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May 16

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY — Pt. 1

SUMMARY: Working a double shift on your birthday was a fine idea until you come to the realization that you have yourself a little stalker situation on your hands… and Jack is less than pleased to learn about it.

WARNINGS: mentions of a stalker and panic attacks, inaccurate medical reportings (by me lol), protective Jack, brief mentions of mental illness, non-established relationship, some light flirting and lots of internalised "he'll never want me how I want him" angst

A/N: hehe I had a dream about this and started writing immediately...it did turn out pretty long so I had to split it into two parts, I do apologise BUT I am aiming to have the second part out by the weekend (which I promise includes smut)!!

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Reader

WORD COUNT: 8.5k

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The walk from your apartment to PTMC is usually one you take the time to appreciate. Twenty minutes of undisturbed, allocated music time. And more often than not, your only daily intake of fresh air and occasional sunshine.

This evening however, you’re having no such luck. You’ve forgotten to charge your AirPods—your only set of portable audio equipment—so music is out of the question, and the second your feet hit the pavement, the heavens above open up and rain down on you.

Not the most ideal start to your double shift, you know, but it could’ve been worse. At least you always keep a spare change of clothes and shoes in your locker and with any luck, the Pitt will be calm enough for you to savor a coffee while conducting shift change.

You hurry through the automatic doors at the ambulance bay in an attempt to find some warmth inside, and when you do, it’s in more ways than just the physical sense.

“Happy birthday!”

You blink at the scene before you. The central hub is littered with gift bags, balloons and banners. Half of your colleagues and friends are gathering around, beaming at you and a grin stretches across your soaked face when Santos pulls the string on a party popper.

Mel’s feet quickly bring her to you, her smile wide as she awkwardly wraps her arms around you from the side and pulls away with an overly ecstatic grin.

“Happy birthday,” she repeats again and you mirror her expression, though yours is slightly more softened.

“Thanks, Mel,” you breathe, turning back to the central hub.

You purse your lips together, can feel your eyes welling with unshed tears. In the eight years you’d been at PTMC, you’ve always managed to book your birthday off. And while they’ve always made an effort to plan a birthday meal or drinks to celebrate with you, you’ve never walked into something like this.

It makes your heart swell, makes it ache. You’ve had a few casual jobs before here, while you were in college and even before, but never once have you felt like you belong. Not like they make you feel.

You sniffle and wipe your eyes, smile still wide, and the rainy, music-less walk to work is suddenly completely forgotten about. Approaching the nurses desk, you take in the scene properly through a slightly distorted vision.

At least seven gift bags are scattered across the top section of the desk, two bouquets of flowers, three helium balloons and two large banners.

“You guys are so cute,” you coo as you inspect the bags. That’s when you notice the open white box and your eyes widen even further. A cream frosted cake sits neatly in the box, the words ‘Happy 30th Doc!’ are piped on in a green icing calligraphy.

You’re slightly overwhelmed at the amount of love they’re outright showing you.

You hear a clap of hands and turn to find Robby standing in front of you all, a fond smile on his lips when he looks at you and dips his head.

“Alright, you’ve all seen your favorite Doctor. Now, respectfully, fuck off and go home. It’s been a long day and the majority of you are back here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mel is the first to give you a hug goodbye, excitement still evident in her body as she bounces on her feet slightly. Then Santos, which is more of a pat on the back, and Whitticker hugs you like he’s still a teenager that hasn’t ever touched a girl before.

Langdon almost crushes you when he wraps his arms around your shoulders, Javadi opting to wave goodbye and Dana pressing a kiss to your cheek and smoothing down your wet hair.

“Have a good shift, doll. Enjoy the cake.” She grins as you blow her a kiss goodbye.

You feel the weight of Robby’s hand on your shoulder and turn to face him and the rest of the staff you’ll be working with tonight.

Only a few familiar faces looked back at you. Shen, Boone, Ellis, Mohan. Nurses flitter about but your eyes land on four new faces you haven’t yet seen.

Robby looks at them expectantly and you notice the way they shift to stand a little straighter.

The young blonde clears her throat and plasters on a smile. “Amelia Crovinch, MS3.”

The second is a short man, probably early thirties with a ginger stubble and a podgy stomach. “Ricky Perkins, MS2.”

The third is much taller. A man in probably his late twenties, dark hair, dark eyes and you would be stupid to not admit that he’s attractive. He grins at you, eyes flirty. Fucking fantastic. “Charlie Holloway, MS3. Happy birthday, gorgeous.” He winks.

You turn away from him to the final one, trying to hide your grimace at the wink. A woman who looks to be in her mid twenties, expressionless and far too snooty for your liking. “Karen Molloy, MS4.”

“Perfect.” Robby claps his hands together. “This is Dr. Y/L/N, R4, though hopefully soon attending. If Dr. Shen and Dr. Abbot are otherwise busy, this is who you will go to for a typical attending clearance.”

“But she’s not an attending,” Molloy argues.

Fantastic, you’re sure you’re going to get along just superbly with her.

You raise a brow, turning away to look back at Robby. “Jack’s working tonight?” You ask instead, hoping you hide your excitement well enough.

Robby nods, opens his mouth to speak when another voice does it for him. “Happy birthday to my favorite R4.”

Jack approaches swiftly, that crooked yet flirty smile on the corner of his mouth. Your stomach flips at the sight of him, the sound of his voice. It’s pathetic really, the amount of affect he has on you over something as trivial as speaking.

You roll your eyes fondly. “I’m your only R4.”

Jack stops just short of you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And if there were more, you’d still be my favorite.” He says it lightly enough for it to be perceived as a joke but you know better.

You know you’re Jack’s favorite. If his behaviour toward you compared to others is anything to go by. He taught you most of what you know, advocated for you to sit in on new things and take control when more authority was needed. Jack believes in you, respects you wholeheartedly, and he has never been afraid to show it.

It’s made you giddy for years, makes you silly enough to believe you’re his favorite something else, too. But Jack is a flirt, he gives eyes to everyone he speaks with and since you started working here eight years ago, you’ve had to remind yourself of the fact every day.

His gaze is still on you, one that lingers just a second too long. When he moves his eyes to look at Robby and most probably send him home, you take the moment to address the students with a kind smile.

“It’s nice to meet you all, night shifts can be a little crazy but we all try to work together as a team to get through.”

Another set of hands meet your shoulders as a presence looms over you from behind. His scent consumes you, warm and enticing, familiar in a way it shouldn’t be, in a way you want it to be more. It takes every ounce of composure you have to not allow your face to betray you.

“I am going to get our birthday girl up to speed…Dr. Ellis, Cravinch, do you mind moving all of this to the break room, please?” Jack gestures to the gifts and balloons on the nurses station.

Ellis nods, reaching for your arm and smiling wickedly. “Happy birthday, baby.” You grin at her, offering thanks and telling everyone to help themselves to cake whenever they want it.

You salute Robby playfully as you pass him, heading toward the lockers to rid yourself of your damp jacket and backpack and change your shoes. You can feel Jack following close behind you, can hear his soft steps before he leans on his crossed arm against the lockers, body facing you.

“Robby said you’re working a double?” You break the silence as you stuff your damp sneakers and jacket into the locker, toeing on your dry pair of spare converse. You side-eye him playfully. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for that shit now?”

Jack’s brows rise comically high at your comment, his own mouth curling into a smirk. He rolls his shoulders, not moving from his position leaning against the lockers. “I’m forty-seven.”

You nod slowly, lips pursed as you shut your locker and turn to face him, mirroring his body language. A playful look gleams in his eyes and you have to force your thighs not to clench together.

Jack is a flirt.

He does this with everyone.

You are his favourite R4 and nothing else.

“I didn’t think you were working tonight.” he comments and for a brief moment you let yourself be deluded enough to believe he keeps tabs on your shift pattern.

You sigh. “I was supposed to be in this morning but apparently there was a scheduling error, so instead I’m spending my birthday in my favorite place.” You grin at him sarcastically and the corner of his lips kicks up in a smile.

It makes your pulse thunder. You need to get a fucking grip.

You take a step away from the lockers and Jack follows, his arm brushing yours as you adjust the stethoscope around your neck. It’s comfortable and professional as he walks you around the ED, filling you in on the current patients, what they need, what they’re waiting for.

And Jack also makes a point of letting every patient know it’s your birthday and to be on their best behaviors. It makes you laugh, blush and cringe every time they offer birthday wishes, but it made you beam when a seven year old girl with a broken wrist sang to you. You promised to bring her a fat slice of cake for it.

“This is the last one. Caleb Dawkins, thirty-three year old male who has been persistent to the day shift that he is unhappy with their lack of diagnoses and insisted on waiting to be seen by a different doctor on the night shift.” Jack mutters to you as you both stop just short of outside the curtain.

You sigh, plaster on a smile and walk into his private sector.

The patient on the bed is quite attractive. Dark hair, long lashes, bright eyes that remind you of Langdon’s. His skin is tan, patchwork tattoos across his arms and absolutely no reason for his shirt to be off with no motoring equipment attached to him.

“Hi, Mr Dawkins, I’m Dr Y/L/N, what brings you in today?” you poise it as politely as you can but you really don’t have the energy tonight for someone coming in and wasting time and resources if there’s nothing wrong with them.

Caleb stills when he sees you, a smile breaking across his lips when he realises you’re a doctor that hasn’t yet seen him. “Hey Doc, I got some pain in my chest,” he grunts, rubbing at his sternum.

You frown, reaching for his chart and reading over the notes. You feel Jack’s presence behind you, looking over your shoulder at the notes and you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Caleb, your EKG and bloodwork came back all clear.” Jack tells him—which you feel like isn't for the first time with the huff that follows—and takes the chart from you as you approach the patient.

“Lay back for me, just gonna have a listen.” You recline his bed back, pressing the cool metal of the stethoscope to his bare chest. You keep it there for a few moments, eyes focused on the wall opposite you.

You pull away. “Your heart rate is perfect. Have you experienced any vomiting, fever, dizziness…?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been feeling hot and cold on and off.”

You hum and reach for the thermometer, guiding it to his ear and checking for a fever. It beeps, flashing green and you place it back, side-eyeing Jack who stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed.

You turn back to Caleb with a friendly smile. “Your temp is fine, but I can get one of the nurses to come back and run some more bloods, see if there’s anything we missed.”

“Can’t you do that?” he argues.

You make a pout and let out a breath. “Our nurses are very capable and I have a lot of patients to check on, but I will be back soon when I have your blood results, okay?”

You don’t wait for him to reply before following Jack out of the section and loosening a breath. “He is going to be here all night isn’t he,” you mutter and he hums in agreement as he guides you both to the break room.

You corner Princess on the way, asking if she can run another lot of bloods for Caleb before the smell of coffee washes over you and Jack is handing you a cup, his fingers ghosting against yours for a brief moment.

The break room is filled with your gifts and balloons and cake. You smile at it all, that warmth in your chest returning. “Seems pretty calm out there, why don’t you take a look at what you got?” Jack says over the rim of his polystyrene cup.

“I’ll go through it when I get home.” You wave a hand, picking up the card in the flowers to read the note.

A bouquet of pink and white tulips from Robby. A bouquet of pink and blue hydrangeas from Whittaker and Santos, and a large bouquet of red roses with no note. You turn to Jack, pointing at them. “Do you know who those are from?”

He shakes his head, approaching to look at them. “Dana said they got delivered for you this afternoon, no card on them, though. Maybe Collins?” he suggests.

You laugh loudly at that. “Yeah, because Collins is going to get me roses for my birthday.”

That stupid fucking smirk spreads across his mouth. He shrugs again. “I don’t know then. Are you…seeing anyone?”

Your gaze snaps to his then, and you must be seeing things because you’re almost certain the smirk on his face is fading as he asks. You swallow, tongue swiping across your lower lip as you look back at the roses.

“No, I haven’t even been on a date in like…forever…” Realisation of the fact crept up on you and a crushing weight began to settle its way beneath your ribcage. While you haven’t been on a date in a hot minute, you have seen these exact roses far too often recently. Something that no longer feels like a coincidence.

For the past six weeks, every Wednesday, this exact bouquet has been left sitting on the steps to your apartment building. Something you never truly acknowledged much of before. There on a Tuesday, gone by Wednesday. But now, they are here. Left at the nurses station. A delivery for you.

It makes your blood run cold, a daunting fear that begins to wedge its way beneath your ribcage. You’re not seeing anyone, there is no reason for you to be receiving roses.

The stillness of your shoulders doesn’t go unmissed by Jack. It concerns him slightly, piques his interest. He takes a step closer, frowning at the roses then frowning at you.

“What—”

Jack’s words are cut off when one of the med students—that you’ve already forgotten the name of—calls out to you for assistance.

You take a breath, grab the roses and shove them into the trash in the corner of the break room. Jack watches with raised brows and confusion swimming in his eyes. He’s about to speak again when another call for help shouts across the ED, Jack’s name tagged onto the end of it.

He grabs your wrist and gives it a squeeze. “We’ll talk about this later.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The next five hours of your shift is chaos incarnate.

No coffee, no breaks. Three cardiac arrests, two addicts who had overdosed, three critically injured in a car accident and a guy who was stupid enough to attempt to breath fire after watching a four minute long youtube tutorial and ended up with third degree burns in his throat and across his face and neck.

You haven’t been on your game. You mind has been distracted, stuck on those fucking unsolicited roses.

And by the time it gets to 2am and you sneak off to the break room for at least a sip of coffee, all of your birthday cake has been eaten and the coffee pot is empty. It’s typical for you to be interrupted the second a fresh pot finishes brewing.

“Um, your phantom chest pain guy is refusing to speak to a doctor that isn’t you.” Amelia mutters apologetically.

You close your eyes for a moment, blindly pouring coffee into a cup and pressing the lid on. “I can come with you, assert some male dominance.” Charlie suggests, like it was an offer that would do you a favor.

You find yourself wishing it was Charlie that passed out at the sight of blood and got sent home instead of Perkins.

You look at him with a bored expression, brow quirked at the audacity. You wonder how far up his ass his head really is. A hand lands on his shoulder—one you’re too familiar with, one you fantasise about late at night.

“I am going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that.” Jack speaks low, eyes peering into yours but you avoid his gaze.

He’s been trying to speak with you since your little outburst in the break room at the start of shift but you’ve been avoiding him. You don’t feel like admitting your little situation aloud to anyone—least of all to him. You won’t be able to handle the disappointment on his face when you also admit that you’ve been oblivious to it for weeks.

“Shen is about to perform a chest tube thoracostomy in Trauma Room 3, great learning experience,” he mutters to the students.

When you sneak another glance at him, he’s already looking at you, Charlie and Amelia rushing to the action. He jerks his head to the side. “Walk with me?”

You huff but relent, shoulders low and feet scuffling. “You gonna tell me what's going on?” he presses softly.

You keep your eyes ahead. “If I make it through this double shift, sure—Mr Dawkins, I heard you were asking for me, what’s going on?”

He sits up in his bed, still not attached to any monitoring equipment because it still isn’t needed. You truly don’t know how much longer you can keep your patience with him. You raise your brows expectantly when you’re ignored and follow his line of sight to Jack who remains close behind you.

“You her guard or something? She not capable of doing anything on her own?” Caleb’s voice is harsh as he addresses Jack and it gets your back up immediately.

You whirl back to look at him with raised brows. “I asked Dr Abbot to assist me. We’re at a loss here, Caleb.” You sigh as you take a seat on the swivel stool beside his bed. “Your bloodwork is coming back perfectly normal, your heart rate is steady, no temperature. You have no bruising or swelling, no abnormalities when we’ve checked over your chest.”

Jack watches with crossed arms from the curtain.

“So what are you saying?” he asks you softly.

But before you can even open your mouth, Jack is speaking. “We’re saying we don’t think you’re really having chest pains.”

Caleb’s face grows angry, expression furrowed as he sits up in the bed, all frustration directed toward Jack. You stand immediately.

“You’re saying I’m making this shit up?”

“No! No, we are not saying that,” you reassure as calmly as you can, palms in the air in a futile attempt at surrender, an offer to calm him. You sit back slowly on the stool when Caleb lays back in the bed.

You chew on your bottom lip, shifting closer on the stool and trying to keep your expression friendly and open. “Caleb, are there any…mental health illnesses within your family?”

He blinks at you, slowly before a brow raises just an inch. “You think I'm insane?”

You smile as you shake your head. “No, but I think you think you’re feeling sensations that aren’t there. We’ve run many tests, Caleb, and nothing is coming back to suggest that what you’re feeling is physical feeling.”

You let the words hang in the air, let him stare at you as he processes what you said. For a brief moment, you think he might lunge for you, so does Jack by the way he takes a careful step closer to your back.

Caleb blinks again. “My dad has uh…he has schizophrenia.”

With pursed lips, you nod. “Okay, I’m going to put you in for a CT scan so we can see if there are any enlarged ventricles or cortical atrophy. They can sometimes be a sign of schizophrenia, but not always. We have a social worker in the ED, her name is Kiara. I can get her to come down and speak with you if you’re open to it?”

Caleb shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to speak to anyone that isn’t you.”

You swallow with a nod, forcing a kind smile. “Okay. I won’t be able to take you for the CT but I will come and check on you when you’re done.”

You stand to leave, palms clammy as you approach Jack when Caleb calls your name again. Turning to face him, he smiles at you, kind, flirty. And not at all worried about the possibility of having schizophrenia. Figures.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

You nod a thanks a little hesitantly, irked by the nickname and with a hand on your lower back, Jack guides you to the nurses station. “Happy birthday, baby.” He mimics playfully in a low voice and the repetition of the nicknames makes your shoulders tense.

Because it doesn’t irk you when it’s coming from Jack’s lips. It sets your body alight in excitement and wonder. Baby. Oh God, you’ll be playing this moment in your head for weeks to come. Your mind is already storing the nickname and tone away into your mental Rub Hub.

Despite his attempt at lightening your mood, you can feel Jack’s eyes on you as you sit at a computer to chart, to book in that CT. You feel him hovering and while you’ll usually bask in the attention, this time you rear away from it.

The questioning is coming, you know that. But if you can avoid it until at least the end of the night shift, you will.

“You want me to make a call to Psych?” Jack asks and you sigh. “Would you mind? I know a CT isn’t a definite way to pick it up but at least it could rule out a mass or tumor in the meantime.”

“Hey, this got delivered for you about ten minutes ago.” Boone calls, pushing a brown take out bag in your direction.

You look at the bag, then her, your brows furrowed. “I didn’t order anything.”

She shrugs a shoulder as you open the delivery to inspect the contents. “Maybe someone on day shift wanted to surprise you.”

The smell of sushi hits you immediately and your stomach churns. Not because you don’t like it, but because it was your favorite and no one on day shift would be awake at midnight to send you sushi.

Anger burns your blood and Jack watches it happen. You scrunch the bag up, stand from your chair and throw the food into the trash with as much force as you can muster. You don’t look back to see wide eyes and confusion following your retreating form. Nor do you see the increasing worry that’s taking over Jack’s face.

You have a stalker. Someone following you. Who knows where you live and where you work. Who knows you’re working tonight. Who knows it's your birthday. It’s with that heavy and dizzying thought that you’re locking yourself in the restroom and bursting into tears.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Jack Abbot has a way with women. Well, not just women, he tends to have the same effect on people despite their gender.

Strong eye contact, lazy smiles, low tones. He’s sure, confident, assertive, nice. But right now he’s growing more and more pissed off by the second. He has no energy for lazy smiles or undisturbed eye contact.

Worry is beginning to wedge its way deep into his bones with every moment that passes, every slight behavioural change you display. Your outburst with the roses was one thing, but when it happened again with the take out delivery, the entire team was then beginning to notice.

On top of that, you’re avoiding him. Which in your eight years of working at PTMC, you have never done. Jack doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Who shit in her birthday cake?” Molloy mutters from her position where she charts, her distasteful eyes following you across the Pitt as you assist on a head trauma.

McKay gives her an unimpressed look before stepping up beside Jack to watch you through the glass window. “She doing okay?” she asks quietly, the concern evident in her voice.

Jack’s mouth scrunches slightly to the side, a barely noticeable movement of his head following. “Yeah, I think she’s just got a lot on her mind. Keep an eye on her for me?”

Mckay nods, not quite convinced at the way he tries to vouch for your mental state but she doesn’t press, it’s not her place. “You’re on a double right? It’s almost 4am, why don’t go for your break, we’ll be okay out here.” she offers.

Jack hesitates, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep even if he tries. But ultimately, he knows McKay is right. He still has another fifteen hours ahead of him and his leg is fucking killing. Jack relents with a sigh, running his hand down his face as he nods.

“Yeah, okay. Make sure she goes for hers when she’s done.” he nods his head in your direction and Cassie nods hers.

It takes twenty minutes for Jack to even begin to feel comfortable on the small couch in the break room. An unofficial designated space for staff to get at least an hour's shut eye if they were on a double. His leg is aching, the pathetic massage he gave the stub doing little to ease it. But his mind is the one thing he can’t shut off from.

Something is wrong, bothering you to the point that it’s affecting your work. Your patience is wearing thin, your smiles are forced and tight. He’s never seen you like this; so out of your element to the point that you’re snapping at people for the smallest things.

Everyone is used to you being a ray of sunshine. Someone who laughs hard at things that aren’t that funny, who believes everything is a learning experience, who takes what is thrown at them with your head held high.

Tonight it looks like you’re barely swimming above water. And your outbursts with the roses and the take out bag…he can’t stop thinking about them. Jack has come to the conclusion that perhaps you have been seeing someone—a thought that sours his expression no matter how much he’ll try to deny it—and they are wanting another chance you aren’t willing to give.

But you told him earlier that you haven’t dated in a long time.

His mind is a mess of jumbled thoughts over the situation. It takes another twenty minutes before sleep finally begins to catch up with him. It’s short lived, though. It always is. Not even an hour later he’s blinking himself awake, his mind racing back to you as if he never even slept.

By the time he sorts himself out and grabs a cup of coffee for him and a chamomile tea for you, he’s back at the nurses station. The Pitt still seems as lively as it did before he retired for a nap, but everyone seems to have everything under control.

He notices you immediately, slumped on a chair as you no doubt chart for probably the hundredth time tonight. Jack approaches you steadily, body still slightly stiff from cramming himself on that small couch. He doesn’t speak at first, just places your tea beside your hand and waits.

Slowly, your eyes trail up his arm and chest before settling on his still slightly sleep-ridden face. Your hard expression softens just an inch and Jack’s shoulders relax briefly at the sight. “Thank you,” you whisper, eyes not leaving his.

Jack pulls a swivel stool to his legs, takes a seat beside you. He opens his mouth to speak; to tell you he’s worried, that if something is bothering you he will listen, he will help in any way he can. But he doesn't say that. You’re starting to soften and he doesn’t want to make you tense again.

“Why don’t you take your break,” he suggests instead. “We’ve still got another shift ahead of us.” Your shoulders droop at that, a heavy and exhausted sigh slipping past your pretty lips. A groan is soon to follow, your hand coming up to rub at your face.

“I’m so tired but I don't think I could sleep if I tried.” Your voice is defeated but Jack can’t help the soft smile that threatens to pull on his lips.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It took me a little while.”

You hum, eyes still on him. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t dare. Jack has always thought you were incredibly beautiful, those gorgeous eyes and pillow lips… he knows it’s inappropriate, but he’s never acted on any of those dirty thoughts that creep up on him in the middle of the night.

He’s too old for you, and you’re too good for him.

“I’ll keep an eye on your patients,” he promises.

You smile wider at that but a sleepiness overtakes your features. Jack doesn’t think you've ever looked so…soft. He wonders if that’s what you look like every night, when you’re settling yourself to sleep in your big, empty bed. He wonders if that’s what you’d look like if he woke you up to his head between your—

“Go,” he cuts his own thoughts off, jutting his head slightly to the direction of the break room. “Couch is already set up for you.”

You blink slowly at him, leaning in just a bit closer to playfully flick his knuckles with your finger. “You’re too good to me, Jack Abbot.”

His heart—he doesn’t want to think about the rhythm of his heart right now. Instead his lips turn downward to hide his grin as he shoots you a wink. You don’t offer the same restraints as a grin stretches across your mouth. Your hand meets his, squeezing in silent thanks before you stand with your tea and excuse yourself to the break room.

“Oh, by the way, phantom chest pain guy? He’s with Psych now, thank you.” you call back to him over your shoulder.

Jack watches you retreat, the sway of your hips, the heaviness on your shoulders. He’ll get to the bottom of whatever is bothering you. He won’t let you suffer alone.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Your nap is short lived, much like Jack’s. Barely an hour of sleep before you’re waking with a groan and a kink in your neck.

You have to push the fear of your crippling situation way deep down if you’re going to get through the last half of your double shift. You’re a doctor for fucks sake, you can’t not afford to not be on your a game.

So you do. You push it down, you ignore it. You complete your rounds, treat your patients, write up your charts and do everything in your power to avoid the questioning stares from Jack.

Until the time reaches almost 7am and another delivery is made. A cup of coffee from the coffee shop across your apartment and another bouquet of red roses.

The delivery man calls out your name but you’re frozen in place behind the nurses desk. Boone looks at you, a little spooked at your pale complexion as she thanks the delivery driver and takes them from him.

Everyone seems to still around you as Boone places them on the desk in front of you, your change in behaviour causing an uncomfortable shift in the air.

You approach the roses and coffee as if you’re on the brink of death; slow, hesitate, fearful. And when you grow close enough to see the note tucked between the buds, your blood runs ice cold and you snap.

Jack walks toward the central hub just as you pick up the drink and flowers and hurl them into the trashcan, shoving your foot into it to crush the flowers, the drink almost exploding under the force of the kick.

You turn to everyone with wide eyes, your chest heaving and tears welling your eyes. “If I have one more delivery, you put it straight in the fucking trash.”

Jack watches with wide eyes as you storm outside through the ambulance bay, not missing the confused and startled looks everyone gives your retreating form. Fuck this, he can’t wait for you to come to him. Jack doesn’t think twice before following you outside, and what he finds almost cleaves his heart in two.

You’re crouching on the ground, head almost tucked between your knees and you sniffle and sob to yourself. He’s quick to rush to you, bending at the knee despite the ache of his leg protesting.

He pulls you into him and lets out a breath when you don't argue. “You need to tell me what the fuck is going on, sweetheart.” His tone isn’t mean but firm.

You can barely catch a breath and he knows what a panic attack looks like. He pulls your hands off the back of your head, lifts your face with his palms cupping your wet cheeks and angles you upwards, allowing the air to hit your face.

“You’re okay. Just breathe, I’m right here, you’re okay.” He coos at you, suffocating his own anxiety at the slightly frightening sight of you.

You try to focus on the feel of his skin on yours, his warmth, his scent. You make it a focal point, something to try and ground you, to coax you out of your spiralling mind. Jack feels you shake in his hold, and even though your breathing begins to slow just slightly, he can’t let go of the pure look of fear in your eyes.

He doesn’t speak again until you have calmed to a more manageable state, offering quiet coos of comfort, large and steady palms soothing up and down the length of your spine. He calls your name, quietly so as to not startle you but loud enough to hear over the ringing in your ears.

Turning to him, your dry lips part and silent tears continue to slip down your flushed cheeks. You look away, can’t stomach the concern in his eyes. A friend that’s worried about you and your strange behaviour. That’s all.

You rise to shaking feet and take a step away from him in an attempt to regain your bearings. Jack doesn’t push, he waits—impatiently—as you take steadying breath after steading breath, hands shaking out at your sides.

“I think I have a stalker.” Admitting the words aloud causes more silver to line your eyes. You refuse to look at him, can’t subject yourself to his disappointment.

But his silence is deafening and when you cast a cautionary glance toward him through your peripheral, you wish you didn’t. His face drains of color, lips parted in what you could only assume is shock.

“What?” he breathes in pure disbelief, brows knitting. “A stalker? Is that what those deliveries are?”

You nod shakily, blowing unsteady air through rounded lips as Jack takes a careful step closer to you. “How long has this been going on for?”

You shrug, hands reaching for your hair and loosening the stands at your roots. “I think like six weeks.”

Jack can’t control his eyes, how they widen and blink rapidly, has no control of his head bobbing and rearing back as though you’ve just physically assaulted him. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” His voice raises.

You cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you close the distance between you, your palms now cupping your own face in an attempt to shield yourself from everything. You shake your head rapidly, tears streaming down your face. “No, it's not—it’s not like that. It just—look I didn't know until today!”

Jack appears even more bewildered. “What does that even mean?”

You huff; angry and scared. “About six weeks ago, I started seeing a bouquet of red roses outside my apartment building. Every week. I didn't think anything of it, why would I? And then last night, those red roses were left here—for me. The same florist, the same bouquet… its– its never happened at work, I never even considered the flowers outside the building were—”

“Okay, okay, breathe.” His voice softens, palms stretching for you to rest on your shoulders. Warmth radiates through your scrubs and into your skin, you try to focus on his touch, his proximity without being swept away in it.

“And then there was the sushi delivery, from my favorite place, the coffee from the coffee shop across the road from my apartment that I go to every morning… then just now with another fucking bunch of roses—”

“And the note. I’ll see you soon, my love.”

Your eyes are screwed shut tightly. “Jack, I’m freaking the fuck out.”

He hates this. His blood is roaring beneath his skin, veins threatening to burst at just how tightly wound he is. You have a fucking stalker. “Alright, okay. We're going to the police. Right now.”

You shake your head. “I—we can’t, we both have another shift ahead of us before—”

“Fuck the next shift. You have a stalker, sweetheart, that's not something that can be pushed aside to deal with later.” He argues gently but his tone is firm, booking no room for argument.

You scratch feverishly at your scalp, tugging on the roots of your hair to inflict anything but fear. Something else to focus on, something to take it away. Jack grabs your wrists, warm palms soothing against your skin as he guides them away from your head.

“What’s your locker code?”

You rattle off the string of numbers, barely registering the question. But when you realize he was going to retrieve your things for you, you wipe your face and make your way back inside. You can’t just leave, you at least need to get someone to watch your patients while you are gone.

The fluorescence of the Pitt sting your swelling eyes, concerned glances following as you approach the nurses desk and lean down to Ellis. She watches you carefully, brows knitted and lips parted in worry. You shake your head before she can ask. You don’t want to get into this with anyone else.

It’s bad enough that Jack knows.

“Do you mind including my patients on rounds with day shift? I need to step out for an hour or so.” You ask her quietly and she nods quickly, eager to help.

Your eyes flitter up as day shift begins to trickle in. Many of them liked to show up twenty minutes early to get a head start, find the rhythm of things. You avoid their gazes, looking to the right instead where Jack stands with your bags, lips a thin line on his worried face.

Robby whistles as he strolls in, Jack moving closer toward you the same time Robby does. He eyes you both with raised brows. “You both look like shit.”

Before either you or Jack can even make a sound, your name is being called softly from across the Pitt, followed by a birthday wish. You smile weakly as Paige approaches, a nurse who typically favours a position in triage. She’s only been here a few months, but in the off shifts that you’ve worked with her, you very much enjoy her company.

“Hey, have I had any deliveries today?” she asks Boone as she grows closer, arms folded over the top of the nurses station, resting her cheek on her palms.

“No, don't think so hon, what were you expecting?” Boone asks softly.

She blushes a bit. “Oh, my uh my girlfriend said she’d dropped off a few things but I haven't gotten anything. Unless they’ve been delivered under her name instead of mine. It was uh, roses, sushi, coffee, her name’s Y/N.”

You blink.

Once. Twice.

All eyes turn to you but yours meet Jack’s. It’s in synchronicity that your lips part, eyes widen, shoulders sagging. You turn to Paige, your face pale and red-rimmed eyes staring at her with so much guilt she looks a bit scared.

“I am so sorry.”

“Oh, thank god.” Jack rubs his hands down his face.

“Um. You have had some deliveries, and we all assumed that when delivery guys have been bringing things in for Y/N, that they meant me. And I have been…throwing everything in the trash because I thought I had a stalker.” You explain the last words slowly, carefully.

Embarrassment flares bright on your cheeks, blood rushing down to your toes and you almost feel frozen in place. You can live with the embarrassment, right now the most overwhelming feeling is pure, unbridled relief.

Robby looks at you in complete bewilderment. His eyes dart around the E.R in a state of pure confusion before he blinks it away and shakes a hand by his head. “Not even going to ask.”

“Paige, I will pay for everything. I—” She laughs softly as she approaches you, arms out with a tender expression before embracing your frozen form in her arms.

“No, it’s okay. Are you alright? That must’ve really freaked you out, I’m so sorry.” You finally manage to will your body to move, arms wrapping around her lightly as you return the hug. You laugh against her shoulder, pulling back to rub at your eyes with a groan.

“I need about a gallon of coffee if I'm going to get through this next shift.”

“Oh, you didn’t get the email?” Robby speaks over the rim of his beverage.

“What email? You frown.

“You’re not down for the day shift, you’re not in ‘til Saturday,” he looks behind you to Jack, pointing a finger that’s wrapped around the paper cup, “Neither are you. Scheduling error.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jack huffs at the same time you do, the pair of you rubbing hands down your faces in something akin to telepathic synchronicity. It causes Robby to raise an amused brow.

“You two need to go home. I don't know what the hell happened on this shift, but I’m sure Shen and Ellis can handle change over.”

Neither of you argue with Robby’s offer. You silently take your bag from Jack and haul it over your shoulder. “Come on,” Jack nods his head toward the break room. “We’ll get your birthday gifts and I’ll take you home.”

You don’t argue on that offer either. Don’t acknowledge the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of being in such close proximity to him for a ten minute ride home. You’re too tired, head far too fuzzy.

You need a pint of wine and a fucking nap.

Retrieving your things from the break room is done on autopilot. You take the balloons and two bouquets of flowers while Jack takes your gift bags. It’s a no brainer to offer the flowers as a peace offering to Paige on your way out, a plethora of apologies once again tumbling from your lips.

You don’t stay long enough to let her refuse them, feet rushing you out through the ambulance bay and toward Jack’s car. Right. His car. The vehicle he drives. A vehicle that you’ve never been in, only ever seen in passing. Black and sleek, simple yet clearly expensive.

You feel him approach from behind and swallow as he opens the trunk and gently places your gifts inside, reaching an arm toward you for the balloons. He nods his head to the passenger side silently, your heart rate picking up at the simple command.

It's wordless when you open the door and settle inside. It smells like him. Something rich and manly and a hint of coffee that somehow kisses every unexposed nerve ending. The seats are leather, durable and good quality. It’s modern, with a CarPlay screen and heated seats. You don’t know enough about cars to understand the logo in the center of his steering wheel.

You watch him get in effortlessly, clipping his belt and starting the engine. You watch as he gets comfortable, readjusting the rearview mirror before pausing to look at you. He catches your staring but doesn't say anything.

And when neither of you make any attempt to look away, a tired yet fond smile kicks up at the corner of his mouth. He leans toward you and your breathing stops, the hairs on your skin standing tall. Jack’s arm reaches to your side and only when you hear the faint zipping of the seatbelt being pulled do you realize that he was waiting for you to put it on.

Embarrassment crawls up your neck as he clips the belt for you instead. “Sorry,” you whisper breathlessly, quickly clearing your throat. “My head’s a little all over the place right now.” You excuse your foolishness the best way you can as Jack cracks open a window.

He offers a huff of a laugh as he pulls out of the staff parking space slowly. “I’m not surprised after the night you’ve had.” He reassures, his hand reaching out for the screen. You watch with deft attention as his long fingers tap on the GPS, waving that finger at you and then back at the screen again.

You get the hint, lean forward just enough to be able to type your address in, only a ten minute journey that's mapped out for him.

Jack raises a brow as he pulls out of the hospital. “Swanky area,” he comments.

You can’t help but scoff at that. “Not really. It’s my Uncle’s apartment, he just rents it out to me.”

He hums, non committal. The drive is silent, not suffocating or uncomfortable but…needed. Jack doesn’t push for conversation, doesn’t ask if you’re okay, doesn’t comment on your stupid mistake of thinking you had a fucking stalker.

He lets you bask in the quietness, lets you have these ten minutes for your body to begin to relax. It isn't until he pulls up outside the apartment building that one tiny flaw in the stalker situation arises. Because there, on the front door steps, is another bouquet of red roses.

It hits you the same time it hits Jack, both of your bodies stiffening at the sight of them. But the stiffness is quickly replaced with another overwhelming sense of relief and exhaustion when you notice Paige again, walking up to those doors and retrieving the flowers with a gentle smile before going inside.

Your hands rub at your face. “I forgot she lives in this building.” you admit, words muffled by your palms but your body tingles at the sound of Jack’s breathy chuckle.

“You definitely need some sleep.” He unbuckles his seatbelt, then reaches to unclip yours before opening his door. “Come on, I’ll walk you up.”

He doesn't let you carry the balloons or the gift bags as he walks beside you up two flights of stairs. Guilt gnaws at you for it, you know his leg must be hurting, but Jack always hides it well.

When you reach your apartment door, you slow, bashful almost. You've been friends for eight years, yet you’d never been in his car before tonight, he’s never been in your apartment building. The whole thing feels…different…intimate.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For the shift, driving me home…walking me up.”

Jack shrugs a shoulder, handing you your things before stuffing his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything, just looks. Like he’s assessing. It’s not scrutinising, but it’s not the fond look you’ve grown accustomed to, either.

It’s new. It sends your pulse racing.

You wait, anticipating something else, something more. But it doesn't come. Jack takes a step back as you unlock your front door, he turns toward the stairs as you push the door open. But when you take your first step inside, he turns back to you again.

“Hey, are you doing anything tonight?”

Your heart stops. Beats. Skips a beat. Then it stops again.

“Other than crying that I didn't get a slice of my own birthday cake? No, nothing.”

That earns a breathy laugh. Jack looks at you, soft and a little sleepy. “I’m sorry you had such a shitty birthday.”

You shrug. “Believe it or not, I've had worse. Besides, it wasn't that bad, Shen could’ve forgotten his iced coffee again. And it turns out I don't have a stalker, so a win is a win.”

He laughs a bit louder at that. “I'll tell you what, I’ll come over later. I’ll bring dinner, we’ll try and do a redo for your birthday.”

You smile, swallow down the eager yes! that wants to desperately crawl out of your throat. “You don't have to do that.” Is what you manage to settle for.

Jack makes a sound of disagreement. “Actually, I do. As your attending, you should consider this a work-place incident check-up.”

You might be exhausted but you’re not deaf. You pick up on the change in his tone, the underlying yet silent suggestion that’s hidden within his words.

Still, you don’t let yourself get your hopes up. He’s a friend. You’ve had a bad day. He’s being nice.

You roll your eyes with affection. “Can’t exactly say no to that.”

Jack grins, untamed and wide. “I’ll come back a little later.” It’s the last thing he says before descending the stairs.

And when you step inside your apartment and close the door behind you, you realise this little crush on Jack is becoming something much deeper. And the idea of having dinner with him tonight has you sick, horny and completely out of your element.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

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