awareness that follows him even into unconsciousness, that thing that has spent years keeping him alive, all of it sits muted and distant for a few precious hours. Not gone entirely. It never really leaves him; it lives beneath his skin the same way his heartbeat does, a permanent thing, woven into him. But tonight it is quiet enough that he can ignore it.
And so he doesn’t dream often, no, but tonight he did.
Soft flashes of what transpired the night before, your face below him, looking up with reverence. Fingers threaded in hair as he pulsed gently inside you. The feeling of your soft fingers wiping his tears away as he finally stopped fighting the warmth rushing through him.
Comfort. Safety. Things Andrew has spent most of his life circling without ever quite touching.
When his body finally stirs into consciousness, he doesn't open his eyes. Instead, he feels.
Under the soft heat of the morning, something warm pressed against his side. Soft, familiar. It’s your body tucked against him, an arm draped around his waist, a leg over his, your face resting in the crook of his neck.
He can feel your soft breaths on his skin.
In, out. In, out.
He counts each one, eyes still closed.
One, two. One, two.
He isn't entirely sure how much time passes. A minute. Ten. Maybe more.
The rhythm settles somewhere deep beneath him, in that place where, over these last few months, something soft and molten has taken residence in his chest, unfurling beneath his ribs, spreading to heart. Finding solace there.
Andrew does not consider himself to be a man that smiles, that shows happiness through the muscles on face very often, not that he used to feel much of the emotion in the first place. Happiness was something that was something fragile, something transactional, something that could disappear the second he looked directly at it.
But now, he feels it. That flutter of joy he rarely ever felt with Julia, then momentarily with Cath, with Lena. And it’s brought on, by you.
The woman who lies tucked against him, trusting, her body pressed into his.
The course of the past few months has brought about stolen smiles, hidden beneath a soft snort, or pressed into your lips, smiling against your mouth.
He remembers your voice, the first time he'd let the muscles in his face soften, let them hold that gentle upturn.
“You’re so, so pretty Andrew.”
He'd fluttered his lashes, looking down, a pink hue spreading across his cheeks. Blushing.
Now, smiling is that much easier. Natural. The way it always seems to be around you.
Slowly, Andrew shifts closer, just enough that he can feel more of your warmth. He inhales the scent of your hair, of your skin. Pockets of intimacy he only allows himself when your eyes are closed.
Andrew closes his eyes and rests, lets your breathing guide him into that soft space between sleeping and being awake, that quiet place where warmth glows steadily beneath his chest.
In, out. In, out.
You feel his chest rising and falling under you, his breathing even, as you open your eyes. Seeing the peace on his face. The permanent tension that usually sits across his shoulders has disappeared, his jaw relaxed, mouth slightly parted.
You feel it bloom in your chest, love, swelling and beating. This man, who's spent every waking moment surrounded by violence and pain, is allowing you to rest against him, an arm wrapped protectively around you even in his sleep.
Carefully, you lift your head, brush a curl from his head.
Then, unable to help yourself, you lean forward and press a soft kiss against his temple.
Then the creases near his eyes.
Across his cheek.
His jaw.
You detangle yourself from his arms, shifting yourself over him, one hand resting on the bed beside him, hovering over his face. The other remains in his curls, thumb brushing gently against his temple.
His nose scrunches slightly, brows furrowing.
You smile, pressing a kiss in that crease.
His eyes finally begin to flicker open, tinged with sleepiness, the sort that's rested, calm.
They find yours immediately, your face hovering over his, close.
The furrow disappears, lips tilting up. Both his broad palms come up to encase your waist.
"What're you doin'?" he asks, voice gravelly and rough with sleep.
You grin wider.
"Counting your freckles.”
His eyes widen, morphing into that puppy-eyed confusion you adore. Your heart aches softly at the fact that he has never been privy to such mundane intimacy.
"Yeah?"
You nod.
"You have so many. They’re so pretty, Andrew."
And there it is again, that word only you seem to use to describe him with. Pretty.
A faint blush creeps across his face, pinkening the apples of his cheeks.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to."
The simplicity of the answer catches him off guard, loosens something tight in his chest. You say it as though it's obvious. As though spending your morning sprawled over him, counting freckles and pressing kisses into his skin, is the easiest choice in the world.
The hand buried in his curls moves gently, slow circles against his scalp. His eyes flutter. He lets out something resembling a whimper.
"How many?" he asks quietly.
"Hmm." You tilt your head, pretending to think. "Maybe a hundred."
His eyes drop down to your mouth, his palms gripping your waist tighter.
"Think there's more than that.”
The words come out soft, shy. Hesitant. Still unfamiliar with this kind of intimacy even after all these months. But you've learned him. You've learned the language beneath his words, the way he hides meanings behind mundane words and questions, things he wants but struggles to ask for.
And right now what he wants is obvious.
So, you lean down and kiss his forehead again.
Then his cheeks.
His nose.
The corners of his mouth.
Your hand trails down to cup his jaw.
Immediately Andrew leans into it, nuzzling deeper into your palm, eyes staying on yours. He exhales softly, the sound almost a sigh.
Your heart aches, the good kind.
"My Andrew," you murmur, the words slipping out softly.
Andrew goes still. His lips press together tightly the way they do when he feels too much, that burst of something uncontrollable inside his chest. Too much. Usually anger, or jealousy, or grief.
For the first time, he allows himself to recognise it for what it is. Adoration.
He’s never been anyone’s before, not in the way you call him yours.
He's been Pope - the man who's Smurf’s son, his brothers' older brother, Julia's twin. Pieces of himself given away his entire life, bound by blood or circumstance.
But this is different. This is the first time somebody has come along and chosen him. Chosen him to be theirs.
Out of everybody in the world, you looked at Andrew, at his bruised hands, his scars, at everything broken and battered inside him, and said mine.
The realisation settles warmly inside his chest, in that space only you occupy, spreading until he can feel it beneath every rib, in his heart.
He tilts his head up, bringing a hand to the back of your head and guiding you closer, until your mouth is hovering just above his.
“Yeah?” he whispers. "Yours?"
You smile softly.
“Yeah, Andrew. Mine.”
Then he kisses you, a slow press of his lips against yours, lazy and unhurried, but filled with all the tenderness he can't make his mouth utter aloud.
You sigh into his mouth. He smiles into your lips.
And for the first time in his life, Andrew finds that he doesn't mind belonging to someone at all.
i have so many thoughts about little scenarios like this with andrew (i refuse to call him pope #sorry) and while i'm jobless and done with uni i may write a few based off songs from you seem so pretty for a girl in love, a little series of sorts perchance. #watchthisspace and give me ideas thank you
summary: sometimes labels stick annoyingly too long. sometimes someone comes along and sees beyond them.
word count: 3.9k
content: pitt crew, angst, hurt/comfort, maybe some medical inaccuracies idk sue me, age gap!!, shy! reader w plot, abbot pining after you lol
a/n: this is my first fanfic ever. i use to write some stuff yearsss ago but ive never written something long with plot before, so constructive criticism is highly encouraged please comment hehe! this is for all my fellow shy girls who were constantly undermined!!! tell me what u like and what u dont! and i really hope someone enjoys <3 thank you for reading. maybe i will write more parts.
there was a moment when you realized your shyness had become a permanent label, stamped onto you like a tattoo. maybe it was when everyone in elementary knew you as the girl who never talked. perhaps it was when the girls in high school stared at you in disbelief after you admitted you had a crush, as if the revelation itself was shocking. or maybe it was when you told your family you had gotten into medical school and their first response was “you know that means you’ll have to talk to patients all day, right?”.
it followed you everywhere like some annoying piece of gum under your shoe. even when you tried to scrape it off, you still felt the stickiness under your soles, making you very aware of the residue still left. it was impossible to ignore.
you couldn’t blame people for not knowing much about you. it was hard to not let your anxiety stand between you and everyone else. eventually, you stopped trying to correct peoples assumptions. once people decided you were someone quiet, they often decided you were fragile too. with that, came doubt around your abilities to succeed and it felt like you were expected to fail before you even begun.
it wasn’t til you reached medical school and started your residency that you realized you could be whoever you wanted. it was much easier to not let it become all you were with moving outside your hometown across the country. and it was incredibly easy in medicine when everyone was too busy trying to swim above the surface and make it through the next shift with every patient cared for.
no need to get into the personal matters and details when there’s a trauma incoming that is way more interesting than the stupid ice breaker conversations some residents tried to have with each other.
people judged you on your ability and skills to be a good doctor in the walls of the ER. with this, you were able to become someone new, like a mask you could put on comfortably. it was your way of trying to protect yourself and separate yourself completely from the real you who'd struggle ordering for herself at restaurants.
even if they were right, you hated that aspect of yourself. it felt like people infantilized you when they saw you were shy, and your height didn't help with their perception of you either. since when did shyness equate to being weak? it was easy to pretend to be something you weren't. they do say fake it til you make it, right ?
“hey, kid. good to see you” dana says as she scribbles something down on her ipad.
“you're the first of the night shift to be coming in.”
“that’s great, just put me anywhere you need me and i’ll get on it” you smile at her as you head to the locker room to put your stuff away.
you bump into santos and javadi at the lockers looking completely and utterly exhausted. you smile politely at them and wave.
"hey day shift, live to see another day ?" you tease. whitaker smiles at you and javadi laughs and lets out a huge sigh.
"define live? i'm just grateful i got to see some interesting psych cases today".
"that's always enough to keep us going right?" you smile to javadi in hopes of comforting her.
"that's true. are you going out with us tomorrow night?" whitaker asked as he grabbed his things from his locker. he also looked dishelved from the chaos of his shift.
"yes, absolutely. theres a bottle of tequila with my name on it somewhere" you laughed
"you and me both. god i need a drink" javadi exhaled with her back against the lockers.
"says the girl who just turned 21" you quipped at her, earning chuckles from the both of them.
you were never one to socialize with people like this growing up, let alone initiate conversations and sarcastic jokes. for the longest time, people tended to just leave you alone when they noticed you were shy. maybe it was because they mistook your quietness as disinterest, or because they found it easier to socialize with people like them.
most conversations seemed to end before they ever got the chance to break your walls and become anything more. that led to lots of people watching. all that observing came in handy when you began to pretend to be outgoing and be on the offense for once. everything else came naturally, ironically.
"isn't abbot returning ?" whitaker asked as he was waiting for javadi to finish wrapping up.
"oh yeah, he's been gone for a while. i heard he finally listened to his therapist and took some time off like robby did." javadi responded and rolled her eyes.
you cocked your eyebrow at the new name that came out of their mouths, not remembering the name "abbot" being mentioned since you'd been at Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center for your 3rd year.
"abbot...?" you question to them.
"yeah the night shift attending. he use to run this place at night before al-hashimi took over nights for him. i'm pretty sure he comes back today".
you nodded as you put your stuff away, ears open for more details about the previous night shift attending.
"good luck with him. he's...interesting." javadi smiled
"who's interesting? huckleberry please hurry up i've been waiting too damn long for you" santos says, her voice filled with annoyance but her face covered in curiosity.
"abbot ?" you querey.
"ohhh."
santos drags the last syllable a little too long for you to let go of, a glimmer of mischief seeping through the surface.
"okay, what is that supposed to mean?"
"oh nothing. he's just ... interesting." santos smiles and tugs on whitaker to hurry up tying his shoes.
"okay if i need to know something about this abbot before i start my shift, please spill or forever hold your peace" you scoff playfully, suddenly finding the zipper on your bag interesting.
"she's just messing with you. he's great, there's nothing to worry about. just be your usual self." whitaker butted in before santos or javadi could respond.
you nod nervously, grateful for whitaker's response.
"wow, its a little weird to see you nervous. i've never seen you unprepared" santos teases.
"alright alright lets go now. i hope your shift goes well, you got this" whitaker glares at santos and pushes her along out of the locker section. javadi smiles and waves good bye with whatever energy she has left and walks out with them.
you laughed along with them, hoping it sounded convincing. you weren't sure if you were trying to convince them or yourself. you felt the nervousness in your stomach begin to climb into your chest and settle across your face, the sticky residue of the stubborn gum under your shoe tugging again.
it annoyed you how quickly it happened and how easily it reminded you the confidence you wore at work wasn't as solid as you'd convince yourself over time. one comment from santos was all it took to remind you how the persona you spend months building was delicate.
you gather your bearings before you head out to the nurses station to look at the board and start your day. you say hi to the rest of the night crawlers like ellis who you always love working with and shen, who sometimes would grab you a dunkin coffee when they were having a good deal.
"well well well, looks like this cowboy finally found his way back home" dana smiles and takes her glasses off to get a good look at him.
abbot chuckles and rubs his hands on his face as he starts to take off his heavy bag.
"its good to see you again, partner."
abbot quickly hugs dana and looks around to familiarize himself with the room again. not that he could ever forget.
"everything running smoothly while i've been gone?" abbot grumbles, a small smirk peeking on the corner of his lips.
"slick as a whistle doc. welcome back. oh, you got a new resident that joined your crew while you were away. she's good, smart, quick on her feet. i think she's something to keep your eye on." dana remarks as she gestures towards your direction.
abbot peers over his shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of this new resident dana was praising to him. thats when his eyes landed on someone he was unfamiliar with. he noticed the way you were handling yourself with the patient in trauma 1 with robby, who still hadn't left yet. and sure, he should've been intrigued to see you in action. his attention lingered a little longer than he'd like. at first he blamed it was because of the praise he heard from dana, or because of the save he was watching you make within minutes of him returning.
neither explanation felt entirely honest. something about you charmed him and he couldn't help but stare a little longer than he'd like. if it wasnt for the scene that was unfolding in the trauma room, someone would've noticed how long his eyes were scanning over to you.
"mm... noted dana. thank you." abbot smiled and headed his way into the trauma room after he set his things down.
things had settled down and the patient had become stable. robby sighed as he checked the patients vital signs.
"heart rate is back to normal, and his pulse ox is 97. make sure to get some labs going and get him in line for a ct. bump him to the front if we have to. we don't know how long he was without oxygen." robby exhaled as he took off his gloves and gown.
abbot stood in the corner giving everyone space to come down from the adrenaline that was pumping through their body from trying to save the patient. he was also trying to make it way less obvious that he was evaluating and observing you -- the way you moved in the room, how you carried yourself, and how you came down from the high to bask in the success of saving another patient.
jack swears all this observing is necessary. it's important for an attending to know all his residents and the way they work in high pressure situations. he was evaluating a new residents skils. the fact his attention kept drifting back to the way your hair was tied up was another problem entirely.
"abbot, good to have you back in one piece man" robby smiled and patted him on the back.
"good to be back. i didn't leave you alone for too long, did i?" the older man teased as he slightly nudged his pal.
"no, its been nice having the roof to myself for once." he quips back with sarcasm disguised as affection.
dana pops in. "hey robby, jake is here looking for you."
robby nods but before he rushes to walk out, he makes sure to turn to you. "great save. starting off the shift strong. let me know when the results of his labs before i leave."
"sureee thing robby" you answer lively while inputting lab orders and charting the treatment.
robby rushes out and your left alone in the room, at least you think you are. you turn to find an older man walking to the patient and evaluating the course of treatment with his hands behind his back. you couldn't help but feel instantaneously nervous. this man exuded an energy that was easy to get drunk off if you weren't careful.
'ohh.. so this is abbot' you thought to yourself. he was broad, with his black scrubs conveniently accentuating his arms and his build. his curls had grey and black flickered throughout, with some lines near his eyes and neck that caught your attention.
you quickly felt old habits creeping back to the surface. you knew better than anyone first impressions mattered. with those come labels and the last thing you wanted was for your attending to mistake your nerves for incompetence. you've seen it here with how santos still calls javadi crash despite it being months since her fainting incident and her objections to the nickname.
"so... you're my new resident?" abbot turns to you for the first time, finally seeing all of you.
you felt his eyes on you, and it was as if everything you've worked hard to become faltered for the first time. his voice was gentler than you expected, but intimidating enough to to make you suddenly aware of how you were breathing.
you straightened your posture immediately.
"yup, i believe thats me. it's nice to meet you dr. abbot. i'm looking forward to working with you".
you couldnt make eye contact with him for longer than a second before looking at the ground.
abbot tried to restrict the smile he felt growing on his lips. hearing your voice for the first time, yet alone hearing your voice say his name, was very, but oddly, satisfying. but it confused him for a second to see you become shy all of a sudden. it was quite the contrast from what he'd seen outside the trauma doors not too long ago.
"hmm..i'm looking forward to it too."
----
ever since abbot returned to the new resident on his crew he desperately tried his best to keep his eyes to himself, though his eyes and eyebrows always betrayed him whenever he was pathetically attempting to keep himself professional and poised. it was impossible to hide what was swirling in his head. you and abbot had worked closely on multiple traumas and patients as time slipped by, and had grown accustomed to one another rather quickly. sometimes it would lead to sarcastic comments, and sometimes it would be you two and the quiet tension that spoke for the both of you.
he'd never flirted with a resident of his own before. it gets tricky there and he'd never want to portray himself as some pervert older guy hitting on his own resident that he was supposed to teach. power dynamics and all that, right? but he felt like a teenager who had discovered something new and foreign that was so so bad, but felt so so good.
sooner or later (or rather quickly) he realized that he stood no chance against you. you somehow had left him unguarded with interest, which felt unfamiliar for a veteran like himself. and of course, this only interested him more.
abbot knew he was naturally flirty and charming to a fault. sure, it was fun to flirt every now and then and very harmless. he'd done it with a nurse or with mohan on the day shift, and even when dr al-hashimi had first joined the crew. it never lead anywhere and he guessed that whatever got him through the rough days one can experience here in the ER was much better than entertaining the ledge on the roof. at least that's what his therapist says.
"how have you liked pittsburgh ? you mentioned you're not from around here right?" abbot inquired as you guys returned to the nurse's station.
your eyes shot up from the ground, and widened a little. abbot asking questions about you didn't follow the usual routine of interactions with others in the ER. you were use to playing yourself off as the one who did the asking, and this didnt follow any of the usual preprepared scripts you had in your head.
"yea, i'm actually from california. i like pittsburgh though, its very gloomy. not sure if that makes sense though" you let out a breathy laugh, looking down instinctively.
abbot smiled at your response. "makes sense. the california sun isn't always what it's hyped up to be".
you smiled back at him, ending the conversation there. abbot, however, wasn't finished.
"you finish with all your charting?" he says softly to you as you typed away. it was now reaching the end of your shift.
"mhm." you quietly responded, trying to ignore that he was leaning over the counter in front of you.
you felt exhausted. today was one of those days where you had to socialize more than what your imaginary social battery could endure, on top of a regular hectic ER shift. and now, you have a ridiculously attractive attending who was evaluating your every move.
"are you going to team hangout thing tomorrow night? i noticed you have the night off"
you peeled your eyes off your screen to finally look up at the older man in front of you. you tried to ignore the fact that he knew your schedule already, despite it being his first day back from his long break.
"oh um.. maybe?" your pursed lips ended your sentence abruptly, and you eyes went back to charting.
jack found it extremely amusing how quiet you got around him. it was something he quickly noticed over the span of the shift. when it came to socializing with the other residents and nurses on the crew, you were outgoing, loud, and assertive. you showed no hesitation when it came to coming up with the course of treatments and advocating for them against the senior resident on the case if you thought they were wrong.
however, when you were around him, you were some quiet, reserved, soft spoked version of yourself. the quality of your work remained the same, but he felt the hesitation, the second guessing, and nervousness looming over you like a cloud.
it felt like two distinct people and he wasnt sure if it was because he was your attending or because you'd gotten close with everyone prior to his return. he didn't like that it made him battle with himself internally over the reason why. he liked even less that he found himself wanting to get to know both, either.
"i hope to see you there, it'd be nice to get to know my new resident that everyones praised while i was away" abbot says as he taps his fingers on the counter and gets pulled away to quickly check in on a trauma.
your fingers tremble on the keyboard as you pretend to type something on the computer. even though he had walked away already, his watchful eyes still felt like they were lingering and it was annoyingly intoxicating. no, you couldn't focus on charting when your handsome attending had been paying lots of attention to you all day and calling your name to work on every case he got. you tried to brush it off quickly as nothing more than the fact that you're new to him, but the nervousness he was able to evoke had embedded itself into your skin for everyone to see now.
sometimes it felt like the person you were at work wasn't entirely fake. maybe it was also a part of you that never got the chance to rise to the surface past your introverted personality. some days it felt like balancing on a tightrope, and right now you could feel the rope wobbling underneath your feet like you were back home again.
"alright lena, im done for the night. i need to get the hell out of here" you exhale as your tired legs get you up from the desk.
"no problem hun, get out of here and rest up. i'll see you on your next shift and please report back on how the team outing is" she smiles at you as she started to work on the nurses handoffs for the day shift.
"will do, and if you need anything you know you can call me in right?"
"of course, but enjoy your night off for once. day shift is coming in anyways" she pats your back quickly before returning back to her screen.
you walk out of the ER doors and squint to try to get your eyes use to the morning light. no matter how many shifts you've worked at night, you'd never get use to the sun being out when you clock out. that was the least of your struggles.
you make your way to the parking garage when you hear heavy footsteps following not too far behind you. instinctively, you turn around to see abbot walking behind you.
"did i scare you?" abbot jokes, teasing how you jumped when you saw the footsteps belonged to him.
"of course not dr. abbot, sorry" you replied, avoiding eye contact. seeing him outside the ER in the morning sun was incredibly disorientating.
"you can just call me abbot, if you'd like. you heading home?" he questions as he looks forward
"im trying to" you slightly joke. abbot smiles at your effort to socialize with him, but he knows quickly that you're exhausted and that this isnt you're usual state.
he finally catches up to you and you walk together for a bit. you weren't sure if you should say something, or let yourself enjoy the sound of his boots walking next to you.
"did you need something dr abbot?"
abbot pauses. "my truck."
"huh?" you responded completely confused, too exhausted to figure out what the hell he was referencing to.
"you're parked right next to my truck."
you look over to see your car and his truck parked next to each other. the heat of embarrassment rose onto your face and you close your eyes, utterly horrified that you assumed he needed something from you.
abbot notices again how quickly you became quiet. he pursed his lips and gestured his hand in front of him.
"ladies first."
confused at his gesture, you begin to walk ahead of him towards the drivers side of your car but before you can get too far ahead of him, abbot is already lifting your backpack strap off of your shoulder. you stand there confused and watch him as he walks towards the drivers side of the car. he stands there, waiting for you to unlock your car.
"i've got it."
"oh you dont have to dr. abbot"
"abbot. just abbot. or jack, if you'd like".
you pause. 'if you'd like'
you shuffle quickly to unlock your car and reach for the car door handle, but abbot beats your hand from grabbing it first and opens it for you.
"ladies first". he repeats again.
you pause for a second, making eye contact with him for the first time in the parking garage.
abbot cocks his head to the side slightly at your confusion, and gestures for you to get inside.
"what? a man never open the door for you?"
you stand there quietly. you can feel how close you guys are physically to one another like this between his car and yours as he holds open the door. this isn't the first time you guys have stood close to another, given that you've worked on traumas all day with him following his lead. but this was outside the ER, outside the walls were you're so use to holding up your walls with others. he has you this close, completely unguarded, on his first day back. that alone knocked the wind out of you.
he looks at you gently and again gestures for you to get in. you hesitantly give in and listen to him. not because you accept his chivalrous gesture, but because the small space between you guys felt too suffocating.
he closes the door and walks around to open the passenger door to put your stuff inside beside you. before he closes the door, he bends down a bit to make eye contact with you again in the drivers seat, still shocked and dazed by his actions.
"i'll see you tomorrow" he smiles and then shuts the door.
rabbots sweet girl gets hurt and ends up in the ED
for those of you familiar with my main blog ( @dvg-tvgs ), I want this to be like my foxy series. a series of connected blurbs. so feel free to send asks about rabbot and their girl
night shift pov
"uh, doctor abbot?"
jack looks away from lena, at doctor shen. he waits for shen to say something more.
"we've got a woman in central two who's got some gnarly bruises and she won't tell us where they're from."
that's all it takes to get jack abbot moving. he follows shen through the emergency department and into central two.
he's preparing himself for the usual. an abusive boyfriend someone doesn't want to come forward about. a rape victim that just needs him to be kind.
but it's neither of those.
its you. sitting on bed in Central two, smiling politely like you don't have a black eye.
jack sucks in a breath when he sees you. "jesus, baby," he whispers, striding towards you. "what the hell happened?"
your lips are sealed tight when you shake your head. "nope," you say, dodging his touch. "you're not supposed to be my doctor right now."
"tell me what happened," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. doing a better job of it than robby would've. "as your boyfriend, not as your doctor."
you visibly deflate. "i cut some guy off at the bar," you tell him. "he waited for me to walk out at the end of my shift and attacked me."
"fuck." its the only thing he can say. "tell me you called the police."
you don't reply.
"baby." jack takes your face gently in his hands, like he does when he's gonna kiss you. but he doesn't, examining your face instead. "im calling robby."
"jack no!" you hold his wrist like it'll stop him from calling your emergency contact. "im fine, I swear!"
jacks face tightens. "you were assaulted!" he says as if you're not understanding it.
tears spring to your eyes. Jack releases a breath, dropping the tension from his body. he wraps his arms around you and kisses your head. he hold you for a moment, ignoring the doctors surrounding him.
"im still gonna call robby."
"he's gonna be pissed," you whisper.
pissed because your car is in the shop and robby was gonna pick you up but you didn’t call him. you put yourself in danger by not calling him.
shen checks out your eye while jack steps away to call robby. out in the ambulance bay, half sure this doesnt violate hipaa. robby is your emergency contact, after all.
its too early in the morning, but robby answers anyway. "whats up?" he asks and jack can picture him rubbing his eyes.
"can you come pick our girl up?"
there's a pause. one where robby is either trying to decipher what he's saying or where he's realising how late you are home and he's panicking. "fuck," robby hisses and jack can hear the way he's rushing around. "she ended up in the pitt?"
"she did."
the only thing stopping ribby from panicking is how level jacks voice is. he's not freaking out because there's no reason to. you're safe here, your injury isn't terrible. honestly, it could have been so much worse. but it isn't so jack is relieved.
"ill be there in ten," robby says. no goodbyes. he's in too much of a rush for that.
jack sits with you while you hold a cold compress to your face. "he's been barred," you tell him, as if you're trying to comfort him. "and they're gonna get cameras for the car park."
"thats good," jack says. "you gonna make a police report?"
you don't answer. a breath leaves his lips.
eventually, robby walks in. he looks at you and then at jack. you pull the compress away from your eye and robby sucks in a breath.
"its not that bad," you say, holding the compress in your lap. "is it?"
your boyfriends look at each other.
"no," robby says, shaking his head. "the bruising will fade. besides, you're staying home with me tomorrow."
you hop up from the bed. "Ive got work, robby," you mutter as you walk towards him.
"nope," he says immediately. "you're staying home with us."
"asshole," you whisper as you tuck yourself into his side.
jack taps your hip. telling you to behave without really saying anything at all. "c'mere," he says and leans down to kiss you. you kiss him back, a silent goodbye. quick and sweet because the hospital is watching the three of you.
robby doesn't kiss jack in the hospital. they get enough looks, enough questions having you close. but they share a look, one that will do until jack gets home and they can be in love.
"ill be home in a few hours," jack says as you walk out, eye still purple. but you've got robby by your side.
In Sickness and in Health, I Still Hate You (part 1)
pairing: spencer x bau!reader
summary: after the two of you get sick on a case, prentiss forces you both into isolation at your apartment so you don't get anyone else sick
warnings/tags: sickness, puking, gagging (guys i promise its not thay explicit i just want to make sure you know what you're going to be reading), enemies to lovers, kind of one bed trope
a/n: hi guys, sorry i've been gone so long, i've been really busy with studying and i can never stay awake long enough to write anything so i've been inactive. i really appreciate all the love that's been shown on 'doting husbands and precious wives', thank you! i do have some other stuff coming, but in the meantime, enjoy! (p.s. i was going to post all the parts at the same time but it's taking me way too long to finish part two so i thought i'd just post part one now)
masterlist here, requests here
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"Emily, I'm begging you, I'm literally on my knees," you are, in fact, not on your knees, "please don't do this. I won't survive."
Spencer scoffs, about to retort when Prentiss cuts him off. "No, this is what's going to happen. Since Spencer is still a germaphobe, despite his claims that prison changed him, you're both going to stay at your apartment so we don't hear about all the alleged bacteria in his apartment for the next two months. I'll go to Spencer's and pick up roughly a week's worth of clo-"
"A WEEK?!" Spencer and you shout in unison.
Prentiss looks at you both with an expression that says 'are you done?' before continuing her sentence. "Yes, a week's worth of clothes, but that's the minimum since the two of you are pretty sick and might keep reinfecting eachother. That, and I want you to be completely healthy before you come back to work, there's no way I'm catching what you two have. I'll also get anything else you need, Spence." She says, actively creating distance as she speaks.
Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose, regretting every decision he made, including joining the FBI, that led to this moment. Yeah, he hates you that much, and it's reciprocated.
Ever since you joined the team three years ago, Spencer has hated your guts. You didn't hate him to begin with. He only hated you because you were brought in to get him out of prison, then stayed, and you remind him of the worst time of his life, even though you saved him from that situation. It's irrational. He knows it, but he blames you because he doesn't want to blame himself for being so stupid, going off to Mexico without telling anyone. At least, if he told someone, things could've turned out differently. But they turned out this way, and the only way he doesn't spiral into self hatred is by hating you instead.
You, on the other hand, hate him because of the way he treats you. He acts like you don't exist most of the time, and when he can't do that, he simply disregards everything you say and does the complete opposite, even if you're right. Of course, sometimes what you say is the key to solving a case, and he can't do the opposite of that, so he just doesn't give you the credit at the end of it. It makes your blood boil, watching him treat everyone else like his family, and then you like the stray dog that keeps coming to his house for scraps he gave you one time.
And now, the two of you have to spend a week together in your tiny apartment, both sick, so you're going to be seeing eachother at your worst, and Prentiss expect you to come out of it as best friends. If anything, your relationship as mortal enemies will be set in stone.
Prentiss walks into the living room with a duffel bag, and looks around for Spencer. "Where is he?"
You nod your head to the bathroom, where Spencer can be heard gagging. "The worst of it has already kicked in. We're taking turns, actually. He usually feels nauseous about five minutes after I do, and vice versa. And he needs to hurry up, because I'm feeling nauseous again!" You yell the last part so Spencer can hear you, and if you didn't know any better, you would swear you heard him tell you to piss off.
"Right, well.. tell him I brought everything he asked for, and I was shocked by the amount of sweatpants he owns. I thought he just wore suits to bed, honestly." Prentiss grins, amused by her own joke, then sets the bag down. "I'll let you two have some alone time now," she says with a wink, and you're not sure if it's because he's still being sick, or because he heard what Prentiss said, but Spencer gags again.
She turns and heads for the door, then pauses, turning back around. "Also, why did neither of you mention that you live in the same apartment building?"
You shrug. "We thought you already knew, plus, we never actually see eachother in the building, so there wasn't any point."
She nods, looking at you skeptically, before heading out, closing the door softly behind her. You hear the tap running and water splashing, before Spencer emerges from the bathroom.
"You look... rough."
"Shut up."
"You know, I don't know when you're planning on learning that no matter how many times a day you tell me to shut up that I'll never do it, but I hope it's soon, because you should really be saving your voice for more important things, like screaming as loud as you can for help when I finally snap and try to murder you."
The two of you stare eachother down, then he just huffs, collapsing down onto the couch. He grabs the duffel bag, pulling out some sweats and a hoodie so he can change out of his not so mysteriously stained shirt and slacks. He gets up and heads into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. It's at this moment that a strong wave of nausea hits you, which is not good at all because to get to the bathroom, you have to go through the bedroom. You shoot up, running over to the door and pounding your fist against it.
"Spencer, open the door, I need to use the bathroom!"
"I'm changing, can't you wait??"
"Spencer, I can't-" heave "-wait. Open the door, please." You clamp a hand over your mouth, silently swearing that if Spencer makes you puke out here, you're going to kill him. Luckily for you, he opens the door, and you bolt past him, not even registering his state of undress.
You emerge a few minutes later, feeling much better. You pass through the bedroom and go into the living room, where Spencer is sitting, fully dressed, on the couch. You plop down beside him, looking ahead at the wall. This is going to be a long week.
By the end of the night, it's evident that you have it worse. For now, anyway. You're more nauseous, you have a complete loss of appetite, and all you can do is sleep. The empathetic side of Spencer can't help but feel bad for you. Any other day, you'd still be the woman who reminds him every day of the things he went through three years ago, but right now, you're just a sick, exhausted woman, feeling vulnerable in front of the person she hates most.
You make what's probably your tenth trip to the bathroom in the past two hours, and, surprising himself, Spencer follows you in. He sits against the wall, watching you lean on the toilet, waiting.
"Why are you here?" You grumble, your voice strained and hoarse from the constant, small but powerful amounts of acid in your throat.
"I've decided to let go of my usual dislike for you, since we're going to be stuck together for a while."
"Dislike is not a strong enough word for what you feel towards me."
He sighs, knowing your not wrong, but he decides not to get into that. "Right now, I feel bad for you, so I'm going to help you feel better. Don't make me regret it." He says, glancing over at you. You look so small, so fragile.
You don't respond, because you're already dry-heaving, wondering what you even did to deserve being this sick. Spencer moves behind you, pulling the loose strands of hair on your head out of the way with one hand, using his other hand to rub up and down your back, trying to provide you some comfort. His touch catches you off guard, but you relax into it, grateful.
When you're done, you lean back into him, resting against his chest. He's definitely not the awkward, scrawny genius you heard he once was. You sigh, closing your eyes. He wraps his arms around you, listening to your breath as it slowly evens out.
After a few minutes, he speaks. "Ready to get up? Or are you going to keep using me as a human pillow?" Although his brain is fighting his facial muscles, he can't help but smile.
"Yeah, I'm ready. Help me up."
Spencer, shifts so he's on his knees, then puts his hands under your arms, pulling you up with him as he stands. He does it with such ease that is surprises you.
"Do you go to the gym or something? Didn't expect that from you." You say, taking a few slow steps to the sink to gargle some water and wash your hands.
Spencer stands next to you, looking at you in the mirror.
"I don't go to the gym. I'm a man, y/n, I come with built in muscles. Plus, you're not as heavy as you seem to think you are."
You roll your eyes, drying your face and hands with a towel. "I don't think I'm that heavy, I've just never seen you lift anything heavy. I guess it just surprised me that you actually have functioning muscles." You smirk, taking note of the offense on Spencer's face.
You walk out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the kitchen, sitting down of the floor. Spencer raises an eyebrow at you.
"I'm hot. The floor is cold. It's refreshing." That seems to keep Spencer's questions at bay, for now. He sits down next to you, staring up at the ceiling.
"...Why do you hate me so much?"
The question catches him off guard. He wasn't expecting you to say anything, let alone that. He slowly looks over at you, and you're already looking at him, not allowing him to dodge the question.
"Same reason you hate me."
"Nope. I hate you because you treat me like shit. I don't treat you like shit, so you can't hate me for that. Why do you hate me?"
He groans, shrugging. "I don't know, okay? I just do. I don't want to talk about this of all things when my throat is as dry as the sahara and my head feels like it's going to fall off my neck.
"When do you expect us to talk about this, then?"
"Not ever, honestly. I quite like this routine we have going on."
"Spencer..." You warn.
"Seriously. Can we talk about this when we're both feeling better and in the right headspace to process words that may or may not sting?"
Despite your reluctance to let this go, he's right. Your head is pounding, so is his, and trying to process a bunch of complicated words right now will be trying to connect your headphones to your phone when the bluetooth is turned off. Never gonna happen.
"I'm tired, let's go to bed." He says.
"Why do we both have to go to bed? What if I'm not tired?"
"Oh, really, you're not tired?" He gives you a look.
"I'm not... but I'm going to go to bed anyway so I can get a good night's rest." You nod, standing up and following him to the bathroom. The two of you get ready for bed before going back into the bedroom.
"So how are we going to do this?" You ask, looking at the bed. Your bed is big enough for two people, yes, but you don't feel like sharing a bed with someone who hates your guts.
"I'll sleep on the couch." He mumbles, already heading for the door.
"Wait. You can't sleep on the couch, not in your current state... we'll share the bed." You huff, knowing you're probably going to regret that later. Spencer shakes his head, looking just as disgusted by the thought as you do, but you're not taking no for an answer.
The two of you get into the bed, trying to create as much distance as possible.
"This really isn't ideal."
"I know, but usually the guest would sleep on the couch. Special guests would get my bed and I'd sleep on the couch."
"But I offered-"
"Now, now, Spencer. It's okay to be wrong sometimes, no one's gonna hold it over your head."
In the darkness, you hear Spencer let out a long exhale, finally settling down. You find a good position and close your eyes, listening to the sound of cars passing by and wind blowing.
POV: what your camera roll looks like when you’re dating older!Jack Abbot, you love a good 0.5 photo but jack just doesn’t get it and is always going “Babe… I don’t know why you wanna see me from this angle. I look ridiculous.”
You’re cracking up, arm stretched out, already snapping the next ten: “Because it’s so fun, Jackie! And you look so handsome, oh my god.”
a/n my first time doing one of these, lowk very fun and might do more idk, lmk what yall think and please don’t let this flop 💔
summary: on a rare friday night off jack begrudgingly joins his coworkers on a night out. he hates every second of it, that is until he sees you dancing and singing your heart out. he can't help but fall even more helplessly in love with you.
warnings: drinking, fluff, slightly suggestive, yearning!jack, jealousy (blink and you miss it), reader is a night shift nurse, jack's pov, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, not proofread
word count: 2k
authors note: my blog is generally 18+, mdni. short and sweet brainrot! i just really fucking love this song and want to scream it every second of the day. i wanted to finish this to give myself a break from my angsty secret baby draft 😭
song inspo: expectations - olivia rodrigo (duhhh)
divider credits: @/omi-resources for line dividers, @/saradika-graphics for disco divider
masterlist
Jack Abbot would never be caught dead at a nightclub—especially not on his only Friday night off in months—yet he found himself walking through a cloud of artificial fog, strobe lights and glittery skirts blinding him as the smell of cheap beer and body odour clogged his throat. He had been inside the tacky neon-signed club for less than two minutes and could already feel a throb starting behind his left eye.
John had guilt tripped him, claiming he needed to step it up as an attending and join the PTMC crew on one of their rare nights out. John who had claimed glaring at residents while having a beer in the park was not considered bonding. John who was going to have his neck wrung the next time Jack saw him because he was not in the booth—or in the club at all, for that matter—like he had promised.
The text lighting up Jack's phone screen confirmed his suspicions.
John Shen: Shit sorry man. Can't make it tonight, Hunt called in sick. Next time drinks are on me!
Jack was ready to turn back around and hightail it out the door when a tipsy Langdon called out his name, half hanging out of the booth crowded with the day shift and a few of his own team that were lucky enough to have the night off.
He sighed, reluctantly dragging his feet towards the group of his intoxicated colleagues.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't our very own prince of darkness," McKay slurred out, tilting her head to the side. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Jack gave her a deadpan look. "Prince of darkness? Really?"
McKay threw her hands up in defence. "Hey, I didn't come up with it." She jutted her head towards the dance floor. "You can thank sunshine for that one. Though I do think it's fitting."
His body tensed immediately at the mention of you, every cell in his body vibrating with the need to turn around and get a glimpse of you. But, he couldn't. Not when Donnie and Jesse were looking at him knowingly, snickering into their pint glasses.
He regretted asking them about you seconds after he opened his mouth, and now almost a year later he was still paying for his slip up. He just wanted to know what your deal was, why the day shift nurses called you sunshine and never failed to smile when talking about you. He soon found out that reason when you switched to the night shift a couple months later—you were the sun in human form, and you shone through his clouds of darkness and sorrow like a beacon.
"When was the last time you came out with us?" Langdon pondered aloud, tapping a finger to his dimpled chin.
"I think it was when Czechoslovakia was still a sovereign state," Robby answered, sliding into the only spare seat and handing Jack a bottle of beer.
"Ha-ha," Jack rolled his eyes, accepting the bottle. "You guys are doing a great job of making me want to come out again. Five star efforts for you all."
He took a gulp of beer, leaning a shoulder against the end of the booth and taking a moment to assess his surroundings.
"Surprised to see you here, brother." He muttered to Robby, raising his eyebrows as he overheard Javadi drunkenly whisper—shout—to Mel about how Mateo's half up half down bun makes her forget how to breathe. She was going to regret those fruity cocktails come morning.
An upbeat synth-pop song blasted through the speakers, the bass shaking the floors and eliciting a chorus of ear splitting screams.
Robby winced. "Santos bet that she could diagnose a mystery patient before me—this is my punishment."
Vivi, who was sat on the other end of the half circle booth, jumped up and grabbed Whitaker's hand—dragging him to the pulsating dance floor. Jack's eyes followed them absentmindedly, doing a double take when they reached the group in the middle of the dance floor—when they reached you.
Jack barely noticed Santos and Mohan dancing next to you, your vibrance pulling his attention like a lighthouse guiding a ship through a stormy night. It was hard enough to control his blood pressure when he saw you in your grey scrubs, but seeing you in that dress had him feeling like he was fighting for his life—or at least fighting for his blood to stop rushing south. Your face lit up further at your friends joining you, wrapping them in a tight hug as your body continued to bounce to the song blasting.
Your group formed a small circle, your bodies moving freely with the help of the liquor running through your veins. You pointed to Santos as the lyrics started, animatedly mouthing along to the song. Jack couldn't help but chuckle at your antics, a small smile gracing his lips as he watched you.
Your face was glowing under the dim nightclub lights with a tipsy smile permanently plastered across it. You alternated between jumping and grabbing Santos' hands as you sang passionately, and raising your arms above your head with an intoxicating sway of your hips that had Jack forgetting how to breathe.
"I won't settle for a guy with a fake job! They seem so desperate for lovin' but baby I'M NOT!" Your voice reached him above the pounding of the speakers and loud atmosphere of the club, your singing turning into shouting as your eyebrows drew together in an expression of passion.
You were singing with an intensity that told him how much you resonated with the lyrics; it wasn't just an upbeat song that some people—certainly not him—found catchy to you, it was painted across your face how personally you connected to it.
"I'm not kissin' any boy that is passive, their indecision is painfully unattractive!" You continued to belt out, grabbing Santos by the shoulders and throwing your head back. "Past mistakes are just new information, these days I've got expectations!" You spun around, placing yourself next to Samira and slinging an arm around her shoulder.
Memories of conversations he overheard came to the forefront of his mind—when you and Ellis would be loose-lipped in the early hours of the morning, bonding over nightmare exes while slouched at the Hub. The ex that 'forgot' your one year anniversary, leaving you sitting alone in the too bright restaurant while he smoked and gamed with his friends. The guy who only wanted to see you under the cover of darkness, saying being seen out in public during the daylight was 'too much commitment'. The men you talked to on dating apps only offering three worded replies, their nonchalance leading you to carry the conversations. You always ended with "maybe love just isn't in the cards for me" and it made the ache in his chest so much harder to ignore.
To him, you were so easy to love. It was like breathing—an automatic response, his brain and body doing it without a thought. You offered your heart on a platter to everyone you met and never asked for anything in return. He didn't know how the world's cruelty hadn't dimmed your shine yet, but he was going to make it his life goal to never let that happen.
You had no idea how you made him feel. How your smile and laugh turned his insides into liquid gold, how his heart oozed with gooey honey when you rested your head on his shoulder briefly, the butterflies in his stomach making him feel like a lovesick teenager whenever you walked into the room. How he often laid in bed thinking about you, fantasising about how you would sound with his face buried—
Jack's thoughts halted as a guy around your age slid up behind you, his hands grasping your hips and pulling you back into him as his head dropped to your neck. Jack felt the vein in his forehead throb instantly, his teeth clenched so tight he was sure he'd crack a molar. The bottle in his hand shook from his tightened grip, his free hand balling into a fist as his gut churned.
Before he could take a step forward, you slipped out of the guy's hold—grabbing Whitaker and switching places with him so quickly it took the guy a second to realise he was now holding onto another guys hips. He bolted back to his friends in the corner as your group burst into fits of laughter.
Your face was in perfect view of Jack and he felt some of the tension ease from his body, the smile on your face assuring him that you were okay. You picked up where you left off, singing and dancing like nothing had happened. You made eye contact with Jack and it felt like the whole club had faded away, the mischievous glint in your eyes making it impossible for him to look away. Not that he would ever want to.
You raised your voice again, looking at him directly as you sang the next lyrics. "But in a couple months, a man will be procured." Your lips tilted into a smirk, your hand raising to point at him. "He will be evolved," you brought the hand to your chest, "and I will be adored, adored, adored, adored, adored!"
You turned back to your group, throwing Jack a wink over your shoulder before continuing to jump and scream with your friends.
In that moment, Jack knew he would do anything to be the man who adored you—to be the man who met your expectations. It took every ounce of strength he had to not march over to you and kiss you until he didn't know where he stopped and you began.
He was so utterly enraptured by you that he didn't notice his friends eyes on him, their snickering morphed into full on belly laughs. Even Robby was losing his shit over his friend's clear infatuation.
The song ended and your group returned to the booth, Santos exclaiming that if she didn't have a drink in her hand within ten seconds she was going to start spilling everyone's dirty secrets. Jack paid her no mind, keeping his eyes on you—your hips swaying with every step towards him.
You threw your arms around his shoulders once you reached him, the heady aroma of your perfume and sweat seeping into his lungs and making a home there. His free hand slipped around your waist to return the hug, praying to god you didn't notice how fast his heart was beating.
You pulled back with a grin, your hands trailing down his shoulders and arms before dropping to your sides. "The dark knight is here!"
Jack couldn't stop the smile on his face even if he wanted to. "Oh, so it's the dark knight now? I heard it was the prince of darkness not long ago."
He watched in fascination as your face turned bashful. "What can I say? You're so easy to think of nicknames for!"
"Is that right, sunshine?" Jack leaned closer, his easy smirk lifting his lips.
You hummed, nodding your head. "I'm glad you came out tonight, Jack." Your voice dropped low, private. "I wasn't expecting it."
"Well, I hope I can continue to exceed your expectations, sweetheart."
Maybe it was because of the way your lashes fluttered, the soft smile on your face, or the fact he was hopelessly in love with you, but Jack continued, taking a deep breath.
"How about we talk some more when you're sober? I think it's time for you to know how it feels to be adored."
Summary: After several weeks, Sammy and Nate finally had the man from the alley in custody, and they brought you in to identify the suspect in a lineup.
Words: 4215
Warning: Age gap relationship (mid-20s/mid-30s), murder investigation, gang-related crime, mentions of therapy, support group, panic attack
Authors Note: GAH finally and update on da sammy fic. Enjoy - Ryn
SAFTEY | MASTERLIST
You’d started seeing someone to help you process everything that happened—the murder you witnessed and what came after. It hadn’t been easy. Some days still felt heavier than others, like the memory was right beneath the surface waiting to pull you back under.
But slowly, in small steps, things were beginning to shift. You were learning how to sit with what happened without letting it consume you. Learning how to breathe through the fear instead of getting swallowed by it. Learning, bit by bit, how to keep moving forward.
Sammy and Nate checked in when they could, keeping you updated with whatever information they were able to find about the case.
Tonight, you were halfway through making dinner, absentmindedly stirring something on the stove while the TV murmured softly in the background. There was a knock at your door.
You freeze.
You lower the spoon onto the counter and cross the room, wiping your hands nervously against your sweatpants before unlocking the door.
“Who is it?”
Then a familiar voice calls from the other side. “It’s Sammy.”
You unlock the door. Sammy and Nate stand on the other side, both looking more serious than usual. Sammy’s hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket while Nate stands stiffly beside him, his expression unreadable.
“Hey,” Sammy says quietly.
“Hi,” you answer, your gaze flicking between them. “What’s going on?”
Sammy exchanges a quick look with Nate before speaking again. “We have an update on the case. Do you mind if we come in?”
Your chest tightens at the word case.
“Sure,” you murmur, stepping aside to let them through.
You step aside to let them in.
Neither of them says much as they walk into the house. You close the door behind them, the click of the lock suddenly sounding too loud in the quiet apartment.
The smell of dinner still lingers in the air as you trail after them into the living room. Sammy and Nate sit on the couch while you lower yourself into the chair across from them, your hands curling tightly together in your lap.
You reach for the remote and mute the TV, the soft glow from the screen flickering across the room as silence settles over all three of you.
For a moment, nobody speaks.
Then Sammy finally breaks the silence.
“We got him.”
Your breath catches. “W-what?” Your eyebrows lift in shock as you stare at them. “You found him?”
Nate nods once. “We have a suspect in custody,” he says carefully. “But we need to do a lineup.”
“A lineup?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended.
“We need you to identify him,” Nate says. “Officially.”
The room suddenly feels colder. Your stomach twists hard enough to make you feel sick.
Sammy leans forward slightly, his voice gentler now. “You don’t have to answer right this second. We know this is a lot–”
“N-no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head. “I want to.”
The words come out shaky, but certain.
Silence settles over the room for a brief moment. Sammy studies your face carefully, like he’s trying to make sure you really mean it.
“You’re sure?” He asks softly.
You wanted justice for the man he murdered, but also for yourself. For what he did to you. For the fear he left behind and trying to work through.
“If you identify him,” Nate says carefully, “it gives the DA enough to move forward with charges. Your statement and the lineup become part of the case.”
He pauses, meeting your eyes directly.
“And because you’re an eyewitness to the murder itself, there’s a strong chance you’d be called to testify later on. That could be at a preliminary hearing or at trial…if it goes that far.”
Sammy’s voice softens slightly. “It doesn’t always end up in a full courtroom trial. Sometimes there’s a plea deal before that happens.”
Nate nods once. “But if it does, we don’t just put you on the stand and leave you there. We prep you for everything…what you’ll be asked, what the courtroom looks like, who will be there. You’d be guided through it step by step.”
A brief pause settles in the room again, heavier this time, but honest.
Sammy adds, “Right now, though, the lineup is the next step. That’s all you have to focus on.”
You let their words sink in. You let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself.
“We can schedule it whenever you’re ready,” he says softly. “Tomorrow, next week… whenever.”
“No,” you say quietly, shaking your head. “I don’t want to keep waiting… could we do it tomorrow?”
Sammy nods immediately. “Okay,” she says gently. “If that’s what you want, we’ll make it happen.”
The smell hits first—sharp. .
“Oh shit.”
You rush back toward the kitchen and cut the heat on the stove. You already know it’s too late.
Sammy’s already moving, fanning the smoke. Nate steps in and reaches up, switching off the smoke detector before it can fully go off.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sammy says, still waving a hand through the air.
Nate glances at the pan, then at you. “It happens.”
You turn on the sink, letting water run over the pot as you stare at it like it personally betrayed you. The hiss of steam rises up immediately. Fading smoke and the quiet mess of what was supposed to be dinner.
“Well,” you mutter, shoulders dropping slightly, “there goes my dinner.”
Sammy tilts his head toward you. “We were actually just about to go get something to eat. You should come with us.”
Nate glances sideways at him quick, subtle. Not unkind. Just a look that says remember what we talked about. Boundaries. Lines. Don’t get too emotionally folded into it too fast.
Sammy catches it, but doesn’t backtrack.
You blink, caught off guard more than anything, then glance back at the ruined pot once.
“…Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’d like that.I’ll just go change real quick.” You disappear down the hall, leaving the apartment quieter behind you.
Nate’s voice drops low enough that it doesn’t carry past the room. “You gotta be careful.”
Sammy glances at him. “About what?”
Nate tilts his head slightly toward the hallway. “You know what I mean. We’ve talked about this, Sammy.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Nate replies evenly.
Sammy opens his mouth to argue, but Nate cuts him off with a small shake of his head.
“You always get a little too emotionally attached to some of the people we help,” Nate says. “I’ve seen it before.”
Sammy looks down, jaw tightening slightly.
Nate studies him for a moment. “And that’s exactly why I’m saying something.”
“She’s alone, Nate. She doesn’t have anyone there for her…”
“So were a lot of people we’ve helped.”
Sammy falls quiet.
Nate sighs “You care. That’s one of the things that makes you good at this. But you can’t be the person who saves everyone, Sammy”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Sammy doesn’t answer right away.
Finally, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks toward the hallway. The conversation drops away as you step back into the room, ready to leave.
“I’m ready,” you announce with a small smile.
Sammy looks over at you, whatever had been on his mind disappearing behind an easy expression.
“Good,” he says, “Let’s go.”
—
You were laughing, your head tipped back as Sammy told another story about him and Nate had on the job. The hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filled the diner around you, but Sammy had your full attention. He talked with his hands, getting more animated with every detail, and every time he made you laugh harder, a grin spread across his face.
Across the booth, Nate rolled his eyes and let out a quiet chuckle. For once, he stayed silent, letting Sammy have the floor. Every now and then he'd shake his head when the story became a little too exaggerated, the look on his face saying he'd heard it a hundred times before. Still, there was a fondness there as he listened.
You hadn't laughed or even smiled like this in a long time. Sitting in the worn diner booth, surrounded by the smell of coffee and greasy food, the weight you've been carrying felt a little lighter. For a little while, you were able to forget everything else and simply enjoy being here.
Suddenly, Sammy's phone started ringing.
He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
"It's Tammi. I gotta take this." The comment seemed directed more at Nate than anyone else.
Sammy shoved his phone to his ear as he slid out of the booth. "I'll be back."
You watched him head toward the front of the diner, but he hadn't gotten very far before his voice carried back to the table.
"No, Tammi, that's not what happened!"
A beat passed.
"Because that's not what I said!"
He pushed through the front door, but even through the glass you could still see him gesturing with his free hand, clearly growing frustrated. Sammy threw his head back in exasperation.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him, concerned flickering across your face. Nate, meanwhile, didn't seem bothered in the slightest.
Tammi’s his wife, right?” you ask Nate, your thoughts drifting back to the conversation you’d had about her with Sammy in his car that night when he’d driven you around aimlessly because you couldn’t sleep.
“Yeah,” Nate sighs.
“Is it always like that?” you ask, your meaning clear, Sammy and Tammi, arguing over the phone.
"Pretty much." He leaned back in the booth, exhaling. "It burns hot for a while, then it’s like nothing ever happened. Until the next time."
Another muffled burst of Sammy's voice drifted in from outside.
"That doesn't seem healthy..." you said cautiously.
He glanced toward the window, where Sammy was still pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.
“It’s not, but Sammy loves Tammi,” Nate said quietly, watching him for a moment longer. “He puts up with a lot of shit when it comes to her.”
He hesitated, jaw tightening as he kept his eyes on Sammy.
“Sammy’s a good guy,” he continued, voice lower now. “But she just walks all over him…takes advantage. She comes up with these crazy ideas and expects him to be okay with it. Never runs anything by him, and Sammy’s always the one left cleaning up the mess.”
His expression hardened slightly, frustration slipping through.
“I just don’t get it,” Nate admitted. “He bends over backwards for her, and she—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “It’s like she doesn’t even notice what it costs him.”
“I don’t particularly like her…” Nate cut himself off, as if only then realizing how much he’d said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be airing this out. It’s not my place and this is very unprofessional.”
You met his eyes, steady and reassuring.
“Well, I don’t think any less of you or him. It’s off the record, but I get it. You’re his partner… his friend. You care about him”
“Yeah…he’s my brother. Love him to death”
A small smile tugged at your lips at that.
Nate noticed it and huffed softly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the moment.
“It’s just…” he started again, then paused, eyes flicking back toward Sammy before returning to you. “I don’t think she treats him the way he deserves.”
“I’d be lucky to have someone like Sammy,” you said quietly.
That made Nate pause. He looked at you a little more directly this time, like he was trying to figure out whether you meant it the way it sounded. His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“Oh god…I didn’t—I–” you started quickly, words tripping over each other as you tried to backpedal, to save yourself from what you’d just said.
It came out too fast, too honest. A silly little crush on Sammy you knew wasn’t going anywhere. He was the detective on an active case you were involved in, and he was married, completely off-limits. No matter how harmless, the feeling stayed tucked away. Still, you thought he was cute, kind, funny, and easy to talk to and you liked how safe you felt around him.
Before you could dig the hole any deeper, Nate let out a quiet chuckle.
“Off the record,” he said, easing the tension with just those two words.
You manage an embarrassed smile, heat rising in your cheeks. A voice cuts in before you can respond.
“Sorry about that,” Sammy said as he slipped back into the booth, settling into his seat with an easy familiarity, completely unaware of the conversation he'd just interrupted.
“You okay?” Nate asked, giving him a quick once over.
“Yeah, I'm fine,” Sammy said, waving it off. Then he looked between the two of you. “Now, where was I?”
“We were dealing with Elmo on Hollywood Boulevard,” Nate supplied, jogging his memory.
“Oh, right!” He pointed at Nate. Anyway...” He turned back to you. “So this guy dressed as Elmo...”
—
“You’re still willing to come in tomorrow and identify the suspect in the lineup?” Nate asked. The three of you stood on your front porch, the evening air settling around you as the conversation wound down.
“Yes,” you said with a nod.
“Okay.” Nate returned the nod. “We’ll have the lineup set for around noon. If anything changes, we’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Nate said.
“Tomorrow,” you echoed.
“Hey, I’ll catch up in a minute,” Sammy called after him.
Nate glanced back, then gave a small nod before heading toward the car, leaving the two of you alone on the porch.
A brief silence settled between you.
“Thanks for tonight,” you said.
“Yeah, of course.” Sammy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you need a ride tomorrow? We can come pick you up if you need.”
You shook your head. “I’ll manage. Thanks for the offer”
The quiet lingered for a moment before his expression softened.
“How’ve you been holding up?” He asks.
You looked down briefly, gathering your thoughts. “Okay,” you said honestly. “Those resources you gave me... I've been talking to someone. Going to the support groups, too. It's been helpful.”
Your eyes lifted back to him.“So... Thank you. For taking the time to put all that together for me.”
“Yeah, of course,” he said. “I’m really glad they’ve been helpful.”
He paused, then added more quietly, “I know none of that stuff makes things magically better overnight, but you shouldn't have to carry all of it by yourself.”
Something warm settled in your chest at that. “Well,” you said with a small smile, “it helped more than you probably realize.”
A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Good,” he said simply. “That's all I was hoping for…I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Sammy.”
“Goodnight.”
With one last nod, he turned and headed down the walkway toward Nate and the waiting car, leaving you standing on the porch.
—
You step into the police station at noon, the glass doors shutting behind you with a soft thud. The familiar buzz of phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and low conversations fills the lobby.
Behind a thick pane of security glass, the receptionist looks up from her computer. “Can I help you?”
“Hi.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. “I’m here to see Detective Bryant and Detective Moretta.”
“Name?”
You give it to her, watching as she types something into the computer. After a moment, she nods.
There’s a loud click before the secured door beside the desk unlocks with a buzz.
“You can head through there.” She pauses, stopping an officer on his way out. “Hey, Coop—could you bring her down to Gang and Narcotics?”
The officer slows, glancing between the two of you before giving a short nod. “Yeah, I got her.”
“She’ll be waiting for Detectives Nate and Sammy,” the woman adds.
Cooper pushes the door open wider for you. “C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to follow.
You recognize him. Officer John Cooper.
He’d been one of the officers on patrol outside your house the night of the murder. Recognition crosses his face too.
“Hi,” you greeted him with a small smile.
“Hey” he replied with a nod, acknowledging you as he held the door and led the way down the hall.
Cooper glances over at you as he walks. “How’ve you been holding up?”
“I’m doing okay…”
He nods once like he expected that answer. “Been a rough few weeks.”
“Yeah.”
He guides you into the middle of the bullpen. A rowdy open room filled with desks pushed together in clusters. Phones ring constantly here, someone arguing lightly across the room about paperwork while another detective laughs at something under his breath. It feels chaotic, alive.
Near the middle, two desks sit across from each other, both buried in files, coffee cups, and scattered notes.
Sammy looks up first from his chair when Cooper approaches. Nate leaning against Sammy’s desk with a folder in his hands, turns a second later.
Both of their expressions soften immediately when they see you.
“Hey,” Sammy says, standing.
“Thank you” you turn and give Officer Cooper a smile. He nods before walking away.
“You ready?” Sammy asks.
Your throat feels tight, but you manage a nod anyway.
“Alright,” Nate says softly, “We’ll walk you through it.”
They lead you down the hallway. The farther you get from the bullpen, the quieter everything becomes. Nate walks slightly ahead, while Sammy hangs back just enough to stay beside you.
When your fingers start twisting nervously in your sleeves, Sammy notices immediately.
“You’re okay,” he says quietly. “There’s no rush.”
You nod again, though your stomach is twisting harder with every step.
Nate opens the door to a dim observation room. A large pane of glass stretches across the wall in front of you. Beyond it is another room. Empty except for black height lines marked against the wall and numbers taped along the floor.
Your chest tightens at the sight.
Nate steps beside the glass. “Okay. In a minute, six men are going to come in and stand on the numbers. They may have them turn, step forward, or say a few words. Standard procedure.”
“You don’t have to answer immediately,” Sammy adds. “Take your time. If you recognize someone, you tell us the number they’re standing on.”
“And if you’re not sure,” Nate says gently, “you say you’re not sure. Don’t pressure yourself into choosing somebody.”
Your eyes stay fixed on the empty lineup room. “Will they be able to see me?”
“No,” Sammy says firmly.
Nate gives a small shake of his head. “This is a one-way glass. You can see them, but they can’t see you. He won’t know where you are.”
“He won’t hear you either,” Sammy adds. “Only us.”
You exhale shakily, but the tightness in your chest eases just slightly.
Sammy gestures toward the chair closest to the window. “Sit if you want. And if this gets overwhelming at any point, we stop. Doesn’t matter if they’re halfway through the lineup. You’re in control here,”
Before you sit, he pauses, studying your expression for a second longer. “You still okay to do this?”
The question was gentle, genuine like he was giving you every opportunity to change your mind without a hint of judgment.
Your fingers tightened together nervously. After a moment, you nodded.
“Yeah.”
Sammy studied you for a second. Not fully convinced you were calm, but accepting the answer anyway.
“Okay.”
You lowered yourself into the chair, clasping your hands tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking.
Nate remained by the observation glass while Sammy stayed close by. Sammy glanced over at you one last time. When you gave him a small nod, he looked at Nate and gave a subtle okay.
Nate returned the nod, then leaned toward the intercom.
“Alright,” he said, pressing the button. “Bring them in.”
The lineup room beyond the glass still sits empty for another moment, painfully quiet. Then men file in one by one, forming a straight line before stopping and turning toward the glass.
Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. That same stare. The same shape of his face. The crooked nose you remember too clearly and then your eyes catch on the tattoo curling just above his collar.
Your eyes stay locked on the man in the lineup like you can’t force yourself to look away. Everything inside you locks up. It feels like he’s staring right at you.
“It’s- It’s three, he’s the man in the alley…” you swallow, forcing the words through. “It’s number three.”
“You’re sure it’s number three?” Nate asks, not doubting you, just making sure the detail is solid, anchored.
You nod quickly “I’m sure,” you say. “His eyes…that tattoo. It’s him–”
Your hand lifts to your throat before you even realize it, fingers brushing against your skin like you can still feel his grip there. The memory crashes back in.
You didn’t expect this…didn’t think seeing him on the other side of the glass would hit you like this.
“I—I can’t breathe—” you manage, voice breaking as tears spill over before you can stop them.
“Cut it, Nate,” Sammy says sharply.
Nate immediately goes to the intercom, voice low as he tells them they’ve got what they need.
“Hey—hey. Look at me. Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
Sammy steps into your line of sight, blocking the glass completely. His hands settle on your shoulders.
You grab onto him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle. You bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck. His arms come around you just as quickly, holding you steady against him.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You’re okay.”
His hand settles between your shoulder blades as your breath comes in short, uneven pulls.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs again, quieter this time. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
The words give you something to focus on besides your panic. His hand never left your back, rubbing slowly.
Behind him, Nate watches silently. Sammy can already feel Nate staring at the back of his head, probably knowing he’s going to say something about this later. Right now, Sammy doesn’t care.
“Shhh, you’re okay,” he says softly.
Your breathing starts to steady. After a moment, Sammy pulls back just enough to look down at you.
“I’m sorry…seeing him just…Sorry…” you say, as you quickly wipe the tears from your eyes.
“Hey,” he cuts in gently. “You have nothing to apologize for. You did good.” His voice stays calm as he rubs your arms.
“How about we get you something to drink? Fresh air, too,” Nate suggests gently.
You nod.
“I got her,” Nate says, glancing at Sammy as he passes Sammy a file.
Sammy hesitates for a beat, then nods once. “Yeah… okay.”
“Come on,” Nate says, a hand settling lightly on your back as he guides you toward the door and out of the room.
—
You sit on a bench in a small courtyard outside the police station, a water bottle in hand as you take slow sips.
Nate sits beside you in silence.
“What's gonna happen now?” you ask him
“We got what we needed,” he said gently. “Your statement, the identification... that gives us what we need to move forward with the investigation.”
He glanced at you briefly, checking your reaction before continuing.
“Like we said yesterday…we’ll present the case to the DA. They’ll decide what charges to pursue, and if the case moves forward, it could eventually go to trial.”
You nodded quietly, absorbing the weight of what that meant.
“So... more waiting,” you said.
A faint, sympathetic smile crossed Nate's face.
“Unfortunately,” he replied. “A lot of it is waiting.”
You let out a quiet sigh and looked down at your hands.
“I’m going to hate that…”
Nate nodded, like he'd heard that sentiment a hundred times before. “Most people do.”
“Because when you're waiting, your brain fills in the blanks,” he continued. “You start wondering what's happening behind the scenes, whether anything's moving forward, whether it's actually going anywhere.”
You gave a small nod. “Exactly.”
“But that doesn't mean nothing's happening,” Nate said. “It just means a lot of the work is happening where you can't see it.”
“In the meantime,” he said, “keep doing what you've been doing. Sammy, mentioned you’ve been going to therapy and support groups…”
“Just don't put your life on hold waiting for the next update,” he added gently. “We'll call when we have something. Until then, focus on you.”
“That’s easier said than done,” you said, letting out a humorless laugh.
Nate nodded, unsurprised.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It usually is.”
Sammy approaches and stops in front of the two of you.
“Everything okay?” he asked, tone easy but observant.
Nate gave a small nod. “Just wrapping up.”
Sammy’s eyes flicked to you a second longer, softer now. “You good?” he asked, more gently this time.
You nod and sigh “Ready to head home”
“We’ll take you home,” he said simply.
You and Nate stood, and the three of you walked out of the courtyard together, then made your way toward the car.
summary — everyone has an ex that they’d rather forget about. yours is just more persistent than most. however, when he takes the initiative to show up at your place of work, demanding a second chance, it’s time for you to shut it down once and for all—and to show that you have standards now. (based on this request)
featured — dr. jack abbot / fem!nurse!reader, nurse lena handzo, dr. john shen, ahmad zidan
content — no spoilers for s1 or 2, fluff and angst, talk of drug abuse (not by reader or jack), past emotional abuse/manipulation, your ex is a possessive asshole, you and jack stand on business, dr. shen being iconic as per usual
(cross-posted on ao3) (the pitt masterlist)
The first call comes as you are walking into the PTMC that morning, your bag slung over your shoulder and one hand in the pocket of your jeans.
The frown comes with immediacy across your face as you realize you are unsure of who would be calling so early in the morning. You step to the side of the emergency room floor and brandish the vibrating mobile from your pocket. It is not a saved number in your phone, so you silence it without thinking twice about it. Spam calls these days have become so common that you average at least one a shift.
Crisis averted, you head to the nurse’s station and get changed into your scrubs. Even at three in the morning, the ER is already buzzing with life. You greet a few of the frequent fliers you pass on the way, an unshakable grin on your cheeks.
Once you’re dressed, the day officially begins. Despite yourself, you find your eyes jumping from person to person, eagerly looking for one doctor in particular.
But he finds you before you do him. You jolt when his arm brushes against yours as you stand near the charge station. You angle your head in his direction and you feel your heart skip a beat as you focus fully on him.
“Hey,” you say to Jack, trying—and failing—to refocus on the schedule in front of you.
He doesn’t even try to look busy as he drags a hand through his silver curls, eyes twinkling despite their exhaustion. “You’re starting early.”
You half-shrug, flipping the page over, scanning quickly through the patient list. “Lena needed another nurse on deck… something about Jacob’s paternity leave. So, here I am.”
“Here you are.”
You look at him fully then, an affectionate smile creeping across your face. “How’s the shift been? Chaotic?”
Jack shakes his head. He rubs his temple as if doing so would release every worry from his head. “Uh, it’s been about the same. So, catastrophic on every level. I had—“
Your Apple Watch suddenly buzzes twice in quick succession and your attention is unintentionally diverted. You frown, again confused why you were receiving nonessential notifications. When you open the screen, two text messages are there from an unknown number. You can’t preview the messages from your watch before the screen goes black, so you have no idea what they might contain.
“Everything okay?” Jack reminds you of his presence when he asks this, and you briefly look up at him to let him know you heard his question.
“Yeah, not sure what’s going on today.” You push and hold to silence the watch. “Spam callers are having a field day, I guess. Bet they just texted to let me know I have to click this sketchy link to prevent my nonexistent car from being repossessed.”
“Better get on that,” your boyfriend says with a light chuckle, “you know the United States government has an invested interest in your nonexistent car and those nonexistent toll fees.”
You grin at his sarcasm. Finally dissuaded from checking your notifications, you look up at him. “Now if only they could adjust their pitch to match Pittsburgh public transportation.”
“—Yo, lovebirds,” Lena’s voice commands attention from every corner of the room, and you feel your spine immediately go ramrod from her tone. “I got patients back here that would love an ounce of your undivided attention.”
Despite her tone, you know she’s not truly angry. You place a quick kiss on Jack’s cheek, then head over to your charge nurse. The text messages, phone call, and even Jack migrate to the back of your head as you get sucked into work.
You haven’t thought about your ex in a long ass time. It’s hard to reconcile that at one point in your life, he’d been all you thought about.
You had met in nursing school. He was the sweet, handsome, charismatic guy who sat next to you in pharmacology. It was hard to see in your young, 20-something-year-old brain the glaring red flags. Or perhaps you had ignored them in favor of the relationship.
You had the habit of focusing on the positives more than you did the negatives of any situation, especially regarding relationships. You focused on the fact that he always brought you a coffee when he got himself one, the fact that he would wrap his arm around you and tug you to his side when talking with friends, how he’d always make up for arguments with gifts and affection.
But as time wore on, his negatives only became more pronounced. He was not used to working hard for his degree in college—that is what happens when daddy pays for you to have good grades in undergrad—and flunked out. He blamed you for being a distraction to his schooling, but never dared breaking up with you. He started getting too adventurous with his drug usage, to the point finding his next fix took priority over everything else.
You broke up with him a year ago. Six months ago, you started dating Jack.
Jack is everything that he wasn’t. He’s responsible. Everything he has he’s had to work for. He loves you, and does not put you on the back burner when life gets messy, instead, he tries to make it work. Most importantly, though? He doesn’t fucking blame you for all his problems.
You stare at the phone in a stunned silence.
All it takes was two texts for you to remember why you hated being single those six months you were. The audacity of some men was truly astounding.
???: did you really just ignore my call? who the hell do you think you are?
And then, literally, seconds later:
???: are you in town, babe? maybe we could grab some drinks?
One might wonder how you knew it was him, but it’s just so obvious. No one else would be texting at five in the fucking morning looking to get drinks after a year no-contact. It’s the kind of insane behavior one could only expect from him.
You shake your head after a few moments of staring blankly at your phone and stand. You throw the last bits of your meal away and drop your phone back off into your locker. As you step out of the nurse’s area, you notice Lena waving you over from across the room.
You make it over to her in two quick strides, eager to get your mind the hell away from whatever those texts were.
Those dreams are dashed the second you notice Lena giving you a concerned look.
“Hey hon.” Hon? She never calls you that. “We have a man in North 2 asking for you by name. Want to take it?”
You cock a brow, mind moving a mile a minute as you try to quickly go through who that could be. But the texts still linger in your mind from moments before and you get stuck on one thought. Would he really be so stupid… so deplorable… to get himself admitted to your ER?
You sigh and nod, straightening your scrub top nervously as you approach the patient room door. You pause for a moment, trying to will yourself to just knock on the door. When you finally do, a smiling brunette answers it—not exactly what you’d been expecting.
“Are you the doctor?” she says, entirely too caffeinated and hyper for being in a hospital at five in the morning.
“I’m the nurse,” you tell her, smiling tightly. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, right.” She lets out a laugh. “Sorry, I see that on your badge now.”
She steps aside and you take at most two steps before your stomach drops to your feet. There he is, in all his glory. Considering the fact that you haven’t seen him in a year and he’s gained at least thirty pounds, you applaud yourself for recognizing him so quickly. He’s got one arm covered in gauze, and blood seems to have already soaked through.
The woman who’s with him goes to his side, stroking his unhurt arm gently. Poor girl, you think, if only she knew what she was getting herself into.
“I’m just going to take your vitals.” Strict professionalism. That is your aim for working with him. You grab the blood pressure cuff and loop it around his upper arm.
“Babe, how about you go get me a coke?” His voice is just as dry and grumbly as you remember. Once upon a time, you’d found it attractive. Now it was just grating.
You squeeze the cuff as the girl nods cheerily and practically skips out of the room. He lets out a quick breath through his teeth when you maybe squeeze it one time too hard. An honest mistake, really. You type down his blood pressure dutifully in his patient chart.
You gesture toward the door where the woman just slipped out. “Where’d you pick a girl like that up at?”
“Eh, she’s just some squeeze.” He shrugs. “Nothin’ compared to you, babe.”
“I see your limitless assholery has remained the same.” You type a few more numbers into his chart, refusing to give him the eye contact he so desperately searched for. “So, what? You just so happened to cut yourself after texting me for the first time in a year?”
He winces as you reach over to pull back the bandage. It’s not too bad. You probe the edges of skin once, twice, then pull the bandage back over it. It looks like it might need stitches, which means, unfortunately, he will have to stay longer.
“Would you respond to me otherwise?” He makes a good point. You would never answer the phone if you knew he was on the other line. However, faking an injury and taking the bed of a person who might actually need it? Now that’s just wrong.
You snap your gloves off and go to add one more note to his file. Do not administer Oxycodone-based medications. That last bit of information comes from personal experience.
“Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?” you ask, leaning up against the door of the room.
He doesn’t have to think on it for long. “Good.”
“The good news is that you will not be seeing me much more for the rest of your stay here. The bad news is you will have to stay a little longer. A doctor will need to come assess your wound.”
“How’s the good news good? I came here specifically to see you,” he says, his tone annoyed.
You give him your best attempt at a smile. “Oh right–that’s good news for me, not you. Have a good day.”
You leave the room quickly after that, ignoring his protests as you do. You pass the brunette on your way to the charge station, and you offer her a pitying smile. Poor girl really has no idea who she’s getting involved with, does she?
Leaning across the charge desk, you pinch your nose bridge in between your fingers and attempt to take several deep breaths.
Of all the things you’d seen in this profession; all the people that had been lost along the way… somehow, the hardest struggle was having to face your ex. How ridiculous was that?
“You good?” The sudden question is punctuated by a loud slurp of a drink, and you know who it is before you even turn your head.
“Hey Shen,” you greet him curtly. He shakes around the Dunkin’ drink in his hand, the ice cubes clinking together.
“You and Jack having some trouble in paradise?” Shen says before taking another loud sip of his drink.
You can’t help the short laugh from snorting out of your nostrils. “No, no,” you tell him, “if only it were that.”
Shen narrows his eyes. He looks you up and down as if trying to discern the issue.
You sigh. “My ex. He’s in North 2. He faked an injury to see me.”
“No way.” Shen laughs. “Listen, I have some pretty crazy exes, but even they haven’t done anything that crazy.” His tone shifts when he realizes you aren’t in the same jovial mood. He steps forward, expression drawn tight. “You need help?”
You look off to the side, pondering. It would suck if Jack had to meet him. It wasn’t so much that you didn’t want Jack to know as it was that you didn’t want to have to deal with the embarrassment of having dated that thing for a brief point in your life.
“You free? Think you could inspect his wound? Maybe put in some stitches?”
Shen cocks a brow. “You sure you don’t want Jack to do that? Need him to go all macho on him?”
“I’d rather Jack not be involved.” You shift uneasily on your feet. “Not because he’s possessive, but because I worry my ex might get… unruly.”
Shen nods, then puts his drink down on the counter, even though Lena had explicitly requested he not do that. “Give me fifteen. I’ll meet you back here for consult.”
You watch for a few seconds as he strides away, then you avert your eyes to your hands. They’re shaking, but you’re not sure why. You aren’t scared of your ex—but that doesn’t mean you aren’t upset by his reappearance in your life.
You hadn’t been one of those couples that said “let’s just be friends!” even once they broke up. You’d been more so the type that you blocked each other’s numbers and you moved your entire career and livelihood to get away from him. It felt like two worlds colliding, him being here, where you were now a successful nurse and not his overly-reliant girlfriend.
As you continue to stand by the desks, you notice Jack stepping out of a patient’s room down the hall. You turn your back and attempt to look busy in sorting paperwork, but you know he’s seen you.
His voice breaks through your thoughts just as you begin to think he’s not coming over. “Working hard or hardly working?”
You smile despite yourself. “Hey,” you say, turning your head.
His eyebrows furrow as he gets closer to you, able to see you more clearly. He leans beside you on the counter, chewing the inside of his cheek. He’s worried about you—he always does that when he is. “You alright?”
You knew he was going to ask this, but it still catches you off-guard.
You don’t want to lie to him, but you don’t want to tell him the truth either. Subjecting Jack to your ex was not high on your to-do list. If all went well, no one would have to deal with him other than Shen. Besides, you don’t need a man to stick up for you. You could handle him just fine on your own.
You shrug. “Sometimes I forget how chaotic the night shift can be.”
He leans forward, voice soft. “If you’re struggling, I’m sure Lena will be understanding…”
You put your hand on his bicep and give it a squeeze. “I’m okay, Jack. I promise. Besides, your shift is over in, what, an hour and a half? Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll try,” he tells you, “but you have a way of making it into my head whether I want you to or not.”
You let out a breathy laugh. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“—You ready to go, my favorite nurse?” you hear Shen say from behind you. He reaches between you and Jack to grab his drink, taking a long sip. The seriousness of the conversation he just interrupted is completely lost on him. He turns to Jack. “Oh, hey man. Didn’t see you there.”
Your boyfriend cocks a brow at you. “What’s going on?”
“A consult,” Shen replies simply.
Jack looks at you like he’s expecting a more in-depth explanation. You smile teasingly and pat his arm. “Back to work, doc. Patients won’t save themselves.”
Jack rolls his eyes affectionately as you step away, but once your back is turned, the expression falls away.
You clutch the suture kit cart as Shen knocks on the patient door then uses his hip to push it open. He stands to the side as you enter. Your ex’s new girlfriend shoots to her feet as you push the cart in, her eyes wide. You offer her what you hope is a comforting smile.
“Hello, hello,” Shen says as he takes a seat on a rolling stool next to his bed. “I’m Dr. Shen and I’m going to be taking care of you today. I hear you have a cut on your arm?”
Your ex doesn’t look at him as he replies, his eyes on you and the suture kit. “I slipped.” He reaches over to remove the gauze on his arm.
“Is it going to need stitches?” The girlfriend asks from behind you.
Shen inspects the wound carefully, eyes moving slowly across the ripped skin. He pulls away and nods. “Yeah, I think a few stitches. It’s pretty deep and jagged along the edges. What was it you slipped on?”
He moves out of the way so you can begin flushing the wound. You ignore the fact that your ex is flexing his muscles as you grab the cleanser, completely locked into your work.
“My damn hunting knife,” he says, “it’ll leave a pretty nice scar though, huh?”
You roll your eyes without even really meaning to, and you feel your ex’s glare on you.
“Go ahead and put some lidocaine in,” Shen tells you. He turns to your ex. “Don’t want you to feel your skin being pulled together with a needle, do we?”
Your ex goes pale as you grab the syringe and fill it with the liquid. “Uh, could I… does it have to have stitches?”
“Trust me, honey, you do not want sepsis,” his girlfriend says, “my cousin got it and—“
“—Just be quiet,” your ex snaps at her. You flinch at the tone, and accidentally spill a little bit of the liquid on the table.
Shen steps up behind you, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You know he wants to comfort you, but you’re glad he keeps his distance. “Your girlfriend is right,” he says, “lots of nasty things can happen if you let a cut like that not heal properly.”
You gently guide the needle into the skin above his wound and push the liquid inside. You turn to your ex as you pull the needle away. “It should be completely numb in a few minutes.”
You step back to let Shen take the seat again. You turn to look out the window of the room only to lock eyes with Jack. He’s talking to Lena, but his eyes are on you. You look away. You nervously shift on your feet, clutching your hands across your front.
“So, uh.” Your ex’s eyes are on you as he starts to speak. Your lips draw into a thin line. “You guys get out much? Have boyfriends, girlfriends?”
Shen knows who the question is aimed at, yet he answers anyway. “Eh, it’s kind of difficult,” he says, poking and prodding the arm. “I’m not much for commitment.”
You refuse to reply.
“Okay, I think it’s numbed up, I’m going to go ahead and start,” Shen tells him. “Maybe try not to look at it. I find my patients who don’t usually have the best time with this.”
You hand Shen the threaded needle and help clamp the skin together with forceps.
“And you?” His fucking mouth.
You barely look up from his wound as your ex says this. “What?”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“Honey, I think they’re concentrating right now,” his girlfriend butts in. You shoot her an appreciative smile and keep your hands steady as Shen guides the needle through the first point.
“Surely she can answer a question,” he huffs, “I mean she’s just holding a clamp. I can do that.”
You shake your head and barely murmur, “I’m not doing this here. Not now.”
Shen goes through the third point, drawing the skin together tightly.
A few moments pass and you think he’s given up. Then, he says, “I just don’t understand what the big deal is. Why can’t you answer the question?”
You clench your jaw, barely able to conceal your irritation. Shen shoots you a look, but then goes back to sewing.
“Cmon, really?” he continues.
“I have a boyfriend—is that what you so desperately want to hear?!” your voice is unexpectedly loud, and you immediately regret the outburst after it leaves your lips.
The girlfriend looks shocked—hurt, probably realizing that your connection with her boyfriend goes beyond a normal patient-nurse relationship. Your ex looks equal parts annoyed as he does satisfied with your outburst. Like he’d just proved some point in his head about how you weren’t all perfect.
Shen turns his head and says, “scissors.”
You hand him the utensil and he pulls the thread taut before snipping it.
Your ex lets out a short laugh. You cock a brow, worried that someone had slipped him something.
“I don’t believe you.”
You roll your eyes. “Good thing I don’t care if you do or don’t.”
Shen turns to you. “I can wrap up here if you need to step out.”
You’re already halfway out the door by the time he says this. You move quickly to the stairwell, passing concerned nurses and doctors as you do. Once you are out the door, you have to bend over to catch your breath. Pressing the palms of your hands hard against your eyes, you will yourself not to get upset.
Only he could get you that flustered with hardly a word. And you fell for his bait every single time. You lean against the wall and try to steady your breathing.
A few minutes pass. More than you are sure that Lena would allow. The doors to the stairwell open and you turn to the side, hoping the person there can take a hint.
Unfortunately, Jack is persistent.
He gently grabs your arm and pulls you to his side. You allow him, and the stress of the day flows out of you with your muffled tears. You cushion your head against his chest, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He strokes the top of your head while the other arm holds you just as tightly.
Once you’ve released all the emotion you can handle, you pull back a little, wiping your eyes. Jack doesn’t let you get far, keeping you close to his chest.
“Shen told me you were upset,” he says, “what’s going on?”
You sniffle, trying to look away. He gently guides your head back to meet his eyes with his thumb on your chin. His fingers slide up to cup your cheek and you melt into his grip. “Talk to me, love.”
A fresh set of tears escape your eyes at the sweetness of his voice. The caring, affectionate man in front of you was so much better than anyone you’d ever been with. It makes you feel silly for crying, silly for complaining.
“This morning, when my watch buzzed.” You hiccup. “It wasn’t a spam number. It was my ex-boyfriend.”
You watch Jack’s face carefully as you say this, trying to predict his next words before he says them. You thread your fingers in his scrubs, anchoring yourself to him.
“Then, he showed up as a patient. He intentionally hurt himself to see me. And he’s been rude and crass, sure, but that’s not even what bothers me the most.” You wipe your eyes with the palm of your hand, knowing you must look a mess. “I don’t want him back in my life. Never. He… just doesn’t belong here. It makes me sick thinking he’s trying to worm himself into my perfect life that I’ve built without him.”
You pause, taking a panicky breath in. “I don’t want him to come between us. I don’t want you to think… I don’t want you to think less of me because of him. I mean, I can’t believe I ever dated him. He’s awful.”
Jack strokes your cheek, letting you get it all out. When he’s sure you’re finished, he speaks.
“First of all,” he says, “I’m never going to judge you for people you no longer have in your life. If you chose to get rid of them, I know there’s a hell of a good reason. And, personally, I think you’re a great judge of character. I don’t want to hang out with someone you don’t like.” You avert your eyes bashfully, but Jack angles your head so you’re still looking at him.
“Secondly, don’t blame yourself for the choices of stupid people. Just because you once associated with him, doesn’t mean you still stand by his choices today,” he says. “I love you. I mean that. And that means I trust you, implicitly. I wouldn’t have tried to get in the way—well, let me rephrase that. If you weren’t in imminent trouble and I thought you had it handled, I wouldn’t intervene with your issues.”
You let out a soft laugh at that last part.
For a moment longer, the two of you stand there. He strokes your hair, you clutch his scrubs. Finally, you release him.
“I’ve got thirty more minutes left before the day shift inevitably arrives,” he says, “so, what do you want to do?”
You shake your head. “Honestly? I hope he disappears.” You push open the door with your hip. “But if he doesn’t, then I’ll let you know.”
You step into the buzzing ER and let out a deep breath. You start to head to the bathroom, when your eye gets caught on a figure quickly headed in the other direction. Her dark hair bounces against her back as she jogs away, her hand covering her face. The girlfriend. You imagine that their conversation didn’t go over well.
Your ex steps out after her, clutching his now-bandaged arm. He looks at her retreating back for a moment before he rolls his neck back, peeved. As he turns to go back in the room, he halts. Then his eyes lift and immediately lock onto yours.
A rehearsed grin spreads across his mouth. You turn your back, but he reaches you before you can push open the door to the bathroom.
He grabs your shoulder and you spin around, pushing him away disgustedly.
“Don’t ever touch me,” you say through gritted teeth.
“Woah, woah,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Easy there, tiger.”
He jumps in front of you when you go to push open the bathroom door.
“Hey, just listen to me.” His eyes are like a weasel’s, predatory and conniving. “Just let me say my piece.”
“I’m not interested,” you tell him. “What part of that can’t you get through your thick skull?”
“Is this about the cheating thing? Are you really still mad about that?”
“You really are oblivious, aren’t you?” You roll your eyes. “You can stick your dick in any hole you like. It’s none of my business. Why? Because we aren’t dating.”
You turn your back when you remember you have makeup wipes in your bag. But you can’t get far before a hand wraps around your wrist like steel. You don’t have a moment to think, your body reacts before your mind can. You turn and punch him squarely in the jaw.
He releases you immediately and lets out a loud groan, falling back against the bathroom door. He clutches his jaw with a fury in his eyes unlike you’ve ever seen.
“I said, don’t touch me, asswipe.”
He comes toward you, as if to retaliate, but then you feel an arm pushing you behind a sturdy body and your view is cut off.
“Who the hell are you?” your ex says, gesturing to Jack with a foul expression.
You look down at your hand and realize it’s bleeding. Your thumb might be sprained—you aren’t sure. It throbs painfully, but you can move it at least.
“I’m her boyfriend.” You peer around Jack’s shoulder and realize that your ex looks about ready to piss himself. “But that doesn’t matter. When someone asks for space, that’s when you back the fuck off.”
“—What’s going on here?” A voice cuts in. You turn your head to see Ahmad there, his hand resting on his holster.
You step forward. “Ahmad. Could you escort this patient out? He should be ready for discharge. I’ll fill out all the proper HR paperwork—this is all just a big mistake.”
“Hey, hey,” your ex says, waving his hand toward Ahmad, “I’m not taking the fall for this.”
Ahmad grabs your ex’s shoulder before he can reach out and grab you. You look back and see Jack and Shen are there, both willing to corroborate.
You look back at your ex. “It’s time to go. And don’t come back.”
“Unless you get seriously injured in the vicinity of our hospital, then you can—“ Shen starts to say, but Jack elbows him in the side.
Your ex stares at you for a full second. Then he turns his head. You think he’s given up, then he mutters a very clear, resounding bitch underneath his breath and Jack is stepping forward before you can stop him.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“Jack,” you call out.
Your ex looks at him square on. “She heard me.”
Jack clenches his fists. You reach forward to grab his shoulder. You look over at Ahmad, who then forcefully turns your ex around and leads him away.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say. “I’ve heard worse, believe it or not.”
“He can’t just…” he starts to say, then shakes his head.
“I love you,” you tell him softly. “And I’m okay.”
Shen gets drawn into an incoming trauma and hurries away. You clutch your still-bleeding hand to your chest, which draws Jack’s attention.
“Shit,” he curses. “Why didn’t you say you’ve never punched someone before? I could’ve done it.”
Your hand is still shaking as you follow him to an empty exam room. He opens the door and you shuffle in.
“It’s really not that bad,” you say, “it’s mostly the adrenaline making me shake.”
Jack keeps his back to you in the room, looking through cabinets quickly. You sigh.
“Really, Jack, I needed to punch him. For my own mental well-being. I’d be kicking myself later if I hadn’t,” you say with a soft laugh.
Jack retrieves some bandages and disinfectant. He takes a seat on a rolling stool in front of where you sit perched on an exam bed, swinging your feet back and forth. Jack gently grabs your hand and looks over your injuries.
“How are you so calm right now?” he asks, unfolding a disinfectant swab. “Your ex just verbally assaulted you in front of the entire ER floor.”
You hiss through your teeth as he dabs the swab against your torn knuckles. He gives you an apologetic look, but doesn’t let up.
“I’m sure I’ll start panicking later, once everything settles in.” You wince again as he wraps your knuckles.
“Can you move your thumb?”
You move it side to side, then up and down. Confusion washes over you as he inspects it. “How’d you know I hurt my thumb?”
He laughs. “I haven’t seen a fist that bad since I was sixteen. You can’t tuck your thumb inside your fist when you punch—you’re lucky you didn’t break it.”
You pout. “I thought I did good.”
He lets go of your thumb to cup your cheeks together in his palms. “I didn’t say it was terrible. You still packed a pretty mean hook.”
You can’t resist. You lean forward to give him a kiss. He returns it wholeheartedly, angling your head with his palm.
You pull away before it can devolve into something inappropriate for a hospital setting. He strokes the back of your neck even as you pull apart, his eyes soft and heavy-lidded.
“You better go brief the day shift,” you tell him, “I’m sure they’ve already heard plenty about your eventful night. You know Shen loves to gossip.”
He bites his lip and throws his head back with a groan. “God, all I want to do right now is go to sleep.”
“At least you don’t have to do HR paperwork with a hurt hand.”
“You got me there,” he says, gently tugging you to his side as he heads to the door. “You’re off tomorrow, right? Want to come over to my place?”
Please stop filling the ‘x reader’ tags (and smut/angst/fluff) with responses to your inbox
I’m searching for a fic, not your response to an ask.
it’s not x reader, it’s not a oneshot/blurb/chapter, so please don’t put it in the tag where people go to find fics.
I get that people may really love a fic of yours! and will send things in your inbox and you have every right to answer them and the praise is well deserved!
but I’m clicking on the tag to read fics, not to read the responses to your asks as if it’s an Instagram stories “ask me anything” question box…
I specifically avoid blogs where I see their inbox in tags more than I see their fics…
no hate to anyone! Please don’t take this as me hating on you or saying you should not respond to your inbox, you should! Just don’t do it in the ‘x reader’ (smut/fluff/angst) tag!
I acknowledge that this is hypocritical, as I’m using the tags im asking people not to use in posts that aren’t a fic - but I’m using them ONCE, to spread some awareness of me asking this, to the tags, some people may agree with me and agree it’s annoying and some may not.
Either way, this is ONE post, I won’t tag them again, so you can go back to browsing for things to read :)
Summary: Eddie Munson has become an Urban Legend: the Devil of Hawkins. You are new to town, but can’t seem to believe the rumors about the man that lives in the trailer across the street. Based on the song of the same title by Molly Frances.
Contains: agoraphobic!Eddie, shy!reader, rumors of Eddie being a serial killer, depictions of anxiety, panic and fear, Mostly Eddie's POV, mentions of alchol use and a knife, vague mentions of the upside down, mention of pepper spray
Series Masterlist
It took you a few days to start feeling better, but with each passing hour your guilt grew. You didn’t actually want Eddie out of your hair. You didn’t want him to feel like he was justified in his avoidance of you.
The first time you had left your house in almost 2 weeks was to leave a note on his doorstep. You knew he didn’t want to see you, and you wanted to respect his wishes, but you couldn’t go on thinking that he thought you agreed.
You did your best to write legibly. Your poor penmanship was something your father had made you feel embarrassed about, and you hated writing anything now. But this time it had to be done, and the embarrassment was worth it.
You snuck out your front door well after sundown. You knew the neighbors wouldn’t be out, and you could only assume that Eddie wouldn’t be coming outside either. You were quick to leave it on his doorstep, barely making a noise as you dropped it and ran back home.
You tried your best to stick to the out of sight out of mind mantra. Each time you worried about whether he had read it, if it had blown away, or any other related thought, you chose a new task around the trailer to distract yourself. You cleaned the entire trailer in less than 24 hours trying to distract your worried mind.
Eddie had seen the note first thing in the morning. It had been 3 days since he had seen you, and while there was no reason to think that the paper would be from you, he had hoped.
He held his unlit cigarette in his mouth as he unfolded the paper, only allowing himself a quick glance at your home across the way.
“Eddie,
I wanted to apologize for how I behaved when I was sick. I didn’t mean to be rude, I acted out of frustration. You don’t deserve that.
I know you won’t be coming around, I’ve accepted that. I just didn’t want you to think that that was what I wanted.
I hope you are doing well,
Y/n”
It was a very simple letter, barely taking up a quarter of the small sheet of paper you seemed to have ripped out of a composition notebook. Still, the words hit Eddie in the chest with the weight of a brick.
He could feel your resignation scribbled on the page, like the note was simply a sign that you had given up on him. Each time he re-examined your words, he grew more desperate for your attention.
Eddie wasn’t the kind of man to go back on his word, or admit when he was wrong. His father used to claim that meant he had a good head on his shoulders. Wayne called it prideful. He was inclined to take his uncle's word over his fathers. This instance had truly begun to show him just how hard of a habit that was to break. He could barely admit to himself that he still wanted you around.
He tried to remind himself of what had happened to you. He was never delivered the details of the night you ran for your life, but he knew that he never wanted it to happen again. Even as he reminded himself that he had gotten you into that mess, that he was the sole reason that you were now suffering, he still found himself watching your trailer through his window. He wanted to keep an eye out to be sure that you were ok. The number one thing he noticed was the lack of Steve. The same person he ran inside to call after he had finished his cigarette.
“How would you feel about going on another drive?” Eddie asked after a short greeting.
“Already? I thought you said it'd take you a few weeks to get the nerve up again,” Steve replied, sounding almost uninterested, but Eddie knew it was just because his attention was elsewhere.
“I know what I said, I just think it could do me some good. Maybe clear my head. And maybe you could help me talk through something,” he mumbled more as he continued, feeling just a little ashamed of needing the help.
Steve was silent for a moment, but eventually replied, “Can I bring Robin?”
Eddie agreed with a small smile. He had kind of hoped that Steve would bring her along. He could use the advice from more than one perspective.
Within the hour, Steve was outside his trailer with Robin in the passenger seat. Eddie ran out and opened the door to get in the back seat, but paused when he heard your front door creak open. He watched as you walked down the steps, struggling to carry the two large bags of trash in your hands. You could feel his gaze, and your attention snapped up to him. Your heart broke a little seeing him get into that car again, with both Steve and Robin this time. But not you.
You gave him a polite smile, but tore your eyes away so he couldn’t see the hurt in them. You turned your attention back to taking the trash bags to your bin. By the time you made it back to your front door, the car was already halfway up the road.
Awkward silence filled the air in Steve’s car. Neither he nor Robin were sure what to say or if they should even try to start the conversation. Eddie was sitting in the backseat, too distracted to even think about putting on his seatbelt, completely zoned out thinking about how you looked. The mat in your hair had been brushed out, and color had returned to your cheeks, but the deep dark circles under your eyes were only growing worse.
He finally spoke, breaking the silence as if he were unaware that it had been weighing heavy on the other passengers in the car. “Have you been over there to check on her since the other night?”
Steve’s eyes met Eddie’s in the rearview. “You mean since you asked me to leave?”
“Yeah.”
“No, you said you were going to keep an eye on her until she felt better. Have you not been back over?”
“Oh, right,” Eddie’s attention drifted off again, not answering the question. Robin let the dead air hang for a moment before she turned around in her seat to face Eddie. “You like her don’t you?” She didn’t say it in a teasing voice, it came out soft and sweet, but it still made Eddie feel a little sick.
“What?”
“Oh, is that not something we’ve admitted to ourselves yet?”
He looked at her for a moment, jaw tense, before he averted his gaze out the window again. He wouldn’t notice until later, but this was the most normal he had felt outside of the house since before he had been accused of killing Chrissy. His mind was too distracted by caring about you, he forgot to be afraid, and instead for a fleeting moment he found himself enjoying the passing scenery through the window.
“Even if I did, it wouldn't matter. She asked me to leave like an hour after Harrington left, and she didn’t seem too happy that I had shown my face.”
“Ok, wait, I’m not a hundred percent caught up here. Was this after the whole Hunter thing?”
Steve slapped her arm, with a sharp whisper of her name, and she instantly knew she had said too much. She mouthed a silent sorry to him before returning her gaze to Eddie’s confused expression, the same one Steve was looking at in the rearview. He knew that it was too late, Robin had already said too much, so it wouldn't do any harm to explain just a little more.
“That’s who… chased her the other night,” Steve thought through every word as he spoke, keeping an eye on Eddie’s face as he thought it over. His expression changed from confused to enraged as the revelation settled in.
“You mean that blonde stringbean that used to follow Jason around like a lost puppy?”
“Yeah,” Steve sighed, returning his gaze to the road, “He’s a regular at her work, and I may or may not have seen him flirting with her like a week before he did it.”
“Wait, what?” Eddie’s question was softer this time, filled with hurt. Steve found himself glad that he had stopped watching him in the rearview, not wanting to see him this upset.
“It’s not like she was interested, but I think he was under the impression that she was. You know dudes like that, they just assume they can have anyone they want.”
“Sound like someone I know,” Robin snickered, which earned her another swift slap on her shoulder.
“If he was into her then why did he…” Eddie trailed off, finding it hard to finish the sentence.
“He asked if she was getting sweet on you. And she stood up for you believe it or not,” Steve smiled for a moment and returned his gaze to the mirror. His smile grew an inch when he saw Eddie’s eyes softening.
“Yeah well she shouldn’t have. And I bet she would have thought twice if she knew he had a fucking knife on him.”
“He bought it from her,” Steve scoffed, and watched as Eddie’s eye grew in shock, “She knew damn well that he had it. And she knew that he had just downed an entire six pack while waiting for her. DIdn’t stop her from insisting that you were innocent.”
“Why would she do that,” Eddie asked. It was rhetorical and just above a whisper, but they heard it. Steve and Robin shared an eye roll before looking back at him. If he was too dumb to see it, he would be too stubborn to accept them telling him. But all three of them knew why you had done it.
The silence settled again, but it was a little less uncomfortable this time. Robin turned back around after a minute, facing the road again.
Steve pulled the car over near a little cove of trees. It was the same place he had taken Eddie a week prior. They all exited the car in silence. Eddie took a deep breath when the sounds of nature hit him again. He had spent more of his life out of the trailer than in it, but he worried he would never get used to the sounds of the birds or the smell of the foliage again.
He followed his friends to the back of the car and jumped up to sit on the trunk while they leaned against it.
“She left me a note on my doorstep,” he began, speaking low and fiddling with the rings on his fingers, “I… I think I really fucked up.”
“What did it say,” Robin pried gently.
“It felt like the kind of apology note your parents make you write when they catch you doing something mean to your friends.”
“You have a lot of experience with those?” Steve joked, but it wasn’t met with laughter.
“She said she had accepted that I didn’t want to be around her anymore, but she didn’t want me thinking that’s what she wanted.”
“Why does she think you don’t wanna be around her anymore?” Robin asked, clearly confused.
“Because he told her that,” Steve muttered. Robin shot Eddie an incredulous look and he answered it with a guilty expression.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Well have you considered apologizing too? Sounds like she’d really appreciate it,” Robin scoffed.
“No, I don’t know. I mean I… I don’t know if I made the right choice.”
“Like in making her think you hate her? Doesn’t sound like the best choice to me.”
“She doesn’t think I hate her,” he defended, but lost his steam immediately.
“If I were her I’d think you did. I mean she put a lot on the line sticking up for you, and you decide to return the favor by cutting her off?”
“But I went back over there, I tried to take care of her when she was sick, and she kicked me out.”
“Did you explain anything to her, or apologize, or even attempt to have a conversation? Or did you just show up like nothing happened?” Robin asked, and Eddie’s silence was enough of an answer. “Men really are idiots.”
“Ok, fine, so what do I do now?”
“That’s up to you Eddie,” Robin’s harsh tone softened, “If you really want her out of your life you have to stick to it.” She paused to let him soak up her words, and from the sad, panicked look in his eyes, she knew that wasn’t what he wanted. She just wasn’t sure if he had figured that out yet.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ve gotta talk to her,” She offered him a sympathetic smile.
“How am I supposed to know,” he asked in a hushed tone, as if he were trying to cut Steve out of the conversation.
“Know what?”
“What I’m supposed to choose.” His voice came out choked, as if he were trying to hold back tears that hadn’t quite made their ways to his eyes yet. Robin gave Steve a pleading look, and he took the cue to make his way back inside the car.
“Eddie, do you really like her?”
“I don’t know,” he dragged a stressed hand down his face, “I… I wasn’t really allowing myself to think that far ahead. I just,” he paused and finally looked up to truly face his friend, “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“You can’t protect her from everything. And it’s not like the path you were heading down wasn’t hurting her already.”
Eddie sighed, trying to urge his lungs to allow air to fill them completely. “It’s my fault Hunter almost killed her. She got lucky that he didn’t-”
“He could have done the same thing even if she had never met you. Maybe he just has a fragile ego. And the rest of us have gotten ‘lucky’ at least 4 times since this all started. Never thought normal humans would be just as scary as some of the shit we had to deal with down there,” she laughed bitterly, “But not a single one of us doesn’t want to be your friend anymore. We all stuck around and you learned how to let us. You can do the same with her.”
“But Robin,” he pleaded, in almost a whine, “She’s not like us. She didn’t have to go through the shit we did. That was probably the scariest thing that has ever happened to her, and it was because of me.”
“Interdimensional beings or not, sometimes you just have to do scary things for the people you love.”
Eddie took a minute to soak her statement in, sorrow written all over his face. He gave her a quick nod before he jumped off of the trunk and went back to the back seat.
The drive back home was nearly silent, the low hum of the radio was the only noise. Steve and Robin shared one knowing glance as they approached the trailer to drop Eddie off. He barely said a word as he bid them goodbye. Before he could shut the car door, he leaned down to speak again as if he had almost forgotten something.
“Hey Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you be willing to get her some pepper spray?”
“I don’t even know where I would get that.”
“I do,” Robin chimed in, “He’ll drop it off tomorrow.”
She gave Eddie an encouraging smile as he thanked them and shut the door. They watched him walk back up his steps and into his home with sagged shoulders.
“So he’s like majorly in love with her right?” Robin tried not to crack a smile.
“Oh totally,” Steve chuckled. They smiled at each other for a brief moment before wiping it from their faces in shared recognition of how shitty of a situation he was still in. They wanted nothing but happiness for him, and it was hard to see him come so close and still try to push it away.
Sure enough, the next morning there was a knock at your front door. You had hoped it would be Eddie, that he would go back on his word and show up for literally any reason. Steve could see the way your shoulders dropped when you saw it was him, but the polite smile never left your face. He thought it was better to not acknowledge it.
“Delivery,” he smiled and stepped through your threshold. He took note at the unhurried pace of you shutting it behind him. You didn’t feel the urge to check behind him before letting him in, didn’t have the fear in your eyes that someone else would be entering.
“You already bought me groceries, which I haven’t had the chance to thank you for yet. You really don’t need to bring me anything else,” the polite smile on your face felt plastic as you spoke sweetly. Steve understood the metaphor Eddie had used to describe your note, he could feel it in how you were speaking. It was like your father was standing over your shoulder, making sure you hadn’t said anything rude.
“Well it’s not groceries,” he laughed nervously. You shot a confused glance down to the bag in his hands. Before you could ask what it was, he handed it over. You were nervous to pull whatever it was out, especially with the strange expression on his face.
You reached a hand inside slowly and pulled out the cylindrical canister. Your jaw dropped in both shock and amusement.
“You brought me pepper spray?” You laughed out loud.
“In my defense it wasn’t exactly my idea.”
“Whose then?”
He didn’t reply, just jerked his head in the direction of the trailer across the street. When the realization dawned on you, the smile slowly faded from your face.
“Right. I saw you guys getting in the car yesterday, is that what you were doing?”
You tried to mask the hurt from your voice, but it seeped through.
“No, I’ve just been taking him on drives. Figure it’s better than trying to jump back into public again, and far better than letting him rot over there for another year.”
“Oh,” you squeaked, “That’s actually genius. Is he… doing well?”
You meant with the drives, hoping to know if they were helping his nerves or making them worse. But part of you meant exactly what you said, you just wanted to know if he was generally ok. You wanted to hear it from him, but Steve as your proxy had to be good enough.
“Well enough,” Steve offered an awkward smile.
“Do you know if he got my letter,” you asked barely above a whisper. You weren’t able to look him in the eye as you awaited his response, resembling a scorned toddler.
“What letter?”
“Oh, uh, nothing. Just wanted to know if he saw it or if it blew away.”
“Didn’t put it in the mailbox?”
“Well now that you say that I realize that was probably a much better idea,” you let out a small halfhearted laugh.
“Look, I know he’s kinda being an ass right now-”
“No, he’s not,” you cut him off, “I get it. And we don’t have to pretend like he has no reason to freak out like this. He’s not an ass.”
Steve fought off the smile that was forcing its way to his face. You had every reason to be angry with Eddie, and he knew that there was a period where you were, but you seemed to have gotten over it quite fast. He found humor in hearing you stick up for him like you were an older sibling saying “I can pick on him but you can’t”.
“Right, I’m sorry,” his smile slipped out just barely, “Not an ass, but also not treating you well right now. Both can be true. But maybe… try to give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.”
His intention was pure, he meant to reassure you that this wasn’t forever. But you sensed deceit. You both knew that Eddie had told Steve about the letter, and while he just wanted to avoid playing middle man, you thought that Eddie had doubled down in privacy and Steve was trying to let you down easy.
“Sure,” you smiled up at him, “Thanks for bringing this over.”
“Of course, hopefully it’ll help you feel a little better about going back to work.”
“About that,” your brows furrowed before you turned away to find a place to store the spray.
“Everything ok?”
“I kinda quit yesterday.”
You spoke quietly, and he asked you to repeat yourself twice before he finally caught it. He understood why you would do it, but it still broke his heart to know that you felt so afraid of returning that you’d rather never go back at all.
“I’m sorry,” he gave a mournful smile as you caught sight of him in your periphery, “Well if you need help finding a new gig, let me know. Robin and I are no strangers to job hopping.”
“Thanks, I’ll let you know.”
You bid him goodbye with a polite smile, and though it was filled with your usual warmth, it made him feel uneasy. Something about you seemed to have shifted since the last time he had seen you, and he worried you were heading down the same sad road as Eddie. But you were lacking the same support system. All he could do was hope that Eddie would rush to his senses and help you get back on track as well.
Summary: Eddie Munson has become an Urban Legend: the Devil of Hawkins. You are new to town, but can’t seem to believe the rumors about the man that lives in the trailer across the street. Based on the song of the same title by Molly Frances.
Contains: agoraphobic!Eddie, shy!reader, rumors of Eddie being a serial killer, depictions of anxiety, panic and fear, fever, delirium, vomitting, use of medication, brief mentions of and allusions to overdosing
Series Masterlist
Steve returned to your trailer with your purse and keys, and you could barely say a word to him.
He brought your car back the next day, with the help of Robin. You still barely acknowledged their presence.
Days blurred together, time lost all meaning, and you were stuck drifting in and out of consciousness on your couch while old movies and sitcoms played quietly in the background. You weren’t sure what trauma your brain was attempting to process: the fear of running for your life or the loss of one of the first people you had felt safe around since your childhood. One should have been obviously worse than the other, but the one two punch had knocked you off your feet and hindered your ability to think critically.
You found yourself wistfully staring out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man you were missing. You would catch the occasional glimpse of him stepping out to smoke, but never much more than that. Until Wednesday.
You watched Steve’s car pull up to the trailer across the street, and part of your heart left with it after you watched Eddie get in the passenger seat.
You should have been glad that he was still making an effort to get out there, should have been proud that he was working so hard. But you allowed the selfish voice in the back of your head to win, and chose to close your blinds so you wouldn’t be tempted to see him again.
Time passed, but you were unsure of how long it had been. You lost track of the amount of times you had called home, unsure if you were hitting the daily quota or overshooting. You lost track of the amount of times Steve had come to your door, with or without a friend in tow. You had never answered anyway.
The closest you had gotten to understanding how long it had been was when your manager called you again to ask when you would be coming back. Though he was less caring this time, much closer to the personality you were used to, he still agreed to give you another week off.
You considered quitting. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to go back there. The fear of it happening again was intense, but what was worse was the ache in your heart knowing that it was no longer worth it.
Steve began to worry around day 3 of you not answering the door. The sound of your TV playing inside mixed with the fact that your car hadn’t seemed to move since he had dropped it off just assured him that you were going down an all too familiar road. By day 5 you had shuttered the windows, adding sunlight to the list of things you were depriving yourself of.
You were second on the list of friends that Steve had taken it upon himself to buy groceries for. He held onto a lot of guilt from his late teens, guilt over things you would never believe if he were to tell you. And while neither you or Eddie’s fates were part of that long list, he still felt he could let just a little part of it go by being of help. And he figured it was a good use of the line of credit his dad had opened for him after he had graduated.
He left a few non-perishables on your doorstep on Tuesday afternoon after knocking for a few minutes with no answer. When he dropped by to pick up Eddie the next day, at Eddie’s request, it was still there. He checked back for the next two days and tried to knock on the door again, but you still never answered.
He considered using the spare key you had lent him. Each passing day, as the concern festered, he grew closer to breaking and entering. Deep down, he knew that it wouldn’t help. He knew that if any unwelcome guest were to step through that door, it had to be Eddie. Not only because he was the only person you’d want to see, which was only a suspicion on Steve’s part, but it was because he knew that Eddie had to be the one to help you just as you had helped him.
When Steve would usually drop off groceries to Eddie, someone else would tag along. More often than not it was Dustin, the same boy who had spent weeks travelling to and from the hospital with Steve to reassure himself that Eddie was still breathing. He suspected they both still needed the reassurance, even long after he had been discharged. This week, Steve showed up alone.
Eddie noticed the lack of sidekick the second he opened the door, but didn’t think much of it at first. It wasn’t until he realized that Steve had brought double the groceries, and saw the guilty smile, that he realized.
“Don’t even ask, I’m not going over there.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” Steve tried to defend.
“So you’re not about to try to get me to bring half of these bags over to y/n?”
In lieu of a reply, Steve scrunched his face in preparation and slid the spare key across the counter towards Eddie.
“Absolutely not.”
“Eddie, please-”
“No! I already told you I’m not talking to her anymore. It’s better for everyone.”
“Everyone? Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem too great for her. She won’t answer the phone or her front door, and I don’t think she’s left her trailer since she talked to you.”
“Doesn’t matter. Depressed is better than dead.”
Eddie shut down the conversation by beginning to put his groceries away, but Steve had nothing more to say anyway. He couldn’t believe how callous Eddie was being, and he wasn’t having it.
“Fine, be like that. But if you don’t get over yourself and go over there, she’s just gonna starve to death.”
“Steve just go drop them off, it’s not that hard.”
“It is actually. I tried already and she didn’t come to the door. I left some on her doorstep and they’re still sitting out there.”
“So why don’t you use the key you just left on my counter?”
Steve considered explaining for a second, but he knew that no matter what he said, Eddie would have another excuse. This wasn’t a fight he could win. So instead, he left.
“Bye Eddie,” he gave the other boy a harsh smile and walked out the door. Eddie called after him, even followed him out the door. But Steve was faster, and he had already put his car in reverse before Eddie could fully process the circumstance Steve had left him in.
He let out a heavy frustrated sigh before heading back inside. He slammed his cupboards as he put his groceries away. If Wayne were there he would have complained that Eddie was going to break the hinges.
He sat in his living room in complete silence for two hours. He tried to come up with another plan, some other way to keep the promise he had made to himself. He considered calling Robin, Nancy, Dustin or literally anyone else who would answer the phone. He knew Steve had probably beat him to the punch though. He considered knocking and leaving it on your doorstep, but if you hadn’t grabbed what Steve had left you, there was a slim chance you’d do it this time.
Sure, he was worried sick about you. He was terrified that he had already ruined your life by putting you through whatever had happened that night. He worried that you shutting Steve out was just the beginning of the end. But he couldn’t convince himself that going over there would do either of you any good.
He finally got off of the couch when he realized that the sun had gone down and not a single light had come on in your trailer. The thought of you sitting alone in the dark, shutting out the rest of the world, broke his heart more than he was able to deal with.
He gathered the bags from his counter in one hand, and grabbed the spare key in the other. He had to take mental note of his breathing as he walked over, trying to convince himself that this was still a bad idea. Part of him had been craving seeing you again, but he hadn’t let it get very loud. He had been trying to gaslight himself into believing that he could be fine never seeing you again, never hearing your voice or being the reason you smile.
He had to take a deep breath before he knocked, fist hovering in front of the door as he tried to gather a nonchalant composure. Four knocks sounded, then a pause. It was silent inside, not so much as a scurry towards the window to see who was at the door. Another four knocks, a little louder this time. Nothing.
He checked over his shoulder to make sure your car had truly been there the entire time, that you weren’t just out of the house. Sure enough, it was parked exactly where Steve had left it over a week ago. Leaves had gathered on the hood and around the tires, piles not quite as large as the ones around Eddie’s van, but they were getting close to competing.
Four more knocks, this time as hard as his fist would allow before injury. He sighed when there was no response. Using the key without your permission felt like a violation of trust or privacy or both. But he didn’t have another option, and he was finally beginning to admit to himself that he was concerned for you.
He clumsily unlocked and opened the door, trying to juggle the heavy grocery bags between hands to get it open.
“Don’t shoot, it’s just me,” He called out, wincing at how stupid he sounded. Even if you knew who was entering your home, he was probably pretty low on the list of people you would want it to be.
His stomach sank when there was no response. No annoyed voice telling him to go away. No getting out of bed to scold him for disturbing your sleep. Nothing.
“Y/n?” He called out again to the dark and seemingly empty trailer. The echo off of the walls felt like adding insult to injury. He stepped inside and tried to look around, but it was pitch black. He did his best to feel his way to your kitchen counter and set down the groceries, before he felt along the walls to turn on the light.
He finally let out a sigh of relief when the room lit up, revealing your sleeping body on the couch. You were covered with a couple blankets, hair lightly matted and on full display with your face nearly smushed against the back rest. He called your name one more time, a bit louder now that the front door was closed and it felt like no one else could hear him. You didn’t so much as stir. His instinct to stay away from you was superseded by the new fear that your unresponsiveness was causing.
“Y/n,” he pleaded as he kneeled down to shake you. When you didn’t move, he felt that his own life was flashing before his eyes. He suddenly felt like an idiot for fighting Steve on coming over here. He tried again, more urgent this time, calling your name and guiding your shoulder back so your face would turn to him.
Finally, you left out a soft moan. If the room hadn’t been completely silent he may have missed it, but he had been desperately searching for any sign of life.
“Hey, come on, wake up,” he shook you one more time before gently tapping your cheeks. They were burning up.
“Go away Steve,” you groaned quietly, trying to turn back away from him to face the couch again. Your eyes never opened.
“Not Steve. Turn back to me Sweetheart.” He gently guided you to lay on your back, and rested a wrist on your forehead. “Jesus Christ, you’re burning up.”
“Eddie?” Your eyes finally cracked open, squinting in an attempt to adjust to the light that you couldn’t remember turning on.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he hated the awkward tension that he had created, but you didn’t seem to be feeling it at all. In fact, you seemed to barely be aware of anything at all.
“I don’t feel good,” you whined, squeezing your eyes shut again to hide from the light and the splitting headache it was giving you. He could hear the hoarseness of your voice this time.
He hated to admit that he was relieved. You may have been miserable, but for a second he had felt the fear that he would have turned your body over just to realize it was lifeless. Anything was better than that.
“You have a pretty high fever. Have you taken anything for it?”
You only groaned in response. He tried to stir you awake again, but you just groaned louder. He took it upon himself to check your medicine cabinets in search of tylenol, and possibly a thermometer. He returned to wake you again after he had successfully found both and filled a cup of water for you.
“Open your mouth,” he instructed, hovering over you in wait. He had to be sure your fever wasn’t high enough to need to go to the ER.
“‘M not hungry,” you mumbled, face pressed firmly against the arm rest of the couch.
“No, come on,” he chuckled as he guided your chin towards him and placed the thermometer under your tongue. He had to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t try to swallow it.
“102,” he sighed as he took the probe from your mouth, “You gotta take some pills for me, Ok?”
You moaned in reply yet again, but he wasn’t going to relent. He helped you sit up and guided you to take a drink to swallow the pills he had found for you. “How about we get you to bed?”
You nodded with a little pout, and it nearly melted his heart. He considered just scooping you up to carry you to your bedroom, but the narrow hallway was just asking for a harsh bonk to your head. He helped you to your feet, wrapped your blanket around your shoulders, and led you down the hall. You collapsed into the bed the second it was in front of you, and he let out an audible laugh.
“Ok, no, come on,” he took the blanket from you despite your weak protest. He then brought the comforter to lay properly over you, and made sure your head was laying on a pillow. He guided your chin to look at him one last time, pleading with you to open your eyes for just a moment.
“I’m going to stay on the couch ok? And I’m going to have Steve bring you a few things. If you need anything you just yell or come right out there. Ok?”
You smiled at him and nodded, but quickly turned your head and fell right back asleep.
Eddie made his way back out to your living room and towards your phone. He knew he was owed an earful from Steve. All that effort avoiding you just to have him staying on your couch nursing you back to health. But he promised himself that the second you were better, he was going to go right back to keeping his distance.
“Hey, it’s me,” Eddie sighed when Steve finally answered the phone.
“Calling me isn’t going to change my mind. You better go over there, Munson.”
“Yeah, actually that's the thing. I’m over here right now and she’s sicker than a dog. I took her temperature and it’s just over 102, and she's like barely able to form a sentence. Any chance you could bring her some like Nyquil, tissues, soup, that kind of shit?”
“Yeah,” he could hear Steve’s shit eating grin even through the phone, “You still going to be over there in like an hour? I’ll just drop by.”
“Yeah, I’ll be here. But I just wanna make it clear, Steve, I’m only staying here because she’s knocking on death’s door. The second she’s feeling better, she’s your responsibility again.”
“Whatever, Munson. See you in an hour.”
Eddie waited in your trailer for a full hour, anxiety only rising as Steve's appearance grew nearer. He was worried he would knock too loud and wake you. As he was actively trying to listen for Steve’s car so he could beat him to the door, he heard you shuffle out of bed. He turned his attention towards your bedroom for a second, just in time to see you run into the bathroom. Eddie didn’t consider himself squeamish, but the sounds of you violently vomiting nearly had him doing the same. Though his stomach had already been in knots before you woke.
He rushed to the bathroom after you, quick to grab your hair and clear it from your face. You didn’t look back at who was there beside you, just let the reassuring strokes of his hand on your back do all the talking. You let out a little broken sob between heaves and Eddie had to steel himself to not gather you up in his arms.
“It’s ok, sweetheart,” he whispered as he guided you to sit back against the cold tile of your bath. You were barely dry heaving now. “Stay here.”
He grabbed a clean hand towel and rushed to run it under cold water. He turned back to you and rested the damp cloth over your forehead.
“Feeling any better?”
You were back to moaning in response, still evidently miserable. Before Eddie could try to rouse a single word from you, the knock he had been expecting sounded at the front door.
“Stay right here, ok?” He waited a second for you to acknowledge him, thumb mindlessly wiping a few drops of water that had made their way down your temples. You continued to not recognize that he had even spoken, so he stepped out of the room to let Steve in.
Steve could both hear and see the distress pouring out of Eddie. In any other circumstance he would do his best to reassure him, but this time he tried not to smile. He gained amusement from seeing Eddie so worried about you despite his insistence that you were better off without him, and he supposed he deserved it after what he was putting you through.
“I’m going to go help her back to bed, you can just leave that all on the counter.”
“Sure you don’t want me to do it?” Steve tried to hide his devious smirk.
“Oh, sure,” Eddie’s brow furrowed only for a second, unable to come up with an excuse to be the one to help you.
Steve tried not to laugh as he left Eddie to be the one to pull your groceries out of the bag. His smile only fell when his eyes landed on you, curled into yourself and barely holding yourself upright against the tub.
“Hey,” he kneeled down and grabbed your hands from your sides, “Lets get you up.”
You didn’t respond, but you followed his guiding movements and stood. He did his best to keep you upright as you made your way back to the bed. He tucked you in, a little more haphazardly than Eddie had, but you were still out before he left the room.
“Damn, you were right,” Steve sounded nearly as stressed as Eddie now, “She really is on her deathbed in there.”
“Yeah,” Eddie paused, not knowing how to address the elephant in the room. This wasn’t the first time he had insisted you stay away from each other, especially to Steve. He was starting to feel like the boy who cried wolf. He hated to admit that he himself was starting to lose faith that he was capable of staying away. But how much you mattered to him, how much he cared about your wellbeing, that was exactly why you needed the distance.
“When’s the last time you slept?” Steve asked, entering the kitchen to finish putting away groceries with Eddie. You were going to have a field day reorganizing your cupboards when you felt better.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Why does it matter?” Eddie shot around to face Steve, tired of being on the receiving end of his criticism.
“I’m just trying to check in on you. You look exhausted.”
“Yeah well I just had to listen to her puke her guts out and I kind of thought she was dead when I walked in, so excuse me for being a little stressed.”
“Ok, Jesus.”
“You should go.”
“Eddie-”
“No, Harrington. I… I just need to know she’s ok. I know I’m being selfish and I know I’m a fucking idiot. I don’t need to hear it from anyone else,” Eddie nearly exploded, but he was still able to keep his voice to a minimum to avoid waking you.
“I never said you were an idiot.”
“Yeah, well you didn’t have to,” he sighed in defeat. He walked back to the living room and slumped onto the couch, too ashamed to return Steve’s burning gaze..
“I just don’t get why you’re doing this to yourself. Sure, I disagree with your entire thought process here, but if you’re going to insist on not being around her, why are you here?”
“Like I said, I just need to make sure she’s ok.”
“You haven’t had any problem with making that my responsibility so far. So why is it yours now?”
He knew the answer, he just needed Eddie to admit it to himself.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should just go,” he groaned and rubbed a stressed hand down his face.
“That’s not the answer anyone is looking for. I know she wants you here, and you sure as Hell wanna be here too. I just don’t understand why you can’t just let it happen.”
“And I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Fine, whatever. I’ve had a long day, I’m going home. Just… make sure she doesn’t like aspirate in her sleep or whatever.”
“Is that something I actually need to worry about?” Eddie’s eyes shot up to him, but Steve didn’t reply.
He sat on your couch for half an hour in complete silence yet again. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with himself. He considered turning on the television for some much needed distraction, but he worried the noise would disturb you. After another twenty minutes of sanitizing surfaces in your living room and rummaging around in search of a spare blanket, he finally gave in. He lowered the volume as much as he could while still keeping it audible, knowing full well there was no way he was going to be able to sleep in the silence. He was already going to be struggling with being in a foreign room, especially knowing that someone else was just down the hall.
He stared at the ceiling with the lights shut off, trying to convince himself he was safe. It wasn’t this hard to fall asleep last time. It had nearly been an accident, with you on the other end of the couch, curled up with your feet nearly touching his. It had been one of the first times that he had felt that safe around another person since he had become the Devil of Hawkins. How he felt now was a stark contrast.
He was too caught up in thinking about that night to hear you stir awake. You found the blanket that had been wrapped around you earlier that day, discarded at the foot of the bed, and swaddled yourself in it again. You heard the TV in the living room, and couldn’t remember having turned it on, but your memory had been foggy for a day or two.
The second you had felt the tickle in your throat, you knew this would happen. Sure enough, by the next day, the fever had already begun to set in. You called home to let your mother know you were ill, she understood how scatterbrained you were about to become. You were grateful to be temporarily relieved of your duty to report back home, even considered faking this more often just to have a few days of normalcy.
Your head felt like it had been bashed into a wall, your sinuses were barely open, and your throat felt raw. The rest of your body was afflicted by a dull ache, barely noticeable in moments and hard to ignore in others. You made a mental note that you needed to check your medicine cabinet for some pills, unsure if you had restocked before last week.
The last thing you were expecting was the figure on your couch. You let out a gravelly scream, which only made your throat burn worse, but you weren’t focused on the pain. You shot a hand out to turn the light on, hoping that this was just another cruel trick from your imagination. What you weren’t expecting was Eddie, sitting up on his forearms, wide eyed.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, giving you a confused once over.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” You didn’t sound mad, just confused, maybe a little bit concerned.
“I told you I would be out here,” he furrowed his brow, thinking back to the way your hazy eyes had acknowledged him before drifting off to sleep.
“What? No you absolutely did not.”
“Yeah, I did. Right after I helped you to bed. Not long before you puked your guts out in the bathroom.”
You tried to think back. You didn’t remember getting into bed, the only foggy memory of the day was puking. You remembered how it burned your already raw throat. But you couldn’t remember anyone else being there, you were barely there.
“Sorry, I don’t remember,” you sniffled, discomfort suddenly hitting you like a bus again, “I get like that when I have a fever sometimes.”
“Amnesic?”
“Little bit,” you shrugged, trying to avoid looking in his direction. You couldn’t even begin to imagine why he was there. One of the last things you did remember was being heartbroken over him no longer wanting to be near you.
In your effort to avoid him, you noticed all the items still resting on your counter. “What are those?”
“Groceries from Steve. He brought some extra stuff to help you feel better.”
“Did he happen to bring anything that will make this headache go away?”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t take any. I gave you some not that long ago, you aren’t due for more for like another,” he drew out the syllable as he craned his neck to check the clock in your kitchen, “2 hours. Sorry.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember taking it.”
“You know, you gotta be careful with that stuff. Might be over the counter, but you can still overdose on that shit.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware,” there was a pregnant pause in conversation as he stared at you with sad knowing eyes, “Eddie, what are you doing here?”
He sighed, unsure of what he was supposed to say. “You wouldn’t answer the door for Steve, so he thought I’d have better luck I guess.”
“And why have you set up camp on my couch?”
“I wanted to make sure you were ok. You weren’t exactly coherent when I got here.”
“I thought you weren’t going to come around anymore.”
He didn’t think your voice could hold any more discomfort, didn’t think it had the capacity to sound any more strained. But that sentence sounded like you were speaking around shards, tearing you apart from the inside out. If he hadn’t already been consumed by guilt, that would have got him.
“I know, I’m sorry.” He looked like a kicked puppy. It wasn’t fair how much your heart wanted you to cross the room to comfort him.
“How did you even get in? I’ve checked the lock on that door maybe 100 times this week.”
He reached into his pocket and shamefully pulled out the spare key to present to you. You rolled your eyes and finally crossed the room, just to snatch it out of his hand.
“I’ll take that back.”
“I’m sorry. We were just really worried about you.”
“Ok,” that was all you had the energy to say. Fighting was hard for you to do on a good day. All of the things you’d like to say would get caught in your throat and replaced by a polite little statement tied up all pretty in a bow. No one could properly tell you were angry until you hit an exploding point. You felt yourself nearing it, but the ache in your bones wouldn’t let you combust.
Eddie found no solace in your quiet discomfort. He was used to the explosion. Not just with words, but with throwing objects and fists. Passive aggression was a foreign concept to him, and it felt worse than any physical damage you could have dealt him.
“Do you want me to leave?” He was hesitant to ask, unsure if he should even give you the option.
“Kind of,” you answered quickly, standing near the front door now. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again, to see the surprise written plainly on his face. The last thing he had expected was for you to exile him so easily.
“Oh… Yeah ok. I’m sorry,” he quickly got off the couch, “Uhm, there’s a bunch of groceries in the fridge and in your cupboards. I left all the stuff you’d probably need right away on the counter though.”
“I’ve got it, Eddie.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? Just to make sure you stay on schedule with your medicine?”
“I think I can handle it.”
You sounded cold, calloused, and he hated it. He had done this to himself, he should have felt relieved that you seemed to be fine without him. But as much as he would insist that this was what he wanted, it was never what he truly desired.
“Just… Will you please just let Steve keep an eye on you?”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
“Right,” he smiled nervously, “You do need community though. Locking yourself away like this isn’t going to do you any good.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Y/n-”
“No, Eddie, I’m tired of you preaching to me how I need to handle myself when you can’t seem to do the same. I really don’t need the advice from someone who apparently no longer has any interest in being in my life anyway.”
He stood in shock for a moment, not used to hearing your tone so mean. He understood your anger, and he felt he deserved it, but it was just a shock to hear anything but your sweet voice leave your lips.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll stay out of your hair from now on.”
The second he walked through the front door, you both paused on opposite sides. You couldn’t help the loud sob from escaping you, it had been clawing its way up your throat for the entire conversation, begging to be known. Eddie could hear it from his place on your doorstep. He considered turning around, bursting through the door to apologize and hold you. He wanted to take back everything he had said, everything he had done.
Leaving your trailer, he knew one thing. He had to decide if he had been wrong the whole time.
Part 12
A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I had a lot of shit going on and really needed the break! 3 parts left after this and I am hoping to keep to the weekly schedule again!
summary: jack abbot is a big fan of calling people pet names. it drives you nuts.
pairing: jack abbot x resident!reader
tags: afab reader, pet names [sweetheart, best girl], jack abbot being a cocky flirt, r has a huge crush on him
word count: 0.9k
notes: for all of those that were victims of workplace crushes <3
Doctors are not nice. Never have been, never will be. Even your professors in medical school had been made of stone, steel-faced and stubborn, refusing to let even a slight slipup happen without any consequence. It was excusable, the behavior of doctors, due to what they saw everyday and what they held in their hands. You have felt yourself becoming thicker-skinned as you’ve spent your years inside of the emergency department, an unmovable object in the unfair windstorm of life.
But Jack Abbot is not mean. He is not unfair or harsh. He is empathetic and gentle despite the consistent pressure always put on his shoulders. It’s jarring, compared to all of your other mentors. Dr. Robby, who will scold you until his face turns red beneath that beard and scruff, or the residents that have inherited their attitudes from him.
It’s only human nature, the fact that you find yourself so drawn to Abbot. Beneath the cool demeanor you keep, you’re just a being of nerves and flesh and blood and synapses, all willing to work on their own without your help. The drastic difference between how others treated those beneath them and Abbot was enough to get your stomach churning and heart racing, as much as you passed it off as a stupid workplace crush.
The worst part was that he couldn’t keep his nicknames to himself.
“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks as he steps beside you, a respectful amount of inches away as he glances at the patient board you’ve been so adamantly focused on for the past few minutes. “You’ve been standing here for a while.”
The name settles deep in your gut, an uncomfortable feeling that makes you fidgety. Your thumb drums against the counter as you pass the most nonchalant look you can summon over at him, lips pulling into a tight smile. “Fine. Just dozed off a little bit.”
Jack’s gaze travels over you like he’s trying to find something physically wrong, taking in the way you jut out your hips to take some pressure off of your back. He reaches out to press his hand into the small of your back, nudging you to sit up straight again. “Go take a break. Sit down and rest your feet for a moment, get a snack and a cup of coffee, come back your best self.”
“No, Dr. Abbot, really,” you argue. A hand raises defensively while the other gestures to the bustling hallways of the emergency room. “I have a few patients I need to check on and another couple that need to be discharged ‘cause they’ve already been here all night.”
Despite your protests, your attending simply crosses his arms over his chest and stares you down. “I’ll check with Lena and handle all of that.”
Immediately, the two of you end up in a staring contest. You with parted lips and a complaint hanging on the tip of your tongue and Jack with a clench of his jaw and a flex of muscle in his bicep. Finally, your shoulders drop in defeat, causing your attending’s face to relax in victory. “Go on, then,” he coaxes.
With a childish huff, you spin on your heel, irritation prickling up your spine. Who did Jack Abbot think he was, telling you when you needed to take a break? When was the last time he had taken a break? Sat down? Ate a snack in the middle of a busy night shift?
His cocky face is imprinted in your mind as you burst into the break room, sitting down on one of the chairs so abruptly that it screeches against the linoleum. You’re pouting, and deathly aware of it, but in the closed room of the breakroom there is no judgement to be cast and so you allow yourself to be grumpy about being sidelined.
Stupid Jack Abbot and his stupid nicknames and his stupid empathy for every little thing.
After approximately fifteen minutes of staring at the wall and allowing your brain to shut off for the first time all night, the door to the breakroom creaks open slowly, bringing in a wave of noise until it shuts again.
“How’s my favorite girl?” Jack asks, bracing his hand on the back of an unoccupied chair. “Do you feel better?”
There it is, that foolish gut feeling again the minute that sweet timbre hits your ears. You’ve never been one to crave praise, or even be flustered by it, however it was infuriatingly different when it came from your extremely handsome attending.
You prop your elbow up on the table, placing your chin in the palm of your hand and giving him your best bored look. “Dying of boredom from being sidelined,” you grump.
He just chuckles at your antics, reaching over to grab your wrist. In response, you lift your head so that he can place your hand down, breaking down your grumpy exterior physically. “You weren’t sidelined, you were told to take a break, there is a difference.” His hand lands on the top of your head, fingertips scrunching your hair and loosening it from your ponytail.
With an irritated grunt, you swat away his hand. “I don’t see you tellin’ anyone else to take a break.” You scrunch your nose at him mockingly, leaning back in your chair to look up at him.
Jack is the picture of amused, reaching out to pinch your chin playfully. “I don’t worry about anyone else that much,” he replies.
Finally, he pats your cheek gently with just his fingertips. “C’mon, sweetheart. Stop pouting and get out there.” With that, he turns and exits the breakroom, leaving you to gape at the door while trying to find a way to steady your own tachycardia.
How were you supposed to treat patients when Jack Abbot was so tempted to make you one?
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