Hey. Your brain needs to de-frag. Literally it needs you to sit there and space out.
If you want your memory or executive function to improve, stare out a window at the skyline or sidewalk or trees or birds on the electrical wires for like 20+ minutes per day. (With no other stimulation like a podcast or TV if you can manage but hey baby steps innit). If you're fortunate enough to have safe outside with any bits of nature, go stare closely at a 1 meter square of grass and trip out on the bugs and shapes of grasses and stuff.
Literally this will make you smarter. Our brains HAVE TO HAVE this zone out time to do important stuff behind the scenes. This does not happen during sleep, it's something else.
That weird pressurized feeling you get sometimes might be your brain on no defrag.
Also, if you don't take the time regularly, your brain will do it for you. Usually when you're already stressed and it gets to be too much. You will zone out. And you can not control it. So regular maintenance will help
Once again thinking about omega!reader who has the nesting skills of a rock...
To be fair, when gaz first met you, neither of you could afford to care about nesting. More focused on surviving the hellhole mission you were both in, then all the anxiety and trauma after that. Not exactly the best time to nest.
So it's only after dating you for several months that kyle is practically hauled to your room a few weeks before your heat because "i want my nest to smell like you, kyle."
You reek of excited omega, hopping on your heels as you lead him like an eager puppy. With a pleased purr, you toss open your door and revealâ
...a blanket.
One single blanket, bunched oddly into a vaguely circular shape. One of kyles hoodies lies two feet away from the blanket. You beam at kyle, wiggling happily "so? What do you think??"
Kyle, sweet kyle who is horribly in love with you, he smiles and presses a quick kiss to your cheek "it's perfect, baby. You're a natural."
Which is how gaz ends up snuggling with you on top of said singular blanket. To be fair, it's a soft blanket, and the fact it reeks of you does sweeten the deal.
That night, with you sleeping tucked into kyles chest, he scrolls through his phone and orders any good nesting materials he can find, even checks out a few nest bases. There is no way he is using this nest for your heat.
pathetic alpha!rabbot and their busy, busy omega (as requested)
"How does this one look?" You ask, lifting your phone up so your alphas can see the dress on your screen.
"That looksâ" Robby stops himself with a whine, "Looks good!"
"Jack?"
All you get is a grunt in response. You turn around with a scoff. "Can you please give me a real answer?"
You can barely spot Jack past Robby, who is currently laying on you, chest-to-back. Jack is behind him, standing at the edge of the bed as he fucks Robby, unfazed by your question if the continued thrusting of Robby's cock against your clothed ass is any indication. You're uninvolved, bored really, even as the scent of your alphas fills the room.
You're wet, of course, but you can't put off ordering this dress any longer. It's Trinity's birthday next week, and if you don't buy a it tonight, you're going to be pulling up to the club in your scrubs.
So, your alphas will have to wait a bit. Their ruts are due in a day or so, and they've been begging you to fuck them. The crucial part is that they are certainly not in rut yet. Despite their constant whining, you've been a medical professional long enough to know the difference between the pre-rut increased libido and the actual thing.
"Yeah," Jack gasps, "Looks good." He sounds entirely uninterested, too uninterested considering what the dress looks like (and the fact that he and Robby are going to be the ones to take it off of you at the end of the night).
"What color is it?"
"A nice one," Jack pants.
Motherfucker.
You drop your phone, rolling your eyes as Robby's head drops to your neck. He doesn't hide what he's doing as he takes a long sniff of your scent gland, cock still grinding against your jeans.
âYou guys are unbelievable," you scoff. "Seriously."
"Can't help it," Robby slurs, whether it's from your scent or the way Jack's fucking him, you don't know. Don't want to know. "You smell s' good."
"Weirdo."
"He's right, princess," Jack chimes in, slightly out of breath. "Such a sweet little omega, we old men should be the ones trying to keep up with you."
"Whatever," you scoff, adding the dress to your cart. "Whose card should I use?"
"Mine," both alphas say at once.
"Gonna have to do better than that."
"Mine," they say again.
"Unbelievable," you scoff. "Fine, I'll just use mine."
Finally, all thrusting stops.
"No you're won't," says Robby.
"Absolutely not," Jack bites.
You hear a whimper in your ear as, you assume, Jack pulls out of Robby. Before you know it, he snatches your phone from your hands. You're about to raise a fuss, but Robby does it for you. He jumps off of you, pouncing on Jack as they wrestle for the device.
You want to be mad. You really do. But... there's something about the sight of your two alphas, pheromones pumping, cocks hard, completely nude as they fight over you that's simply too good to be true.
"Please just settle this so you can fuck me," you beg, rubbing your legs together to soothe at least some of the ache. After having them fuck on top of you for the last thirty minutes, you're way past worked up.
"Oh, I have it settled already. I'm paying," Jack says, trying to snatch the phone that Robby's holding above his head. Children. "It's him who's the problem."
"Not as I live and breathe you're not," Robby argues. Jack jumps particularly high and Robby stumbles back to preserve his hold on the phone.
You roll your eyes, "How about thisâ whoever doesn't pay gets to knot me first once your rut starts."
Maybe your promise just added fuel to the fire, because the fighting starts again almost immediately.
Whatever, you think, reaching into your bedside drawer to grab your knotted dildo. At least they'll tire themselves out.
Imagine vulture bee!reader joining the team and being nothing like expected...
When people think of bee hybrids, they think of...well. soft fuzzy things with big eyes and the faint smell of flowers. Price once worked with a bee hybrid who would stop to inspect interesting flowers in the middle of a fire fight.
Then there's you.
You, with dark black fuzz, tinted wings, and sharp claws. When you smile, it shows off a row of serrated teeth.
You look nothing like a bee.
More confusing still, is your behavior. You are actually still mild off the field. Once you warmed up to the team they were practically your hive. It's just...you never eat around them.
Most bee hybrids love to eat and share food with their hive, it's built into their instincts. But the team had literally never seen you eat. Maybe you have a strange eating method, or you eat some weird pollen.
The mystery of your diet quickly becomes a problem, however, when the team is trapped on the field due to weather complications.
Huddled into the same base that was now full of rotting corpses, the team was running out of food. You watch them, wings twitching in anxiety at seeing your hive so hungry. With a frown, you pull out the mre's you pack despite never eating, sliding them into their pile of measly rations. "You can have mine."
"What? No!" Price is the first to hiss, glaring at you like you just insulted him "you need to eat too, soldier. Don't make yerself a martyr, it's foolish."
"Uhmm...about that..." your wings shuffle, nervous. You hadn't wanted to tell them this way "i...don't eat human food. I'm uhâ surrounded by food right now, actually."
Gaz scoffs "the only thing around here is rotting corpses. Even if you were like, a cannibal or something, you can't eat rotten meat. That's vile."
"....oh my god." Ghost finally says, realization dawning on their faces one by one. You brace for the ridicule, the disgust. Maybe for someone to grab a knife to deal with the monster you are, wouldn't be the first time.
Instead, ghost looks up at the ceiling "yer so fuckin' lucky."
....what.
For the nonny who wanted more insect hybrids!! The vulture bee feeds on carrion exclusively! How cool!
Thinking about ghost with a reader who gets really anxious...
You can't help it, not really, you've always been an anxious person even growing up. Scared to make phone calls, heart beating out of your chest when you had meetings that day. Terrified to go out places.
Even after joining the military, it only hot worse, because now your anxiety had proof.
Of course you're anxious, you could die any day. Killed, kidnapped, bombed, shot. Those nervous tremors in your hands were practically a constant now. You couldn't recall the last time you were truly relaxed. Being around anyone makes you feel horrible.
...then there's ghost.
Ghost, who for some inexplicable reason feels safe. It doesn't make sense at all. He's the one person on base who may actually kill you, and yet you find yourself seeking him out when your chest starts to tighten.
"Ah. Bad again?" He asks, not needing an answer before pulling you into his side on the couch. Ghost doesn't try to comfort you, merely adjusting his position so you have room to curl into him.
The anxiety is still horrible. Ghost doesn't cure it, you spend hours shaking against him feeling like you've got a gun to your head. But...it does help.
It helps that ghost is ready to help you once it's passed. Offering you water or a snack because you used all your energy.
Where other soldiers would ridicule you for the way your body seems to be confused about where it is, ghost accepts you as bluntly as he accepts the rest of his reality.
He doesn't mention that you make his own anxieties loosen, doesn't see the point. You're just two broken things existing together.
â summary: when yuki's girlfriend's gerd flares up at an event, kika helps her through it until yuki can get there
â warnings: reader has gerd, talks of nausea
â authors note: requested by @clarenciago
â gerd - gastroesophageal reflux disease: a digestive condition where stomach acid frequently flows back into the oesophagus, causing heartburn, chest pain, and throat irritation
endurance masterlist
The room was louder than she had expected. Conversations were overlapping around her as glasses clinked together and microphones crackled faintly through the speakers. Music hummed beneath everything almost like a second heartbeat. The noise wasnât overwhelming at first, but slowly it crept under her skin the longer she stayed.
She shifted her weight slightly, trying to ignore the subtle discomfort building in her chest.Â
It wasnât panic, she knew the difference. This was deeper. A slow, creeping burn that started low in her stomach and climbed upward, settling behind her sternum in a way that made every breath feel too tight.
She pressed her lips together, swallowing carefully. The motion didnât help, it rarely did, but it felt like doing something.
Across the room, Yuki stood on stage under the soft lights, answering questions with that familiar mix of shy smiles and animated gestures. He looked comfortable in a way he hadnât always been during events like this, laughter coming easier now, words more confident.
She didnât want to interrupt that. She didnât want to be the reason he glanced offstage with worry instead of enjoying the moment he deserved.Â
So she stayed where she was and tried to breathe.
The burn began to worsen.
A sharp wave of nausea followed, unexpected and disorienting. She swallowed again, throat tight, the sour taste already creeping upward that made embarrassment bloom alongside the discomfort.
She shifted towards the edge of the room, hoping movement might help, but the lights suddenly felt brighter and the air felt thicker.Â
Her chest tightened, not from panic but from the feeling of nausea mimicking fear. Her body was unable to decide what sensation it wanted to prioritise.
She pressed a hand against her sternum, willing the feeling to pass.
It didnât.
âHey,â a soft voice said from beside her.
She startled slightly, blinking to find Kika standing close, expression warm but eyes immediately observant in a gentle, intuitive way.
âAre you okay?â Kika asked quietly.â
She hesitated, instinctively shaking her head before she could stop herself.
âItâs just my GERD,â she murmured. âI think itâs flaring up.â
Kikaâs expression softened instantly, not alarmed, not confused, just understanding.
âOkay,â she said calmly. âWe can handle that.â
The reassurance alone eased something tight in her chest.
âI donât want to make a scene,â she whispered, glancing briefly towards the stage where Yuki was still mid-answer, unaware.
âYouâre not making a scene,â Kika said gently. âYouâre not even making noise.â
That earned the faintest smile.
Kika guided her towards a quieter corner without rushing, one hand resting lightly at her back. âSit,â she encouraged softly.
She lowered herself into the chair, posture instinctively upright â the only position that didnât worsen the reflux. Her breathing stayed shallow, controlled, but the nausea lingered, unpredictable and unsettling.
Kika crouched beside her. âDo you feel dizzy?â
âA little. Mostly sick.â
Kika nodded. She handed her a bottle of water, already opened. âSmall sips.â
The kindness of it, the quiet competence, made emotion prick unexpectedly behind her eyes.
âI hate this,â she admitted softly as her throat tightened. âIt feels stupid. Itâs uncomfortable and scary, especially in public. I didnât want him to see, heâs happy up there.â
Kikaâs smile was soft, almost knowing. âHeâll want to know. But we can get you feeling a bit better first.â
She nodded gratefully.
The burn slowly dulled with the water, though the nausea lingered in waves. Kika stayed beside her, talking quietly about nothing important â the music, the dress someone was wearing, a funny moment earlier â giving her brain something gentle to focus on instead of the discomfort.
Gradually, the tight knot in her chest loosened.
On stage, Yukiâs gaze flickered off to the side for the first time.
He spotted Kika first. Then her.
Even from a distance, she saw the shift. The subtle tightening of his posture, the way his smile faltered for half a second before he forced it back for the audience.
By the time he stepped off the stage, he was already scanning the room. He reached them quickly, dropping into a crouch in front of her without hesitation.
âWhat happened?â He asked softly, eyes immediately searching her face.
âItâs okay,â she said quickly. âJust reflux.â
âYou sure?â
She nodded, though her voice wavered slightly. âYeah. It just hit suddenly.â
Kika gave him a small reassuring nod. âSheâs already feeling better.â
Yuki exhaled slowly, tension easing only a fraction.
âDo you want to leave?â He asked gently. The question held no disappointment or frustration.
âYes please.â
He didnât make a big deal of it or apologise to anyone dramatically. He just slipped his hand into her and guided her towards the exit with quiet determination. Kika gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before they left.
Outside, the cool air felt like relief.
She inhaled slowly, the burn in her chest fading into a dull ache instead of something overwhelming.
Yuki stayed close, his hand warm against her back.
âIâm sorry. I didnât want to pull you away.â She whispered.
He stopped walking immediately.
âYou didnât pull me away. It was my suggestion to leave,â he reminded her gently.
Her chest tightened again, but not from reflux this time.
âI hate when this happens in public,â she admitted. âIt makes me feel dramatic even though I know Iâm not.â
Yukiâs expression softened, something protective flickering behind his eyes.
âYouâre not dramatic,â he said quietly. âYouâre uncomfortable. Thatâs different.â
She looked at him, surprised by the certainty.
He brushed his thumb lightly across her knuckles.
âI just wish I noticed sooner,â he admitted.
âYou were on stage.â
âI still wish I noticed.â
She stepped closer, resting her forehead lightly against his shoulder.
âI was okay,â she murmured. âKika helped.â
They stood there for a moment, the world quieter now, the pressure in her chest finally easing into something manageable.
âBetter?â He asked softly.
âYeah.âÂ
He smiled faintly, relief evident even in the small curve of her lips.
âLetâs get you home,â he murmured.
~~~
Later, curled on the sofa with a blanket and warm tea she barely sipped, the flare felt distant, more memory than immediate threat.
âYou donât have to hide it from me,â he said quietly.
She blinked at him. âI wasnât hiding.â
âYou were protecting me from worrying.â
She didnât deny it.
He tilted his head slightly, meeting her eyes.
âI donât want protection from this,â he said gently. âI just want to help.â
Her throat tightened, emotion creeping in where discomfort had been earlier. âIâm trying.â
âI know,â he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. âAnd you did nothing wrong tonight.â
She exhaled slowly, letting herself relax fully into the cushions, and into him. She knew a flare up would happen again, but he would be there through all of it.
Summary: It started off as a kind gesture. A professional curtesy. His therapist had told him he needed to branch off more. Try new things. Meet new people. So that was how he ended up there, in the PTMC morgue having tea breaks with their attending mortician.
A/N: Divider provided by @pixopix. Also posting this at like 2:40 am with little to no proofreading due to my insomnia. So... Sorry if none of this makes sense.
Warnings: Medical inaccuracies (I can only google so much of what a hospital mortician does before I fill in the blanks and I apologies to the reader who actually are in the mortuary science field! I respect you all so much!) morbid humor and lots of references about death (hazard of the job) but nothing graphic.
The offer had always been present.
âIf you ever need a moment to breathe, come to the morgue. Down there you can rest⊠in peace.â
The offer was morbid to say the least. Off putting to most who were not used to the somewhat socially awkward senior attending Morticianâs levity. Clearly a bad attempt at trying to use humor to bridge the gap between departments. But Jack Abbot had found his stone stern face quirking into a grin. The most he let himself loosen up while manning the floor on a busy night shift. Dark humor was one of the few ways he could cope with so much over the years. He appreciated it far more than anyone else there.
He doesn't know how he found himself on that floor. Truth be told he was going to go up, to the roof. He needed to get away from the Pitt for even just a moment. The night was fine. The floor still had Shen and Ellis. He just... needed air.
The office was smaller than most but there was a homey feel to it. A warmth despite the perpetual cold of the outside halls of the morgue. A sanctuary for the recently deceasedâs loved ones before they once again had to tackle the harsh reality of their loss. To the untrained eye it was just like any other office in the building, but Jack could tell the little touches. The attention to details.
The two plush armchairs for the guests to comfort and hold them as they sat during one of the hardest days of their lives. The trinkets and handmade touches scattered on the side of the desk. Out of the way to not be impractical but still in eyesight to show personality. A small succulent garden thriving despite its underground inhabitance. A sign of life surrounded by death. A worn and weathered leather office chair at the head of the desk. Years of age and wear and tear to show how much of an institution it all was.
Any other office would be seen as too clinical in his eyes. But the âcoffinâ as some referred to it around there (whether that was affectionate or derogatory he wasn't quite sure of), he could see himself not minding staying in there for longer moments of time.
âPlease sit. Feel free to make yourself comfortable while I make you something.â
Two mugs of hot liquid were placed on the desk.
The senior attending Mortician looked almost pained as they chose to sit beside Jack on the guest chair instead of across at the head. Their much deserved spot. Jack almost went into doctor mode before he was cut off.
âIâm sorry. I brought you hot water for tea. Force of habit.â
It was a simple gesture that showed such care and attentiveness. Jack wasn't much of a tea drinker, he had nothing against it, it just didn't quite do the job considering he worked overnight. It was almost counterintuitive to his whole purpose. But he found himself waving off the apology not out of politeness, but something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. Instead he reached for the assorted box of tea bag and joked,
âPick your poison.â
He managed to earn a guffaw from beside him.
âAnd they said I had a grave sense of humor.â Was volleyed back at him with a matching grin.
What was that he just felt? Almost a sense of pride? Lightheartedness? Jack Abbot cracked a dark joke, and it was appreciated.
Lifting his mug out in almost a toast he mused,
âTo the morgue. I can see why people are dying to go here.â
âDr. Abbot!â He was reprimanded with no real animosity. Not when peels of laughter trailed behind his joke. He could get used to this. No looks of concern or questions about his headspace. No psychoanalyzing. Just a kindred spirit.
âJack.â He corrected.
âJack.â Was repeated with a smile and a raised mug, they clinked together delicately in a cheers.
It was different. For years Jack Abbot thrived on a delicate balance of the chaos of the Pitt and the routine of everything else in his life. Midnight tea breaks with the senior attending Mortician was something in the middle. Not quite predictable, but never too consistent given their work. But he took the opportunity whenever presented.
It was countless tea breaks later when the obvious had been pointed out to him.
âJack. You know you arent obligated to have tea down here with me.â
Jack looked as if he were told the most ridiculous thing in the world. Almost insulted. Why would he do anything else BUT that?
âWhat I meant was, I can make you coffee. We do have a coffee machine in our break room and I KNOW you always end up having a cup when you get back to the Pitt. Lena told me.â
Jack grumbled that he had been caught and no less been ratted out by his own charge nurse. Was there no loyalty left in this world? Apparently not when it came to meddling in⊠whatever this was.
âNo.â He actively refused as he maintained his âsignature Jack stareâ and dunked a teabag into his now unofficial assigned unassigned mug in defiance. He could truly be the most infuriating and stubborn man when he wanted to be. It was all a part of his charm.
spare keys â jack abbot x fem!reader
brilliant idea by @xrandomnevx !! thank you for letting me write this
TLDR summary: Jack has a shit day and asks for his spare key... not in the best way.
warnings: making out, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, misunderstanding trope
wc: ~2.5k
I've been in a writing slump and this helped â€ïž I have some asks in my inbox so I'll be getting to those now -- sorry to those who've waited!
masterlist
The night shift has a way of binding people together, especially after rough shifts, especially those whoâd rather not talk about their feelings despite being on the verge of breaking down.
Thatâs how you and Jack found yourselves under a shared blanket, warm drinks in your hands, while Greyâs Anatomy plays in the background. Itâs trash TVâat least, thatâs what you both call itâbut youâre so physically, mentally, and emotionally fried that somehow itâs the only show either of you has managed to watch a full episode of.
Youâre pretty sure neither of you is actually paying attention. Maybe itâs just an excuse to have the other person there.
You were the first to ask, âYou wanna come over?â like it didnât mean I donât want to be alone right now. That was a few months ago, and ever since then youâve been drifting between each otherâs places. To the point of even exchanging spare keys.
Jackâs place is bigger than yours. Cleaner. Yoursâbeing a residentâis cluttered with takeout menus and mismatched mugs. Jack has his own go-to mug at your place now: a pale green one with a pickle wearing glasses printed on it, the words âkind of a big dillâ stretched across the front.
On the TV, someone is yelling. Someone is crying. Someone is definitely violating at least three hospital protocols.
Jack scoffs quietly into his drink.
âThatâs not sterile,â he mutters.
You hum. âItâs television.â
âTheyâre running a trauma without gloves.â
âThey do that a lot,â you say. âItâs kind of their thing.â
ââŠI donât really like that Owen guy.â
Your lips press together at Jackâs comment as you turn to look at him because of the irony of Owen Hunt also being a combat medic. âYouâre telling me you werenât like that when you first came back?â
Jack frowns, head cocking back like heâs surprised. ââCourse not. You wouldnât even know I was in the military if I hadnât told you.â
That earned him an eyeroll. âJack, you carry a knife with you at all times.â
âRegular people can carry knives anywhere.â
âRegular people donât.â
He shakes his head, but thereâs no real heat in it. His shoulder presses into yours, warm and solid beneath the blanket, and you lean on him with a small smile.
This is how it usually goesâquiet commentary, shared exhaustion, leaning on each other in a way that you canât really explain. You tell yourselves itâs nothing. Just two doctors who understand how bad it can get. Just convenience. Just habit.
Still, when youâre both gently dozing through the end of the episode, Jackâs hand doesnât stop moving through your hair. And when Netflix asks if youâre still watching, neither of you move to turn it off.
âŠ
Jackâs never late for work. Not usually.
But he was having trouble sleeping, and now heâs running on three hours of sleep. He has a piece of toast in his mouth, his backpack in one hand, a water bottle in the other, and his mind stuck somewhere between paperwork and the echo of your laugh from last night.
He locks the door from the inside in a hurry and shuts it.
Halfway down the block, his fingers reach into his jacket pocket out of habit and he stops mid-track.
Nothing.
He pats the other pocket. Then his bag. Then the back pocket of his jeans.
Still nothing.
Jack exhales slowly, tilting his head back toward the sky like it might give him answers. He can see it in his mind immediately: his keys, sitting smug and useless on the kitchen counter, right next to the sink after he finished his coffee.
âFuck,â he mutters.
He checks his watch. Thereâs no time to go back. Even if there were, heâd already committed to being late, and that alone is enough to sour his mood. He considers his options, then realizes:
You have a spare.
He sighs in relief. Heâll ask you when he sees you, before the shift starts getting busy.
But by the time he makes it to the hospital, Shen has apparently spewed out the Q-word multiple times, and the board is already lit up. A bus collision on the freeway. Multiple incoming traumas.
Jack doesnât even have time to put his things in a locker. He sets them down by the nurseâs station and jumps straight into action. He spots you in the crowd prepping for incoming trauma, but youâre pulled in another direction almost immediately.
And it goes on throughout the night.
Every time he thinks, Iâll talk to you now, something else crashes in. Heâs being called left and right as the assigned primary emergency MD. And even after the MCI is handled, there are violent patients, a family sobbing in the hallway, a trauma that turns into a code that turns into silence.
Night shifts can be weird and busy, but this is out of the ordinary. And Jack hasnât had the chance to breathe. He catches himself staring at a monitor for half a second too long, brain lagging before it snaps back into place. He gives an order and has to repeat it because it comes out wrong the first time.
The rest of the shift drags on. By the last hour, his foot aches, prosthetic chafing his skin, and his patience is threadbare, his words sharp by necessity more than intent. And he still has to find youâ
âYou donât look so great.â
Ah.
Jack barely lifts his head to look at you.
He pushes himself off the chair after putting his prosthetic back on. He should explain. He knows that. The words line up in his headâ I Locked myself out. Meant to ask you earlier. They donât make it past his lips.
Exhaustion wins.
âCan I get my spare key back?â he asks.
Something feels wrong. But he doesnât know what.
âOh,â your reaction is immediate. âYeah. Sure.â
You donât look at him as you dig through your bag. The key lands in his palm, cold and heavy. You donât let your fingers brush his.
âThanks,â he mutters. He should be glad that heâs no longer locked out of his place, but it doesnât feel like that.
When he looks up, youâre already gone.
He stands there longer than necessary, spare key clenched in his fist, feeling like heâs misstepped, even if he doesnât fully understand how.
Shit.
âŠ
You knew from the start that whatever this thing is between you and Jack, it wouldnât end in sunshine and rainbows.
You hopedâstupidlyâbut youâd always known better than to trust hope. People like you donât get to keep things that felt this steady without paying for it later. And men like Jack Abbot donât stumble into soft, uncomplicated endings.
You were going to ask Jack to come over to your place last night when he asked for his key back. You saw how wrung out he was during the shift. He barely had anything to eat, and when you gave him protein bars, heâd just put them in his pocket. So you knew he could use the extra care. You could put on his comfort trash movie, make some tea, let him lean on youâŠ
But he asked for his key back instead, and so you got the hint. You left before he could say anything else. Before he could see the tears in your eyes.
Maybe you read too much into the nights you shared together. How could you be so blind? It was just for convenience, it was a habit. It couldnât possibly turn into something more. Because Jack couldnât possiblyâŠ
You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. You didnât sleep last night.
âYou alright, hun?â Lena asks, glancing at you with worry.
âYeah, just,â You sigh again, âexhausted.â
You havenât seen Jack since the shift started, but thatâs also probably because youâve been avoiding him and keeping your head down. You move through the ED on autopilot: charting, assessing, responding when your name is called. You donât linger. You donât joke. You donât look for Jack the way you usually do.
But you canât avoid him completely.
You need to talk to him about a patient. With the patientâs chart in your sweating hands, you approach him slowly.
âDr. Abbot?â
Jack snaps up to look at you, his eyes more confused on why you just called him that.
You keep a straight face. âI have the lab results for our patient in bed 13.â
He doesnât tear his eyes away from you, eyes narrowing just slightly. You discuss the results together, professionally, though you refuse to look him in the eyes. And just before you can turn away from him, he grabs hold of your wrist.
Thatâs when you finally look at him, and you think you might break.
âWe need to talk.â He says. âPlease.â
You bite your lip and glance around. People are starting to look. Jack starts to notice too and he lets go of your wrist.
ââŠIâm swamped tonight.â You tell him and walk away.
Jackâs jaw tightens as he watches you leave.
Thereâs one question that youâre still thinking about and canât seem to think of an answer. What about your key?
Jack asked for his key back. Why didnât he give yours back as well?
You could go ask for it backâoh my god. Is that why he wants to talk?
The realization makes your stomach drop.
You bonk your head against the wall. Of course. Youâve misread it. You always do. This was never something that required a conversationâjust a cleanup. A return of borrowed things. An ending, neat and quiet.
Not that there was anything to end.
You still try to keep your distance after that. You know it wonât lastânothing ever does in a place this smallâbut youâre not ready. Not for the look on his face when he hands your key back. Not for whatever careful, considerate explanation he thinks you deserve.
But Jackâs also relentless.
It guts him when he realizes that youâre avoiding him. You donât look for him anymore. You donât even look at him when he passes by. And he does that on purpose several times just to get you to do it.
Every time he sees you across the department, his chest tightens with something sharp and urgent. He opens his mouthâand you disappear. Turn a corner. Get intercepted by a nurse. Vanish into a room that suddenly needs you more than he does.
He needs to talk to you. Wants to.
Because after last night, he couldnât sleep. He thought heâd be well rested by himself but the reality hit him: he missed you.
And he kinda knows why youâre like this. He thinks itâs because he was mean, didnât talk to you the way he normally would, didnât invite you over or offer to go to your place after a shift from hell. You probably needed him too, but he was too exhausted with his own shit.
Not to mention the way he asked for his key⊠he shouldâve explained, but he didnât.
And now you wonât let him fix it.
Now, in the middle of the shift, as he watches your sullen face while charting, Jackâs run out of patience.
Just as you put down the chart, he grabs your hand and leads you to the on-call room before anyone could see.
âJack??â You curse yourself internally for saying his name.
The door clicks shut behind you, muting the ED slightly.
Jack faces you, but doesnât sit. He drags a hand down his face, exhaustion pulling his shoulders forward, his voice rough when he finally speaks. âYouâve been avoiding me.â
âIâm busy,â you reply, a little too sharp.
âSo am I,â he says. Then, quieter, âThatâs not what this is.â
Your stomach twists.
He searches your face and continues, âI didnât ask for the key back because I wanted you out of my life.â
You stiffen.
âI locked myself out,â he says, immediately. âThat morning I left my keys on the counter in a rush, and I locked myself out. I meant to tell you before the shift got insane, but it never slowed down and by the time I found you, I wasââ He stops, sighing. âI was a mess. I shouldâve still said something, but I didnât⊠thatâs on me.â
You still havenât said anything, but your shoulders relaxed. A sigh of relief quietly escapes you.
âI heard how I sounded,â Jack continues, quieter now. âI know it wasnât great. And when you handed it over like thatââ He swallows. âI knew Iâd fucked up.â
He takes a step closer, towering over you. âI wanted to give you this back.â He brings a key in between you, his key. âItâs yours. If you still want it.â if you still want me.
You stare at the key for a second too long before a shaky, disbelieving laugh slips out. You take it from his hand and tuck it safely into your pocket. Shyly, gingerly, you rest your head on his chest.
ââŠI thought you were gonna give me my key back.â
Jack also lets out a small chuckle from hearing that. He wraps his arms around you. âYouâd have to pry it off of my dead body.â
âWonât be long then.â
âRude.â
You laugh, genuinely, in relief, and sniffle. Your arms circling around him.
âYou crying on me?â Jack murmurs, resting his chin on your head.
ââŠno.â
He smiles at that.
âYou know,â Jack says before he can stop himself, âAfter yesterdayâs shift from hell, I couldnât sleep. And I realized⊠I missed you.â
You lift your head to look at him, eyes sparking from your tears and full of longing. âYeah?â
âYeah.â His smile is small but sure as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours.
He kisses you softly. Gentle and loving. Your hands slide into his hair, fingers curling at the nape of his neck, and his grip tightens at your waist.
You part for air, and Jack kisses you again, deeper this timeâweeks of unsaid things pressed into the way his mouth moves against yours.
You make a quiet sound before you can stop yourself.
That does something to him.
Jackâs grip tightens, his thumb slips under your scrubs to rub circles on your spine, while his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough that the kiss turns slow and consuming, like heâs memorizing you.
You forget where you are.
Your fingers slip under the hem of his scrub top, resting against his skin. He groans softly into your mouth, barely restrained.
âFuck,â he murmurs, breathless. âWe shouldââ
Knock knock.
You freeze.
Jack goes completely still.
The knock comes again, louder this time. âUhâDr. Abbot? You in there?â
You stifle a laugh against his chest as Jack exhales, long and pained, his head tipping back slightly.
âGive me a minute.â
Thereâs a pause outside. âSure, doc.â
Jack looks back down at you, eyes warm and unmistakably fond despite the interruption. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, soft, deliberate.
âWeâre not done,â he whispers dangerously low.
You bite your lip, heart still racing. âGood. My place after shift.â
summary: an old bet has accidentally resurfaced and you question where you stand in your relationship with Jack.
warnings: hurt/comfort. insecurity. jealousy. misunderstanding trope-kinda. spoilers for the pitt s2 (especially ep 08).Â
note: gosh itâs finally here. thank you so much for all the love in the og draft! I can't believe it got over 4k notes???? thank you guys â€ïž
wc: ~4k
images by @wesandresons ; dividers by me lol
When you work in the ER, surrounded by life, death, sorrow, guilt, grief⊠itâs important to take joy in the moment when you can. Because you canât dwell too much on the patients you lose. You gotta learn to compartmentalize, no matter how small. And in the Pitt, you do bets. Ahmad is usually the one setting them up, and big or small, thereâs always something to bet on.
Today, on the 4th of July, the hot topic is whatâs causing Westbridge to divert their patients and how long will they close their ER?
You bet $30 on system overload for 4 hours.
And now, the betting pool only gets bigger.
âSo. System overload, huh?â Robby asks, stepping up beside you as he studies the board. âHowâd you come up with that one?â
You grin, âToo many medical dramas.â
âGod, you watch those?â Robby grimaces, shaking his head.
You shrug, âJack watches them, too. Actually, it was his idea.â
He chuckles. âIâm sure it was. Speaking of Jack, Iâm surprised you let him join SWAT today.â
Sighing, your shoulders immediately fall. Itâs a topic youâve argued with Jack several times. You donât understand why he wants to volunteer today. The job is dangerous, heâs retired from the army, you canât wrap your head around why canât he just work a regular shift. But at the end of the day, you still chose to support him. Because Jack has his demons, too. And maybe this is his way to face them. Whatever the outcome, your job is to be there when itâs over. To hold the line. To catch him if he falls.
âLet him?â You scoff, âNo, he does what he wants.â
âMaybe itâs an adventure thing.â
You hum sarcastically, âMm-hmm, like you and your bike?â
âWe all need some sort of therapy, right?â
âI guess,â You sigh again, âJackâs probably gonna stop by later at the end of the shift. Before you head off on your grandadventure.â
âYou know, youâre the only person today whoâs called my sabbatical an adventure and not a mid-life crisis.â Robby grins.
âNuh-uh,â You put up a hand, âI still think itâs a mid-life crisis trip. No helmet, Robby? Really? I saw you pull up.â
He sucks in a breath through his teeth and pretends to busy himself. âOh, would you look at that. Patients. Back to work, doctor.â
You just shake your head at him.
You spent the next hours moving nonstop. Treating patients, teaching med students and interns, spending some time with Baby Jane Doe. So far nothing has blown up in your face yet, which is a good sign, but itâs the 4th of July. Crazy things are bound to happen on this day.
You just finished taking care of a head lac, sanitizing your hands while you exit the patient room and checking your phone. Jackâs last check-in was a couple hours ago, and you didnât see it.
â Change our bet. Cyberattack. 5 hours.
Your brows raise, but thereâs a sigh of relief. How does he get intel like these?
Regardless, you make your way towards Ahmad. At least Jackâs safe.
âOh, I know that look.â Ahmad guesses, âChanging your bet? Gotta double it.â
âDouble??â You scoff, âCome on, man.â
âHey, I didnât make the rules.â He raises his hands in surrender, âSo whatâs it gonna be?â
You exhale through your nose, handing him the extra $30. âCyberattack. 5 hours.â
âInteresting,â He notes, âPrincess said the same thing.â
You shrug, analyzing the board for anything interesting. Thatâs when you notice a sticky note buried under several others. One corner sticks out just enough for you to catch the name written across it; âAbbotâ. A bet on Jack? What could it be about?
You reached up and picked it out. When you read the content, your face falls immediately.
'abbot <3 mohan. how? when?'
And you see several bets being placed on it.
$20 they makeout in the oncall room. end of month -princess.
$10 they fuck to relieve stress. after 4th of july -santos.
$30 abbot confesses first. before end of year. -donnie.
$40 never. jack wouldn't have the guts to do it. -robby.
$40 also never. mohan rejects him. -dana.
There are several others, but you can't read them anymore. You feel like your ears are ringing, you can't think straight, and you need to breathe.
Jack and Samira? Jack had something with Samira? Why didnât he tell you? Was it one sided? Does Samira know? Who won the bet? Did anything happen between them? Does Jack still feel something towards her now?
You shove the sticky note in your pocket, rushing out of the room to go somewhere you can breathe some fresh air. You run to the ambulance bay, but Robbyâs there right now and you cannot deal with that, remembering that he bet Jack wouldnât dare make a move on Samira. Which means he knew. No, everyone knew.
Fuck. Just how embarrassing is this? You joined PTMC a little over a year ago and fell in love with Jack. You were never shy about it, never hesitant to be seen with him, or to let people know you were together. And now youâre realizing you might not have been the actual woman he originally wanted like that.
Your stomach twists at the thought. It shouldnât matter. He had a life before you. You know that. He didnât owe you anything. Still, something about finding out this way makes you feel stupid, like you walked into an inside joke everyone else was already in on. And youâre the punchline.
You turn to a random patientâs room, pretending to check on them.
ââOur little secret.â
You manage to hear a voice before you open the curtains, and you see your Jack sitting on the bed with his shirt off, with Samira with her gloves on, standing behind him.
Your eyes widen and you stop in your tracks.
If you were being rational and logical, you would be able to make the connection that Samira is patching Jack up from a wound, but you're dealing with too much information too fast, and the twisting feeling in your chest only gets worse.
Jack can see it in your eyes. The way theyâre tearing up, how your chest is heaving, and how you canât really make eye contactâyouâre about to panic. Fight or flight. And he knows exactly what happens next if it hits full force: youâd shut down, youâd barely speak.
âSweetheartââ
âNo,â You say immediately, bringing a hand to your mouth because you feel like you could throw up, âDonâtâ I canâtââ
He stands up, already wanting to hold you, but you're already stepping away from the room to find somewhere you could be alone.
Are you just a rebound because he couldnât get Samira? Just a replacement? Did he settle for you? Was he just lonely, and you happened to be there at the right time, saying the right things, filling a space that was never really meant for you? Is he dating you just to get her jealous?
You walk as quickly and as calmly as you can out to the ambulance bay again, seeing itâs empty now.
You let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding, the cool air brushing against your face. Your chest isnât heaving anymore. The breaths you take are still short, but your head is clearer now. However, the tightness in your chest, the aching pain, they donât go away.
Your breath becomes a sob, and before you know it, tears are falling from your eyes.
âDamn it,â you mutter under your breath, wiping the tears with your sleeves.
Itâs a ridiculous thing to cry over.
You have Jack. Heâs yours. Youâre just being insecure. Jealous. Overthinking and overreacting. Thatâs all this is.
So why does it still hurt so much?
Thereâs no doubt that Jack wants to be with you. He shows it every day. But if Samira had reciprocated back then⊠if things had lined up differently⊠where would that have left you?
Fuck. No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.
Youâre not sure when youâve dropped to the ground, crouching while keeping your head hanging low. All you know is, youâve probably stayed too long out in the bay, because Robbyâs found you and he looks concerned. So you quickly duck back inside.
Youâre not trying to avoid Jack. Itâs just been incredibly chaotic ever since they announced the system was going offline to prevent a cyberattackâwhich also means you and Jack won the bet, yayâthat everyoneâs drowning trying to keep up with the paperwork.
Besides, you havenât really seen him ever since the little⊠incident you saw. Right now heâs occupied in a trauma with Robby and Whitaker, your eyes meeting for a fleeting second through the glass doors and you can see him fighting the urge to go to you before Robby calls him again.
You swallow hard. The sticky notes in your pocket feeling like it weighs a ton.
Right after youâve finished the discharge papers of one of your patients and ding the call bell, you feel his presence next to you, holding your arm and guiding you to the lockers.
He doesnât look happy.
Once the door closes, Jack lets your arm go, and youâre backed against the wall. His arms are in his pockets, but they might as well be next to your head with the way heâs looking at you.
âWhatâs going on?â
You open your mouth to speak, but you donât know where to begin.
I found out about you and Samira. Do you love her or me? What was that âlittle secretâ you guys were talking about? If she told you she loved you now, would you choose her? Why didnât you tell me?
Jack exhales through his nose, the tension clear. He turns to his locker to grab his things. âLook, I gotta go. Gotta sleep a bit before my night shift later. I know this isnât ideal, we donât have much time, but⊠Iâd rather we talk about some of it now than later.â
You close your mouth, nodding and understanding.
He softens slightly. âBaby, please. Tell me whatâs bothering you.â
You glance at your feet, biting your lip, pressing your nails to your palms to calm your nerves and finally gather the courage to ask: âDo you have⊠feelings⊠for Samira?â
Jackâs head snaps toward you so fast it almost startles you. His brows are furrowed. His eyes are sharp and almost pointed at you, he definitely was not expecting that question.
âOr, did you?â You add, trying to correct yourself.
His hard expression hasnât changed, but heâs no longer looking at you. He closes his locker, fumbling with his bag.
And itâs his silence that breaks you.
âJack?â You ask, voice sounding like youâre in disbelief.
âNoââ He immediately answers, ââI donât. Sorry, that question just⊠took me by surprise.â
You donât look convinced.
âBaby,â Jack softens, stepping closer, âThere is nothing going on between me and Mohan. I promise.â
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to will the tears away. âAre you sure?â
His brows raise, because why would you ask him that? âYesâlook, where is this coming from? Baby, I promise what you saw earlier was just a coincidence, okay? I was gonna patch myself up but she was already there. There is nothing going on.â Heâs holding onto you now, looking deeply into your soul with concern.
Because he needs you to understand thereâs no one else in this world for him. His entire existence, his entire life, revolves around you now. He doesnât know how else to convince you, not when you look like heâs betrayed your trust.
Your lip trembles.
You should believe him. You know heâs probably telling the truth. But you canât help but feel thereâs still something heâs hiding from you. So you fish the wrinkled sticky note in your pocket.
âI found this buried behind the other betting notes,â You mutter, putting the notes in his palm.
Jack hasnât opened the notes yet, looking at you for an explanation first.
âI wouldâve understood if you had just told me in the beginning,â you continue, your throat tightening despite how hard youâre trying to stay calm. âI mean, itâs not like you owed me an explanation. I just⊠I donât understand why I had to find out like this.â
He finally unfolds the wrinkled notes, and his jaw clenches when he reads them.
He doesnât really react. Heâs not shocked. And that tells you what you need to know.
âOh my God,â you breathe, a hollow laugh escaping, the sadness and hurt simmering into disbelief. âYou knew about the bet.â
âWhoa, noââ Jack immediately interjects. âNot in the way you think. I found out about this a long time after it ended.â
Your eyes snap to him. âIt ended?â
âYesââ
âWho won the bet?â
âWhy does it matter?â Jack sighs but then answers anyway, âI donât know, honey.â
You bite your lip, trying to look anywhere else but his eyes, but you canât escape him.
Your mind is still so loud. It keeps going, keeps spinning, feeding you every worst-case scenarios where you're the one who loses. It's exhausting, living in your own head like this. And you don't know how to tell Jack that. How do you explain that your biggest fear isn't what did happen, but what could. That somewhere in the back of your mind you're terrified that if Samira changed her mind, you'd lose him without warning.
âHey.â His voice drops quieter. His hand comes up to your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. âLook at me.â
You do, reluctantly. And you hate how much just looking at him undoes you.
âI need you to hear me right now,â he says, his thumb brushing your cheek. âJust listen to my voice, okay? Not whatever your brain has been spinning all day. Me.â
âJackââ
âYes, I had a crush on Mohan,â he says plainly. âIt was nothing. It went nowhere because I didnât want it to. And then months later, you showed up, and I never thought about her ever since.â He shakes his head slowly. âYouâre the light of my life. First time I saw you, I knew youâre it for me.â
Despite yourself, a small, watery laugh escapes you. âWe were yelling at each other.â
âIn my defense, it was your first day and no one told me there was a new hot doctor in town. And we also made out right after, soâŠâ
You shake your head with a small smile. The ache in your chest hasn't fully gone yet, but is much more manageable now. You swallow hard after a beat passes. âYou could've told me.â
Jack nods, not making excuses of it. âYouâre right. I should have. I didn't think it mattered enough to bring up. And that was stupid of me. But I promise, it was never something I was hiding from you. Iâd forgotten about it. I didnât even think of it.â
You nod back. âWhat was the little secret?â you ask quietly. âWhat I walked in on earlier⊠what did she mean by that?â
He exhales and opens his mouth to explain, when the locker room door swings open and Robby comes in.
âYou guys better not be playing hide the zucchini,â Robby jokes, âJack, Howard is ready for transport. They need you out front.â
Jack's jaw tightens. He looks at Robby, then back at you, and you can see it in his face, the frustration of fucking terrible timing.
âGive me a minute.â He says.
Robby hesitates for just a second, then gives a small nod and lets the door shut behind him.
Jack turns back to you. His hand finds your face again, tilting up so you're looking at him. âShe was helping me with my wound on my back. A bullet grazed my vest. I wanted it to be off the books. That was the secret.â He gave you a summary.
He slings his backpack on his other shoulder and gives your forehead a kiss. âWeâll talk more later, okay? I promise you thatâs all it was.â
You nod, not fully trusting your voice.
He lingers a second longer than he should, thumb brushing your cheek, and then he's gone. And you donât like how everything feels too quiet without him in it.
One year agoâŠ
âAre they still at it?â Robby frowns, hearing the loud voices coming from the supply closet.
You and Jack only met moments ago. Itâs your first day in PTMC, and by some luck, you arrived on a stretcher, doing chest compressions on a patient. Robbyâs met you before, so though he was surprised, he didnât get in your way.
However, Jack, having never met you, immediately carried you off the patient, taking over the compressions himself.
âWhaâ Hey!â
âSomebody get her out of here!â
If it werenât for Robby finally explaining that youâre the new attending joining them and not a patient or visitor, Jack wouldâve probably dragged you out himself.
âSounds like it.â Dana confirms. âSheâs feisty. I like her.â
Robby hums, âReminds you of yourself, punchy?â
Dana chuckles, âYouâre lucky I havenât actually punched anyone, Cap.â
Your argument with Jack continues.
âYou didnât have to man-handle me like that!â
âI wasnât man-handling you, it was just easier to carry you rather than pulling you to come down! What if youâd fallen??â
âWell I couldâve fallen with you 'carrying' me anyway!â
Jack scoffs, âWhat, you think I'm not strong enough to carry you, princess?â
âDon't fucking call me that. And no, I don't think you are.â You step closer as if challenging him.
You stay like that for a second. Eyes glaring at each other, out of breath, bodies so close that you can feel each otherâs warmth⊠and with one glance at his lips, Jackâs resolve breaks. Youâre kissing him before you know it. His hand on the back of your neck, the other around your waist to feel your body press against him, while yours are bunched in his scrubs, pulling him closer.
You moan when you feel his tongue intrude your mouth. And Jackâs about to slip his hand under your shirt when thereâs a knock on the door.
âAlright guys, quit it.â Robbyâs voice booms from outside. âItâs gotten quiet so Iâm assuming youâre⊠doing something else. We got a trauma coming in. Letâs go.â
You push yourself off of him immediately. Wiping your mouth of his saliva and looking away despite your heavy breaths and flushed face.
Jack smirks, licking his lips and opening the door for you, signaling you to go first. You roll your eyes and walk first anyway, cursing on your way out.
âJack-ass.â
âBrat.â
The memory brings a smile to your face now.
Itâs definitely not the most romantic way to meet the love of your life, but you wouldnât have it any other way. And needless to say, youâre grateful Robby didnât report you to HR on your first day.
Youâve decided to work an extra couple of hours since things are still chaotic and the night shift would need help. Not to mention that you donât really want to go home to an empty house right now.
It only took you and Jack about a month before admitting that you wanted to be more than just friends who occasionally make out. And once youâve embraced the fact that youâre in love with him, everything became easier. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. You still argue, but none of it makes you want to walk away.
âHi, sweetheart.â
You feel Jackâs arm around you as he kisses your head.
You lean into his touch. âHi.â
He looks better now after a few hours of sleep, changed into another black t-shirt and dark cargo pants. He stands beside you, shoulders touching. He doesn't say anything right away, and neither do you.
Youâve had the rest of the day to think about what happened. Your feelings. Your relationship. And you have to admit, your earlier reaction was⊠a lot of anxiety and panic. Jack left you texts throughout the day, and his reassurances have calmed you down, and now youâre ready to talk to him.
âStaying for the night shift?â He asks.
âJust a few hours.â You say, then turn to him.
âCan we⊠talk?â
His hand finds yours, fingers slipping between yours. âCome on.â
He takes you to the rooftop, where itâs quieter and the chances of someone walking in is low. The rooftop was also where you and Jack managed to um⊠relieve some stress back then. It was a daring thing that you donât think you can do again.
The breeze hits your face and you take a deep breath, following Jack to sit a few feet from the edge. He knows you hate dangling your feet, you once told him itâs very dangerous because âwhat if your leg falls off??â. It puts a smile on Jackâs face just remembering it.
Silence stretches between you, and you know you canât delay it any longer.
âIâm sorry.â
Jackâs head snaps towards you, looking confused.
You continue anyway. âI saw the bet and my mind immediately assumed the worst. I guess it triggered an insecurity in meâŠâ
âHoneyââ
âNo, I⊠I need to get this out,â You take a deep breath, fidgeting with your fingers. âI hate that everyone knew you had a thing for Samira except me.â You admit. âIt makes me feel stupid. Most of them were rooting for you to get together and I⊠I feel like Iâm a replacement. Because you couldnât get her.â
You swallow the lump in your throat. You feel like crying but it seems like your tears have dried out. âAnd Iâm scared that you might leave me for her if she turned out to have reciprocated your feelings.â
Jack softens, scooting closer to you and taking your hands in his, kissing them dearly.
âYou shouldnât say sorry.â He says, âIâm sorry because I didnât tell you. Youâre not a replacement, sweetheart. You never were, you never will be. You're not someone I settled for because things didn't work out somewhere else.â He tilts his head, making sure youâre still with him.
âThat crush was just⊠admiration. Purely surface level. I wasnât interested in her that way.â Jack explains, âAnd I guess⊠knowing my staring problem, I probably wasnât sublte and people started reading too much into it. And you know gossip here spread like wildfire.â
You press your lips together, nodding while you listen to him.
âBut look,â Jack straightens, âI donât want to downplay your feelings. Theyâre completely valid, okay? If you told me you had the same thing with⊠with Robby, I wouldâve lost it. I shouldâve told you. Iâm sorry I didnât.â He repeats. âYou deserved to hear it from me first.â
You let out a breath of relief, nodding again and leaning your head on his shoulder.
Jack puts an arm around you, kissing your temple. âAnd as for Mohan, there is no scenario where I leave you for her. Or for anyone. You hear me?â
âMm-hmm.â You hum.
âThank you.â You say after a second, âfor understanding. For apologizing. For accepting me. I love you.â
Jack tilts your head to look at him. âNo thanks needed. I love you. I love every part of you.â
You smile at him, finally able to let go of the weight on your shoulders.
The silence that follows is different from before.
âI donât think you were subtle with me either.â You say after a while, chuckling.
âHoney, we snogged the first day we met. We donât do subtle.â
You groan, âMy God. Who says snogged anymore?â
âThis old guy.â Jack laughs. âNow come on. We should go down and talk to Robby before he leaves.â
You exhale, gathering the will to go back into the fray before getting up, then offering Jack your hand. âAlright gramps, letâs go.â
He snorts, shaking his head, but taking your hand anyway so you can help him up. âDonât push your luck, sweetheart. Youâre gonna be screaming this âgramps'â name tonight.â
You gasp, âEw! Jack! That sounds so creepy.â
âYou started it.â
Youâre both laughing as you make your way down through the elevator.
âHey,â Jack calls your attention, smiling and sending you a knowing look. âJust you and me, alright?â
You smile back, âyou and me.â
it's finally doneeeeeeeee â€ïž thank you for supporting me and I hope you guys like it đ„č the pressure is fr fr
âFound it!â You called out, carrying the fax machine out.
The fax machine mechanic on the printer wasnât working so Dana asked you to go dig out the old fax machine.
âJesus that thing is ancient.â Santos muttered as Dana started to hook it up.
âOh that fax machine.. one of the best creations on earth.â Abbot said, walking over and patting the fax machine, âThis thing faxes stuff amazing.. I can tell.â He purred.
âRobby.. Dr. Abbot wants to fuck the fax machine.â You called out, slowly backing up.
âBaby.. I donât wanna fuck the fax machine. Cant a man just admire the beauty of it?â He asked, rubbing the sides of the fax machine.
âQuit touching!â Dana snapped, hitting his hand away.
âWe had to use these back when I was in residency.â Abbot explained, looking it up and down.
âYea back when you had to chart by candle light.â Joy muttered.
Everyone dispersed, except for Abbot. He stayed watching over the fax machine, gently feeding it stuff to fax.
âIs this his breaking point?â Robby mumbled to you, âI thought he was doing good in therapy.â
âHe was! I donât know what the fuck he is on.â You whispered, âI donât know whatâs weirder, the fact he keeps petting it or the fact he calls it baby.â
âBoth are weird. Both are weird.â Robby mumbled and stalked off.
âOh Dr. Abbot press my buttons harder.â Trinity mocked behind you, âBeep Boop- ow!â Trinity whined as you smacked her arm.
âQuit it.â You hissed, âGet back to work.â
She rubbed her arm and retreated into a patients room, leaving you watching abbot touch the fax machine gently.
âGod I wish he would touch me like that.â You mumbled and went back to work.
