I am a new writer for this fandom, but I've been writing fanfics for more than 10 years now, including Marvel, DC, Star Wars and Game of Thrones to name some. I am stepping in this new world after I finally decided to watch the show and got hooked.
For now, I'll be writing for:
Jack Abbot
Michael Robinavitch
Parker Ellis
Trinity Santos
John Shen
Samira Mohan
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Hey :) Sorry for the delay! lots of stuff happened and I quite frankly lost control of everything lol. But here is the next installment - I hope you enjoy!
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 5,855
Chapter warnings: Very brief and non-descriptive mention of wanting to die, idiots in love, my absolute compulsion to compare men to natural disasters/storms, somewhat curt ending.
Chapter Summary: You wake up next to Jack. Words are said, none of them which either of you regret (this time around).
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The soft darkness that could only cast by blackout curtains was the first thing to greet you, swiftly followed by the cloud-like mattress under you gently nursing you back to the land of the living. You barely stirred, limbs heavy with content grogginess and the foreign feeling of a good night of sleep.
Your own heartbeat gradually synced with the steady pulse under your cheek—your solid pillow, your anchor that kept you afloat while you caught some much, much needed rest. There was no surprise, no shock as to where you were; your mind had held on tight to each moment that had unfolded prior to this exact moment.
Jack was awake.
Had been for a while.
The absentminded patterns he traced on your skin were too precise, to rhythmic for him to still be half asleep. It was the subconscious actions of a man already deep in thoughts, but never too far not to notice when you finally joined him in this realm.
Always hyper aware of him, even with one foot still in limbo, you felt his eyes on you. Nothing spoken just yet just a quiet enjoyment of each other’s company when things are still easy. There would be time and space for words later; now, it was just you and him letting yourselves catching up to the other, letting the excitement of the regained proximity settle into something controllable, manageable, something either of you could deal with without making another mistake.
Because that had been your mistake, hadn’t it?
Rushing. Not thinking. Both you and him. Too accustomed to the adrenaline, the fast paced decision making, the narrow margin between getting it right and messing everything up but having to choose a course of action, commit to it and stand by its outcome.
The taking chances because there was no time, even if, actually, there had been plenty of it.
It was counter intuitive not to hit the ground running, but you had been running for months now. You were exhausted. You didn’t delude yourself into thinking you’d get used to this right away, though. You had hammered that routine for nearly 15 years, forged it in fire and iron; you’d have to tear it all down and relearn from the ground up how to walk; relearn how to test the waters before jumping.
You'd figure it out, like you always had.
There was a stillness to Jack’s bedroom that felt otherworldly, like it existed outside the bounds of reality. Something that was felt rather than seen, even if your vision was regaining clearness as your mind gently woke up on its own term. You had noticed a glimpse of it before going to sleep, but it was much more prominent now that neither of you moved, as if you had melted into the picture itself. The white noise of your synchronized breathing was the only thing preventing you from thinking you were still dreaming, being somewhere you had only dared to go when locked in the confines of your unconscious where it could be erased and redone.
There was a certainty to the silence. No rebuttal, no contradictions. Just acceptance, welcoming even.
You knew he could feel it too.
You angled your chin up, trailing your eyes to finally meet his. He was ready for it, his gaze already warm and waiting for you. All of his walls were down, a rare sight you didn’t think you’ve ever had the privilege of observing beside a few fleeting seconds of vulnerability in a couple moments when emotions ran high. But this time, it felt intentional. It wasn’t a slip up born of tragedy and momentarily lapse of control, it was a conscious choice to let you in.
He’s had enough time to think about it, today and every day before since he pushed you away.
There was a beauty to him that went beyond physical, something raw and honest that was kept guarded behind layers and layers of barbed fences. It was written in the speckles of green in his hazel eyes, only to be seen if you came close enough—if he let you come close enough. It was both a lure and a warning sign, a caution thrown in the wind of the hurricane permanently surrounding him. A small reprise in the eye of the storm, one single opening that let the warmth of sun rays through.
You had already fought your way through the clouds and rain and hail to reach there—you weren’t scared of the storm anymore. There was no gale that could blow you away now, your feet were solidly on the ground he conquered. You were there, constant, steady, whether it was in the safety of the eye or following his wind shear.
And you’ve never been more secure in your footing.
“I didn’t say it back”
He blinked slowly, features remaining relaxed as he realized where you thoughts had landed. You didn’t have to say it back, not now, not ever. It was just another word, one that barely held a weight to everything else in between the two of you. A label, a spoken description that paled in contrast to the actual chemistry alive in just one glance, just one touch. He didn’t need to hear it from you to feel it, to experience it through every fibre of his body.
He was certainly done pretending otherwise.
“Do you want to say it back?”
“Yes”
Your lack of hesitation made the ghost of a smile—a real smile—flicker at the corner of his lips. This was the you he had the absolute privilege to get to know, honest and headstrong, always knowing what you want. He should have never assumed you didn’t.
“I love you”
And here he thought he knew what hearing it would feel like.
He hadn’t needed to hear it, but it certainly did something to him; resurrecting something buried deep inside of him, long abandoned in a cold, dark place. The world faded around him, leaving only you with him there, the only consequential thing on his mind.
“I have no rights to want this now,” He cleared the fog in his throat before something heavier, hotter took its place, not breaking eye contact even for a fraction of second. Only you and him. “But I want to kiss you”
“Don’t say that like you’re still pretending I’d stop you”
Something shifted in his eyes then, something you couldn’t quite name.
To him, it was like a punch to the guts in the sweetest possible way; both a poisoned reminder that you had been the one to open this door first, that you had been waiting for him to finally catch up with the program for ages, and a statement of your incredible character he definitely did not deserve. You should have yelled at him, cursed him, iced him out and made him work for it until the cows came home.
But that wasn't you, was it?
You weren't cruel. You didn't care about letting people macerating in their own misery. You didn't have a single vindictive bone in your body.
“You’re too forgiving of me”
You moved your only free shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Add it to the list of things I need to work on”
Then you saw it.
The break in the darkness, the sunlight peeking over the horizon on a clear morning. His gaze lit up in a marked shift, amazed and determined, alive. Not even his warm hand on your jaw made you break that line of communication, the magnetic pulse drawing you to him.
Then his lips touched yours and everything unplugged all at once. The white noise of the AC, your breath, the whole world around you. There was no fireworks, no choir of angels, no cheers of the crowd. Everything went soundless, the ringing in your ears stopped.
At this moment, nothing but Jack existed.
It didn’t eternize, it didn’t deepen more than it had to. It was his lips on yours, moving with the careful reverence of a man that knows what his hands hold, and that has no intention to break it. And when it was over, when the world began turning again, he was still there, his gaze holding yours with an added serenity to the emotions he had already shared.
It shouldn’t have felt so immense.
But it did.
It was the first time either of you allowed yourselves to cross that line with anyone since you were widowed. Every monster you were terrified would be let out if you did remained tamed, placid, insignificant in a box that hadn’t even been disturbed in the first place.
And suddenly, breathing was a little bit easier.
“I missed you”
Your hand on his chest softly closed around the fabric of his shirt as he leaned back on the pillow, then let go. “I know” You muttered back. “I missed you too”
“There's…” He hesitated for a second, then decided to for once be honest with both you and himself. It would have to hurt for a little bit before it got better. “There's no excuse for what I said to you that day”
You waited for him to say his peace even though you had already decided the outcome. If anything else, you believed naming it would be better for the both of you in the long run.
“I was afraid—” The words struggled to pick up sound, but you could decipher the vibration of his chest even through an earthquake. “I was afraid that you'd realize you hated me for being the one who came back, and realize I wasted your time”
The confession hung heavily between the two of you. You should have known his outburst hadn't been about your grief, and what he had said had been much more a reflection of his own guilt than what he thought of you. You felt conflicted on your reaction, for having missed the blatant signs that had been thrown in your face under the hurtful accusations. It had been the number one of Jack Abbot's greatest hits; aloof deflections and projections to hide what is truly brewing in his mind, all covered by a stubbornness that could make a donkey cry. He had been an injured dog lashing out in fear, making the unfortunate choice of biting rather than allow you near.
You pressed your hand a bit more on his chest, grounding him before his mind left you.
“I know a part of you still thinks you ruined my life” You replied, shaking your head slowly. “But I really need you to understand that you didn't. I need you to let it go”
His eyes refused to meet yours, hooded with sorrow and near defeat. He wanted to believe you, but he wasn't sure he was there yet.
“You didn't” You insisted on the word when you felt him slip away again. “Jack, look at me”
Like you had pulled a thread, his head turned to meet your gaze. You held yourself up on your elbow to be on the same eye level as him.
“You. Didn't” You repeated, knowing he needed to hear it in plain language many times. Repetition is key to learn. “I don't blame you for what happened. I have never blamed you. I will never blame you—” You poked his forehead, eliciting a groan of protest from him. “So get it into your stubborn mind”
You were about to poke him again when he grabbed your finger, holding it away from his face. You fought him for it, but when he didn't let go, you pushed him back and hovered above him, face inches from his.
“Listen here you beautiful asshole” You began in a hiss, and you watched as his face created a whole new expression of shock, amusement and offense all at the same time. “The only way you could have ever ruined my life would have been by not being in it”
He didn't answer your mild insult, still catching up on the meaning of your words. You could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out which part of your declaration to process first.
“You” The word was a whisper on your lips, yet, rang deafeningly loud. “Are the reason I didn't chuck myself off a bridge yet”
His eyes widened for a fraction of second before they narrowed again. Before you knew it, your hand supporting yourself up was knocked back and you were flipped, suddenly finding yourself looking up at Jack instead of down.
“You are the reason I didn't chuck myself off a bridge yet”
You blinked once, then twice.
“Great, then the matter is settled, isn't it?” You replied, a bit breathless. “Stop trying to find reasons we shouldn't do this”
“Fuck me” He groaned, eyes shutting for just a second. It did funny things to your body. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Well, that’s a loaded question, and all in due times on your first matter” You let out a little laugh, tethering just on the limit between nervous and teasing. His eyes darkened while yours suddenly took a sharp edge. “We have stuff to discuss first”
He made a noise of disagreement. “Such as?”
You raised an eyebrow. “SWAT team? Really?”
He held fast on the eye contact. “Oh I didn't hear you complain about it when you saw me” His voice was overcome with a sweet roughness that was entirely new to you. You were quite keen on getting familiar with it. Then, he smirked. “Actually, I think it was quite the opposite—”
“I was 23 hours into—”
“Your eyes didn't lie though, did they”
“I was hallucinating—”
“Yeah” His smirk widened. “Thinking of me in uniform. You do that often?”
You heard his challenge at getting you flustered and decided to answer in kind. “Oh yeah” Your voice dripped with a candy specifically designed for his taste. “Doesn't hold a candle to the real thing though”
If it was even possible, his eyes darkened. “That much?”
“Mhh” You nodded. “I'll need to see it again, by the way. The whole uniform. For science”
“For science?”
“For science.” You nodded. “And, well. My own personal satisfaction”
“Then I'll gladly oblige” He whispered back, leaning down until the space between your bodies was near zero. “Anything you want. You have but to ask”
You felt your breath hitch. “Oh, that's a dangerous power to give me”
“I'm ready to assume the consequences”
“Are you?”
“Yes”
“As you wish”
You flipped him again on his back.
“I want you to forgive yourself for what happened in Afghanistan”
His expression went from incredulous to disapprovingly neutral in a flicker. You only smiled at him innocently.
“C'mon Jack” You pretended to frown. “You said you'd do anything”
“You're evil” He grumbled, but still pulled you fully straddling over him. “Power hungry dictator”
You shrugged, trying not to think how nice it felt to see him from up there, or how his ribcage caressed the inside of your thighs with each breath he drew.
Or how his hands naturally found your knee, travelling up and down your bare skin.
“You should have seen it coming” You replied, voice soft despite the teasing edge to your words.
“Yeah” He agreed, but it was like his mind was already onto another matter, caught in the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, or how they created a pleasant shiver in their wake. “I should have”
You held his stare until you felt him give in.
“Fine”
You raised an eyebrow. He knew what you wanted to hear, and cursed internally at your stubbornness.
“I'll forgive myself for what happened there” He finally mumbled. “I promise”
You let a tension you didn't know you were holding roll off your shoulders and leaned forward until you were laying on his chest, ear right above his heartbeat. His arm automatically wrapped around your waist, hugging you to him.
“Thank you”
He kissed the top of your head, tightening his hold. He meant it when he told you that he'd do anything for you, even if it meant fighting his own demons face on, bare fists. Having you here against him, sharing his space and his life and his heart, made the effort so fucking worth it.
“Jack” You finally mumbled after a while of just enjoying each other.
“Mh?”
“I'm cramping”
“Huh?”
You slightly moved in his hold, as much as you could with the little wiggle room he allowed you.
“I'm not 20 anymore” You grunted. “I can't stay folded like this for long”
He laughed, releasing you and letting you slip off to his side again. “Must be hard to be your age”
“Oh hush” There was barely any force or intent behind the slap your hand delivered to his chest. “Give me a break. I had a long day yesterday”
He turned on his side to face you, seriousness returning to his features.
“How are you feeling?”
You gave him a reassuring smile. “I'm okay. This too shall pass”
He took a deep breath as his hand found yours, linking your fingers together.
“What you did in there” He began, momentarily looking down at your joined hands. “It wasn't nothing”
“I know” You hummed.
“Surgery, Sweets” He doubled down, a look of amazement and bafflement overtaking his usual severe features. “With my med kit”
You felt heat settled in your neck, only now realizing that it would have been indeed his med kit he sent to you. It somehow felt insanely intimate in retrospective—him looking out for you like a guardian angel over your shoulder, making sure you had everything you needed to pull it off even if you hadn't known it at the time, supporting you well beyond the hallucinations of him you created to get you through it.
You hadn't talked in months but he had still showed up when you needed him the most, somehow.
A push and pull integrated in the forces of the universe, something beyond your own comprehension of the divine, beyond science, beyond faith. A compass that leads you to the other no matter what, ink already dry on the pages of fate.
And yet, it felt freeing.
Jack made you feel good, made you feel safe, made you want to be better everyday. Everything else could be figured out later.
“Well” You swallowed, trying not to let the flustering get to your voice. “Technically, you were there too. The hallucinations were pretty convincing, as you saw first hand”
He smiled softly. “Give yourself some credit, it was all you and your skills” He encouraged, opting not to tease. Much. “The surgery, and the hallucinations. I’ve always known you were great at multitasking”
You couldn't help but finally smile back as you looked down.
“There she is” He said, pulling you just a bit closer to him. He couldn't help it; the only thing he wanted for now was to keep you as close as possible to him, securely in his orbit, within reach, where he could feel your heart beating with his. “‘m proud of you”
You took a deep breath, then slowly released it. His free hand came to rest on your cheek, angling your chin up. It's like he hesitated for a second, scanning for any sign of you pulling back. When he found none, his lips met yours in a butterfly light kiss, then another. You couldn’t help but let out a small ticklish laugh.
“Jack”
He hummed, a mischievous grin teasing the expression he fought hard to keep neutral. “Yes?”
“I need to get up”
“No” He was quick to flip into his attending voice on this one, expression settling into a firm line you somehow knew was not as firm as he intended to make it look. You raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
He shook his head. “No”
“I’m very gross right now”
He leaned in and sniffed, then made an overly dramatic grimace. “You are”
“Then let me go”
He pretended to hesitate, then shrugged. “Nah, I’m okay”
You tilted your head to the side, a curious expression replaced your skeptical one. You were gross—you were still disgusting from yesterday. Despite having cleaned off most of the blood, there was still the dried sweat from all the events of the day that you had ignored due to your absolute lack of energy to take a proper shower. You weren’t naive enough to think you didn’t smell at least some amount of horrible, yet, Jack didn’t seem even a little bit thrown off by it.
You pursed your lips to stop the teasing smile to reply in your stead. “Interesting”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Big bad Jack Abbot” You mumbled, tracing the softened edges of his usual stone set severe expression. You noticed the barely there flutter of his eyelids at your touch, knowing there was even more to it that you had yet to discover. “is a clingy cuddler”
He grunted, making a point of bringing you once again sprawled over him. You began to think he enjoyed using you as a blanket, and that you’d be doing a lot of it in your near future. Not that you complained. “So what”
“Mh,” Your grin widened. “I guess I’ll be adding weighted blanket to my resumé”
That made him laugh—not his usual dry, sarcastic laugh, but something genuine that came from somewhere special within his soul. You could feel his chest vibrate under you with it, and you realized that you definitely would enjoy this new responsibility.
“Okay, now that I’m paying attention,” He began in a mumble, his hand slowly rubbing your back. “You really do smell, Christ”
“Sorry”
“No you’re not” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Oh well, I guess I’m due to wash the sheets”
You scoffed as he finally let you climb off him and land softly on the floor. “That’s the spirit”
You went and grabbed another one of his clean shirt, knowing yours from the day before was beyond salvageable and would definitely have to be thrown away completely.
“We still have to go to the police station, by the way”
You paused in your steps towards the door, then spun on your heels to face him. He was still lazily sprawled in the bed, eyes slowly going up and down your bare legs. The darkening look in his eyes made a stark contrast to the mild displeasure behind his words.
“Why?”
His gaze finally met yours again, but he took his sweet time getting up there. “You are a key witness to a crime, Sweets. It’s usually how it goes”
You swore under your breath, knowing it made sense. Come to think of it, it was probably Jack who had bought you a full night of sleep before speaking to the authorities, with, you assumed, the assurance you wouldn’t leave his sight and that he’d bring you back for interrogation the next day. And with how involved you ended up being, you had no idea how you’d ever think you were in the clear.
“Ugh fine”
He smirked. “Don’t sound too excited”
You gave him a tight sarcastic smile before leaving his room and making a beeline for a well deserved shower.
•••••••••••••
Jack couldn't contain his giddy expression as he watched you retreat to the guest bathroom, no doubt purposefully leaving his en suite free in case he also needed to take a shower.
Like thinking of him and his needs had been engraved into the very structure of your being.
He felt like the luckiest bastard in the whole fucking world. He was riding a strong honeymoon phase, that he was well aware of, but damn, you were truly extraordinary. Not in grand gestures — that wasn't your style. You always managed to find the small, overlooked detail that would make anyone feel seen, and listened to.
When was the last time someone, beside you, could tell the second his protheses began to bother him, even if his demeanor barely shifted? Who else remembered the inconsequential things, stopping them from adding up to ruin his day? Who else understood him to his very core?
Only you.
He slowly sat up and reached for his crutches with a newfound lightness in the way he moved. He had joked that you smelled, but he likely wasn't much better; and who was he to let your considerate choice of bathroom go to waste?
The few meters separating him from the shower were spent replaying the way your lips felt on his—the way you molded so easily against him like you had always belonged there.
He counted the seconds of his quick shower until he could be near you again, yearning for your comforting presence. He had meant it when he said he had been terrified of even letting go of you; this distance, even knowing you were a few rooms away, played nasty tricks on his mind. He wanted to be unbearably clingy about it, lurking in your shadow until the ideas of abandonment subsided into quiet whispers in a corner of his mind he could more easily ignore. Knowing you, you'd probably even let him hang on to you until he got it out of his system, not even complaining once through it all.
He got out of the shower before you did.
With a fresh tshirt and sweatpants on, he made his way to the kitchen, only stopping in front of your discarded pants. Your trusty dark gray cargos, the very type you had about 20 pairs of identical copies because they were the only ones that were comfortable, fitting and work friendly. Balancing like an acrobat, he leaned forward to pick the pants up, along with your bra and underwear, observing the pile of clothe in his left hand for a second.
You'd need all of these for the rest of the day, that was for sure. He made a detour to the laundry room and popped them in, starting a quick cycle, then refocused on his main quest, preparing breakfast.
He kept it simple.
Just toast with scrambled eggs, and your coffee exactly how you liked it. He was cracking the eggs in the pan when you came out of the bathroom, and by the time you appeared in the kitchen, he was plating everything.
And your legs were still bare, dewy with a sheen layer of water you didn't bother drying off.
He should have been awarded a damn medal for not staring.
“Impeccable timing” He smiled, chasing the exquisite fog his brain wanted to drag him into. “Hope I got your coffee right”
Of course he did. It was even more natural to make your order than it had ever been his.
You gave him a cryptic smile as you took in the breakfast food at the kitchen island, your plate neatly placed at the spot you've sat at for years. Your breakfasts with Jack whenever your days off aligned had always been somewhat sacred; a small moment of reprise where neither of you spoke or thought about work or anything tragic. You'd make breakfast together, eat, then clean. Something simple, but that you hadn't realized how much you had missed before you had it again.
“Looks good” You said as you slid on the chair.
He shrugged. “It's not much”
“Jack” You warned, yet your tone remained light. His eyes finally met yours as he took his place next to you. “It's more than enough. Thank you”
He reached for your hand before anything on his plate. “I'm just glad you're here”
Your smile turned fond. “Me too”
He scooted his chair closer to yours, stretching his right arm over the arch of its back and leaning into you as he grabbed his own coffee mug. “Dig in”
You raised an amused eyebrow. “Cheesy”
His expression morphed into a full blown grin. “Oh you have no idea how cheesy it's about to get. I'm getting all the cheese, Sweets, you'll be sick of it by the end of the week”
You couldn't help the laughter escaping you. “I could never”
He winked. “Let's see”
You shook your head and turned your attention to your plate, lest Jack's efforts turned into a cold and soggy breakfast. You grabbed your butter knife and extended your arms toward the small cluster of jars in front of you, fully expecting to have to choose between peanut butter and Jack's sugar free raspberry jam, which you didn't dislike per se, but always left you disappointed and with a couple of seeds stuck in your teeth.
You paused when you noticed the actual jam jar your hand brought forward.
It was a blueberry cassis monstrosity with heaps of sugar that Jack once qualified of crime against humanity, citing its foul aftertaste and migraine inducing smell. He hated it with a burning passion and always tried to negotiate you out of buying a refill when it finally left his pantry.
You blinked once, then twice, then looked at Jack who was already sheepish and blushing at your discovery.
“Jack”
“Sweets”
“What is this?”
You saw very well the displeasure momentarily cross his expression. “Nothing I want to be a part of”
“I mean, what is it doing here?”
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Leftovers from the last time you were here”
“That was months ago and it was halfway through” You called his lie out. “That one is brand new”
He gently put down his coffee cup and scratched the back of his neck, sighing and mumbling “Bought a new one when the other jar expired. Just in case, y'know…” He hesitated, then tempted a side glance at you. “You came back”
It was a surprise, considering his vocal disdain for your jam of choice, that he would have voluntarily gone out of his way to buy such an abomination without being explicitly asked. You didn’t know why that specifically cleared the remaining clouds of doubt in your mind about being here with him, but it did.
A dumbfounded laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, making Jack look at you with a puzzled expression.
“How stupid have we been?” You blurted out, but it sounded more like you were talking to yourself than anything else.
“What?”
You shook your head. “I think we tried so hard not to be so dumb about this that it circled all the way back to us being extremely dumb about this”
He looked down at his breakfast, hiding a fond grin, or at least, trying to. “Maybe”
“They’ll never let us hear the end of it, you know?” You hummed, popping open the lid of your jam and ignoring Jack’s instant grimace at the smell.
“Robby most of all” He grumbled out as he reached for his own raspberry jam. “By the way, he meddled, just so you know”
You rolled your eyes. “Of course he did”
He froze for a few seconds as he watched your nonchalant reaction, then his eyebrow rose slowly. He gave you a single curt nod. “I’m impressed you’re not mad”
You shrugged. “Ca you be mad at the tide for rolling in?”
He broke into a full blown grin. “Poetic”
You couldn’t help but let your expression mirror his. “Just sayin’” You shoved a piece of toast in your mouth. “Robby meddling, even if you staunchly warn him against it, is mostly unavoidable”
He hummed. “Death, taxes, Robby putting his nose where it doesn’t belong…. Sounds about right”
“Still gonna let him hear it though”
He squeezed your side lightly, barely hard enough for the touch to tickle. “Attagirl”
The next moments were spent in silence, simply enjoying your breakfasts and each other’s company. His arm never left the back of your chair, keeping you close, always within touching distance. You didn’t complain; your body welcomed his proximity, his presence in your space like it had kept the place warm until he returned to you.
It was only after you finished the dishes together, drying the final pan by his side that you spoke again.
“I’ve been thinking for a while now,” You began, like your mind decided now was the time to say it. “But I believe the whole bank thing… put things into perspective. I think I'd like to take that Paramedic training”
He didn't speak for a bit, only staring at you with a curious, yet supportive expression. You had been adamant in the past that you had no interest in going beyond the responsibilities of an EMT. You had always been comfortable with that; you had found something you were good at and committed to it until it came as naturally as breathing.
“Considering you're already almost all the way to getting that certification, I'm sure you'll do amazing” His eyebrows then furrowed ever so slightly, the question he wanted to ask already clear on his lips before he even got the words out. “But why now?”
You let out a long sigh. “I think it's time. I don't really know how else to say it”
And it was the truth. You had felt something change in the last months, slowly but surely—something you weren't entirely sure of. It only occurred to you that it had even happened on your way to the safe house with the robbers, for reasons that were still unknown to you. In your half delirious, confidence-boosted haze, you had felt like you could do more if you just dared to step outside of your comfort zone.
He nodded slowly, squeezing your hand. “Hey, I'm glad you're taking that step. You'll do great”
He meant it.
Despite not even being there for a vast majority of your shift aside for the brief transfer he might catch, he knew you were one of the best first responder in the city by the state your patients arrived in the ER. It wasn't just that your treatments were accurate and up to par, it was that you cared to get it right. You caught nearly everything; you had a sharp instinct for sniffing out what most people missed. Your no bullshit approach allowed you to see a clear, whole picture and to do whatever you needed to get that patient alive into doctor hands, setting up the conditions for their success after handoff.
Jack knew as an absolute certainty that the city of Pittsburgh would be better off with you being allowed to save lives in a wider range of ways.
“C’mon” He took the pan from your hand when he noticed you dipped into deeper thoughts. “I put ypur stuff in the washing machine, should be ready for the dryer now”
If he noticed the surprise on your face, he didn’t mention it. “Thanks”
It was all you could muster at the moment.
He began lifting his hand to reach out, but aborted the motion before it could really materialize. He only smiled at you now and nodded. “Don’t mention it”
Hey :) Sorry for the delay! lots of stuff happened and I quite frankly lost control of everything lol. But here is the next installment - I hope you enjoy!
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 5,855
Chapter warnings: Very brief and non-descriptive mention of wanting to die, idiots in love, my absolute compulsion to compare men to natural disasters/storms, somewhat curt ending.
Chapter Summary: You wake up next to Jack. Words are said, none of them which either of you regret (this time around).
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The soft darkness that could only cast by blackout curtains was the first thing to greet you, swiftly followed by the cloud-like mattress under you gently nursing you back to the land of the living. You barely stirred, limbs heavy with content grogginess and the foreign feeling of a good night of sleep.
Your own heartbeat gradually synced with the steady pulse under your cheek—your solid pillow, your anchor that kept you afloat while you caught some much, much needed rest. There was no surprise, no shock as to where you were; your mind had held on tight to each moment that had unfolded prior to this exact moment.
Jack was awake.
Had been for a while.
The absentminded patterns he traced on your skin were too precise, to rhythmic for him to still be half asleep. It was the subconscious actions of a man already deep in thoughts, but never too far not to notice when you finally joined him in this realm.
Always hyper aware of him, even with one foot still in limbo, you felt his eyes on you. Nothing spoken just yet just a quiet enjoyment of each other’s company when things are still easy. There would be time and space for words later; now, it was just you and him letting yourselves catching up to the other, letting the excitement of the regained proximity settle into something controllable, manageable, something either of you could deal with without making another mistake.
Because that had been your mistake, hadn’t it?
Rushing. Not thinking. Both you and him. Too accustomed to the adrenaline, the fast paced decision making, the narrow margin between getting it right and messing everything up but having to choose a course of action, commit to it and stand by its outcome.
The taking chances because there was no time, even if, actually, there had been plenty of it.
It was counter intuitive not to hit the ground running, but you had been running for months now. You were exhausted. You didn’t delude yourself into thinking you’d get used to this right away, though. You had hammered that routine for nearly 15 years, forged it in fire and iron; you’d have to tear it all down and relearn from the ground up how to walk; relearn how to test the waters before jumping.
You'd figure it out, like you always had.
There was a stillness to Jack’s bedroom that felt otherworldly, like it existed outside the bounds of reality. Something that was felt rather than seen, even if your vision was regaining clearness as your mind gently woke up on its own term. You had noticed a glimpse of it before going to sleep, but it was much more prominent now that neither of you moved, as if you had melted into the picture itself. The white noise of your synchronized breathing was the only thing preventing you from thinking you were still dreaming, being somewhere you had only dared to go when locked in the confines of your unconscious where it could be erased and redone.
There was a certainty to the silence. No rebuttal, no contradictions. Just acceptance, welcoming even.
You knew he could feel it too.
You angled your chin up, trailing your eyes to finally meet his. He was ready for it, his gaze already warm and waiting for you. All of his walls were down, a rare sight you didn’t think you’ve ever had the privilege of observing beside a few fleeting seconds of vulnerability in a couple moments when emotions ran high. But this time, it felt intentional. It wasn’t a slip up born of tragedy and momentarily lapse of control, it was a conscious choice to let you in.
He’s had enough time to think about it, today and every day before since he pushed you away.
There was a beauty to him that went beyond physical, something raw and honest that was kept guarded behind layers and layers of barbed fences. It was written in the speckles of green in his hazel eyes, only to be seen if you came close enough—if he let you come close enough. It was both a lure and a warning sign, a caution thrown in the wind of the hurricane permanently surrounding him. A small reprise in the eye of the storm, one single opening that let the warmth of sun rays through.
You had already fought your way through the clouds and rain and hail to reach there—you weren’t scared of the storm anymore. There was no gale that could blow you away now, your feet were solidly on the ground he conquered. You were there, constant, steady, whether it was in the safety of the eye or following his wind shear.
And you’ve never been more secure in your footing.
“I didn’t say it back”
He blinked slowly, features remaining relaxed as he realized where you thoughts had landed. You didn’t have to say it back, not now, not ever. It was just another word, one that barely held a weight to everything else in between the two of you. A label, a spoken description that paled in contrast to the actual chemistry alive in just one glance, just one touch. He didn’t need to hear it from you to feel it, to experience it through every fibre of his body.
He was certainly done pretending otherwise.
“Do you want to say it back?”
“Yes”
Your lack of hesitation made the ghost of a smile—a real smile—flicker at the corner of his lips. This was the you he had the absolute privilege to get to know, honest and headstrong, always knowing what you want. He should have never assumed you didn’t.
“I love you”
And here he thought he knew what hearing it would feel like.
He hadn’t needed to hear it, but it certainly did something to him; resurrecting something buried deep inside of him, long abandoned in a cold, dark place. The world faded around him, leaving only you with him there, the only consequential thing on his mind.
“I have no rights to want this now,” He cleared the fog in his throat before something heavier, hotter took its place, not breaking eye contact even for a fraction of second. Only you and him. “But I want to kiss you”
“Don’t say that like you’re still pretending I’d stop you”
Something shifted in his eyes then, something you couldn’t quite name.
To him, it was like a punch to the guts in the sweetest possible way; both a poisoned reminder that you had been the one to open this door first, that you had been waiting for him to finally catch up with the program for ages, and a statement of your incredible character he definitely did not deserve. You should have yelled at him, cursed him, iced him out and made him work for it until the cows came home.
But that wasn't you, was it?
You weren't cruel. You didn't care about letting people macerating in their own misery. You didn't have a single vindictive bone in your body.
“You’re too forgiving of me”
You moved your only free shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Add it to the list of things I need to work on”
Then you saw it.
The break in the darkness, the sunlight peeking over the horizon on a clear morning. His gaze lit up in a marked shift, amazed and determined, alive. Not even his warm hand on your jaw made you break that line of communication, the magnetic pulse drawing you to him.
Then his lips touched yours and everything unplugged all at once. The white noise of the AC, your breath, the whole world around you. There was no fireworks, no choir of angels, no cheers of the crowd. Everything went soundless, the ringing in your ears stopped.
At this moment, nothing but Jack existed.
It didn’t eternize, it didn’t deepen more than it had to. It was his lips on yours, moving with the careful reverence of a man that knows what his hands hold, and that has no intention to break it. And when it was over, when the world began turning again, he was still there, his gaze holding yours with an added serenity to the emotions he had already shared.
It shouldn’t have felt so immense.
But it did.
It was the first time either of you allowed yourselves to cross that line with anyone since you were widowed. Every monster you were terrified would be let out if you did remained tamed, placid, insignificant in a box that hadn’t even been disturbed in the first place.
And suddenly, breathing was a little bit easier.
“I missed you”
Your hand on his chest softly closed around the fabric of his shirt as he leaned back on the pillow, then let go. “I know” You muttered back. “I missed you too”
“There's…” He hesitated for a second, then decided to for once be honest with both you and himself. It would have to hurt for a little bit before it got better. “There's no excuse for what I said to you that day”
You waited for him to say his peace even though you had already decided the outcome. If anything else, you believed naming it would be better for the both of you in the long run.
“I was afraid—” The words struggled to pick up sound, but you could decipher the vibration of his chest even through an earthquake. “I was afraid that you'd realize you hated me for being the one who came back, and realize I wasted your time”
The confession hung heavily between the two of you. You should have known his outburst hadn't been about your grief, and what he had said had been much more a reflection of his own guilt than what he thought of you. You felt conflicted on your reaction, for having missed the blatant signs that had been thrown in your face under the hurtful accusations. It had been the number one of Jack Abbot's greatest hits; aloof deflections and projections to hide what is truly brewing in his mind, all covered by a stubbornness that could make a donkey cry. He had been an injured dog lashing out in fear, making the unfortunate choice of biting rather than allow you near.
You pressed your hand a bit more on his chest, grounding him before his mind left you.
“I know a part of you still thinks you ruined my life” You replied, shaking your head slowly. “But I really need you to understand that you didn't. I need you to let it go”
His eyes refused to meet yours, hooded with sorrow and near defeat. He wanted to believe you, but he wasn't sure he was there yet.
“You didn't” You insisted on the word when you felt him slip away again. “Jack, look at me”
Like you had pulled a thread, his head turned to meet your gaze. You held yourself up on your elbow to be on the same eye level as him.
“You. Didn't” You repeated, knowing he needed to hear it in plain language many times. Repetition is key to learn. “I don't blame you for what happened. I have never blamed you. I will never blame you—” You poked his forehead, eliciting a groan of protest from him. “So get it into your stubborn mind”
You were about to poke him again when he grabbed your finger, holding it away from his face. You fought him for it, but when he didn't let go, you pushed him back and hovered above him, face inches from his.
“Listen here you beautiful asshole” You began in a hiss, and you watched as his face created a whole new expression of shock, amusement and offense all at the same time. “The only way you could have ever ruined my life would have been by not being in it”
He didn't answer your mild insult, still catching up on the meaning of your words. You could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out which part of your declaration to process first.
“You” The word was a whisper on your lips, yet, rang deafeningly loud. “Are the reason I didn't chuck myself off a bridge yet”
His eyes widened for a fraction of second before they narrowed again. Before you knew it, your hand supporting yourself up was knocked back and you were flipped, suddenly finding yourself looking up at Jack instead of down.
“You are the reason I didn't chuck myself off a bridge yet”
You blinked once, then twice.
“Great, then the matter is settled, isn't it?” You replied, a bit breathless. “Stop trying to find reasons we shouldn't do this”
“Fuck me” He groaned, eyes shutting for just a second. It did funny things to your body. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Well, that’s a loaded question, and all in due times on your first matter” You let out a little laugh, tethering just on the limit between nervous and teasing. His eyes darkened while yours suddenly took a sharp edge. “We have stuff to discuss first”
He made a noise of disagreement. “Such as?”
You raised an eyebrow. “SWAT team? Really?”
He held fast on the eye contact. “Oh I didn't hear you complain about it when you saw me” His voice was overcome with a sweet roughness that was entirely new to you. You were quite keen on getting familiar with it. Then, he smirked. “Actually, I think it was quite the opposite—”
“I was 23 hours into—”
“Your eyes didn't lie though, did they”
“I was hallucinating—”
“Yeah” His smirk widened. “Thinking of me in uniform. You do that often?”
You heard his challenge at getting you flustered and decided to answer in kind. “Oh yeah” Your voice dripped with a candy specifically designed for his taste. “Doesn't hold a candle to the real thing though”
If it was even possible, his eyes darkened. “That much?”
“Mhh” You nodded. “I'll need to see it again, by the way. The whole uniform. For science”
“For science?”
“For science.” You nodded. “And, well. My own personal satisfaction”
“Then I'll gladly oblige” He whispered back, leaning down until the space between your bodies was near zero. “Anything you want. You have but to ask”
You felt your breath hitch. “Oh, that's a dangerous power to give me”
“I'm ready to assume the consequences”
“Are you?”
“Yes”
“As you wish”
You flipped him again on his back.
“I want you to forgive yourself for what happened in Afghanistan”
His expression went from incredulous to disapprovingly neutral in a flicker. You only smiled at him innocently.
“C'mon Jack” You pretended to frown. “You said you'd do anything”
“You're evil” He grumbled, but still pulled you fully straddling over him. “Power hungry dictator”
You shrugged, trying not to think how nice it felt to see him from up there, or how his ribcage caressed the inside of your thighs with each breath he drew.
Or how his hands naturally found your knee, travelling up and down your bare skin.
“You should have seen it coming” You replied, voice soft despite the teasing edge to your words.
“Yeah” He agreed, but it was like his mind was already onto another matter, caught in the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, or how they created a pleasant shiver in their wake. “I should have”
You held his stare until you felt him give in.
“Fine”
You raised an eyebrow. He knew what you wanted to hear, and cursed internally at your stubbornness.
“I'll forgive myself for what happened there” He finally mumbled. “I promise”
You let a tension you didn't know you were holding roll off your shoulders and leaned forward until you were laying on his chest, ear right above his heartbeat. His arm automatically wrapped around your waist, hugging you to him.
“Thank you”
He kissed the top of your head, tightening his hold. He meant it when he told you that he'd do anything for you, even if it meant fighting his own demons face on, bare fists. Having you here against him, sharing his space and his life and his heart, made the effort so fucking worth it.
“Jack” You finally mumbled after a while of just enjoying each other.
“Mh?”
“I'm cramping”
“Huh?”
You slightly moved in his hold, as much as you could with the little wiggle room he allowed you.
“I'm not 20 anymore” You grunted. “I can't stay folded like this for long”
He laughed, releasing you and letting you slip off to his side again. “Must be hard to be your age”
“Oh hush” There was barely any force or intent behind the slap your hand delivered to his chest. “Give me a break. I had a long day yesterday”
He turned on his side to face you, seriousness returning to his features.
“How are you feeling?”
You gave him a reassuring smile. “I'm okay. This too shall pass”
He took a deep breath as his hand found yours, linking your fingers together.
“What you did in there” He began, momentarily looking down at your joined hands. “It wasn't nothing”
“I know” You hummed.
“Surgery, Sweets” He doubled down, a look of amazement and bafflement overtaking his usual severe features. “With my med kit”
You felt heat settled in your neck, only now realizing that it would have been indeed his med kit he sent to you. It somehow felt insanely intimate in retrospective—him looking out for you like a guardian angel over your shoulder, making sure you had everything you needed to pull it off even if you hadn't known it at the time, supporting you well beyond the hallucinations of him you created to get you through it.
You hadn't talked in months but he had still showed up when you needed him the most, somehow.
A push and pull integrated in the forces of the universe, something beyond your own comprehension of the divine, beyond science, beyond faith. A compass that leads you to the other no matter what, ink already dry on the pages of fate.
And yet, it felt freeing.
Jack made you feel good, made you feel safe, made you want to be better everyday. Everything else could be figured out later.
“Well” You swallowed, trying not to let the flustering get to your voice. “Technically, you were there too. The hallucinations were pretty convincing, as you saw first hand”
He smiled softly. “Give yourself some credit, it was all you and your skills” He encouraged, opting not to tease. Much. “The surgery, and the hallucinations. I’ve always known you were great at multitasking”
You couldn't help but finally smile back as you looked down.
“There she is” He said, pulling you just a bit closer to him. He couldn't help it; the only thing he wanted for now was to keep you as close as possible to him, securely in his orbit, within reach, where he could feel your heart beating with his. “‘m proud of you”
You took a deep breath, then slowly released it. His free hand came to rest on your cheek, angling your chin up. It's like he hesitated for a second, scanning for any sign of you pulling back. When he found none, his lips met yours in a butterfly light kiss, then another. You couldn’t help but let out a small ticklish laugh.
“Jack”
He hummed, a mischievous grin teasing the expression he fought hard to keep neutral. “Yes?”
“I need to get up”
“No” He was quick to flip into his attending voice on this one, expression settling into a firm line you somehow knew was not as firm as he intended to make it look. You raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
He shook his head. “No”
“I’m very gross right now”
He leaned in and sniffed, then made an overly dramatic grimace. “You are”
“Then let me go”
He pretended to hesitate, then shrugged. “Nah, I’m okay”
You tilted your head to the side, a curious expression replaced your skeptical one. You were gross—you were still disgusting from yesterday. Despite having cleaned off most of the blood, there was still the dried sweat from all the events of the day that you had ignored due to your absolute lack of energy to take a proper shower. You weren’t naive enough to think you didn’t smell at least some amount of horrible, yet, Jack didn’t seem even a little bit thrown off by it.
You pursed your lips to stop the teasing smile to reply in your stead. “Interesting”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Big bad Jack Abbot” You mumbled, tracing the softened edges of his usual stone set severe expression. You noticed the barely there flutter of his eyelids at your touch, knowing there was even more to it that you had yet to discover. “is a clingy cuddler”
He grunted, making a point of bringing you once again sprawled over him. You began to think he enjoyed using you as a blanket, and that you’d be doing a lot of it in your near future. Not that you complained. “So what”
“Mh,” Your grin widened. “I guess I’ll be adding weighted blanket to my resumé”
That made him laugh—not his usual dry, sarcastic laugh, but something genuine that came from somewhere special within his soul. You could feel his chest vibrate under you with it, and you realized that you definitely would enjoy this new responsibility.
“Okay, now that I’m paying attention,” He began in a mumble, his hand slowly rubbing your back. “You really do smell, Christ”
“Sorry”
“No you’re not” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Oh well, I guess I’m due to wash the sheets”
You scoffed as he finally let you climb off him and land softly on the floor. “That’s the spirit”
You went and grabbed another one of his clean shirt, knowing yours from the day before was beyond salvageable and would definitely have to be thrown away completely.
“We still have to go to the police station, by the way”
You paused in your steps towards the door, then spun on your heels to face him. He was still lazily sprawled in the bed, eyes slowly going up and down your bare legs. The darkening look in his eyes made a stark contrast to the mild displeasure behind his words.
“Why?”
His gaze finally met yours again, but he took his sweet time getting up there. “You are a key witness to a crime, Sweets. It’s usually how it goes”
You swore under your breath, knowing it made sense. Come to think of it, it was probably Jack who had bought you a full night of sleep before speaking to the authorities, with, you assumed, the assurance you wouldn’t leave his sight and that he’d bring you back for interrogation the next day. And with how involved you ended up being, you had no idea how you’d ever think you were in the clear.
“Ugh fine”
He smirked. “Don’t sound too excited”
You gave him a tight sarcastic smile before leaving his room and making a beeline for a well deserved shower.
•••••••••••••
Jack couldn't contain his giddy expression as he watched you retreat to the guest bathroom, no doubt purposefully leaving his en suite free in case he also needed to take a shower.
Like thinking of him and his needs had been engraved into the very structure of your being.
He felt like the luckiest bastard in the whole fucking world. He was riding a strong honeymoon phase, that he was well aware of, but damn, you were truly extraordinary. Not in grand gestures — that wasn't your style. You always managed to find the small, overlooked detail that would make anyone feel seen, and listened to.
When was the last time someone, beside you, could tell the second his protheses began to bother him, even if his demeanor barely shifted? Who else remembered the inconsequential things, stopping them from adding up to ruin his day? Who else understood him to his very core?
Only you.
He slowly sat up and reached for his crutches with a newfound lightness in the way he moved. He had joked that you smelled, but he likely wasn't much better; and who was he to let your considerate choice of bathroom go to waste?
The few meters separating him from the shower were spent replaying the way your lips felt on his—the way you molded so easily against him like you had always belonged there.
He counted the seconds of his quick shower until he could be near you again, yearning for your comforting presence. He had meant it when he said he had been terrified of even letting go of you; this distance, even knowing you were a few rooms away, played nasty tricks on his mind. He wanted to be unbearably clingy about it, lurking in your shadow until the ideas of abandonment subsided into quiet whispers in a corner of his mind he could more easily ignore. Knowing you, you'd probably even let him hang on to you until he got it out of his system, not even complaining once through it all.
He got out of the shower before you did.
With a fresh tshirt and sweatpants on, he made his way to the kitchen, only stopping in front of your discarded pants. Your trusty dark gray cargos, the very type you had about 20 pairs of identical copies because they were the only ones that were comfortable, fitting and work friendly. Balancing like an acrobat, he leaned forward to pick the pants up, along with your bra and underwear, observing the pile of clothe in his left hand for a second.
You'd need all of these for the rest of the day, that was for sure. He made a detour to the laundry room and popped them in, starting a quick cycle, then refocused on his main quest, preparing breakfast.
He kept it simple.
Just toast with scrambled eggs, and your coffee exactly how you liked it. He was cracking the eggs in the pan when you came out of the bathroom, and by the time you appeared in the kitchen, he was plating everything.
And your legs were still bare, dewy with a sheen layer of water you didn't bother drying off.
He should have been awarded a damn medal for not staring.
“Impeccable timing” He smiled, chasing the exquisite fog his brain wanted to drag him into. “Hope I got your coffee right”
Of course he did. It was even more natural to make your order than it had ever been his.
You gave him a cryptic smile as you took in the breakfast food at the kitchen island, your plate neatly placed at the spot you've sat at for years. Your breakfasts with Jack whenever your days off aligned had always been somewhat sacred; a small moment of reprise where neither of you spoke or thought about work or anything tragic. You'd make breakfast together, eat, then clean. Something simple, but that you hadn't realized how much you had missed before you had it again.
“Looks good” You said as you slid on the chair.
He shrugged. “It's not much”
“Jack” You warned, yet your tone remained light. His eyes finally met yours as he took his place next to you. “It's more than enough. Thank you”
He reached for your hand before anything on his plate. “I'm just glad you're here”
Your smile turned fond. “Me too”
He scooted his chair closer to yours, stretching his right arm over the arch of its back and leaning into you as he grabbed his own coffee mug. “Dig in”
You raised an amused eyebrow. “Cheesy”
His expression morphed into a full blown grin. “Oh you have no idea how cheesy it's about to get. I'm getting all the cheese, Sweets, you'll be sick of it by the end of the week”
You couldn't help the laughter escaping you. “I could never”
He winked. “Let's see”
You shook your head and turned your attention to your plate, lest Jack's efforts turned into a cold and soggy breakfast. You grabbed your butter knife and extended your arms toward the small cluster of jars in front of you, fully expecting to have to choose between peanut butter and Jack's sugar free raspberry jam, which you didn't dislike per se, but always left you disappointed and with a couple of seeds stuck in your teeth.
You paused when you noticed the actual jam jar your hand brought forward.
It was a blueberry cassis monstrosity with heaps of sugar that Jack once qualified of crime against humanity, citing its foul aftertaste and migraine inducing smell. He hated it with a burning passion and always tried to negotiate you out of buying a refill when it finally left his pantry.
You blinked once, then twice, then looked at Jack who was already sheepish and blushing at your discovery.
“Jack”
“Sweets”
“What is this?”
You saw very well the displeasure momentarily cross his expression. “Nothing I want to be a part of”
“I mean, what is it doing here?”
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Leftovers from the last time you were here”
“That was months ago and it was halfway through” You called his lie out. “That one is brand new”
He gently put down his coffee cup and scratched the back of his neck, sighing and mumbling “Bought a new one when the other jar expired. Just in case, y'know…” He hesitated, then tempted a side glance at you. “You came back”
It was a surprise, considering his vocal disdain for your jam of choice, that he would have voluntarily gone out of his way to buy such an abomination without being explicitly asked. You didn’t know why that specifically cleared the remaining clouds of doubt in your mind about being here with him, but it did.
A dumbfounded laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, making Jack look at you with a puzzled expression.
“How stupid have we been?” You blurted out, but it sounded more like you were talking to yourself than anything else.
“What?”
You shook your head. “I think we tried so hard not to be so dumb about this that it circled all the way back to us being extremely dumb about this”
He looked down at his breakfast, hiding a fond grin, or at least, trying to. “Maybe”
“They’ll never let us hear the end of it, you know?” You hummed, popping open the lid of your jam and ignoring Jack’s instant grimace at the smell.
“Robby most of all” He grumbled out as he reached for his own raspberry jam. “By the way, he meddled, just so you know”
You rolled your eyes. “Of course he did”
He froze for a few seconds as he watched your nonchalant reaction, then his eyebrow rose slowly. He gave you a single curt nod. “I’m impressed you’re not mad”
You shrugged. “Ca you be mad at the tide for rolling in?”
He broke into a full blown grin. “Poetic”
You couldn’t help but let your expression mirror his. “Just sayin’” You shoved a piece of toast in your mouth. “Robby meddling, even if you staunchly warn him against it, is mostly unavoidable”
He hummed. “Death, taxes, Robby putting his nose where it doesn’t belong…. Sounds about right”
“Still gonna let him hear it though”
He squeezed your side lightly, barely hard enough for the touch to tickle. “Attagirl”
The next moments were spent in silence, simply enjoying your breakfasts and each other’s company. His arm never left the back of your chair, keeping you close, always within touching distance. You didn’t complain; your body welcomed his proximity, his presence in your space like it had kept the place warm until he returned to you.
It was only after you finished the dishes together, drying the final pan by his side that you spoke again.
“I’ve been thinking for a while now,” You began, like your mind decided now was the time to say it. “But I believe the whole bank thing… put things into perspective. I think I'd like to take that Paramedic training”
He didn't speak for a bit, only staring at you with a curious, yet supportive expression. You had been adamant in the past that you had no interest in going beyond the responsibilities of an EMT. You had always been comfortable with that; you had found something you were good at and committed to it until it came as naturally as breathing.
“Considering you're already almost all the way to getting that certification, I'm sure you'll do amazing” His eyebrows then furrowed ever so slightly, the question he wanted to ask already clear on his lips before he even got the words out. “But why now?”
You let out a long sigh. “I think it's time. I don't really know how else to say it”
And it was the truth. You had felt something change in the last months, slowly but surely—something you weren't entirely sure of. It only occurred to you that it had even happened on your way to the safe house with the robbers, for reasons that were still unknown to you. In your half delirious, confidence-boosted haze, you had felt like you could do more if you just dared to step outside of your comfort zone.
He nodded slowly, squeezing your hand. “Hey, I'm glad you're taking that step. You'll do great”
He meant it.
Despite not even being there for a vast majority of your shift aside for the brief transfer he might catch, he knew you were one of the best first responder in the city by the state your patients arrived in the ER. It wasn't just that your treatments were accurate and up to par, it was that you cared to get it right. You caught nearly everything; you had a sharp instinct for sniffing out what most people missed. Your no bullshit approach allowed you to see a clear, whole picture and to do whatever you needed to get that patient alive into doctor hands, setting up the conditions for their success after handoff.
Jack knew as an absolute certainty that the city of Pittsburgh would be better off with you being allowed to save lives in a wider range of ways.
“C’mon” He took the pan from your hand when he noticed you dipped into deeper thoughts. “I put ypur stuff in the washing machine, should be ready for the dryer now”
If he noticed the surprise on your face, he didn’t mention it. “Thanks”
It was all you could muster at the moment.
He began lifting his hand to reach out, but aborted the motion before it could really materialize. He only smiled at you now and nodded. “Don’t mention it”
Update: I finished rewriting the few squeaky transitions but it's all handwritten in my notebook so i'll need a bit of time to type it into my document tomorrow night 😅
F - fluff S - smut A - angst
♡ - series ☆ - one shot ◇ - imagines and drabbles
yeri's favourites
last updated - 08/07/2026
⤷ fic count - 85
fic recs : one - two - three - four - five - six
@0nlyangelxx ——————————
◇ older bf | F.
⤷ some blurbs about being in a age gap relationship with our silver fox.
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◇ husband!jack abbot x pregnant!reader | F.
⤷ running into your ex at the grocery store snippet.
@abbotsgirl99 ——————————
♡ easy on me | A.
⤷ reader doesn’t work in the medical field and always felt a certain level of insecurity because they feel as if jack thinks they are dumb. then one outing with jack’s team and some comments from jack and his coworkers all but confirms their insecurities.
⤷ [ part 2 ]
@abbotsmyhabit ——————————
☆ shark attack | F. S. A.
⤷ after park the shark gets a little too forward with you in the ER jack starts to question himself and your relationship.
@alinathinkstoomuch ——————————
☆ paying up | F.
⤷ you like to give abbot an extra grey hair with your flirting and barely suppressed sex jokes, and he likes to put a little extra in your swear jar. it's a win-win shift.
@an-abysma1-0bserver ——————————
♡ surface pressure | A.
⤷ you can handle anything. you don’t need help, nor do you want it, especially not now. you can’t afford to be reliant on other people. you’ve got your own issues to worry about. yhe last time you relied on someone else, you ended up in your current situation. you can’t rely on anyone else. rven with the ground cracking beneath you. rven when it feels like the sky is falling, that you’re drowning. you just…can’t.
@angelverse222 ——————————
◇ bf!jack abbot x reader hcs | F. S.
@annsfics ——————————
☆ i care about her, too | A.
⤷ after a patient attacks & strangles you, you're put on a short leave of absence so you can recover in peace. when you return to ptmc, you stay practically glued to robby's side. jealous, abbot tries keeping his distance—granting you time & space, so as to allow you to come to him when you're ready to discuss the events of that day...which he emerged from with bloody knuckles on your behalf.
@astarlinggirl ——————————
☆ fuck it, i love you | S. A.
⤷ after a risqué encounter with you at the bar, jack abbot can’t get you out of his head. and then you show up in one of his lectures as his student. and then you two navigate an interesting 'casual' relationship, until your emotionally avoidant asses get, well... attached.
@belleeebelleee ——————————
☆ jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤷ no one at the pitt thought it was strange when you showed up with a kid on your hip. because everyone already knew things about you—just… not the right things. they knew you were married. they knew you had a kid. they just didn’t know who.
☆ jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤷ you get a 'J' tattooed just over your rib cage and surprise your husband jack with it
@bluetimeombre ——————————
☆ j over my heart | F. S.
⤷ i had some voices whisper into my ear about a shared tattoo with jack abbott and wife(pediatrics doctor?) reader? reader and jack having two tattoos. one that everyone would see and the other where only the two of them would. and what if, their marriage is like not known to everyone except for robby and dana
@buckyscaptain ——————————
☆ dr. sunshine | A.
⤷ jack loves you, he does, but when you take a hit out in the ambulance bay by a less than satisfied patient and try to brush it off, you test every inch of his patience.
@butyoudidthis4what ——————————
☆ i told you so | A.
⤷ jack gets a premonition about you at work, but there's no way that feeling can be true, right?
@clarktologist ——————————
☆ baby, baby | F.
⤷ jack abbot is a big fan of calling people pet names. it drives you nuts.
@cvfeaulait ——————————
☆ soap suds | F.
⤷ after a long and exhausting night shift, jack comes home needing the comfort of his wife.
@dollsonlyhurt ——————————
♡ these hands heal | F. S. A.
⤷ you’re fresh meat on the pitt’s night shift, and dr. jack abbot makes damn sure you know it. he rides your ass every shift, you challenge every order he gives, and somewhere between trauma activations, bruised egos, and one very unfortunate obsession with his hands… things get complicated.
⤷ [ part 2 part 3 ]
@filmetcs ——————————
☆ normal girl | A.
⤷ you wake up feeling like the world is out to get you and Jack is there to help pick up all the pieces.
@fluttervoid ——————————
☆ in his arms | F.
⤷ getting dragged out of bed before sunrise because jack wants you to “keep him company” was never something you agreed to, but somehow it still happens. you end up on the gym floor in his hoodie, half awake and pretending to read while he trains, only to realise he’d much rather bench press you instead of the barbell.
@geminiwritten ——————————
☆ miss independent | F. S.
⤷ you've always kept things casual. it's just easier that way. you've got a roster, a routine, and absolutely no intention of changing—until you realise you've made one very inconvenient mistake: falling in love with dr. jack abbot.
@lauraneedstochill ——————————
☆ bite the bullet | A.
⤷ when jack arrives in the ER in his SWAT uniform, he is surprised to see a new surgeon. and right away, he takes a liking to your brazen tone and notices your skills. he finds you intriguing. except, you hate everything about his hobby, and you aren’t afraid to let him know.
@llittlekittennn ——————————
◇ husband!jack abbot headcanons
@lostalioth ——————————
☆ capable hands | F. S.
⤷ jack brings younger reader around his army friends for a pool party/BBQ. they’re all giving him shit for being with someone younger but they’re all secretly jealous of him having a pretty young thing dote on him and care for him.
@louloops ——————————
☆ touchy!jack abbot in public | S.
⤷ thinking about how jack abbot would literally never leave you alone during gatherings.
@lov3land ——————————
☆ cola | F. S.
⤷ in the words of lana del rey, “i got sweet taste for men who are older…” or, two times jack abbot was mistaken for your father, and the one time he wasn’t.
@lovebugism ——————————
☆ in our bedroom after the war | A.
⤷ you saved jack abbot's life once, and now he insists on returning the favor.
☆ unfinished business | A.
⤷ you've been trying to get over dr. abbot for weeks now. jack, unfortunately for you, has other plans.
@mariposium ——————————
☆ the abbot effect | F. A.
⤷ your boyfriend has a way about him that draws women in like bees to honey. it’s never bothered you before, but after a bad shift and an ill-timed bet, you are quickly reaching the limit of what you can handle.
☆ higher standards | F. A.
⤷ everyone has an ex that they’d rather forget about. yours is just more persistent than most. however, when he takes the initiative to show up at your place of work, demanding a second chance, it’s time for you to shut it down once and for all—and to show that you have standards now.
@mcybank ——————————
☆ tender | F. S. A.
⤷ the worst-cared-for girl in the county keeps washing up in jack’s er, and he can’t help but start paying attention.
@midnightgardentales ——————————
☆ oops | F. A.
⤷ jack abbot absolutely adores his wife. but sometimes he wonders how the hell she made it this far...
@moodyabbott ——————————
☆ jack abbot x shy!reader | F.
⤷ shy!reader get sick and she visit the pitt at night
☆ silver fox | F.
⤷ tiktok inspired me cuz today i saw that this girl was dating some forty two year old and he called her purse a pocketbook lol
@mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes ——————————
☆ sunshine of the dark | F. A.
⤷ the sunshine of the night shift, all cookies and lavender, loves to make the grumpy, sassy, silver fox attending smile through attempts at flirting and baked goods. but what happens when he asks a certain replacement attending for drinks and the sunshine dims?
@nealla ——————————
◇ perv!jack abbot drabble | S.
@obsessivefanfictionauthor ——————————
☆ missing you | F. A.
⤷ it's just never the right time for you and jack Aabbot, not since you left the first time. until it is. or four times you and jack abbot miss your chances and the one time you don't.
@of-apollo ——————————
☆ buddy knows best | A.
⤷ when an angry patient attacks you at work, you do everything in your power to hide how bad it is from jack. unfortunately for you, his dog, buddy, knows best, and is quick to alert him to how bad things are as soon as he gets home.
☆ dog's best friend | F.
⤷ when jack takes you back to his place after the longest night shift, he is quick to warn you about the stubborn rescue dog living with him. however, in a beautiful turn of events, the dog takes a very strong liking to you.
☆ it's getting hot in here | F.
⤷ when jack drops you home after a shift, he cannot bear to be in your stuffy apartment for more than a minute. the thought of leaving you there to disintegrate pains him, and he is quick to invite you back to his house for the sweet, crisp air of his AC, and some relaxation in the pool…
@oxalaia-quilombensis ——————————
♡ give it to me, baby | F. S.
⤷ jack abbot is many things; a loving husband, a phenomenal doctor, a decorated war veteran, an adrenaline junkie, a lower-leg amputee, and (possibly) a mind reader. but he is not a father. in 4 years of marriage you haven't been able to surprise him even once. but maybe, for his 50th birthday, you can kill two birds with one stone.
@p1stach-io ——————————
☆ maggots for brains | F. A.
⤷ overwhelmed by the emotional distance of your careers, you seek a brief moment of comfort from husband amidst the chaos of his hospital shift.
@popcornpoppypop ——————————
☆ surprise | F.
⤷ reader would have her normal shift and goes into labor without knowing she is pregnant
☆ i don't know why | A. - [jack abbot x oc]
⤷ mia relapses and jack is there for her.
♡ hell of a night | F.
⤷ after a girl's night out goes wrong, reader calls jack for help.
⤷ [ part 2 ]
@pyjamatranslation ——————————
☆ you started it | F.
⤷ the pitt needs jack but he's asleep. accidental cuddling when you go wake him up.
@redd-blushing-roses ——————————
☆ stubborn heart and stuffy nosed | F.
⤷ they say doctors make the worst patients... and jack abbot is no exception to that.
☆ baby rabbit | F. ⤷ when you've been feeling sick for a few weeks, jack expects to face the worst. but a trip to the emergency room reveals something he never expected. and you have to face the fact you're there for each other in sickness and health... and everything between.
@richeeduvie ——————————
♡ leggy! | F.
⤷ a collection of fics where the beautiful, oddball daughter you gave jack becomes attached to his prosthetic as much as she is attached to him...
☆ jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤷ your beautiful daughter has recently discovered the ability to compare. robby's lucky enough to be there to witness it in the living room, maybe looking too comfortable in jack's house for jack's liking.
@satellite-evans ——————————
☆ expectations | F.
⤷ you finally have expectations when it comes to men.
☆ absolutely not | F.
⤷ you trust jack with your patients, your career, and your life. realizing you'd trust him with your heart is a much bigger problem.
@savemefromanepicoftimewasted ——————————
☆ i've waited a hundred years, and i'd wait a million more for you | F.
⤷ jack signed on before the older man had even gotten the chance to finish his spiel, telling him how he would do whatever it took to be there.
@shadeofpeach ——————————
♡ grey clouds | A.
⤷ working the night shift at the pitt is hard enough without carrying the weight of a violent secret. jack abbot has been watching his best resident slowly fade for months until a desperate attempt to leave her abuser turns into a fight for her life.
⤷ [ part 2 - take me home ]
⤷ [ part 3 - to be okay ]
⤷ [ part 4 - out of breath ]
⤷ [ part 5 - a new kind of love ]
☆ night dada | F.
⤷ jack returns home to find his sleepy babygirl clinging to a very special teddy.
☆ the prettiest in the room | F.
⤷ jack decides he’s done hiding exactly how whipped he is for you.
☆ a fall, a cut and an angry cut | A.
⤷ a routine task like doing laundry turns into a nightmare when a sudden slip makes you trip on the stairs. with a deep cut on your face and an injured knee, you try to downplay your clumsiness, but for your husband, jack, the accident is anything but funny.
☆ sensory meltdown | F. A.
⤷ when you're pushed to your breaking point by a brutal shift and fever, jack is there to catch you and guide you into the quiet dark.
☆ happy (first) father's day | F.
⤷ a small gift box changes jack's entire world forever.
☆ twins power | F. A. ⤷ a midnight fever transforms an ordinary bedtime into every parent's worst nightmare, leaving you with no choice but to rush your four year old twins, luca and lily, to the pittsburgh trauma medical center.
☆ sleepy tantrums | F. A.
⤷ toddlerhood is hard, but dealing with an overtired three years old who weapons grade fights sleep is a whole different level of exhausting.
☆ critical levels | A.
⤷ dr. jack abbot x artist!reader
☆ the bet | F.
⤷ when a fever leaves you completely exhausted, abbot steps in to take care of you; unbeknownst to you, entirely validating a hospital wide betting pool on his secret crush.
☆ i like it when you blush | F.
⤷ jack knows exactly the effect he has on you.
@spice-honey ——————————
♡ bucket list | F. S. A.
⤷ when brilliant surgeon dr. sofia beckett and ED attending dr. jack abbot clash over a fatal patient case, their collision forces them both to confront the grief they've buried. sofia never lets anyone see her break. jack knows how to survive, but surviving isn't living. when they discover that the person who sees through your defenses might be the only person who can save you, they face an impossible choice: keep running from loss, or finally stop fighting it alone. one bucket list Item at a time.
@springtyme ——————————
☆ your eyes, twice over | F. A.
⤷ the night takes a turn when jack finds you in the ER hallway with two little girls who look unmistakably like you. he realizes there’s a whole part of your life he never knew about. but maybe, if you let him, he’d really like to understand it.
@st-abbot ——————————
♡ timebomb | F. S. A.
⤷ after growing close to jack following the death of your respective spouses, you navigate your feelings for the man who has been there for you through it all; until a brush with death pushes you to disturb the careful equilibrium between the two of you.
@starsandfrostcombined ——————————
☆ willing, maybe able | F.
⤷ you were so willing, he was unable.
@taknbythewind ——————————
☆ soft and sweet | F.
⤷ his wife brings the kids to visit him at work and to show off the new addition to the abbot family, and maybe jack is already itching for another…
@targaryenluvs ——————————
☆ kissed and made up | F.
⤷ after pissing off your boyfriend in the late hours of night before his shift, you decide to bring him a nice big lunch during said shift. except not one of his coworkers knew you were actually real, let alone oh so gorgeous and sweet!
@thatfanficstuff ——————————
♡ widow!jack abbot | F.
⤷ a series of ficlets featuring our favorite chaos goblin, jack abbot and his wife.
@thefictionalmanswhxre ——————————
☆ now how i planned | F.
⤷ a miscommunication kind of trope between jack and reader where they’re dating and she thinks he’s cheating on her because he’s been acting very strange but in reality he’s planning to propose and she confronts him, almost leaves him so he has to propose to her in the least romantic place, not at all how he planned
@thehatussy ——————————
☆ when jack's fiancée ends up in his own ER.... | A.
⤷ reader goes on a nature walk and ends up in the ER and jack hates it.
@therarityoflife ——————————
♡ nipple piercings | F. S.
⤷ you’d gone straight to the gym after work, or else you would have seen the condition your roommate was in earlier. after getting home for your shift in the pitt, and subsequent gym session that came after it, you find your roommate suffering from appendicitis and rush them to the ED. all would be well except in the rush to get there you forget that you were braless in a top that leaves nothing to the imagination. now in the chilly ER you are faced with the senior attending who has been secretly pining over you for months, and the piercings you got when you turned nineteen are on full display for him to see.
⤷ [ part 2 ]
@tojisteddy ——————————
☆ jack abbot x reader | S.
⤷ jack abbot would love when you call him ‘papa’ or ‘big papa’ in passing/casually because he simply gets turned on and (but not limited to) scared when you call him by name.
@tulipluver03 ——————————
☆ fake it til you make it | A.
⤷ sometimes labels stick annoyingly too long. sometimes someone comes along and sees beyond them.
@vampireedolll ——————————
☆ baby break | F. A.
⤷ you come to check on baby jane doe and have a quick and impromptu conversation about children with your husband
@voidsagent ——————————
☆ sticky notes & scrub tops | F.
⤷ when you start packing lunches for jack, the ED takes notice. not just of the notes you leave, but of the changes in jack too.
@wannabespacesmuggler ——————————
☆ do not disturb | F. A.
⤷ jack abbot's relaxing day off takes a turn for the worse when he hears his phone ring. after all, his phone is on do not disturb and there's only one person that he's allowed to interrupt his peace — you. even worse, your voice isn't the first thing he hears when he picks up.
@weird-is-life ——————————
☆ hearts full | F.
⤷ you and jack get a chance to adopt baby jane doe after struggling with the adoption process for a long time
☆ ruined vacation? | F.
⤷ you get your period just before two-week long vacation and you worry you just ruined it
@whitehorsesrun ——————————
☆ night off | S.
⤷ it’s jacks night off and you’ve been waiting all day for him to come home dressed in his SWAT uniform…
@wildflowerluver ——————————
◇ jack abbot x wife!reader headcannons
☆ taste back | A.
⤷ jack relearns what it’s like to want to be around someone all the time
@yawnlovescookies ——————————
☆ married? | F.
⤷ what happens when someone sees the wedding ring you were trying to hide? who will win the bet about your mysterious husband?
@youknowiloveyou-so ——————————
☆ one night only | F.
⤷ jack invites you on a date to the movie theater to watch one of the movies he used to watch with his sister. he plans to ask you to be his girlfriend.
Hey :) Thank you for your patience on this - the move is all done and I'm almost all setttled into my new place after weeks of misery! Here's to a fresh start!
Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this ;)
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 4,729
Chapter warnings: Language, big feelings.
Chapter Summary: The stress and pressure of the last hours, days, weeks, months finally come crashing down and leave you to deal with everything, and Jack is determined not to let you go through it alone this time.
< Previous
The rest of the ride to his apartment had been silent.
You were glad he hadn't forced the conversation; you needed time to process the day's events, most specifically, the part where he showed up in a cloud of dust and smoke and gunfire like a god damn biblical intervention. Nothing rational could have adequately prepared you to see him come to you like that amidst the chaos; there was nothing you could have done to preemptively raise the drawbridge to withstand the assault. He had caught you well vulnerable, without any more fight in you to protest him taking care of you like nothing had changed.
… Had it?
Changed?
You had done your best in these last months to stand on your own two feet for once in your life, going forward even when all you had wanted to do was to stop everything. You should have been to stand through this too, yet, you still let yourself be led by Jack back into a home that was no longer yours.
So why did it still feel like home?
Why did it felt even more like home than your own apartment?
Your mind felt like a quiet storm, shuffling and spinning conflicting feeling around while you were too tired to keep them in check, solidly tied down somewhere they wouldn't fly away.
And in the middle stood Jack.
On one hand, you hadn't forgotten all the things he'd said to drive you away. They still hurt, they hurt so fucking bad, but your soul conspired against your mind to win a fight that hadn't yet begun.
Jack was like a magnet carved specifically for you, drawing you in and not letting go. His touch was the only one your body responded to, the only one it recognized as the comfort you needed. He was a part of you, living and breathing in sync with you, leaving you incomplete when he was far away.
Just like you were a living part of him.
Walking with him into his apartment after all this time away felt strange. The familiarity crept in your blood and nested in your bone, gently chipping at the tension that had tightened your body for months without reprise. It was welcoming the safety of walls that had protected you for years from the outside world, that bore core memories in their foundation that simply couldn't be covered.
You found yourself overwhelmed, and before you could react, pressure boiled up to the surface, clouding your vision with tears you couldn't force back in. Your feet stopped moving in the middle of the kitchen as the first sob escaped you.
Before you could even cover your mouth in embarrassment, you were pulled in a tight embrace against Jack. His hand went to the back of your head as his hold tightened, and just like that, the floodgates opened. Full body sobs jolted your spine, but he only held you there, whispering in your ear to let it all out.
For some reason, it only made you cry harder.
And suddenly, you were thrown back 12 years back in time, standing at the exact same spot, purging out a different kind of grief as he held you with the same strong, steady arms. The juxtaposed pain was nearly took you out, unleashing every cry of agony you had repressed in between, after you decided you would never allow yourself to break down at all, ever again.
Until now.
Not that you had allowed this in the first place— you were not in control and you were despising it. The walls you had carefully built on quicksand gave in at the slightest tremor, an eventuality that had always been much more a matter of when rather than if.
“M' sorry” You mumbled through tear. “I don't know why—”
He shushed you, his left hand rubbing your back while his right kept your head against his shoulder.
“No, baby, don't be sorry” He mumbled back, his lips finding your temple. “You just went through hell. You were a fucking rock star in there, you're allowed to let it out”
Like your body knew no other imperative than his word, the tears picked up tenfold. You felt yourself melt into him as the fight left you entirely.
After you fell asleep in the rover, Jack had cleaned up the mess at the farm house with the police. He had seen with his own two eyes the infamous injured robber with a hole cut on the top right of his hoodie, and most specifically, the messy yet bomb proof stitching he could recognize out of a thousand. A stitching that bore your signature just as much as the one you wrote with a pen.
That couldn't have been anything but a bullet wound. A fucking bullet wound with no exit point. If you had stitched, it meant that the bullet was out, and if it was out, it meant that you had taken it out.
Without a surgeon, without a doctor. Only with a field dressing kit and your wits. And you kept him alive through all of that.
That feat on its own was fucking insane.
And if the hostages half coherent testimonies relayed to him were to be believed, you had also been the reason why the 18 people in there with you were still alive, too.
“I'm so proud of you” He sighed into your hair. “My brave girl”
You stayed there in his arms, almost limp as your crying finally quieted down. You felt him shift to his right foot and readjust a couple of time, and that's what finally snapped you out of your trance-like state like a shockwave up your spine. You slightly pulled away to take off your weight from him, suddenly hyper aware of his own discomfort.
“Your leg's killing you” You muttered as you looked down to his prostheses. “Where's your crutch? Go sit—”
He pulled you back against him, gently but firmly. “Don't care. I'll stand here as long as you need”
You frowned against his shoulder. “No, I can't, I'll- I'll go get your crutch, you need to sit—”
You felt him shake his head no against yours as he stubbornly held you tighter again. “I don’t want to” His voice then clouded, dropping lower. “I can't”
You closed your eyes as the small hitch in his voice registered. You felt him take a deep, shaky breath under your cheek while the rest of his body stood stiff.
“I fucked up” He finally admitted. “I fucked up bad, and I'm afraid that if I let go you'll be gone again”
Your breath caught in your throat at his raw honesty. You were at loss for words, not having the emotional capacity at the moment to process this in any other way than holding tighter too, hands bunching the back of his shirt.
Then he said your name, repeating it a few more time like a mantra. You shut your eyes even tighter.
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry” The words kept tumbling out. “I was a fucking asshole. I hurt you. And I definitely don't deserve you now. But fuck I need you here with me”
Your head spun, dizzy with disbelief at his sincerity and unable to do anything but replay his words over and over again like a lost echo in the caves of you chest. He made his declaration with an astonishing lack of hesitation, leaving no hidden motivation, no space for second guessing, no alternative interpretation but the literal meaning of his words. It made your resolve crumble and fall like it had never been there at all.
You had tried to separate yourself from him, you really did. You had wanted to prove yourself you were strong.
You were not.
And you were okay with the thought, as much as you knew you shouldn't. You were tired of always being strong. And beside, the few moments you had spent with Jack after months of keeping yourself strictly away from him only cemented in your mind the idea that you would always be exactly where you belonged, as long as he stood by your side.
He gently cradled your face in his hands, tilting it up to look at him. Your entire body remained relaxed to it, its long integrated subconscious memory that his touch would never hurt.
“Please” His words were breathless as you locked gazes with him. The redness of his eyes made his hazel irises seem a gorgeous shade of green as he held back tears. “I'll beg you for the rest of my life if that's what it takes, but I can't lose you again. I can’t”
You closed your eyes again and let your forehead fall forward until it touched his. You could feel his thumbs rubbing absentminded circles on your jaw as his breath synced with yours, re-attuning yourselves to each other like you had been for so many years. Jack had made a home entirely too deep under your skin to rip it off, no matter how long you'd go without being near him. You could feel it now as the missing puzzle piece slid back into its rightful place, completing the picture.
No one else would do it for you.
Your hands left his back and gently rested at the base of his neck where your thumbs touched skin. You felt goosebumps erupt under the feather light presses of you fingers there.
“Then don't” You whispered so close to his lips that he could almost taste the words. “Don't lose me again”
You didn't dare open your eyes to watch his reaction, but you felt his piercing stare as your words hung heavily in the narrow space between the two of you. His touch shifted on your jaw, a silent encouragement to own up to your word. You refused to give in, terrified of what you'd see if you did; you couldn't handle another disappointment, not now.
You could feel the slight insistence in his touch.
“Look at me”
Your eyes opened of their own accord, immediately caught in the trap of his gaze.
All of Jack's walls had been torn down, ripped apart in a desperate attempt to let you in. It had been his mistake last time, to shut down, to lock you out in a stupid attempt to protect the both of you. He couldn't even recall from what.
Yet, here you were, letting him off the hook with a stern warning. Don't lose me again. He didn’t deserve that mercy from you, none of it. Yet, you still gave it to him, with no malice, no conditions, no hesitation. You gave him a second chance he thought he had blown long ago, and it made him want to do better, to do so much better so he could be someone worthy of your love.
Luckily for him, he was a very goal oriented man and all the motivation he needed was right in front of him.
“It's me and you now” He finally spoke in a whisper that seared his words into your bones. If felt definitive, steady, certain beyond the shadow of a doubt. “I love you. I want you. All of you. And I'm not letting you slip through my fingers ever again”
You could have sworn the world stopped turning as soon as he said those words. You had imagined a thousand different scenarios in which he'd have confessed his feelings— none of them featuring you bawling your eyes out after a hostage situation— but there you were. Jack Abbot, stripped bare of any pretense, blowing the door wide open into his mind and into what he wanted. The sight was as unsettling as it was breathtaking. It appealed to you in ways previously unknown to your being, knowing he meant it more than anything he’s ever said. And you believed him, God, you believed him.
“Me and you” You repeated, sealing the promise with invisible bounds. “Always”
He nodded once, then again, hand shifting on your face as her rubbed circles over your temples with his thumb. The relaxing motion combined with the crash of the emotions brought another wave of fatigue upon you, and your felt your limbs suddenly grow heavy in his hold.
Of course he noticed before you could even tell him.
Jack had grown just as attuned to your nonverbal as you were, more often than not anticipating your needs before you could voice them. He gifted you the privilege of being known and being seen in a world where you had to be the observant one anywhere outside the walls of your home.
“C'mon” He muttered, nodding towards the guest bathroom. “Let's get that blood off of you, then we can go to sleep, yeah?”
His hand found yours before he even stepped out of your space, intertwining your fingers together to keep at least one line of skin to skin contact. You followed him to the guest bathroom, the very one that you'd made yours, once. This time, it felt bare, untouched, like you had been the last person to step foot in it after you threw everything of yours there hazardously in a backpack with the rest of your stuff.
“Sit”
You glance to where he was pointing on the counter, then back to him to find him already expectant. You shook your head.
“Bathtub”
Your counter offer puzzled him for a moment, his eyes instinctively going to the shower bath in there.
“Your leg” You then added. “You need to sit”
The bath ledge was designed large enough for one to use it as a seat. It was clearly on purpose, with grippy material and a folding door instead of a rail. It was meant to be easier to use for Jack if the shower in his room with the chair was to be unusable for a period of time.
You held out your hand in support as he took a careful seat first, straddling the ledge of the tub with prosthetic leg on the outside. You followed him suit, sitting in from of him.
There was a moment of silence then as you just stared at each other. You knew what you logically should do next—and it's not like he had never seen you in a sports bra before. Still you hesitated, hand ghosting at the hem of your shirt. The action felt loaded now, it felt strangely intimate whereas before it was nothing but an operational necessity.
Jack's eyes went from your face, to your hand. Yet he said nothing of it, feeling for himself the shift. He waited for you, basking in the serenity of the moment. It was the dead of the night, everything was still. There was no rush, no expectation, only you.
He watched your movement with fascination as you finally peeled your shirt off, carefully pulling it over your head. The damp cotton, probably ruined by blood and sweat to ever wear it again, was stuck and dried already to your skin, leaving itchy spots behind.
Jack didn't follow the motion of your arm throwing the shirt on the floor. Instead, he mapped the streaks of dark red coating your skin, linking scars together like a constellation. He spotted the old faded ones from your youth, the ones you acquired from simply existing at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then the newer ones you gained from being the best version of yourself, one that stood solidly between danger and the innocent, one that made sure the cycle of violence did not get past you even if it meant absorbing the hit.
You had been shaped by violence, but you've never let yourself be defined by it. You had never raised a hand against a fly, even if some might have deserved push back. Despite your tough façade, you were kind to those who needed kindness, a calming presence to those who needed grounding, an honest voice through the noise.
Sometimes Jack wondered how you did it—how you managed to stay that strong all the time, always taking hits that you never returned.
You felt your muscles involuntarily contract and shiver under his gaze like his hands were already trailing over your skin. He was appraising you as if it was the first time he saw you—truly saw you—which, in a way, it was.
Wordlessly, he reached in the small shelf behind him, grabbing a washcloth, soaking it under warm water from the bath faucet.
He started with your face, gently wiping off the remnants of the blood he couldn't get with the antiseptic wipe back at the farm house. His free hand came to rest at the base of your skull, gently supporting your head against the soft pressure on your cheek. He took great care to clean the wound on the cheekbone, working around the blue-ish swelling as he watched your reaction for any flinching or wincing.
“How'd you get that one?” He muttered, rinsing the washcloth.
“Butt of a semi automatic” You replied under your breath. “Spoke out of turn”
A small, almost imperceptible smile grace his lips as his touch returned to your face. He only hummed, as if saying of course you did. He could be telling you to be careful, and to stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger, but that would make him an hypocrite, and beside, he'd be lying to himself to think this fearless side of you wasn't incredibly attractive to him. He could well imagine you in there, calm, collected and competent, seeing someone in need and not thinking twice before helping them.
“Well, it won't need stitches” He said as he moved your head slightly to the side. “Just a bit of care”
The movement you made was barely a nod as he moved the washcloth to your hairline. He could see the dried blood on the right side of your scalp, sticking to your hair, and while that would take a proper shower to get off, he'd a least be able to relieve the itching he just knew you'd been ignoring for far too long.
He watched you as your eyes flickered closed at the contact of the warm water on your scalp. Your shoulders finally starting to relax at the almost petting motion of the washcloth. He moved through your scalp, then behind your ears and down your neck.
Your eyes reopened as he reached your collarbone, the pattern of the washcloth becoming a bit less purposeful. You found him with a laser like focus on the gleaming of the droplets under the low lights, eyes suddenly much darker as he traced it down a pale streak of blood and sweat to the swell of your breast. The intensity of his gaze took you by surprise, sending a shiver up your spine and erupting your skin with goosebumps.
That made is eyes flicker back up to yours, not losing the heat on the way up.
You could feel your heartbeat quicken as you held the staring contest. His nonverbal was loud and clear as he fought with himself, trying so damn hard to remain proper. It was interesting, to say the least, to observe Jack Abbot be anything than fully dedicated to his task; to discover that some things, some really, really simple things could distract him and make his mind wander.
Still, like the good soldier he was, he recomposed himself, pretending he couldn't feel the heat of your skin through the washcloth. You recognized the renewed determination in his eyes, the same he had when patients were rolled his way in the ER.
Watching him like this was just as enticing as his touch on you.
Careful, efficient, controlled.
The contrast with the heated darkness in his eyes was an fascinating one. It woke up feelings within that had been dormant for years, quiet, laying in wait for someone to bring them forward.
“You found me”
You didn't know why you said it, but it came out on its own, deviating the course of your thoughts with a sharp left hand turn. All this overthinking about finding long lost feelings steered your mind to it, coming to the realization that Jack had found you awfully quick in that safe house. The robbers had been so certain they hadn't been followed, they had checked the radars multiple times to make sure no police were on their trail.
Yet, that SWAT team had appeared in front of you barely half an hour after you holed up in there.
Jack barely even faltered, only looking up at you as he wiped the last of the blood on your ribs. He threw the washcloth in the tub as his eyes crinkled, crow feet prominent under the soft light of the bathroom.
“I'll always find you”
There was something in his eyes then that made you tilt your head to the side. There was a part of you that was really flattered, that wanted to just melt into him.
There was another, however, that read the glint in his eyes, one you were most familiar with, and figured it out by yourself. The glint that pulled you into familiar territory, into this irresistible lure that enthralled you to reach forward for it at the cost of breaking the moment.
“It was the location thing, wasn't it?”
He couldn't help the smile and chuckle this time.
“I was trying to be sweet”
You felt yourself mimicking his expression, feeling the first genuine smile stretch your lips in months. Something new, lighter set in your heart at his teasing tone.
This was the Jack you knew.
“It was very poetic”
He rolled his eyes playfully as he began standing up, carefully avoiding to put weight on his prostheses. Without thinking much, you lifted your arm, offering it as a railing. His hand went to it automatically, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He muttered a quiet thanks as he regained his footing, then offered his hand to you. You followed him up and into the hallway, right past the guest room.
You had been in room only a couple of time while you had lived there. You had preferred to leave it as his space, his own little world to retreat too.
It felt like him.
Free of clutter, straight to the point, but still warm enough to feel safe.
“You can grab a t-shirt in the dresser” He said as he let go of your hand and sat on the side of the bed. “Underwear too. I promise they're clean”
You couldn't help but snort as your fingers drummed on the oak dresser.
“The two drawers on top”
He really did try not to look. He really did.
As soon as you began peeling off your bra, he occupied himself with taking off his leg, pointedly not looking in your direction to defend whatever modesty he could afford you—like he hadn't been staring at your chest like a teenage boy moments ago.
It was the sound of the drawer being pulled open that made him look, a natural, human reaction to noise.
It's not like he looked for long either. It was just a quick glance that he redirected to the floor as quickly as he could, but it had been long enough to see the architecture of your bare back muscles at work, flexing and pulling as you slipped his shirt—his shirt— over your shoulders. He could feel himself blushing like a schoolboy at the thought of watching you undress in his room tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after.
It felt strange.
It felt strange to want something he was allowed to have. It felt strange to be able to let go the guilt of wanting, after all these years denying himself. The road ahead was far from clear, he wasn't naive enough to think it would be rainbows and unicorns—not after everything, not after the specifically cruel way he almost fucked it up. But for the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to.
Something to hold on to.
“… want one?”
He blinked as your voice snapped him out of his head, his eyes finding you in the doorway. He pointedly kept his gaze on your face and not on your bare legs. “Huh?”
Your expression turned slightly amused as you watched him very clearly come back from a trip into his own mind.
“I said, I'm gonna grab a glass of water, want one?”
“I'm good” His voice came out hoarse. “Thanks”
You gave him a nod and retreated to the kitchen. He could hear you move around, opening and closing the cabinets and turning on the faucet as he massaged his leg. Then your footsteps returned, growing closer to the room. He glanced at his nightstand and frowned, then angled his body to face you.
“Hey, I forgot my—”
He was interrupted by you throwing him a small orange bottle, which he caught more by reflex than any conscious decision he made.
“Lyrica on the counter” You finished for him with a small smile as you made your way to the bed. “Right next to the fridge”
He just watched you, eyes wide.
You placed your glass on the nightstand and sat on the bed with him, letting out a drawn out yawn, and seemingly having not idea that Jack had blue screened.
He had a bad habit of leaving his medication in the kitchen, as it was easier to remember to take before leaving for work if it was there. That arrangement, however, meant that often than not, he had to drag himself back there in the evenings when he inevitably forgot to bring a pill with him to go to bed.
You had not only remembered where he always left his medication, but you had brought it to him without him asking you for it.
You noticed the lack of movement on his end as you pulled your legs under the covers. You blinked a couple of time, tilting your head to the side. “… Did I bring the wrong medicine?”
He let a few beats pass, his features morphing into a warmth resembling renewed amazement. He could see it now as clear as day, that something that had always been there but that he never let himself perceive. He felt both incredibly stupid for not welcoming this sooner, and incredibly lucky that he somehow wasn't too late to do so. There was absolutely no doubt now, he couldn't be anywhere but by your side.
He didn't want to be anywhere else ever again either.
“Nope” He finally breathed out, chest suddenly much lighter than it's been in months. “It's… exactly what I needed”
You gave him a small cryptic smile as you slid deeper under the covers, feeling your body melt of its own accord at the safety and comfort his space naturally wrapped you with. Heaviness quickly overcame you as your mind forced you to let go, finally freeing you from the survival mode you've been stuck in for months now. You felt him joining you shortly after, his arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his warm chest as if you had done it for years.
That's how right it felt.
You nestled yourself deeper into his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. “Thank you”
You felt his hum vibrate in his chest under your cheek. “For what?”
“Finding me” You mumbled back, feeling yourself finally drift off.
You didn't see his expression change, but if you had, it would have broken your heart. You had played it off lowkey earlier, but there was no filter holding you back now. You sounded small and vulnerable and fragile—something you'd never allow if you hadn't been on your last fumes—expressing gratitude for something he should have been doing long ago already. He held you a bit tighter as he chased the lump in his throat.
“I meant it, by the way” His words were breathless over your hair. “I'll always find you”
Your breathing changed then, slowing down to a soft rhythm.
Then he added, more so for himself than you now unconscious form.
Hey :) Thank you for your patience on this - the move is all done and I'm almost all setttled into my new place after weeks of misery! Here's to a fresh start!
Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this ;)
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 4,729
Chapter warnings: Language, big feelings.
Chapter Summary: The stress and pressure of the last hours, days, weeks, months finally come crashing down and leave you to deal with everything, and Jack is determined not to let you go through it alone this time.
< Previous
The rest of the ride to his apartment had been silent.
You were glad he hadn't forced the conversation; you needed time to process the day's events, most specifically, the part where he showed up in a cloud of dust and smoke and gunfire like a god damn biblical intervention. Nothing rational could have adequately prepared you to see him come to you like that amidst the chaos; there was nothing you could have done to preemptively raise the drawbridge to withstand the assault. He had caught you well vulnerable, without any more fight in you to protest him taking care of you like nothing had changed.
… Had it?
Changed?
You had done your best in these last months to stand on your own two feet for once in your life, going forward even when all you had wanted to do was to stop everything. You should have been to stand through this too, yet, you still let yourself be led by Jack back into a home that was no longer yours.
So why did it still feel like home?
Why did it felt even more like home than your own apartment?
Your mind felt like a quiet storm, shuffling and spinning conflicting feeling around while you were too tired to keep them in check, solidly tied down somewhere they wouldn't fly away.
And in the middle stood Jack.
On one hand, you hadn't forgotten all the things he'd said to drive you away. They still hurt, they hurt so fucking bad, but your soul conspired against your mind to win a fight that hadn't yet begun.
Jack was like a magnet carved specifically for you, drawing you in and not letting go. His touch was the only one your body responded to, the only one it recognized as the comfort you needed. He was a part of you, living and breathing in sync with you, leaving you incomplete when he was far away.
Just like you were a living part of him.
Walking with him into his apartment after all this time away felt strange. The familiarity crept in your blood and nested in your bone, gently chipping at the tension that had tightened your body for months without reprise. It was welcoming the safety of walls that had protected you for years from the outside world, that bore core memories in their foundation that simply couldn't be covered.
You found yourself overwhelmed, and before you could react, pressure boiled up to the surface, clouding your vision with tears you couldn't force back in. Your feet stopped moving in the middle of the kitchen as the first sob escaped you.
Before you could even cover your mouth in embarrassment, you were pulled in a tight embrace against Jack. His hand went to the back of your head as his hold tightened, and just like that, the floodgates opened. Full body sobs jolted your spine, but he only held you there, whispering in your ear to let it all out.
For some reason, it only made you cry harder.
And suddenly, you were thrown back 12 years back in time, standing at the exact same spot, purging out a different kind of grief as he held you with the same strong, steady arms. The juxtaposed pain was nearly took you out, unleashing every cry of agony you had repressed in between, after you decided you would never allow yourself to break down at all, ever again.
Until now.
Not that you had allowed this in the first place— you were not in control and you were despising it. The walls you had carefully built on quicksand gave in at the slightest tremor, an eventuality that had always been much more a matter of when rather than if.
“M' sorry” You mumbled through tear. “I don't know why—”
He shushed you, his left hand rubbing your back while his right kept your head against his shoulder.
“No, baby, don't be sorry” He mumbled back, his lips finding your temple. “You just went through hell. You were a fucking rock star in there, you're allowed to let it out”
Like your body knew no other imperative than his word, the tears picked up tenfold. You felt yourself melt into him as the fight left you entirely.
After you fell asleep in the rover, Jack had cleaned up the mess at the farm house with the police. He had seen with his own two eyes the infamous injured robber with a hole cut on the top right of his hoodie, and most specifically, the messy yet bomb proof stitching he could recognize out of a thousand. A stitching that bore your signature just as much as the one you wrote with a pen.
That couldn't have been anything but a bullet wound. A fucking bullet wound with no exit point. If you had stitched, it meant that the bullet was out, and if it was out, it meant that you had taken it out.
Without a surgeon, without a doctor. Only with a field dressing kit and your wits. And you kept him alive through all of that.
That feat on its own was fucking insane.
And if the hostages half coherent testimonies relayed to him were to be believed, you had also been the reason why the 18 people in there with you were still alive, too.
“I'm so proud of you” He sighed into your hair. “My brave girl”
You stayed there in his arms, almost limp as your crying finally quieted down. You felt him shift to his right foot and readjust a couple of time, and that's what finally snapped you out of your trance-like state like a shockwave up your spine. You slightly pulled away to take off your weight from him, suddenly hyper aware of his own discomfort.
“Your leg's killing you” You muttered as you looked down to his prostheses. “Where's your crutch? Go sit—”
He pulled you back against him, gently but firmly. “Don't care. I'll stand here as long as you need”
You frowned against his shoulder. “No, I can't, I'll- I'll go get your crutch, you need to sit—”
You felt him shake his head no against yours as he stubbornly held you tighter again. “I don’t want to” His voice then clouded, dropping lower. “I can't”
You closed your eyes as the small hitch in his voice registered. You felt him take a deep, shaky breath under your cheek while the rest of his body stood stiff.
“I fucked up” He finally admitted. “I fucked up bad, and I'm afraid that if I let go you'll be gone again”
Your breath caught in your throat at his raw honesty. You were at loss for words, not having the emotional capacity at the moment to process this in any other way than holding tighter too, hands bunching the back of his shirt.
Then he said your name, repeating it a few more time like a mantra. You shut your eyes even tighter.
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry” The words kept tumbling out. “I was a fucking asshole. I hurt you. And I definitely don't deserve you now. But fuck I need you here with me”
Your head spun, dizzy with disbelief at his sincerity and unable to do anything but replay his words over and over again like a lost echo in the caves of you chest. He made his declaration with an astonishing lack of hesitation, leaving no hidden motivation, no space for second guessing, no alternative interpretation but the literal meaning of his words. It made your resolve crumble and fall like it had never been there at all.
You had tried to separate yourself from him, you really did. You had wanted to prove yourself you were strong.
You were not.
And you were okay with the thought, as much as you knew you shouldn't. You were tired of always being strong. And beside, the few moments you had spent with Jack after months of keeping yourself strictly away from him only cemented in your mind the idea that you would always be exactly where you belonged, as long as he stood by your side.
He gently cradled your face in his hands, tilting it up to look at him. Your entire body remained relaxed to it, its long integrated subconscious memory that his touch would never hurt.
“Please” His words were breathless as you locked gazes with him. The redness of his eyes made his hazel irises seem a gorgeous shade of green as he held back tears. “I'll beg you for the rest of my life if that's what it takes, but I can't lose you again. I can’t”
You closed your eyes again and let your forehead fall forward until it touched his. You could feel his thumbs rubbing absentminded circles on your jaw as his breath synced with yours, re-attuning yourselves to each other like you had been for so many years. Jack had made a home entirely too deep under your skin to rip it off, no matter how long you'd go without being near him. You could feel it now as the missing puzzle piece slid back into its rightful place, completing the picture.
No one else would do it for you.
Your hands left his back and gently rested at the base of his neck where your thumbs touched skin. You felt goosebumps erupt under the feather light presses of you fingers there.
“Then don't” You whispered so close to his lips that he could almost taste the words. “Don't lose me again”
You didn't dare open your eyes to watch his reaction, but you felt his piercing stare as your words hung heavily in the narrow space between the two of you. His touch shifted on your jaw, a silent encouragement to own up to your word. You refused to give in, terrified of what you'd see if you did; you couldn't handle another disappointment, not now.
You could feel the slight insistence in his touch.
“Look at me”
Your eyes opened of their own accord, immediately caught in the trap of his gaze.
All of Jack's walls had been torn down, ripped apart in a desperate attempt to let you in. It had been his mistake last time, to shut down, to lock you out in a stupid attempt to protect the both of you. He couldn't even recall from what.
Yet, here you were, letting him off the hook with a stern warning. Don't lose me again. He didn’t deserve that mercy from you, none of it. Yet, you still gave it to him, with no malice, no conditions, no hesitation. You gave him a second chance he thought he had blown long ago, and it made him want to do better, to do so much better so he could be someone worthy of your love.
Luckily for him, he was a very goal oriented man and all the motivation he needed was right in front of him.
“It's me and you now” He finally spoke in a whisper that seared his words into your bones. If felt definitive, steady, certain beyond the shadow of a doubt. “I love you. I want you. All of you. And I'm not letting you slip through my fingers ever again”
You could have sworn the world stopped turning as soon as he said those words. You had imagined a thousand different scenarios in which he'd have confessed his feelings— none of them featuring you bawling your eyes out after a hostage situation— but there you were. Jack Abbot, stripped bare of any pretense, blowing the door wide open into his mind and into what he wanted. The sight was as unsettling as it was breathtaking. It appealed to you in ways previously unknown to your being, knowing he meant it more than anything he’s ever said. And you believed him, God, you believed him.
“Me and you” You repeated, sealing the promise with invisible bounds. “Always”
He nodded once, then again, hand shifting on your face as her rubbed circles over your temples with his thumb. The relaxing motion combined with the crash of the emotions brought another wave of fatigue upon you, and your felt your limbs suddenly grow heavy in his hold.
Of course he noticed before you could even tell him.
Jack had grown just as attuned to your nonverbal as you were, more often than not anticipating your needs before you could voice them. He gifted you the privilege of being known and being seen in a world where you had to be the observant one anywhere outside the walls of your home.
“C'mon” He muttered, nodding towards the guest bathroom. “Let's get that blood off of you, then we can go to sleep, yeah?”
His hand found yours before he even stepped out of your space, intertwining your fingers together to keep at least one line of skin to skin contact. You followed him to the guest bathroom, the very one that you'd made yours, once. This time, it felt bare, untouched, like you had been the last person to step foot in it after you threw everything of yours there hazardously in a backpack with the rest of your stuff.
“Sit”
You glance to where he was pointing on the counter, then back to him to find him already expectant. You shook your head.
“Bathtub”
Your counter offer puzzled him for a moment, his eyes instinctively going to the shower bath in there.
“Your leg” You then added. “You need to sit”
The bath ledge was designed large enough for one to use it as a seat. It was clearly on purpose, with grippy material and a folding door instead of a rail. It was meant to be easier to use for Jack if the shower in his room with the chair was to be unusable for a period of time.
You held out your hand in support as he took a careful seat first, straddling the ledge of the tub with prosthetic leg on the outside. You followed him suit, sitting in from of him.
There was a moment of silence then as you just stared at each other. You knew what you logically should do next—and it's not like he had never seen you in a sports bra before. Still you hesitated, hand ghosting at the hem of your shirt. The action felt loaded now, it felt strangely intimate whereas before it was nothing but an operational necessity.
Jack's eyes went from your face, to your hand. Yet he said nothing of it, feeling for himself the shift. He waited for you, basking in the serenity of the moment. It was the dead of the night, everything was still. There was no rush, no expectation, only you.
He watched your movement with fascination as you finally peeled your shirt off, carefully pulling it over your head. The damp cotton, probably ruined by blood and sweat to ever wear it again, was stuck and dried already to your skin, leaving itchy spots behind.
Jack didn't follow the motion of your arm throwing the shirt on the floor. Instead, he mapped the streaks of dark red coating your skin, linking scars together like a constellation. He spotted the old faded ones from your youth, the ones you acquired from simply existing at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then the newer ones you gained from being the best version of yourself, one that stood solidly between danger and the innocent, one that made sure the cycle of violence did not get past you even if it meant absorbing the hit.
You had been shaped by violence, but you've never let yourself be defined by it. You had never raised a hand against a fly, even if some might have deserved push back. Despite your tough façade, you were kind to those who needed kindness, a calming presence to those who needed grounding, an honest voice through the noise.
Sometimes Jack wondered how you did it—how you managed to stay that strong all the time, always taking hits that you never returned.
You felt your muscles involuntarily contract and shiver under his gaze like his hands were already trailing over your skin. He was appraising you as if it was the first time he saw you—truly saw you—which, in a way, it was.
Wordlessly, he reached in the small shelf behind him, grabbing a washcloth, soaking it under warm water from the bath faucet.
He started with your face, gently wiping off the remnants of the blood he couldn't get with the antiseptic wipe back at the farm house. His free hand came to rest at the base of your skull, gently supporting your head against the soft pressure on your cheek. He took great care to clean the wound on the cheekbone, working around the blue-ish swelling as he watched your reaction for any flinching or wincing.
“How'd you get that one?” He muttered, rinsing the washcloth.
“Butt of a semi automatic” You replied under your breath. “Spoke out of turn”
A small, almost imperceptible smile grace his lips as his touch returned to your face. He only hummed, as if saying of course you did. He could be telling you to be careful, and to stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger, but that would make him an hypocrite, and beside, he'd be lying to himself to think this fearless side of you wasn't incredibly attractive to him. He could well imagine you in there, calm, collected and competent, seeing someone in need and not thinking twice before helping them.
“Well, it won't need stitches” He said as he moved your head slightly to the side. “Just a bit of care”
The movement you made was barely a nod as he moved the washcloth to your hairline. He could see the dried blood on the right side of your scalp, sticking to your hair, and while that would take a proper shower to get off, he'd a least be able to relieve the itching he just knew you'd been ignoring for far too long.
He watched you as your eyes flickered closed at the contact of the warm water on your scalp. Your shoulders finally starting to relax at the almost petting motion of the washcloth. He moved through your scalp, then behind your ears and down your neck.
Your eyes reopened as he reached your collarbone, the pattern of the washcloth becoming a bit less purposeful. You found him with a laser like focus on the gleaming of the droplets under the low lights, eyes suddenly much darker as he traced it down a pale streak of blood and sweat to the swell of your breast. The intensity of his gaze took you by surprise, sending a shiver up your spine and erupting your skin with goosebumps.
That made is eyes flicker back up to yours, not losing the heat on the way up.
You could feel your heartbeat quicken as you held the staring contest. His nonverbal was loud and clear as he fought with himself, trying so damn hard to remain proper. It was interesting, to say the least, to observe Jack Abbot be anything than fully dedicated to his task; to discover that some things, some really, really simple things could distract him and make his mind wander.
Still, like the good soldier he was, he recomposed himself, pretending he couldn't feel the heat of your skin through the washcloth. You recognized the renewed determination in his eyes, the same he had when patients were rolled his way in the ER.
Watching him like this was just as enticing as his touch on you.
Careful, efficient, controlled.
The contrast with the heated darkness in his eyes was an fascinating one. It woke up feelings within that had been dormant for years, quiet, laying in wait for someone to bring them forward.
“You found me”
You didn't know why you said it, but it came out on its own, deviating the course of your thoughts with a sharp left hand turn. All this overthinking about finding long lost feelings steered your mind to it, coming to the realization that Jack had found you awfully quick in that safe house. The robbers had been so certain they hadn't been followed, they had checked the radars multiple times to make sure no police were on their trail.
Yet, that SWAT team had appeared in front of you barely half an hour after you holed up in there.
Jack barely even faltered, only looking up at you as he wiped the last of the blood on your ribs. He threw the washcloth in the tub as his eyes crinkled, crow feet prominent under the soft light of the bathroom.
“I'll always find you”
There was something in his eyes then that made you tilt your head to the side. There was a part of you that was really flattered, that wanted to just melt into him.
There was another, however, that read the glint in his eyes, one you were most familiar with, and figured it out by yourself. The glint that pulled you into familiar territory, into this irresistible lure that enthralled you to reach forward for it at the cost of breaking the moment.
“It was the location thing, wasn't it?”
He couldn't help the smile and chuckle this time.
“I was trying to be sweet”
You felt yourself mimicking his expression, feeling the first genuine smile stretch your lips in months. Something new, lighter set in your heart at his teasing tone.
This was the Jack you knew.
“It was very poetic”
He rolled his eyes playfully as he began standing up, carefully avoiding to put weight on his prostheses. Without thinking much, you lifted your arm, offering it as a railing. His hand went to it automatically, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He muttered a quiet thanks as he regained his footing, then offered his hand to you. You followed him up and into the hallway, right past the guest room.
You had been in room only a couple of time while you had lived there. You had preferred to leave it as his space, his own little world to retreat too.
It felt like him.
Free of clutter, straight to the point, but still warm enough to feel safe.
“You can grab a t-shirt in the dresser” He said as he let go of your hand and sat on the side of the bed. “Underwear too. I promise they're clean”
You couldn't help but snort as your fingers drummed on the oak dresser.
“The two drawers on top”
He really did try not to look. He really did.
As soon as you began peeling off your bra, he occupied himself with taking off his leg, pointedly not looking in your direction to defend whatever modesty he could afford you—like he hadn't been staring at your chest like a teenage boy moments ago.
It was the sound of the drawer being pulled open that made him look, a natural, human reaction to noise.
It's not like he looked for long either. It was just a quick glance that he redirected to the floor as quickly as he could, but it had been long enough to see the architecture of your bare back muscles at work, flexing and pulling as you slipped his shirt—his shirt— over your shoulders. He could feel himself blushing like a schoolboy at the thought of watching you undress in his room tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after.
It felt strange.
It felt strange to want something he was allowed to have. It felt strange to be able to let go the guilt of wanting, after all these years denying himself. The road ahead was far from clear, he wasn't naive enough to think it would be rainbows and unicorns—not after everything, not after the specifically cruel way he almost fucked it up. But for the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to.
Something to hold on to.
“… want one?”
He blinked as your voice snapped him out of his head, his eyes finding you in the doorway. He pointedly kept his gaze on your face and not on your bare legs. “Huh?”
Your expression turned slightly amused as you watched him very clearly come back from a trip into his own mind.
“I said, I'm gonna grab a glass of water, want one?”
“I'm good” His voice came out hoarse. “Thanks”
You gave him a nod and retreated to the kitchen. He could hear you move around, opening and closing the cabinets and turning on the faucet as he massaged his leg. Then your footsteps returned, growing closer to the room. He glanced at his nightstand and frowned, then angled his body to face you.
“Hey, I forgot my—”
He was interrupted by you throwing him a small orange bottle, which he caught more by reflex than any conscious decision he made.
“Lyrica on the counter” You finished for him with a small smile as you made your way to the bed. “Right next to the fridge”
He just watched you, eyes wide.
You placed your glass on the nightstand and sat on the bed with him, letting out a drawn out yawn, and seemingly having not idea that Jack had blue screened.
He had a bad habit of leaving his medication in the kitchen, as it was easier to remember to take before leaving for work if it was there. That arrangement, however, meant that often than not, he had to drag himself back there in the evenings when he inevitably forgot to bring a pill with him to go to bed.
You had not only remembered where he always left his medication, but you had brought it to him without him asking you for it.
You noticed the lack of movement on his end as you pulled your legs under the covers. You blinked a couple of time, tilting your head to the side. “… Did I bring the wrong medicine?”
He let a few beats pass, his features morphing into a warmth resembling renewed amazement. He could see it now as clear as day, that something that had always been there but that he never let himself perceive. He felt both incredibly stupid for not welcoming this sooner, and incredibly lucky that he somehow wasn't too late to do so. There was absolutely no doubt now, he couldn't be anywhere but by your side.
He didn't want to be anywhere else ever again either.
“Nope” He finally breathed out, chest suddenly much lighter than it's been in months. “It's… exactly what I needed”
You gave him a small cryptic smile as you slid deeper under the covers, feeling your body melt of its own accord at the safety and comfort his space naturally wrapped you with. Heaviness quickly overcame you as your mind forced you to let go, finally freeing you from the survival mode you've been stuck in for months now. You felt him joining you shortly after, his arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his warm chest as if you had done it for years.
That's how right it felt.
You nestled yourself deeper into his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. “Thank you”
You felt his hum vibrate in his chest under your cheek. “For what?”
“Finding me” You mumbled back, feeling yourself finally drift off.
You didn't see his expression change, but if you had, it would have broken your heart. You had played it off lowkey earlier, but there was no filter holding you back now. You sounded small and vulnerable and fragile—something you'd never allow if you hadn't been on your last fumes—expressing gratitude for something he should have been doing long ago already. He held you a bit tighter as he chased the lump in his throat.
“I meant it, by the way” His words were breathless over your hair. “I'll always find you”
Your breathing changed then, slowing down to a soft rhythm.
Then he added, more so for himself than you now unconscious form.
i'm editing IX right now but I'm in the middle of a very stressful move (finally getting my own apartment but everything has gone wrong x100) so it might get delayed 😭😭
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 3,847
Chapter warnings: Jack in uniform, (very likely) incorrect police protocol, language, most of chapter happening through Jack's eyes.
Chapter Summary: Jack is called on SWAT shift on a spring afternoon for a bank robbery ;)
< Previous
When Jack heard the radio chatter on the police scanners halfway though his day off, he had almost laughed at what he heard.
Bank robbery.
Who even robbed banks in broad daylight anymore anyway?
Still, he had been at the hangar within 15 minutes to suit up and prepare the armored vehicle, then on his way with the squad within 20.
The afternoon sun was glaring down on the street that had already been cleared by the police. It was early spring, but the humidity was heavy and seeping through Jack's clothes. He could already feel the friction against his prosthetic leg, but his laser like focus on the situation made it easy to ignore.
He busied himself with helping his team to set up a proper barricade, hauling around sandbags and stretching out barbed wires around the street.
All that moving around was killing his leg. Still, he powered through, carrying his weight and then some more.
The bench in the back of the tactical rover was within sight and calling his name for a well deserved break when the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. He paused his steps, slowly scanning his environment. His instincts and subconscious were communicating with each other faster than he could follow, yet, he listened enough to understand they wanted to tell him something.
Nothing seemed really out of place, well, beside the military barricade around a bank in the middle of the afternoon. No bomb, no IED, no suspicious pile of rocks that shouldn't be standing, nothing that could blow up and injure one of his guys. He was starting to believe this feeling had been a fluke when he saw it.
He knew that color scheme all too well, mostly from it haunting his nightmares.
He froze in his track, eyes zeroing on the bullets ridden black and white motorcycle on the ground. The very same you had been religiously patching up for years every time it got a little scratch.
The same one you categorically refused to part with, despite his pleading you'd at least let him buy you a new, safer bike.
He had just known one day the sight of it would bear terrible news. He could feel his heartbeat in his eardrums, hoping to whatever higher power out there that he had been mistaken and it wasn't your bike. But the longer he looked, the more this foolish hope dissipated. He could see your handiwork even from where he was standing—no one else was so meticulous in refreshing a bike' paint job.
The only hope, or rather, denial he had left then was that you had been at the café on the corner of the street instead of at the bank when the bullet started to fly.
He should have known by now that he wouldn't be that lucky, because all of his forced positive thinking towards the situation got smashed in a thousand pieces when he heard your voice slice through the silence like a hot knife though his chest.
He spun around to see you there, hands in the air with blood running down your forearms. Years and years of being throw into countless insane emergencies allowed him to keep his composure on the outside, but all he wanted to do right now was to scream.
The last time he had even seen you for longer than a few fleeting seconds during patient exchange, he had made the worst fucking mistake of his life. He had been cruel to you in a way you didn't deserve and unknowingly, at the moment, driven away one of the only great thing he's had in a decade.
Your absence had been felt the moment you had shut that door.
The very energy that kept him moving forward for all that time had been sucked out of the room like a vacuum along with the very air he breathed. At first he was able to convince himself the pressure in his chest was just remorse for having been an absolute dick about it. He had still believed that he had been right, that both yours and his feelings conflated companionship and love and that putting a stop to it before it developed into something dangerous was the smartest course of action. He had also believed and that at any moment you'd come back to talk it out.
But then, you didn't.
You didn't call and didn't text.
And then a week later, he came back after his shift to see every single one of your belonging gone like you had never been there. More than 10 years erased, sanitized out of his apartment, making it go from a home to a merely a house.
Pride and stubbornness was what held him back from biting the bullet and texting first. Then, as time passed without any news of you, as he noticed you avoiding him like the plague, the unpleasantly disappointing feeling of being right truly settled.
You had most likely realized you were better off without him, realized that he made you so miserable that the very thought of returning to him was inconceivable. Even when both Robby and Dana decided to team up to inform him that you had been full on flirting with Santos as a last ditch effort to force him to do something about it, it had only served as another reason to stay out of your life.
So he let you go, even if it had destroyed him in the process.
Yet, standing here now, seeing you on the other end of multiple weapons—front, back, left and right—your life on the line, he regretted it all.
“—for fuck sake, Abbott!”
Captain Pymm snapped in his face, tearing him out of his head. He blinked a few times, shaking the ringing in his head.
“They want a medical kit”
Jack's eyes went from Pymm to you, observing how your safety glasses were on and your belt pouches were open. You had clearly been treating injuries in there, he could tell not only by the blood, but from the single focus in your eyes he knew from watching you work. If you were there requesting more supplies, it meant there was a shit show happening inside of those walls.
“License checks out, but…” Pymm said, crossing his arms against his chest. “Think it's a trap? That she's with them?”
“No” Jack answered immediately. “She's my…” He paused, realizing what his brain had decided to supply as the correct answer to Pymm's question. He cleared his throat before he could finish that thought. “If she's here now it means one or more person is injured and she needs to treat them”
“One of their own?”
Jack paused on this one. “Hard to say. Maybe. But on the off chance it’s for a hostage, I say we do it”
He had a feeling that you were the one who asked for the med kit, not the robbers. If there was one thing you couldn't stand, it was to not get involved when someone got hurt. It didn't matter of it was your best friend or your worst enemy, you were driven by your need to help people. You had once told him that your Do no harm pledge has been your most important moral imperative, which you kept proving time and time again. Always stepping in to take care of people, always trying to minimize injuries and casualties. It was truly one of the thing he admired the most about you.
Pymm frowned, knowing there was something major here he was missing there but he nodded nevertheless. He trusted Abbot on these matters as much as any of his men on the permanent squad, and if Abbot said to send a med kit, he would not start questioning his judgment now.
Jack went back to the rover and opened the armored box, making sure everything was fully restocked for whatever emergency you were dealing with in there, then strapped the thing to the robot and sent it past the safety perimeter. He watched it reach you, and his chest caved in once again as you disappeared out of his view.
Then, it was nearly an hour again until there was movement.
Pymm got on the radio as it screeched alive.
“They've got transport” The lookout said as clear as day even through the static. “Two cars, split ways. Got eyes on one of them, thermal cams are catching one person in. We're pursuit, but the other vehicle is gone. Over.”
“They got through the barricade?” Pymm's voice was like a leather whip in the air. “Someone fucking let them out?”
As soon as the words were out, all hell broke lose.
Pymm began barking orders on the radio, snipers began shooting out of Jack's view, then men on the ground reassembled into formation and headed for the entrance of the bank.
As they swarmed the main door, the next worse thing that happened, happened.
All hostages came out running like a stampede, disorganized and screaming. It suddenly became increasingly hard to keep an eye on the potential perpetrators as they all ran out in different directions.
Jack stepped up, staying behind the advancing SWAT team to catch and shepherd the hostages. Paramedics weren't far behind, and while his attention was mostly on his guys, he did count each head that came out running out.
18 you had said.
His count indeed came to 18 just as the last hostage walked by him. His eyes went to the empty street, finding no one else wandering around. Panic gripped his heart once again when he realized that all hostages had been out, but you were nowhere in sight.
He put a hand on the woman's shoulder, and she halted her steps.
“Is there anyone else inside?” He asked, trying to keep his voice under control. “Any other hostage?”
She shook her head, wiping her tears away with a black trail of mascara. “No, they left and we all got out”
“What about the medic?” He found himself asking. “There was an EMT in there—”
Recognition passed over her eyes. “Y-yeah they took her with them, they were about to kill us and she made sure we could get out and oh my god they were going to kill us—”
She was interrupted by a paramedic rounding up, noticing her distress and enveloping her in a shock blanket. Jack stared at her retreating form, his thoughts a million miles away as he tried to steady his mind. The world began spinning around way too quickly, so much that he almost lost his footing as he tried to return to his med rover.
His hand slapped on the carbon fiber of the vehicle as he mustered every ounce of self control to get himself together. He had survived active combat, bombs raining down on him and his team, countless medical chaos— he should be able to keep his composure. Yet, all of his thoughts felt like sand in his hands; impossible to grasp on and fast disappearing.
He tried to focus his mind on the next step, scouring his brain for a modicum of useful information that could help him and his team to track the second vehicle, but all he could think about was that last day with you.
How he had let you down.
How the last time he had heard your voice, it had been loaded with anger and betrayal.
How barely a few hours after he thought he had lost you to an active shooter, he went and finished the job himself like a fucking idiot.
It had been—
The racing of his mind came to an screeching halt as the picture of you in the hospital bed came increasingly clear, sharpening in his brain with vivid colours. Without further thinking, his hand went to his pocket, grabbing his phone.
Please, please, please, please, please.
He unlocked the phone and went to his emails, opening the thread under your name and praying for one single miracle today.
“Getaway vehicle 1 south bound on the highway” Pymm yelled as the team shoved themselves in the rovers. “Abbot, we gotta move, we need to find that second one—”
His head snapped up, eyes wild but strangely alive.
“We may not have to look very far” He replied, returning his gaze to the phone. His mind came together like a completed puzzle, focus shifting into gear like a dog locked onto a scent. “I think I might have a way to—”
Sweets, you beautiful genius.
It was like a seven ton weight lifted of his shoulder when his screen suddenly showed him your live location, racing down some back roads away from the city in the other direction than the dot they were already tracking. He had completely forgotten that you had ever shared your location with him, and by the looks of it, so did you.
It had been a long shot, but he knew you kept your phone on silent and do not disturb in the pocket on your left thigh; nobody, especially not yourself, would have taken it out of there.
“I’ve got their location” His words came out strong and authoritative. “Westbound on Baldwin road”
“How the hell?”
“The medic— They took her. She's in the other car. And her phone. In her side pocket” He answered as if it explained anything. He was already securing the backup medic kit to the rover before Pymm even caught up with his scattered logic. “I'm tracking it”
“Good enough for me” Pymm reached for his radio. “Attention first unit, we have a live location of the robbers. Team Alpha southbound, team Delta Westbound. Delta, keep it on the down low, shadow them, follow at a distance. Still one hostage in the vehicle. Over.”
In two minutes, the two rovers were barrelling down the streets, one with police escort and the other, completely alone, not to alarm the robbers and make them something irrational.
Like shooting you.
They drove for half an hour until your signal slowed down, turning into suburbs roads. Then, twenty minutes more until it fully halted.
A safe house, most likely.
They didn’t give the robbers the time to settle. They rushed down the long driveway and surrounded the house in minutes.
Jack watched as another shootout unfolded in front of his eyes. His blood pressure was near damn the full on heart attack threshold, both worrying about you and his friends on the squad.
He should have remained by the rovers and his med kit.
But he was never good at staying still.
Without a second thought, he ran in the townhouse, through the dust and bullets, looking for you.
He went by his initial assumption that the robbers had someone injured on their team, and that you wouldn't be far from that person. So he looked for flat surfaces with someone lying on it, first floor, somewhere easy to reach.
You hadn't been very hard to find with this hypothesis.
As expected, he found you curled up at the foot of a wall in the kitchen, your arms covering your head to avoid being caught in the crossfire. In an instant, he was crouching in front of you, grabbing your wrist and calling your name.
“Sweets, hey, c'mon, we gotta get out of here—”
He was taken aback by how you stared at him— eyes bloodshot, bags dragging down your face, absolutely drenched in blood, yet, annoyed as fuck.
You squinted your eyes. “Back again? I thought I told you to fuck off”
He blinked once, then twice. “What”
You curled further up on yourself. “I don't need another hallucination of you telling me what to do, Jack”
A frown of pure confusion pulled his features. For a moment, he had thought you were referring to the day he broke your heart. He was fully ready to face your ire, but he hadn't expected it to happen in an active shootout. Then, your addition to the conversation caught up with his brain and subsequently short circuited him.
“Another hal— Have you lost your mind?”
It slipped before he could rephrase.
Still, you scoffed. “What gives?”
He couldn't believe he was even having that conversation, but here he fucking was, trying to get you to do something that should be very, very simple. He had to take a few seconds he didn’t have to properly reboot.
“Sweets, I'm here, I'm real”
You eyed him up and down, slowly, like a woman truly in another world altogether. “Clearly not if you're wearing this uniform. That is…” You trailed off, nodding to yourself as your gaze took him in again. “… a hundred percent a product of my imagination”
He didn't know how to answer that. His mouth hung open for a second, until he shut it and swallowed hard. He could feel the back of his neck warm up as your words truly registered. He had begun picking up SWAT shift after you had left, of course you wouldn't have expected him there, let alone dressed like that.
And what was that about you hallucinating him telling you what to do?
“Sweets…” His voice cracked, flustered. He cleared his throat and intertwined his gloved hand in yours. “I'm gonna have to insist that I'm real, and that I need to get you out of there”
Your eyes left his face to glance at your joined hands. You gave it a little squeeze, and your entire expression shifted like clarity had been forcefully injected in your veins. “Oh shit you're actually here”
His eyebrows raised to the ceiling as he nodded.
When your eyes found his again, they were wild with recognition. “Holy fucking shit”
“Yeah” He replied, tugging on your hand. “We gotta go”
You pushed yourself on your knees and onto your feet, then helped Jack stand up too. Crouching like that must have hurt like hell with his prosthetic leg, if his groan standing up was anything to go by. Leaning on each other for support, you got out of the house until you reached safety behind the med vehicle.
As soon as he was certain you were out of danger, Jack left and Dr. Abbot stepped in. His hands went to your jaw, stabilizing your face as he assessed you for injuries. He began by pulling away your working glasses from your face and setting them aside, then began his thorough examination. You tried to wiggle out of his grip, but you had no more energy and he wasn't interested in letting go.
“Hold still” His tone left no space for negotiation, so you just gave in, relaxing in his hands. “Good girl”
You blamed your 23rd hour awake for how your knees buckled.
He reached behind you in the medical kit for some antiseptic wipes, tearing open the package and gently wiped the blood streaks from your face. He moved so reverently for what it could have been, brushing your skin like it was the fraying marble on a priceless sculpture. In any other situation, you'd have found it unnecessary and borderline insulting, but after a long day of everything going wrong, his touch was a lifeline that you desperately held on to.
There was so, so many things the two of you still had to set straight, but for now, the familiarity of his presence was all the comfort you needed.
You had missed it much, much more than you were willing to admit at the moment.
His hands moved from your face to your neck, then collarbone, feeling for any bump or painful spots. He was methodical, leaving no joint or vein unchecked as he hade his way down your chest and hips.
“I'm fine” You mumbled as his attention returned to your face.
His eyes found yours, and suddenly his finger appeared in your field of vision as he completely ignored your protest.
Right, left, up, down.
You followed the finger, and he seemed satisfied with what he saw
“See?”
He didn't look away from you. “You need to get checked again at the hospital, I'll order you a CT—”
“What I need is my bed” You cut him off. “I'll go to the hospital tomorrow. Now I just need to sleep”
He was about to protest.
“Please, Jack”
The way you looked at him almost undid him. You were visibly exhausted, crashing from the adrenaline and vulnerable after an extremely stressful situation. He nodded, his hand finding your again.
You didn't fight him on that either.
“Take a nap in the back of the rover” He muttered as he began hearing the police sirens finally catching up with the action. “I think we'll be here for a while. I'll wake you up before we leave”
As if on cue, you yawned. “Yeah. I think I earned that, didn't I?”
A small grin stretched on his lips. “There she is”
He helped you up in the vehicle and fetched you a scratchy blanket. It wasn't the most comfortable set up, but in your state, you'd have gladly taken anything horizontal, so you weren't much bothered.
It has taken you 27 seconds to fall asleep.
He counted.
He watched you for a few minutes, fond smile lighting up his features, before returning his attention to the team.
When you finally came back into the land of the living, it was already dark. You jolted up, restrained across your chest and definitely not where your last memory placed you.
“Easy, you’re fine”
And just like that, your mind and body relaxed before you could even register your environment. They had been much, much faster than your in recognizing his voice than your conscious self. Then, you took in the familiar truck, and the CD playing softly in the background.
Jack's voice, Jack's truck and Jack's favourite CD.
No doubt about where you were now.
“Whatapn”
He chuckled. “Woah, that's the sound of a good nap”
You looked out of the window to the right city lights and frowned. “Are we back in the city?”
Your words were still slurred, but understandable this time around.
He nodded. “I didn't wake you up when we left. I… wanted to let you sleep”
He wouldn't let you know anytime soon that he had spent the entire way back home in the back of an uncomfortable cop car with you, your head cradled in his chest as he smoothed the bumps of the road and kept you comfortable there because he didn’t want you to wake up alone with strangers, thinking he had ran away again.
You rubbed your eyes, nodding back. You took a glance at the passing signs, quickly situating yourself in the city and the direction you were going.
“Jack”
“Mh?”
“My apartment's not that way”
His eyes remained on the road, but his expression shifted into something bittersweet.
“I'm not taking you there” He took your hand across the console. “I don't want you alone right now. I'm taking you home”
summary - no matter how hard you try, you can’t quit jack abbot.
wc - 12.4k (SORRY IM USED TO WRITING SERIES FR)
warnings/tags - MDNI, toxic jack, toxic reader, reader is described as female, angst, good friend ellis, probable inaccuracies for nurse duties, jealous jack, avoidant reader, avoidant jack, unprotected p in v, reader does something so toxic for jack, resolution at the end
a/n -- inspired by the song 'stop' by bella kay -- ok i had a real fun time with this one. This is for all my baddies who have been in a situationship beforeeeee shit is not for the weak! This went on for a while and possibly lost the plot toward the end but idk yall let me know what you think I’m still new to one-shots hehe
masterlist
The lights in the PTMC were giving you a headache.
Bright, fluorescent, and just harsh enough to remind you that you hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep this afternoon. And now an incoming GSW was exactly what you needed to get the adrenaline pumping again.
You’d always loved the night shift. There was something about working while most of the city slept, even though the world outside never really stopped moving.
Sure, it didn’t leave much room for a social life beyond the friends you’d made in the ED, and your version of nightlife looked a lot different from most young, single people your age.
Not that you minded.
You’d traded clubs for dive bars sometime in your mid-twenties anyway.
These days, your idea of unwinding was nursing a strong cocktail in a dimly lit booth, the kind of place with sticky floors and questionable music. Sometimes with your favorite coworkers. Sometimes alone.
And afterward?
Well.
A little stress relief never hurt anybody.
“Where’d you go just now?”
The sound of a tablet scraping across the main desk of the Pitt pulled you from whatever mental vacation you’d been taking.
You blinked twice and looked up to find Dr. Ellis standing across from you, peering down slightly as you practically slumped against the desk. Papers were scattered in front of you, charts half-finished, and your collection of glitter pens lay in disarray from when you’d knocked over the holder while chasing a naked patient down the hallway an hour ago.
“Oh, you know.” You waved a hand vaguely. “My happy place.”
The sarcasm was obvious—a reference to the self-care seminar Robby had forced every nurse to attend last month.
You waved yourself off, changing the subject. “What’s the ETA on the GSW?”
“Rerouted to Westbridge. We may actually get a chance to—”
“Don’t you dare say it.”
Shen appeared beside you, leaning onto the desk with an iced coffee in hand.
“You gonna put a coaster under that Pink Drink?” you asked, nodding toward the condensation already racing down the side of the plastic cup. “Or you gonna let it sweat all over someone’s x-rays?”
Shen scoffed.
“I’ve told you before. It’s only pink because of the limited-edition strawberry syrup.”
He said it like you were somehow the ridiculous one.
“As long as it’s not the Sabrina Carpenter drink anymore, I don’t give two shits what’s in it.”
Ellis shot you a look of agreement. “I cannot listen to the chorus of Espresso one more time for at least six months.”
“But it’s the song of the summer!”
“It was the song of the summer. Two years ago, Shen.”
Shaking your head, you grabbed a coaster and slid it beneath his cup since he seemed entirely uninterested in doing it himself.
Shen muttered something under his breath about being “culturally underappreciated” before taking a giant slurp from his iced coffee.
“See?” Ellis said, watching him intently. “This is why we can’t have nice things.
“No, lack of public funding is why we can’t have nice things.”
“You seem slightly more aggressive than usual. What’s up?”
“Other than the fact that I slept maybe three hours earlier?” You rubbed your forehead, keeping your eyes trained on the double doors like if you stayed vigilant enough, gurneys and EMTs would simply stop coming through them. “Existential dread. The naked patient practically assaulting me earlier. The parent who claimed I was indoctrinating their child into Buddhism—a religion I do not practice.”
She whistled.
“Been a minute, huh?”
Your eyes narrowed.
“Since what?”
“Since you’ve seen him.”
Your face twisted into something that could only be described as a mixture of surprise and disdain.
Shen’s eyes darted between you two, leaning in slightly closer to you in anticipation as his mouth was somehow still wrapped around the orange and pink straw.
“Am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?”
“Oh, come on. Every time you show up here in a foul mood, it’s been at least a week since you and him met up. You’re practically a billboard with ‘needs to get laid’ written across it in bright red font.”
“I am not that readable.”
Shen decided this was a good time to join in, adding, “Earlier, you told Whitaker he should consider putting up a ‘For Sale’ sign for tiny elves to live in his hair.”
You frowned, eyes still fixed on the double doors as your fingers fidgeted with your badge.
“Okay, and was I wrong? He needs a curl routine. I’ve been telling him that for a year now. It’s not a good look for us.”
She offered you an amused smile, the kind she always did. Parker Ellis was probably your favorite doctor in the department—always willing to help despite half of it falling outside her responsibilities, always ready with advice when you needed it. You knew she didn’t hand that out to everyone, which only made you appreciate it more.
And Shen was…well, he was Shen. You got a laugh out of him every so often.
You didn’t typically make a habit of getting close with the doctors, as they tended to be in and out of a hospital most of the time. The other nurses were more your speed, but something about the doctors of the night shift—
“Hey, we all need ways to relieve stress when we work in a place like this. I take edibles. Shen plays a concerning amount of Minecraft. You choose to indulge in a toxic situationship with a guy who only calls you when he wants to get his rocks off.”
“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds pathetic.”
“Shen’s Minecraft addiction is pathetic.”
“The fuck?” Shen scrunched his face at the stray comment, but Ellis only continued.
You bit the inside of your cheek, failing miserably at suppressing your laughter as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead briefly against his shoulder.
She pointed a finger at you. “—You’re a consenting adult. As long as nobody’s getting hurt, who cares if all you and this dude see each other for is sex?”
Your stomach tightened a little at that.
Her question didn’t exactly sit well because—
She added, “Plus, from what you’ve told me, it’s pretty damn good.”
A throat cleared beside you.
You were a nurse in an emergency department. It didn’t exactly say it in the job posting, but “know the vibes of every doctor who works here and find a way to cohesively fit into the team so you can make their lives easier because that’ll actually make your life easier” might as well have been in the fine print. At least, that’s what Dana told you on your first day.
So you knew how different residents operated. You knew how the interns behaved. And you definitely knew how attendings liked to, well, attend.
And this particular attending usually cleared his throat when he found you chatting at the desk with doctors that weren’t him.
You straightened, your expression tightening—not at all like a kid caught talking in class—as your eyes met his.
Dr. Jack Abbot had a particular habit of appearing whenever you were having a perfectly pleasant conversation with another doctor.
It was one of the more irritating things about him.
You’d noticed it months ago.
The second he caught you leaning against a desk with Shen, laughing at something Ellis said, or discussing anything not directly related to patient care, he’d suddenly remember a task that needed doing. A chart that needed updating. A patient that needed medication. An ortho consult that should’ve been paged five minutes ago.
Always work-related.
And always suspiciously timed.
You knew how attendings operated. You knew which ones were strict, which ones were laid back, which ones expected perfection and which ones expected effort.
Jack wasn’t actually hard on you.
The annoying part was that he seemed to save this particular brand of impatience exclusively for moments when you were talking to somebody else.
Which bothered you more than you’d ever admit out loud because you were good at your job.
Your patient satisfaction scores were always high. You stayed late when people needed help. Even Gloria had thrown the occasional “good work” your way, which was practically a standing ovation.
So every time he acted like you were one conversation away from bringing the entire department to its knees, it got under your skin.
“Are we almost through with the social hour,” he asked, hands tucked casually into his pockets, “or can we get some morphine to bed three sometime tonight?”
Right on schedule.
You glanced at the clock—you’d been standing there for approximately forty-five seconds.
“No, we’re through,” you offered him a saccharine smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Good.” He nodded once, now turning to Shen. “You’re needed in Peds.”
He stepped past Ellis, whose eyes tracked him before flicking back to you. Shen trailed behind, a mischievous look on his face. She let out a small huff of laughter, then glanced after him again.
Until she looked at you, which, your facial expression could only be described as someone who had just had their parade rained on, set on fire, and then clinically assessed by Jack Abbot
“Yeah…maybe call dude up and see if you can find some time,” she said. “Because you’re wound tighter than wire around a coil.”
“I can relieve stress without sacrificing my self-respect, Ellis.”
“Can you?”
You scoffed, clutching a hand to your chest in exaggerated offense.
“I don’t need some man to help me relax—especially not one who’s as emotionally constipated as this guy is.”
You gathered your pens quickly and messily, stress and dishonesty practically radiating off you in waves. Ellis watched with a knowing look as you shoved a blue glitter pen into the pocket of your scrubs. One sleeve of your baby pink undershirt was pushed halfway up your arm, the other hanging past your wrist.
You were a mess.
“You can’t quit him, can you?” she asked bluntly.
Your head jerked up, strands of hair falling across your cheeks.
“I can stop whenever I want.”
The rest of the shift didn’t get any kinder.
It never did.
A patient screamed at you because the wait time “felt like a violation of human rights,” which, according to him, apparently included triage priority and two actively coding traumas that had rolled in back-to-back.
Another tried to leave against medical advice with an IV still in, insisting you were “controlling the narrative of his body autonomy,” which you would’ve laughed at if you weren’t already three coffees deep and running on pure spite.
The coffee was its own horror story.
Burnt, lukewarm, and somehow still sour, like it had given up on being coffee halfway through its existence. You drank it anyway.
By the time the worst of the chaos finally slowed, your scrubs felt like they had absorbed the entire shift—bloodless but heavy, like your exhaustion had physical weight. Your head ached in that dull, persistent way that made every overhead announcement sound like it was being shouted directly inside your eardrums.
You charted on autopilot. Answered pages. Signed off on things you barely remembered reading.
And all the while, there was that steady hum underneath everything.
Not the monitors beeping or the coding alarms.
You.
Something restless in your chest that wouldn’t settle no matter how much you moved, no matter how much you did, no matter how many people you helped.
When you finally clocked out, the morning air hit you like a kind of mercy.
It was quiet. Empty enough to feel almost unreal after the controlled chaos of the ED. You liked how walking out of a shift into a brand new day felt like a fresh start.
You sat in your car for a moment before starting it.
Hands on the wheel. Forehead leaning briefly against it. Eyes closed.
The silence should’ve helped—but it didn’t. Because now there was nothing to distract you from your own thoughts.
From the shift replaying in fragments—flourescent lights, Ellis’s teasing, Jack’s annoyed glance across the desk, the way your body always seemed to register him before your mind caught up.
And worse than that.
The way your mind kept circling back to the same thing, over and over, like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. The way his eyes flicked between your chin on Shen’s shoulder, the sharpness in his stare when he’d paused—just for a second too long—before speaking.
The way it shouldn’t have meant anything.
And the worst part was how quickly he’d buried it again, like nothing had happened at all.
You exhaled slowly, started the car, and just drove.
Traffic lights sliding over your windshield in slow, rhythmic pulses. Red. Green. Red again. The city moving around you like it didn’t know or care what kind of night shift you’d had.
Your hands stayed steady on the wheel, but your mind didn’t.
It kept drifting back to relief.
To something that would make the tightness in your chest loosen for even a little while.
And the more you tried not to think about it, the more obvious it became what your body was already deciding for you.
You didn’t end up at home.
You didn’t even hesitate when you pulled into his building.
You just sat there for a second in the driver’s seat, engine ticking softly as it cooled, staring up at the familiar windows.
Then you got out.
Second guessed your decision.
You walked up anyway.
Because you could tell yourself a lot of things.
That it was just stress.
That it was just habit.
But your hand was already lifting before you could talk yourself out of it.
And then you were knocking on Jack Abbot’s door.
Like he was expecting you, he swung the door open with a familiarity that always managed to piss you off.
You hated being expected. It meant you weren’t as convincing as you thought every time you swore it was the last time.
“Back so soon?” he asked.
There were two voices in your head.
The first was logical. The one that listed consequences and self-respect and the long, boring, very healthy path of walking away.
The second was louder.
And a hell of a lot faster.
“Shut up,” you said.
And then your lips were on his.
There was no hesitation from him.
His hand came up to your jaw like it had done this before, like it knew exactly where you’d break and where you wouldn’t. The door clicked shut behind you, but you barely registered it.
Not when he was already pulling you closer.
Not when the shift started dissolving at the edges the way it always did the second he touched you.
You told yourself, distantly, that you’d meant to stop.
That you’d been serious this time.
That you were still someone who made decisions and followed through on them.
But that version of you didn’t stand a chance in his apartment.
“What did I tell you about sitting around and talking on shift?” His voice was low against your mouth.
Your hands found his chest—whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren't entirely sure. The fabric of his shirt was soft under your palms, warm from his body, and you could feel his heartbeat beneath it. Steady. Unhurried.
Like he had all the time in the world.
“I told you,” You glared up at him defiantly. “I’d stop when you admitted why it bothers you so much,”
He walked you backward until your shoulders hit the wall, and the impact sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the collision. His knee slid between your thighs, and you made a sound that would've embarrassed you if you had any dignity left to spare.
You didn't.
Not here. Not with him.
“It doesn’t bother me,”
His lips moved to your jaw, then lower, tracing a path down the side of your neck that made your breath hitch.
“You’re such a liar,” You tilted your head without thinking, giving him access, and felt his mouth curve into a smile against your skin.
Smug bastard.
"Guessing this is the last time?" he murmured, changing the subject like he always did, rough in a way that shouldn't have worked as well as it did.
Your eyes snapped open.
The audacity.
"Keep opening your mouth," you said, breathless but sharp, "and I'll walk out."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face was infuriating. Amused. Knowing. Like he could see straight through every lie you'd ever told yourself about this.
About him.
"We both know you won't."
Your jaw tightened.
Because he was right, and you both knew it, and that made it so much worse.
You should've said something cutting. Should've shoved him back and proven him wrong just to wipe that look off his face.
Instead, you kissed him again.
Harder this time. Angrier, maybe. Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer even as some distant part of your brain screamed at you to stop. To leave. To have even a shred of self-respect.
But his hands were on your waist now, thumbs pressing into your hips through the thin fabric of your scrubs, and every coherent thought you'd had dissolved under the weight of it.
This was what you'd come here for.
Not conversation. Not comfort.
Just this—the way he touched you like he'd memorized every place that made you fall apart. The way your body responded before your mind could catch up. The way everything else faded into background noise.
His mouth moved back to your neck, and you felt his teeth graze your pulse point. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make you gasp.
"You're terrible at this," he said against your skin.
"At what?"
"Pretending you don't want to be here."
Your hands slid up to his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to make a point.
"You're terrible at shutting up."
He laughed—low and quiet and far too pleased with himself—and the sound vibrated through you in a way that made your knees feel unsteady.
His hands moved lower, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your scrub top, and the contact of his skin against yours sent a shiver up your spine. Warm. Rough in places. Familiar in a way that made your chest threaten to explode.
You'd told yourself you wouldn't do this again.
You'd meant it, too.
At least in the moment.
But here you were, pressed against his entryway wall at six in the morning, letting him unravel you piece by piece like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Because it was for him.
That was the problem.
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, and there was something in his expression that you couldn't quite read. Something that looked almost like concern, if you didn't know better.
"Long shift?" he asked.
You let out a breathless laugh. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Pretend you care."
His jaw tightened, just slightly, and for a second you thought he might actually say something real. Something that wasn't wrapped in sarcasm or deflection.
But then his mouth was on yours again, and the moment passed.
Maybe that was better.
Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in it as you kissed him back with everything you had left. All the frustration and exhaustion and restless energy that had been building under your skin for hours—and since the last time a week ago—poured into it.
He made a sound low in his throat, and his grip on your hips tightened.
You were going to regret this.
You always did.
But right now, with his body pressed against yours and his hands pulling you closer, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
Not when this was the only thing that made the tightness in your chest loosen. The only thing that made you feel like you could breathe.
Even if it was temporary.
Even if it was a lie.
His hands slid higher beneath your shirt, and you arched into the touch without thinking. Your back pressed harder against the wall, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that you were still wearing your work shoes.
That you hadn't even made it past the entryway.
That this was exactly how it always went.
But then his mouth found that spot just below your ear, and every rational thought you'd ever had scattered like smoke.
"Bedroom," you managed, though it came out more like a plea than a command.
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and the look on his face was devastating.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay."
And then his hand was in yours, and he was leading you deeper into the apartment.
Into the same mistake you'd made a dozen times before.
The one you'd probably make a dozen more times.
You were going insane, to say the least.
After that last time, you once again swore you could stop, and when Jack Abbot laughed in your face, you swore that spite would carry you through.
That was three weeks ago.
Your body was practically screaming at you for release.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried—you had your own methods of relief at home, in various sizes and shapes, but he might as well have put a curse on you. He plagued your mind, your thoughts, and now, even your damn fantasies. You couldn’t even get past closing your eyes with your head on the pillow without hearing his voice in your ear.
“Are you listening?”
“No,” You admitted.
Ellis smirked. “Wow, that was easy.”
“I gotta stop,” You said, more so to yourself. “I need to get past this guy, this can’t be healthy.”
“I mean, I could’ve told you that a year ago,”
“See? Even that is embarrassing—doing this for an entire year.”
“How did it even start, anyway?”
Her question was one you often asked yourself.
You were literally there, and somehow it was still remarkable that any of this had managed to happen in the first place.
It had started on one of those rare nights when you didn’t have work. Even rarer, you didn’t have a shift the next day either. So you joined a few of your ED friends for their weekly gathering at the pub down the street from the PTMC.
He was there too.
Before you’d ever spoken to Jack Abbot, you’d noticed him.
You noticed everything about him, actually.
The commanding presence that never felt overbearing. The quiet charm. The way people naturally gravitated toward him without him seeming to ask for their attention.
Then you started working together.
And assisting Jack was easy in a way that shouldn’t have mattered. The two of you seemed to fall into a rhythm almost immediately, anticipating what the other needed before it was said aloud. You worked well with plenty of doctors, but with him it felt different. Smoother.
Natural.
The night at the pub passed slowly, conversations drifting from work gossip to stories about patients to the kind of personal details people only share after a drink or two. You got to know some of the day-shift staff in a way you never really could during a chaotic handoff.
Then, little by little, people started peeling off.
Heading home to partners, spouses, kids, pets.
Eventually, it was just you and Jack left at the table—and neither of you had anyone waiting at home.
So the conversation kept going.
And going.
Until the bartender started flashing the lights for last call.
You could admit now that the alcohol wasn’t the only reason you agreed when he suggested moving the party to his place.
That began a bad habit of spending nights off together at his apartment, which turned into you following him home from work twice a week. Until it was happening every day.
Until—
“I’m calling psych,” Ellis said abruptly. “Dude has you dissociating.”
“Can you cut me some slack?” you groaned. “My sleep score on this stupid Oura ring is averaging like a 42, and no amount of Dunkin from Shen is helping. In fact, it’s probably making it worse.”
“I told you that ring is full of shit.”
“Probably,” you admitted, “but there’s no doubt this whole…situation has tanked my ability to sleep.”
“You know what?” Ellis leaned in slightly, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I’ve got a friend who’s recently single. Maybe I can set you two up.”
You ignored the immediate flicker of alarm in your chest—the automatic warning your brain always set off at the mere suggestion of entertaining any man who wasn’t the night shift attending.
“I don’t know,” you said instead, fingers fidgeting with your badge—the stupid tell he’d pointed out once.
The second Ellis said it, something in you tightened.
A sharp, instinctive recoil you didn’t get a vote in.
Like your body had heard the suggestion and decided, absolutely not.
It made no sense, really. It was just a date. Just an option sitting harmlessly on the desk between you.
“You know,” you added lightly, like it didn’t matter, like you weren’t suddenly hyperaware of your own pulse, “I’m… probably just not in a dating place right now.”
Her head tilted in that knowing way. “Not in a dating place.”
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Night shift keeps me way too busy—”
“Yet you have time to get in that man’s bed?”
The words hit before you could stop them from hitting. Your brain didn’t even get a chance to form a response—
—Because, conveniently, Crus appeared like a lifeline in scrubs, walking up with a chart for Ellis to sign, as if he’d been sent by the universe specifically to rescue you from this conversation.
Your face lit up at the sudden exit.
“I totally forgot Crus put a pot of coffee on earlier. I’m gonna go try it!”
And before anyone could stop you, you were already backing away from the desk.
Fast.
A little too fast.
“No, I didn’t—” He started.
“Thanks, Crusy!”
You were gone before she could finish.
Crus blinked, looking between you and Ellis as you disappeared down the hall. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”
Ellis didn’t even look up from the chart.
“Avoidant attachment.”
Your eyes squeezed shut in relief as you slipped into the break room, the door still in your hand behind your back as you exhaled slowly.
Then the illusion cracked, and you heard a low chuckle cut through the silence.
You didn’t open your eyes. Didn’t need to.
“Mid-shift pick-me-up?”
You scowled in the direction of his voice, finally letting your eyes open. Jack was standing between you and the whirring coffee pot, one arm lazily leaning on the back of a chair like he had nowhere better to be, like he hadn’t just fucked your entire attempt at emotional escape.
“Is there any more?” you asked, because you could be strong. You could be level-headed around him.
“I’m makin’ some,” he said. “Someone drank all of it.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking down over you in that quiet, habitual way he had. Not obvious—never obvious. Just enough to feel.
“Someone tired.”
“Hm,” you hummed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting that you, in fact, were not getting any sleep.
“Been a while,” he added after a beat.
His gaze lifted again, slower this time, like he was taking inventory. Like he needed to memorize you again after any stretch of absence.
“I told you,” you said, crossing your arms as you stepped further into the room. “That was the last time.”
“Sure it was.”
Maybe it was his tone. Maybe it was the disbelief. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d tried—unsuccessfully—to get yourself over the finish line this morning three separate times before you finally gave up on hearing his voice in your head.
Either way, something in you snapped.
You walked closer, eyes locked on his, mouth set in a thin, controlled line.
“I meant it that night,” you said, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. “I’m done.”
“Are you?”
“Yep. I even have a date.”
Something flashed in his eyes—quick, unreadable—but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by something sharper. More challenging.
“A date.”
“Ellis’ friend. She’s setting it up.”
“And when is this ‘date’?”
You hated the way he said it.
Like it wasn’t real. Like it wasn’t solid yet. Like it didn’t deserve space in the same room as him.
And sure, okay, it wasn’t.
But it still made your jaw tighten.
“What do you care?”
“So I can be available,” he said evenly, “for when you inevitably come by after.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“Well that’s presumptuous.”
“Is it?” His gaze didn’t move from yours. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
You almost choked on the speed at which you snapped back.
“That—that was because we had just had that mass casualty that fucked me up and you know that.”
“I also know,” he said, voice calmer now, almost tired in the way he said it, “that you tend to try to date other people.”
A beat.
“And somehow,” he added, eyes still on you, “you still end up here.”
“I can assure you, Dr. Abbot,” you said, smiling softly—mocking, sweet—using his title the way he’d told you to in public. “I can, in fact, date other people.”
He bent down slowly, bringing himself to your level. Close enough that the space between you stopped feeling like space at all.
“I’d love to see you try.”
And that’s how you ended up at a bar.
Sitting across from Ellis’ friend.
Ordering drinks. Making polite conversation. Nodding at the right moments. Smiling at the right times.
You did everything you were supposed to do.
You even laughed once or twice.
Ellis’ friend was nice. Normal. Stable in the way that should’ve felt like relief.
He didn’t have a traumatic past, or carefully measured words that felt like something else was always hiding underneath them. No guarded edges. No unreadable silences that made you feel like you were constantly trying to translate him.
And yet, every time your phone buzzed against the table, your attention flicked to it before you could stop yourself.
Every time the door opened behind him, something in your chest tightened on instinct.
And every time it wasn’t him, you hated yourself a little more for noticing.
This was what you wanted, right?
Distance.
Options.
Proof.
A life that didn’t orbit a man who barely admitted you mattered outside of four walls and a locked door.
But instead, you just kept thinking about how quiet your apartment would be after this. How loud your thoughts would be.
And how unfair it was that even here—on a date you’d insisted you could handle—you still felt like you were waiting for something else.
Ellis’ friend excused himself to use the restroom, giving your brain a brief opening—just enough quiet to pull you back to a night you hadn’t fully unpacked.
A night you almost told Ellis about.
It had been somewhere in the middle of it all—those weeks where “indulging” had stopped feeling like a choice and started feeling like a routine.
You remember stopping at his front door, scrubs wrinkled from where they’d been tossed somewhere on his bedroom floor, hair slightly mussed, still carrying the aftermath of him in the most intoxicating way.
You’d turned to him in the doorway, eyes lifting to his.
That expectant look you wore sometimes. The one that, for some reason, seemed to scare him more than anything else.
“Hey,” you started carefully. “What do we say if people ask, you know…”
“We don’t say anything.”
His voice hadn’t been soft.
It hadn’t been cruel either.
Just certain.
You blinked. “Right, but… like, what is it?”
A shift.
Barely there, but you saw it. The way he opened the door a little wider. His mouth parted, like he was going to explain it. Clarify it. Do something that would either help you or hurt you.
And you couldn’t stand the idea of either.
So you stopped him.
“Sorry,” you laughed quickly, even though something in your chest was already starting to cave in on itself. “Right. Yeah. Obviously this is nothing—you’re the attending. I just meant like, so no one at work mentions it. And you don’t get in trouble. I mean, you’re not technically my superior anyway, so we’re probably fine. And now I’m rambling. I’m gonna go.”
“Hey, I—”
“No, Dr. Abbot, you really don’t need to say anything. We’re good.”
A beat.
“You can… uh. Call me Jack. Here, anyway.”
It should’ve meant something.
And it almost did.
But his usual composure was slightly off, like he was trying to catch up to the moment and not entirely succeeding.
You just nodded. “Sure,” you said softly, already stepping back. “Anyway… see you at work.”
And then you left.
With your pride carefully, quietly, and completely dismantled.
What you didn’t say out loud—what you never said out loud—was that those weeks had started to feel like something you could accidentally get used to.
Sleeping over on nights off. Coffee in the morning. His apartment slowly becoming familiar to you.
And you were naïve enough, back then, to think that familiarity might mean you were building something.
Not just…falling into it alone.
And of course you were—what did you expect? That sleeping with the night-shift attending would somehow evolve into anything other than an inevitable fizzling out?
You had a habit of falling too hard in places you didn’t belong.
And this was just another version of that.
After that night, you both pulled back.
Careful, deliberate distance.
At work, you moved around each other like opposing currents in the same hallway—efficient, professional, slightly off in rhythm. Enough acknowledgment to function, not enough to blur anything further. Contact reduced to necessity. Words clipped.
Waiting, almost.
For something to shift.
For someone to say something that neither of you were willing to be first to say.
Until you broke first.
And after that, the pattern settled in: you’d show up at his place after hard shifts, or on days off when your mind wouldn’t quiet down. You’d get exactly what you knew he was willing to give—nothing more, nothing less.
And then you’d leave.
You’d swear it was the last.
Until it wasn’t.
“Ready to go?” Ellis’ friend asked as he returned to the table.
You nodded, grateful for an excuse to leave before your brain wandered any further down memory lane.
“Yeah. Early shift tomorrow.”
It was a lie.
A small one, but a useful one.
The check was paid and a few minutes later you found yourself in the passenger seat of his car. You’d Ubered to the bar, assuming you’d just call one home afterward.
Back when you’d thought you’d actually be paying attention to this date. But how could you refuse a free ride home?
The drive was pleasant. He was pleasant. That seemed to be the problem—nothing was wrong. No red flags. No awkward silences. No glaring incompatibilities.
Just an overwhelming absence of whatever stupid thing—or person—your brain seemed determined to chase.
Streetlights blurred past outside the window.
You stared at them.
Half-listening as he talked about something involving his neighbor and a broken sprinkler system.
“Alright,” he said eventually, slowing at a red light. “Where am I taking you?”
You answered without thinking.
“Fourth and Mercer.”
The words left your mouth automatically.
Like muscle memory.
Like reciting your own address.
Then you froze.
Because Fourth and Mercer wasn’t your address.
It was Jack’s.
The realization hit about half a second too late.
For a moment, you just stared out the windshield.
Then you laughed.
Once.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
You rubbed a hand over your face.
The normal response would be to correct yourself.
Give him your actual address. Go home. Take off your makeup. Get some sleep.
Maybe unpack whatever psychological damage had just caused you to instinctively send a date to another man’s apartment.
Instead, you found yourself shaking your head.
“Actually…” You looked back out the window. “Yeah. That’s right.”
The second the words left your mouth, you wanted to launch yourself out of the moving vehicle.
Because what the fuck was wrong with you?
Seriously.
What kind of person goes on a date with one man, accidentally gives another man’s address, realizes what they’ve done, and then decides to commit to it?
Apparently you.
You, who had spent the last month insisting you were done.
You, who had spent the last week avoiding him in the hospital whenever possible.
You, who had sat across from a perfectly attractive, emotionally available man for two hours only to subconsciously recite Jack Abbot’s address like it was your own.
Insane.
Clinically insane.
Potentially diagnosable.
If Ellis found out about this, she’d never let you hear the end of it.
Hell, if you found out someone else had done this, you’d tell them to seek professional help immediately.
And yet, the thought of seeing Jack—
You shoved that one away immediately.
Nope.
You were not about to sit here and unpack whatever deeply concerning emotional implications were hidden inside the fact that his address lived in your head rent-free.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything.
Maybe it was muscle memory.
Maybe your brain had been permanently damaged by night shift.
All plausible explanations.
Far more plausible than the alternative.
True delusion and toxicity drove you out of the car.
You offered your date a small wave through the passenger window, ignoring the increasingly bewildered expression on his face, before shutting the door and turning toward the building.
If he had questions, he was kind enough not to ask them.
Which was good.
Because you didn’t have answers.
Your feet carried you up the familiar steps before your brain could mount any meaningful objection. Through the front entrance. Down the hallway. To a door you could probably locate blindfolded at this point.
The realization should’ve horrified you.
Instead, it barely registered.
You knocked once.
And the door swung open almost immediately.
"Don't."
The word came out sharp. A warning.
To him. Maybe to yourself.
But Jack just stood there in the doorway—sweatpants hanging low on his hips, white t-shirt, hands in his pockets—and that look on his face that said he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
Smug didn't even begin to cover it.
You should've turned around.
Should've walked away.
Instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward you.
Your mouth found his before either of you could say another word, and the kiss was immediate. Desperate. All teeth and urgency and the kind of need that made rational thought impossible.
He didn't hesitate.
His hands were on you instantly—one sliding to your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck as he walked you backward until your spine hit the entryway wall with a dull thud.
This was the pattern.
The same one you'd fallen into a dozen times before.
You never made it all the way inside.
Not at first.
Something about the threshold—the space between leaving and staying—always unraveled you both.
His mouth moved against yours with the kind of confidence that made your knees weak, his body pressing into you until there was no space left between you. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his lips.
"Even had him drop you off, huh?"
The words were low. Amused. Spoken directly against your mouth between kisses.
Your stomach dropped.
Because of course he knew.
Of course he'd been watching from the window. Of course he'd seen you get out of another man's car and walk straight to his door like you had no other choice.
"Jack—"
"Shh." His thumb brushed along your jaw, tilting your face up as his mouth found the corner of yours. Then your cheek. Then just below your ear. "It's okay."
It wasn't okay.
Nothing about this was okay.
You'd just come from a date with someone else. Someone normal. Someone who didn't make you feel like you were constantly drowning.
And yet here you were, pinned against an entryway wall, heart racing, breath coming in short gasps as Jack's hands roamed over you like he owned every inch.
The worst part?
You wanted him to.
God, you hated yourself for it.
Hated how easily you melted under his touch. How your body responded before your brain could catch up. How the shame of it all only seemed to make you want him more.
His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the hem of your dress, and you bit down on your lip to keep from making a sound.
"So eager to see me," he murmured against your neck, his voice dropping into that register that made your thighs clench. "Couldn't even wait to get inside."
Your hands fisted in his shirt as he kicked the door shut, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to push him away.
"What a good girl, always coming back to me."
The words hit you like a physical thing.
Your breath caught. Heat flooded your face—and lower—and you wanted to argue, wanted to tell him to fuck off, wanted to do anything other than stand there and let him see exactly what those words did to you.
But you couldn't.
Because he knew.
He always knew.
His mouth found yours again, slower this time, more deliberate, and his hand finally slipped beneath the fabric of your dress. Fingers trailing up your thigh with maddening patience.
You made a sound—something between a whimper and a protest—and he smiled against your lips.
"That's it," he said quietly. "Just like that."
You were going to hell.
Or maybe you were already there.
Because the only thing worse than how much you wanted this—wanted him—was how much he knew it.
How easily he could unravel you with a look, a touch, a handful of words that made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
Even if it was the last place you should've gone.
His hands moved to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks, and he hiked your dress up in one smooth motion. The fabric bunched around your waist as he pulled you closer, one hand sliding to the back of your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around him.
The wall was cold against your back. Unforgiving.
He wasn't.
Or maybe he was—just in a different way. Unforgiving in the way he kept you circling the same drain, always one step short of whatever this was actually becoming. Always dancing right up to the edge of it, like neither of you could decide who was supposed to fall first.
His mouth found your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as his other hand worked between you, pushing aside fabric, finding exactly what he wanted with the kind of precision that made your head spin.
"Jack—"
"Yeah," His voice was low, thick with desire. "Right here, sweetheart."
And then he was inside you.
The stretch, the fullness, the way your body yielded to him so easily—it was too much and not enough all at once. Your head fell back against the wall, a broken sound escaping your throat as he held you there, pinned between him and the plaster.
He didn't move. Not yet.
Just stayed there, buried deep, his forehead pressed against your temple, his breath hot against your ear.
"Tell me," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this."
Your nails dug into his shoulders.
"Jack—"
"Say it." His hips shifted slightly, just enough to make you gasp. "Tell me you don't need this."
You couldn't.
The words wouldn't come.
Because they'd be a lie, and you both knew it.
He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before driving back in with enough force to make you cry out. The sound echoed in the narrow entryway, shameless and desperate.
"That's what I thought," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
He set a rhythm then—slow, deliberate, controlled. Each thrust calculated to pull sounds from you that you didn't want to make. Each movement designed to remind you exactly who was in charge here.
"You can't get enough of this, can you?" His hand tightened on your thigh, holding you open for him. "Can't stay away."
"Don't—" The word came out as a whimper.
"Don't what?" He punctuated the question with a particularly deep thrust that had your vision blurring. "Don't tell the truth? Don't make you admit it?"
Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard enough that it should've hurt, but he just groaned and moved faster.
"Say it," he demanded, his mouth against your jaw. "Tell me you need this."
"I—" You couldn't finish. Couldn't force the words past the shame and the pleasure tangled so tightly together you couldn't separate them anymore.
He slowed. Almost stopped.
"Say it, or I stop."
"No—" The protest was immediate, desperate. "Please—"
"Please what?"
You swore you hated him.
Hated how easily he could reduce you to this—begging, pleading, completely at his mercy.
"I need it," you gasped out, the admission burning in your throat. "I need—fuck—I need you."
The smile you felt against your skin was pure victory.
"There she is," he murmured, his pace picking up again. "My good girl. So honest when I'm inside you.
The wall dug into your spine with each thrust. Your leg was starting to shake where it was wrapped around him. Everything was too much—the angle, the intensity, the way he looked at you like he'd won something.
Because he had.
"You came straight here," he continued, his voice rough now, control starting to fray at the edges. "Didn't even go home first. Just needed me that badly."
"Yes—" The word broke on a moan.
"Even after your little date. Even after trying so hard to move on."
"Jack—please—"
"Please what? Make you come? Make you forget about him?" His hand slid between you, finding exactly where you needed him. "Make you remember who you belong to?"
You shattered.
The orgasm hit you like a wave, pulling you under, drowning you in sensation. Your body clenched around him, trembling, and you heard yourself crying out his name like a prayer or a curse—you couldn't tell which anymore.
He followed seconds later, his grip on you tightening, his face buried in your neck as he came with a low groan that you felt more than heard.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Just stayed there, pressed together in the hallway, breathing hard, hearts racing.
He followed seconds later, his grip on you tightening, his face buried in your neck as he came with a low groan that you felt more than heard.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Just stayed there, pressed together in the hallway, breathing hard, hearts racing.
Your leg was still wrapped around him. His hand still gripped your thigh. The wall was still cold against your back, but his body was warm—solid—and for just a second, you let yourself stay there.
Before reality could catch up.
Then he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, and his hand moved to your face. Thumb brushing your cheek in a gesture so gentle it made your chest ache. Mimicking a softness he once showed you, way back before this all got entangled in the way these things did.
"Stay."
The word hung between you.
You blinked. "What?"
"Stay over." His voice was quieter now. "Tonight."
Your heart did something complicated.
Because he'd never asked that before—at least, not since that morning. Not since you'd tried to define this thing and shut it down and he let you walk away pretending it didn't matter.
You stared at him, searching his face for something—anything—that would tell you what this meant.
But his expression was unreadable.
Guarded.
Same as always.
"I—" You started to pull away, to put distance between you, but his hand on your waist kept you there. "I should go."
"How?" he asked simply. "Your date dropped you off, remember?"
The logic of it hit you like cold water.
Right.
You'd given Jack's address. You'd gotten out of the car here. You didn't have your own car. You'd have to call an Uber, and it was late, and—
"I can call a ride," you said, even though the words felt hollow.
"You could."
He didn't move.
Didn't push.
Just waited.
And somehow that was worse.
Because you couldn't tell if he actually wanted you to stay or if he was just Jack Abbot, night shift attending, solving a problem. Couldn't tell if this was something or if you were reading into it the way you always did—seeing meaning where there wasn't any.
"Jack—"
"It's late," he said. "You're here. Just stay."
Your throat tightened.
"Why?"
The question came out smaller than you meant it to.
He looked at you for a long moment.
Then his hand dropped from your face, and he stepped back, giving you space. Letting your leg slide down until you were standing on your own again.
"Because I'm asking you to."
That was it.
No explanation. No declaration. No answer to the question you were really asking.
Just that.
You wanted to leave.
Wanted to walk out the door and prove to yourself—and to him—that you could.
But your feet didn't move.
And he knew it.
He always knew.
"Okay,"
It started small.
It was always small things with him—never enough to point at, never enough to accuse, never enough to justify the way it started messing with your head.
But you noticed everything anyway.
The way he paused—just briefly—before walking away from your station, like he was deciding whether or not to say something that wasn’t strictly necessary.
He never used to hesitate.
That was new.
And it made you hyper-aware of everything else.
He didn’t lean into the sarcasm as much when Shen made some comment that would’ve normally earned a dry remark from him. He didn’t linger in the doorway of trauma bays the way he used to, but he also didn’t leave as quickly either—like he was calibrating your distance instead of defaulting to it.
Even his silence felt different.
Intentional.
And it was fucking with you.
Because if you were being honest—if you were being brutally honest—you had built a system around the predictability of him.
Cold when he needed to be. Detached when he wanted to be. Clear lines, clear roles, clear nothing-you-could-misinterpret.
It had been easier that way.
Safer.
Even if it drove you insane.
But now?
Now there were these almost-imperceptible deviations in the pattern.
Like he was…paying attention in a way that wasn’t strictly required.
And you hated that your brain immediately started translating it into something dangerous.
Hope, maybe.
Or worse—meaning.
You were charting at the nurse’s station when he appeared behind you, not speaking right away. Just there. Close enough that you registered him before you turned.
“Can I see bed six’s labs?” he asked finally.
Normal.
Professional.
Except he didn’t leave immediately after you handed them over.
He looked at them.
Then at you.
Then back at the chart like he was stalling for time that didn’t exist.
“You didn’t get coffee,” he said.
You blinked once. “I did. Earlier.”
A pause.
“I meant since then.”
There it was again.
That thing.
That quiet attention that didn’t match the version of him you had built your rules around.
“I’ve been busy,” you said carefully.
“I know.”
You turned back to your chart like it was suddenly fascinating, because looking at him for too long felt like stepping too close to something you’d been actively trying not to name.
“You’re being weird today,” you muttered.
A beat.
“I’m not.”
You almost laughed at that.
Because if this was him not being weird, then you didn’t know what reality you were in anymore.
He finally took a step back, but not before his eyes flicked over you once more—quick, practiced, familiar in a way that made your stomach tighten without permission.
“You should eat something,” he said.
Then he walked off.
And you sat there for a second too long, staring at the space he’d just occupied, wondering when exactly “professional concern” started feeling indistinguishable from something else entirely.
Your mind thought back to that mass casualty that happened six months ago—the day that the PTMC turned dark.
All hands on deck. Every hallway filled. Every monitor screaming for attention it didn’t have time to get. Voices overlapping until they stopped sounding like words and started sounding like pressure.
You remembered moving on autopilot.
Remembered the way your body kept going even when your brain started lagging behind it.
Remembered the moment you couldn’t take it anymore.
The stairwell had been quiet in a way that felt wrong. Not peaceful—just empty. Like the building had forgotten how to breathe.
You don’t even remember deciding to go there.
Sinking down on the step with your head in your hands while everything you’d held together for the last hour finally split open without asking your permission.
You weren’t sobbing like in movies. It was worse than that—it was silent. Like your body was trying to process too much at once and failing in real time.
You heard the door before you saw him.
He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t ask if you were okay. Didn’t do any of the things people do when they’re trying to create distance from something they don’t know how to fix.
He just came down the steps and sat beside you.
Close enough that your shoulders touched.
And then closer.
Until there wasn’t really space between you at all.
His hand didn’t hesitate when it found your back. Slow, steady pressure like he was anchoring something that kept trying to drift away.
You don’t know how long you stayed like that.
Minutes. Hours. Something outside of time entirely.
At some point, you stopped shaking.
At some point, your breathing stopped feeling like it belonged to someone else.
And at some point, you became aware of the fact that he hadn’t moved—hadn’t checked his watch. Hadn’t said a single word about needing to go back.
Just stayed.
Like leaving wasn’t an option he was considering.
When you finally pulled back, it was gradual. Reluctant. Like stepping out of water that had been keeping you alive.
You didn’t look at him at first.
Neither did he speak.
You wiped your face, exhaled once, and nodded like that was enough to reset the universe.
“Back to it?” you had said.
A pause.
Then, like nothing had happened at all:
“Yeah.”
And spent the next six months acting like something inside that stairwell hadn’t quietly rearranged itself without either of you acknowledging it.
And now, here he was, rearranging everything again.
Not in any dramatic way. Not in a way you could point to and accuse him of meaning something.
Just the damn small things.
Restocking your glitter pens without being asked. Answering patients with a clipped patience when they got too loud with you, stepping in before you even had to react. Sliding a chart back into your station that you hadn’t realized you left open, like he was quietly tidying up the edges of your shift when you weren’t looking.
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
That was the rule.
That was always the rule.
But your brain kept betraying you anyway.
Because it felt like that day in the stairwell.
And now, watching him move through the department like that again—steady, controlled, too observant for his own good—you couldn’t help the thought that crept in at the edges.
That maybe this wasn’t nothing to him either.
That maybe it had never been.
And that was the thought you needed to stay away from.
So you needed to do something drastic.
You were halfway through your coffee when the break room door opened hard enough to make you look up immediately.
Not in alarm—just recognition.
Jack stood in the doorway for a second too long, not stepping fully in right away. His attention went straight to you, skipping over everything else in the room like it wasn’t relevant.
“Why is Robby asking me about switching you to days?”
You set your cup down slowly.
Not because you were rattled.
Because you were trying to decide how much of this conversation you were willing to have before your shift even started.
“I don’t know,” you said. “Probably because it has to go through you. Staffing, scheduling, whatever.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
That was the first sign this wasn’t just about paperwork.
“It doesn’t go through me like that,” he said after a beat.
You nodded once, like that detail didn’t matter much. “Okay.”
That seemed to irritate him more than anything else so far. He stepped fully into the room now, letting the door fall shut behind him.
“You didn’t tell me,” he said.
You leaned back slightly against the counter, keeping your posture loose on purpose.
“I didn’t think I needed to.”
A pause.
His jaw tightened briefly before settling again.
“You’re changing your schedule at this hospital,” he said, more controlled now. “And I’m only hearing about it through Robby.”
“It’s not finalized yet,” you said. “It’s just a request.”
“That’s not the point.”
You watched him for a second.
He wasn’t pacing. Wasn’t raising his voice. Wasn’t doing anything obvious.
But there was something contained in the way he stood there that you were starting to recognize too well.
Like he was holding himself in place more than he was standing.
“I don’t see why it’s a problem,” you said.
“It’s not a problem,” he answered too quickly.
Then stopped.
Corrected himself, slower this time.
“It’s just…unexpected.”
You hummed slightly, almost thoughtful.
“Since when do you care what shift I work?”
His eyes flicked to yours at that, steady but sharper now.
“I don’t,” he said.
It didn’t land convincingly.
Not even close.
You didn’t push it—instead, you let the silence sit there for a moment, thickening.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
“You won’t be around as much.”
It came out like a practical observation, but it didn’t sit like one.
You looked down at your coffee for a second before answering.
“I’ll still be here,” you said. “Just different hours.”
That should’ve been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
He shifted his weight slightly, then stilled again like he’d caught himself mid-movement.
“You don’t work days,” he said.
It wasn’t a correction.
Something closer to resistance.
You glanced up again. “That’s not really a rule.”
“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”
Another pause.
This one was longer.
He looked like he was considering something he didn’t like the shape of.
Something quieter.
Something he was actively not letting develop into words.
“You’ll be harder to find,” he said finally.
You frowned slightly.
“I’m not disappearing.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
But he didn’t elaborate.
And that was the problem.
Because the things he didn’t say were starting to feel louder than the things he did.
You straightened a little, watching him now instead of your coffee.
“You’re acting like this is a bigger deal than it is,” you said carefully.
A beat.
“I’m not,” he replied.
It was immediate again.
Too immediate.
Then, quieter, like he was correcting something internal more than responding to you, “I just want to understand why now.”
You held his gaze for a moment.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was challenging your decision.
It felt like he was trying not to lose something he wasn’t allowed to call his.
“I’m tired,” you said simply. “That’s it.”
He nodded once, but it wasn’t satisfied.
Just contained.
Like he’d accepted the answer without believing it fully.
The silence stretched again—long enough that it started to feel like a decision neither of you were saying out loud.
Finally, he looked away first.
“Do what you need to do,” he said, quieter than before.
And then he stayed there a moment longer anyway.
Like leaving first would make it real.
Like not saying anything else was the closest he could get to asking you not to go.
You didn't go home after your shift.
You went to his place instead.
The drive was short enough that you didn't have time to second-guess it, which was probably the only reason you actually showed up. By the time you were standing outside his door, your scrubs still on, your bag still slung over one shoulder, the momentum was the only thing keeping you upright.
You knocked once.
Not politely.
Hard enough that it wasn't a question.
The door opened after a few seconds, and Jack stood there in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking like he'd just gotten home himself. His hair was still damp from a shower.
He didn't look surprised.
That was the first thing that pissed you off.
"We need to talk," you said.
He stepped back without a word, holding the door open.
You walked in, dropped your bag by the entrance, and turned to face him before he'd even closed the door fully.
"Why didn't you fight me on it?"
He shut the door carefully, then looked at you.
"On what?"
"Don't do that," you said. "The schedule change. You stood there earlier like it mattered, and then you just—let it go."
He exhaled slowly, like he was buying time.
"You said you were tired.”
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you gave me."
You stared at him.
He wasn't deflecting exactly—it was more like he was staying behind something. Some line he'd drawn for himself that you couldn't see but kept running into.
"You do this," you said, quieter now but no less sharp. "You act like it matters. And then the second I push, you back off like it was never a thing to begin with."
"I'm not backing off."
"Then what are you doing?"
He didn't answer right away.
You took a step closer.
"You’ve been checking on me during shifts," you said. "You ask when my dates are. You ask when I’ve eaten. You don't do that with anyone else."
"You don't know that."
"I do," you said flatly. "Everyone knows that."
His eyes flicked away briefly, then back.
"So what?" he said, and there was an edge to it now. "You want me to stop?"
"No," you said. "I want you to admit what it is."
Silence.
He shifted his weight slightly, and you saw it—the crack forming.
Small, but there.
"It doesn't have to be anything," he said finally.
You laughed, short and humorless.
"Bullshit."
"It's not—"
"Then why don't you see other people?"
That landed.
You saw it in the way his expression stilled, like you'd just said something he wasn't ready to hear out loud.
"I don't—"
"You don't," you interrupted. "I know you don't. You haven't since this started."
He looked at you for a long moment, and you could see him deciding how much to give.
Not enough.
Never enough.
"That's not your business," he said quietly.
"It is if you're going to act like I'm yours without actually saying it."
His jaw tightened again, sharper this time.
"I never said you were mine."
"You didn't have to."
Another pause.
Longer.
Heavier.
He turned slightly, like he was going to move away, then stopped himself.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, and his voice was lower now. Rougher.
"The truth," you said. "Just once."
He looked at you then—really looked—and for a second you thought he might actually do it.
Might actually let whatever he'd been holding back finally break through.
But then he shook his head, just barely.
"It's not that simple."
"It is," you said. "You're just making it complicated because you're scared."
"I'm not—"
"You are," you cut in. "You're terrified that if you call this what it is, it'll mean something. And if it means something, you'll have to actually do something about it."
He didn't deny it.
That was answer enough.
You stepped closer again, close enough now that you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had curled slightly at his sides like he was holding himself back.
"Why do you think I asked for the schedule change?" you said, quieter now.
He looked at you, and something shifted in his expression.
Something wary.
"I don't know," he said.
"Because I can't keep doing this," you said. "I can't keep waiting for you to figure out what you want while you act like I'm the only person in the room."
His throat worked briefly, like he was swallowing something down.
"I'm not asking you to wait."
"You don't have to ask," you said. "I've been doing it anyway."
That hit him.
You saw it in the way his eyes closed briefly, in the way his breath came out just a little too controlled.
When he opened his eyes again, they were darker.
"I don't want you on days," he said.
It came out rough.
Unfiltered.
Like he'd finally let something slip that he'd been holding onto too tightly.
You stared at him.
"Then say the rest of it."
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just stood there, close enough to touch, looking at you like he was trying to decide whether letting you in would break him or save him.
"I can't," he said finally.
And it sounded like the most honest thing he'd said all night.
You held his gaze for another moment, then stepped back.
"Then I'm switching to days," you said.
He flinched.
Barely—but you saw it.
"And if you want me to stay," you continued, "you're going to have to give me a reason that isn't just showing up and acting like I'm supposed to know what this is without you ever saying it."
You picked up your bag.
Turned toward the door.
His voice stopped you before you reached it.
"Don't go."
You looked back.
He was still standing in the same spot, but something in him had shifted.
Something raw.
"Not yet," he added, quieter.
You waited.
He didn't say anything else.
But he didn't look away either.
"I don't—" He stopped. Started again. "I don't know how to do this."
His voice came out rougher than before, like the words were scraping their way out.
You stayed where you were, hand still on your bag.
"I don't know how to—" Another pause. His jaw worked briefly. "How to be with someone. Not like this. Not in a way that—that means something."
He looked down, then forced himself to look back up.
"I've never—" He exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself. "I've never had to name it before. Never wanted to. Because if I don't name it, then it's just—it's just there. It exists without me having to—"
He stopped again.
You could see him fighting for the next words.
"Without me having to risk it," he finished quietly.
The silence stretched.
You didn't move.
Didn't help him.
He needed to get through this on his own.
"I'm terrified," he said, and it came out almost angry. Not at you. At himself. "I'm terrified that if I call this what it is, if I say it out loud, then it becomes something I can lose. And I—"
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"I can't lose you."
It was barely above a whisper.
"That's why I didn't fight you on the schedule," he continued, words coming faster now, like a dam breaking. "Because fighting you would've meant admitting why I wanted you to stay on nights. And I couldn't—I couldn't say that. Couldn't say that I needed you there. That I needed to know where you were, that I could find you, that you were—"
He stopped himself.
Breathed.
"That you were mine," he said finally. "Even though I had no right to think that."
You felt something shift in your chest.
"All of it," he said. "The checking on you, the showing up, keeping you close—it was because I didn't know how else to keep you. I didn't know how to just—to just be with you like a normal person. So I did it like this instead. Like I could have you without actually having to say I wanted you."
His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
"But you matter too much," he said, quieter now. "You matter too much for me to keep doing that. And I don't—I've never had that before. Never had someone matter so much that not having them felt like—"
He didn't finish.
Couldn't finish.
"I don't know how to do this," he repeated, and this time it sounded like a confession and a plea at the same time. "But I don't want you on days. I don't want you anywhere I can't find you. And I know that's—I know that's not fair, but it's the truth."
He looked at you then, fully.
Unguarded.
"I want you," he said. "I want this. Whatever this is. I just—I don't know how to do it without ruining it."
You stared at him for a long moment.
Then shook your head slowly.
"Then why," you said, voice tight but controlled, "did you say it was nothing?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"Months ago," you said. "When we—when this started. You said it was nothing. You agreed it was nothing."
His jaw tightened.
"I didn't say—"
"You did," you cut him off. "You stood there and you let me say it was casual, that it didn't mean anything, and you agreed."
"I didn't get to say what it was," he said, and there was an edge to it now. Not anger. Something closer to frustration turned inward. "I didn't—I didn't know how to say what it was."
You felt your chest tighten.
"So you just let me decide for both of us?"
"You already had decided," he shot back, quieter but sharper. "You said it first. You called it nothing before I even had a chance to figure out what the hell I was supposed to call it."
That landed harder than you expected.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
"It was easier," he continued, voice dropping. "It was easier to just—to go along with what you said. Because at least that way I didn't have to try and fail to explain something I didn't have words for."
He looked away briefly, then forced himself to look back.
"You named it," he said. "And I let you. Because I didn't know how to name it differently. And I was terrified that if I tried, I'd say the wrong thing and you'd leave."
The silence between you felt heavier now.
Different.
"So you just—what?" you said quietly. "You just let me carry that? Let me think that's all it was?"
"Yes," he said, and it sounded like an admission of guilt. "I did."
Another pause.
"Because it was easier than risking you," he added, barely audible.
You exhaled slowly, something unraveling in your chest that you hadn't realized was wound so tight.
"That's not fair," you said.
"I know.”
He didn't move. Didn't try to defend himself further.
Just stood there, letting you see exactly how much of a coward he'd been.
"You should've said something."
"I know."
But this time, he moved.
Finally.
He crossed the space between you in three steps, and then his hands were on you—one sliding around your waist, the other coming up to cup the back of your head as he pulled you against him.
The contact hit you like a shock.
Solid. Warm. Real.
His arms tightened around you, and you felt something in your chest crack open—something you'd been holding closed for so long you'd forgotten it was even there.
You didn't pull away.
Couldn't.
Your hands came up automatically, fisting in his shirt, and you pressed your face against his shoulder as everything you'd been carrying suddenly became too heavy to hold on your own.
He held you tighter.
Like he was trying to make up for every time he hadn't.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice rough against your hair. "I'm sorry I made you carry that alone."
You felt your throat tighten.
"I've been in love with you," you said, and it came out muffled against his shoulder. Quieter than you meant it to. "For a year."
His breath caught.
You felt it—the way his chest stuttered against yours, the way his grip on you shifted, became more deliberate.
More certain.
"I know," he said softly.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and his hand slid from the back of your head to cup your face instead, thumb brushing across your cheekbone.
His eyes were darker now. Softer.
"I know," he repeated, "because I've been in love with you too."
The words landed between you like something fragile and vital all at once.
You stared at him.
"The whole time?" you asked, barely above a whisper.
"The whole time," he confirmed, and his voice cracked slightly on it. "I just—I didn't know how to say it. Didn't know how to be someone who could say it."
Your eyes burned.
"You're saying it now."
"I'm saying it now," he agreed quietly.
His forehead dropped to yours, and you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of a year's worth of unnamed things finally settling into place.
"Don't switch to days," he said, and it wasn't a command. It was a request. Vulnerable. Raw. "Please. Just…stay with me."
You opened your eyes.
He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
Like maybe you always had been.
"I'm not leaving," you said finally.
His exhale was shaky with relief.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay."
He kissed your forehead, then pulled you back against him, and you let yourself sink into it—into him—for the first time without wondering if you were allowed to.
"I love you," he said quietly, like he was testing the words out. Seeing how they felt.
You felt them settle into your chest, warm and certain.
"I love you too," you said back.
And this time, when he held you, it didn't feel like he was trying to keep you coming.
Summary: You and robby have a good thing going, so good you don't mind that you two work together, or that he's twenty years older. That is, until you take him to meet your family at Thanksgiving and all those little differences you didn't seem to notice before come to the surface.
Status: 3/4 parts complete
AN: Hi, it's been a while on this one, so I wanted to post an update. It's a bit of a short chapter, but the next one will be much longer.
Previous Part | Next Part
‘Twas the morning of Thanksgiving and all through the house, not a creature was stirring except for you on Robby’s couch.
It took less than a week between your mother’s phone call and last night for you to be somehow convinced to sit through the near-seven hour drive to New Canaan and then endure Thanksgiving dinner with your family. You aren’t completely sure what took place in those six days to convince you bringing Robby along was a good idea. Maybe it was the conversation with your sister, and how she verbalized just another way that she, yet again, is not held to the same rules and ye-old strictures as you are.
“Are you sure you still want me to come?” Robby asks from the kitchen.
Last night, freshly fucked and dumb, you told your attending you loved him. Not only are you teetering on the line of inappropriate and unethical by sleeping with your boss, you are playing a dangerous game with your self respect. The frame plays over and over again in your head like a home movie, and every rewind and replay makes you cringe.
America’s Most Embarrassing Freudian Slips
You can see it now, splashed across the television screen, a clip of you confessing your love to the man you’ve been having just-a-teensy-bit-more-than-casual sex with, right after he finished inside you and rolled over with a groan. Your guardian angel must have been on the clock, working overtime to make Robby’s orgasm so intense his ears were ringing for moments after and he didn’t hear a thing you said.
The words “guardian angel” and “orgasm” should not be spoken in the same breath. You’ll have to add that to the list of transgressions for the next time you are strongarmed into going to confession and spewing your sins through a grate for a man of the cloth to get off on through his robes.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…however long it has been since I had to last pretend I still believed in God in front of my family…since my last confession.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Huh?” You look up from your lap, eyes cutting across the living room toward Robby in the kitchen, watching his moving form as he draws nearer to the sofa, a mug of steaming coffee in each hand. He passes one to you along with a temperature warning.
“I asked if you were sure about me coming to Thanksgiving dinner with your folks.” He stuffs a free hand into the pocket of his black, zip-up hoodie, one of your favorites to steal because it’s right in that sweet spot where the fabric is worn down enough to be oh-so-soft and he’s worn it so much, his scent is embedded into the fleece lining.
“Oh, right,” you huff.
Well, are you sure? Are you sure your father won’t reach for the hunting rifle above the mantle and fire a warning shot into Robby’s chest? Are you sure your mother won’t dive head-first into her first course when she sees the glimmering star of David hung around his neck? Are you super sure Hudson (who names their kid after the dirtiest river on the east coast anyway?) won’t make a snide comment or twelve about your boyfriend’s age?
“I’m sure. It’ll be great. They’ve been dying to meet you, anyway.”
“You’ve told them about me?”
“Here and there.” You shrug. “They know I’m seeing someone. Hence the badgering.”
“Ah,” is all he says, the sound riding out of his throat on a sigh. “Well, if you still want me to come, we should hit the road. Dinner’s at three, right?” He looks at the watch on his wrist, blinking as he does the math in his head. You nod. “And it’s a six-hour drive?” You nod again. “And your bags are packed?”
“Yep.”
With your gaggle of bags–way too much for an overnight stay in your old bedroom–you’re loaded up into Robby’s truck. He thought the motorcycle might not be the best mode of transportation this time.
“Ha, ha,” he drones, unamused. “Very funny. Is that because your entourage of luggage won’t fit on the back of it?”
“Meanie,” you bite back with a mischievous grin uncontrollably tugging at the corners of your mouth as you situate yourself into the passenger seat, buckling up before he has to remind you. “You’ll regret that when you need something totally random and I have one in my entourage.”
“Mhm,” he hums, putting on a pair of aviator sunglasses. “Cool, huh?” He points at the frames.
“So cool, daddy,” you tease, propping your feet up onto the dash.
He pauses, pulling the glasses down the drop of his nose, looking up at you from beneath raised brows. “You know you can’t be saying stuff like that in t-minus six hours, right? And don’t put your feet up there, your legs will go right through the windshield if we get into an accident. You’re an ER doctor. You should know that.”
You stretch your toes in defiance. “Let’s hope we don’t get into an accident then.”
Robby just shakes his head and scoffs, turning to face the road as he pulls out of the parking garage. He tries to hide it but you see a smirk blossoming on his lips.
Two hours into the drive, the sun is nearing its peak, and Robby gets a call.
“Shit.” Ah, Dr. Abbot. The screen illuminates with the message of an incoming call, the contact name striking in its informality. Jack (PMTC). “I forgot to tell him I’m going out of town. He probably wants to know if we’re still on to watch the game later.”
“You can answer it,” you say, shrugging, eyes falling back down to the book in your hands.
Robby glances over at you, one hand on the wheel. “Do I tell him he’s on speaker?”
“Just answer it on your phone.”
“How do I switch it from the car to my phone?” He starts pushing buttons on the screen, just tapping around, finger landing on nothing that will get him where he wants to go.
The man is a tenured doctor with accolades up the wazoo. He works in Emergency Medicine. He can’t work Apple CarPlay.
“Just–oh my god–press–nevermind, just answer it and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything if he says something embarrassing.”
“How do I answer it? The green button went away.”
“Yeah, because you wasted so much time trying to figure it out, he hung up or it went to voicemail.”
“Oh.”
“Eyes on the road, big guy.” You hold out an open palm. “Here, give me your phone and I’ll call him.”
He slips the unprotected phone from the front pocket of his flannel shirt and slaps it into your palm. No case. No password. You’ve told him until you were blue in the face that if he’s not going to protect the glass screen, he should at least protect his data, but he won’t listen.
With a quick slide and tap tap tap, you are calling contact name ‘Jack (PMTC)’ on Robby’s phone. You extend the tech to him but he keeps his hands on the steering wheel, refusing the flat slab of technology.
“Just put it on speaker. I can’t hold the phone while I drive. ”
You groan dramatically and mutter to yourself a flippant, “You’re joking”, before transferring the call to the car via bluetooth, like it had automatically done before.
“Did you answer it?”
“We called him, remember?”
“Right, sorry,” he huffs, shaking his head. The speakerphone rings, a thick, staticky sound that reverberates through Robby’s truck until the call connects and you hear the soft spoken night shift attending on the other end, muttering a greeting.
“Hey, man,” Robby replies, leaning in an inch as if his body getting closer to the console actually matters. “What’s up?”
“Ah nothing, I just wondered if you had an update for tonight. You going to be in town?”
Robby stutters in hesitation, looking over at you for confirmation that the two of you will still be staying the night in your childhood bedroom–correction, you will be staying the night in your childhood bedroom while Robby is placed a safe distance away from you, down the hall in one of the many guest bedrooms. You shake your head in response to Dr. Abbot’s question.
“Uh, no, I have plans. Going to my girlfriend’s family. We won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”
Girlfriend. That word coming from Robby feels like a white-hot branding iron just dug into the flesh of your back. Even the smooth leather of the seat beneath you has turned prickly.
You love Robby, of course you do, and you are internally jumping up and down at the thought of him calling you his “girlfriend” to his best friend and coworker. You also love your family, and your heart is split in two.
“Wow, a major holiday with her family? Are things really getting that serious between you two?” First, Thanksgiving isn’t even a major holiday, not really. Second, you would like Dr. Abbot to shut the hell up. “When are you going to introduce me to this mystery woman? I don’t like being kept in the dark, you know this man.”
Four months. Four months until your residency is over. Four months until you either make things official and seal the deal, or call it quits with your soon-to-be-not-boss. Four months until you both agreed not to tell anyone else at the hospital about your dalliance. Four months until Robby can tell his best friend that he has been sleeping with his resident for the past year, or not.
Four hours. Four hours until you introduce him to your family–until questions are asked about his faith, followed subsequently by questions about his (nonexistent) journey with the church, because if he wants to be with you, he’ll convert, right? Hopefully, everyone will remember their manners and decide not to ask about his age, and hopefully, that societal rule applies to men too.
Four hours until Robby can make a decision of whether you’re worth it, or not.
author's note: wrote this one in response to this lovely ask i received earlier today:
"Omg but like, the reader being so flirty with jack all the time (secretly is in love with him) amd he just smiles and shakes his head but he loves the attention from her then one day she sees him ask dr al hashimi for beers and she assumes he asked her out on a date and she backs off and stops flirting and barely even looks him in the eye because if she does she'll fall apart and abbot doesn't understand why she stopped flirting and tries to give her openings for her usual flirty lines but she doesn't bite anymore and just the she fell first, he fell harder stuff it's soooooogood😭😭"
thanks so so much to the lovely @stuffingbuttsandshit for this message (i fw your username sm) and i hope i did it justice. please never be afraid to send me a request, and thank you for all the support, it means the world !!! also, i'm back into my teaching job tomorrow, so this will be the last of what you'll hear from me for a couple days <3
pairing: jack abbot x resident! reader
word count: 4.1k
warnings: miscommunication/misunderstanding trope! medical inaccuracies, reader is a resident but no mention of age, no specific phsyical attributes to certain gender mentioned, also not proofread!
songs i listened to while writing this: so easy (to fall in love) by olivia dean, easy by the commodores, purple by wunderhorse, when we are together by the 1975
description: You flirt with jack every shift like that's what you spent years in med school studying for. When you overhear a conversation between him and another attending, you decide to pull yourself together and face the music - no amount of one sided love would ever change your relationship. At least, that's what you think.
It started out as a joke at first.
It wasn't a calculated one. Not even a particularly brave one. It was a way to find a bit of fun in the middle of a 12-hour shift that tested every line of the Hippocratic oath that you had taken against your better judgement. It was the kind of dumb thing that slipped out of your mouth during a long shift that should have died an embarrassing death right then and there.
It was harmless flirting. Something to take the edge off. Maybe you should have taken a less, well, serious victim.
"Careful, Dr Abbot," you'd said lightly, half leaning against the nurses station while he was in the middle of catching up on charting. "If you keep looking that good under fluroescent lighting, people are gonna start accusing you of witchcraft."
Jack had looked up from the keyboard he was typing away at with that familiar flat, unreadable expression and the smallest hint of amusement at one corner of his mouth. The entire nurse's station had gone quiet, and if you hadn't known any better, you might have thought an elephant had waltzed into the room and taken his seat in trauma room one. You watched as Mel looked up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, which is what made you realise you may have taken it too far, because to be honest, Mel usually passed no heed on your usual antics.
Jack had lifted his eyes to yours, studying you for exactly two seconds, then given one slow shake of his head.
"I could do with a check-up on our food poisoning patient in room 4, doctor y/l/n."
That had been it. No scolding, no shutdown, no sharp reminder of professionalism. You ran the image of that twitch in the corner of his mouth over and over again in your head that night like a teenage girl with a crush on her best friend's brother. Or in this case, more like her best friend's dad.
So naturally, because you were a glutton for punishment and loved the thrill of tethering on the edge of something hopeful, you did it again.
And then again.
And somehow, over the next few months, flirting with Jack became a part of your regular shift rhythm, as natural as grabbing gloves from the wall or stealing sips of stale coffee between traumas. You called him handsome under your breath while passing in the hall. You leaned into his space during chart review just to watch his jaw flex. You told him he was ageing like your favourite bottle of red, which had earned you a long, suffering stare and a low, "Jesus Christ."
You did it at first because it was fun. A way to pass the time. But as the months went on, and you moved from junior to senior resident, the truth behind your incessant flirting became a lot more embarassing than you ever wanted to admit.
You were smart. Too smart. Educated and graduated at the top of your class, saved countless lives on the daily and still had time to feed your tabby cat at the end of it all. So there was no reason why your stupid, dumb brain had decided to fall in love with your attending.
You flirted, because you were in love with him. With Jack.
You had been for longer than you wanted to admit to yourself. Long enough that the whole thing had settled beneath your ribs like a live wire. It was warm, and humming, and a little dangerous. Long enough that it had stopped feeling like a crush and started feeling like something worse.
The problem was, Jack never really gave much away.
He liked the attention, you knew that. You weren't imagining that part. He never stopped you. Never looked annoyed in any serious or real way. There was always that familar tiny shake of his head, that almost-smile, that quiet tolerance that was so stupid adorable and somehow felt more intimate than an outright encouragement would have.
But Jack was Jack.
Steady. Closed off. Impossible to read unless he wanted to be read. So you flirted, and he let you, and you told yourself that that was enough for now. You were a resident, and he was your attending. You weren't naive enough to believe that he would ever take a relationship with you seriously.
And you know, maybe it would have been. If you hadn't caught him mid conversation with Robby's sabbatical replacement, Dr Baran Al Hashimi.
It happened halfway through a nightmare shift when you were running on little else but caffeine and instinct, and the Pitt had that strange, overstretched feeling it got when every room was full, and everyone inside them was talking too loudly. You were cutting through the hall outside the break room with a chart tucked to your chest, already halfway to Trauma Two in your head, when you heard Jack's voice from inside.
It was common to catch Jack in during the day shift, and you wouldn't have stopped if he'd been talking to anyone else. But you caught Al Hashimi's laugh first. Low, and brief, and then Jack saying, "You want to grab that beer later?"
Your feet stopped moving before your brain caught up. There was no hesitation in the question or audible awkwardness. No heaviness to it that made it sound work-related. It sounded easy, casual. Like asking someone out. You wondered if he was shaking his head in that way he did with you.
Al Hashimi said something you didn't fully hear, because by then your pulse had gone loud in your ears. You self-diagnose with mind-numbing tinnitus and prescribe yourself a huge dose of amitriptyline. The ringing grows louder as you watch her smile, small, but warm, and nodded once.
"Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."
And that was it. So, you kept walking before either of them could see you standing there. By the time you eventually got to trauma two, your face was perfectly composed and your stomach felt like it had dropped through the floor. It was ridiculous, really.
Jack had never promised you anything. He had never flirted back in the way you flirted with him. Never said anything you could hold up in your defence. He just let you tease him and seemed to enjoy it. That was not the same thing as wanting you. And Baran Al Hashimi was gorgeous, and strikingly intelligent, and better yet, an attending. You heard that she had worked overseas doing humanitarian work in Afghanistan. She was everything you weren't and more. Of course Jack would want her. God, you didn't blame him.
So, you stitched up a teenager's chin and reassured a frantic mother and signed off on discharge paperwork with steady hands, all while something sore and humiliating tore through your chest and the ringing in your eyes got louder.
Then, because apparently the universe had a cruel sense of humour, Jack found you by the supply closet twenty minutes later.
"There you are," he said.
You looked up automatically and cursed yourself. And there he was. The same broad shoulders, same tired eyes, same infuriatingly unreadable expression.
Usually, by instinct, you would have said something. Nice of you to finally show up, handsome. Missed me? Something stupid and teasing and light enough to keep the whole thing moving. To keep that little nugget of hope that lived between your ribs aflame.
Instead, you just held out the chart in your hand.
"Dana needs your signature on this."
Jack took it, but his eyes didn't leave your face.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine-
You cut in, begging to be finished with the conversation, and forced a small smile. "All good, really."
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. It was the first time in almost a year that you'd walked away from him without giving him something. And Jack, as it turned out, noticed immediately.
The following night, you called him Dr Abbot during rounds. It came out before you could stop it, a verbal guard you decided to throw up to protect yourself from more hurt that wasn't even his fault. Not Jack, not any of your usual easy little digs. Just Dr Abbot, flat and professuonal and wrong enough that his head lifted from the chart like you'd said something in another language.
He looked at you for a second too long.
Then he said, "You sick or something?"
You pretended to not know what he meant. "Nope."
"Then why are you acting weird?"
"I'm not acting weird?"
Santos, standing two feet away with a pen tucked behind her ear, visibly turned her whole body to watch.
Jack's mouth flattened, unreadable. Shocker. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
He looked like he wanted to say it outright, but with half the team standing around the nurse's station and Lena calling for updates across the room, all he ended up saying was, "Never mind."
But it wasn't never mind, because you kept doing it. You stopped leaning into his space. Stopped giving him those easy openings for banter. Stopped calling him old man, stopped telling him his curls looked good, stopped stealing sips from his coffee and dropping protein bars in his pockets when you passed him in the hall.
At first, Jack felt confusion, which quickly turned into a gnawing annoyance he couldn't shake. By the third shift, with no change from you, the whole thing had become impossible to ignore.
You were charting at the nurse's station when he came up behind you and set a fresh cup of coffee down by your elbow. A sleek, black takeaway cup that looked suspiciously like the one from the new bakery across the street you talked about going to with Santos before shift.
You looked at it, and then at him. Usually, this would have been an easy way in. What, no little heart on the lid? Starting to lose your touch, Abbot? Anything, anything would do.
Instead, you said, "Thanks."
Jack stared at you.
"Thanks?"
You blinked at him. "What?"
"That's all I get?"
You looked back at the screen where your chart lay half full. "It's coffee."
"It's your coffee. Two shots, and vanilla creamer. I made sure they used the barista oat milk you always rant on about."
You kept your eyes on the screen, even though every bone in your body was begging you to reach out and touch his forearm in thanks. "Oh, well, thank you very much, Dr Abbot."
He stood there for another beat, arms crossed, like he was waiting for the rest of it. When it didn't come, he muttered, "Right," and walked away.
Across the station, Santos leaned slowly towards Whitaker.
"This is sooo much worse than I thought."
Whitaker looked nervous. More than usual. "Should we..do something?"
"No," Santos smirked. "Absolutely not. This is premium entertainment."
Javadi, creating a circling motion with her hand towards the direction of you and Jack, said, "That looked like some form of attachment rupture."
Santos pointed at her while still looking over at you. "You are absolutely right."
You ignored them all and kept writing. Any acknowledgement and you'd have to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment and humiliation. You think that actually might be a better way to go then facing Jack again the way you just did.
Four days go by. Four days of you being perfectly pleasant and professionally distant and absolutely miserable about it. You felt like like a three year old kid sulking in the corner after being refused ice cream for dinner.
Jack still tried, in his own strange, increasingly irritated way, to hand you opportunities you no longer took. You didn't read them as openings anymore, couldn't let yourself slip again into the realm of hoping it meant anything more than trying to get through a shift in one piece.
By the end of the week, Dana got involved.
She caught you restocking suture kits in a supply alcove and leaned against the doorframe with the expression of a woman who already knew the answer and was just waiting for you to say it out loud.
"What'd you do to him, hon?"
You kept your eyes on the shelf. "Nothing"
Dana snorted. "Honey, I know I'm in day shift territory, but I have known Jack Abbot for too long to miss when he's sulking."
"He doesn't sulk"
"He absolutely does. He's just old enough to do it quietly."
You smiled despite yourself. If Jack was here right now, you'd make a joke about old dogs not being able to learn new tricks, or whatever that saying is.
"There it is," she said, poking an accusatory fingernail at your shoulder. "Tell me what happened, kid."
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the pack of gauze. Dana Evans had a way of dragging honesty out of people with nothing but eye contact and a gaze that reminded you of your mother. You make a mental note to call her after shift and apologise for every time you've ever talked back to her.
"You know Al Hashimi? Robby's stupidly hot replacement? I overheard him ask her out"
Dana let out a laugh - no - a cackle. Dana was cackling at you.
You frowned. "Dana! Seriously, I know, it's not like I'd have any chance with him, but I just thought, just maybe-"
"You are a total idiot."
"Dana."
"She was going to a trauma conference with one of his old friends from the military and he asked if she wanted to talk to talk about it over a beer."
Your grip loosened on the gauze, and you turned to stare at her.
"Sorry, what?"
Dana crossed her arms. “Robby asked him to get her thoughts on some presentations he's gonna miss on his sabbatical. He's tryna suss her out, you know."
Your stomach dropped all over again, but this time for an entirely different reason. If your first option was crawling into a deep, dark hole, well, this option would have to be something far worse. Like, being shot from a canon, butt naked, while every one of your ex-boyfriends watched.
Dana's expression softened just enough for you to recognise her natural maternal instinct taking over. "You really thought he was asking her out on a date?"
You nodded, slowly. You ran an exhausted hand over your face, hoping the ground would come and swallow you whole.
Dana shook her head then, taking your shoulder in her hand and rubbing softly, a comforting presence that took you out of your head. "Baby, that man has been halfway in love with you since before Christmas."
You didn't acknowledge it until she was already pushing off the doorframe, walking away with that irritatingly final air of hers.
"What?!"
That made everything worse. So, so much worse.
Because now, you had no excuse. Now it wasn't about Al Hashimi, not really. It was about the fact that if Dana was right, if Jack had wanted your attention all this time, if all those tiny almost smiles and deliberate little openings had meant what you'd wanted them to mean - then you had spent four days acting like a stranger because you were too scared to ask, and too damn immature to think of any other possible situation.
That night, you slipped into the stairwell in between consults to breathe for exactly thirty seconds and maybe lightly bathe yourself in peace. Then, the door opened, and there he was, filling the space with the same steady presence that always made it feel a little smaller, and a little warmer.
He shut the door behind him, and you waited for the onslaught of questions.
"You gonna tell me what the hell your problem is?"
You stared at him over the railing. There was no real heat in his voice, but there was frustration. And beneath that, something else, something tighter.
"Uh, nothing?" You cursed yourself for making it sound like a question you definitely knew the answer to.
"Try again."
"Shouldn't you be working?"
"Yeah," he said. "I should be. But instead, I'm here. Because you've spent four days acting like you don't know me anymore."
Of all the things you expected him to say, that one landed harder than you expected. You looked away. Embarassment was a feeling that you were getting far too used to.
Jack waited a beat, then came down two steps so he was closer, though not close enough to touch.
"You stopped flirting with me." You laughed at his bluntness. He continued.
"You won't look at me. You won't call me Jack. I spent fifteen minutes of my twenty minute break time arguing with a lady in a bakery the other day about how she had to use the milk I brought for your coffee, and all you could say was thanks?"
The obvious edge of offence in that almost undid you. Load the canon now, doctor!
You said quietly, "I heard you ask Al Hashimi for a beer."
Jack turned and blinked at you, and for one second, his face went completely blank. Then he stared at you like he'd just discovered the source of a leak that had been flooding his basement all week.
"That's why?"
You swallowed. "Um, yeah. I assumed, you know. You, gorgeous woman, a beer. Date territory."
"That wasn't a date."
"It wasn't a date."
"No." He let out a breath through your nose. "Robby wanted me to ask her about this conference. We were talking about work. He's cagey about her, taking over his ER and all."
"Oh."
"Yeah," Jack said.
He continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why would that matter, anyways?"
You laughed once, sharp, and utterly miserable. You were so far past the point of humiliation, you might as well get it all out now. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously."
You looked at him then, really looked at him. And you saw it, that he genuinely didn't understand. That whatever this had been to him, it had not included the possibility that you'd step back so quickly. That made it worse somehow. Better, too, But mostly worse.
You looked down at the stairwell floor and said, because apparently there was no salvaging you dignity now. Here goes, you guess. "Jack, I don't know how to say this without, just saying it. I-I'm, in love with you"
Then the words sat there. Plain, horrible, real. For a second, that felt like so much longer, neither of you moved.
Jack broke the silence, very quietly, "You're kidding."
Your head stayed staring at the ground. That was it, there was no going back now. You tried to ignore the intense stare you could feel burning two holes through your head.
"You're in love. With me?" he repeated.
Heat climbed your face, and you couldn't believe this was happening right now. Is this not an ER? Does nobody with a GSW want to come through and interrupt your lovely moment here?
"This is deeply humiliating, so, if you could not-"
"Jesus Christ." He laughed once, and your heart fell into your ass and ran fifty miles in the opposite direction.
Then he came down the last two steps and stopped right in front of you.
“You thought that was one-sided?”
Your mouth opened. Closed.
“I flirt with you constantly and you smile and shake your head,” you said weakly. “What was I supposed to think?”
Jack looked at you like that was the most ridiculous sentence he’d ever heard.
“I never stopped you.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I wait for it.”
You blinked.
His jaw flexed once, like he was annoyed you weren’t getting there fast enough.
“I know what time you usually get coffee. I know when your shift starts from the sound of your shoes in the hall. I know when you’re about to make one of those stupid little comments because your whole face changes before you say anything.”
Your heart was pounding now, hard enough to hurt.
Jack took one more step closer.
“When you stopped, the place felt wrong.”
That did it.
That cracked the whole thing open.
You looked at him and saw it all at once. Every quiet little allowance he’d made for you, every almost-smile, every opening he’d handed you on purpose just to hear what you’d say.
You whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He huffed out a humorless laugh. “I thought I was being obvious.”
You let out a wet, startled little laugh of your own, because of course he had. Of course Jack Abbot thought silently orbiting someone and letting them flirt without interruption counted as emotional transparency.
“You are a disaster,” you said.
“So are you.”
You smiled despite yourself.
His gaze dropped to your mouth for the briefest second before lifting again.
Then, in a voice gone rougher somehow, he said, “Say something.”
“What?”
“One of your lines.”
You stared at him.
Jack looked almost impatient now, but there was something fragile hidden under it too, something he would probably deny to the grave.
“You’ve had one ready every shift for 9 months,” he said. “Say it.”
A laugh caught in your chest.
Then, softly, because it felt different now and somehow still exactly the same, you said, “You know you’re ridiculously handsome, right?”
Jack shut his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them, there was that tiny head shake again, the one that had started all of this.
“Jesus,” he muttered, and then he kissed you.
It wasn’t tentative, or rushed either.
It was the kind of kiss that felt held back for too long, warm and sure and a little bit annoyed, like he was making up for the fact that both of you had apparently been idiots about this. Your hand came up to the back of his neck automatically. His slid to your waist, steady and firm, drawing you in until you had to grab the front of his shirt just to hold onto something.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours.
“You done making assumptions?” he murmured.
You laughed softly, breathless. “Maybe.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Okay,” you said, smiling. “Yes.”
“Good.”
You looked up at him. “You loveeeeee me!"
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t start.”
“You do.”
He leaned back just enough to look properly annoyed. “You really want to have this conversation right now?”
“Yes.”
He sighed in that long-suffering way of his, but you could see the amusement sitting just under it now.
“You realised it first” he said.
You grinned. “Yeah, okay, but mine was slow. Yours was like, falling off a cliff into a stream of like, love crocodiles .”
Jack looked at you for a second, then gave in with a tiny shake of his head.
“Yeah, okay ” he said quietly. “Shut up.”
Something in your chest melted completely.
You kissed him again before he could ruin it by pretending he hadn’t said that. This one made him laugh against your mouth, just for a second, and then his hand tightened lightly at your waist and he kissed you back.
When you finally pulled away, there was a muffled voice from the other side of the stairwell door.
“Are they in there?”
Damn it Trinity.
You dropped your head briefly to Jack’s shoulder and groaned. “I hate this hospital.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” you admitted. “I really don’t.”
Jack tipped your chin up with two fingers.
“You coming back down?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
You smiled. “Very romantic.”
“I’m not here to romance you. I’m here to stop you making yourself miserable over nothing.”
“Wow.”
“You started it.”
You laughed again, because there it was, that grumpy, teasing edge that somehow made everything feel more like him, not less.
As he opened the stairwell door, Santos nearly fell inward from where she’d clearly been listening.
Her eyes went wide.
Then narrowed. Then widened again.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I knew it.”
Jack looked down at her with profound irritation. “Don’t you have a patient to bother?”
Santos, unfazed, looked past him at you and grinned. “So I was right.”
Whitaker, standing three steps behind her looking mortified, asked, “About what?”
She pointed at both of you. “Everything.”
Jack muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable and moved past her, one hand brushing your lower back as he guided you into the hall.
Not enough to draw attention.
Just enough that you felt it.
And this time, when you looked at him, he was already watching you with that same tiny, impossible almost-smile.
You smiled back. He shook his head once more, like he couldn’t believe you. But he looked pleased.
Hey :) My DC fandom is gonna be showing a bit in this. Also, Jack is not *really* in this one but he's coming soon. Don't worry about it ;)
Enjoy!
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 5,200
Chapter warnings: Bank robbery gone wrong, non graphic shootout, MAJOR medical inaccuracies, no seriously I am not a healthcare professional, lots of blood, reader is losing it just a little bit.
Chapter Summary: You get caught in the middle of a bank robbery after pulling an 18 hour shift AND dealing with bureaucrats. Things go wrong, and you unwillingly sign yourself up for much, much more than you thought.
< Previous
“EVERYBODY DOWN! THIS IS A ROBBERY”
The first rule you learn in handling imminent threat situations is not to play the hero. You need to obey, placate and stay quiet to bring attention away from you. Your life and the one of everybody else in the mess very much depends on not causing a scene.
A rule which, entirely in line with how your day had been going so far, absolutely fucking nobody followed.
Your knees weren't even on the ground that the bank security—who were clearly not equipped or trained to handle a whole coordinated heist they had completely missed the signs of in the first place and for which their area of competency has been long surpassed—decided to save the day.
… Or at least try to.
You flinched and protected your head with your arms as they began shooting, quickly exchanging fire for a few seconds. The sound of the shootout mixed with the screams, until a boot kicked your feet, yelling at you to stand up.
In a blur, you were brought into the back of the bank, away from the bay windows of the main area. Only once you were all gathered in front of the giant vault did you look up, watching as one of the robbers was dragged in by two of his peers by the arms, bleeding profusely from his clavicle.
From your position on your knees with your hands behind your head, you could feel the familiar twitch of your fingers, the instinct that animates you every time things take a turn on a shift creeping up your spine. Your vision cleared and sharpened, and all the fatigue of your shift evacuated your muscles.
As you watched the robbers trying (and failing) to patch their bleeding friend up and getting increasingly agitated, waving their weapons around, you understood, much to your dismay, that your previous thoughts about idiots who wanted to play heroes very much included you.
Before you could even stop yourself from talking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth.
“I can help” That caught the attention of one of them, yellow hoodie covered in blood splatter, who rapidly strode towards you. “I'm an EM—”
You were interrupted by him swinging the butt of his weapon in your face, sending you flying forward. You caught yourself with your hands, trying to ignore the blooming pain in your cheek. Colours swirled behind your eyelids and you could feel the sting of broken skin where contact was made.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Hey, hey!” The ringleader suddenly appeared, shoving your assailant off. “What the fuck are you doing huh? Keep your fucking head on!”
“But she wouldn't—”
“Were you dropped on your head as a baby?” He scoffed. “KJ's dying and you beat up the only medical help, fucking brilliant, man” The sound that followed ressembled a hand hitting a clothed arm. “You, down there”
You slowly pushed off the ground and kept your hands where they could see them.
“You said you're an EMT?”
You nodded.
He stared intensely at you through his balaclava. “Can you keep him alive?”
You took off your eyes from him for a second to evaluate the situation. Poor son of a bitch was losing a decent amount of blood, but in your experience, the positioning of the wound had good chances of not being fatal.
“I've seen worse” You mumbled, returning your eyes to the leader. “I should be”
With a curt nod from him, you carefully stood up and made your way to the injured man. You looked around them, noticing no bandage or emergency material whatsoever. You still had your belt on with some supplies, but clearly not enough to make a difference here.
“I need a first aid kit” You spoke to no one in particular. “Should be one in the break room or manager's office”
No one moved. You scanned the room, eyeing each one of the armed robbers.
“Anyone!” The leader yelled. “Anyone fucking go!”
Yellow hoodie hurried our of the room.
“Alright” Your hands were still raised as you knelt towards the injured man. KJ. “I'll be reaching in my belt now. I have a roll of gauze and compresses to bandage the injury, and my work glasses. Nice and slow, okay?”
The two men around nodded, and you took out one by one the items you had listed. By the time you were done, yellow hoodie had delivered a basic first aid kit to you. You took it from him and set it beside you, opening it and sorting through the items.
You finally put on your glasses and sanitized your hands before getting to work. The two men let go and allowed you space, but one still remained close with his weapon in case you wanted to act out.
You then realized that this first aid kit had no latex gloves, something which, much to your dismay, was somehow just as bothersome to you than the weapons pointed at you.
Still, you meticulously cleaned the wound with the wipes in the kit, then busied yourself with setting a bandage that would hold.
“I can't stitch the wound as the bullet is still in there” You hummed as you wiped the blood from your hands. “Any attempt at taking it out now would make him bleed out. He'll need surgery for that. But he's stable for now”
The leader took a few deliberated steps toward you, stopping on front of KJ who danced in and out on consciousness. He stared at the wound, then at you and shook his head.
“Take it out here” He ordered, his voice levelled in a way that made you think he was definitely not as calm as he was trying to project. “We're not going to a hospital”
You froze, knowing that taking it out would most likely end up in a catastrophe, especially since you weren't a doctor. “I would recommend otherwise”
He didn't like that.
“Take. It. Out.”
Breathe in, breathe out.
Your thoughts were firing a hundred miles per hour as you tried to find a way out of this. You took your vow to do no harm seriously, maybe even too seriously since it was the reason you had even spoken up in the first place. Operating could do some serious damage, that was mostly guaranteed. Not operating remained the best course of option, but you were worried they'd take it out on everyone else, considering how jumpy they've been so far.
You exhaled slowly.
“… I must insist” You decided to stand your ground.
The smile he returned to you was visible through his balaclava. This reaction was definitely not a good sign.
“Get that bullet out, or I'm killing everyone in here one by one”
Ah shit.
You'd rather have your assessment be disproved, but unfortunately, you had been spot on. You had to change gears now, pivot, find another way out.
Assess, placate where you can.
“I…” You began as you tried to visualize just how you could even do it. Your hands were steady enough, but you'd run out of gauze and disinfectant halfway through. You had nothing but butterfly bandaids for the stitches either, which was not a great situation to end up in, for you and for him. “I'd need first to evaluate the— Wait hold on what are you doing—”
You watched as he walked to the nearest hostage, hoisting her up and resting the barrel of his handgun on her temple.
Your eyes widened. “Okay, fuck, I'll do it just leave her—”
He nodded, satisfied, before throwing the lady back down. “See, wasn't that hard”
“Shit” You muttered under your breath. “Okay, uh, find me a sturdy table. I’ll also need more medical supplies. He won't make it through with what I have”
The leader looked at you like you were stupid. “No problem, we'll just need to stop at the fucking pharmacy then!” He yelled, ignoring how every other hostage flinched. “Haven't you seen the fucking SWAT team outside shooting at us?”
You paused. “SWAT team?”
“Are you fucking deaf too?”
You knew any SWAT unit would have a much more complete medical aid kit than the one your had there. Pliers, gauze, thread. Everything to put the odds in your favour.
“I'd need their medical kit” You ignored his comment.
“How do you propose we get that?” Yellow hoodie jumped into the conversation. “By asking them nicely?”
You glanced at one, then the other.
“… Well”
This is how you ended up slowly walking across the main entrance, arms in the air and boots stepping over crushed glass, barrel of a semi automatic weapon nicely pressed in your spine with yellow hoodie hiding in the shadow of the human shield you provided.
You walked until you reached outside, where you were met with a full blockade across the street and two dozens weapons pointed at you. You stopped in the doorway, just enough to keep yellow hoodie protected.
“NOT ANOTHER STEP”
You didn't know where it came from, nor did you care to find out.
“Please don't shoot” You spoke loud and firmly despite having entirely too many weapons pointed at you. “I'm an Emergency Medical Technician. Name's Campbell, license number 7156 4529 1042” Your words were fast, yet steady. No hesitation. “I am requesting a full medical kit to treat injuries sustained during the shoot out”
Yellow Hoodie jolted you with an insistent press of the barrel of his rifle on your back, making you hiss.
“… If no emergency kit is provided,” You added, then sighed. “Every hostage will be killed”
There was movement behind the barricades. You could have been waiting no longer than a minute, but yellow hoodie became impatient, shifting nervously behind you.
You could hear the megaphone turn on.
“This is Captain Frederick Pymm of Pittsburgh's First Brigade. We will authorize a medical kit in exchange for the hostages”
“Fuck no!” Yellow hoodie screamed from behind you, giving one more rough shove in your back that made you tumble forward, almost exposing him. You were aware enough to know that you were in the crosshair of at least three snipers at the moment and that each of them would shoot the second they had an opening. Still, you kept your footing, knowing that if yellow hoodie got sniped, none of the hostages would see the daylight again. “Medical kit now, or I'll fucking shoot the bitch”
A few seconds more elapsed, then came the screeching megaphone again.
“How many hostages in?”
Yellow hoodie hesitated.
“Fuck what do I do” He mumbled, and you could hear the panic in his voice increasing. “What do I do?”
Didn't think that far ahead, did you?
“You either tell them or shoot me” You muttered back, not taking your eyes off the barricade. “If you walk away now, they'll think you're bluffing and they'll follow us right in”
Your immediate priority was to make sure the hostages were safe. You fully accepted the consequences of the choice you already made and have to keep making to achieve that.
“Okay, fuck” His voice was shaking now. “Fuck I can't remember—”
“18” You interrupted him. “18 hostages”
“Then fucking tell them!”
You cleared your throat.
“18 hostages” You repeated, this time loud enough for Captain Pymm to hear. “Including two kids”
More silence.
Then, movement on the other side of the barricade. A minute stretched before a small remote controlled robot broke through their side, carrying a white box with a red cross on it. It slowly crossed the street until it stopped at your feet.
“I'm gonna bend over now to retrieve the kit”
“Just get it!”
“I strongly suggest you follow my motion” You reply was dry and clipped. “Unless you want a bullet too”
He didn't make any further comment as he started to bend his knee with your own motion. You finally got the kit in your hands, standing back up full height with him.
“Ok let's go”
You began stepping back with him until you were well hidden from any fire. Only then did the gun drop from your spine.
You returned to the room in a hurried pace, taking notice that KJ's bandages were still holding and he was now placed on a table dragged in from somewhere else the bank. Then, you observed the room, trying to ignore everyone's frightened glance on you. You swallowed hard as your attention finally fell on the leader.
“I will once again disclaim that I am not a doctor and this is not a hospital” You spoke low, trying to make sure the hostages wouldn't hear. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”
His face gave you nothing but dismissal. “Get on with it”
You glanced at KJ again. “At least let's do it elsewhere, so if things go wrong—”
“GET ON WITH IT”
You bit your tongue and brought the med kit to KJ, then began picking things in it that you'd need. It was indeed much more furbished than the one from the bank, tailored for field dressing and emergency procedures.
“Before I start” You said as you grabbed scissors and began cutting the fabric of the brown tainted red hoodie around the wound. “What's his blood type?”
“A negative” The leader replied instantly.
You sighed, looking around. “Any donor match in the room?”
“I am”
You raised an eyebrow, but didn't press. It was becoming clear that this might be a family affair gone wrong by how reactive they became about KJ's injuries. If you'd have to guess, you'd say him and the ringleader might very well be brothers.
“Sit here” You nodded at a chair that had been flipped on the side. “I'll need you close by with the right blood pressure if…”
You trailed off, knowing he'd finish that sentence for you in his head. For once, he obeyed without complaints and flipped the chair on its legs, sitting down on it.
You technically didn't have the proper credentials to order and perform a blood transfusion by yourself, something about missing a piece of paper certified you could, indeed, do it. But in practice, you had taken over freshly graduated paramedics finding themselves on the wrong end of their freeze reaction to absolute chaos enough times now that you could do it with your eyes closed.
Besides, it would be the least of your concern, since you definitely were not cleared for surgery either, but here you were.
You disinfected your hands and grabbed the black latex gloves from the top compartment, putting them on. You made sure all the tools were ready to grab and use, then pulled out the first bandage.
Here goes nothing.
The wound had been clean, one single entry point and no bullet shards, placing his survival chances quite high. You hated that you would be playing jenga with those chances, increasing the likelihood of total collapse with every maneuver.
As you grabbed the pliers, you couldn't help but think, what would Jack do?
Well, he'd probably be the one doing the removal and not you, for a starter.
You tried to chase the thoughts away at first, not needing anything distracting you from the task at hand. Yet, as you were beginning to play around in the flesh to find the bullet, you began finding comfort in your own hallucinations.
Steady hands, don't move around more than you have to in there, don't inflame the wound too much.
You blinked away sweat that was rolling in your eyes, flinching at the sting. Still, your hand stayed the course until you met solid. You knew you were in between bones, so you moved the pliers around to grab the bullet.
Good, now keep gauze near to wipe the blood as it comes out. Keep your line of sight on the wound clear.
You followed the instructions like he was actually there. Your free hand grabbed gauze and you soaked up the blood pooling in the wound. You carefully pulled on the bullet, millimeter by millimeter, alternating between pulling and wiping. Halfway there, your hand spasmed ever so slightly, and a jet of blood squirted all over your face and neck.
You had about two seconds before the floodgates opened and blood started pouring. All over him and you. Your eyes widened and your breathing accelerated, knowing you fucked up.
Easy, stay calm, keep your head cool. Focus on stopping the blood flow.
“I need hands to stop the bleeding”
In a flash, the leader stood up and grabbed a roll of gauze, standing beside you. He immediately began applying pressure around your pliers, making sure the blood kept being absorbed.
Get that bullet out now before he loses too much blood.
You took a deep breath and returned your attention to the wound, then kept pulling steadily until the bullet was out. You let it fall onto the floor and watched as the leader covered the entirety of the wound, putting down all of his weight on it.
You took half a second to breathe, then returned to the task ahead. You rummaged in the kit, your hand rapidly rolling the bottles around until it found Tranexamic acid. You quickly snatched it along with a syringe.
The leader eyed you suspiciously.
“What's that?”
You prepared the injection for 1 mg, eyes glued to that little line. “TXA to stop the bleeding. Can't do an IV with what I have, I need the tubes in case of blood transfusion”
You had administered it once yourself with an intramuscular injection after a bar stabbing that caught a major artery in the suburbs, and the people there, meaning well, had removed the glass from the wound before you got there. Giving TXA that way wasn’t really ideal in any case, but especially not that time, since the guy had a massive allergic reaction to it on the way back to the hospital. Unbeknownst to you at that moment, that decision had pulled you into a string of dumb lawsuits and into Robby's absolute fury for weeks—but you had seen it work to stop the bleeding and KJ was approximately the same size and build to match the dosage.
You aligned yourself with his other arm and went for the dive, pushing the needle in the muscle, then releasing the medication slowly.
Good job. Keep an eye on—
“On the BP, yeah. Don't have to remind me” You mumbled, not realizing you were essentially talking to yourself from anyone else's standpoint.
Smartass.
You rolled your eyes.
You put aside the needle, taking your place over the leader in applying pressure. One of your hands then found the inside of his wrist, applying two finger on the pulse. It was abysmal. Your hand moved to the crook of his elbow, and your evaluation came up the same.
“Bring the chair over” You didn't really care that you had upgraded to barking out orders to who was, for all intents and purposes, your captor in a hostage situation. “We're moving for a blood transfusion before the heart stops”
You found yourself surprised he agreed without fighting back. You whistled at yellow hoodie, nodding to the wound. He hesitated.
“Just fucking do it” The leader gritted, spurring him into action.
He let his firearm rest down by the shoulder strap and took over the pressure while you prepared the tubes. The steps were mechanical, innate, as if they were engraved in the very foundation of your being.
At this moment, it didn't really matter that you were essentially more than 20 hours into your shift. Each movement was precise, purposeful, and right. You were back in your element and it showed by the sudden confidence in your actions.
It took you less than 2 minutes to set, from the moment you announced it to the needle going in the vein.
You returned to KJ's side, fingers finding the vein again. Your watched his chest, the shallow raises of his ribcage worrying you. By no means did you expect him to take regular breaths, but the uneven, jagged movements up and down sent jolts of adrenaline through your spine. You returned to the medical kit, grabbing the oxygen mask with the balloon.
You know what's coming next.
“Shut up”
The heads of the two men snapped to you. Yellow hoodie was the one to say something. “What?”
Your eyes lifted up to him for a second as you placed the mask within reach. “Hm? Nothing”
Don't lose it now Sweets. The worst is yet to come.
You shut your eyes and groaned, bummed you couldn't just rub the shit out of them until you saw purple spirals with all of that blood covering your hands, and well, a dying man depending on those hands to keep him alive.
You checked the pulse again, noting it was not getting better. You could feel your back drenched in sweat, shirt sticking uncomfortably to your skin.
Told ya.
“And it just had to be you, didn’t it?” You hissed through gritted teeth as you moved slightly up to align with KJ's thorax. You climbed on the table next to him, finding the vein on his neck this time. You could feel his heartbeat fade under your touch until it gave up completely, so you got in position and began CPR, counting under your breath.
It took six rounds alternating with the oxygen to get the pulse back.
When you finally stepped off the table, it was like everybody exhaled in relief with you. You nodded at the leader, wiping your brow with your forearm that had the least blood covering your skin. You took a second to regain your breath, then circled the table to look at the wound.
With another nod at yellow hoodie, he stepped back, slowly releasing the pressure as you took over.
You carefully lifted the bandages on top, making sure you didn't disturb the potential crusts forming. Much to your relief, most of the heavy bleeding had stopped, leaving only a small trickle that hadn't made it though the top layer of the bandage.
It'll be ready for stitching now. Good job.
You released a breath through your teeth. “You can leave now, I know what to do”
C'mon now, you're the one who asked me here. Don't blame me.
“Not intentionally no. I'd have preferred summoning Robby”
Ha. No you wouldn't.
“Fuck off J—”
You paused your words when you felt yourself once again on the other end of a loaded semi automatic.
“Who are you talking to?” Yellow hoodie asked, his voice taking a dark edge. Your eyes slowly found him beside you. “Do you have an earpiece? Huh? Who the fuck are you talking to?”
Your heartbeat accelerated, knowing now that KJ was stable you were much, much more likely to be shot. Still, you kept your composure.
“It's been a long fucking day” You mumbled with a pinched chuckle. “Dumb coworkers who didn’t bother to do their job. Stuck up bureaucrats. Double shift, haven’t slept in months, and now this?” It all came out at the same time, leaving him completely dumbfounded and off footing. You exhaled through your nose. “You know what? Fuck it. I'll tell you. I'm talking to the doctor in my head that saved your friends life. He's kind of a dick but he got the job done didn't he?”
He jammed the barrel closer to your face when he regained his wits. You didn't flinch. You probably looked insane already, what was adding one more thing to what was wrong with you?
“Don't try to be smart with me”
You nodded, stretching a strained smile on your lips. “Your friend is stable but he's not out of the woods yet. Wanna shoot me? Do it. But it'll be the stupidest shit you've done today and God knows you've done a lot of that already”
He was about to escalate when the leader stepped in.
“Back off” He spoke, but yellow hoodie ignored him. “Hey, back the fuck off!”
That seemed to do the trick, making him step back and lower the weapon. You didn't let this wave of relief show on your face.
“… If that matter is settled,” You began, eyeing them both in turn. “I'll stitch up your friend now”
A tense silence set over the room as you dragged the medical kit closer. You cleaned around the wound with antiseptic and made sure you had a canvas as clear as you could get, then you changed your gloves, having to slip on a pair a bit too big for you this time. Then, you sanitized the stitching kit and returned to the wound.
Despite the fatigue weighting on your bones, you went through with the stitching, maybe not as neatly as the fancy doctors that always looked down on your handiwork when your critical patients finally found their ways to their table, but sturdy enough.
You cleaned the wound again once you were done, then put a fresh bandage on the wound. You stepped around once done, checking the pulse again.
“Getting better” You muttered, glancing up at the man still in the chair. “The transfusion is working”
“Good”
You kept eye contact with him, which seemed to surprise him for some reason. You must have been a sight for sore eyes, all bloody and sweaty and exhausted.
“Now that that's out of the way” You began, having absolutely no more energy to sound polite. “May I go check the hostages for injuries?”
He hesitated, then nodded once. You slipped off your gloves and threw them on the ground before returning to the medic kit. You filled up your belt again with gauze and antiseptic, then put a new pair of those too large gloves and began making the rounds.
Most of them were fine beside a few cuts and bruises, but you went to everyone regardless. You cleaned the small cuts on their hands and applied bandages to avoid infection between reassurances that everything would be alright.
The last hostages were a mother and her daughter, you'd guess no older than 12 and who seemed to be intently staring at the floor. Smart. You crouched in front of the pair, visually assessing them. Neither of them seemed to be bleeding.
“How are we doing here?” You asked, voice kept purposefully low and nonthreatening.
“We're fine…” The mother began, voice trembling. “But my daughter's ankle…”
You looked down instinctively, noticing the visible swell of the joint. You glanced back at them, lowering yourself to one knee.
You addressed the girl directly. “May I?”
She gave you a shy nod.
You carefully reached for her ankle, slow enough so she could see your every move and stop you if she changed her mind. She flinched a little when your hand cupped her ankle, bringing it up to rest on your thigh.
Not broken, otherwise that would have been an entirely different ordeal.
“Tell me if it hurts, alright?” You said as you took off her flip flop and set it aside, then began feeling around the swollen muscle.
She hissed here and there, but you weren't really concerned about the reaction.
“What's your name?”
“Sienna”
You stilled for a few seconds, long enough for her and her mother to share a quick look. You forced yourself to swallow the sudden dryness in your throat and kept your gently poking going.
“That's a lovely name” You muttered back, giving her a small smile. “How old are you?”
“11”
“I knew a Sienna, just about 11 years ago actually”
You noticed out of the corner of your eyes her nervousness lift for a second as it was replaced by curiosity.
“You did?”
“Yeah” Your smile turned fond as your thumb pressed on top of her foot. “She was strong and fearless, just like you”
She finally cracked a smile.
“Alright love, it's not broken” You said, still addressing her. “But it's a good sprain. I'd recommend wrapping it up to make the swelling go down, what'd you say?”
She looked at her mom for guidance, then back to you when she gave a single nod. “Okay”
You reached in your cargo for your wrap, pulling out a beige roll. “Alright, I'll need to hold your foot straight, so it might be uncomfortable for a moment”
She nodded, and you began bandaging. You hands were so used to the motion, it took approximately 43 seconds for the wrap to be rolled around the ankle and secured. You made sure pressure was uniform across the wrapping, then gently lowered her foot on the ground.
“There we go” You said, leaning back on your haunches. “You'll likely be checked again once you're out of here. Try and keep the weight off of it until then, but you will be able to walk or run on it if you must, okay?”
You saw in her expression that she caught your meaning. You nodded, as to confirm that she understood, and she nodded back.
“How do you stay so calm?”
Your attention snapped to her mother, whose eyes widened comically, as if she hadn't meant to speak out loud. You gave her a reassuring smile, hiding well the sorrow that statement alone hid.
“Somebody has to” You said as you shifted your weight, chasing the cramping that was already settling in. “And I'm able to. So I do”
She was about to say something when the rest of the crew, whom now that you thought about it, hadn't seen since the initial shoot out, gathered in the doorframe. You stood up on your feet, holding back the groan of pain.
“Money's loaded and transport's here” One of the announced. “We're ready to roll”
The leader nodded as he slowly stood up, taking care of not disturbing the needle in his arm. “Alright crew, let's go”
“What about the hostages?” Yellow hoodie asked.
“Shoot them”
“Hey wait” You angled yourself to be right in between the hostages and the robbers, suddenly panicked. “That wasn't the deal, you said no one would get hurt if I operated on your friend and he lived, which he did—”
The room grew silent again in shock at your outburst. You noticed for the first time the coldness in the blue of his eyes, accentuated by the black of his balaclava. His glare was chilling, yet, you didn't back down.
“And what do you think you could do if I decided to shoot them?”
“Arguably not a lot”
“So why are you talking?”
“For the same reason you're not shooting”
Time stood still in the room as everyone watching your stand off with the leader. They had already killed the security guards—you guessed they weren't looking forward adding more souls to their tallies. It was one hell of a gamble to take for you, but you did believe you were right.
“Fine” He finally conceded. “I'm feeling generous. Once we're in the transport, they'll be free to go”
You nodded, stepping back.
“Oh not you” He shook his head, a mean chuckle escaping his lips. “You're coming with us Doc”
Hey :) Okay holy shit. Did I go too far in characterization? MAYBE! This was supposed to be a 900 words throwaway chapter. I got carried away in the rewrite, but I did want to do justice to Jack's past in this one.
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 3,625
Chapter warnings: War/Military intervention in Afghanistan, the meat grinder that is the US army, unrealistic/innacurate military SOPs for the sake of the plot, people dying in the name of, PTSD reactions, some characters created as support crew for Jack (lol).
Chapter Summary: A glimpse in Jack's past.
< Previous
Kandahar Province, Afghanistan.
2013
The chopper lifted an heavy veil of dust around Jack as it landed a few hundred feet away from him on the makeshift tarmac. As soon as the rotor slowed down enough not to drown the entire field with rocks, a figure in a tan uniform jumped off, classic aviators sunglasses sitting on his nose. Salt and pepper hair glinted in the harsh afternoon sun like a silver shield, and Jack Abbot couldn't help but grin at the theatrics of his old buddy.
“Easy there Top Gun” He called at the man over the quieting sound of the rotors. “Leave some for the rest of us”
The man kept a serious expression as he stopped in front of Jack, a good half foot taller and even broader shoulders. He was straight out of a recruitment poster, everything the army was aiming to be and project. A career officer through and through, a man that couldn’t have followed any other path in life. He was hard not to admire, not to want to follow in the depths of hell—Jack would know, he followed the man three tours, and probably one more if he hadn’t gotten his leg shred by that shrapnel IED triggered exiting that half standing farm in Jaldak.
“Is that how you greet your superior?”
They held eye contact
“Is that how you greet the guy who came out of retirement to save your ass?”
The question hung heavy in the air…
Until the man cracked and took Abbot in a crushing hug. Both men laughed as they reunited, exchanging half mumbles greetings. As they pulled back, Abbot lightly tapped the fresh new patch on his friend's shoulder.
“Oh, we both know you missed this” He joked.
“We'll see soon enough… Major Thompson eh?” He remarked, eyebrow raised in amusement. “Who hated you enough to get you that promotion?”
Vincent Thompson had been the only consistence in Jack's military career. He had joined the military a few years before Jack, overseeing his basic training as a Lieutenant, then the both of them had been deployed to Afghanistan right after Valentines Day 2003. And while Jack had been flown back home to undergo amputation surgery as a 2006 New Years present, Thompson had stayed in the cradle of gunpowder that had shaped him into sharp edges and and unforgiving endurance like he knew nothing else in life.
Which was most likely the truth.
“Couple of Generals wanted someone to throw under the bus for their failures, you know how it goes” His amused expression contrasted strangely with the explanation he gave, leaving space for unsaid tension along the chain of command. But Jack couldn’t even deny the very obvious fact that, at this point, if anyone was to be able to handle the current mess in Kandahar, it was Thompson.
Nothing could stump the man anymore—not mounting number of American soldiers having been sent back home in a coffin in the three last years, not the public local and international outrage at the lack of foreseen end to this military intervention, not the slowly dwindling lack of buyout by NATO allies and regional partners.
His steadiness and iron like focus was likely why he had ended up back here, in a staffing role to manage the fallout of the deadliest years since the beginning of Enduring Freedom… Or to take the fall for the whole thing if he couldn’t. Teams caught behind enemy lines, injured soldiers with no access to medication, troops holing so far away from any base that they couldn't expect to just walk until they found one — A right mess, one only a few people ever had a chance to win this bet.
It was also why Thompson decided to play outside of his box and called a favour to Abbot, regardless of how such a move would be perceived by the higher ups.
While it was evident Jack had long retired from combat and was barely part time working a teaching role with the Army, no one knew the region on the back of his hand like he did. Thompson swore he could navigate it with his eyes closed then and now still. And with the reduced numbers of recruit, let alone medics, Thompson needed all hands on deck. Sending a kid fresh off basic who had never seen a real limb explode before was a terrible idea—but with Abbot there, even from a distance, maybe they stood a chance. His steadiness had always been a trait Thompson admired, and knew was essential to keep in a team. Never had he seen a kid after him that had such a natural talent to stay calm and collected.
Leadership was extremely reluctant to agree to send a veteran and amputee back in the field. Most disagreed about the whole thing entirely. But even them had to face the fact that Abbot's expertise was one in a billion, and that they needed him.
“Talking of which—”
“Lieutenant Abbot, there's a—”
Both men turned around at the interruption, watching as the kid having just walked in the conversation took in the uniform in front of him. Before either men could react, his whole body straightened into a salute.
“Major”
“At ease soldier” Thompson immediately let him go, watching as his hand lowered, the the spine remained straight.
Abbot nodded. “Go ahead”
The kid looked between the two, then faced Abbot.
“The emergency packs have been cleared and loaded in the tactical rovers” He spoke quick, yet clear words. “The crew is refuelling, we are in schedule to depart on time”
“Good stuff” Jack nodded. “Get some rest. Road's gonna be hard”
“Sir yes sir”
Taking his dismissal, the young man retreated in the main tent as the two friends watched him go.
“Got yourself a duckling, Abbot?”
Jack's eyes slowly went to Thompson, who was still staring at the flaps where the kid disappeared moments ago. Jack glared at him with no real heat behind it.
“Damian Campbell” Jack answered, carefully watching his friend's reaction. “Good kid. Strong nerves. Steady hands. Still green, but he learns fast. He'll make a good medic”
“Any family home?”
The words came out slow, measured, calm. Too calm.
Jack suddenly didn't like where this was going. At all.
He eyed his friend suspiciously. “A wife”
Thompson hummed, tilting his head to the side. A beat or two passed between them until he shook his head. At that moment, no words were needed to understand what he wanted to say.
After so many years in the service, especially for people who often were deployed, you learned to recognize those who'd make it through and those who wouldn't. It was a grim feeling to see young recruits pour in and knowing in your bones whether or not they'd go home in one piece—something deeply haunting that you couldn't even begin to explain to someone who never saw.
And well, Thompson had always been more attuned to it than others, even before he got all of those fancy medals on his chest.
Abbot shook his head, opting for denial. “You've been wrong before. Been wrong about me too”
They were barely into their first deployment when Thompson told Jack he would spend his life as a soldier, to the last breath, until death did him apart. Jack had staunchly believed it to be true, that his place was right in the middle of the storm and the chaos, that he was destined for combat medicine, right until the quick second he felt the scrap metal cutting his flesh to his bone before his body cut off the searing pain entirely for his survival.
Thompson levelled him with a stare entirely too honest for his comfort, giving him a shoulder pat that felt too loaded.
“Was I?”
•••••••••••••
The road to the camp was just as bumpy and dusty as it had been in 2003, and Jack’s nerves were somehow just as ablaze as they had been when he was riding in the back of the rovers with his fresh faced unit that hadn’t been aware yet of what they were in for. Even in the front seat, knowing this time around he wouldn’t get past those tents into active combat’s zones, he couldn’t shake that doom feeling weighting heavily on his shoulders.
Such were the blessings bestowed by the harsh winds of Kandahar’s arid steppe.
The perimeter of the camp coming into view of the convoy gave no reassurance of safety. Instead, the barbed wires and armed sentinels at the gate recited a story of a very specific type misery he knew all too well. Jack shifted in his seat, his safety glasses sliding down his nose from the sweat. He pushed them back unceremoniously as the rovers slowed down enough to let the soldiers at the gate see the faces of the driver as they rolled through the camp.
The air outside was no better than inside the rovers.
The heavy heat was instantly suffocating, yet, there was a familiarity to it Jack knew to appreciate. After he lost his leg, he never thought he’d see again the theatre of his dreams and nightmares alike. Flashes of his unit running around playing soccer in the twilight as the blasting sun of the day distributed its reprieve upon them—his eyes trailing over where they used to set the makeshift goalposts with extra sand bags. His med tent in which he spent most of his day when he wasn’t sent in the meat grinder, and the poor excuse of a canteen right beside that was convenient when the temperature inched dangerously upwards of 130°. The same med tent in which his brothers bled and died, in which a reaper always lurked in the shadows, ready to scavenge the souls he couldn’t save.
It felt right, it felt wrong. He was so out of place after all this time and all he’s been through, yet belonging like nowhere else on this planet. Jack didn’t know how to approach the thoughts mad racing through his mind.
How could hell feel just like home?
“Lieutenant Abbot”
He blinked out of his daydream, turning his whole body around. Damian Campbell was staring at him expectantly, half excited, half nervous, and half something else that stood outside those bounds—painting a picture that seemed, the longer he looked, a little bit too close to a mirror.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll show you to the med tent”
Damian nodded, following him as he dragged along his oversized med kit.
“So, first combat mission” Jack hummed. “How’re you feeling?”
Despite having been in Afghanistan for nearly 8 months, the new batch of privates had not been sent on combat mission yet. This marked their baptism by fire, the first time they’d hear the shots close enough to guess the type of gun that fired them and sleep with their issued weapons and helmets within arms reach. By sunrise tomorrow, they’d leave the sanctuary of the camp again to, hopefully, work well enough with the British and the Danish to disrupt the local Al-Qaeda cell’s activities in the region.
“Hm” The sound Damian made was far from confident, but to his credit, he really did try to project bravery. “As excited to get shot at as one can be, I suppose”
Jack smiled. “Keeping it realistic. That’s wise.”
“If I was wise, I wouldn’t be here, now, would I” He mused, almost to himself.
Jack shook his head, not even faltering in his steps as he led the kid deeper in the camp until they reached the white tent with the big red cross plastered at the entrance and on the top panels. “Touché”
As soon as they came in, the smell of antiseptic hit Jack’s senses, permeating every square of the den. This would be the cleanest place in the camp by a considerable margin, the only place they bothered to equip with a semblance of a floor above the heavy duty rubber mats.
“Alright. This is where you’ll spend most of your time” He said as he faced Damian. “Make yourself at home, set your kit however you’d like. In here during combat missions, you’re the highest ranking member of this unit. What you say goes. No matter what. I’d say be careful with this power, but…” He let a small grin break through his tough facade as he leaned toward him conspiratorially. “I know I cursed one or two captains in here once or twice”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “Can they take it out on you when you’re out?”
Jack barked a laugh. “Yeah, they can and they will, if you do it to the wrong guy” He finished with a scoff, remembering vividly the 200 pushups that his Captain made him do under the scorching afternoon sun for being a bit too mouthy about wound care.
Calling him a fucking idiot for pulling out himself the nail he drove though his own hand before even making it to the med tent had been worth it for about 15 minutes.
Lesson learned.
Damian made a face halfway between amusement and a flinch, nodding slowly. “Good to know” He said, then shrugged. “I’ll be on my best behavior then”
A humorous scoff made his shoulders shake. “Talk to me after a couple of week and we’ll see how that goes”
“Can’t wait”
Jack gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Take 10 to breathe and get your bearings. Briefing’s at 1500 in the big tent in the middle, you can’t miss it. And drink water, okay? It’s fucking hot out here, I bet a kid or two will faint ‘til then” He took a step back, then smirked. If the new guys thought they got accustomed to the heat back at the base, they were in for a rough ride. These tents didn’t have fancy AC or convenient shade. “Don’t be one of ‘em, because you’ll be the one having to pick ‘em up”
Damian face dropped. “You don’t mean literally”
“Oh yeah I do” His eyebrows raised in amusement as he backed up towards the exit. “Welcome to the Army, kid”
“Oh come on!”
Jack let out a small triumphant laugh as he walked right out of the tent, leaving his protégé to set his own med bay. Knowing Damian, just like himself, he’d meticulously place the cots and cupboards so that everything would be in his sight no matter where he stood, and everything would be within reach when he’d perform emergency procedures. He mentored him close enough back home, and during the few months they spend at the international base further away from the combat zones to know he was well capable of handling himself.
He navigated the layout of the camp like it was a second nature to him. No matter where it was set, the tents were always placed the same, making it easier to navigate by instinct in case of emergency or poor visibility.
His feet found the big tent easily.
He didn’t linger under the sun outside and went right in, seeking the shade and the only tent benefiting from an industrial grade fan for air circulation. He wiped the sweat from his brow and unclasped his helmet, then unbuckled his bulletproof vest, letting it hang on his shoulders loosely.
“Fuck me, that heat”
“C’mon Abbot, it ain’t that bad” Thompson chuckled from the end of the briefing table, eyes glued to his PC screen. That brick had been around for decades, yet, it remained the most reliable electronic in the whole country. “You’re just getting old”
Jack scoffed, walking towards him. “And you’re not?”
He tsked. “Only gettin’ younger”
He rolled his eyes as he took a seat beside Thompson. “What are we looking at?”
Thompson took a deep breath, then flipped the screen to Jack. Satellite imagery showed grainy but somewhat unmistakable foxholes at the foot of the mountains. He swallowed dryness in his mouth.
“Sending the kids to the mountains” He tried to sound lighter than he felt, and failed miserably. Noticing the grim expression set on Thompson’s face, he knew his old friend shared the sentiment. “Nice to know nothing changed”
Thompson hummed. “You’d think they’d learn their lessons” He mumbled, flipping back the screen to face him as he cleared his throat. “The Brits and the Danish are seasoned. They’ll be fine”
“Trying to convince me or you?”
Thompson didn’t grace him with any final word on the matter.
So Jack changed the subject.
“I assume they’ll want me out of here and back at the base in a couple of days at most” He said as he leaned back.
“Mh mh”
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound too sad to see me go”
He met his eyes with an unimpressed stare. “Don’t act like you won’t stay here past their deadline, until they drag you by the neck and threaten the both of us with dishonorable discharge to make you leave”
Jack smirked.
“So no” He returned to his PC. “I’m not sad to see you go, because you’ll be here for a while”
He clicked his tongue, not dropping the amused expression. He was about to say something clever right back at him when they were interrupted by yelling outside. Both men looked at each other momentarily before springing on their feet.
They had barely made it a few steps out of the tent that they were sent on their backs from the shockwave.
The unmistakable heat of as explosion registered before the noise, or the picture even did.
Jack shielded his eyes and protected his head as debris flew everywhere. In the fraction of second between the time his eyes adjusted to the brightness and the explosion, he saw the cargo truck driving full speed towards the gate, not stopping by the order of the sentinels. Rigged with explosives, a suicide drive. As the picture cleared and the ringing in his ears subsided, he took in the scene unfolding in front of him.
Half a dozen of bodies sprawled on the ground, never to stand up again. Bleeding soldiers covered in black ashes limping away, and just as many trying to help them away from the fires. Thomson had been fasted back on his feet, already helping him up. The older man had blood running down his ears, probably from not being fast enough to open his mouth to let the pressure out. Jack had been rung like a bell and his back hurt from meeting the ground that fast, but he couldn’t feel anything wrong with him beyond that.
So he moved before his brain even fully came back online.
He reached the epicentre at the same time Damian did, working seamlessly with the other like they had done it all of their lives. The kid didn’t need guidance; he navigated the chaos like he was born for this very moment. He visually sorted the injured, not even paying attention to the dead just yet and focusing on those he could save and naturally gravitating towards those who needed care the most urgently.
Passing alongside him as the last of the injured got directed to the med tent, Jack pat him on the back. “Doing great kid, keep it up”
Damian acknowledged the words with a nod, and they split again, returning to the explosion site to check on those who hadn’t moved yet.
Jack approached the gate, where the explosion had made the most damage, and surely, where some bodies might not be found in one piece. He kept his steps careful, his eyes scanning each and every inch of ground before advancing. He paused, mindlessly clipping back his bulletproof vest as a familiar feeling of caution spread over him.
He didn’t even take two more steps that his eyes caught it.
He felt his entire body freeze as he was overcome with the shadow of something dark and oppressing, something that he thought only lived in a part of his mind that existed in another world, another realm, another life. His muscles locked tight and his mind packed up and left him on his own, alone to bask into the unwanted memories it forgot behind. He was forced to greet an old friend turned tormentor he hadn’t really spoken face to face with since 2006.
Fear.
There was nothing he could do, nothing his body allowed him to do, but stare at the unexploded cluster bomb a few feet in front of him. He was violently thrown back into the person he had been ten years ago hearing the missiles rain over him and his unit, overcome with the same kind of primal terror of someone who’s never been to war getting pushed on the front lines for the first time. No amount of experience and mental toughness could override this state of mind he’d been plunged in.
The chaos faded into a muffled white noise around him, letting him hear his heartbeat in his eardrums. Everything around that small, yet mighty cluster munition faded—the people, the bodies.
The fire.
He didn’t hear either the frantic calls of him name, not registered the abrupt quiet blanketing over the camp as it suddenly stood still, as if suspended in time.
The rest happened in a few seconds at most.
The fire reached the unexploded munition.
The noise picked back up in a roar.
A body collided violently with his.
The bomb went off.
He didn’t feel the shrapnel, nor the shockwave.
He was alive, unscathed.
His place had been traded on Death’s list.
The deal was made, sealed against his will, final, irreversible.
