Welcome to softtachycardia! I am so happy you're here. I am currently writing fanfiction for The Pitt, and hold a special place in my heart for Jack Abbot.
My mailbox is always open, and I am always happy to talk about The Pitt, or anything else!
I am currently 25 and a student. So when I am not writing or reading, you can usually find me stressing out about classes, or in the OR geeking out about whatever new case I get to sit in on.
you told jack abbott you didn’t think he could make it a day without flirting with you. obviously, the man disagreed. jack was always one to take you up on a bet, especially when he was convinced he was going to prove you wrong. so, naturally, you made him put money where his mouth was. not that he would really be struggling if he lost. which he would.
because there was no way jack was making it twenty-four hours.
you even got the rest of the pitt involved. somehow, within an hour, everyone knew about the bet and everyone had picked a side. most people were on yours. which honestly wasn’t surprising. everyone had seen the way jack was with you. most mornings, he greeted you with a hug from behind and some cheesy comment about how much he appreciated you. he always found an excuse to make you laugh. he remembered the little things you mentioned in passing. he flirted with you so often that people barely even noticed anymore. it was just jack.
there were a few people who sided with him, though. robby being one of them. you assumed it was just bro code. jack probably wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t side with his best friend. although, you were pretty sure even robby knew jack was going to lose.
because jack abbott could pretend all he wanted. but the man was incapable of not flirting with you.
hi guys!! just a little update...the next chapter of According to Plan will not be out tomorrow morning, BUT there is a chance it may be posted later in the day!
i’m finishing up a research paper tonight (because apparently i enjoy giving myself impossible schedules hahaha), so i don’t have time to properly edit the chapter before bed. tomorrow morning i’ll also be taking my best friend’s engagement photos, which i am SO excited for, but it means my writing/editing time is a little limited.
i’m hoping i can get everything cleaned up and posted tomorrow afternoon, but if not, don’t worry, because i do have a few more blurbs coming your way because you guys seem to be enjoying those ^-^
thank you for being so patient and for all the love you’ve been giving this story. it genuinely means so much to me <3
you have a habit of tracing jack’s veins. it started out innocent, just an absentminded brush of your thumb across his hand. but when you transferred over to work in the CT department, you had to learn more about venipuncture and starting IVs. jack, of course, was willing to help you by being your very own personal pincushion. you would spend hours tracing his veins, confirming you had the tourniquet on correctly, understanding which veins felt strong and which ones you should try and avoid.
even after you gained your confidence in placing IVs, you still had the habit of tracing jack’s veins when you were together. you’d check in the bend of his arm for his median cubital vein, follow the veins along his forearm, across his wrist, and even on the back of his hand. jack didn’t notice your little habit at first, but once he did it melted him.
so, he started looking for any excuse to curl up beside you, resting his arm across your lap or slipping his hand into yours, just so he could feel your fingertips absentmindedly tracing the familiar paths beneath his skin. jack liked knowing your hands had long since stopped studying him, and had simply learned him.
jack helping out with your curl routine. when you first started dating, he was so invested in learning more about how you take care of your hair. you laughed and were always willing to show him, you even told him that some of the products you used would be perfect for his own curls, instead of whatever 5-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, bodywash monstrosity he was using back then.
after a few months he got the hang of what every product’s purpose was. mousse, gel, curl cream, leave-in, hair mask, clarifying shampoo, regular shampoo, conditioner, hairspray, your diffuser, microfiber towels, the list goes on.
he never once made you feel like taking care of your hair was too much, or that it was unkempt. he went crazy for your curls. so, one lazy sunday, when he knew it was your wash day, he asked if he could style your hair. at first you were confused by what he meant. but after some convincing, the two of you sat on the bench in the shower as he gently massaged shampoo into your scalp, being sure to use circular motions like you had taught him months ago.
you couldn’t help but relax. after a while you even stopped giving him direction on what to do. he just knew what step came next, and told you he hadn’t spent all this time watching you get ready just to forget your routine.
when jack diffused your hair, you were able to throw your head over the back of the chair and let him do all of the work instead of trying to do yoga in order to make sure you had enough volume and definition. you decided then and there that this would be your new routine for wash day each week.
jack would absolutely keep snacks tucked away in his scrub pockets for you. he knows just how hard you're going to work, no matter what shift you're on. and he understands how easy it is to get caught up in the work. you are saving lives, after all. that doesn't change the fact that he hates it whenever you go nearly twelve hours without eating or drinking anything.
so, to combat this, he starts carrying snacks. protein bars, crackers, granola, trail mix, fruit snacks. he even starts buying uncrustables and hiding them in the work freezer after he catches you sneaking one from the nutrition room during a particularly brutal shift.
he never makes a big deal about it.
the first time he handed you food unprompted at work had been after a shift from hell. there had been a mass casualty event at a nightclub. you had already helped run three separate codes before there was even a moment to catch your breath, and jack could see the exhaustion written across your face hours before the call had ever come in.
when there was finally a lull, he quietly pulled you into the hallway. the second you were out of sight, you immediately collapsed into his arms, mentally, emotionally, and physically drained. he held you against his chest, one hand rubbing slow circles over your back while the other rested at the base of your neck. neither of you said anything.
after a moment, he pulled away just enough to reach into the pocket of his scrubs. before he could say anything, both of your pagers beeped at the same time. the tension you had just started to release found its rightful place back between your shoulder blades.
you sighed and turned to head back toward the trauma bays. jack grabbed your wrist before you could take more than a step. he pressed a protein bar into your hand.
"eat."
you looked down at the wrapper before looking back up at him, "i don't have time. there's another—"
he gently shushed you, "you haven't had time for the past nine hours," he said. "and you won't make time for the next three."
he nudged the protein bar toward you.
"eat."
you rolled your eyes, but peeled back the wrapper anyway. after your first bite, your eyebrows lifted.
"...okay,” a bite, "this is actually really good."
the corner of jack's mouth tugged upward.
"i know."
you glanced between him and the protein bar.
"you carry emergency granola bars?"
he shrugged, "for you? yeah."
you dropped your jaw in mock offense.
"it's not that bad."
he just looked at you completely unimpressed. and to be fair, this wasn’t the first time you guys had argued about your inability to take a break during work. you always pointed out that jack was the same way.
"...baby," he said, "you forgot to eat yesterday, too."
he laughed quietly before leaning down to kiss the top of your head. then he intertwined your fingers with his.
"c'mon."
still chewing your protein bar, you let him lead you back toward the trauma bays, ready to tackle whatever the rest of the shift had waiting for you.
Summary: You make a list of everything you want to accomplish this year. Jack notices one resolution you forgot to write down.
Notes: I am so deeply sorry about not posting for a couple of weeks. It's been a hectic moment hahaha. I am hoping to get caught up and have a few chapters written and queued up for you guys in advance, and maybe start posting shorter blurbs throughout the week instead of full one-shots! Let me know what you think ♡
Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
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January always felt like a possibility. The excitement of the holidays slowly faded into something quieter, buried beneath a blanket of snow, waiting for spring to melt everything away and begin to live again. Boxes had been packed away, twinkling lights were replaced with gray skies, and despite the temperature being nearly the same as it had been in December, everything felt colder. Pittsburgh settled into the new year with a quiet kind of determination. Everyone seemed to move a little faster to escape the sharp wind and icy sidewalks.
Your favorite part about the new year was making resolutions. Quiet promises to yourself, written carefully on paper like a promise, one you had every intention of keeping. You sit at the island, your go-to study spot as of late, and look at the various notebooks across the surface. A planner, a journal, and textbooks for the new semester that started later this week.
You grab your mug of coffee and take a sip from it as Jack walks into the room. His hair is fluffy, messy from sleep, curls making a soft halo around his head. It’s not unusual for him to see you here, or up this early, so at first he doesn’t mention anything.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
“Morning,” You say, not looking up from your resolutions any longer than necessary.
It’s then that he takes in the scene before him.
“Are you planning a military operation?”
You scowl and make a point to finish writing your final resolution before answering, “No. I’m writing down my resolutions, reading my syllabi, and budgeting.”
Jack hums with a nod as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot you had made earlier, “That’s a lot of different colored pens for a list of resolutions.”
Your eyes roll involuntarily at Jack’s teasing, “I’m organized.”
“Never said you weren’t,” he says.
There’s a beat between you, both observing each other as the moment passes. Jack finally gives in and continues the conversation. There had been an ease between the two of you ever since Christmas. The awkwardness that usually lingered after moments of accidental intimacy had quietly disappeared, replaced by something that felt...normal. Something comfortable. Almost as if the holiday had given the two of you permission to stop worrying so much about where the invisible lines between roommates and friends had been drawn.
“Ok, so what’s on this list of resolutions for this year?” He asks.
You smile and hand him the notebook. He grabs it and sips from his coffee while he’s reading. For a man who is usually collected under pressure and keeps his facial expressions schooled during the most brutal trauma situations, he’s having trouble hiding his disdain for some of the items on your list.
“Don’t look at it like that,” You argue.
Jack lets out an exasperated laugh, “I’m not looking at it like anything!”
“Yes,” You say, “You are! You’re looking at it like everything on there isn’t achievable."
He shakes his head and points to one of the items on the list, “‘Read 24 books’?” He asks, “It’s a great goal, but you really think you have the time to do this? Without burning yourself out?”
You shrug, “I’ve got a few days before the semester, I figure I can knock one or two out now, if I count my textbooks–which I absolutely should, then I’ll get a few more there, and then over spring and summer break I’ll have time too.”
Jack smiles and shakes his head, giving in, before continuing down the list, “Call Mom once a week.”
“I want to be more intentional about reaching out,” You explain.
“Exercise at least three times a week,” he looks at the paper confused, “Don’t you already do that?”
You laugh, “I don’t think I can count clinicals or work as exercise,” a pause, “I don’t know, seeing you do yoga every morning inspired me I guess.”
A flicker of something flashes across his face, he clears his throat, “If you ever wanna join, I could teach you.”
You feel heat rise to your cheeks and smile softly, “Yeah, okay…”
Thankfully, Jack looks back down at the list, but he pauses as soon as his eyes scan over the next words. A frown settles on his lips and his brows furrow slightly. You think through everything you’ve written and wonder which one he’s reading.
“What? You don’t think I have what it takes to graduate with honors?” You ask.
He shakes his head immediately, “What? No. Sweetheart, I know you’ll graduate with honors.”
“So why are you looking at my goals like something’s wrong with them?”
“I just didn’t know you were worried about tuition.” He says plainly.
You think back to your list and recall the resolution he’s referencing: Pay tuition without taking out another student loan.
You shrug, not wanting to linger on the subject for too long, “It’s just expensive, I don’t want to have to worry about paying back mountains of interest if I can help it.”
Jack looks offended, like the fact you hadn’t mentioned being stressed about money was a personal affront against him, “How expensive?”
You hesitate to answer, even though you and Jack had grown remarkably closer over the past five months, you still worked hard to ensure there was a distinct boundary between the two of you. You paid him each month to help out with the rent that he obviously didn’t need any help with just so you could have something tangible to prove that boundary. Talking about your financial stressors surrounding school was not a conversation you wanted to share with him.
He senses your circular thoughts and tilts his head, trying to make eye contact, “Hey,” he whispers, “How expensive are we talking about?”
You glance down at the coffee in your mug, wishing that you could sink within its depths and avoid this conversation altogether. Instead, you settle on vagueness, “A few thousand…”
Jack frowns, but you continue before he can get a word in, “Anyway, what are your resolutions?”
His shoulders drop in defeat but you can sense that this isn’t the end of the conversation surrounding tuition. You’re thankful that he’s not pushing it right now.
“I don’t make them,” He says plainly.
You furrow your brows, observing him, calculating. You find it hard to believe that the man who fills his free time with such tenacious hobbies wouldn’t at least ponder the idea of a New Year’s Resolution.
“I don’t believe that…” You murmur, “Read more?”
Jack finally smiles, “No.”
“What about traveling? You were talking about Germany in November.”
He shakes his head, that smile still plastered to his face.
“Oooo! Everyone does this one,” You snap, giving him a sly smile.
“Oh god,” He murmurs, choosing to take a sip from his mug while you continue.
“You’re gonna try dating more!”
Jack nearly spits out his coffee when you suggest the thought of him dating again. You laugh, throwing your head back and placing a hand over your stomach as you watch his reaction. It’s rare that you see him blush, and maybe it’s the lighting, but you swear you see a twinge of pink across his cheeks.
He coughs and places a fist against his chest.
You wince, “Too personal?”
He shakes his head, “Just…caught me off guard.”
You raise an eyebrow, “So you might?”
He looks at you confused.
“Start dating again,” You clarify.
Jack shrugs without making eye contact, “Maybe…if the timing was right.”
Then he turns the conversation back on you.
“What about you? Is dating on the books for this year?”
You laugh again, like the idea isn’t even something remotely based in reality, “Absolutely not.”
Jack always has a way of pushing your buttons with his questions, he always probes and for some reason you can’t resign yourself to not answer, “Why not?”
“I’m too busy,” You explain, “Wouldn’t be fair to whoever wanted to give me a chance.”
Jack studies you as you look at him over the rim of your mug before answering, “You always say that?”
You bristle, then with a laugh, “What?”
“You always say you’re too busy. Isn’t that what you told everyone about Ethan?”
You freeze. He’s got you there. Even though the thought of dating wasn’t on your mind when you went out with Ethan in the first place, you needed an excuse to let him down. It ultimately had been that between school and work, you were just too busy.
“Well, it’s true!”
He looks at you, like he’s already picked up on this pattern. Like somehow, in the past five months, he’s learned things about you that you haven’t even confronted yourself. Jack doesn’t even have to say anything this time to get the next words to come out of your mouth.
“I mean seriously,” You explain, gesturing to everything on the counter, “I’ve got school, work, clinicals…”
Jack interrupts, “Yet somehow, you’re still choosing to read 24 books, and hit the gym, and–” He looks down at your list again, “Run a 5k?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, realizing you’ve been caught, “Exactly.”
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The semester sneaks up on you quicker than you anticipated. Suddenly, you’re back to juggling classes, clinicals, and work. Each professor is a new face, which means a new learning curve. And every single one of them stresses the importance of making sure you’re scheduling time for yourself. Which, internally, makes you laugh. You’re not quite sure how everyone else in your cohort is affording to pay for school, but you do know that most of them aren’t working while in the program. You wish you could say the same.
By the middle of the week, you’re exhausted. Monday was filled with endless chapters of reading and a pop quiz from one professor who thought school started a week before classes officially began. Tuesday you had orientation for your second semester of clinicals. You couldn’t wait until next year when all of your didactic learning would be complete and all you would have to focus on was being in the hospital.
When Wednesday finally arrives, you’re drained. After classes, you head to another shift at the hospital. It’s filled with normalcy; chest x-rays, helping out with imaging for traumas, getting so caught up in your work that eight hours into your ten hour shift, you’ve completely accepted the fact that your lunch will remain in the breakroom until it’s time for you to go home.
You decide that’s a problem for tomorrow. Jack notices you though. Of course he does. He sees your untouched lunch during a spare moment when he can refill his thermos with coffee that isn’t stale. By the time he’s back on the floor, despite the trauma that just arrived, your coworker is telling you to take a lunch break.
You’re suspicious, but the idea of a break sounds so appealing that you agree. When you get to the break room, it takes everything in you not to collapse on the uncomfortable metal chair at the table.
For the first time in hours, you have a moment to check your phone, but one email makes your stomach churn.
Semester Bill Past Due
It’s nearly instantaneous that your brain tries to do the math. Calculating wherever it is that you went wrong. You internally curse yourself for every single time you’ve gotten coffee as a treat in this lifetime, because if you hadn’t spent money on that then you would obviously have enough money to afford your tuition bill right now. Right?
If only you had been more careful. Saved more, spent less. Maybe then you wouldn’t be wondering if the dream you worked so hard toward would suddenly be pulled from under your feet.
Rachelle, the shift lead on the night crew, pops her head in, “Hey, any chance you’d be able to pick up on Friday? Emily called off. It’s double pay.”
You immediately accept, “Yeah totally, do you have any open shifts on Saturday and Sunday?”
She cocks her head, “Didn’t your semester just start?”
You give her a dismissive wave of your hand, “Yeah, but it’ll be a bit before things really start picking up.”
The words come out easy, it’s like instinct. And you immediately know it for what it is. A lie.
You knew the semester was already picking up, there was no rest for the wicked. You knew that Rachelle knew it too. PA programs had more credit hours than any other master’s degree. They were competitive and intense, and anyone who couldn’t swim would be left to drown.
That didn’t stop you from picking up though. Not when all you could see burned to the inside of your eyelids were the numbers on your tuition bill. Taunting you. Threatening your entire future.
Thankfully, Rachelle writes your name down on the schedule on the wall and leaves with a small nod. You quickly finish your lunch and get back on the floor, now regretting the fact you took one at all when you could’ve clocked out with thirty extra minutes of pay had you not taken one.
You see Rachelle updating Lena at the nurses station, and Lena looks at you shocked. Of course she would be updated about all of the technologists working this weekend, and of course she would be worried about you. It was her nature. Before you can head over to explain yourself, your pager buzzes in your pocket and you’re headed toward your next patient.
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When Jack gets home, only a couple of hours after you, you immediately know something is wrong. You can sense it in the way his keys land heavier on the table in the entryway, in the tension he holds in his shoulders, in the way he looks at you a moment too long. A subtle hint of disappointment on his face.
It makes your heart drop. You know whatever’s wrong isn’t just from a long and draining shift.
Jack notices the tension in you too. How you hold your mug of tea tighter than normal, how you curl into yourself, how you’ve got your weighted blanket draped over your shoulders like a shield.
“Long day?” He asks, grabbing his crutches before sitting on the couch to take off his prosthetic.
You nod your head, watching him as he moves, precision breaking through the exhaustion. Even on the worst days, Jack is always deliberate, always controlled. You finally answer, “Yeah…you?”
Jack huffs, “Busy.”
You both sit in silence while Jack massages his limb, working out as much tension as he can, despite knowing there’s not much that will get rid of it entirely. After he’s satisfied, he grabs his crutches and goes to the kitchen, grabs a glass of water, and comes back to the living room.
“You picked up shifts this weekend?” He asks.
You still.
“What?”
He doesn’t even look at you when he answers, and you don’t know if that’s worse than actually being able to see the disappointment and exhaustion you know he’s sporting right now.
“Lena mentioned it. Said Rachelle mentioned how great it was that you were such a team player. That she didn’t know how you were doing it while juggling school.”
You decide it’s no longer important to try to look at Jack the second he looks up at you. Instead, you discover an intense interest in your mug.
“It’s just a few extra…”
“How many?”
You bite your cheek, “Jack…”
He’s insistent, “How. Many.”
Your tongue darts across your lips as you become increasingly aware of the dryness in your mouth.
“Three…” You start.
“And next week?”
“Four.”
He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.
You immediately try to explain, “It’s just a few shifts until my bill gets paid off and then–”
He interrupts you, “You didn’t eat lunch today.”
“It was busy. Did you eat lunch today?”
“I didn’t work a ten hour shift after six hours of classes.”
You scoff, “Yeah, well you don’t have to do that.”
He looks at you different than he ever has before, like he’s finally seeing something new that was hidden beneath the surface. There’s a pause before either of you speak again.
“And you’ve convinced yourself that you have to do that?”
You pull your lower lip between your teeth, “I didn’t have to convince myself,” You start, “I just do.”
Then, “I’m fine. Really.”
Jack lets out a huff, “You always do that.”
Your brows furrow, ready to argue back, but he beats you to it.
“You say that every time,” He says softly, and you realize there’s no anger behind it. Just worry.
Somehow that makes everything worse.
He looks up for a moment, taking the time to gather his thoughts. You give him the space without interrupting.
“Any time that you’re struggling you tell everyone you’re fine.” He says finally, “After the flood, you were drowning and you told me you were fine. Instead of asking for help when you were struggling with school, work, and finding an apartment, you told me you were fine,” He pauses and his eyes soften, “and now you’re here working yourself to the ground telling me you’re fine.”
Your throat feels hot, and it’s difficult to swallow, so you let the bubble of emotion sitting at the back of your throat stay there. You try to focus on not letting the pinpricks of tears actually start to well in your eyes or your bottom lip begin to wobble.
Somehow, Jack’s expression softens further, “I’m not mad you picked up the shifts.”
You sniff, finally looking up at him, “You’re not?”
He gives you a gentle smile, placing a hand on your knee and squeezing it, “No, I’m upset you keep acting like you have to carry all of this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” You say immediately, then, without thinking, “I have you.”
The energy in the room shifts. And you feel the instinct to pull back. Jack notices and relents, bringing his hand away from your knee, but not pulling away completely.
“I mean, I–” You press a hand to your temple, closing your eyes, “You’ve just…you’ve been there for me through a lot. I couldn’t ask for help with this.”
Jack is patient while you talk, waiting his turn to speak, “Do you have your planner?”
You look at him, confused, “Uh…yeah?”
“Let me see it.”
You pull the planner out of your bag and hand it to him, he flips through a few pages before settling on one. Jack pulls the pen that’s tucked in the pocket on his scrub top before writing something down.
When he hands you back your planner, you see the page that’s open. Your resolutions. At the bottom of the list in Jack’s neat and structured handwriting is a new goal. It was the first one that didn’t have a measurable finish line or timeline to achieve.
13. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF
You smile, and try to let the words filter through you by way of osmosis, hoping if any resolution sticks this year, it’s this one.
ok ok ok ok, i am at work all day today and finally made the switch from evenings to mornings, hopefully i can knock out some writing to get the next chapter of AtP out for you guys by monday! the end of summer semester is coming so fast and there’s so many assignments due but i‘m gonna try my best to get stuff out ♡ maybe a couple little blurbs will be posted in lieu of that lost chapter from last week :‘(
trust and believe i‘ve got big big plans for my week off between semesters >:)
thinking about going to get sushi with jack and doing that trend where you eat a piece off your partner's bicep. he's so confused at first because usually when you pull your phone out at dinner it's to take a selfie, and you just immediately tell him to get out of the frame. instead, you grab his arm, prop his elbow on the table, and tell him to flex. he gives you the most suspicious look but does it anyway because, unfortunately for him, he'd let you talk him into just about anything. that man is so whipped.
you carefully set a piece of sushi on his bicep, add the tiniest drop of soy sauce, and lean in to eat it. he's completely stunned. never in a million years did he think this would be something that got to him, but then you swipe your tongue over the little drop of soy sauce you'd missed and suddenly he's forgotten there are other people in the restaurant.
before you can even stop recording, his hand is sliding behind your neck, fingers disappearing into your hair as he tips your chin up to kiss you. you just smile into it because... yeah. the trend worked a little better than expected. and you know dinner is going to be over a lot sooner than either of you intended.
Hiii Ina!! How are you? It’s been a week since you were last active and it’s okay if you don’t have anything to post! But I wanted to check in and see how things are right now? 🙈
Hi!!! 🥹 Thank you so much for checking in that’s so sweet of you! 💛 I’m so sorry about not posting I procrastinated my school work way too much last week and didn’t have time to proofread the next chapter of AtP and make sure it’s ready to post. I am hoping to get that out sometime this evening and I am also working on a Jack x drunk!Reader fic for later this week!! 👀👀👀
School has been picking up way more than I expected it to the past few weeks, I want to try to write a few fics to have in my queue so if I can’t get to writing y’all still have something to read while I catch up on life lol.
Thank you again for checking in! It genuinely means so much to know people are excited for my writing 🫶🫶🫶
Summary: Jack remembers something you thought he'd forgotten. A blizzard makes your shift unusual. The rest of Christmas falls into place.
Notes: Omg, I am so sorry this got posted so late in the day. :'( School has been mean to me, and I was at an event last night, so I couldn't finish it. I hope it was worth the wait!
Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
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Winter in Pittsburgh was bitter. Cold that never quite settled in your bones. This winter had been particularly dry, there wasn’t feet of snow plowed into mounds at corners of parking lots, or blocking the sidewalk. Only ice, slick and clear, which had been the cause of many traumas since the weather started to change. Fall semester had ended two days ago, finals were over, and you now had time to relax, refresh, before spring semester began.
Jack had today off, his first weekend off in a while, and even though he wasn’t one to make a big fuss about celebrating Christmas, he wanted to decorate the house this year. He thought it would be something nice, something normal for you since the flood.
You wake up with a smile on your face. Jack had mentioned wanting to put up the tree today, and said it would feel more like home if you helped him. After all, you paid him to live here too. After you had moved to Pittsburgh, you were used to spending holidays alone, or at least with a small group of friends.
Jack struggled to make any effort to celebrate major holidays by himself. After his wife had died, there wasn’t much that felt important anymore. The first Christmas after she died, Robby nearly had to break down Jack’s door to make sure he was still alive. He could see that Jack wished he wasn’t.
The smell of fresh coffee wafts from the kitchen toward your room. You stretch tired limbs and climb out of bed, no longer worrying about walking around in your pajamas or with your hair a mess. Jack is already in the kitchen, jazzy Christmas tunes playing from the speaker on the island. He looks relaxed. The tension that’s usually in his shoulders is gone, he’s humming softly to the music, and his hair is fluffy.
You smile to yourself. In all of the months you’ve lived here, it was rare to see Jack this truly relaxed.
“‘Morning, sweetheart,” Jack says, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
“‘Morning,” You mumble, already walking over to where he has your coffee ready, just the way you like it.
“I got the tree out of the box, just need help bringing up the ornaments,” He says, pointing toward the living room where a simple Christmas tree now stands.
You set your mug down on the counter, “Well, let's get started.”
You follow Jack into the garage, thankfully connected to the house so you don’t have to step into the cold. His car is parked, but along the walls are shelves of boxes. You can tell some of them are useful, tools, medical equipment, old military regalia. Others seem to hold memories that you’re not yet privileged enough to know. There are a few of your own boxes pressed into spaces between Jack’s things.
You notice the spine of a book peeking through one with your things. Everything stands still for a moment. You open the top and pull the book out. The cover is warped and stained, the pages stick together and are bloated from being drenched during the flood. Jack had helped you salvage what you could, but there were a few items you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of.
You frown at the state of it. Jack notices.
“What’s that?” He asks.
“My copy of Little Women,” You say breathlessly, stuck in a memory.
He takes in the state of it, “Looks like it’s seen better days.”
You chuckle bitterly, “Yeah, guess that’s what happens when it loses a fight with three feet of flood water.”
Jack sets down the tote of ornaments, stepping closer and silently asking to look at the book, “You kept it?”
You shrug and look down, “I’ve had it since I was twelve.”
“That long?”
“It was my favorite, my mom’s too.”
Jack’s expression softens, and then does something complicated you can’t quite decipher.
“Favorite favorite?”
You smile, impressed at his ability to say something so simple that can make you smile, “Yeah, my favorite favorite.”
“Hm.”
Before you have the chance to ask him what that means, he’s grabbing a tote and holding it out for you to take.
“Come on, sweetheart. That tree’s not going to decorate itself.”
You follow Jack back into the living room. There’s a fireplace video playing on the TV, the gentle jazz music echoes throughout the house, a candle is lit on the coffee table. It smells like nostalgia. Like holidays you spent with your family growing up where things were colorful and everything was covered in a gentle glow. Your heart feels heavy in your chest reminiscing on fond memories, it’s been nearly six years since you moved to Pittsburgh, and more often than not, holidays were celebrated well after the season was over because of schedules and finances.
Jack sets down his tote and takes the one from you and sets them on the couch. He opens the lid and begins unwrapping the ornaments. They’re all different shapes and scenes. Many of them seem to be custom made with his name or a year. He begins putting them on the tree with a practiced skill that makes you believe each ornament has a designated place every year. You sip your coffee and help unwrap them, but let Jack place them.
“Can I ask you a question?” You say softly, holding a ceramic ornament that looks like a helicopter. It has the year 2008 painted on the bottom.
Jack smiles, looking at you over his shoulder, “You always do.”
“What’s this one from?”
He grins, grabbing the helicopter from your hands, “Army Christmas party. They wanted to do something nice while we were overseas. Still not sure how it made it home with me.”
You see the memories flash across his eyes, but as soon as they’re there, they disappear as Jack meticulously places the ornament on its designated branch.
“You have a system,” You smile at Jack looking over the rim of your coffee mug as you take a sip.
Jack scoffs, “I do not.”
You grab an ornament, it’s fabric and colorful and definitely the opposite of what you expected Jack’s ornament collection to look like. The center of this one has a picture of a toddler, you assume it's him.
“Okay, where does this one go then?”
Without missing a beat, “On the side, second branch from the bottom.”
“Left or right?”
“Left.”
You smirk, “So you do have a system.”
Jack sighs, rolling his eyes, but you know there’s no malice behind it, “That’s just where they’ve always gone.”
You smile, grabbing the next ornament, another fabric one, homemade, in the shape of a candy cane. You hand it to Jack.
“Then teach me.”
He pauses for a moment, looking between you and the ornament thoughtfully. Then, Jack steps next to you, handing the ornament back.
“Up there,” He points, “Just a little to the left of the other one.”
You place it and look back at him for approval, it feels strangely similar to how you’d look at him after taking a chest x-ray and waiting to see if he wanted a repeat. Then, Jack nods. You didn’t realize the tension you had been holding in your shoulders until they relax with his approval.
The next hour or so is spent in a similar fashion. Jack placing ornaments in their rightful places, and guiding you on where they should be. You’re nearly finished with both boxes when you pull out one that catches your breath.
It’s a cardinal made of blown glass. The delicate bird sits on a branch with snow covered edges. Something about it makes you smile as you turn to Jack.
“What’s this one from?” You ask.
Jack turns and looks at the ornament in your hands. The energy in the room shifts slightly. Warm nostalgia settling into something deeper, something filled with more longing. He takes a step closer to you and gently grabs the ornament from your hands with a distant look.
“My wife picked this one out, the year she died.” He whispers.
You don’t know what to say, so you let the silence speak for itself.
Then Jack continues, thumb brushing against the glass, “It’s my favorite.”
He places the cardinal at the center of the tree, close to the top, right where it’s meant to be. You continue to hand Jack ornaments, letting the music fill the space in place of words. You reach the final few decorations before speaking again.
“You know…” You start.
Jack looks at you, like he already expects you to say something teasing.
“I still think you have a system.”
He sighs, accepting defeat, “I absolutely have a system.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Decorating the tree had been an afternoon you thought about frequently over the past three weeks. You stare at the TV in the break room. The meteorologist is talking about the State of Emergency that has been declared for the city. The snow came on stronger and harder than it had in years, leaving the roads to be covered in snow and ice that accumulated faster than it was possible to plow. People were told to stay inside unless it was absolutely necessary to drive so emergency services would be able to drive safely.
You weren’t sure what the night shift was going to bring. On one hand, it was a holiday, which typically meant chaos. However, with the amount of snow you could see outside the ambulance bay doors, you weren’t sure if many people would risk getting caught outside in the near-blizzard.
Lena comes up behind you and pats your shoulder, “Heard you went on a date with someone from your class.”
You roll your eyes, “It was supposed to be a study session.”
She raises an eyebrow, “And?”
You scoff, “And, we wanted different things. I’m not looking to date anyone right now. Life’s too busy with school, and work, and-”
You stop yourself.
Lena tilts her head, looking at you like she already has something figured out that you don’t, “And?”
“And clinicals,” You mutter, “There’s just…a lot.”
She purses her lips, “Mhm.”
Now it’s your turn to look at her confused, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She takes a sip of the hot chocolate that’s in her hands, something the hospital provided for staff working the holiday this year, “Nothing.”
You deadpan, “Lena.”
She smiles, “I just think it’s funny. You didn’t say you weren’t interested in him. Just that you weren’t interested in dating.”
Before you can come up with a response, your pager beeps and the overhead system alerts the ER of an incoming trauma. Lena pats your shoulder as she heads back to the nurses station.
“Merry Christmas, kid.”
The next several hours go much slower than you anticipated. Aside from the trauma that interrupted the strange conversation with Lena, there wasn’t much happening. You were called up to the floor to get chest x-rays on some inpatients, but aside from that, you spend most of your shift in the ER’s radiology department, waiting for something to happen. It seems like this holiday season has blessed you with quiet instead of chaos. You’re not sure which one you’d prefer.
The quiet seems to settle over the entire hospital. Everyone talks in hushed voices, someone brought a speaker in that is playing classic Christmas tunes, another person brought in sugar cookies to share with everyone working tonight. The day shift had decorated. Red and green paper chains are strung up around the nurses station and sparkly plaid bows adorn each point.
The entire department huddles around the nurses station right at midnight to celebrate. A chorus of “Merry Christmases” rings throughout the room as you and your coworkers take the chance to celebrate together. As the crows dissipate back to their usual spots, Jack finds you and leans over the counter above from where you sit, catching up on some training modules you’ve put off for far too long.
“Got a minute?” He asks.
You look up at him, “Yeah, do you need an x-ray or something?”
The corner of his mouth turns up, and he shakes his head, “No, just…you’ll see.”
As Jack begins walking away, you quickly log out of your computer and stand to follow him. It’s not long before you fall into step with him. The music from the speaker slowly fades away the further you get from it, and when you glance back it feels like a gentle glow surrounds your coworkers. It makes you smile.
Jack leads you to the break room, “Ok wait here a minute.”
Before you have the chance to respond, he’s already stepped outside, leaving you alone. You glance out the window back at your coworkers. Everyone’s smiling, a rare sight for the Pitt. The humming of the fluorescent lights above you grabs your attention and you glance up before hearing the door open again.
Jack comes back to the break room with a small package in his hands. It’s wrapped in brown paper. Each corner is folded neatly, sharp creases on each edge. A small twine bow adorns it. Everything about it screams Jack. The precision, the simplicity, the intention. He holds it out for you.
“Merry Christmas,” he says.
You hesitate before taking it. But when you do, you see a gift tag tucked underneath the twine. Your name is written carefully in Jack’s unmistakable handwriting. You look up at him, confused.
“Jack…” You whisper.
He smiles, and for a second you see a little kid who is waiting to open their own gifts, “It’s okay.”
“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” You say.
“I know.”
He smiles again, softer this time, anticipating.
“Open it.”
You pull at the bow and it comes undone, then your fingers pull at the paper wrapping the gift. Of course Jack would be the kind of person who put gifts in an actual box. You don’t know what to expect when you open it. Inside sits a book. It’s leather bound with gold accents lining the edge of the front cover. A simple mock-cross stitch pattern adorns the front, a simple flower in the middle. There are no words along the front.
Your fingers gently trace the spine as you look at the book in awe. As you pull it out of the box and turn to see what is written on the spine your heart flutters. In the same gold accent that glistens on the front cover is the title of the book: Little Women.
You stare at the book, before looking back up at Jack. He stops you before you can say anything.
“You said it was your favorite.”
You think back to the conversation you had with him a few weeks ago when you were decorating the tree. The conversation hadn’t meant anything special to you then. You were just feeling sentimental about your book that had been ruined in the flood.
“I thought you were just making conversation,” You breathe.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“I was,” He starts, then shrugs, “I was also listening.”
You feel a pinprick of tears start to fill your eyes. But Jack is already continuing.
“It’s a Franklin Library first edition,” He explains, “1982,”
You stare at him, trying to process.
“I tried looking into a real first edition copy,” He shrugs, “but $25,000 was a little outside my Christmas budget. Sorry, sweetheart.”
Through blurry eyes you laugh, setting the book gently in the box and on the table. You don’t remember deciding to move, but before you know it you’re wrapping your arms around Jack’s torso in a tight hug. Jack stills, arms hovering just above you until they carefully settle across your back.
“Thank you,” You whisper into his chest.
His thumb rubs against your shoulderblade. You don’t pull away yet. Neither does he.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” He says, resting his chin on top of your head.
Just as quickly as you remember pulling Jack into the hug, you’re jumping out of it.
“Oh my god,” You mutter looking down.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack whispers, startled by your sudden outburst, “What’s wrong?”
“This is so embarrassing," You whine, looking up at the ceiling.
Jack looks at you, confused.
You pout before answering, “You got me this gorgeous edition of my favorite book and all I got you was an assortment of lottery tickets.”
His eyebrows lift.
“...Lottery tickets?”
You drop your head, “Yeah. It’s kind of a family tradition back home.”
He smiles, “You’re embarrassed about sharing one of your traditions?”
“Well, you got me literature,” You begin, “I- I got you gambling! Like, what? The chance to win twenty bucks?”
Jack laughs, full-chested.
“Could be a million,” he counters.
You stare at him, “You’re impossible.”
“I’m optimistic,” he grins.
You bite your cheek, “Well, they’re at home under the tree. I didn’t think to bring them in today.”
His face softens, “That’s okay, we’ll open them when we get home, we can do it over a movie or something.”
Home. You let the word settle somewhere in your chest. A few months ago home was your shitty downstairs apartment, run by an even shittier landlord. Before that home was somewhere hundreds of miles away. Now, Jack says the word with such simplicity. Like it’s obvious where the two of you will be going after work. And you realize that somehow, it is.
“Okay, but if you win a million dollars, I think I deserve at least some of the money,” You tease, “I did buy the tickets, after all.”
Jack smirks, “If I win a million dollars, I’m buying you the real first edition.”
You laugh, “That’s such a ridiculous financial decision.”
“Probably,” He smiles.
You spend the rest of your shift trying, and failing, not to smile when thinking about your present. Lena just shakes her head when she sees you and Jack exit the break room. By the time shift change rolls around, the sugar cookies have been eaten, hot cocoa sits cold in the carafe, and the speaker has died. The morning crew drags themselves into the ER, probably not ready to start the day, but resigning themselves to another shift.
After Jack has finished rounding, he meets you in the break room for the second time today. He waits a moment before opening the door. Watching as you gently leaf through the pages of the book, eyes filled with wonder. You almost look like you’re scared to damage it, one hand tracing gently along the cover as the other flips through the pages one-by-one. He doesn’t open the door yet, just watches. Robby clears his throat behind him, and claps a hand on his shoulder.
“You just gonna stare at her all morning, or are you gonna go in?”
Jack doesn’t suppress it when his eyes roll.
Robby continues, “I’ve never seen someone look that happy over a book.”
Jack doesn’t answer.
“Worth it?” Robby asks.
Jack finally lets his shoulders relax, not taking his eyes off you, “Yeah.”
Robby smirks, “Thought so.”
He doesn’t have to ask what Robby means, some part of him already knows. Jack straightens his backpack over his shoulder and opens the door, ready to go home. Robby gives him one last look before heading back toward the ambulance bay.
When you and Jack get home, the sunlight peeks through the blinds in the living room. You both go to your rooms to peel off your scrubs, and the shift, to change into something more comfortable. When you get back to the living room, Jack has a mug of tea ready for you, your favorite blanket, and the TV ready to watch a movie.
Before sitting down, you head over to the tree and grab the small bag filled with lottery tickets for Jack. You also grab the envelope that you had sitting on one of the branches.
“I forgot, I also got you a gift card!”
His face lights up with amusement, taking his gifts from you, “Now we’re talking.”
You lay down on the couch, back against the arm and stretch your feet out. Without thinking, they land on Jack’s thigh. You freeze, realizing the intimacy of that position. You’ve never laid out on the couch like this, then again, how often was it that you and Jack had movie nights together?
“Sorry,” You mumble.
You’re about to pull them away, when one of his hands reaches down to keep them in place.
“It’s fine,” He says, not even looking away from the lottery ticket he’s scratching off, “Get comfortable, we’ve got at least three Christmas movies to get through before we go to sleep.”
Without saying anything else, he presses play on the movie you’ve queued up, and goes back to scratching his lottery tickets like nothing’s happened. Like your feet aren’t resting in his lap. Like he hadn’t got all of your favorite things ready before you came back to the living room. Like this has always been your tradition.
Y’all I am so sorry 😪 I was out at an event tonight and my homework took way longer than was planned so I didn’t get the next chapter for according to plan finished. It will still be out tomorrow but not at 8am like normal.
Hi! I was wondering if you were taking requests and if so, if I could request an enemies to lovers, age gap fic with Jack Abbot x Reader? Like maybe reader is a new nurse at the Pitt and despite getting along with most everyone else, her initial introduction with Jack didn't go well and it snowballed, but certain events bring them together in forced proximity and give them a better insight into who each other actually is.
Hello lovely!! I am absolutely taking requests, and would love to write this! There's so much to work with here, so I don't know if it'll end up as a one-shot or a short 3-4 chapter mini-series, but it's officially in my writing queue! ♡ Thank you so much for sending this in 🥹
Summary: After a Code Violet leaves you injured, Jack struggles to see you in danger. A simple bouquet serves as a reminder that not everything touched by trauma must be defined by it.
Warnings: Violence against healthcare workers, reader gets injured, hurt/comfort.
Notes: I am posting this way earlier than I should simply because I am so excited about it. Enjoy!
╭──────────.★..─╮
The shift had gone to shit before you had even clocked in. Most holidays ended up that way. It wasn’t unusual, just overstimulating. You look at your pager and read the note about the incoming trauma.
“Chest and pelvis.” You mutter, already walking toward the portable x-ray machine, “It’s always a chest and pelvis.”
You begin walking toward the trauma bay. The chaos was a familiar melody, and over it you could hear your boyfriend. The patient had fallen at home. No loss of consciousness, no suspected fractures, but he was on an anticoagulant. X-ray and then CT. You knew what Jack would tell the other residents before leaving the bay.
“Alright, he’s stable. Put in an order for an anti-coag CT head, and x-ray chest and pelvis.” Jack says to one of the residents.
You smirk to yourself, new day, same routine. As Jack walks out of the bay he sees you and smiles, coming up to press a kiss to the side of your head.
“You here for the trauma?” He asks.
“Yeah, figured you’d want the PTMC special.”
Jack laughs, “Oh? And what’s that?”
“Every trauma gets a chest and pelvis, maybe a cross table c-spine if the docs are feeling particularly adventurous.” You smirk, pulling out the image receptor and putting it in the plastic bag.
“Such official terminology.”
You look up at Jack and wink, “I’ll be submitting it to medical journals soon.”
“Please don’t.”
You grin and slip past him into the trauma bay. The patient is sweet. He’s honestly more embarrassed about the fall than worried about any potential injuries. The exam goes smoothly, IR in, x-ray taken, images sent. Nothing unusual, and thankfully for the patient, nothing broken. Everything takes maybe fifteen minutes before you’re back in the hallway.
You see Jack on the other side of the nurses station, explaining something in animated detail to one of the new night shift interns. One of the portable computers is available, you tap your badge and log into Radiant to see the worklist. There are a few new orders that have been placed, so you decide to go complete them.
The next several hours follow a similar pattern. There’s a young girl with a broken wrist. An elderly woman with pneumonia. A hand x-ray for an unfortunate encounter with the wrong end of a pair of ice skates. Multiple slip and falls. Someone with abdominal pain, that absolutely couldn’t have been caused by their adventurous escapades in the bedroom.
There was no drama. No surprises. Each patient came onto the worklist, got their imaging, and you moved on. The normal, albeit busy, rhythm of the ER proceeded as usual.
By one o’clock, you question if the amount of caffeine in your bloodstream could be considered a controlled substance. That’s how holidays always play out. Try to stay one step ahead of the game. Always anticipate the next move. When you finally get the chance, you check the worklist again and groan. Highlighted in bright red:
ED BED 27 | ARRIVED 156 MINUTES | CHEST XR, LT HAND 3-VIEW MIN | STAT
You log out and walk back over to the portable machine. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to x-ray the man in bed 27. He had been brought in with his own entourage of police around ten thirty. He was drunk of course, agitated, and uncooperative. He had been found wandering the streets near some of the bars and had slipped and fallen on some ice.
You tried getting his x-rays about thirty minutes after he had arrived. Instead of actually getting them, you left with a string of creative insults that you were convinced a poet couldn’t even imagine. The police had left shortly after bringing him in, he had no reason to be detained, and while he was unpleasant to be around, they determined he wasn’t a danger.
You hope that by now he’s had time to calm down. Stranger things have happened. When you get outside the entrance to his room, the nurse is already there.
“Thank god you’re here, I was gonna go in to give him some ativan, but didn’t want to go in alone. He keeps cussing me out.” She says, rolling her eyes.
Your optimism about the patient being more agreeable disintegrates with her words. You pinch the bridge of your nose, “Shit, really?”
“Yeah,” She murmurs, “As soon as I get that ativan in you should be good to get those x-rays.”
You nod your head and take a steadying breath, preparing yourself for the new mission at hand.
“Alright, lets do this,” You say, stepping into the room.
Looking back, you should’ve pushed open the curtain, but knowing he was agitated, you didn’t want to disturb whatever peace he might’ve found within his ER room. A mistake, because as soon as you enter your heart sinks. The patient isn’t laying in bed.
He’s pacing. Mumbling to himself and pacing alongside the bed. You glance around the room, taking stock of what’s around you. Not much. You take your chances trying to introduce yourself and at least distract him so the nurse can administer his medication.
“Hi there,” You start lightly, “Your doctor ordered some x-rays of your hand–”
He stops and turns to look at you. For a moment no one says anything, you just look at each other. Calculating.
“Get. Out.” He mutters.
It’s not the first time you’ve been asked to leave the room by a patient, but, knowing that the nurse should be right behind you, you can’t really go until she’s able to give him that ativan.
“The x-rays will only take like five minutes I–”
“Get. Out.” He says louder this time.
You feel the curtain shift as the nurse comes in. You take a step to the side, away from the door, the only exit. She steps next to you.
“Sir, the doctor ordered some medication to help you relax,” She says calmly, with the voice of someone who’s had years of experience dealing with unpredictable patients.
“No.” He says, “No, no, no, no, no, no.”
“Sir,” She continues, trying to get through to him, “It’s just ativan, it will help you calm down and–”
“NO!” He yells.
The room suddenly feels much smaller than it did a moment ago. You hear footsteps outside of the room stop, someone is listening. You take a step to the side, shifting your weight. Your foot hits the waste bin. The sound is so subtle, but the patient’s head whips toward you like it’s on a swivel. Suspicious. Unpredictable.
“Sir,” You say, voice steady despite the shaking in your hands, “We’re just here to help you.”
“You’re lying,” He says with such intensity that you flinch.
The nurse tries again, “Sir we–”
“I said GET. OUT.”
The nurse gently grabs your elbow, shifting so you both can leave the room while facing the patient. Her hand goes toward her Vocera. She presses the button and the voice comes to life.
The patient’s head snaps to look between you both. You realize that this is the moment where anxiety or delusion turn into action. You see the moment his eyes change, when he decides the conversation is no longer beneficial, even if it never was to begin with, and chooses to react physically.
“Sir–” She starts.
The bedside table is thrown into the wall quicker than you have time to react. You jump at the noise. The nurse presses the button on her Vocera again to call for help. It happens in seconds. One moment, the patient is on the other side of the room, the next he’s lunging toward you.
In an instant, his hands are latched onto your scrub top. His momentum pushes you back against the counter where the sink is in the corner of the room. You cry out as your back hits the surface.
“Shit!” The nurse yells, arm still firmly planted on your elbow.
The force of being pulled between them results in a loud pop at your shoulder. The nurse’s grip falters. The patient has you cornered against the wall, hands dangerously close to your neck.
“CODE VIOLET BED 27!”
The next thirty seconds feel like eons. The patient turns when he hears the noise and you take the opportunity to pull away. That’s only short lived as you feel yourself being pulled back by your ponytail. Security and the nurse run back into the room, they administer medication to sedate him, and his grip releases. Unfortunately so does your balance. You crumple to the floor, hitting your head once you’re down.
The commotion would be enough to cause anyone’s ears to be ringing, but you suspect with the stars that litter your vision, that maybe the ringing is a side effect of hitting your head on the linoleum tile. People flood your vision, asking questions, evaluating your mental status, wondering where it hurts.
You let out a soft whimper and look up at the door. Security has the patient on a cart, four point restraints being fixed to the bed. Behind the patient, Jack is looking around, trying to assess the situation that’s happened under his watch as attending.
It takes him a moment to register who’s on the ground looking up at him, maybe it’s the confusion of the chaos. When he locks eyes with you, though, you’ve never seen the man react so quickly, with such precision.
“Move.” He says, and the crowd of people makes way for him like a tide rolling out.
He’s next to you in an instant.
“Hey,” He whispers, one hand hovering over your cheek, like he’s scared you’ll fall away if he touches you. It’s quiet, too quiet. Jack never sounds like that.
“Look at me,” He continues.
You blink and wince when you realize that hurts. The fluorescents glare, clouding your vision.
“I am looking at you.”
You see the muscles in his face move as he clenches his jaw. There’s a look on his face that feels like an enigma.
“Good,” He breathes, “That’s good.”
Someone behind him asks a question. You’re not sure who it is, security, a nurse, one of the residents. It doesn’t matter though, Jack raises a hand and their words fall silent.
The room gets quieter, not silent, just softer. The air feels less heavy after that, almost like everyone inside realizes that now is not the time to discuss logistics.
You see Jack’s eyes flit over your face, taking in every potential injury and cataloging it so he can determine an appropriate treatment plan. The scrape by your temple, the tears you hadn’t realized were staining your cheeks, the way you wince when you try to take a deep breath in.
“What hurts?” He asks.
“My head,” You say.
“What else?”
“My back, my–” You wince, “My shoulder.”
His breath shudders, “Which one?”
“Left.”
His hand hovers over the spot, it doesn’t take a doctor to realize the joint doesn’t look like it should. Even without imaging, Jack can tell it’s been dislocated. You watch him, assess the look on his face. It’s the same look he gets after a trauma gone wrong, during mass casualty events, when he hears fireworks. You can tell even if he’s physically here, his mind is also somewhere else.
The realization makes your stomach lurch, “Jack.”
He looks at you and realizes you’ve caught on.
“Don’t” He pleads.
For the first time since he saw you, he looks fully away. His eyes dart around the room, at the scattered supplies, the knocked over table, and spots of blood on the floor. Your blood. He takes in a deep breath. Anyone else watching him would see someone who’s observing, calculating. You see the guilt behind it, the wall he’s putting up just so he can hold it together until you’re both home and he can confirm you’re truly safe.
“You’re getting a CT. Trauma protocol. Head, CTL, angio. You’re getting it all.”
A small lighthearted huff leaves your lips, “Are you ordering that because you’re my boyfriend or the attending right now?”
“Yes.” He says, voice cracking slightly.
Despite it all, you find it in you to smile. Jack doesn’t. It’s now that you realize how truly scared he is. You frown, hand going to his cheek.
“Baby,” You whisper, “I’m okay.”
Your thumb rubs gently across his skin and for a moment he closes his eyes. When he opens them again theres a myriad of emotions you try to decipher. You can’t.
Quietly, “You hit your head on the tile.”
Somehow the stillness makes everything feel worse.
“Your shoulder is probably dislocated.”
“Jack–”
“You were assaulted.”
The word hangs heavy in the air. The reality of it crashing over both of you, something you can’t avoid. It’s blunt and brutal and doesn’t soften anything. You weren’t injured or involved in an incident, or part of a Code Violet. You were assaulted.
He blinks and when he looks at you again the wall is there. Back in place, protecting him from breaking down in front of his entire department. He’s professional and meticulous, Dr. Jack Abbot the attending.
“What’s your full name?” He asks.
You groan, “Oh, come on.”
Jack stares at you. He’s not rude, but he is firm. You answer the question.
“Date of birth.”
“Jack, seriously?”
“Date. Of. Birth.”
You answer that too.
“What hospital are we at?”
You look up at the ceiling with a sigh, “Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, lovingly referred to as The Pitt.”
You watch as one corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not a smile, but it’s a start. Something to work with. The sound of a cart being parked draws both of your attention away. One of the residents steps into the room and whispers something to Jack as he stands up. Jack’s hand stays on your shoulder, like he knows you’ll try to stand up if given the chance.
When they’re ready to help you into the bed, you’re thankful Jack didn’t let you stand. Immediately your stomach lurches and the ringing in your ears returns.
“Oh shit.” You groan.
“Woah, easy,” The resident says.
“I’m okay,” You say out of instinct.
Your eyes squeeze shut as the floor tries to make it’s way to the ceiling.
“Okay, maybe not okay.”
There’s a chuckle to your right. You know it’s not Jack’s. Once you’re in the bed, Jack’s hand doesn’t leave yours unless it’s medically necessary. The resident gets you your own private room, away from the one where everything happened. The lights are dim, the door stays closed, only essential medical staff enter. It’s a haven.
Hours later, after your shoulder has been reduced, CT scans come back clear (minus a broken rib), you’re cleared for discharge. There’s technically two more hours in your shift, Jack’s too. You should know better than to assume that he will stay to finish work while you sleep in an on-call room or something, but who can blame you? You did hit your head.
A small knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Robby peeks his head through the curtain. Jack looks away from you, one of the few times he’s done so since the code.
“Robby? You’re here early.” You say quietly.
He smiles at you softly, “Well someone had to come take over so you can get home and have Jack fuss over you.”
Your brows furrow, “You came in to work?”
Robby looks between you and Jack, “Yeah. I wouldn’t hear the end of it from him if I didn’t. So. You two should probably get going. I’m sure your bed is a lot more comfy than this.”
A moment passes as you think it over. You know Jack would try to push through, even if it sucked like hell. There was no way he asked Robby to come in. You look between both of them and notice the way Jack won’t meet either of your eyes.
“He didn’t ask me to come in.” Robby answers before you even get the chance to ask, “Lena called and said he had spent the past three hours glaring at anyone who dared to ask him a question.”
Jack glares up at Robby. You notice and the corner of your mouth tugs upward. Jack notices and his shoulders relax. Something you hadn’t noticed was there eases within your chest. Everything’s going to be fine.
“Thank’s brother,” Jack says, voice gruff with emotion he tries to keep down.
Robby rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, you need sleep. She has a concussion. Sign the discharge paperwork and get out of my ER.”
“I’m fine.” Jack says.
You and Robby look at each other, a silent conversation happening. Then simultaneously, “No, you’re not.”
You really laugh for the first time since everything happened. It’s painful, and quiet, and tired, but it’s real.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, “You’re the worst.”
Robby snorts, “Go home.”
Jack looks at you. He takes in everything, your posture, your breathing, the vitals on the monitor, the sling, the bandage on your hairline. He realizes that he won’t be able to get any work done when the most important patient is right in front of him. And he knows how much you’d rather be at home.
Without saying a word, he stands up, helps you slide your shoes back on, unhooks you from the monitors, and helps you stand. His arm slides carefully around your waist, trying not to put pressure near your fractured rib. He moves like, if he’s not careful, part of you will shatter and fade away.
“Good luck” Robby says with a smirk.
Your brows furrow together, “With what?”
He lets out a laugh, “With him.”
You deadpan, “Robby.”
“He’s gonna watch you while you sleep,”
“Robby.”
“And manually check your pulse and blood pressure.”
“Robby.”
“You won’t get a single moment alone.”
“ROBINAVITCH.”
He stops with a smug look on his face, knowing that despite all of the teasing, he’s probably right. You shake your head as Jack helps you into a wheelchair and brings you to the entrance of the hospital. Robby stays with you while Jack gets the car.
“For the record, I think the flowers tomorrow are going a little too far.”
You roll your eyes.
Once you’re in the car, Jack’s wall crumbles a little. Not entirely, but just enough so you can see how much he’s holding in. Your fingers intertwine with his. He brings your hand to his lips for a soft kiss.
“CT ruled out a bleed,” You remind him, “Only one rib fracture, everything else is superficial.”
“I know,” he says, voice thick with emotion.
“I’m okay.”
“I know,” His voice cracks this time.
“You’re not gonna check my vitals every fifteen minutes are you?” You mean to tease, but as you say it you see the seriousness on Jack’s face. The anxiety that still bubbles beneath the surface.
“Maybe not every fifteen minutes,” he says. Compromise.
You don’t know whether to frown or to smile so your face makes a weird combination of both. Once you’re in the driveway of your house, Jack squeezes your hand, unable to look at you for once.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” You whisper, squeezing his hand again, a reminder that you’re there. You’re real.
“I can’t– I can’t lose you.” He says finally.
You shift in your seat, wincing as your ribs ache.
“Don’t move like that,” Jack hisses, then, softer, “Please.”
“I’m here.” You say, putting a hand on his cheek, turning his face so he’s looking at you.
Jack closes his eyes and sighs, the weight of the world easing off his shoulders, if only for a moment.
“I’m staying,” You assure him.
He inhales before responding, “I just…need you to heal.”
You smile fondly at him and rub his cheek again.
“So,” You say coyly, “Does that mean I get a prescription for my handsome, sexy, doctor boyfriend to provide at-home care until further notice?”
Jack finally laughs, you have to compose yourself so you don’t cry.
“Something like that,” He murmurs as he leans in to kiss you.
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Jack stands in your favorite flower shop regarding the bouquets like patients with different diagnoses. He’s been here for nearly twenty minutes, unable to decide which one is right for you.
Roses feel too much like Valentine’s day, or an apology. You never were a fan of tulips. Lilies were for funerals or services that held more weight than he wanted to carry when thinking about you. You were one good thing in a life filled with a lot of shit that went wrong.
His eyes scan through the flowers again and land on a bouquet. It’s simple. Baby’s breath, and ranunculus, and snapdragon, and violets. His breath catches as a finger runs over the petals.
He thinks back to one of the first dates the two of you had gone on. It was a picnic in spring, and you had gathered a small bunch of wildflowers and recounted how violets had always been your favorite. You loved how something so delicate could remain so beautiful and vibrant.
It’s ironic. Because now all Jack can think about when he looks at this beautiful bouquet is the image that’s been burned into his mind. The one of you on the floor, tears in your eyes and blood trickling down your temple. He hadn’t known the extent of your injuries when he first saw you, and after years of being told the worst–Jack automatically assumed the results would come back bad. That you were hurt beyond repair.
A young woman comes up next to him, “Looking for a bouquet? This one is one of our wildflower collections. It’s not often you see violets in arrangements because they’re so fragile, but we wanted something special for our customers.”
Jack clears his throat, “Not this one.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth they feel like shame, guilt, avoidance. All of the emotions he doesn’t want connected to you.
“Well. They’re my girlfriend’s favorite,” He says.
The woman smiles, “That’s perfect! I’m sure she’d love this one! I’m always a fan of giving less traditional flowers.”
Jack swallows, he doesn’t say anything about the turmoil he feels when looking at the bouquet, about everything that led to buying them in the first place. He just smiles and hands over his card and asks her to wrap them for him.
When he gets home, you’re just waking up. He sets up the breakfast he got from your favorite local diner in the living room so you both can have a slow morning together. He helps you get dressed, making sure your sling is properly stabilizing your shoulder. He kisses your forehead and leads you to the living room, your favorite movie queued up on the TV. Breakfast spread out on a tray, ready to be eaten. And a bouquet of flowers.
Your eyes light up when you look at them at first. Then you freeze when you see them. Violets.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to buy them” He mutters to himself.
You look up at Jack, “No,” You whisper firmly, “Violets were my favorite before this, I’m not going to let one bad thing change that.”
Jack doesn’t immediately answer, he waits, like your answer will change any second. It doesn’t.
“I almost didn’t get them,” he admits like a confession.
“Why not?” You ask, thumb grazing against his neck.
“Because every time I looked at them,” He starts, taking in a shaky breath, “All I could see was you. On the floor.”
You still, looking up at Jack, gauging where his head is at. He takes your silence as an answer of its own.
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” You say, firmly.
You adjust in your seat, wincing as you get reminded of the existence of your ribcage, and the fact that one of them is broken. Jack is immediately there to help, adjusting the pillows and making sure you’re still okay.
“I didn’t buy them because of what happened,” He starts, “I got them in spite of it. Because you still deserve to get your favorite flower.”
You smile at that. The bouquet sits in a vase on the coffee table. Like a piece of decor that’s always been there. The flowers are just flowers.
Summary: Grocery lists, schedules, shared dinners, and an obvious invitation on a date. Jack seems to be the only one who recognizes it's a date.
Warnings: Idiots in love who don't realize they're in love.
Notes: This chapter kinda took the life out of me. I'm not sure why writing it was so hard, but I think I'm happy with it!
Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
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You’re currently sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book in your hands. A real book for once, not a textbook. Important distinction. You don’t even take a second to glance up when you hear the familiar sound of Jack’s gait across the floor. What does catch your ear though, is the sound of dry cereal making its way into a bowl.
“We’re out of milk.” You call.
It doesn’t hit you at first. The normalcy of it all. How ‘I’ has slowly become ‘We’ or ‘Us’ or anything in between. It just slips from between your lips like the air that you breathe.
“What? You’re kidding,” Jack responds, “I coulda sworn there was some in there yesterday.”
You snort, “There was, but then I was craving those oreos you got for movie night and I finished it.”
Then, you let out a quiet sigh, “Sorry, I was gonna get more for us today,”
You chuckle, “I didn’t think you’d go for cereal of all things…figured that ended once you passed your boards.”
Jack lets out an easy laugh, a noise you’ve gotten used to over the past couple of months.
“Can you blame me? I mean you had to pick out the most tempting kind.” He teases.
You finally look up over your book and into the kitchen where he’s standing. You recognize the outfit; shorts, a t-shirt, and his custom prosthetic made for going to the gym.
“Core day?” You ask briefly.
“No, I got called in last night in the middle of cardio so it’ll be a whole body workout today.”
You nod your head with an easy smile.
“I can grab some milk for us after class today,” You start.
Jack is quick to interrupt, “Nah, you’ve got that study group thing right? I’ll pick it up on the way home from the gym. Do we need anything else?”
You blink away the confusion that must be obviously plastered onto your face, “Wait, how’d you remember that?”
Jack furrows his brows, “Remember what?”
“My study group.”
“You told me…”
“Yeah like two weeks ago, and I never brought it up again.”
“Okay…” He says slowly, “How’d you remember it was supposed to be core day instead of cardio?”
You purse your lips together. Fair enough.
“Coffee creamer.”
His head tilts to the side, but you continue before he gets the chance to speak.
“We need coffee creamer, and not that cheap stuff you got last time, the Chobani one. In the purple bottle. And pasta, we’re low on pasta.”
There's a nearly imperceivable smile on his face.
“Got it,” He says with a small nod.
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Despite everything you’ve tried, you can’t seem to grasp this chapter. You curse yourself for not pushing harder during your time in your rad tech program. You should’ve taken the student job in the cardiac cath lab; it would’ve been the perfect experience to help you right here, right now.
Instead, you decided you liked general radiography. Getting to explore the entire hospital was exciting, the variability in hours was engaging, there was never a dull moment. That also meant, a lot of your training wasn’t focused on cardiology. Which made this rotation in PA school all the more frustrating.
So, when Ethan, your sweet, and admittedly charming, classmate asks you out on a date to help get your mind off things, you say yes. Deep down, you know that he’s not asking you out just as friends. And you do feel slightly guilty for saying yes when you have absolutely no interest in the man. But, you know getting out will help distract you from Starling’s law and capillary exchange and maybe even your mixed feelings about Jack.
“So, I can pick you up tomorrow around 6:00 if that’s okay?” He asks.
You smile, trying to seem kind, “Yeah, that’s perfect. Thank you so much for offering to help before I completely fail out of this rotation.”
He chuckles and then freezes, “I didn’t mean to laugh because you really need the help, you obviously are really smart, I just- it was a funny joke and-”
You laugh, “Ethan, it’s okay.”
He sighs and nods, “Okay.”
You both settle into a comfortable silence, burying your head back into your textbook. Ethan was one of the nicer classmates you had. He was incredibly intelligent, empathetic, and ambitious. He had all of the traits of a wonderful future PA, without all of the cockiness some of your other classmates shared.
Since August, the two of you had been in multiple group study sessions together, somehow always ending up on the same side of the table, brushing shoulders as you passed by. Tomorrow night will be the first time going out alone, not accompanied by your other classmates.
You tell yourself that it’s just studying. Ethan is just a friend who wants to make sure you don’t go bald pulling your hair out because of cardiology and capillary exchange and everything you can’t seem to grasp right now.
Maybe he thinks part of what will help you learn is to get out of your head a little, enjoy a good conversation over a nice dinner instead of microwave ramen and hard boiled eggs. It shouldn’t matter that it sounds like a date.
You try to convince yourself that it doesn’t feel like a date. Instead of thinking it through in your head, you decide it’s best to ignore whatever complicated feelings are distracting you from right now. The very important subject of arterial and venous net filtration pressures.
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When you’re finally back home, Jack has dinner ready for both of you. As you go to fill up your water bottle from the fridge, you see the milk he got from the store and the coffee creamer. The purple bottle from Chobani, the one that you liked. You smile to yourself as you tighten the cap on your water bottle.
There’s something unnamed and intimate about the little details Jack seems to remember. It honestly shouldn’t feel this good to simply have him listen to you. You had asked him to get the purple bottle this morning. Which meant he was simply listening. Definitely no hidden unnamed motive behind it.
You take a sip of your water and head over to the table where Jack already has your food plated and ready to eat.
“How was the gym?” You ask as you begin digging into your food.
“Good,” He starts in between bites, “Uneventful. How was your study group? Still struggling with cardiology?”
You nod your head, savoring the pasta in your mouth before fully answering him. He added more capers this time. Last time he made this pasta you had complained about the unacceptable lack of them.
“Yeah, I don’t know what about it is so hard to grasp,” You say, “One of my classmates, Ethan, offered to help out some more over dinner tomorrow night.”
You don’t notice it, but Jack’s shoulders tense at the mention of going to dinner with Ethan.
“Dinner? Where to?” He asks casually, fork stilling on his plate, anticipating your response.
“Dunno, just said he’d pick me up around six.”
“He’s in your cohort?”
“Yeah, worked as an ICU nurse before starting at PA school,” You explain, “Not really sure why he decided on this instead of becoming an NP, but he’s nice.”
Jack nods, stabbing his food with his fork like he’s got a personal vendetta against meatballs.
“And he’s picking you up?”
You look at Jack confused about the sudden interview that seems to be occurring, “Yeah?”
“Here? He’s coming here?”
A shocked laugh leaves your throat, “Yes, Jack, where else would he pick me up from?”
Jack bristles and looks back at his food, “Just want to make sure I know the logistics. Don’t want any creepy guys knowing where you live.”
“Jack!” You exclaim, unsure of how to react, “Ethan’s a friend, a classmate, not some ‘creepy guy’”
Jack doesn’t comment on any of his presumptions about Ethan. Instead, he opts to shoving his food around his plate with a fork as you start talking about the rest of your day. You feel the tension radiating off of him, but you can’t place where exactly it's coming from.
“You work tomorrow night right?” You ask, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah.”
“Hopefully your shift goes well, I saw the weather was supposed to be bad later this week.”
“Yeah.” He says, then, “Nobody in Pittsburgh knows how to drive.”
You watch him, and see how his shoulders gently relax as the conversation steers away from your study date. It dawns on you that Jack is probably worried about you. He’s been here to see you through one of the lowest points of your life so far, and has been there to help every step of the way.
You wonder if he views you meeting up with Ethan as a distraction, something that will try to set you back from every goal you’ve worked your ass off to achieve. After all, Jack is really the only one who has seen nearly everything you’ve had to overcome in the past few months. And in the time you’ve gotten to know him since you moved in, he seems to have a near-constant state of concern for you.
You look at Jack and still see the lingering tension in the way he’s cutting up his meatballs. You sigh, “Jack,” a beat, “It’s just dinner. I really just need someone to explain Starling’s law before I rip every hair out of my scalp individually.”
He takes a moment to chew the food in his mouth, and chew on the thought that’s resting in his head. He sets his fork down and really looks at you before continuing.
“Do you even know if he’s actually interested in studying? I mean, from here it sounds like a date.”
It comes out harsher than he intends it, and you watch as he runs a hand down his face. A habit you’ve seen before after clipped conversations in trauma bays after losing a patient. You don’t let his tone bother you though, because the idea of dating Ethan is completely absurd.
You laugh, “Ethan? I mean…I’m not sure what kind of guy plans a date around capillary exchange, Jack. He’s just being nice.”
Jack takes a deep breath shaking his head as he finishes his food. The conversation drifts back to nothing in particular. He watches as you discuss some article you had read about the impact empathy from healthcare workers had on patient outcomes. Internally, he’s relieved. Happy that you seem to only be going because you want help studying. Jack is also upset, though, he tells himself he shouldn’t be, because regardless of how you appear to feel about Ethan, you’re still choosing to go on the obvious attempt at a date.
The tension that had settled over dinner has washed away. By the time you’re halfway through rambling about your article on empathy, Jack is back to teasing you about your odd habit of turning every conversation into something related to homework.
“You can call it an occupational hazard, I guess” You chuckle.
He bites his lower lip, trying to suppress a full-on smile, “Pretty sure being a student doesn’t count as an occupation, sweetheart.”
Your jaw drops in mock hurt, before you can respond Jack has grabbed your dishes and starts taking them to the kitchen.
“Hey, I can help.” You start you object, already pushing your chair back to get up.
“No, no. You cooked last night,” He says quietly, “I got it, you get back to studying.”
You take a moment to observe Jack in the kitchen. He rinses the dishes off and puts them in the dishwasher, moving with a quiet certainty that warms your chest for some reason. He opens a cabinet, the one meant for your things, but has slowly turned into a shared space. From it, he grabs one of your lunch containers, filling it with leftovers for tomorrow.
Instead of putting it in the fridge immediately, he rests it on the counter to make sure everything is cooled off. No soggy leftovers.
You smile to yourself and look down at your notes. You try to force your attention toward the words on the page, but after the third time re-reading the same paragraph on actin and myosin and the impact on sensitivity to calcium ions, you realize it’s no use. With a sigh, you close your book and move into the living room, curling up in one corner of the couch.
After a few minutes, you see Jack walk into the room with his laptop and reading glasses.
“Thought you were studying?” He asks.
“I was,” You say, “and then I decided it would be more productive to make a hit list and put Ernest Starling at the top,”
Jack laughs, “Figured you could use some company out here.”
You shift slightly, curling into the couch further, “Don’t you work tonight? You should get some sleep.”
“Then who would be able to stop you from committing murder against a dead physiologist?”
You try to smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Too stressed about everything you can’t seem to grasp. Jack turns so he’s facing you more, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose so he’s looking at you over them.
“Explain it to me.”
You scoff, confused, “What?”
He looks at you, urging you on, “Explain it to me, Starling’s law. Whatever it is that keeps tripping you up.”
“You’re gonna regret this,” You say.
“Try me.”
You shift, now fully facing Jack and sitting up to prepare your explanation, “Okay, so. Basically blood moves from places of higher pressure to places with lower pressure.”
He nods his head, like he’s actually following along, so you decide to keep going.
“There’s this thing called capillary hydrostatic pressure that helps to push fluid out of the capillaries, and then there's colloid osmotic pressure which uses albumin and other plasma proteins to pull fluid in,” You take a deep breath ready to continue.
“Wait, so the fluid just…picks a side?” Jack asks.
“No, well…okay yeah, kind of.”
You gesture to your notebook, and look back up at Jack, “So, Starling’s law is like the balance between the pushing out and pulling in.”
“Bingo.” Jack says with a smirk.
You look at Jack, confused for a second before it clicks in your head.
“No shit!” You exclaim reaching over to hit Jack’s shoulder excitedly.
You don’t realize you’re hovering over him, how close you’ve gotten, until you’re slightly hovering over him braced on the couch. His hand settles on your waist, not to pull you in, just to keep you steady so you don’t lose balance.
You freeze for half a beat. Jack doesn’t move either. He just smiles and looks in your eyes, something unspoken stopping just before it reaches his lips, like the moment could have been something else before he catches it and reigns back in.
You blink, suddenly acutely aware of just how close you are, and shift back into your corner of the couch. Jack’s hand drops from your waist, but you swear there’s a moment of hesitation before his hand fully settles on his lap.
Jack clears his throat and presses his glasses up so they’re fully resting on his nose again, “Sounds like you know more than you think.”
You bite your lip with a giddy smile, “I can’t believe that actually worked.”
Not even a minute later your phone buzzes. You quickly look down at the screen.
Ethan: Made a reservation at this cool spot downtown. Wear something nice. I hope flowers aren’t too much ;)
You purse your lips thumb hovering over the message as you read it again, wondering how to respond. The weight of your phone suddenly feels heavier than it should.
Across the couch, Jack types quietly on his laptop, entirely unaware of the message on your phone. Or maybe he is somehow, he’s consistently aware in all of the ways you least expect. On your phone, the promise of reservations still glows.
In the kitchen, the leftovers are already cooling in your container. Both a simple promise of tomorrow.
hiiii ina my name’s mar i just stumbled upon ur pinned and then got curious and went to see ur blog and liked a few posts in a row and your writing is sooooo good. sorry if this is a little messy to read lol eng is not my first language also i got curious what are you studying? your descriptions make me think smth health. i’m a last year med student! i got a semester before my intern year. i was honestly gonna send a message but decided to go for an ask. u don’t have to answer this if you feel uncomfortable it’s just i get so anxious sending asks without anon activated lol
Hi Mar!!
Thank you so much, this is so sweet! 🥹 I'm so glad you like my writing!! I'm in school for medical imaging right now, so you're pretty spot on with the healthcare guess. Congrats on med school! That's such a big accomplishment! I wish you all the best in your last semester before your intern year ♡
