[softtachycardia]

softtachycardia's masterlist!

Jack Abbot

Rx: Dinner Together

Again and Again

Code Silver

According to Plan Masterlist (Ongoing)

Differential Diagnoses

Closing Remarks (18+)

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

Curtain Call(Out)

[softtachycardia]

Closing Remarks

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: After watching Jack prove how competent he is at a conference, you decide to tease him with his favorite dress. Potential conference code of conduct violations ensue.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Smut, Porn with Plot, PIV, Oral Sex (F Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Competency Kink

Notes: I have literally never written anything remotely smutty in my entire life. Feedback appreciated, but please be nice :'(

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Conferences always got boring after a certain amount of time. Despite this, you knew the importance of attending. Meeting with your peers, representing PTMC, learning about the newest innovations in emergency medicine. The only thing that kept you going when things got boring was the promise of the after parties that always happened at the end of the day. 

You knew Jack always dealt with these situations better than yourself, that’s part of the reason you were glad he was there with you. It was also the perfect excuse for the two of you to get out of Pittsburgh for a little vacation under the guise of traveling for work. Honestly, who wouldn’t like hooking up with your husband in between lectures? 

Unfortunately, there was no time to fool around today. Jack was presenting at one of the scheduled meetings, which left you alone to attend some of the other events around the conference center. You got contact information for a few vendors and reps that you thought might be a good fit for PTMC. 

It was nearly 6 PM before you saw Jack again since the last time you saw him this morning around 7 AM. After the last lecture you had gone back to your hotel room and changed into a simple cocktail dress. It was one of Jack’s favorites. The kind of dress that hugged your body in all of his favorite places. When he entered the hotel bar, which was already crowded with different medical professionals in attendance, he immediately saw you. 

The hair on the back of your neck stood when you felt him behind you. His hands immediately found your hips, like it was their natural home. You took a sip of your martini and he whispered in your ear. You could hear the smile on his lips. 

“I thought you said you didn’t pack this dress.” 

You bite your lip and press your thighs together, “Thought you’d enjoy the surprise.” 

His hands squeeze your hips as he presses his chest against your back with a muffled groan, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” 

You’re about to respond when someone calls your name from behind, “Dr. Abbot and…Dr. Abbot! I didn’t know you both were here!” 

You finally turn around in your chair, hoping the blush in your cheeks or the goosebumps on your skin don’t give you away. It would be imperceptible to anyone else, but you sense how Jack moves to stand behind you still, you have your suspicions as to why. 

“Dr. Kwon!” Jack says with a friendly laugh, “Your presentation on hemostatic agents in the treatment of GSWs was great today.” 

He smiles, “Your presentation was a good listen too Dr. Abbott, are you both still at PTMC? Sure you don’t have any interest in Northwestern?” 

You engage in polite conversation with Dr. Kwon. Slowly, you feel Jack’s hand trace from your lower back, up your arm, and finally settle under your hair at the back of your neck. Your posture straightens and you try to focus on continuing the conversation professionally instead of the feeling that’s building between your thighs. 

“It was wonderful to read your research about the use of different contrast agents in CT angiography to help detect different levels of plaque, what drew you into that field of research?” 

As you get ready to answer, you feel Jack’s fingers tighten slightly at the nape of your neck. You inhale sharply and end up coughing to hide your reaction. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s proud of himself. 

You answer the question and Dr. Kwon goes back to talking about some research article he read that supported your own published work. You try to listen, but Jack has now moved fully behind you. His body is pressed against your back and you lean into his touch. You feel the familiar bulge in his pants and smirk to yourself, proud of the reaction you can elicit from him just from wearing a simple dress. 

You hear the question get asked, but the words don’t make their way to your head. It’s only when you see the confused look on Dr. Kwon’s face when you realize you’ve missed something. 

“Sorry, it’s been such a long day,” You start bringing a hand to your forehead, feigning a headache, “Maybe we can catch up tomorrow over lunch between sessions?” 

You drop one of your hands behind you to pinch Jack’s thigh, hoping he’ll back you up instead of egging you on solely to tease you. Despite his words, you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. 

“You’ve got my number right? We’d love to have lunch tomorrow, and please bring June if she came with you, it’d be great for all of us to catch up again.” Jack says. 

Dr. Kwon looks at you sympathetically, completely clueless to the arousal that’s slowly been building in the pit of your stomach. 

“Of course! Of course,” He exclaims, “Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll see you both tomorrow.” 

As soon as he turns away you whip around in your chair and glare up at your husband, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

His hand rests at the side of your neck, as he looks down at you with a knowing smile, “You started it.” 

You roll your eyes and stand up from your chair, straightening your dress before sauntering toward the elevators. It’s maybe a millisecond before you hear the familiar cadence of Jack’s steps behind you and feel the weight of his arm around your waist. 

He presses the button to call for an elevator and there’s an electrifying silence between the two of you while you wait. A soft chime brings both of your attention to the sliding doors to the right. Jack basically drags you into the elevator. You’re thankful to see no one else needs to catch a ride. He pressed the button to the top floor, because he only wanted the best view of Chicago for his wife. 

It’s almost immediate once the doors close. There’s only a beat of hesitation as you look at each other in the mirrored wall before the elevator starts moving. Your hands find their way to his curls as you pull him down to your lips. He sighs and the tension in his shoulders dissipates the moment his lips meet yours. You moan into his mouth as he squeezes your ass through your dress. 

“You’re a tease you know that?” He grunts as he loosens his tie, “You know exactly how this dress makes me feel.” 

Your tongue wets your lips and you pull the bottom one between your teeth as you look up at him, nearly panting. 

“You deserved a treat after your big lecture,” You reply innocently. 

He’s back on you again, this time pressing kisses against your neck and collar bone. You close your eyes and sigh, tilting your head to the side to give him more leverage. Your arm holds onto his like an anchor, like you’re scared to float away under his touch. 

The elevator dings and the doors start to open. You glance at the number, it’s only the seventh floor, your body freezes and you make eye contact with an elderly woman and her husband. Jack is too lost in his own fantasy to notice. That is, until you slap his shoulder. 

He looks up, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and makes eye contact with the elderly couple, “Going up?” 

Both of them stare at you wide eyed and simultaneously shake their heads no. It’s nearly cinematic the way the doors shut and Jack is on you again. His hands find your hair and you hold onto his arm for support as you breathe him in, breaths heavy. 

The journey to your room is short from the elevator, but is made significantly longer every time you push Jack against a wall, unable to wait until the two of you are alone. Maybe this is why the hospital had offered to get each of you individual rooms on the trip. They knew together, nothing would get done. The representation you were providing for PTMC was that one of the lead trauma attendings and radiologists were screwing around like teenagers the whole time.

Once the door to your hotel room is latched shut, you’re pulling Jack’s suit jacket from his shoulders and tossing it to the floor. 

“Everyone was watching you up there today.” You breathe. 

He bends down to pepper kisses along your jawline. 

“They all got to see how competent you are. How dedicated,” Your voice is shaky as you whimper when his hands reach under your dress to trace your thighs. 

Jack nibbles at your ear lobe, “That turn you on, baby?” 

You nod your head, “Always.” 

You’re walking backwards, still attached to Jack when your legs hit the bed. He spins you around and pushes you down on your stomach. You feel the cool air as it brushes over your body when Jack raises the skirt of your dress. He groans when he sees you. 

“No underwear?” 

His fingers immediately find their way between your folds, collecting the evidence of your arousal. Your hips buck against the sheets, craving more friction than anything Jack is willing to give you right now. 

Suddenly his fingers are gone and you’re left bare and shivering, hips helplessly bucking. The loss makes you whine. You hear the pop of Jack’s mouth from behind you and whimper as you think about the sight of him. Fingers in his mouth, tongue swirling around to collect traces of you. His throat makes a guttural sound and soon enough he’s sat at the edge of the bed unbuckling his trousers. 

You get on all fours to help him remove his clothes, peppering soft kisses against his abdomen and along his cock. His hand grips the back of your head as he throws his back. 

“Mmm, baby, not right now, wanna taste you,” He whimpers. 

You moan and reluctantly pull yourself away from him, helping him finish undressing and removing his prosthetic. Jack shifts in the bed and his eyes nearly devour you. At the beginning of your relationship, you used to shy away when he would look at you like that. Now, the only thing it does is fill your belly with excitement. 

He taps his chest, signalling for you to come over. Your hands reach for the zipper of your dress, ready to take it off. 

“Uh uh.” He says, “Keep it on.” 

You whimper and straddle Jack’s chest, hovering over him. His hands trail up your thighs again until his finger starts tracing teasing circles around your clit. One hand presses down on his shoulder as you let out a soft moan. 

“Jack, please.” 

He smirks and continues rubbing you. 

You groan and grind your hips, yearning for more contact with him. He wraps both hands around the back of your thighs and pulls you forward until you’re nearly seated over his face. He breathes in your scent and growls before drawing a line with his tongue up your slit. 

Your jaw falls open and your hand reaches forward to hold onto the headboard for support. You try to keep your weight distributed so you’re not actually resting on Jack’s face, but that seems to be the opposite of what he wants, because his hands are wrapped around your thighs and continue to pull you down as he licks and prods. 

You can feel the orgasm building in the bottom of your belly. Your hips start moving in rhythm with Jack's ministrations. 

“Oh god, Jack, baby, I’m gonna come,” You sigh. 

Your moans only egg him to work harder, to get you there faster. His lips wrap around your clit and suck gently. All of the muscles in your body tense and you start to shudder above him, trying to pull away as your orgasm washes over you. 

Jack holds you in place, lapping up all evidence of your high before letting you roll over next to him breathless. You can see the glisten of yourself all over his lips and chin. You sigh and roll to pull him into a kiss. The salty taste still on his tongue. 

Your hand trails down to his cock, hard and already leaking. You twist and pull on it, savoring the way that Jack utterly melts under your touch. His hips shoot up to meet your hand and he pulls on the hair at the base of your scalp. 

“Ngh, baby, I’m not gonna last if you keep on like that,” He whispers after a few minutes of you toying with him. 

“You made me sit there and watch you all day. Did you even think how I felt? Knowing all of those women were probably thinking about you the same way I do?” 

You squeeze at the base of his cock before continuing, “Do you know how wet I was? How I had to come back here afterwards just to get myself off because you were too busy?” 

He closes his eyes and drops his head on the pillow, breathing shallowly, “Let me make it up to you baby.”

You smile, knowing he’s wrapped around your finger. You release your hold on him and wait for him to move. He’s immediately sitting up and unzipping your dress now. His hands fumble with the fabric. He’s always been more clumsy in the bedroom than he is in the trauma bay. You like to tell yourself it’s because you make him excited. 

He’s all but ripping the dress off of you and pulling you onto his lap as he latches his mouth around one of your nipples. You grind your hips against his, feeling the head of his cock slipping through your folds, but not entering. You moan as it brushes against your still-sensitive clit. 

Jack's hands dance along your ribs, before lowering down and cupping your ass. He gently lifts you and you bring one hand between you to guide yourself onto him. You both sigh at the familiar stretch as he fills you. For a moment you sit there, breathing heavily, kissing each other. 

But it’s not long before you feel yourself shift in Jack’s lap, longing for more friction between the two of you. He takes note of your needs and starts thrusting into you. The position you’re in allows for a certain depth you can’t achieve in other positions. Over the years you’ve loved fucking him like this, sitting in his lap. 

He picks up the pace and brings his mouth down to suck on your nipple while one hand reaches to play with your clit. You’re already clenching around him, getting closer and closer to your climax. 

“Oh, shit” You whimper. 

“C’mon baby, you can do it,” He urges. 

Your hips buck against his as you look at the ceiling, “Jack I’m close.” 

His free hand grabs your jaw as he pulls you in for another kiss, “Eyes on me” 

You whimper and nod your head as you look at him. 

“None of those people know how fucking amazing you are,” He groans in your ear as he bucks his hips harder into your core. 

You rest your forehead against his as you both work toward chasing your own highs. 

“Jack please,” You whisper. 

“Come for me.” He grunts. 

Your body shudders as you come undone around him. You feel his hips start to stutter and stop as he comes inside of you. Your walls flutter around him and you both look at each other, catching your breaths. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jack whispers as he’s coming down. 

You sigh and close your eyes, pulling him in for a kiss. This time, it’s gentle, comforting. Jack rubs his hand along your back, between your shoulderblades. You slide yourself off of him and try not to be disappointed at the loss of feeling him inside you. 

Without question, you walk to the bathroom and get two warm washcloths to clean each other off. Jack is at the minifridge pulling out two bottles of water for you and him. Jack wipes you clean before wiping himself off. 

“Drink this,” He whispers, placing a kiss to the top of your head as you curl next to him, “It’ll help with that headache you told Kwon about.” 

You smile at him, “Oh shut up, you were the one teasing me in front of him!” 

He knows your anger holds no real weight, “Wouldn’t have felt the need to tease you if you had worn a different dress.” 

“Wouldn’t have worn this dress if I didn’t have to watch you be so…competent all day!” You laugh. 

Jack rolls on top of you, smothering you with his weight as he presses kisses all over your face. You laugh and try, and fail, to push him off of you. Eventually, you settle in for the night. Jack orders a bottle of wine and dinner and you unwind, watching some stupid procedural show that’s on the television as you tell each other about your day. 

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[softtachycardia]

The Flood

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: A flooded apartment forces you and Jack to discuss what options you have for living arrangements moving forward. He wants you to be safe. You want to prove you're capable of being independent.

Warnings: Forced Proximity, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Power Imbalance

Notes: Eeek! Here's chapter two of this story! I have had so much fun writing this so far that I cannot put it down. ♡ Have fun reading!

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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This was not how your evening was supposed to go. You just finished your first day of clinical rotations with your PA program, and everything was perfect! The preceptors were excited to have students, the patients were understanding, and the commute home wasn’t even bad. Maybe the universe saw too much of a good thing and had to fix it. 

You stare at the mat at the front of your apartment door. It’s drenched. In fact, nearly the entire floor at the bottom of the stairs is covered in a puddle of water. Maybe, if you never open the door to your apartment, then nothing will be wrong. Right? 

You sigh and prepare yourself for the worst. Upon opening the door, you see that everything is soaked. The smell of mildew already starts to take hold as you pad through the small unit. When you finally get to your bedroom, you find the culprit of the problem; a faulty ceiling sprinkler. It still sprays water over everything. 

Maybe it’s shock, or dread, or some other unnamed emotion that’s entirely new, but you hesitate to call for help. You just stare. Your shoulders sag as you grab your phone and walk back out to the hallway. 

“Hi Mr. Ayers. One of the sprinklers in my apartment is malfunctioning, the whole unit is flooded. I was gone at work all day and just came home. Can you come over to fix it?” You say. 

His gruff response makes you roll your eyes, “It’s seven o’clock, my wife and I just sat down for dinner, call the fire department.” 

You take in a deep breath as he hangs up the phone abruptly. 

“Never should’ve signed the lease for this fucking apartment,” You mutter while punching in 911. 

The call rings once before the dispatcher is on the line. She takes your name and address and lets you know that police and fire will be there shortly. Your cheeks stain red when you hear the sirens a few minutes later. This didn’t feel like a siren-dependent type of emergency, and now anyone in your unit who didn’t know anything was happening, now are certainly aware something’s up. 

It’s a police officer who greets you first. He starts taking notes on everything immediately. You show him into your apartment, apologizing for the mess–which hasn’t been made better by being drenched in water. A knock on the door lets you know that the fire department has arrived too. 

One of the firefighters is a young woman, the other is an older man. The woman talks to you about everything that happened, trying to understand what could’ve went wrong, while the man goes to grab a Shutgun to stop the sprinkler from endlessly spraying. 

The officer continues inspecting different areas of your apartment. 

“Ma’am?” He calls from the laundry room. 

You start heading that way.

“Yeah?” You call, “Another sprinkler?”  

“No. There’s mold in here, looks like it’s been growing for months. If it’s this bad in here it’s definitely in other parts of the apartment too.” He says. 

“Oh.” You whisper, brows furrowed, “Is that–” 

“This isn’t a habitable apartment,” He says directly, but he looks at you and softens, “Do you have anywhere else you can stay?” 

You open your mouth to respond, close it, and then, ‘Yeah. Yes. Absolutely. Let me just…grab some essentials and I’ll call them.” 

He looks at you, no, he sees right through you. You’re grateful he doesn’t call you on your bluff though.

“We’re done here for now. We’ll be in contact with your landlord tomorrow, but I wouldn’t count on being able to move back in any time soon.” He tells you. 

You bite your lip and nod. 

“Thank you, Officer.” 

He pats your shoulder as he goes to check in with the firefighters. You walk up the steps outside your apartment and sit on the sidewalk. You don’t even know who you’re supposed to call in this situation. Your family lives in an entirely different state, you don’t feel close enough with any of your coworkers to ask them, and you met your classmates less than a month ago. 

You decide to try one of your classmates first, but she tells you she lives in a studio with her boyfriend and they don’t really have any extra space. You call your great aunt, who lives three hours outside of the city, and she tells you you can stay with her. But the thought of driving that far every day makes you cry. A small voice in the back of your mind tells you who you should call. You know he’ll help. You also know if you don’t ask him for help he’ll be entirely offended. 

You look at his name on your screen before pressing the call button. 

It rings twice. You hesitate to speak for a moment. 

“Jack?” You ask, trying to shake the tremble out of your voice. 

Silence. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

You hear shuffling in the background. Walking, a zipper, keys. 

“My apartment flooded.” You say. 

He pauses. Everything goes still on the other end of the line. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“No.” You whimper. 

“Good.” Jack says, “I’m on my way.” 

You don’t think about how much relief you feel the second the phone hangs up. You tell yourself that Jack is only doing this because it’s the polite thing to do. He’s an attending, you’re sure he’d do this for anyone at the hospital who needed it. At the same time, there’s a small pit in your stomach reminding you that leaning on him, relying on him for help, surrenders some of the independence you’ve worked so hard to maintain. 

You head back inside and grab the driest duffle bag you can find. You’re thankful that your laptop and textbooks were safe in your car. But most things in your bedroom have been destroyed. A few pairs of scrubs and a pair of sweats and hoodies are damp, but smell like they could be fixed with a cycle through a washing machine. You grab the essential toiletries from your bathroom and your favorite blanket and head back outside to the sidewalk. 

You barely have to wait five minutes before you see Jack’s car pull up on the street. He’s barely parked it before he’s hopping out of the door and rushing toward you. His brows are furrowed and he’s scanning the area. You, your face, your posture, the apartment building, emergency services. 

“How bad is it?” He asks as you stand up to meet him. 

His arms hover like he doesn’t know whether to pull you in for a hug or check for any injuries. 

“Wanna see? The police said there’s mold that must’ve been growing for months,” You say, voice wavering, “I was gone at my first clinical rotation all day, I didn’t even know there was something wrong with the pipes. It’s been soaking my room the entire day.” 

Jack’s jaw tightens as he listens to you, he settles on resting both hands on your shoulders, “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” He whispers, “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“Everything’s ruined,” You admit, “I had no one else to call, I-” 

“Stop,” He says gently, squeezing your shoulders, urging you to look him in the eyes, “We’ll figure it out. Show me the damage.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to reset. You nod and lead him down to your apartment. There is at least half an inch of water on the floor in any of the rooms. You show him the laundry room with the black, slimy mold. When he gets to the bedroom though, he can truly see the extent of the damage. 

Your bed is ruined, all of the books you’ve spent years collecting are soaked. Clothes drenched, television and gaming consoles turned off with no promise of ever turning on again. The wood on your furniture is saturated to be an entirely different color. The walls have stains where the endless spray hit them repeatedly the entire day. 

“It’s ruined.” You mutter. 

Jack takes it all in, eyes scanning over each inch of your bedroom. A place he’s never had the privilege of knowing. He recognizes some of the items inside, a pile of scrubs he’s seen you in at work. Some of the books on the shelf are titles he watched you work through months prior. There’s even pictures of you with people in your life who must love you if your smile is any indication. 

“Some of it...” He admits, “Not all of it though.” 

“The apartment is.” You counter. 

“You aren’t though.” He says gently, eyes filled with concern. 

You roll your eyes, “I will be if I can’t find a place to stay. My aunt lives like three hours away, but I can’t make it to class and work every day with that commute.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Jack says. It’s a statement, spoken like fact. There’s no other option in Jack’s mind. 

You pause and take in what he’s said. It’s comforting. 

We’ll figure it out. 

A promise that you don’t have to do this alone. 

And as much as it comforts you, it scares you. 

The police officer comes up and hands you a card with all of his information on it. He shakes Jack’s hand firmly. 

“Alright miss, we’ll be in contact about everything moving forward, but if you need us sooner you can call that number on the card.” The officer explains. 

You nod your head and feel the tears making their way to your eyes again, “Thanks.” 

You feel Jack’s hand hovering over your lower back. A solid reminder of his presence. The tension in your shoulders gives slightly. 

Jack helps you load your duffle back into his car. You insisted that you could just put it in your car and follow him to his place, but he wouldn’t have it. Too tired to fight, you gave in. The ride to Jack’s house is long, by the time you get there, you realize he lives only ten minutes away from the hospital. A dream. 

You ride separately so you’ll still have your car in the morning, when you inevitably wake up and need to make your way to class and clinical again. But the entire ride there is spent on the phone with Jack. He asks what kind of drinks you like, your favorite snacks, what your schedule looks like tomorrow so he can prepare. 

You try to tell him that he doesn’t need to stock his fridge with anything, that you’ll figure it out and just grab fast food or something. He scoffs, doesn’t tell you no, but you know deep down he’s going to get you food regardless. 

Once you’re both parked, you grab your backpack. Jack grabs your duffle, and he leads the way inside. His house is modest from the outside, nothing that screams he’s got money, but everything is well kept and organized. There’s not much decoration throughout, just the necessities. You wonder if that’s simply the way he likes it, or something he’s used to after all of his years in the service. 

The longer you look around you see picture frames, Jack while he was in the military, Jack and a woman smiling while he looks down at her, a german shepherd, him and Dr. Robby. You assume the woman must be his late wife. Slowly different pieces of his life come alive. It’s not just minimal, it’s intentional. Everything he owns seems to be curated to who he is. 

He clears his throat after setting your bag down on the couch, “So, uh, welcome.” 

There’s a silence between the two of you for a moment, neither knowing what to say. 

“Uh, this is the living room. I’ve got all the streaming services hooked up on the TV, feel free to watch whatever,” He starts. 

He moves toward the kitchen and shows you around, even going as far to show you where pots and pans are in case you want to cook. You tell yourself that you’ll never need to know where anything is because in a few days you’ll already be signing a lease for a new apartment and out of Jack’s hair. 

The house is comfortable. Not too big, not too small, the right amount of clean but lived-in. He finally shows you to the office, a large desk sits by the window. Medical journals scatter bookshelves and the floor in organized piles. 

“This is my office. I’ve got an air mattress to pull out.” He says, “But I’ll finish the tour first.” 

Next, he takes you to his bedroom. The bed is made neatly, Jack’s crutches rest by the nightstand, and there’s a chair with his SWAT uniform slung over it. Everything screams “Jack”. 

“Bedroom’s here. There’s the ensuite bathroom through that door. Seriously, make yourself at home. Use anything you need until we can get you new stuff,” He says. 

There’s that word again: we. It reminds you that you’re not in this alone. It reminds you that you’re bringing Jack into this. And you don’t know how he really feels about it. 

He claps his hands together and grabs some clothes from his dresser and his crutches, “Alright, I’ll bring your bag in here so you can get settled and–” 

“Woah, woah, woah. Bring my back in here?” You interject. 

He processes the question a moment, like the words are hard to comprehend, “Yes. I’m going to blow up the air mattress so you can sleep in my room and I’ll take the office.” 

“Jack.” You say. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m not taking the bedroom.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s your bedroom.” 

“And?” 

You make an exasperated sound and shake your head, “And I’m a guest in your house. There’s no reason why I can’t sleep on the air mattress.” 

“There’s no reason why I can’t either,” He counters. 

You inhale sharply, trying to think of a counter argument to his claim, but already Jack is continuing. 

“It’s been a long day, and you have class in the morning,” He starts, “And clinical in the afternoon, and your apartment just flooded. The least you can do is get a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed.” 

A beat. 

“If you’re not going to do it for yourself, do it for your school. Do it for me.” He states. 

That stops you cold in your tracks. For him. He asked you to do it for him. You open your mouth ready to say something that hasn’t even formed. Promptly, you close it, accepting defeat.

“Bedroom?” He asks with that same smug look on his face he has when he catches you flustered at work. 

“Bedroom.” You mutter trying to give him a convincing glare. You think it falls short. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

When you wake up, you notice that your shoulders aren’t tense like they normally are in the mornings. Then you feel the drool that’s dried on your cheek but still dampens the pillow you’re holding on to. You relish in the first moment of contentment you’ve experienced in months. And then you remember where you are. 

You peek through one eye, secretly hoping that when you open it you’ll be proved wrong. That you aren’t actually at Jack Abbot’s house. In Jack Abbot’s bed. Drooling on Jack Abbot’s pillow. As soon as one eye opens, the other follows suit and you jump out of bed like it’s something hot to be avoided. 

You take a deep breath and grab your phone from the charger on the nightstand. It’s 6:50. Your heart skips a beat as panic floods your veins. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” You whisper, jumping out of your pajamas and digging through your duffle bag for your scrubs. 

You’re disappointed to find that in all of the chaos of last night, you forgot to ask Jack if you could wash them. They smell like mildew. You groan, but throw them on anyway, convincing yourself that using your emergency day just because you were displaced after your apartment flooded would be an inappropriate use of the excused absence. You’ll figure out the stinky scrubs, after you get through today. 

Everything has to stay on track. That’s what you’ve always told yourself. A little setback won’t convince you otherwise. 

You look at your phone again and curse, realizing that you’re probably still going to be late. Pulling up maps, you type in your school’s address on your phone and laugh bitterly. 

Of course. 

Of course Jack lived only seven minutes away from campus. Which meant you had at least another twenty minutes before you needed to leave. You sigh and grab your school things. At least now you’d be able to treat yourself to breakfast like a normal person, not your typical self who relied on caffeine and sheer determination. 

You try to straighten up Jack’s bed, not wanting him to judge your living habits. And when you head out to the living room, you hear him already in the kitchen. Whatever it is he’s making smells divine, and you curse your stomach for betraying you by grumbling loudly. 

He doesn’t even turn around when he says, “Sleep well?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to divulge that it was the most heavenly sleep of your life. Or that you slept so well that you had drooled all over his perfect pillow. 

“Yeah, thank you again I–” 

“Sit down, breakfast will be done in a minute. Classes start at 7:30 right?” 

You’re stunned, “...Yeah.” 

It makes sense that Jack would know when classes start, he deals with students all the time. But this wasn’t just him knowing your schedule. He had intentionally woken up to make sure you had breakfast before you left. 

You walk toward the island and sit in one of the stools. Jack turns around with an easy smile, “I hope you like arugula.” 

“Did you sleep well?” You ask, remembering that instead of his perfectly comfortable bed, he had chosen to sleep on the air mattress last night. 

“Hm?” He hums, “Oh. Yeah. It was fine. How do you like your coffee? I had those energy drink things I always see you with delivered this morning along with some things for you to pack your lunch with and–” 

“Jack!” You laugh, but it comes out sharper than you intended. You don’t understand why you feel slightly angry that he’s being so generous. The food, the coffee, the delivery, everything was deliberately planned just so you’d have a good morning. You should be grateful, but instead you’re feeling claustrophobic. 

He pauses and looks at you, evaluating. It’s a look you’ve seen countless times in the trauma bay. 

“I’m overstepping, aren’t I?” He says. 

It makes you even more upset that he doesn’t even seem bothered by your outburst. He seems ready to understand and move on in a way that makes you comfortable again. 

You take a deep breath, “Yeah. Kind of. Sorry I just…” 

He pauses, waiting for you to continue. 

“I just am not used to being cared for like this. I’m so used to doing everything myself it’s just…thrown me off my game. I guess I don’t react well to change,” You laugh trying to end on a more lighthearted note. 

He smiles, “I could dump the coffee?” 

You laugh, genuine this time, “No! I’ll drink it, I swear,” You chuckle, “Just…a lot has happened in the past 24 hours.” 

He nods, “It has,” then plates something and grabs a mug, “Which means you’re probably running on fumes, and should eat something.” 

You look up at him with a shy smile, “Yeah…okay.” 

He places a plate on the island in front of you. It’s a simple breakfast sandwich; egg, arugula, tomatoes, and a spicy aioli. But it might be the best breakfast you’ve had in ages. 

“Oh my god,” You moan, mid bite, “This is amazing.” 

Jack looks like he’s trying so hard to suppress a laugh, but ultimately fails. 

“Sweetheart, if I’d’ve known you were so stressed you’re missing out on the basics, I would’ve invited you over sooner.” 

It feels like something he shouldn’t have said. Like that unnamed dynamic the two of you had at work was getting a little too close to something real. But he seemed so blase about it, like it was something he could say to anyone in this situation. You don’t let yourself dwell on it. Instead, you continue eating your sandwich like having breakfast with Jack isn’t the most insane thing on earth. 

“Listen, I’ve got a shift tonight, so I probably won’t be home when you get back,” He says, sliding a key across the counter, “Here’s a spare key so you can get back in. I better not come home to you sleeping in the airmatress.” 

You try to keep your smile casual as you grab the key from him, “Thank you. Seriously.” 

You turn to walk out the door, needing to start leaving to get to class on time, “I’ll start looking on Zillow for apartments tonight so I can get out of your hair as quickly as possible!” 

The door shuts before Jack has a chance to respond. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Jack gets home from his shift later than he expected. What shocks him isn’t that the dishwasher is running with dirty dishes, or that some of the food has been eaten from the fridge, or that the box of energy drinks he bought was actually opened, it’s that you’ve left your laptop and notebook scattered across the island in the kitchen. 

You obviously had done some work once you got home last night, maybe even some this morning before you left. Jack knows he shouldn’t look. You deserve every ounce of privacy, but seeing a big number circled in the middle of the page can’t help but pull him in. 

Your laptop lights up with a tap, not password protected, Jack makes a note to talk to you about that later. The page that is open is a Zillow listing for an apartment. He looks at the neighborhood and immediately feels a protective instinct overwhelm him. It’s not a safe one. 

He worries about you already, although he’d never admit it. But if he knew you were living in a dangerous neighborhood? When he had the ability to provide another solution? He wouldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try. 

The notes in your notebook reveal more about the problem. Jack skims everything and sees the budget you’ve set for yourself. It’s not a lot. But he assumes you’ve already got so many other things to manage. Your car, your tuition, scrubs and shoes for clinicals, insurance, gas, the list is endless but necessary. Rent isn’t something that gets an excuse to indulge in, and based on the budget, you don’t seem to have anywhere else to pull money from to supplement. 

For Jack, that was unacceptable. There was no reason that you should have to give up safety when he could readily provide you a room here. Hell, he wouldn’t even argue if you insisted on paying him rent if that’s what it took to make it legitimate to you, to keep you safe. 

He could convince himself fairly well that his intentions were strictly professional. That this was a temporary solution to a problem that he was more than capable of helping you fix. 

He respected you too much to push you too hard. To make you feel like you were being coerced into something you didn’t want. He wouldn’t do that. 

But seeing every option you saw laid out so clearly on the island in front of him stirred something within him. He couldn’t just ignore the fact that you would only continue to struggle if you moved into any one of these apartments. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

By the time you got back to Jack’s place, you were exhausted, but you were thankful that while Jack was gone last night you had the opportunity to do your laundry. No more mildewy scrubs for you. The smell of something delicious wafted through the entry way as you came in. 

Jack called your name from the kitchen, “Dinner will be ready in 20 minutes!” 

You walk into the kitchen and see your papers and laptop sprawled out across the island still.

“Oh shit! Sorry, I should’ve cleaned this up before I left,” You mumble. 

“It’s okay,” Jack affirms.

Then, “Did you have any luck with the apartments?” 

You smile, proudly, “Actually, yes. One of the landlords got back with me today and said as long as everything came back clear, I could sign the lease and move in by the beginning of next week.” 

Jack did the math in his head. Today was Thursday, which meant the landlord wanted you to move in, in four days? That was not normal. 

“Oh yeah?” He says casually, “Where’s it at?” 

You tell him the neighborhood like it’s nothing. To you, it is nothing. A neighborhood is a neighborhood. Not relying on Jack for housing was the biggest task in your mind. To Jack, it is everything. He could only see all of the possible ways that you’d continue to make yourself suffer just to live somewhere that wasn’t safe, and wouldn’t make you happy. 

“Isn’t there a lot of crime there?” He probes.

“I mean, yeah, but it’s cheap rent,” You shrug, “I can tough it out until I graduate.” 

Jack schools his features, when all he really wants to do is have you see the metaphorical smoke escaping his ears. 

“You shouldn’t have to do that…” 

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” 

“What’s your budget?” He asks bluntly. 

You tell him, you immediately go into an explanation about how you manage your money, how each expense has been carefully thought out. He listens, of course he does, but he doesn’t care. He knows how responsible and dedicated you are. 

“You’re not going to find a safe neighborhood in all of Pittsburgh with that budget.” 

“Well, I can’t just stay here,” You argue. 

“Why not?” 

You scoff and roll your eyes, “‘Why not?’ Jack, that’s absurd!” 

“Doesn’t have to be.” He says nonchalantly, “I have the space, it’s close to campus, close to work. You wouldn’t have to worry about finances only to just get by each month.” 

Your jaw has suddenly found a new home on the floor. 

“Jack, you can’t be serious.” 

He runs a hand down his face, like it wipes away all of the emotion he doesn’t yield. 

“It doesn’t have to be forever. Just ‘til you get back on your feet.” 

You take a moment to mull it over. The pros the cons. The Plan. 

“I’d pay you rent?” You ask. 

“If you want.” 

You bite your lip and look up at the ceiling like it’ll suddenly have all of the answers to your problems written on it. It doesn’t, but it gives you a moment to think without seeing Jack with that intense gaze. The one that says he already knows the outcome of this situation even though you haven’t fully agreed to anything yet. 

“Where would I stay?” You say, before adding, “I can’t sleep in your room.” 

He chuckles, “I’ll move the stuff from the office into my room,” Then, an encouraging smile, “It’ll be just yours.” 

Your heart beats faster than it should. This isn’t the way things were supposed to happen. 

You take the leap, “Okay.” A sigh, “Only until I find something else.” 

Jack tries to hide his smile, “Only until you find something else.” 

╰─..★.──────────╯

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[softtachycardia]

Differential Diagnoses

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: A new med student documents a series of differential diagnoses to your and Jack's relationship as she tries to figure out what exactly the dynamic is.

Warnings: Fluff, Miscommunication

Notes: This was just a fun, silly little fic to write. I hope you enjoy! As always, tysm for reading! :P

It was the first day that interns were able to do rotations through the Pitt during the night shift. In the short time that Amara had been there, she was able to observe a lot of things. So many cases were ones that she had spent years learning about from different textbooks. There was one case that she couldn’t quite figure out though: what was going on with you and Dr. Abbot. 

Amara had many different differential diagnoses: 

Divorced

Situationship

Enemies

Telepathically Connected

Siblings

Unfortunately, all of the evidence she had gathered supported each of the options equally, which made every moment more confusing than the last. 

Hour One

Dr. Abbot seemed nice. His whole “Nightcrawlers” speech was a little weird, but overall endearing; especially for the new interns. Amara walked up to him directly after he was done speaking to everyone and most people had shuffled away. 

“Hi Dr. Abbot, it’s my first rotation here tonight, I was just wondering who I should stick with?” She asked. 

Dr. Abbot opened his mouth to respond, before you interrupted him. 

“I can’t believe you, you know that?!” You almost yelled, shoving your finger in Dr. Abbot’s chest. 

Amara jumped at the sudden intrusion with wide eyes, watching the scene before her play out. 

He smirked looking down at you as he crossed his arms, “Oh, really?” 

“Yeah! Really!” You say, “You ate my fucking leftovers!” 

“They were in the staff fridge.” 

“You knew they were mine! I put them there!” 

“Seems like a design flaw, princess.” 

You looked one second away from committing an unethical war crime against Dr. Abbot. He seemed entirely unbothered. 

Amara schooled her face as quickly as possible when Dr. Abbot turned back to her to respond as you stormed away with a huff. 

Differential Diagnosis: 

Enemies 

Hour Two

Amara tried to stay out of your way after the first interaction she saw you have with Dr. Abbot. But, the ER was a small place, and it wouldn’t do well to try and avoid you for too long. When a trauma came in from a MVC, she stuck by your side to watch as you ran the entire show. 

Dr. Abbot was there too. Amara was in awe. She had studied for years how different kinds of resuscitations worked. The communication each code required from everyone. She had never seen anything like this. 

When things started to go badly, the room almost went silent. She watched as you and Dr. Abbot both worked on the patient like one cohesive unit. Neither of you needed words to let the other know what you needed, or where you needed them. It was a fluid procedure, flawless. 

Differential Diagnosis: 

Telepathically Linked

Hour Three

A nurse had asked if Amara could go grab something from one of the supply closets. It took her a while to find the right one because she was still finding all of the different ins and outs of the Pitt. 

Finally, she came across the supply room in question. Before her hand could even turn the handle, the door swung open. 

You were there. Cheeks flush, breath heavy, hair tousled. Dr. Abbot was behind you, she saw his neck was pink, and he was in the process of tying his scrub pants. 

“Oh! I- uh…” Amara started, too embarrassed to form a complete sentence. 

You froze. Jack froze. Amara looked mortified. 

Time stood still for one long moment. 

Finally, you cleared your throat, “Did you need something?” 

“Oh! Yes! Uh…the nurse, she uh…” 

You followed her gaze to Jack’s hands, still working on tying his scrubs. You closed your eyes and questioned every moment that had led up to this. You took a deep breath in as you glared at him silently communicating your frustrations. 

“What were you looking for?” You asked, trying to refocus Amara’s attention. 

She looks at you and shakes herself out of her haze. 

“Tape! The tape without the latex…” 

“Third shelf back, second from the top.” Jack says coolly. 

“Okay,” Amara nodded. 

“Okay,” Jack said. 

A pause. 

“Thanks,” she whispered as she grabbed the tape and scurried away.

Differential Diagnosis: 

FWB (Confidence: HIGH) 

Hour Six

Six hours into her shift, Amara finally got to use the restroom. It wasn’t unusual that she would be on her feet all day, but nothing could have prepared her for the absolute chaos that was the PTMC’s emergency department. There wasn’t a moment to spare, and as an intern she kept getting pulled in every direction. 

When she finally had a moment of peace in the restroom, she gathered her thoughts about the day thus far. Everyone seemed great! Crus was a phenomenal teacher, some of the other students were fun to work with, and Lena seemed to be a great heart at the center of it all. 

She still couldn’t work out what the situation was with you and Dr. Abbot though. And that bugged her. She had worked her ass off to get in to med school, she’d be damned if she couldn’t read the room and figure out what the situation was with the two of you by the end of the night. 

On her way back from the restroom, she saw the two of you in an empty patient room. 

“You forgot to pick her up?” Jack asked. 

“I thought you were going to pick her up!” You replied.

“It’s not my weekend! It’s yours!” 

“It’s like every weekend is my weekend! You always pick up shifts or volunteer with the SWAT team. How do you think she feels? Huh?” 

The wheels in Amara’s head turned. She tried piecing the puzzle together, but it felt like every hour brought forth new evidence that contradicted the last! Now it sounded like a custody battle was happening in room 16. First, she saw you nearly rip Dr. Abbot’s head off, then she saw how flawlessly the two of you worked together, which was promptly followed by what seemed to be a quickie in the supply closet, and now you were arguing about who’s weekend it was for some unknown kid? 

Differential Diagnosis: 

Divorced 

Hour Eight

“Hey are you guys still recruiting?” Lena asks from across the nurse’s station. 

You and Jack look up from the chart you’re working on. 

“No, we stopped.” You say disappointed. 

“Decided it was probably best for us to act normal.” Jack says.

You and Jack exchange a look. One that only comes from years of being bonded together. 

Amara’s brows furrow in confusion. What would two doctors be recruiting for? It’s not like they’re the ones who are hiring everyone. There’s managers for that. They couldn’t possibly be part of an MLM, Amara was sure the salary of an attending could let them afford to live comfortably on their own. 

As she tried harder and harder to wrack her brain for any more context about the conversation, it hits her. Recruiting. There was really only one option that explained everything she had seen earlier that morning. 

The arguing. The silent communication that came from years of knowing each other. The secret supply closet meetings. The custody agreements. The recruiting. 

It was so obvious, she wasn’t sure how she didn’t see it all before. 

Differential Diagnosis: 

Cult Leaders

Hour Eleven

The longer the shift drug on, the more Amara was determined to understand what exactly was going on with you and Dr. Abbot. She didn’t think about the fact that running on only four hours of sleep, sheer determination, and at least 300mg of caffeine was the only thing keeping her going right now. That wouldn’t impair her judgement at all. Right? 

She went to grab a granola bar from the breakroom when she saw you and Dr. Abbot in two of the chairs. 

“Jack. Give me my jacket.” 

Jack looked down at the garment, “This isn’t your jacket.” 

“Yes it is. It quite literally has my name on it.” 

“It’s our jacket then” 

“No.” 

“Besides,” Jack starts, “You left it at my house.” 

“More like you stole it from me.” You grumble. 

“I borrowed it.” 

“For eight months? Really?” 

“Semantics…” 

You huffed. 

Amara could practically see the lightbulb that illuminated above her head. Of course! The only way she could possibly believe that either of you could get on each other’s nerves like this, or have access to each other’s houses, or understand each other in the unsettling way it seemed you did, would be to understand that you must be siblings! 

She listened in as you continued to bicker. 

“Jack.” 

“Not happening.” 

“Jack, I swear to god…” 

“Nope.” 

“You are literally fifty years old.” You deadpan. 

“All the more reason I should have the Jacket and not you, you spring chicken.” 

Differential Diagnosis: 

Siblings (DEFINITELY) 

Hour Thirteen

The shift ended more hectic than anyone expected. A massive MVC made sure that all hands were on deck until the morning crew was fully ready to take over. Amara had learned a lot in her first day. She just needed confirmation about one final case before going home. 

“Uh…Lena? I have a question before I leave.” 

Lena looked up from the computer where she was talking to the day shift charge nurse, Dana. 

“What’s up, hun?” Dana automatically responded. 

“Well I uh, I just was curious about two of the doctors.” 

Both nurses' brows furrowed. It was never a good sign when someone started blatantly questioning things on their first day, even if they were ultimately right in the end. 

“Go on,” Lena urged. 

Amara looked down at her notes before making eye contact again, “I just wanted to know about Dr. Abbot and…” She looked over at you and nodded her head in your direction. 

Both Dana and Lena’s eyes tracked toward you. 

“What about them?” Dana said with a knowing smirk hiding just under the surface. 

“They’re siblings right?” Amara asked.

As Lena took a sip of tea, it immediately sprayed over the keyboard as soon as she comprehended what amara was asking. Dana tried, and failed, to hide the big grin on her face. 

The commotion made you look over and walk toward the nurses station. 

“Everything okay? Was there something you needed, Amara?” You asked, “You should go home and get some rest. It’s been a long night.” 

Dana and Lena both laugh as they look between you. 

And in that moment, Amara believed that fate was real. And it had a vendetta against her. Because Jack came up and immediately wrapped his hands around your waist from behind. You instinctively leaned into his touch. He spun you around and pulled you in for a gentle, but knowing kiss. 

Amara’s jaw was on the floor. Dana and Lena couldn’t stop laughing. You looked concerned for everyone. 

“She thinks you guys are siblings!” Lena howled. 

Your eyes widened and cheeks involuntarily turned a shade of pink. 

“I didn’t mean-”

You and Jack both break out in laughter now as well. 

“I was trying to get a read on you all day and I couldn’t figure it out!” She said. 

“Aw, sweetie,” You said kindly, “We’re just married.” 

“Yeah,” Jack interrupted, “For too damn long.” 

You slapped his shoulder. He smiled down at you. 

It all made sense. The fighting, the steamy closet session, the bickering, and silent communication. 

No telepathy. 

No cult. 

No divorce. 

Just…marriage. Everything that happened wasn’t pointing to some differential diagnosis Amara had believed to be true at different points in the day. They all pointed to you and Jack, two peas in a pod who apparently were good at confusing the interns. 

Dangerous information for the next incoming class.

[softtachycardia]

Okay, OKAY!! (Sorry I'm excited) So Code Silver?!!!! Is flawless. I'm crying.

This is really personal so I'm sorry and no need to answer but are you or someone you know disabled? Because I'm disabled. And like this is written so well!!

The way Jack disregards his own pain and exhaustion to help her, but she tells him to stop and they can do things while both sitting. And as a disabled person that is just so....argh I can't even put into words. Because I look past my own pain when my partner needs help. Also the way he offers to help to different extents in order to help her keep her independence, because it's so important to them both. The frustration of PT, the grief of losing a part of yourself? So so important and some people don't see that part of it, you get a lot of "you can still do things" without the chance to actually mourn it. And that's so important. You wrote them both so well, and all the feelings between these kinds of situations.

I'm rambling sorry. But just an absolutely amazing fic and so well done.

Hi! Thank you so so much :')

I am so happy that this fic resonated with you in such an important way. It means so much to me that you were able to feel represented in this story!

I wanted to work hard to make sure the disability wasn't portrayed as a caricature just for storytelling purposes. The real challenges and grief that are felt often aren't talked about or are met with blind optimism, and I didn't want to rely on that. I hope I was able to do it justice.

Hearing that these topics connected with you and felt authentic and natural means the world to me!

Thank you so much! ♡ ♡ ♡

[softtachycardia]

According to Plan Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: After a flooded apartment ruins all of your plans, it's just a temporary setback. So is moving in with your attending, right? 

Between shared cups of coffee, long mornings, and even longer nights, something shifts. Unnamed, never quite official, but never quite platonic. "Temporary" loses its meaning entirely. After two years of navigating life together, you and Jack have to confront what life apart will be like one day. 

Everything should be okay, right? It was never supposed to be permanent.

Updates: Monday Morning EST

YEAR ONE: August: A New Start, September: The Flood

[softtachycardia]

A New Start

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: An ER shift right before your first week of PA school leaves you wondering what the unnamed dynamic between you and your favorite attending has become.

Notes: Hey!! This is chapter one of a series I have planned out and am so excited to post. I hope you love it. I am so excited to keep writing this one!! ◡̈ Thank you so much for reading ♡

Masterlist | Next Chapter

╭──────────.★..─╮

You slide your bag off your shoulders and set it in your locker. In the front pocket, you reach for your dosimeter and badge, clipping them to the collar of your scrubs. Someone clears their throat behind you, and you turn around. 

“So they sent you down to the Pitt for the weekend?” Dr. Abbot smirks. 

You laugh as you finish gathering your things, “I’ll have you know, I actually picked up this shift just to help out.” 

“Oh, and I’m sure the promise of double pay had nothing to sway your decision.” 

You shrug, “Maybe that, maybe I knew my favorite attending was working and I wouldn’t be miserable the whole time.” 

He smirks and crosses his arms, leaning against the door that, if opened, would reveal the chaos of the emergency department. The quiet sanctuary of the break room suddenly feels too small when you take in his gaze and proximity. You busy yourself with your drink and take an extra second before looking back up at him. 

“I’ll try to keep the weird orders to a minimum, but tonight is a full moon, so there’s bound to be something,” He says. 

You smile, looking down at your matcha again as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “Gotta keep me on my toes, right?” 

The door creaks open with a wild-eyed looking Trinity Santos.

 “Oh, thank god you’re here,” She gasps, “There’s an open fracture in bay three, Park is already down here yelling about how X-ray can’t do their job, any chance you could hop in? Sorry to interrupt…whatever this is…” 

You nod, “Yeah, let me get the portable, I’ll be right there.” 

You steal a glance at Dr. Abbot with an apologetic smile, “Duty calls,” 

He nods his head and lets you pass by, but the small smirk stays plastered to his face as he shakes his head and follows you into the maelstrom. The noise of the ER surrounds you like smoke, someone cries out in pain, another person yells orders in a trauma bay, someone cries, another laughs. You grab the portable X-ray machine from the hallway and make your way over to the trauma bay. 

“Thank god, at least she got someone who knows how to do their job,” Park huffs. 

You roll your eyes knowingly as you pull up the order on the machine. You place the plate under the patient’s obviously broken leg, and align the tube to take the image. 

“X-ray!” You call out before pressing the button. Everyone scatters. 

After the beep sounds it’s like a flood of fish coming back in the room. Park looks at the image and smirks. 

“Good job, pup. It’s unfortunate you’re gonna be leaving radiology for PA school. You sure you don’t wanna specialize in ortho?” Park asks, using that stupid nickname he picked out after he decided you were his favorite rad tech in the whole hospital. 

You shake your head with a small smile, “Jury’s still out Park. Gotta get through clinical rotations first. Who knows,” you start sarcastically, “Maybe I’ll end up in family medicine!” 

That gets a laugh out of someone behind you. Dr. Abbot.

“You? In family medicine? That’d be like putting a golden retriever in an office job.” He teases. 

You blush. But he’s not wrong, you craved the adrenaline you got any time you came to work. Every day was something new. Each exam was a puzzle to solve. And you loved getting to help patients on what could be the worst day of their lives. It was rewarding and stimulating all at once. 

“It is August isn’t it? When’s your semester starting?” He says quietly, and for a moment his face does something you can’t quite read. 

“This week actually, I wanted to pick up a couple extra shifts so I could take off and get used to the semester so I don’t get burnt out.” You say. 

Dr. Abbot smiles, he almost looks proud, “That’s good. Smart.” 

“Thanks,” You say, looking at Dr. Abbot a beat too long before clearing your throat. 

You’re both moving again, going about your normal routine at work. You travel throughout the ER taking X-rays as they’re ordered. During moments of downtime, somehow your eyes always meet Dr. Abbot’s even across the room. He’s busy, which is normal for a full moon, and it doesn’t help that some of the new med students started their first rotations this evening. 

You get called into one of the trauma rooms late in the night. A motorcyclist lost a battle with his handlebars. When you get in you stop for a moment, watching Dr. Abbot in action. His voice carries out throughout the room, telling people what they need to do next. He glances up after showing one of the med students how to operate the ultrasound probe to complete a FAST exam and winks at you. 

“Okay everyone, let’s give our friend here some space to look at this wrist that is most definitely broken.” He calls out clapping his hands together. 

His command rings throughout the room, and like water and oil, everyone steps out. 

“Where do you want me, coach?” He asks. 

You roll your eyes, “Just put the board under his wrist, I’ll get the tube lined up.” 

You both work with precision. As you get everything ready, your hands brush Dr. Abbots and maybe it’s just your brain working too fast, but both of you seemed to hesitate before continuing. After you take the images and he looks at them, he decides to perform a closed reduction. It’s quick and dirty, and you stay to get the post reduction images for him so he doesn’t have to wait. 

When he comes over to the machine where you still are annotating everything, his hand finds the small of your back as he examines the X-rays, “That’s a great lateral.” 

“Thanks,” You breathe. 

“I’d almost believe you’d done this before,” He teases. 

“Ha. Ha.” You deadpan. 

The med student from earlier looks up at Dr. Crus, “Are they always like this?” 

“Like what?” Dr. Abbot interrupts without looking up from the radiograph. 

“Efficient?” You say a beat too soon, still adding your annotations.

“Focused.” He corrects. 

The med student stares like you’ve both grown second heads, “Uh...sure…” 

You finish up your work and grab the board from under the patient’s leg and wheel the portable into the hallway. Dr. Abbot hands off the case to Dr. Crus to complete. As you start wheeling the x-ray machine back to it’s hallway, you hear Dr. Abbot coming up behind you. The familiar uneven sound of his gait like a song you’d recognize on the first beat. 

“Two of three?” You call without turning, you already know he’s listening. And you know for sure he’s always down to bet on when the next trauma will show up. 

“Two of three.” He confirms immediately, “When do you think the next one’ll be in?” 

You glance up at the clock as you park the portable machine. Dr. Abbot stands in the hallway, arms crossed. Just…observing. It’s like he’s got nowhere better to be, even though that’s a contradiction to the entire ER. 

“Hmmm…I’d give it 15 minutes.” You suggest. 

“Really? Only 15?” He asks, mock surprise written over his features.

“I’m being optimistic.” You smile enunciating the word. 

Dr. Abbot shakes his head, unbelieving, “I’d say at least twenty.” 

“Okay, ten, then.” You counter with a cheeky grin. 

As if on cue, your pagers beep loudly. For a minute neither of you look down but you know you’ve won this one. It’s almost like the emergency department was listening and on your side. 

INCOMING TRAUMA, LEVEL 3, 19Y/O FEMALE, FALL FROM SECOND STORY FIRE ESCAPE, GCS 14, POSSIBLE RIB FX, SUBLUXED SHOULDER, ARRIVAL BY AMBULANCE ETA 10 MINUTES

You smile knowingly and Dr. Abbot huffs, “I’ll be damned.” 

“Ten minutes,” You sing, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling too hard. You almost think you see his eyes glance down, but they’re back to yours so quick, you convince yourself it never happened. 

“Optimistic,” He mutters standing to the side letting you pass. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The rest of the shift is chaos; which is pretty normal for you. You yawn as you grab your back from your locker. The door opens and closes softly, you see Dr. Abbot out of the corner of your eye. He slings his backpack over his shoulder, but lingers at his locker. 

“You excited to start school?” He asks. His voice is softer than it was in the trauma bay. 

You glance up at him, “Honestly?” 

He nods, urging you to go on. 

“I’m kind of terrified.” You clear your throat. Your eyes drop down to the floor, the words landed harder than you expected them to. And you’re suddenly aware of everything at once, every fiber of your scrubs brushing against your skin, the way your hair slightly falls down the back of your neck, and the single flickering fluorescent light in the corner of the room. Everything else has gotten loud as you become increasingly quiet. 

Dr. Abbot looks on warmly, not rushing you. It makes you want to share despite your nervousness around the distinct intimacy this kind of honesty allows for. Working with him has always been easy. There was nothing to define, the dynamic came naturally. 

But this is different, this is personal. The kind of thing that friends share, not coworkers. And you’re not sure if that’s a line he wants you to cross. 

“I just…I haven’t been in school for so long,” You start opting to look up at the ceiling now, “and I know I want to do this, but it’s gonna be a challenge.” A pause, “I’ve got a plan though.” 

“You always do,” Dr. Abbot grins. 

It catches you off guard. The quiet observation. 

“I’m proud of you for making the jump,” He says tenderly, “That’s not an easy decision to make.” 

You finally meet his gaze, “Thanks” 

There’s a pause, like either of you don’t know where to take the conversation, but also don’t want it to end. 

Like routine, the two of you start to head out into the world. The sunrise breaks through the buildings, birds sing, and horns blare in the distance. The ER keeps revolving like it’s own little world. 

An elderly couple makes their way up the sidewalk toward the entrance to the ER. Dr. Abbot steps over to make room for them and bumps into your shoulder in the process. The couple walks by with plenty of space between us. 

You pull out your phone to see when the next bus is going to arrive and throw your head back groaning. 

Dr. Abbot doesn’t miss a beat, “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, suppressing another yawn, “Bus line’s down. I’ll just have to walk over to one of the connecting lines.” 

“Why?” He asks stopping in his tracks. 

You look at him confused, tilting your head to the side, “What do you mean ‘why’? I have to get home somehow.” 

“I’ll drive you home.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Dr. Abbot I–” 

“Jack.” 

You pause, feeling the word on your tongue before continuing, “Jack, I can’t ask you to–” 

“You didn’t ask. I offered.” He says like it’s already settled. 

Your mouth hangs open, ready to object, but no words escape. Your shoulders drop, “Yeah. Okay.” 

He smiles, smug. You follow him to his car. Jack opens the door for you. He waits until you’re buckled before even thinking about taking the car out of park. 

He holds his phone out, waiting for you to take it, “Type it in” 

“What?” You ask, sure that your brain must be short circuiting. 

“Your address,” He chuckles. 

You grab his phone and add your address, “Sorry, it’s kind of far” 

“‘S okay, that just means you gotta pick out some good tunes, DJ” He says, looking over at you. 

The drive home is easier than expected. You both talk about all of the things you can't talk about at work. Jack is attentive, he always has a follow up question to every anecdote. By the time you get to your apartment, you don’t want the car ride to end. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, “You really didn’t have to–” 

“I wanted to.” He affirms. 

You both hesitate, searching for something to say and coming up blank. The moment hangs between you.

Jack continues, “Besides, I couldn’t let my favorite rad tech walk alone through the early morning streets of Pittsburgh” 

You laugh and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you at work next weekend?” 

Jack nods, “Next weekend.” 

When you make your way inside, you turn around and lock the door. Outside the window, Jack still sits in his car, not driving away until he sees you safe inside. Lingering, like he’s afraid if he drives away the building might disappear. You don’t realize you're smiling until you curl up in bed, ready to fall asleep. 

╰─..★.──────────╯

Masterlist | Next Chapter

[softtachycardia]

Code Silver

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You always ask Jack to stay and forget about his SWAT shifts and quit putting himself in danger. When a code silver happens at the hospital, he finally has to confront how you feel every time he leaves. As you recover from a life altering injury, you both learn what it means to stay.

Warnings: Depictions of Gun Violence, Active Shooter, Injury, Hurt Comfort, PTSD, Chronic Pain, Violence, Character Death

Notes: Hi!! Please be sure to look at the warnings and make sure this is a fic you’re up to. There are depictions of gun violence and rehabilitation after an injury. Thank you so much for reading and take care of yourselves! ♡

╭──────────.★..─╮

You could feel your pulse in your ears as you bit your tongue. Jack was going out again for another SWAT shift. Every time he picked up, an argument ensued. He always came up with excuses. The team needed him. He had years of combat medic experience. He was rarely in the thick of it. The job wasn’t even that dangerous.

You always rebutted. The team did just fine without him every other day. His previous experience didn’t mean he was required to continue working in that environment now. If he wasn’t in danger, why did he have to have full combat protective gear on? And of course, the job was dangerous—that’s what drew him in!

You thought after your engagement that maybe Jack could be convinced. Not to settle down necessarily, just to re-evaluate the undue stress he caused every time he locked the door behind him and walked into the flames of chaos.

“Whatever, I’m going to be late. Don’t bother staying up for me, I have a shift tonight, so I won’t be coming back home.” He snaps.

“Jack! You can’t keep doing this! What are you avoiding by just jumping headfirst into a pit of lions every week? Why can’t you just spend the holiday with your fiancée before working tonight?” You counter.

You hate it when you and Jack fight. You hate that he has the ability to get you so riled up. And you hate even more that he seems to be so obtuse to the fact that watching him leave eats you alive. Every. Single. Time.

“I’m done having this conversation! We argue every single time! I’m going!” He yells.

You stiffen and swallow, refusing to let yourself cry in front of him. You stay quiet, knowing that your voice will betray you.

Jack huffs and shakes his head, grabbing his backpack and closing the door with careful precision. Even in moments of anger, you’re always amazed at how immense his restraint can be.

You immediately head for the shower, needing a physical reset from the fight. And like always, you end up feeling better. There’s something like a remedy hidden in the tendrils of steam that encase you. And along with feeling better, you start to feel guilty. You understand where Jack is coming from, and that’s almost worse than full-heartedly being blinded by your own thoughts and opinions. Understanding him means there’s always an opportunity for forgiveness and compromise, despite wanting absolutely no compromise in this situation.

You change into your pajamas and decide to take a nap. You picked up a call shift this evening, even though it wasn’t your holiday to work. Nothing beats call, holiday, and shift differential all lining up like the perfect eclipse. Your sleep is restless; however, you can’t stop worrying about Jack. Wondering if he’s alright, worrying that if something bad did happen, the last memory you would have of each other is a stupid fight about stupid anxieties.

At first, you aren’t sure of how long you’ve slept, but your pager starts to alarm. You sit up and grab the small device from the bedside table, and look at it with bleary eyes.

INCOMING TRAUMA: LEVEL 1, UNIDENTIFIED 48Y/O MALE, MVC HEAD ON COLLISION, GCS 7, HYPOTENSIVE, TACHYCARDIC, INTUBATED ON SCENE, ARRIVAL BY AMBULANCE, ETA 15 MINUTES

Immediately, you’re rolling out of bed to pull scrubs on and rush to the hospital. It’s already 10 PM, which means Jack should be at work and done with his SWAT shift. But with your luck, there will be no time to see him before prepping the OR and starting to work on the incoming trauma patient. You sigh and grab your keys, making your way toward the chaos.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You are currently trying to work with the doctor on call tonight to repair the trauma patient’s liver. The laceration is substantial, but you know it’s treatable. You’ve assisted on cases like these a hundred times before since you graduated from PA school, and you know you’ll get to do a hundred more like it in years to come.

“So, how’s wedding planning coming along?” Dr. Murphy asks as she works.

You hum with a small smile, “You know, things get pushed to the back burner when you both work the strangest shifts. I feel like Jack and I have barely any time together, and usually he ends up picking up a shift to help with the SWAT unit when he’s free anyway.”

Dr. Murphy laughs. You’ve always loved to witness just how much she loves her job; it reminds you of yourself, it reminds you of Jack. The sheer passion to excel at saving people.

“Oh, trust me, everything will settle into place. You both need to take each other’s advice sometimes. Slow down. Breathe.”

A chuckle escapes your lips as the door to the OR opens. Maybe it’s because the skeleton crew are the only staff here at this hour. Or perhaps it’s because everyone on this side of the wing wears the light blue surgical scrubs. Or maybe it’s just instinct that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, but you turn around and see him.

He’s middle-aged, handsome, with green eyes that are bloodshot, and dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck. For a moment, all he does is stare at your patient. The nurse anesthetist looks up with confusion. She stands up and starts walking toward him.

“Sir, this is a sterile-“

A shot rings out and silences everyone. The only noise is from the monitors that are keeping track of the patient’s vitals, and the ventilator that is helping him breathe. You falter for a moment, but you know that stopping the procedure now would result in your patient dying, so you continue operating.

You can’t see the nurse, Janie. The equipment she uses typically blocks her from view anyway, but you start to see the pool of blood on the floor near the suction cart. There’s a lump in your throat that can’t seem to be swallowed.

You glance up at the scrub tech. She’s new, it’s her first week. You think her name is Lorelei, but you’re having trouble remembering right now. She looks terrified. You see her hands shake as she preps the table with all of the tools needed for the procedure, stealing glances at the man with the gun. You try to do a head count of everyone who would’ve been in the OR. All you can come up with are you, Dr. Murphy, Janie, and Lorelei. Everyone else helped to get the patient stable and left to help elsewhere. Just the four of you.

“This is him?” The man grunts, “The drunk driver?”

Dr. Murphy is cool as she responds, “Sir, what do you want?”

The man lets out a guttural wail, “I want my daughter! He killed my daughter!”

Your heart skips a beat, and despite the rules and codes of ethics you’ve spent years studying and following, you understand and empathize with the father. You see the hopelessness in his face and hear the grief in his voice. And you know that you disagree entirely with his actions, but you still understand how he got here.

“Sir, my name is Dr. Abigail Murphy. I am a trauma surgeon at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. My patient is currently being operated on. Hurting our staff or our patients will do nothing to bring your daughter back. We can call for someone who can come in and help you; you just have to drop the gun.”

His quiet sobs are silenced, and he looks straight at Dr. Murphy, “You just want them to take me? You want them to take me as I die while that…that monster lives?”

You don’t realize what’s happening even after Dr. Murphy disappears from your line of sight. The tinnitus swells, and all you can hear aside from the ringing in your ears is the blood that’s rushing through your veins. And finally, your hands begin to shake when you notice you’re the only one keeping your patient above ground.

Lorelei crouches on the ground, covering her head with her hands, and guiltily, you wish you didn’t have the responsibility, so you could do the same.

“Hey!” The father yells, and his voice finally breaks through your stupor, “I said stop saving him!”

You look up with tears in your eyes and hope it doesn’t show on your face when you see the campus police looking in the window of the door behind the father, assessing the situation, and wondering when they’ll enter.

“What’s your name?” You blurt out, not knowing what to say that will stall him.

He falters, “W-what?”

“Your name, I want to know your name.” You say before telling him your own.

“Jacob Haas,” He says.

“Hi Jacob,” You whimper, “I went to school for six years to get here. Got my master’s and everything. And one of the first things you learn is the Hippocratic Oath. It’s about like…confidentiality and non-maleficence and shit. Basically just: do no harm. So I understand where you’re coming from, and I am really, really sorry about your daughter. I’m sure she was…I’m sure she was amazing. But how is hurting hospital staff going to help her? We can’t judge our patients by their acts or their morals. We’re not God. But we do have a code, and I promised to do no harm, but you’re asking me to go against that, and I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

You know you’ve lost his attention before you feel the pain. You can see the moment he decides as you glance up from your patient to look at him. It’s something you learned in a de-escalation class once; humanize them, empathy is your friend. It always seemed silly in books or movies when a traumatic moment would happen in slow motion. You realize now just how silly it is because the pain is instantaneous. Everything is loud and overwhelming, and you may not know what is happening, but you know the police are involved now because there’s yelling. There’s so much yelling.

For a moment, you think you can close your eyes to escape from this frame of time, but that is rudely interrupted when someone puts pressure on your shoulder, where you now realize you’ve been shot. You don’t know if it’s you who screams or someone else.

Lots of people come into view, most of them look like they’re saying something. You know you should recognize them. These are your coworkers, but nothing seems to stick. You see someone draw medication in a syringe, is there a prick when it enters? All of the pain you’ve ever felt has been bottled up just so you could relive it in this moment. And then, just as suddenly as the chaos began, it fades away as you fall asleep.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Jack had just finished stabilizing a patient with an anastomotic leak and sent him up to the OR when he heard it. He knew immediately that it wasn’t just something that had fallen or crashed. He remembered the sound of gunfire like a song you always know the words to, even years after not hearing it. Then there were three more shots.

It was an agonizing six minutes until the intercom confirmed what he already knew, “Code Silver OR 4, Code Silver OR 4, Code Silver OR 4.”

He felt the flood of hormones rush through his system like a tsunami. It’s the same feeling he gets whenever someone on his SWAT team gets critically injured, or any time there’s a code blue in the Pitt. The same feeling he gets every time he leaves you after a fight, he always ends up starting before he realizes it.

His shoulders drop once he realizes the threat isn’t anywhere in the vicinity of the ER. Instinctively, he turns to see where you are and realizes you’re not supposed to be at work tonight. Then, Jack stiffens when he remembers the conversation you had a week ago. You told him you were going to pick up a call shift for the OR since he was already on schedule.

His hands move before he has the time to tell them what to do. Jack pulls out his phone and opens the app to see the locations you shared. For a moment, his brain tries to convince itself that you’re at home. Home, where you should be, fast asleep, or at least relaxing with a book or a movie. But his vision tunnels when he sees the icon with the photo of you, you’re at the hospital.

Jack’s mind goes into overdrive. He recalls the MVC that came in earlier, how the trauma team had called in OR staff to prep for surgery. He curses himself for not immediately remembering that you were on call tonight.

It’s procedural the way he begins moving. Telling Shen to hold down the fort while he checks in with the campus police to see if they need help. His steps up the stairs are calculated. They’ve always had to be since he lost his leg. He sees a sheet draped over someone in the hallway near the entrance to the operating wing. There’s commotion happening deeper in the hallway as he makes his way toward OR 4.

Campus PD has a man in custody. He is sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Someone yells for supplies deeper in the room, something about needing to stop the bleeding. He hears a monitor start to flatline.

Jack doesn’t care. He runs.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Your shoulder doesn’t feel right. The pain you felt earlier lingers. And there’s an incessant beeping noise that threatens to drive you crazy. But then you feel it, the weight. The warmth. Someone’s hand tethered to your own.

You whimper and try to shift in the bed to get comfortable, and the hand is suddenly gone. Replaced by the sound of someone calling your name. The voice is familiar, and through the sedation, it takes a minute to catch up with what your heart has already discovered. Jack.

“Jack?” You whisper, squinting.

You watch him sigh. His shoulders drop, and with it, the tightness in your chest eases. Even if you’re still dazed and confused, your body knows that if Jack feels safe, so do you.

“Oh, baby,” He whispers, bringing a hand to your jaw.

You cough, suddenly acutely aware of the dryness in your throat. Instantly, straw is at your lips, ready to deliver the remedy of water. You take a few small sips and lick your lips, head falling back on the pillow. Exhausted.

“Is he okay?” You ask, each moment feels more aware than the one before it.

The room is silent, aside from the monitors keeping track of your vitals. Jack glances down at the floor and gently takes your hand again.

“There was a code silver.” He starts, clearing his throat.

You interrupt, “I know there was. I was there. Did my patient die?”

You see him swallow and look at you. Jack was never one to shy away from the truth. He was always there to tell families the worst news they had to receive, with empathy and a deeper understanding. But for some reason, when it comes to you, he’s stuck. It’s different seeing you in pain. It was his job to try to mitigate that every single time. And here, there was no avoiding it. The damage has already been done.

“Yes,” He says hoarsely, “He died. But you were- “

“What about Janie? Dr. Murphy? Lorelei?” You urge.

A pained look takes over. You’ve seen Jack cry before. Despite everything he’s been through and all of the things he might need to work on, overall, he’s more emotionally regulated than one might expect. He runs a hand down his face, “Janie didn’t make it, Dr. Murphy…has a long road of recovery ahead of her, Lorelei’s just shaken up, but- “

“Fuck.” You whisper, pulling your hand away. You look down at both of them and are acutely aware of the brace that your right arm is in. It completely immobilizes your entire upper arm, but doesn’t stop the throbbing that threatens to overstimulate you.

“You had to have surgery,” Jack starts, “The bullet completely shattered your humeral head, they couldn’t save it. They decided to do a reverse arthroplasty. There was a lot of vascular and nerve damage. It’ll take a lot of rehab...”

You look away from him and bite your lip, trying to will yourself not to cry. Jack’s hand reaches out again, and as much as you want to pull away, you let him.

“Honey, you’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna get through this.” He whispers. And you almost believe it.

A knock at the door draws your attention. You see a doctor at the door. He’s not in scrubs, though, which tells you he must not be so clinical that he deals with patients who are physically ill. It finally clicks that he must be a psychologist or psychiatrist.

Jack sits a little straighter in his chair, but his hand doesn’t leave yours, and you don’t try to pull away again. The doctor introduces himself, and sure enough, he is from the psychiatric department and came to offer support and condolences.

“The hospital is going to require that you complete six weeks of therapy before returning to work. I know your rehab will take longer than that, and I urge you to continue after the minimum, but I wanted to introduce myself so you could start. Whenever you’re ready.” He says kindly.

You agree, hesitantly, and Jack helps you set up an initial appointment. The rest of the day goes similarly. Jack helps you try to piece together everything that happened. Different people from your care team come in to introduce themselves and set up a plan of care for you once you’re discharged. By lunch, you’re practically unwilling to talk to anyone else but Jack.

“I want to go home,” You say finally.

Jack’s brow furrows in concern and quiet recognition, “Baby, they just wanna stay on top of your pain and make sure everything is healing properly.”

“I know that,” You whine, “Can’t they make an exception? I’m a PA. I know how to take care of myself. I even have my own doctor to check in on me at home.”

He chuckles and brushes a strand of hair away from your face, “Get through tonight, and we’ll see about going home in the morning? Okay?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Jack was right. You do get to go home in the morning, and it was good to stay overnight to keep on top of your pain. You hate that he’s right.

The drive back to your house is filled with jazz music and soft morning light. It’s the playlist Jack likes to put on whenever you’re stressed or overstimulated. You can tell he’s nervous because he keeps trying to subtly steal glances at you the entire fifteen minutes.

“Can I take a shower? Please?” You ask once you get parked.

He gives you a knowing smile, “That’s why I made them put on the waterproof bandage before we left.”

You make your way in and go straight to the bathroom. Jack helps you undress and remove your brace. You’re always shocked when you visit the ER and hear the way people talk about him. They rarely say anything bad, but it’s always about the cold, clinical precision he carries. You never feel that at home. It’s all warm and tender.

The water feels like relief as it rolls down your back. You gently try to wash yourself, and Jack lets you. He understands how important reclaiming your independence is after such a traumatic experience. But he’s never far, always ready to step in when you need it.

And you hate to admit that you do. But he sees it, the small huff of frustration as you try to open the bottle of shampoo you’re holding between your knees with your left hand. The accessible shower is something you’re grateful for now. You silently thank the accessibility it provides you to do more than you otherwise could right now. But when Jack sees the look of helplessness on your face as you try to process how to wash your hair single-handedly, he quietly steps in.

“What do you want me to do, baby?” He asks, still leaving the ball in your court.

You huff, “I can’t open this stupid bottle, and even if I could, I don’t know how I am supposed to wash my hair like this.”

“Okay,” He says, thinking, “I could open the bottle and put the shampoo on your hair, if you still want to try to wash it yourself, or I can do it all for you, baby. You did so good with everything else.”

You let out a restrained sob, “Can you please do it?”

He had gotten prepared as you were washing the rest of your body, removing his prosthetic, and getting his crutches nearby. He got towels ready for both of you, made sure the no-slip mat was secure, and grabbed a change of clothes for when you were done. He opens the shower door more than it had been and turns the showerhead so the water is spraying away from you both.

Once he steps in, leaving his crutches at the door, and taking a seat next to you on the bench, he grabs the showerhead and hands it to you.

“Here, hold on to this,” He mumbles, grabbing the shampoo, balancing between your knees. His hands work the shampoo into your scalp like they have hundreds of times before in moments of a different sort of intimacy. You sigh in relief. The feeling is almost better than the pain medication they discharged you with. Medication can’t bring the closeness you feel with Jack.

Once you are both clean, Jack turns the water off and grabs a towel for you. You start to pat yourself dry as he dries himself off and starts getting your clothes. You see his exhaustion too, the way he leans into his crutches more than usual.

“Jack, baby,” You interrupt.

He pauses, looking at you with worry, “Everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Sit down.” You say.

He looks confused, “You’re in pain, and tired. Sit down. I can hand you your clothes. I’ll need help with my shirt and brace, but we can do that sitting.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression, but he gives in, sitting back down on the bench with his towel around his waist. You stand up, slowly, still feeling a little weak. You fully open the shower doors and grab Jack’s boxers and shorts and hand them to him. You see, he’s laid out a pair of underwear and one of his sweats for you with a button-up pajama top. Always thoughtful, like he knew a regular shirt would be more trouble than it’s worth, trying to manipulate your arm through a sleeve.

Once Jack has his pants on, he turns to you, helping you get each foot through your underwear, and then the pants’ legs. You’re happy to forget about the option to wear a bra right now. You whimper when Jack helps you extend your arm through the sleeve of your shirt, but he quietly shushes you and places a kiss on your temple when you’re finished. You both sit and breathe for a moment. Taking in the feeling of being clean. The exhaustion it cost to get there.

He takes in a deep breath and blows it out through his mouth, grounding, “Ready for your brace?” He asks.

You nod your head and grab it from the toilet seat, turning your torso so he can help you put it back on. It feels unnatural, the position your arm has to be in, but you know wearing the brace will help you recover with the best possible outcome, so you tolerate it.

When you’re both finished, you get set up in the living room. Jack told HR he needed to take FMLA while you were home recovering. Gloria tried to put up a fight, arguing that leaving Shen to fend for himself would leave the night shift in shambles. He told her to find another attending to cover for him.

Even though PT won’t start for another week or so, you were given instructions for small movements that would help to preserve your range of motion. Jack talks you through them, even when you yell at him to shut up or leave you alone. He stays. He knows how important it was to have someone push him after his amputation. So, even though his heart breaks every time he sees you so hopeless, he pushes you farther.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Recovery is far from linear. There are weeks you are proud of your improvements, and others where everything seems insurmountable. Jack is there every step of the way. A steady assurance that you’re here. You’re trying.

“Ugh! I can’t keep fucking doing this!” You yell after your sixth time trying to hold a spoon.

Jack looks up from across the room. He sees you stand up from your chair by the occupational therapist and start to walk out the door as they call after you. He’s immediately up and following you outside.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He says, carefully placing a hand on your waist to stop you, “Where are you at? What do you need?”

You can feel the tears in your eyes, and you wipe them away as they fall, but it’s no use.

“I can’t do this, Jack! This is impossible! I’m never going to be able to do my job again, that’s like the one thing that matters to me.” You cry.

Jack stays calm. And you hate it. After months of healing and crying and helplessness, he still stays supportive and understanding, and part of you just wishes he could show an ounce of anger because maybe that would give you a wake up call to just move forward.

But if there’s one thing Jack is, it’s honest. Not once throughout this process has he pitied you or lied to you. He’s never given you false promises about your recovery or the future.

“You might not be able to go to surgery.” He admits, “But that doesn’t mean you’re worthless or not competent! At least you’re alive!” He finally raises his voice.

You inhale sharply and purse your lips to keep them from wobbling. And you let yourself grieve. You grieve the person you were before all of this, and the person you’ll never become because of it. You grieve your career, and a life without pain, and a life without anxiety at every sudden sound.

You sob and hide into Jacks chest. He wraps his arms around you as you hang onto him like a lifeline.

“I’m so tired of feeling like I can’t do anything, and like I’m burdening you, Jack I don’t know how you learned to adapt; this is so hard.” You cry.

He puts hand at the nape of your neck and shushes you. You stay like that until you feel like air is something real again. It’s not until Jack feels you physically calm down that he speaks again.

With both hands on either side of your face he makes sure you’re looking at him fully before continuing, “Baby, you have never been a burden. Ever.”

He wipes a few tears from your cheek, “I have been trying so hard to be the person I wish I had in my life after I lost my leg. And I know even that will never be enough to make things better. You’re allowed to be angry because you’re right. You might never get enough strength or dexterity back to work in the OR again. You deserve to grieve that.”

Jack swallows hard like he’s bargaining with someone, and he’s not confident they’ll agree with him, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t transition into a different position. We could use another PA in the ER, you could go into any specialty. Hell, you could start teaching if you wanted. None of this makes you less competent or brilliant.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “I am so sorry you are experiencing this. I love you so much.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Recovery wasn’t just something you went through. Everything that happened changed Jack too. After an argument one night he decided to quit volunteering for the SWAT team.

You never realized how much guilt Jack carried over the past eight months about the argument that day. But he admitted it to you one night while you both laid in bed after a long day.

“I feel like it’s my fault,” He whispered, “You getting hurt.”

Your heart skipped a beat, “What? Why would any of that be your fault?”

“You picked up that call shift because you knew I was working with the SWAT team that day. There was no reason for you to be there. If I had just listened to you and pulled my head out of my ass….”

He exhaled shakily, “Maybe you’d still be in the OR and not cardiology.”

You turned to look at him, like what he’s said was so absurd that you couldn’t understand why he would say such a thing, “Jack. None of this was your fault. I never blamed you.”

A pause, “And I actually really like cardiology.”

Jack doesn’t smile, you see the maelstrom of emotion behind his eyes. A tear falls down the side of his face.

His resolve cracks, “I couldn’t protect you.”

You frown and curl into his side, wincing as your shoulder catches and tingles with pain, “Baby,” you start, softer this time, “You can’t keep replaying that night in your head trying to search for a different outcome.”

He clenches his jaw and stares at the ceiling, but you feel the trail of his thumb at your waistband.

“I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did,” you say instantly, “You stayed.”

He lets out a choked sound.

“I love you,” he says, voice wrecked.

Your hand twirls one of the curls at the nape of his neck and you press a kiss to his collarbone. And for the first time since that night, Jack closes his eyes. And lets himself grieve instead of feeling guilty.

╰─..★.──────────╯

[softtachycardia]

Curtain Call(out)

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Robby would never admit it if anyone ever asked. But after Javadi overhears him humming along to a song from Heathers, she can't help but tease him and wonder how he knows about the musical at all. Little does she know that you are starring in a local production of the show and your fiancé has been paying attention to your rehearsals more than you thought.

Warnings: Second Hand Embarassment

Notes: Javadi started this, and I know deep down she regrets nothing. Thank you so much for reading! ◡̈

╭──────────.★..─╮

Robby would never admit it if anyone asked. He would brush it off and say they were mistaken or misheard him. But Javadi was different. She was relentless and quick. 

“No, I know that song! Dr. Robby, that was a musical you were humming! I didn’t know you liked theater.” She quips. 

“Victoria, less about my habits in humming, more about reducing this fracture, okay?” He mutters, shaking his head. 

“I just didn’t expect it from you,” She continues as she prepares for the closed reduction, manipulating the patient’s arm and hand so his wrist can be returned to its natural angle, “Especially not that song. I thought Heathers was for like my generation, I didn’t know you were that…with the times.” 

He clears his throat, “Javadi. The reduction.” 

She stammers, “R-r-right, sorry, Dr. Robby” 

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You wipe a bead of sweat off your brow and take a moment to breathe. You’ve been at it all day, working on choreography, practicing your lines, and memorizing music. The show was only three weeks away, and despite how confident you were at rehearsals, the lingering anxiety about the upcoming performance urged you to push yourself further. 

The door clicks as it unlocks, and you grab your phone to pause the music. Robby enters the door, shoulders heavy with the weight of his shift. They relax when he sets his eyes on you. He’s always been softer when he’s around you. 

“Hi, honey,” He smiles, walking in to wrap you in a tight hug. He smells like hand sanitizer and a twelve-hour shift. 

“Ew! No, get off, Michael! I stink, you stink! I don’t want hospital all over me,” You exclaim as you try to push him away with a laugh. 

That only sounds like a challenge to him as he squeezes you tighter. He peppers kisses along your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Michael breathes in your scent and sighs, “I can’t help myself, honey, you really gonna deny a man some comfort after a long shift?” 

You laugh and continue to try to wriggle away from him, “Michael! Stop! You need to shower!” 

He grins against your neck. “Oh? Are you planning on joining me?”He teases as a hand leaves your waist to playfully squeeze your ass before he relents with a final kiss to your lips. 

 “I need to finish practicing this number,” You say, already rewinding the song on your phone to the part of the song that keeps tripping you up. 

He takes a few steps back before sitting on the arm of the couch with his arms crossed, watching you with a smile, “Go on, I know you know it.” 

You roll your eyes and shake your head, but can’t seem to wipe the small smile that’s been permanently etched on your face. The song begins, and you shake out the tension in your limbs before getting into character. Michael is in awe, no matter how many times he has seen the advancements of medicine, how close someone can be to death and be saved by someone’s hands, he is enraptured every time you’re able to shift into someone new. 

You begin to sing and can feel the emotion rolling off you. Each time you pull on the mask of a new character, it’s almost as if the rest of the world can fade away for a moment. Michael sees it, the depth you’re able to express even through microexpressions, and he’s fascinated by it. 

As you reach the end of the song, your eyes find their way to Michael’s. “You’re the one I choose,” you sing. 

He grins, “Good girl, I told you you knew it. You’ve only been practicing it for hours every day since before you got the role.” 

You roll your eyes and push his shoulder as you walk to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, “It has to be perfect,” You sing. 

“And it will be, or at least, you will be. I can’t speak for the other guy.” He mumbles before continuing, “You know, all this rehearsing almost got me in trouble at work today.” 

That piques your curiosity, “What? Why?” 

He laughs, it hearty, full-bellied, “I was watching Javadi do a closed reduction and just…absentmindedly was humming to myself. Turns out, she recognized the song and called me out on it. Started interrogating me about whether I liked theater. Insinuated that I’m too old to know what Heathers is.” 

You try to hold in your laugh as you look at him, “That’s adorable. What’d you tell her?” 

He glares at you, but it doesn’t hold an ounce of malice. “I told her to focus on her patient, not my musical interests.” 

“Awwww. I’m rubbing off on you,” You whine.

He rolls his eyes and stands up, placing his hands on your hips.

You tap his shoulder excitedly, “Wait, wait, wait! Name one other song besides this one!”

Without missing a beat, “Dead Girl Walking.” 

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him, both shocked and impressed, “Michael-“

“Don’t.” 

He drags your hand toward your room, and you both get ready for your shower. The rest of the night is spent quizzing him on all of his musical knowledge, and you’re shocked to learn that, apparently, Michael Robinavitch, ER attending at PTMC, has nearly learned the entire musical by way of osmosis. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Javadi has gone too far. She knows it, and she’s honestly kind of scared to see how Robby will react when he comes in for his shift today. Robby’s birthday is at the end of the month, and the whole department wanted to do something nice for him. And she might’ve accidentally, not-at-all-on-purpose, mentioned that Dr. Robby liked musicals, and that she had caught him humming along to Heathers just a few weeks earlier. 

So, in planning a gift for their favorite day shift attending, everyone had searched high and low for any local theaters putting on the show. And of course, they found it and promptly bought two tickets for him to attend. 

When Robby walks through the doors, he’s still taking his helmet off and not paying attention to the chaos happening at the nurses’ station. It’s not until a chorus of, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” sounds that he looks up. 

A banner hangs in front of the desk that shares birthday wishes. Javadi has printed cutout heads of Michael on popsicle sticks that different staff members are taking pictures with. And a basket of goodies sits at the center of it all. 

Dana leans against the desk with her arms crossed and a smug smile across her lips, “Thought I had known you for so long that I knew everything about you,” She starts, “Javadi told us that you’re secretly a thespian.” 

Javadi’s face is the color of a fire hydrant as she gets pushed forward through the crowd of coworkers, all sharing their birthday wishes. She looks down abashedly, “Dr. Robby, I-I had no intention of revealing something embarrassing, I just- everyone was trying to plan a gift for you, and I remembered I heard you humming Seventeen, and it just kind of snowballed from there-“

“Javadi.” Robby barks, but then he softens and gives her a soft smile, “It’s fine.” 

Then, so the whole department can hear, “Alright, people! As much as I appreciate the birthday wishes and…terrifying cutouts of my head on sticks…we’ve got people to help! Festivities can continue off the clock!” 

He turns back to Dana and Javadi, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You guys really didn’t-“ 

“Oh, but we really did.” Dana interrupts with a smile, “Go on. Aren’t you gonna see what we got you?” 

Robby sighs and looks up toward the ceiling as if it’s entirely more interesting than anything that’s happening around him. Then, he looks toward the basket. Inside is a card that was custom-made to look like a Playbill. The cover includes a collage of photos of everyone who works in the Pitt. The inside has a teasing line about him getting older, along with signatures from everyone. 

Robby tries to hide his amusement and appreciation behind his stoicism, but some of it slips through the cracks. There are a few gift cards to some of his favorite places, the coffee shop he always goes to, and that restaurant Jack told everyone he likes. The team also pitched in to buy him a new custom-made stethoscope, sleek black with his name and title engraved. 

“Thank you,” He says, clearing his throat, trying not to let any emotion shine through, “Thank you, this is…this is very nice.” 

Javadi looks like she’s about to explode from excitement, “Okay, there’s one more gift though, Dr. Robby…” 

She pulls out a small white envelope, nothing on it that could hint at what’s inside. She hands it to him, and as he’s opening it, she starts to ramble anxiously, “We just thought you could use a night off and go do something fun. We didn’t know if you wanted to bring a friend or if you had a girlfriend or whatever, so we got two tickets, but it was so funny that you were humming Heathers because there’s actually a production this weekend, so like, what kind of perfect timing is that? Ya know? Anyway, we just wanted to say thank you for being such a great boss and doctor and…yeah…” 

Robby looks at the two tickets and tries to contain his laughter. Javadi looks at Dana like she wishes the earth would open up and consume her whole. 

“Oh, this is great,” He says, “Javadi, thank you. Really, but I’ve already got tickets to opening night.” 

“I KNEW IT!” She exclaims, “You do like theater!” 

Robby sighs, “It’s kind of hard to hate when your fiancée is playing the lead role.” 

Javadi’s whole body freezes, “Your what?” 

“My fiancée, she’s playing Veronica. Opening night is this Friday, that’s why I have the weekend off.” He says like it’s the most normal thing ever.

Javadi is stuck stuttering as her brain struggles to reboot from the insane news that has just been revealed to her. Robby claps a hand against her shoulder, “Alright, enough about me, and my life, let’s get back to helping these patients, huh?” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You feel the warmth from the stagelights on your skin as you run out, ready to take your final bow. You smile at the audience, breath heavy, as you look at your castmates, interlocking your hands to bow together. After the curtain closes, you collapse in the back with a satisfied grin. Your stage manager makes sure that everyone is set for tomorrow morning’s matinee before allowing everyone to leave. You don your street clothes, sweats, and your favorite sweatshirt of Michael’s, before making your way to the stage door. 

There’s a small crowd of people waiting at the door, ready to congratulate you on your performance. You make small talk, smile, and thank them all for coming. Some of your castmates pull you over to introduce you to their families, partners, or friends. After most people have trickled away, you look along the sidewalk.

Michael is leaning casually against one of the street lamps. He looks at you in sheer adoration as he holds on gently to a bouquet. Once he sees you looking at him, he pushes off the lamp and starts walking toward you. You skip to him and immediately wrap your arms around his neck with a huge grin. 

Like instinct, you feel his arms wrap around your waist as he kisses the side of your head, “You did so good, honey.” 

You pull back with a satisfied smile, “I think this was the best opening night I’ve had in a while! There were only two big mishaps, but even then, I felt like everyone worked around them pretty well! And Evan actually got his shit together!” 

Michael pulls you in for another kiss, not worrying about the stage makeup that leaves a mark at the corner of his mouth even after you try to wipe it off. 

“It was perfect, just like I told you it would be.” He assures you as he hands you your flowers. 

A girl who seems to be about your age smiles as she walks past, “You did so amazing! Did you guys want a picture together?” 

You agree to hand her your phone as you lean into Michael with a happy smile. She takes multiple pictures, but the one you love most is where Michael is placing a kiss on the top of your head, and you are smiling with your eyes closed. 

The ride home from the theater is filled with a hum of energy. You and Michael stop at Taco Bell for some much-needed post-show sustenance. And he listens to you talk about everything that went down behind the curtain. His hand stays planted on your thigh while he drives, and the subtle smile never leaves his face. 

Once you’re home, he helps remove all of the bobby pins from your hair and wipes off your makeup. You shower together to wash off the day and get ready for another round tomorrow morning. Once you’re in bed, you settle into your usual spots, limbs intertwined as Michael nearly smothers you. 

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” He says again, “You’re out here chasing your dreams and making it happen.” 

Your heart swells; it’s something you’ve worked hard to achieve, and you’re thankful to have Michael be so supportive of your goals every step of the way. 

“Are they still making fun of you at work?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He rolls his eyes and squeezes your hip, “I could breathe the wrong way, and they would make fun of me at work. I’m happy at least now I get to brag about you.” 

He places one more kiss on the top of your head as you fall asleep, content, exhausted, and ready for another show tomorrow.

╰─..★.──────────╯

[softtachycardia]

Again and Again

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When a new resident's comments about your relationship with Jack cause old anxieties to resurface. You start to wonder if your differences in education, age, or money mean you might not be enough for him. In the aftermath of a long shift and the comfort of normalcy, you reveal your fears to Jack, and he reveals some of his too.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Patient Death Mentioned, Workplace Harassment (Kind of)

Notes: This was barely proofread! Sorry for any mistakes! ♡

╭──────────.★..─╮

Everybody knew Jack Abbot had a wife. The silver band on his ring finger told the whole story. Everybody also knew Jack Abbot‘s wife had died, and the ring that stayed on his finger was something that kept her memory alive. 

What most people didn’t know was that Jack Abbot remarried. He met you three years ago at a conference in Pittsburgh about new innovations in cardiac intervention for patients experiencing ST-Elevation Myocardial Infarction. 

You were bright, could hold your own, and scrub in to assist some of the toughest cardiologists in Pittsburgh. You also cared deeply about each patient you were helping. Each case you worked on was handled meticulously and thoughtfully. 

Rarely did you get to see each other at work. The cath lab operated on scheduled procedures unless it was an emergency. Jack mostly worked nights. After the wedding, you were able to arrange an alternate schedule with your manager that allowed you to work 12-hour shifts to be on call in the evenings on certain days. 

So on the occasion there was a patient in the Pitt who needed to be sent up to the cath lab, Jack always made his way up to see you. It wasn’t frequent that you had time to go down to visit him, so most people in the Pitt never knew about you. 

Jack liked it that way. Fewer questions, fewer comments. You were his little escape from everything he experienced at work. 

New residents always had a learning curve, and sometimes that meant learning how to be a professional. You knew Jack was handsome, and you knew that meant sometimes other people would try to make a move on him. Usually, their interest in him was quelled the minute they saw his wedding band. 

That didn’t stop Rachael. She was a fresh grad, someone who apparently couldn’t read the room and understand that no means no. 

Jack was charismatic; he knew that. It helped him connect with his patients and build rapport with his students. So at first, when Rachael stuck by his side, he assumed it was because she was eager to learn and thought he was one of the nicer attending physicians. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You make your way down from the cath lab after a hard case. Your patient nearly coded on the table, and the images you got were shit, which meant the cardiologist wasn’t able to visualize which vessel the stent was in, which led to a delay in how quickly the occluded artery was repaired. 

You stop by the nutrition room to grab a coffee for you and Jack. When you make your way around the corner to the nurses’ station, you see her. Looking up at him with stars in her eyes, nearly hanging off his arm as she laughs at something he said. 

And as much as you’d love to let it bother you, you see Jack. He takes a step back and keeps a friendly smile, but nothing that would encourage her to continue throwing herself at him. 

You walk up behind him and hold the coffee in front of his face. 

“Thought you might need this,” You tease. 

He reaches for the coffee, and you pull it away, forcing him to turn around and look at you. 

“Uh uh uh, what’s the password?” You say smiling 

He rolls his eyes and puts a hand along your jaw before kissing you. It isn’t passionate or shy, just deliberate. 

You pull away and hand him his coffee with a grin. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He says, hugging your side, “How’s it been up there in the cave?” 

You inhale deeply, but as you’re about to answer, Rachael walks up behind him, “Dr. Abbot, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” She exclaims, and you can hear the fake enthusiasm in her voice. 

“Rachael, this is my wife,” he says as he introduces you. You have never gotten used to the excitement you feel when your name falls off his lips. 

Her breath catches only momentarily before she smiles and turns to you, “You also work at the hospital? What kind of doctor are you?” 

“Oh, I’m not a doctor,” You say with a laugh, “I’m a rad tech.” 

Her head tilts to the side as if she’s evaluating some complex subject. She shakes her head and chuckles, before looking at Jack, “I just didn’t think someone so educated would find a partner in someone with…what is it? An associate’s degree?” 

Jack visibly bristles and takes an almost defensive stance in front of you. He opens his mouth to speak before you scoff, “Obviously, it’s not required to have a brain to get a doctorate.” 

Jack purses his lips in a small line, trying not to laugh. 

“My wife,” He emphasizes, “Is one of the smartest people I know. You’ll quickly learn as a doctor to respect everyone in allied health.” 

“Dr….Is it Sievert? Are you planning on staying in emergency medicine? Or do you want to specialize somewhere else?” You ask.

She stammers trying to get her thoughts in order, “I- I- I’m interested in cardiology.” 

It’s almost as if the stars aligned just to allow you to be present for this moment alone. 

“Cardiology? I’m a tech up in the cath lab!” You say excitedly, “I’ll absolutely tell Dr. Kaur what a pleasure it’s been to speak with you today.” 

Her face goes red. She tries to stammer something about not meaning her earlier comment the way it was taken, but Jack interrupts her, “My wife has scrubbed in to more cases than you’ve witnessed in your entire education. She’s one of the main reasons that the lab can operate so that patients survive after hours.” 

Your pager beeps, and you look down to see what the call is. “Speaking of, we’ve got a SCAD coming in from another hospital. Got to go. Love you, honey. And Dr. Sievert, I hope I get to see you in the department,” you smirk. 

You kiss Jack on the cheek before turning to head up to the lab. The next few hours of your shift are chaotic. The emergency patient from the other hospital ended up being sent up to the OR for open-heart surgery, but the damage from the dissection was too severe. They didn’t make it. 

Loss always hits hard, even after years of working, you made sure to keep your empathy. Which meant after shifts like these, all you wanted to do was go home and curl up to Jack and forget about work altogether.

You made your way down from the lab to meet Jack by his locker. In the hallway, you overheard Dr. Sievert talking with some of the other new doctors.

“I just can’t believe someone as smart as him would go for someone without a proper education. Also, she looks like she’s 28; I’m sure she’s only married to him for his money. He could do so much better than her…” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and adjust your bag on your shoulder, sneaking past the hallway and into the staff lounge, where Jack is at his locker gathering his things. 

Your arm snakes around his, and you rest your head on his shoulder. He can sense something’s off, but now is not the time or place for a moment of intimate comfort. Instead, he squeezes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

The ride home is too quiet. Normally, after a shift, you play DJ and force Jack to sing along to whatever hyper fixation you have at the time. Tonight, though, you’re resting your head on the window and looking out as the street lights blur by. 

Jack’s hand finds home on your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your scrubs. A silent anchor, letting you know he’s there. 

He sees the distant look on your face and recognizes that this is more than just a bad day at work. Something else is causing the storm of emotion that rolls off you like thunder. 

When you’re home, you go through the motions of your routine. Shower, pajamas, skincare, teeth, bed. Jack peppers you with gentle kisses and words of affirmation. His hand stayed glued to your waist. 

When you’re finally under the covers, he probes, “Baby, what’s going on?” 

You sniffle and curl into his chest, “I just can’t get out of my head.” 

His thumb brushes against your shoulder, and he places a soft kiss in your hair, “You don’t have to get out, you can just let me in,” he whispers. 

There’s a long pause before either of you speaks again. And you hate that. You hate that it reminds you of just how well Jack knows you, how he’s always been such an intimate and patient partner. 

“Does it ever bother you?” You whisper, feeling yourself wanting to pull away. Regretting asking the question before it even passes your lips. 

Jack doesn’t stiffen; he stills, “Does ‘what’ ever bother me? Sweetheart, you gotta be a little more direct than that.” 

His hand squeezes your shoulder in reassurance. Before you know it, the levee breaks and every anxiety, no matter how insignificant, comes tumbling out. 

“I mean, does it bother you that you’re always paying for dinner, or that your name is the one on the deed, or that I don’t have a doctorate. I mean, I never wanted your job, Jack. That’s not who I am. I love my job. But is that enough for you? I mean, am I lacking in some fundamental way? Would you be happier with someone who has the same job? Or someone who was born in the same decade? Or am I just holding you back from something that-“ 

Jack cradles you to his chest and tucks your head under his chin, “Shh shh shh, baby, just breathe for a sec, okay?” 

You don’t realize how worked up you are until it takes a few shaky breaths before your chest finally loosens while Jack gently strokes your hair and counts each breath, “In…two…three…four. Good. Out…two…three…four, just like that.” 

There’s a pause, and he pulls away so he can see your face, “You okay?” He murmurs.

“No…” You admit. 

He sighs, kisses your forehead, and places a hand on your jaw, making sure that you’re looking at him before he speaks, “First, I love you. I would not have married you if that weren’t true. Second, I don’t care about paying for dinner or the house or contributing more to our bills because you help me out in so many other ways. Third, I work with doctors every day, and their title isn’t what tells me how competent or compassionate they are. Your skill and dedication to your patients and your career have always been enough…baby, you’ve always been enough. How long have you been worried about this?” 

Your lower lip wobbles before you speak, and suddenly you’re not only anxious, but also embarrassed, “I mean…people talk, Jack.” 

He hums, “You know I used to worry after she died that I wouldn’t find this kind of intimacy again. I definitely didn’t expect it from you. You’re right, people talk, why would an old veteran widower with a missing leg and no hobbies other than putting himself in danger have to offer for a smart, capable woman who could’ve gone for someone younger, less complicated?” 

You frown, “Jack, I’ve never once felt like any of those things stopped me from wanting you…” 

“I know. You show up every day and remind me. I don’t want you to let some stupid comments from someone who doesn’t even know us make you worry. And if you do worry, I want you to come to me. I’m here to remind you why I chose you. Why I’ll always choose you.” He says. 

The sound of an ambulance gets muffled by the window. Birds are chirping outside. The sun is continuing to rise. Tucked away behind blackout curtains and a heavy duvet, lay you and Jack, holding each other and showing up. Again and again. 

╰─..★.──────────╯

[softtachycardia]

Rx: Dinner Together

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: The reader shows up at the Pitt in severe pain, expecting to be dismissed after years of being told their period pain was normal. They're surprised to find care and comfort in the one person they've been harboring a crush on: Dr. Jack Abbot.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Endometriosis, Reader Feeling Dismissed, Chronic Pain

Notes: Hi! This is the first fic I've written since like middle school! I just needed a place to write creatively and figured there was no better way to do that than to write about the Pitt. :P

╭──────────.★..─╮

Adrenaline was something you cherished. The high after successfully navigating a stressful situation couldn’t compare to anything else. Maybe that was why you decided to work in healthcare. 

You did love helping others, especially during the critical moments that led them to the cath lab in the first place. You also found solace in the chaos. Each procedure was different than the last, each moment as critical as the one before it and the one that would follow. Every step you took had to be intentional, informed, and impactful. Mistakes in the cath lab meant crises, which meant you could make no mistakes. 

Maybe that’s why when you showed up to the emergency room in overwhelming pain, you were a little bit skeptical of the care you might receive. PTMC had great care providers; you knew that. Hell, you considered yourself one of them, but that didn’t erase the fact that you were in pain, and anxious, and knew a little too much about anything that could be wrong. It was a lot to deal with. So much in fact that you completely forgot the sweet, charismatic attending you’ve secretly harbored a crush on works here. 

You curled into yourself, lying on your side in a hospital bed in one of the rooms, and you were thankful you actually got a room instead of one of the overflow beds in the hallway. A soft rap at the door draws your attention, and you wince as you try to sit up in a more approachable position. 

“Hi, my name is Dr. Mohan. I’m one of the residents here tonight. What brings you in?” She asks. 

Her eyes are filled with a warmth that you find is hard to come by after years of working with seasoned physicians, nurses, and technologists. It’s a deeply rooted warmth, one that comes from the soul of someone who genuinely cares about everyone they meet. Her presence automatically makes you less tense about how the evening will go. 

You recount your night, the sudden and sharp pain throughout your lower stomach and pelvis, how you knew because of the radiating pain down your leg that your period would come within the next day or so. You shared how nauseating it was when it first came on; the only physical reaction you could muster was to curl up on your floor and cry. You tell her about the years of experiencing similar pain. Still, always being told by previous providers that it was a normal part of being a woman, everyone dealt with period pain, and how this month, it just seemed worse than usual, and you got scared. 

She listened to every word, never interrupting, only asking further questions when you finished saying what you needed. You can tell immediately how invested she is in helping you feel better and figure out what is going on. 

“Alright, I think I have everything right now. Let me get you some pain medication and nausea medication. I’m going to consult with one of our attendings on the night shift just to go through what we’re working with. Until then, someone should be by to get labs, and I’ll have an ultrasound come down to do a pelvic scan, and we will go from there.” Dr. Mohan explains. 

You nod your head and give her a small smile as she puts in the orders for the medication and labs. You’re not sure how long you get to listen to the rhythm of the emergency department before someone new enters the room, but the endless beeping and alarms and commotion all feel like home to your adrenaline-craving brain, which makes the chaos almost calming. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Dr. Mohan enters the room again with another person, when you look up, your heart rate increases, which is undoubtedly given away by the monitor that is currently attatched to your finger. You pray that they just think it’s because of your change in position, but the embarrassment already floods your face with a sickly hot aura that settles in your cheeks. 

“I didn’t expect to see my favorite RCIS in my ED this evening.” Dr. Abbot says teasingly, with an underlying lilt of concern at the edge of his voice. 

“Your favorite technologist didn’t expect to be here either.” You wince as you adjust your position on the bed. “Whatcha got, Doc?” 

He clears his throat with a small furrow in his brow, almost imperceptible, but of course, you notice. You’ve spent nearly two years taking in every detail any time he comes up to brief one of the cardiologists in the cath lab. And it wasn’t infrequent that you ran into each other during nights out with some of the hospital staff. 

“Your ultrasound came back clear for appendicitis, so that’s good. Do you have a family history of endometriosis? Have you ever been evaluated by a gynecologist for it?” He asks

Now it’s your turn to wear a look of concern: “No, they’ve always just said period pain is normal and to use a heating pad or birth control and move on.” 

He frowns, “Okay. That’s bullshit. And based on your history and your symptoms, I think it’s a very real possibility that’s what could be causing the pain you’re experiencing. The gold standard for diagnosis is laparoscopy, but sometimes adhesions can be seen with MRI or ultrasound. I’d like to have you get an MRI, and I’ll have my colleague in maternal and fetal medicine take a look at the ultrasound we did earlier, and we can see if there’s anything present on imaging.” 

You groan and throw your head back on your pillow. MRIs take forever and are rarely covered by insurance without jumping through a million hoops. You’re still recovering from the loans it took to get through school, “I- I’m fine, it’s fine, really, I mean it’s not like I passed out this month.” 

“You pass out during your periods?” Jack says.

“Not all the time”

“…that’s not very reassuring,” He mutters, “Look, just get the MRI, and in the meantime let fetal medicine look at the ultrasound to rule out ovarian torsion or a ruptured cyst.” 

You look up at him, one hand putting pressure on your abdomen, ready to tell him to forget about it and that you’re just ready to leave AMA. But something about the way he awaits your response makes you stay. 

“Fine. I’ll stay.” You say hesitantly. 

He looks more relieved than you anticipated. His shoulders drop slightly, and he lets out a brief exhale, “Good,” he says, clearing his throat in a way that makes you unsure if what he said was meant more to reassure himself or you. 

“I gotta be discharged and home by 5:30 though, my shift starts at 7.” You say 

“Nope.” Jack counters.

“You don’t know my schedule.” 

“I’ll call Dr. Bennett myself to have her take you off. She has plenty of techs on call this weekend, just like every other weekend. You need rest.” 

You huff and cross your arms, opting to curl on your side again, away from Jack. Now that Dr. Abbot has name-dropped your boss like it’s nothing, you’re all too aware how proximal you are to everyone here. Even if you don’t know them by name, someone in the hospital has a connection to you or your department. It’s now that the anxiety creeps in. The voice that tells you that you really are overreacting. Every doctor before this has told you that period pain is normal. At some point, shouldn’t you start to believe them? Try to get over it yourself without burdening anyone else? 

“Hey,” Jack says, sitting on one of the chairs across from you. “The cath lab can handle a shift without you. I’m sure everyone would want you to take care of yourself.” He pauses, “I want you to take care of yourself. You’re not wasting anyone’s time by being here. You came in tonight for a reason.” 

As he stands up to leave the room, he looks at you one more time. The moment lasts a millisecond longer than it should. He sighs and dims the lights on his way out. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The medication Dr. Mohan prescribed doesn’t take the pain away, not entirely, but whatever it was she gave you works a hell of a lot better than the Tylenol or Ibuprofen that you’ve given up on after years of them not even touching anything. 

You can tell this evening is busy in the ER, or the Pitt, as everyone down here so lovingly calls it. A trauma rolls through, multiple stroke codes are called, a code blue, even a code brown. At one point, campus police run past your room and escort a patient back to their room. As time goes on, the pain creeps back in. You would love to ask for more medication, but tell yourself that there are so many other patients tonight who need help more than you. 

Jack knocks on the door before entering. He quickly closes it again and pulls the curtain behind him, ensuring the room stays dim and quiet. As soon as he sees you, he realizes how much pain you’re still in. Without saying anything, he pulls up your chart and reads through it. 

“Last dose of ketorolac was two and a half hours ago. Looks like you’re ready for another…” He mumbles. 

Jack pulls up a chair and sits facing you as you’re curled up on your side, “Sorry I didn’t come back sooner, we’ve been slammed and-“ 

“It’s busy, I’m the least of anyone’s worries, it’s fine. I’d rather you help everyone else first.” You whisper. 

Jack visibly bristles, “I worry about you.” He admits, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Mohan told me you were in.” The room suddenly feels smaller than it was, and you had completely forgotten about your pulse-ox until you hear the steady beeping of your heart speed up momentarily. 

You look at him, really look, and try to evaluate what he’s saying, the same way you stare at a fluoroscopy study trying to see an occlusion during a coronary angiography. It’s all honesty and a little bit of fear. 

“Dr. Abbot I-“ 

“Jack, please…call me Jack.” 

You clear your throat and wince. Your hand flies to your abdomen as you curl into yourself further. Jack is immediately out of his seat and rushing out of the room. He quickly comes back, dims the lights even further, places not one but two warm blankets over you, and puts your cold one on top to keep the heat in. He pulls the computer down so it’s next to him, and he can still sit across from you. 

“I’m putting in an order for more meds. What’s your pain?” He pauses and looks at you knowingly, “And be honest.” 

You close your eyes in defeat and, against all better judgment, decide to tell him the truth, “Uh…maybe a 7.” You sigh. 

“Ok, so at least an 8,” He mumbles, “A nurse is going to come in and give you a low dose of morphine, hopefully that helps to curb it while we’re waiting on MRI.” He says softly. 

A heavy silence sits between you as you wait for the nurse to arrive. You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing, something you’ve done for years to work through moments like these. Once the meds settle in your veins, it takes a few minutes, but Jack sees you visibly relax. Your shoulders drop, you shift into a comfortable position, and your jaw unclenches. 

Jack looks down and smiles to himself before turning back to his computer to work on charting. You breathe deeply, open your eyes, and glance over to see that Jack is still in the room. Something tugs at your heart when you realize he stayed, especially on a night that you can tell has already been hectic. There’s still a tension in his shoulders, and you can see the exhaustion that seems to be permanently etched on his face. 

You inhale and sit up slightly, “Thank you…Jack,” you whisper. 

His shoulders stiffen, and his hands freeze over the keyboard before he turns to look at you fully. He sighs, relieved, and looks at you as if you had hung the moon, “You don’t have to thank me for taking care of you. You deserve to be heard.” 

His words strike you in the chest. They’re so simple, but spoken so honestly, it almost hurts. For the first time, you were starting to wonder if you weren’t crazy. If your pain was meant to be something taken seriously. You swallow the emotion down, then maybe because of the newfound relaxation from the morphine or the tenderness you find in Jack’s gaze, you feel yourself tear up. 

“I always try so hard,” You start, whispering so he doesn’t hear the waver in your voice, “to be strong for everyone else, my patients, my team…I’m so tired, Jack.” 

He rolls closer to the bed and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, brows furrowing with concern, “Sweetheart…you don’t deserve to carry this alone.” 

You sniffle and feel the dreaded rivulets of tears make their way down your face. You immediately wipe them away and look up toward the ceiling, willing them to stop. 

And then, like a reflex, “Sorry. I just-“ 

“Don’t apologize for this. I want to be here.” Jack says firmly, placing a hand over yours and then pulling away, looking down where your hands had touched. 

A chime on the computer pulls both of your attention away from the moment, the invisible walls of professionalism returning. Jack frowns as he looks at the message and curses under his breath, “Dammit.”

He turns to face you again, “MRI is delayed, it’s been chaos out there. I’ll try to see what I can do. You rest.” He says. 

You nod in understanding and offer him a small smile and salute, “Yes, sir.” 

And then, Jack breaks out in a laugh. It’s warm and genuine, and makes you feel better than any pain medication could—knowing you were behind it. Something rarely heard throughout the Pitt. 

As Jack leaves the room and makes sure the curtain is fully closed, you lie on your side again with a soft smile and let yourself relax as you fall asleep. Time passes, and you miss the moments where Jack peeks in, making sure you’re still okay, his shoulders easing every time he sees you’re still asleep, no longer in pain. 

MRI finally makes their way down to get you. The scan gives time for the anxiety to creep back in. You wonder if you’re overreacting, if it’s all in your head, if you’re burdening others, or taking resources away from people who need them. For some reason, you keep returning to Jack’s face. The look on it when he assured you reminded you that he wanted to be there. And for some reason, it makes you feel steady, like maybe despite everything, you’ll be okay. 

You get rolled back to your room, and on the way, you see daylight breaking through the windows of the PTMC. A clock on the wall reads: 8:07. You know that by now, Jack must be home. Doffing his scrubs in exchange for something suitable for sleep and blackout curtains drawn so he can rest after such a draining shift. 

The wait for your results is agonizing; another dose of Toradol is given by a new nurse with braids and a soft smile. Her badge reads: Emma. 

“Hopefully this helps, and we can get you out of here soon.” She says kindly, “Your MRI results should be back any minute now, and a doctor will be in to discuss them.” 

She leaves the room, pulling the curtains closed, but leaving the lights on. It reminds you of Jack, of all the ways he made sure you were okay without thinking twice about it. Your phone buzzes next to you, and you see a notification in MyChart. 

New Test Result. 

Without thinking twice, you open your phone and look at the findings. 

Impression: Uterus and ovaries are unremarkable. No suspicious adnexal mass identified. 

Findings: Pelvic MRI with and without contrast was performed. 

No previous MRI for comparison. Anatomy unremarkable. No acute abnormality. 

Your face falls as you stare at your screen. You hadn’t realized the hope you held on to at the idea of finally having an answer to the years of pain you’ve experienced. You take in a shaky breath and swallow down your disappointment, something you’ve taught yourself to do after being faced with it so frequently. 

A knock at your door pulls your attention away from the results. You hesitate before looking up, still stuck in that word: unremarkable. You look up, surprised to see Jack there, still in his scrubs. 

“How’re you doing?” He asks knowingly. 

You bite your cheek and glance back down at your phone, “Results just came in…I’m unremarkable.” 

Jack frowns and fully steps into the room, sitting in the chair next to your bed again, “Hey, look at me.” 

When you don’t listen, he places a hand over yours and squeezes it. 

You look at him, and he takes a moment to feel the devastation in your eyes, “This doesn’t erase your pain. What you’re going through is still real. There are still other tests, other ways to look at this, to see what’s going on.” 

Then, “I’m not going to let you believe this doesn’t deserve care.” 

You pause, not ready to comment on it. Instead, “I thought your shift ended at 7?” 

He looks at you, deciding how to respond, “You know when all my shifts start and end?” A beat, “I told you I wanted to be here, I want to see this through.” 

You inhale sharply and nod, looking down, “Thank you.” 

You don’t realize your hand is still in his until he takes it away. You flex your fingers, wishing you didn’t already miss his touch.  

“I’ve got all of your discharge paperwork, a few heat packs, and a script for enough Percocet to last you through the weekend.” He pauses, “And there’s a note excusing you from work until Tuesday so you can rest through the worst of it. And I put down the information for a friend of mine. She’s an endometriosis specialist.” 

Your heart swells with emotion. You think for a second that maybe you can feel the entire process of your heartbeat, each valve opening, and your ventricles contracting as your breath catches. You’re still so taken aback by Jack’s dedication and kindness. 

“I don’t know what to say.” You admit, looking up at him, “No one’s ever…taken this so seriously before.” 

He clears his throat, and his hand rubs his thigh. You notice him putting all of his weight on one side. 

“Chronic pain deserves to be believed. I know just how draining it can be.” He reveals. 

You remember going out with the cath lab one night to a small dive bar on the other side of town that was hosting a karaoke night. Audrey, your best friend, dragged you along after weeks of begging. You told yourself then that it had nothing to do with the fact that Jack Abbot would be there. 

It was that night that you had gotten slightly tipsier than anticipated and spent most of the evening in a booth next to Jack, Robby, and Audrey, talking about everything and nothing all at once. 

It wasn’t until Jack got up to grab another beer that you noticed it. His prosthetic, and the careful, measured way that he walked. 

“I completely forgot.” You whisper. 

He smiles, “Wasn’t your job to remember, but I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

You nod and smile, “Thanks.” 

“Text me when you get home? Otherwise, I’ll resort to a personal wellness check,” He asks, making sure all of your papers are in order. 

“You know my number?” You smile 

“I’m resourceful,” He responds, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you smugly. 

You laugh and start to gather your things, and you hug him in thanks. His hands don’t know where to land for a moment before settling on your waist and giving you a gentle squeeze. You hold on for a moment longer than necessary, and Jack makes no move to pull away first.

You sigh with an exhausted smile and look up at him, ready to leave. He walks you to your car, and you drive home. After your shower, pajamas, and heating pad, you lie in bed looking through your discharge papers. 

On the last page is something handwritten, a phone number. You immediately know it’s Jack’s. 

Underneath it reads: 

Rx: Dinner together (mandatory).

There’s a smiley face next to the note, and you smile to yourself as you pull out your phone to let him know you’re home and ask a question about your new prescription. 

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