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.
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: 4,013
Chapter warnings: Language, mention of elderly abandonment, mention of alzheimers, Santos and Whitaker are NOSY, other location than the PMTC.
Chapter Summary: You think your shit day can be salvaged if you just pretend you're fine until you make it through. Of course, when do you ever get what you want? Dennis breaks Trinity's picture perfect crush on you. Robby Observes.
< Previous
“Alright Ms. Greenberg, all patched up”
The elderly woman gave you a grateful, albeit slightly absentmindedly smile. You received the call fifteen minutes ago, when the older lady dialed 911 after cutting herself on an envelope opener. Your partner for the day had nothing but stomped out the house when he took in the “emergency”, leaving you to carefully clean and bandage the wound suffered on the junction of the thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, thank you dear” She replied, eyes going down on her injury. “I'm not as agile as I once were. I'm sorry you had to come all the way here”
You gave her a gentle shoulder pat. “Never apologize for asking for help, Ms. Greenberg,” You reassured her. “I'd rather you call to make sure than not, okay?”
Her smile became shaky as she gave you a nod.
You looked around the sparsely furnished house before standing back up on your feet. Ms. Greenberg was well known by the emergency services, and most people drew short straw to avoid answering the call, knowing it would always be something minor instead of an actual emergency.
You, however, didn't moan and groan at the idea even when you were slammed with calls. She was a fragile old woman who lived alone in her house, and to be honest, you worried about her. You had growing suspicions you were dealing with a case of elderly abandonment, along with most likely some cognitive impairment.
“How are you doing Ms. Greenberg?” You asked as you pulled yourself on your feet, ignoring your screaming knee from the few minutes you spent tending to her wound.
She though for a second. “Yes, I'm doing fine”
You looked around the room again until your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the table. Even from where you were standing, the angry red LAST NOTICE stamp on the envelope told you everything you needed to know about the content of the letters.
Feeling her eyes on you, you forced your gaze to move on, sliding to the left onto a fancy dishes abandoned on the counter, long forgotten. You pulled a strained smile for her sake.
“I see you've pulled out the fine China” You began, eyeing her reaction. “Any… distinguished visitors?”
A welfare check disguised as small talk. You had become good at that.
“Just… The mailman… I think” He frowned. “He always stops to talk”
Her expression began to empty again.
“The mailman huh?” You pushed, giving her a conspiring grin. “Any hot date I should be aware of?”
“Oh!” She finally laughed, eyes brightening like the first sun ray of the day. “Oh you!”
You held up your hands in surrender. “Hey now, a beautiful young woman such as yourself is bound to attract a nice gentleman”
She kept laughing. “You're buttering me now”
“Only stating the truth Ms. Greenberg”
“Thank you dear” She said. “It's always good to see you here”
“My absolute pleasure” You gave her a genuine smile. “Keep an eye on that wound for me alright? If it doesn't get better by the end of the weekend, call us again. We'll come back to check”
“O-okay”
You winked at her, turning around to walk out. Halfway to her door, you spun around and walked backward. “Oh and keep me updated about that date yeah?”
She laughed again as you winked and exited the house.
Your joyful expression fell once the door closed behind you, sighing. Ms. Greenberg was entirely too sweet to be left alone with no one visiting or to be forced out of her home this way. It was unfair and cruel, and while you were not supposed to get attached, you had become genuinely angry on her behalf.
Still, you'd never been as thankful as now for the friendship this mailman provided.
“You don't have to chat with her every time, you know?”
Your shift partner was leaning on the ambulance, smoking a cigarette when you shoved your bag in the vehicle and took off your latex gloves.
“You don't have to keep that stick shoved so far up your ass either, but here we are”
You were upset, maybe too much. But his comment flare up your already raging irritation.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Jesus Christ, alright, keep playing with paper cuts when people are dying”
You rounded up the passenger seat as he got into the driver.
“Not all people who desperately need help is actively dying Ethan” You sighed again as he turned on the engine and began driving off. “You should know that by now”
He rolled his eyes. “I don't need you to lecture me on my job”
You gave him a tight smile. “Apparently you do”
Oh he did not like that.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw muscle popping out for a second. “I'm the paramedic. You're the EMT. Stay in your lane”
Your head slowly pivoted to face him, but he kept his eyes fixated on the road ahead of him. You watched as he swallowed hard, the rest of his body locked in place with something akin to fear.
You could almost hear his heartbeat pounding in his ribcage.
It was well known you hadn't gone through the typical road of starting as an EMT to graduate to Paramedic, opting to stick to the range of treatment EMTs provided despite being long past the usual timeline for career progression. You collected ad hoc certifications here and there, but for the most part, you hadn’t been interested in a promotion.
Yet, with your 15 years on the job, having seen everything and anything possible, you had carved your place high enough on the respect hierarchy that people usually didn't dare pull ranks, especially not someone much younger than you.
Usually.
You kept staring him down until you felt any more would result in a driving accident, then returned your gaze to the road ahead. “Next time, if you're gonna storm out on a patient like a kid throwing a tantrum, at the very least try not to let it show until you're actually out of the house”
“If you're gonna be a bitch—”
It was like it slipped out of his mouth subconsciously, considering the way he caught himself and shut up faster than lightning. You raised an eyebrow, side eying him.
“What was that?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing”
“Hm” You nodded, knowing you were doing it on purpose at this point but enjoying using him as an outlet way too much. “Right”
He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and released, muttering a whatever under his breath. The silent drive back to PTMC took no more than twenty minutes, but visibly, Ethan could not wait to be away from you. He all but jumped out of the vehicle the second he pulled the key out.
You took your time, recomposing yourself before facing the outside world again. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. Stretching your lips into a forced smile until it wasn't so strained, crushing down the sadness in your eyes. It was becoming harder and harder to make the people around you believe you weren’t running on the ghost of fumes, but you couldn’t offload this on the few friends you had more than you already had — they had enough to deal with on their own to pick up your pieces.
You rolled your shoulders and your neck, stretching the delicate muscles there. You then grabbed the small takeout container wrapped in a bag in the glove compartment and exited the ambulance, heading for the bay doors.
The ER was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon, supported by the various doctors charting instead of running around like a circus show.
Santos pays attention to you first, spotting the container in your hands as hope filled her features.
Well, that's a sight to to cheer you up now. Nobody had been this happy to see you in ages.
“Sandwich?”
Before you could even answer, Dana scoffed, not even looking away from her computer. “You'd have seen Robby somewhere around if that was the case”
True to her word, the Chief Attending was nowhere to be seen.
“Okay?” Santos looked between you and Dana. “What's it got to do with sandwiches?”
You laughed and shook your head. “We have this ongoing theory that Robby senses when there are sandwiches incoming. Don't worry about it”
“Never been proved wrong so far” Dana called as she pressed enter, then left to do whatever she needed at the moment.
You handed the container to Santos and nodded at it. “No sandwiches today, but this should hit the spot”
She didn't hesitate to accept the offering, unwrapping the box to find two beautifully decorated cupcakes, one in baby blue and the other in light pink.
“Yeah they're gender reveal novelties, but whoever ordered them didn't show up to— oh and it's already going in okay”
She barely listened to your words or laughter as she shoved one in her mouth, biting half of it and making a sound you were pretty sure would not be appropriate for the workplace.
“How come do you always come back here with food?” She said as her mouth was still stuffed with vanilla cake.
You leaned forward like it was the best kept secret in the universe. “People end up liking you enough to give you free stuff when you keep saving their lives”
She sighed, content. “Yeah you're saving my ass right now and I think I'm in love with you”
You grinned and leaned back, grabbing a incident report form from where you knew they where hiding behind the nurse desk. You watched as her own words registered and colour slowly but surely saturated her skin.
She scrambled for her words. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that—”
“Beach or historical site?”
Caught like a deer in the headlights.
You doubled down when she obviously didn't know what to answer now.
“For the wedding”
She began stuttering, mouth slightly opened until Robby swooped by. To make it better or worse was still up to higher powers.
“You don't have to answer that Santos” He called as he flew by you, but not before giving your forearm a warning poke that you swatted away like a fly bite, gasping in faux offense. “You. Stop flirting with my doctors”
You swore your intention was not to put her in an uncomfortable position, but you'd lie if you said you didn't enjoy at least just a little seeing her flustered like that.
Your self esteem was dragging in the abyss and you were desperate to know if you still had it.
Still, you were about to heed Robby's order and back off when Santos swallowed slowly, somehow not breaking eye contact.
“Historical site”
Your eyebrows raised, impressed, at her shaky, yet certain enough answer to your question.
“Too much sand otherwise”
You grinned and took a respectful step back. “You're cute”
Her expression morphed into a mix of slight offense and preen at your words, halfway between embarrassment and triumph.
You winked and leaned down on the counter, almost parallel with the surface to be close to the form as your reading glasses were probably somewhere in your bag back in the ambulance. You grabbed a pen from your cargos’ pocket and began to fill the form. “Have you seen Dr. McKay anywhere?”
It took a moment for her to answer, so much that you paused your writing and looked up to the still flustered resident.
“Huh?”
You suppressed a smile. “McKay. You know where she is?”
She cleared her throat and shuffled on her feet. “Um, no, why?”
You pointed at the form. “I need to flag potential cognitive decline for a senior living alone and isolated on the verge of getting evicted. She still works with the street team?”
She nodded. “Yep. But I haven't seen her anywhere— Hey, Huckleberry!”
You watched as another kid popped out of seemingly nowhere like he had been summoned. You returned to your form.
“You're still on the street team?”
“Yeah” He replied, his gaze flickering between you, Santos and the baby blue cupcake with Boy? written in fancy script on a piece of chocolate in Santos’ hand. “Why?”
“She needs to report something” Santos waved off. “Can you take the report?”
“Dr. McKay should be more aware of what to do…” He trailed off, his eyes once again stopping on the cupcake. “Where'd you get that?”
“Bakery on main” You interjected, eyes still on the form. “Had extras”
He frowned as he looked between the two of you, then back at the cupcake. He opened his mouth to say something, but Santos beat him to it.
“Gotta save her life to get the goods” She smirked.
You couldn't help but chuckle. Fast learner that one.
He gave her an incredulous look. “You did not save her life”
You hummed, checking patient state boxes on the form. “She kinda did. Close enough for me anyway”
She gave him a triumphant smirk.
You signed the sheet at the bottom and stood straight again, looking between the two of them. “Still no sign of Dr. McKay?”
They both shook their heads.
“She's with a patient in North 3” Robby said as he walked back around, just as fast as he came. “You're welcome to sit here until she returns. As for the both of you, if you have time to stand here you have time to check on your patients”
In an instant, they both took off like birds, briskly walking away huddled together.
•••••••••••••
“What are you doing?”
Santos looked from her charting and Whitaker slid beside her. He was shifting on his feet, looking around and whispering conspicuously.
Santos looked around for the source of whatever possessed him, then returned her gaze on him.
“… Charting?”
“No—” He began, then sighed. “I heard you earlier. With that paramedic”
“EMT”
He frowned. “What?”
She rolled her eyes. “She's an EMT”
His mouth opened, then closed again. “Doesn't matter!” His voice slightly rose, bringing a passing nurse's attention. He apologized with a half smile and a wave, before seriousness returned to his feature. “You were flirting with her”
She scoffed, lightly amused. “She was flirting with me first”
“This isn’t funny”
“It kinda is” She said, barely looking at him as she kept typing. “What, you jealous?”
“No!” He whisper screamed. “I just don't think you should get… involved with her”
Santos paused her typing, slowly turning her head towards him. She'd never have missed the chance to tease him to hell and back about it, but even to her, he seemed a little too agitated to her liking.
“What do you know that I don't?”
He took a long breath out, shoulders deflating as he tried to figure out a way to say this without sounding like the worst gossip monger in the world.
“You know that nurses talk right?” He began. “Well, so do the paramedics”
She raised an eyebrow. “o-kay?”
Whitaker took one step closer and lowered his voice even more. “She and Dr. Abbot? Deeply involved with each other. I'm talking living together for a decade type of thing”
Santos' jaw dropped for a moment, not having expected that. She didn’t think she’s even seen them in the same room since she started at PMTC. “They're together?”
He shook his head. “Nope, not together. This is where details get hazy, but from what I've heard, it's messy”
She fully turned to face him. “Well come on, spill!” She looked over her shoulder. “Ideally before Robby comes around again”
His gaze swept around the ER too once before he launched into the rumours. “Accounts differ, but I've heard she was married years ago. Her husband joined the military and ended up getting blown up by some explosive in the Middle East to save Dr. Abbot, and she was best friend with his wife during that time. After they both died, she and Abbot moved in together. But get that, they weren't together, or not publicly anyway which is worse— but they've recently split up for a reason nobody knows. They have been pointedly going around each other when they were always chatting when she dropped patients before. And…” He looked around, scanning the room to make sure the coast was clear. “No one has any idea what's happening and no one in the know will say, and Robby gets legit pissed when the nurses bring it up”
Bu the time he was done, Santos' eyes had grown like saucers. “What. The fuck”
“Yeah” He nodded. “I don't think it's a good idea to get in the middle of that”
“That's… Ugh” She whispered, a look of abject horror on her face. Was there anyone not overly complicated in this god damn joint? “I have so many more questions now. Do you think it’s a secret affair type of mess?”
He shrugged, offering no rebuttal.
“Just my fucking luck” Santos finally sighed as her shoulders sagged. “A hot woman outside of any HR violation finally flirts with me, but oh wait, she's a walking minefield”
He winced.
Realizing her poor choice of words, she closed her eyes and let her head drop. Maybe not the best thing to say if your husband had indeed been blow up on the field.
“Fuck me”
Whitaker patted her on the back and returned to his patients with nothing but a sympathetic smile, missing entirely the one party listening to their conversation from afar.
Robby hadn't meant to snoop.
Not this time anyway.
He knew he should have put a swift end to that gossip session as soon as he caught his name in a conversation he had definitely no business listening to—and that his residents had no business having either from what he quickly pieced together with the next few sentences they spoke after—but his curiosity got the best of him.
Talk about professionalism.
Any other day, he'd have delivered a stern warning about gossip in the workplace and forgot about it, but blame it on the slow day, instead, he found himself gravitating towards the locker room. Opening his locker, he grabbed his cellphone and opened the last conversation thread and typing the words without thinking, like he was compelled.
Santos made a move. Get ahead of it while you still can.
No fucking Grey's Anatomy on my watch.
He didn't wait for a reply before throwing his phone back in and locking the door afterwards like nothing happened.
•••••••••••••
“So there's nothing you can do?”
McKay sighed and shook her head. She also knew Ms. Greenberg well, and while she would have loved to be able to intervene, it was out of her reach.
“Sorry Sweets” She said as reluctantly as she felt. “She's still technically living in a home. I cannot use the street team to shortcut her. I would if I could”
You leaned back on the empty medical bed in the unused room she had brought you to to speak in private about the incident report.
“I'm worried about her” You said as you dragged your hand down your face. “She's got no one visiting anymore. Only the mailman is kind enough to stop and chat. And I know the paramedics are already tired of her, I'm afraid that if she calls on a day I'm not there or already dealing with something else, she might get overlooked. They'll rush her and she'll keep quiet any other issues that might be grounds for concern”
She squeezed your shoulder in support as she leaned beside you. “I know that you know you can't think like that babe” She began, tone all too understanding. “That's how you get burned out”
You sighed, rolling your head back slowly and feeling the small cracks of your neck. “I know”
You did know, but for some reasons, Ms. Greenberg really stuck out to you. You had no idea why, out of the thousand of people you had assisted, she was the one to haunt you, but she did, and it was like your entire sanity depended on her getting the care that she deserved.
“Tell you what” She began, giving you a smile that was meant to be encouraging. “It's quiet today. Why don't I go upstairs with you to declare the welfare check and hopefully trigger the state taking charge of Ms. Greenberg?”
You paused the movement of your head and raised your eyebrows at her. The ED staff hated dealing with the suits from the eight floor and their judgemental sneers just as much as you did. They saw the world in figures and numbers and quotas instead of in actual impact on human lives and dignity, and you avoided them as much as you could.
“I can't—”
“Not up for debate” Her lip curved a little higher at the annoyed stare you gave her. “I'm not letting you go to war alone”
“You're lucky I just finished an 18 hours” You grumbled as her expression turned triumphant. “I'm not in the mood to argue”
She bumped her shoulder into yours. “Not argumentative? That would be a first. Mark the day!”
You rolled your eyes, but your amusement was clear.
“C'mon” She pushed back on her feet, and after a few seconds staring her down, you did the same. “To the suits we go”
You followed her to the elevators. “Five words horror story”
The sound that came out of her as she called the lift was half a scoff and half a snort. It took a few seconds before the doors opened and you stepped in, quiet music filling the background.
She sighed. “Don't worry Sweets”
You eyed her from where you were standing on her side. “Hm?”
“We'll make sure Ms. Greenberg is taken care of. I promise”
You nodded as the elevator doors opened on Dante's eight circle of hell. With a synchronized deep breath, you dived right in.
•••••••••••••
You were already pissed off as it was, and the long line at the bank certainly didn't help to ease your mood. The rational part of you supplied all the usual arguments, that these people had as much right as any other to take their time and ask question and solve their own issues.
But the sleep deprived, irritated version of you, the one that had been inflated by spending nearly an hour arguing with a delicately perfumed bureaucrat in his AC controlled room about a elderly woman's right to medical supervision was whispering in your ear that none of these assholes had any business standing in line ahead of you.
Still, you bit the inside of your cheek and fidgeted with your helmet, shifting from sore foot to sore foot and cursing the latest Phenix pay system crash that forced the city to deliver your paycheck through an actual, physical check that had to be deposited at the bank.
You had tried on your phone, but of course there had been in internal error that made it impossible for you to access mobile deposit at that time.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, the out, the repeated a couple of times, trying to ease the tension across whole body. You shook your free hand, then switched your helmet to the other and did the same. Slowly, you reopened your eyes.
The blur took a few seconds to clear, revealing the scene unfolding in front of you. You tilted your head as you noticed strange, hurried movement that part of your brain had already understood but not communicated to your conscious just yet.
Any other day, you'd have caught the clues. The nervous figures by the door, the twitching man in the line, the people consistently scanning the room.
Your eyes widened as it finally registered, a fraction of a second before it actually happened.
From the hurriedly slipped on balaclavas to the raised semi automatic weapons and the bags.
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: 2250
Chapter warnings: Language, old man on old man violence, Jack is sad and dramatic faced with circumstances he himself created, brief mention (non graphic) of physical child abuse, the 'M' in Robby's MD stands for meddling.
Chapter Summary: Robby takes it upon himself to make Jack see reason. Unfortunately for him, his best friend is just as stubborn as he is.
< Previous
Daylight had begun breaking through Pittsburgh's skyline when Robby found Jack on the rooftop, hands in his pockets and deep in thoughts.
“You're here early”
Robby chuckled humorlessly as he leaned his forearms on the railing, dropping his head down between his shoulders.
“Something I had to check on before I clocked in”
Jack didn't move, but his shoulders did tense ever so slightly, enough for Robby to notice. “Something, or someone?”
He sighed, wordlessly confirming Jack's veiled accusation.
“You've been finding yourself here an awful lot since…” He pointed out, finally looking up to watch the sunrise too. “Just makin’ sure”
Jack's expression turned bitter. “She asked you to?”
Robby scoffed. “F'course not. She specifically told me not to”
“And here you are”
“And here I am”
Jack finally turned to glance at his best friend, who met his eyes when he felt his stare on him. He straightened up, slapping the railing once.
“Would you just fucking call her?”
His jaw locked at Robby's crude audacity, grinding his teeth in sudden annoyance. “No”
“No?” Robby's eyebrows shot up to the sky. “You're both visibly miserable without each other and you're making everybody else miserable with you. Get your shit together”
His glaring did nothing to intimidate Robby, so he glared back at the sunset instead. “She's better off without me—”
“Oh fuck off” He brushed off. “She's not and you know it”
His face changed then, twisting into a pained grimace. He tried to keep his tough face up, but he deflated at how easy it had been for Robby to get under his skin. The bastard had, purposefully and in full knowledge of cause, hit the only chord of doubt in his mind he'd be dancing around for months. It was such an obvious one too, anyone could have hit it, but nobody had dared being a direct asshole with him yet.
Until now anyway.
Because, did he know it? That you weren't better off without him?
You were still young, younger than him. You still had good years, and he believed you shouldn't be spending them with an old sad fuck like him. You should be out there, making memories and catching up on experiences you missed while you grieved. He knew he wouldn't be able to give that to you, to follow you crazy places—he'd only slow you down.
He finally shook his head. “I'm not good for her”
“You decided that all by yourself?”
He looked at Robby, annoyed that he kept playing the oblivious fool. Surely, he couldn’t be that blind to all of the obstacles between him and his happy ending, and not enough of an idiot to think Jack would be good for you.
He tightened his jaw, shaking his head. “In case you hadn't noticed, I have issues. Lots of them”
“So does she, and I've never heard you complaining about it”
The warning edge his glance suddenly took was hard to miss, but Robby didn't exactly care to be intimidated by it.
“I'm nearly 50, and missing a leg”
“Never heard her complaining about it”
“I'm—” He paused, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I'd just waste her time”
“If that was true, you've wasted 10 years already, so what's 10, 20 more?” Robby joked, then backed off when it obviously didn't land. “Alright, fine, let's hear it. Why'd you think that?”
“For one, I don’t want kids. She does. She had this whole plan with Damian” He spoke, his voice far away. “He kept talking about it. All. The. Time.” He emphasized each word with an frustrated admiration. “About his picket fence and 2.5 kids and two dogs. I can't give that to her”
Robby observed him for a moment, slowly beginning to understand what this was truly about. Despite his best efforts to hide it behind every excuse under the sun, Jack felt guilty. Guilty that he took something away from you by being the one who came back from that deployment. Guilty that he is all there’s left of your husband, that his ghost would forever cling to him. And all of that combined with his frankly oversized saviour complex, Jack wouldn’t put you through that kind of pain willingly, even if all of those beliefs lingering in his mind were terribly misplaced.
“Did you talk to her about it?”
Jack's silence spoke volumes. Robby sighed.
“Listen,” He began, violently osciliating between uselessly trying to beat into him that it wasn’t his fault and something more productive. In a flash of wisdom, he decided on the latter. “She had a plan to have kids with Damian” He ennunciated slowly, pointedly like he was trying to make Jack see this point by himself. “Are you Damian?”
“Don't do this”
“Just sayin’” He muttered, holding his hands up in surrender. “That was the plan when she was 20. It's been 15 years and the man in the plan's long gone. You think she still want the same things now, after everything?”
Jack remained stubbornly silent again, refusing to even entertain the idea that Robby had a point.
“Wanna know what I think?”
Jack's face turned into a displeased frown. “Don't ask if you're gonna do it anyway”
“I think you are trying to find issues that do not exists to justify the fact that you were righteous to drive her away”
He scoffed. “Didn't know you were my therapist now”
Robby faced him, fully faced him now. “Jack, you've got someone who knows you, the good, the bad and the ugly and loves you through it all. You've got someone who knows what it's like to lose a spouse, and beyond that, that will always respect Sienna and the love you had for her, because she loved her too” He dragged a hand over his face. “You understand that nobody gets to be that lucky once, let alone twice, don’t you?”
Robby watched Jack's sharp intake of breath, clearly trying to keep all of that overthinking under wraps. Unfortunately, he knew his best friend a bit too much for the diversion to work.
Jack didn't exactly know when he began having feelings for you, but he had come to the terrifying conclusion he was in deep about a year before you confessed. It hadn't been a cinematographic affair, no big dramatic movie-like scene or slow motion replays of a heroic feature. No, it had been much dumber than that.
It had been him watching you run across the ED mid shift, stealing his keys from his locker to, what he'd figure out later, hurriedly roll up the windows of his truck as the thunderstorm of the year began pouring nails out of forecast clear skies. You had come back soaked to the bone to return the keys before running back to another call, remaining nothing but a mystery blur to the Nightcrawlers for the few hours remaining of their shift. Jack had only understood your quick in an out when he painfully limped back to his truck at the end of his shift and everything hit him at once—the memory of leaving his windows wide open, the contradictory sight of them now well shut, and the image of you sprinting across his ER.
You had remembered the damn windows, and used what could have been your only break of the day to roll them up for him.
That had scared him more than any bomb siren every had. It had been so sudden, so warm, so encompassing that it had left him off balance. He hadn't thought he'd ever feel so deeply ever again that it had scared him to the core. Yet, he had pushed it all back, banished the thought to the confines of his mind, thinking it would go away if he pretended his feelings hadn't changed.
Of course, he couldn't run forever.
You had caught up to him sooner than later.
You had breathed life into everything he though he had buried, giving them names and purposes. You had read them all right, of course, because you could read him like a children's book without even trying. Yet, all he had been able to do at that moment you took the step forward was to deny everything.
Ripping your heart out in the process.
“I know you two belong together” Robby spoke again, dragging him out of his own mind. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Hell, half of the damn hospital think you’re married already, and nobody knowing otherwise cares to correct them. That should tell you something”
Jack flinched ever so slightly, his fingers subconsciously reaching for his wedding band he was still wearing. The picture was clear on how this idea spread in the first place, both you and him holding onto those emergency room safe silicone bands from a life long gone. He’d be lying to himself if he said it hadn’t felt so natural, even to him, to assume they were matching.
Or to make believe for a second they actually were.
“Even if…” He paused, then shook his head and cleared his throat. “This ship has sailed. It's too late”
“No such thing as too late”
“This time there is”
Robby narrowed his eyes. “… Do I even want to know?”
It took Jack several minute to think about it. He didn't particularly want Robby to know just how much he fucked up, he barely even wanted to face it himself. Still, Robby was patient, directing his attention to the rising sun while his best friend sorted out his own mind.
Finally, Jack directed his gaze down. “Told her there had been nothing between us”
Robby chuckled, brushing off Jack’s dramatics entirely. “Yeah, isn’t that the classic lie. We’ve all said it, all heard it. It's not great but I know she'll forgive you if you try hard enough to apologize”
When Jack didn't react, he glanced to him, his light humor suddenly vanishing. He took a deep breath, knowing it wasn't the end of it.
“… What else?”
Jack swallowed hard. When he spoke this time, it was said barely under his breath, yet he felt like he had screamed it to echo in Pittsburgh's morning quiet.
“I used the family name thing”
Robby stilled, feeling discomfort ripple through his spine. “Well, shit”
Robby wasn't meant to ever know, that much he was aware of. It was something you kept tightly under wraps, buried under dry humor and a stern, intimidating presence that didn't invite personal conversations. He wouldn't even have asked if he hadn't absolutely had to—when you ended up as the patient after being stabbed on a call about a drunken fight.
He still remembers the way the student doctor examining you up had discreetly pulled him aside to report glaring signs of domestic abuse.
He had taken lead over the case then, not thinking twice about how he certainly didn't have the time that day to handle the paperwork. He made sure it was only you and him in the room as he performed a new examination, not commenting on the fact that you had remained uncharacteristically shut down the entire time he took in the various faded scars all over your body.
It had been both a relief and a knife in the heart to come to the conclusion that none of these scars had been dealt to you by anyone still in your life. On one hand, he didn't have to worry about Jack, or even Damian being responsible for it. On the other, however, the sadness that took him over at the thought of you having been abused to the point of physical violence when you were just a kid was nearly unbearable.
He had seen others like you, you were hardly an exception, much to his dismay, but it was always hard to learn that about a loved one.
You had told him then about your family, and how they weren't great people. About how Damian, even gone, was the family you chose, and how you'd never go back to that cursed family name you were born with even if it meant dragging the memory of someone no longer alive.
He sighed. “That's definitely not good—”
“I'm aware”
“—but not impossible to overcome” He finished, sending a pointed look to Jack. “If you just put on your big boy pants and talked to her”
Jack didn't answer that.
So Robby pressed, as he did.
“If only to make things clear on where you stand now”
Still nothing.
“You know, so this ED doesn't turn into Grey's Anatomy. Love triangles and all”
That was enough to make Jack snap his head towards Robby. Gotcha. He hid his self satisfied smirk at succeeding to provoke a reaction, knowing that if he couldn't get through Jack with common sense, he'd have to use dirty warfare to shake things up.
And well, Robby was so not above being a petty bitch.
He leaned forward on the railing, acting like he wasn't going to drop what could very well be the metaphorical equivalent of a megaton hydrogen bomb in Jack's laps.
“I think Santos's into her”
Jack tensed up like he just got tased in the back, expression turning pinched and vexed. To his credit, he really did try not to let it show, but he failed miserably.
“Okay”
Robby hid the smug little smile that he was just dying to let out.
“Every time Sweets walks through the bay doors, it's like Santos magically appears by her side. It's adorable, really” He noted, keeping his tone innocent even if he knew he was wielding his words like a sword through jungle vines. “I don't think Sweets noticed the intent yet, but she's not pushing her away either”
Jack just grumbled under his breath, holding back any reaction he had absolutely no right to let out. Still, his mind drifted to you, as it usually did, thinking about how you hated when people hovered. Interns. Bosses. Coworkers. Strangers. If you let Santos into your space, let alone multiple times… He preferred not to think of the implications .
“Good for them”
It came out strangled and insincere.
“Really?”
“Really”
They met eyes then, Jack daring Robby to call him on his bullshit.
Which he did, approximately 15 seconds later.
“Bullshit”
Should have expected it.
“She doesn't want me to call her, and that's the proof”
“You trying to convince me or you?”
Jack shook his head and returned to the safe side of the railing, signaling the end of the conversation.
“My shift's over” He said as he limped past Robby. “Good luck with the patient in North 12, by the way. Don't let him get into aliens talk”
Jack knows you were the one that got away. So when the crew receives your save the date for your wedding, he decides he's got one last chance to right all of his wrongs.
genre: jack abbot x resident!reader, friends to lovers, eventual smut 18+ mdni, rom com-ish if you squint???
word count: 2700
(a/n: let's all pretend that everyone works at the same time because that's what going on here lmao. suspend disbelief for a moment if you will, taglist will be made for the 2nd and final part!)
The save the date arrives on a Tuesday.
This is, Jack will later think, cosmically appropriate. Nothing good has ever happened on a Tuesday.
Tuesdays are for bad labs and insurance denials and 3 a.m. despair that only exists in emergency medicine.
He's standing at the nurses' station, halfway through a cold cup of coffee and a chart that makes no sense, when Dana drops her phone on the counter in front of him like she's laying down evidence at a crime scene.
"Tell me," she says, "that you have already seen this."
He looks at the screen and then back at Dana.
It's a digital save the date. Pale cream background. Simple, elegant font. Little botanical illustration in the corner, something with greenery and small white flowers that he can't name.
Please save the date for the wedding of..
It’s your name. And someone else's.
He reads it three times. The words don't change.
Dana retrieves her phone gingerly, walking away after he just stares down at it for an uncomfortable amount of time. Behind her, Robby walks up and she shows him before she starts to back away. "Oh." Robby says. “Oh that’s gotta suck.”
"Nobody asked you." Jack says.
Robby raises both hands in surrender and takes a step backward. Trinity, on her way to catch up on charting, feels the distress in the air and pauses. "What happened?"
Dana shows her the phone. And Trinity says something in Tagalog that Jack doesn't catch but which has the unmistakable cadence of oh, you poor idiot.
This is the part where Jack would like to point out that he is fine. Years of emergency medicine experience and the emotional regulation of someone who has seen genuinely terrible things and kept moving is what will help him here. A save the date is not going to be the thing that takes him out.
…
The problem is , and he's aware of how stupid this is, he's been not fine about you for approximately four years, and he'd gotten somewhat good at managing it.
Sort of.
He did not account for the save the date to throw a wrench in his plans of getting over you.
You joined his program three years into your residency, a lateral transfer from Pittsburgh's other major hospital that HR described as mutual benefit and everyone else described as mysterious. He remembers the first time you walked into his ER like he remembers most things that matter. In unnecessary detail, despite his best efforts.
You had a coffee in one hand and a patient chart in the other and you were reading the chart while walking, which was either very confident or very dangerous, and you looked up at exactly the wrong moment and made eye contact with him and said, completely without embarrassment, "You're taller than I expected."
The next eight months were fine. Professional. He supervised, you learned, there was a normal attending resident dynamic that he was appropriately careful about maintaining. You were good at your job. Instinctive, a little reckless, right more often than you should be.
Then you had a bad night.
Multi-car accident, three fatalities, one of them a kid. This shift that either breaks people or doesn't, and you don't know which until it's over. You'd held it together through all of it, every bit of it, and then at four in the morning when the ER finally went quiet you'd climbed up to the roof and he'd found you sitting on the edge of a concrete divider with your legs dangling over nothing, staring at the Pittsburgh skyline like it owed you something.
He should have sent you home. Or called someone.
Instead he sat down next to you.
You didn't say anything for a long time. Neither did he. The city glittered below and you were close enough that he could feel the warmth of your shoulder against his and could see the exact moment your breathing evened out and settled.
"I don't know how you do this." you'd said, eventually.
"You get a thicker skin."
"That sounds terrible."
"It is." he'd said. "And it isn't."
You'd turned to look at him. In the dark you looked very tired and very young and something else he wasn't sure, but the way his pulse quickened might have a name for it. "Which part isn't terrible?"
He should have said the medicine or the outcomes or watching residents like you figure it out. All of these would have been appropriate and true.
Instead, he said. "This part."
You'd looked at him for a long moment and then back at the skyline.
He'd given you his jacket because it was forty degrees and you were in scrubs, and you'd fallen asleep against his shoulder twenty minutes later and he'd stayed until the sun came up because moving had seemed like the worst possible idea.
He never told you what he'd meant to him. To be with you there.
Four months after that you met someone at your friend's birthday party and started dating and that was fine. Good. He was glad you were happy. He said this to himself with great conviction every time he saw you come in glowing from a good weekend, every time you mentioned offhandedly that “we're” thinking about this restaurant or “we” saw that movie, and he was a adult about it when he very much didn’t want to be.
…
"You knew." he says to Dana, later, in the break room. "You all knew."
"We all knew what?"
Dana has the audacity to look serene. She is eating a cup of yogurt with such calm that it seems as though she has anticipated this conversation and prepared accordingly. "I think the question of what anyone knew is somewhat less important than the question of what you're going to do about it."
"Nothing." Jack says. "I'm going to do nothing. She's engaged."
"She's engaged, not married.” Dana says.
"Dana."
She eats a demonstrative spoonful. "I'm just a woman, eating yogurt, minding her own business. Saying the facts of the matter outloud. Whatever you do with that information, is up to you."
He leaves the break room. He can feel her watching him go with the satisfaction of someone who has planted a seed and is prepared to wait.
…
You come in for your shift the next day at six forty five, which is fifteen minutes early. One of the several things about you that distinguishes you from the other residents and also from several of the attendings, if he's being honest.
He's at the nurses' station when you come through the ambulance bay doors. You're in your regular scrubs, hair pulled back, coffee already in hand and you're smiling at something on your phone and he looks away before you can catch him looking.
"Morning!" you say, passing behind the desk. Your shoulder brushes his arm. "What's the board look like?"
"Room four's been waiting four hours. Chest pain, cardiac workup negative so far. Room seven is a wrist fracture, ortho's been paged. Nine is abdominal pain, still working it up." He pauses. "Room two is a guy who says he was bitten by his emotional support ferret."
You pause yourself in the middle of unpacking your bag. "I'm sorry?"
"The ferret's name is Giuseppe."
"I have so many questions."
"You can take room two."
You look delighted. This is a thing about you that has always gotten him. The way you look pleased by the bizarre small moments that emergency medicine occasionally produces. Most people in this job develop a protective layer of irony. You never did. You just kept looking at the world with that bright and curious expression and it is frankly unreasonable.
"I love this job." you say, and head toward room two.
He watches you go for probably longer than necessary and then looks back up at the board.
Trinity comes up, surveying the growing patient list. "You know," she says casually "I think I saw that the wedding is in four months."
"Goodbye, Santos."
"That's actually a decent amount of time, if someone were to, I don’t know, confess.."
“GOODBYE.”
…
The shift goes sideways at eleven.
A construction accident brings in three workers simultaneously. A fall, a laceration requiring immediate surgical consult, and one case that you take one look at and call a tension pneumothorax before the paramedics finish their handoff.
He's already moving, gloves on, because you're right, you're always irritatingly right about the acute stuff. "Needle decompression, second intercostal.."
"I know where the second intercostal space is." you say, not looking up.
"I'm aware that you know, I'm just.."
"You're hovering."
"I'm supervising."
"You're hovering." Your hands are perfectly steady. You have the needle placed before he can think of a retort, and the patient's oxygen saturation starts climbing before he can tell you anything else. You look up at him with an expression he knows intimately, the expression of someone who has just proven a point and is being gracious about it. "There."
"Good." he says. It comes out differently than he intends. Less attending evaluating resident and more something else that he immediately buries.
You notice and he can tell because you look at him for half a second longer than usual. The difference between a normal glance and something with a question in it. Then a nurse calls your name and the moment dissolves and you're both moving and there's no room for anything but medicine.
The ER is simultaneously the worst place to have any kind of feelings and the best, because eventually the work takes over and the work is real and present and demanding in a way that everything else isn't, and for stretches of time he can just be a doctor doing his job with a resident doing hers and none of the rest of it exists.
Then the stretches end.
…
It's Robby who brings it up at lunch. Dana sat beside him pretending not to listen too much.
They're in the break room and someone has ordered sandwiches from the place down the block. Staff filters in and out, grabbing food and drinks. Robby unwraps his food and says, completely unprompted, "So this wedding."
Jack sets down his sandwich.
"What?" Robby looks around the table. "I'm just trying to be helpful. Someone in this room has feelings about this wedding, is all I'm saying."
"No one in this room has feelings about this wedding." Jack says, with what he feels is admirable composure.
Robby puts down his sandwich and looks at him with exhausting sincerity. "She's the one that got away. You know that, right? Like, everyone knows that. Although, I think she might be the only person in this hospital who doesn't know that."
"This is not a conversation we are having." Jack says.
"I know you don't want to have it, but.."
"The fact that I don't want to have it is the point. The point is that we are not having it.”
"She told Victoria she still thinks about the Halloween party." Princess says, as she picks out a sandwich. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Jack stops. He turns, very slowly, to look at Princess, who has gone slightly wide eyed at her own contribution to the conversation.
"What Halloween party?" he says.
"The one two years ago. At Santos's apartment. So she apparently told Dana that she.." Princess seems to be reconsidering her life choices in real time. "This is secondhand, I'm just.."
"Jesus, what did she say, Princess?"
A pause. "That she thought something might happen that night. Between you two. And when it didn't, she figured she'd read it wrong. And then she kind of just..moved on."
Jack thinks back to the Halloween party. Santos's apartment, the too small living room, everyone in terrible costumes. You'd come as a doctor, which was either the laziest costume or a statement, and you'd argued with him about it. It's ironic, Abbot, look up irony. At some point in the evening the crowd had thinned and you'd ended up in the kitchen together and you'd said something that made him laugh, which you always seemed unreasonably pleased by, and he'd looked at you and..
He had thought about it. He had thought about it with great clarity, and then he had thought about how he was your boss and how much older he was and the seventeen ways it could go wrong, and he had gotten himself another drink and rejoined the party.
Four months later, you met someone at a birthday party.
"Okay." Dana says standing up. "Everyone who is not Jack, out."
The break room empties with efficiency. The door closes and Dana sits back down across from him.
"Say it." Jack says.
"I'm not going to say I told you so, per se."
"Dana."
"Because that's not useful, and also because I did tell you, multiple times, and yet." She takes a bite of her sandwich. "The wedding is in four months, Jack."
"I'm aware."
"She thinks she read it wrong. She thinks whatever this is," Dana gestures “she invented it. In her head. She moved on because she thought there was nothing to hold onto."
He doesn't say anything.
"You have four months." Dana says. "Or you have the rest of your life wondering."
"She's engaged."
"She's not married."
"That's. Dana, that's not. I’m not that kind of person."
"I'm not saying blow up her relationship. I'm not saying do anything stupid or dramatic." She points her sandwich at him. "I'm saying tell her the truth. Tell her what it's been. Let her do what she wants with it. That's it. That's all. But tell her."
He looks at the table. He has spent four years being careful and appropriate and professionally responsible and you had thought you'd invented the whole thing, you had thought there was nothing there, and moved on, and are now marrying someone else.
"I need to think." he says.
Dana stands up, collects her trash. "At some point thinking becomes a very elaborate form of doing nothing."
…
You find him at the nurses' station at the end of the shift, the way you have done since approximately month two of your residency. An end-of-shift debrief, unofficial, the two of you going over the day's cases while the rest of the team filters out. He'd told himself at the time that it was good for your development. He is beginning to suspect he has not been entirely honest with himself.
"Giuseppe’s owner is going to be fine." you say, pulling up the chart on the station tablet. "No sign of infection. I told him to reassess whether the ferret is meeting his emotional support needs, but he got pretty defensive."
"He has a loyal advocate."
"Giuseppe has a choleric temperament and approximately seven teeth, based on my examination." You make a note in the chart. "Room four was a NSTEMI, cardiology's admitted her. Room nine was appendicitis."
"I saw."
"You taught me to check for Rovsing's sign every time." You say it without looking up from the tablet, but there's something in your voice, a warmth, that tightens his chest. It always does. "It's become a reflex. I catch things I might have missed."
He makes himself look at the board. "That's the point."
"You're a good teacher, Abbot. Don't tell anyone I said that. I have a reputation."
"For what?"
"For being right about things. If it gets out that I'm complimenting you, people will wonder about my judgment."
He looks at you then. You're already looking at him, one corner of your mouth tilted up and for a moment it's just easy. The way it always is with you, when he's not busy drowning in everything else. Just easy, and familiar, and like being somewhere he belongs.
Tell her.
He opens his mouth, but your phone buzzes.
You glance at it, and your face softens, in a way that tells him exactly who it is. "Sorry," you say. "I have to go, he's outside." You're already reaching for your jacket. "Good shift, Abbot."
"Yeah." he says.
"See you Thursday."
You're out the ambulance bay doors before he finishes nodding. Through the glass he can see a car at the curb, and you're getting in, and then you're gone.
He stands at the nurses' station for a moment.
Then he picks up the next chart, because there's always a next chart, and there's always something to do, and doing something has always been easier than saying something.
Hey :) Here is part 3 of the series that I decided to roll out tonight before bed. I hope you guys enjoy! Reblogs and comments are very appreciated ♥
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: 4,250
Chapter warnings: Dark humour, talks of mental struggles, talk of grief, Robby and Dana being protective of reader, Robby making promises he has no intention of keeping, Robby and Reader in the same room are a menace to society and to Dana's peace of mind specifically, Jack is mentioned (it's his show after all) but not in there physically.
Chapter Summary: You adjust (or try to adjust) living on your own for the first time in a decade. Dana and Robby can't help but notice you're far from okay.
< Previous
It was like he had a sixth sense, feeling when you were approaching with food, because never once did he not happen to walk past the Ambulance bay doors when you walked in with something for him.
Not once.
“Robby, catch!”
As if it was an innate instinct, Robby's arm shot up to catch the sandwich flying his way as he briskly moved around his ER, turning around and walking backward once the package was securely in his hands.
He pointed at you, the pesto turkey sandwich firmly in his grasp. “I love you Sweets”
You grinned as you watched him disappear towards his new emergency. “Waterfront or Garden for the wedding?"
He gave you a face like you've asked him the dumbest, most obvious question in the entire world. “Waterfront!” He shouted back before he went out of view.
You chuckled and shook your head as Dana came to stand before you, eyes drawn towards where Robby disappeared.
“Honey, if you keep suggesting marriage, one day the fool's gonna take you up on it”
You laughed. “Eh, wouldn't be so bad now would it?”
She raised an eyebrow.
You made an excited face as you crossed your arms against your chest. “I could be his trophy wife”
Now that elicited a proper reaction from her as she scoffed a laugh. “No you couldn't”
You gasped. “What? You don't think I could make a good Mrs. Dr. Robby?”
“Aside from the fact that you two'd drive each other to clinical insanity,” She gave you a pointed stare, then grinned. “You still need two things to be a trophy wife— sitting still and being pretty. Now, you’re pretty enough sweetheart, but it's the sitting still part I'm not convinced about”
“Ugh, you're right” You sighed dramatically, letting your hands drop to your side. “Besides, if I became a miserable trophy wife, who'd get you sandwiches huh?”
Her eyes lit up in realization as you passed the second sandwich you had acquired today to her. A Caprese on rosemary focaccia from one of her favourite shops. The advantage of being a long practising EMT in the city was that the people you helped often treated you well in return, offering you all kinds of compensation for your troubles. It happened that half an hour ago, you were given a bunch of sandwiches after helping the owner after he fainted due to having not eaten a damn thing that day yet.
You had taken a habit to smuggle some of your loot back to PTMC to feed your two favourite people whenever you could.
“Kid, you're godsend” She sighed as she unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Judging by her facial expression, it hit the spot.
“Did I hear something about Dr. Robby getting married?”
You turned around in surprise as a new voice entered the conversation.
“No, he's not” Dana replied for you, mouthful of sandwich.
“Not yet” You corrected with a smirk, and she slapped your shoulder. It didn't help the young woman's confusion. “I'm just joking. No wedding. Just a dumb bit to make Dana's life harder”
She nodded slowly, not convinced, as Dana glared daggers at you.
“Sweets, you've met Dr. Santos right?”
Your eyes went to Dana as she changed the subject with a clipped tone. They then widened and returned to the young woman as you snapped your fingers. “Santos! I know that name. Nice to meet you when I'm not bleeding out”
“Likewise” She extended her hand, which you shook. “Paramedic?”
“EMT”
“Nice” She nodded. “Hey, how do I get one of those?”
Your eyes followed hers to Dana's sandwich, which she protectively pulled back closer. Your gaze returned to Santos again, extremely serious.
“You gotta save my life to get sandwich privileges”
Without even missing a beat, she replied, “I kinda already did”
You paused.
“Kid's got a point” Dana glanced at you, amused.
“Fair enough” You conceded. “Well now that's awkward. I'm all out of sandwiches. Talk about talking big and not delivering, am I right?”
Dana laughed as she shook her head.
“Dr. Santos!”
She looked up at being called from the other side of the ER, then quickly excused herself and jogged toward whatever required her attention. You watched her run across the room as you crossed your arms against your chest, then turned back to Dana, who already was staring through you.
“How are you doing kid?”
The mask slipped at the question just long enough for her to notice.
“And don't bullshit me. You look exhausted”
You nodded. “Yeah, I've been picking up longer shifts, doing a lot of 18 hours lately”
She sighed disapprovingly.
“It's been tough” You confided. You didn't need to mention what you were referring to, she already knew about the catastrophic way your… partnership with Jack ended a few months ago. Still, you carefully pivoted the conversation to avoid delving too much into emotional vulnerability stuff. “I need to save money to buy an actual bed and those things are crazy expensive. I hadn't slept consistently on a pull out couch since I was 24, my back is destroyed”
Most of your nights since those days had been spend in Jack's second bedroom on an actual bed. The return to springs and metal pipes digging in your back had been particularly difficult and your sleep quality had taken a major hit.
“And groceries, fuck me those are expensive” You added.
“You're not running on ramen and frozen pizza are ya?” She frowned.
You paused. “Noooo” You trailed off, unconvincingly. You weren't, per se—not in the way she imagined it. “There's canned beans in the mix. For fiber n' stuff”
That seemed to appease her for now. “You better not be wheeled in here for colon cancer, you hear me?” She ordered. “And your shift is over. Go back home and sleep”
You gave her a two fingers salute as you began backing away. “Yes ma'am”
She shook her head she she watched you go, knowing you'd find your way in her ER sooner than later anyway.
•••••••••••••
8 pm at Marty's?
You stared at your phone with wide eyes, not having expected Robby to text you out of the blue for a meetup half an hour later. Despite having known each other for more than a decade, only on a very few rare instances did you have one on one hangouts that hadn't started as a group thing that slowly thinned out, and even less initiated by him without any prior indicator of his intention to do so.
You had an idea of why, however.
You sighed, then texted back.
Sure
meet you there
You changed from your house clothes and slipped on black jeans and the first clean shirt you could find—fuck, you were so behind on your laundry. Quick fix of your hair so it didn't reflect as much how messy your life was, then grabbed your leather jacket, your helmet and your keys.
You found in the parking garage your sport bike, an old thing your husband had bought you with his first army paycheck. Each year that passed brought more tear and wear on the thing, but you couldn't find it in you get rid of it. Instead, you kept repatching it and pretending it was fine.
The was an irony in there you willingly ignored.
You clipped your helmet on and climbed on, then turned on the engine and left. Marty's was on the other side of the city—much closer to PTMC than your place was—but you didn't mind, the drive there wasn't too bad outside of rush hours. You took your time, taking the scenic road and enjoying the sunset, knowing Robby's 8 pm were really at least 8:30.
You were proven correct when Robby appeared around the corner as you finished paying the street parking on the machine at 8:35.
“Sorry for being late” He said in lieu of a greeting. “Something I had to fix before clocking out”
You smiled sympathetically. “All good Robby. Just came in myself”
You shared a quick hug and walked in the almost deserted bar. You supposed Tuesday nights weren't exactly a popular time to be hanging out in a semi respectable dive bar.
“I've got it” Robby stopped you from going to order, which made you raise an eyebrow. You two weren't the type to just buy the other a drink outside of special occasions. “Still drinking your usual?”
You nodded slowly, suspiciously. He played innocent, smiling at you and making a beeline for the bar. You grumbled under your breath and grabbed a booth out of the way, setting your helmet and jacket on the bench beside you. A few minutes later, he rejoined you at the table with two glasses, one which he pushed to you.
“Thanks”
“My pleasure” He nodded like any of this was normal, then took a sip. “Yeah sorry for the delay, just a bit of a mess with the computers that made the handoff hell”
You chuckled, relaxing a bit in your seat and finally bringing your drink to your lips. “I swear you can never catch a break”
He scoffed. “Just another Tuesday in the Pitt”
You took another sip in sync with him. “How's your fresh batch of residents? Still full of life and hope?”
You had heard of their first shift on the job—hell, you had been yourself part of the teaching experience as practice dummy without even knowing it. You had been quite impressed with their composure when you had learned it was their first day on the job.
His eyebrows raised as he stared into nothing, then he nodded slowly. “They're doing better that I would have expected. They're tough”
“I've only met Santos, I like her” You said. “She's got spirit”
A small smile stretched on his lips. “She reminds me of you”
You gave him an exaggerated wince. “For her sake I hope she doesn't turn out like me”
His stare alone called out your bullshit. “Like someone strong and competent who saves lives?”
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the glazing. “You know what I mean”
Of course he knew what you meant, because he was the exact same. Burying himself into his work until he dropped, so that his mind was either too preoccupied or too exhausted to face the fact that everything else around him was unraveling fast. Projecting to the world the illusion that you had it together, when in fact, you were scrambling for the pieces of yourself scattered on the floor.
He shook his head, looking at the wall then back down to the table. He took a long, long sip of his drink then sighed.
“You doing okay?”
There it is.
You tensed up again, squinting your eyes. “Robby”
“Just answer the question Sweets”
“Oh okay” You nodded. “Yeah, this is an intervention, alright”
It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Don't be difficult. I'm concerned”
“Dana told you, didn't she?”
“Don't blame her” He warned.
Fucking Dana.
“I'm fine” You brushed off.
He laughed at the ridiculousness of your statement, it sounded strained. “Isn't that the biggest fucking lie in the world” He shook his head, going for another sip. “Spare me the pretending. None of us are fine, you and I the least”
You gripped your glass tighter, the let go and deflated in the booth. You dragged a hand over your face, and suddenly looked much more tired than a few seconds ago. That was Robby's tough love, his own weird way to try and help. He'd never be the therapist friend, holding your hand and nodding sympathetically to everything you let out. No, that wasn't his way. He called you out over and over again until he cracked the mask, purification in fire. And hell, if he wasn't the one person who could understand it all.
It was like antiseptic on an open wound, painful but ultimately necessary.
As if sensing you wordlessly conceding grounds, he met you halfway.
“Dana mentioned money was tight” He held out the first branch. “Are you able to make ends meet? If not, I can help—”
You sighed and shook your head. “I'm f—” You paused at his deadpan stare and reconsidered your choice of words. “I'll make it work, I need to make it work by myself” You took a deep breath, then added in a whisper as you avoided his eyes. “I hadn't realized how dependent I had become on… him”
His gaze softened a bit.
“And not just financially” You kept rambling. Thankfully, Robby had become an expert in listening, truly listening. “I… fuck—”
You hesitated, knowing the next words would be hard to breathe life into. Hard to make real. But the realization that keeping it in any longer would drive you insane hit you like a freight train.
Breathe in, breathe out.
“That day…” You didn't need to mention which day you were talking about. “I lost my entire support system in what, 15 minutes? It was gone, just like that. It felt like falling from the sky without a parachute. And it was fucking scary, Robby. It still is. I'm terrified”
The feeling hit home in him too. He knew all too well the freefall, the terror it elicited.
“I'm sorry” He finally spoke. “If I hadn't told you to go for it…” He swallowed hard.
You shook your head. “Not your fault. No” You denied. “The bubble would have burst one day or another”
Only a few weeks after the shock passed did you realized you had been on a collision course bound for the wall. Whatever you had with Jack might very well have been quietly toxic, gone unnoticed in blissful domesticity that hadn't been disturbed since Sienna died.
All of the grief of the last 12 years that you had pushed back had been covered neatly by an Abbot shaped blanket, left to fester and spread with you willfully ignoring it. It was easy to pretend you were fine when Jack also did it, when he provided comfort in the idea you weren't running away from your feelings alone. Alas, it was neither healthy, nor sustainable.
It didn't mean you weren't hating every second of it though. He had hurt you, and maybe you weren't ready just yet to forgive him for it. But damn, you missed the comfort of him, but you also missed the friend, the human connection that came with him.
“Still” He mumbled, swirling the liquid in his glass around. “It doesn't hurt any less”
“Feels like a hot iron in my throat every day” You mumbled, shooting back the rest of your drink.
“Amen to that” He mimicked you. “Another?”
You groaned and shuffled to reach for your wallet. “I got it”
He stood up before you could split in your of your back pocket. “Nope”
“Sit your ass down” You warned. “It's my turn to buy”
“Can't make me” He ignored your last statement, already halfway to the bar.
You welcomed his smug face back with an unimpressed, annoyed one. With an innocent smile that was really anything but, he slowly, deliberately pushed the drink in your direction. You eyed it down, then raised an eyebrow at him.
He kept his annoying little smile as he drank from his own.
“Do you think I don't see what you're doing, Robinavitch?”
“I don't know?” He feigned confusion. “What am I doing?”
“I can pay for my own drinks”
“Never said you couldn't”
“You are impossible”
“Eh” He shrugged, unbothered by the revelation. “Not the worst thing I've been called today”
You finally cracked, letting out a small laugh of disbelief. If you had been looking at him, you'd have caught the flash of relief passing through his eyes as he confirmed that you'd be okay, eventually.
It was tearing him apart that you, someone he had grown incredibly protective of over the years of you bringing him banged up but alive patients through the bay doors, had such a devastating fallout with Jack, whom he considered his brother, his best friend—titles he did not give out lightly.
He knew Jack loved you, was in love with you, otherwise he'd never have suggested you confess your feelings to him. The two of you made sense; you had shared experiences, shared grief, and a reverent respect for the ones you lost along the way. Stars rarely aligned like that, and he couldn't bear to watch it all reach stalemate.
If Robby was too damaged to have his happy ending, he'd make damn sure Jack and you at least had a shot at it.
“Has he… contacted you since that day?”
You remained silent for a moment, then shook your head. Jack hadn’t texted or called, and you had gone out of your way to avoid PTMC during the night shift or its adjacent hours Jack may be lurking around.
He swallowed, knowing his next suggestion would be threading in meddling territory. “Want me to talk to him?”
“Fuck no” Your reply came instantly, and he raised his hands in surrender.
“I'm just sayin', I could knock some sense into him—”
“Robby” You wanted to mean it as a warning, but it came much whinier than you had intended.
“—I'm sure he'd listen—”
“Robby, I said no” You repeated, firm this time. It was enough to stop his talking. “Jack made it abundantly clear he does not want me, so please let's leave it at that. I'm not gonna lose my dignity along with everything else”
Something sad overtook his features, and you did not like it one bit. He looked at you like you were a wounded puppy, overflowing with pity and heartbreak.
“Sweets” He sighed, passing a hand down his face. “You know that's not true”
You looked down at your drink, fidgeting with your fingers around the glass. A heavy melancholy loomed in your soul, like he reopened a wound that had just started to heal.
“Yeah well, you weren't there that day” You mumbled, shaking your head. “He didn't say those words to you”
He just kept his eyes on you and you couldn't stand it. You furiously rubbed at your eyes to make sure no tears would come, then shook your head again
“We need to talk about something else” You spoke before he could pursue this further. “Anything. Work, not work, your sad dating life—”
He scoffed in offense, immediately reading the room and moving on like he had already forgotten the previous conversation.
“—literally anything else”
“Well I'll have you know,” He began, exaggerating his words in a pointed way that told you he was laying it thick on purpose. He spoke slow, leaving you enough time to recompose yourself. You wouldn't mention this kindness again, and neither would he. “I had a date last week”
You raised an eyebrow as your mind latched on this new topic. “Oh?”
“Lovely woman” He nodded. “Smart, beautiful, easygoing. We had a lot of fun”
You hummed, poorly hiding the semblance of a grin. “I didn't know you knew how to have fun. But hey good for you for learning new stuff at your age”
He gave you a playful eye roll. “Ha ha, you're hilarious. But you should keep in mind you'll get there sooner than later Sweets” Then, his eyes found yours with an insistent, challenging stare as he pointed at your head. “Yeah that's right, I've seen those gray hairs come out— And you already can't keep up with the kid's lingo anymore. You're practically one of us already”
You couldn't help but bark a laugh loud enough to echo around the bar. You covered your mouth, reducing the noise to a giggle or two. The sudden image of you and Robby in a grumpy old people's club was somehow the funniest thing you've imagined all week.
What a nightmare you two would be in a retirement home.
“Do I get exclusive club membership discounts?” You finally asked, then took a sip.
“Two for one on coffins and they give you the shovel to dig your grave with”
You choked on your drink. He only raised his drink in a toast and finished it, entirely too smug about his joke.
“Well—” You coughed, then cleared your throat as you tried to stifle your laughter. “That took a dark turn”
He looked like the was holding back from doubling down with, if you had to guess, a comment about it not being as dark as the inside of one of those coffins. And by the mischievous glint suddenly lightning up his eyes, he must have known you had finished the punchline by yourself anyway.
To be fair, you were almost tempted to speak it out loud before he could. Dark humour was often an outlet that both you and him used entirely too leisurely, and that one's comedic timing was impeccable as it could get. Yet, there was something about it now that made you pause.
“Hey Robby” You began, frowning. “How are you doing?”
He looked like a deer caught in the headlights at your curve ball for a whole second before he switched to the defensive, pointing an accusing finger to you.
“Oh hell no. Don't you dare turn the tables on me”
You leaned in to hiss, “Oh not so fun when it's you in the spotlight right?”
“Shut up Sweets”
You softened your features a bit too quickly. “Don't be difficult, I'm concerned”
He made a displeased face. “That's low”
“That's never stopped me before”
He held the staring match for a moment, refusing to let you win. It had been your check-in hangout, he hadn't come prepare to open up. How he let you have the upper hand so easily, without even noticing it was beyond him.
He let out a long, tired breath, dropping his gaze down to his his empty drink. It was like he had a whole conversation going on in his head that he was badly losing. He didn't think he was even ready to understand what was even going on with him.
He was just not ready.
And then, he spoke in a very timid, vulnerable even, voice that was extremely uncharacteristic of him.
“Raincheck?”
Even you knew not to push your luck.
You reached out to his folded hand in front of him and gave them a little squeeze. “Alright. But I'm here for you ok? I want to be there for you, whatever's going on”
A small smile that didn't reach his eyes grew on his mouth. “I know Sweets”
“I might let you off the hook now,” You began, staring him down. “But only if you promise me you'll reach out if you hit a critical point. Ideally even before”
You could see the argument forming on his tongue before he even worded it. I'm the one who needs to look out for you, I don't need you to be concerned for me, I don't want to unload my burdens on you- you have enough— You could hear it all already. Yet, you didn't back down.
“You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”
You gave him a blinding yet slightly threatening smile. “Learned from the best”
He groaned. “Fine, fine. I promise. God damn, woman”
You could be gloating about this, winning one on Dr. Robby was not an easy feat. But you decided not to, considering him just considering it enough to make that promise was enough relief to let it go.
(Whether or not he'd actually follow up on it remained to be seen, but it was a good start).
Like he was desperately looking for an escape, his eyes suddenly scanned around the empty bar, and stopped on the dusty pool tables in the back. “Hey, wanna play pool?”
You blinked a couple of time. “Neither of us know how to properly play”
You recalled last time you were around a pool table, you had been paired with him to play against a couple of his then residents, who had baited the group with betting tables and rankings.
To say you had been obliterated was an understatement, as clearly both you and him had learned a very different set of rules, apparently, neither of which was the actual right way to play. You had spent your game arguing both among yourselves and with people around the table and getting on everyone's nerves in an impressively concerted way for how disorganized you actually were, until you unavoidably lost the match and retreated to a table far away to grumble about it.
He would never admit it, but seeing his name at the very bottom of the ranking that was left pinned up in the break room for weeks after drove him completely mad. Neither of you had failed either to remind the other of this defeat the whole time.
You believed this was when the crew decided to never, ever pair you up again for any group activity.
He was already standing up, then finished his drink. “C'mon, it'll be fun”
“Famous last words” You rolled your eyes, but your amusement was still obvious.
You finished your drink too, then followed him to the old table.
Hey :) Part 2 of Timebomb is now live. From the bottom of my heart.... I apologize.
... is what I would say if I was truly sorry. Hehe. Enjoy guys.
Reblogs and comments are very appreciated ♥
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: 3,070
Chapter warnings: Hurt no comfort, talk of dead loved ones, Jack is an asshole who is afraid of his own feelings and takes it out on reader, Jack and Reader's dead spouses haunting the narrative heavily, reader is a prone to do stupid shit as Jack lmao.
Chapter Summary: What started to be a soft day of recovery following the PittFest shooting turned into ashes in your mouth when you decided to heed Robby's advice and confess your feelings to Jack.
< Previous
Your dreams were plagued with automatic weapons, screams and blood. Nothing to want to stay in, nothing to stay asleep for. Yet, when a hand gently shook your shoulder, you woke up with a startled gasp, unwillingly tearing yourself away from the haven of your subconscious.
“Hey, easy”
Your heartbeat calmed down a few notches as your registered the voice speaking, soothing and grounding you in reality. Your eyes found Jack sitting on the side of your bed, sweatpants and cotton tshirt that smelled like fresh laundry and antiseptic.
“What's going on?”
He yawned. “You've been sleeping for a while, I just wanted to check in”
“Oh come on” You breathed out slowly. “Okay, what time is it?”
“Noon, almost. Just got back from my half shift”
“Jack” You groaned. “Go take a nap. You have a full shift soon”
He shrugged.
“Unbelievable” You mumbled. “I'm fine. Go rest”
“I'm not tired”
You leveled him with an unimpressed stare, which he answered by laying down next to you, resting his hands on his stomach. This in itself wasn't a rare occurrence—Jack and you were no stranger to this kind of intimacy. It was, you might even say, what most likely allowed the both of you to got through the death of Sienna. From movie nights cuddled up, to sleepovers in either bed, always respectful and platonic. It was comfort through proximity, knowing that there was always someone next to you to hold on to when seas got rough. It was an ear ready and willing to listen to any quiet confession made in the dead of the night when the world around you stood still.
But this time was different. You had dangerous ideas getting louder in your head, and being shot at on the line of duty rattled your feelings enough to feel like it was now or never. Your eyes trailed over his form, still sharp and firm after all these year, kept in absolute pristine condition like a vintage car. Even in those plain clothes, he looked painfully attractive, and you had to resist the urge to touch him all over.
“I'll tell you what,” He began, forcing your stare away from his chest back to his face. “I promise I'll take a nap once you eat and move around a bit. Deal?”
You blinked. “Do I have any say in it?”
He scoffed. “No”
You'd hit him in the chest if either of your arms weren't actually very sore. Apparently, he figured the same thing because the smug laugh that came out of him was made of pure triumph at your helplessness. You hated how much it impacted you, and you hated the realization you'd be willing to do pretty much anything to hear it again.
You realized you hadn't felt that way about someone in a long, long time.
“C'mon, I'll make you something for breakfast” He said, but made no move to leave the bed. “You hungry?”
You closed your eyes and snuggled deeper in your pillow. “No”
Your stomach, however, clearly digressed, because as soon as you were done talking, it rumbled like thunder. You could feel Jack's shit eating grin on you.
“I'm maybe a little bit hungry”
“Need help getting up?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
He breathed out a quiet fair enough and sat up straight again, then grabbed his crutch and pushed himself up. You took care to rise up slowly to help your brain as much as you could, then gradually made it to your feet. By the time you were up, Jack was already rummaging around in the kitchen, busying himself with the breakfast he promised.
You changed from your shorts to long sweatpants and put on a clean tshirt, then joined him. He had the presence of mind to leave the blinds partially shut to reduce the brightness of the sunlight in the apartment, and the kitchen lights were left on low setting.
You made a beeline for the fruits to cut on the kitchen island while he was busy on the stove.
“Sit” He ordered before you even reached for the cutting board, not even turning to face you. “I've got this”
You yawned. “You don't have your leg on and you've been on your feet enough--you're gonna be on your feet for twelve hours soon” You stated the obvious, still advancing towards your objective. “Lemme help”
Before you could even understand he moved, he spun around on his crutch with a level of agility that usually only happened in movies and snatched both the cutting board, then the knife from the island, hiding it around the stove where he could physically block you from accessing.
You blinked once, then twice. Damn concussed brain making you slow.
“Sit.” He repeated, slower and more pointedly this time. There was no room for negotiation.
“Ay ay Captain” You mumbled, painfully climbing on an island chair.
He chuckled and shook his head, his back still to you. “Lieutenant” He corrected. “And I believe that's Retired Lieutenant”
“Noted, Retired Lieutenant Abbot” You corrected. “What's for breakfast anyway?”
He looked over his shoulder, smiling. “Nothing too flashy”
You put your elbows on the island counter and very gently laid your chin on your hands, careful not to strain your injuries. “Nothing to flashy,” You repeated. “My favourite”
You watched as he multitasked the hell out of that breakfast, trying not to let it visibly affect you. Competence was extremely attractive, and well, Jack Abbot happened to be a very competent man.
Seemingly at everything, ever.
“Ha ha. Funny” He hummed as he cut the fruits, periodically pausing to take care of the pans on the stove top. “Patience is a virtue, you know?”
Yeah, so is kindness Jack, but you're killing me over here.
“Alright” You clicked your tongue. “Waiting patiently then”
He then mumbled something under his breath you didn't quite catch.
“What was that?”
You watched as a bolt of tension traveled up his back and into his shoulders, and the tips of his ears turned pink.
“Nothing”
“O-kay”
You fell into a comfortable silence after that, watching him move around like it's the most natural thing in the world. Before long, Jack slid a plate in front of you.
“Turkey bacon and eggs with pain doré”
You raised an eyebrows, amused. “So he's french now”
He grinned. “Juste un peu”
“Thank you” You smiled back at him. “For being my personal chef and looking after me”
His smile didn't fade, but a curious expression fell over his face. Like it was strange that you'd ever feel the need to thank him for it. “… Of course”
You ate in silence after that, until your plates were clean, and then some time after.
Were you stalling?
Maybe!
But with every stretching minutes of silence, you could feel your heartbeat get louder and faster. You knew what had to come, and it was as dreadful as it was exhilarating.
“Jack”
No turning back now.
“Yeah?”
Damn, you really should have thought about it for a little bit longer.
“Do you…” You began, then took a deep breath and doubled down. “Do you ever think about what's next?”
He frowned. To his credit, he really did seem like he tried to actually find an answer to your intentionally vague question. “How do you mean?”
Great start.
“Like… I don't know” You laughed nervously. “In life. Work. Social… Dating”
He tilted his head. That last word turned on a lightbulb in his eyes, but the general confusion remained. It was easy to catch where you were trying to steer that conversation with your legendary subtlety, but the why still remained a mystery to him.
“Are you…” He began with the caution of a man handling a time bomb. “… Seeing someone?”
He told himself the sudden pressure in his chest was unrelated to whatever your answer might be.
“No” You quickly replied.
He pretended that the subsequent relief was a trick of his mind.
Already hating himself for his next words, he managed to push out a semi strained “… Are you looking to date?”
You paused.
Uh oh.
You were too busy spiraling on your own drama to notice the strike of panic in his eyes.
You were taking too long to answer.
You were aware of that.
He was aware of that.
This was a bad idea.
Your stomach began to cramp that the cortisol being generously pumped in your system. You'd take being actively shot at over this any day.
“…Maybe?”
It came out strangled and pathetic. Still, you couldn't have predicted the hardest part was yet to come.
“Anyone in mind?”
He said it so nonchalantly, it took you off guards. You gaped for half a second, shutting your jaw shut when you noticed nothing about his expression was relaxed or teasing.
“Okay, don't do that Jack” You frowned in disbelief. “Don't mess with me now, I'm serious”
His expression matched yours as he crossed his arms against his chest. “I'm not messing with you”
Your heart plummeted in your chest. You'd have thought you'd be on the same page for that one, but this? This was devastating and you hadn't even gotten to the confession part yet.
“Jack” The way you said his name set alarm bells in his brain. “I'm talking about us”
Then, the worst that could happen, happened. You watched in real time as Jack shut down, pulled the plug on anything remotely resembling an emotion.
“I can't—” His voice was robotic, detached. Yet, for the trained ear, each word dragged its baggage of pain with it. “It's not right, I can't…”
A new type of embarrassment overcame you as you felt your face warm up like the sun. In all of your 15 minutes planning, incredibly but mostly stupidly, you hadn't thought that Jack might not be emotionally ready for a relationship yet. His loss was a bit fresher than yours, and everybody grieved at a different pace.
“Oh my god” You mumbled. “Jack I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to put you in this position—” You scrambled words for thoughts and thoughts for words.
Your justification was spoken at the same time as his.
“It's too soon since Sienna… Fuck I'm sorry—”
“Damian died for me, how could I go ahead with this?”
You froze. He didn't use your silence to correct his assessment.
“What?”
Your voice felt so fragile, like it was gonna break any second now. You barely recognized it as your own--usually carried by strength and steadiness.
He passed a hand over his face.
“This isn't about her” He mumbled, looking at anything but you.
You were too stunned to speak for a moment.
“You know this is wrong”
“No, no I don't” You slowly shook your head. You could feel the faint throbbing of the concussion, but it quickly faded into the background. “Why would it be wrong?”
“Because I ruined your life” He admitted in a mutter. “He'd still be there if it wasn't for me, you'd be happy together. You're willing to taint this?”
You couldn't believe your ears. How could he even think that? You had never blamed Jack for it, because you respected your husband enough to know he made his own decisions. His own stupid, reckless decisions that got him killed, but his nevertheless.
“Jack” The pain in your voice was enough to make him flinch. “I grieved Damian, I—”
“Clearly not enough” He crossed his arms against his chest. “For fuck's sake, you still wear his name”
It was like he had slapped you in the face. You stood there, mouth agape, shocked that he went that far. He had been well aware of your reasons for not changing your name back to one associating you with violent parents and a childhood of neglect, even if it meant clinging to the name of someone long gone. Jack had seen the scars, he had known the whole story, even things you'd hidden so deep you hadn't even had gotten to tell Damian.
You couldn't believe he had used that against you.
He seemed for a fleeting second like he wanted to take his words back, regret clouding his expression.
Yet he didn't.
“Wow” You mumbled, taking a step back. “That's low, Jack”
“Doesn't make me wrong”
You let out a dry chuckle as you felt shock being replaced by anger. So, so much anger all at once that overflew like milk on an unattended stove top.
“Actually, you know what? How dare you” It came out strained, but you you were determined not to cry. Not now. Not when you still weren’t done with this conversation. “How fucking dare you. You know I grieved him every night and day for years. I grieved him until I ran out of of fucking breath and will to live. The name's got nothing to do with where I'm at now—”
You took a deep breath to hide the sob that threaten to wreck over your body. You calmed your breathing down and looked down at your hands, shaking your head.
You spoke again when you regained control over your emotions, or as much of it as you could given the circumstances.
You had that conversation in depth with Damian. You knew there was a possibility that one day he wouldn't come back, and he insisted to talk about it before he was deployed. His wishes had been clear that he'd want you to pursue happiness and find that special someone again.
“I know he would have wanted me to be happy—he'd want me to move on, you know that— you know all of that”
… You told me that, too.
He chuckled humourlessly. “But not with me” Each word felt heavier than the last. “I'd be disrespecting his memory”
Rip my heart out of my chest while you're at it, yeah?
The words rolled out of your tongue before you could stop them. “What about respecting what I want?”
No answer.
Not even a glance your way.
The pain in your chest churned into bitter storm, reawakening the embers you had barely snuffed already.
“Damian's dead. He's gone and he isn't coming back” Each of your words hit the nail deeper. “You'd care more about a dead man's hypothetical feelings than mine?”
Jack held fast. “In this situation, yes”
You felt the ground give up under your feet. Everything you thought you knew had been dragged into the mud by the person the closest to you. You felt humiliated, infantilized, patronized. Like you were a silly girl with a crush instead of a grown woman with her own thoughts and feelings.
“Then what have we been doing?” You couldn't help your voice raising again. “What is this? What's been this?”
He kept his composure in the outside.
On the inside, however, he was unraveling faster that he could slow down the rope. You had caught him blind with this, he hadn't expected this discussion to happen today. He hadn't been prepared at all for it. He wanted to say the right thing and be the person you needed, he really did, but he couldn't.
So he did the only thing he could now.
Let you down before you got your hopes up.
“Nothing” His voice was so low that you almost missed it. “This was nothing”
He finally met your eyes. The light from him was gone, snuffed behind the mask that allowed him to lie to you in such a cruel way. It took everything in him to keep it up as he took in your absolutely shattered expression, deepened with his betrayal. He'd have to live forever with the knowledge he had done that.
“Fuck you Abbot”
He flinched.
It was all he'd return you on the matter.
You took another step back, tripping on the chair and almost sending yourself flying on the ground, but steadying yourself on the counter top with a hiss of pain before you could. You recoiled when he instinctively, most likely subconsciously reached out to help, as if he had any right to touch you at all. You grabbed your bag in the entrance and your key from the hook on the wall, opening the door. You paused in the doorstep, turning around one last time.
“Go to hell”
You slammed the door on your way out, leaving Jack alone inside. He hated to break you heart, fuck, he broke his own heart too in the process. There would be no coming back from this, he made sure the matter was closed and over with for good. It would be for the best, he kept telling himself.
No need to remind me, I already know this is where I'm going.
•••••••••••••
In retrospective, driving your motorcycle back to your apartment had been the stupidest thing you could do.
Between the bright midday light sensitivity, the concussion throwing your balance off, both of your arms injured and the angry tears blurring your eyes, you probably came closer to death than yesterday while you were faced with an active shooter. It was a miracle you even made it to the indoor parking lot, and even more up to your studio apartment you still had an active lease for on the fourth floor.
You were already exhausted, ready to collapse by the time you crossed the threshold. You took in the tidy space that had been left to collect dust for months as a nasty feeling of emptiness washed over you. For years now it had been used as a quiet space to go to when you or Jack needed to be alone with your thoughts, a space to meditate and calm down. Yet, the silence now had never been so suffocating.
And while cozy and homey, your studio lacked the warmth of a home…
Lacked the warmth of Jack.
Like a zombie, your feet took you to the couch, not finding the strength to open up the pull out bed from it. You crashed on the cushions, face down and let it all out.
You began crying, feeling the last ten years of your life catch up to you. Without Jack to hold it all at bay, all that grief came crashing down upon you, tearing your heart apart all over again.
You cried, and cried, until the darkness took you over and plunged you in the cold prison of your subconscious.
Hey :) Part 2 of Timebomb is now live. From the bottom of my heart.... I apologize.
... is what I would say if I was truly sorry. Hehe. Enjoy guys.
Reblogs and comments are very appreciated ♥
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: 3,070
Chapter warnings: Hurt no comfort, talk of dead loved ones, Jack is an asshole who is afraid of his own feelings and takes it out on reader, Jack and Reader's dead spouses haunting the narrative heavily, reader is a prone to do stupid shit as Jack lmao.
Chapter Summary: What started to be a soft day of recovery following the PittFest shooting turned into ashes in your mouth when you decided to heed Robby's advice and confess your feelings to Jack.
< Previous
Your dreams were plagued with automatic weapons, screams and blood. Nothing to want to stay in, nothing to stay asleep for. Yet, when a hand gently shook your shoulder, you woke up with a startled gasp, unwillingly tearing yourself away from the haven of your subconscious.
“Hey, easy”
Your heartbeat calmed down a few notches as your registered the voice speaking, soothing and grounding you in reality. Your eyes found Jack sitting on the side of your bed, sweatpants and cotton tshirt that smelled like fresh laundry and antiseptic.
“What's going on?”
He yawned. “You've been sleeping for a while, I just wanted to check in”
“Oh come on” You breathed out slowly. “Okay, what time is it?”
“Noon, almost. Just got back from my half shift”
“Jack” You groaned. “Go take a nap. You have a full shift soon”
He shrugged.
“Unbelievable” You mumbled. “I'm fine. Go rest”
“I'm not tired”
You leveled him with an unimpressed stare, which he answered by laying down next to you, resting his hands on his stomach. This in itself wasn't a rare occurrence—Jack and you were no stranger to this kind of intimacy. It was, you might even say, what most likely allowed the both of you to got through the death of Sienna. From movie nights cuddled up, to sleepovers in either bed, always respectful and platonic. It was comfort through proximity, knowing that there was always someone next to you to hold on to when seas got rough. It was an ear ready and willing to listen to any quiet confession made in the dead of the night when the world around you stood still.
But this time was different. You had dangerous ideas getting louder in your head, and being shot at on the line of duty rattled your feelings enough to feel like it was now or never. Your eyes trailed over his form, still sharp and firm after all these year, kept in absolute pristine condition like a vintage car. Even in those plain clothes, he looked painfully attractive, and you had to resist the urge to touch him all over.
“I'll tell you what,” He began, forcing your stare away from his chest back to his face. “I promise I'll take a nap once you eat and move around a bit. Deal?”
You blinked. “Do I have any say in it?”
He scoffed. “No”
You'd hit him in the chest if either of your arms weren't actually very sore. Apparently, he figured the same thing because the smug laugh that came out of him was made of pure triumph at your helplessness. You hated how much it impacted you, and you hated the realization you'd be willing to do pretty much anything to hear it again.
You realized you hadn't felt that way about someone in a long, long time.
“C'mon, I'll make you something for breakfast” He said, but made no move to leave the bed. “You hungry?”
You closed your eyes and snuggled deeper in your pillow. “No”
Your stomach, however, clearly digressed, because as soon as you were done talking, it rumbled like thunder. You could feel Jack's shit eating grin on you.
“I'm maybe a little bit hungry”
“Need help getting up?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
He breathed out a quiet fair enough and sat up straight again, then grabbed his crutch and pushed himself up. You took care to rise up slowly to help your brain as much as you could, then gradually made it to your feet. By the time you were up, Jack was already rummaging around in the kitchen, busying himself with the breakfast he promised.
You changed from your shorts to long sweatpants and put on a clean tshirt, then joined him. He had the presence of mind to leave the blinds partially shut to reduce the brightness of the sunlight in the apartment, and the kitchen lights were left on low setting.
You made a beeline for the fruits to cut on the kitchen island while he was busy on the stove.
“Sit” He ordered before you even reached for the cutting board, not even turning to face you. “I've got this”
You yawned. “You don't have your leg on and you've been on your feet enough--you're gonna be on your feet for twelve hours soon” You stated the obvious, still advancing towards your objective. “Lemme help”
Before you could even understand he moved, he spun around on his crutch with a level of agility that usually only happened in movies and snatched both the cutting board, then the knife from the island, hiding it around the stove where he could physically block you from accessing.
You blinked once, then twice. Damn concussed brain making you slow.
“Sit.” He repeated, slower and more pointedly this time. There was no room for negotiation.
“Ay ay Captain” You mumbled, painfully climbing on an island chair.
He chuckled and shook his head, his back still to you. “Lieutenant” He corrected. “And I believe that's Retired Lieutenant”
“Noted, Retired Lieutenant Abbot” You corrected. “What's for breakfast anyway?”
He looked over his shoulder, smiling. “Nothing too flashy”
You put your elbows on the island counter and very gently laid your chin on your hands, careful not to strain your injuries. “Nothing to flashy,” You repeated. “My favourite”
You watched as he multitasked the hell out of that breakfast, trying not to let it visibly affect you. Competence was extremely attractive, and well, Jack Abbot happened to be a very competent man.
Seemingly at everything, ever.
“Ha ha. Funny” He hummed as he cut the fruits, periodically pausing to take care of the pans on the stove top. “Patience is a virtue, you know?”
Yeah, so is kindness Jack, but you're killing me over here.
“Alright” You clicked your tongue. “Waiting patiently then”
He then mumbled something under his breath you didn't quite catch.
“What was that?”
You watched as a bolt of tension traveled up his back and into his shoulders, and the tips of his ears turned pink.
“Nothing”
“O-kay”
You fell into a comfortable silence after that, watching him move around like it's the most natural thing in the world. Before long, Jack slid a plate in front of you.
“Turkey bacon and eggs with pain doré”
You raised an eyebrows, amused. “So he's french now”
He grinned. “Juste un peu”
“Thank you” You smiled back at him. “For being my personal chef and looking after me”
His smile didn't fade, but a curious expression fell over his face. Like it was strange that you'd ever feel the need to thank him for it. “… Of course”
You ate in silence after that, until your plates were clean, and then some time after.
Were you stalling?
Maybe!
But with every stretching minutes of silence, you could feel your heartbeat get louder and faster. You knew what had to come, and it was as dreadful as it was exhilarating.
“Jack”
No turning back now.
“Yeah?”
Damn, you really should have thought about it for a little bit longer.
“Do you…” You began, then took a deep breath and doubled down. “Do you ever think about what's next?”
He frowned. To his credit, he really did seem like he tried to actually find an answer to your intentionally vague question. “How do you mean?”
Great start.
“Like… I don't know” You laughed nervously. “In life. Work. Social… Dating”
He tilted his head. That last word turned on a lightbulb in his eyes, but the general confusion remained. It was easy to catch where you were trying to steer that conversation with your legendary subtlety, but the why still remained a mystery to him.
“Are you…” He began with the caution of a man handling a time bomb. “… Seeing someone?”
He told himself the sudden pressure in his chest was unrelated to whatever your answer might be.
“No” You quickly replied.
He pretended that the subsequent relief was a trick of his mind.
Already hating himself for his next words, he managed to push out a semi strained “… Are you looking to date?”
You paused.
Uh oh.
You were too busy spiraling on your own drama to notice the strike of panic in his eyes.
You were taking too long to answer.
You were aware of that.
He was aware of that.
This was a bad idea.
Your stomach began to cramp that the cortisol being generously pumped in your system. You'd take being actively shot at over this any day.
“…Maybe?”
It came out strangled and pathetic. Still, you couldn't have predicted the hardest part was yet to come.
“Anyone in mind?”
He said it so nonchalantly, it took you off guards. You gaped for half a second, shutting your jaw shut when you noticed nothing about his expression was relaxed or teasing.
“Okay, don't do that Jack” You frowned in disbelief. “Don't mess with me now, I'm serious”
His expression matched yours as he crossed his arms against his chest. “I'm not messing with you”
Your heart plummeted in your chest. You'd have thought you'd be on the same page for that one, but this? This was devastating and you hadn't even gotten to the confession part yet.
“Jack” The way you said his name set alarm bells in his brain. “I'm talking about us”
Then, the worst that could happen, happened. You watched in real time as Jack shut down, pulled the plug on anything remotely resembling an emotion.
“I can't—” His voice was robotic, detached. Yet, for the trained ear, each word dragged its baggage of pain with it. “It's not right, I can't…”
A new type of embarrassment overcame you as you felt your face warm up like the sun. In all of your 15 minutes planning, incredibly but mostly stupidly, you hadn't thought that Jack might not be emotionally ready for a relationship yet. His loss was a bit fresher than yours, and everybody grieved at a different pace.
“Oh my god” You mumbled. “Jack I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to put you in this position—” You scrambled words for thoughts and thoughts for words.
Your justification was spoken at the same time as his.
“It's too soon since Sienna… Fuck I'm sorry—”
“Damian died for me, how could I go ahead with this?”
You froze. He didn't use your silence to correct his assessment.
“What?”
Your voice felt so fragile, like it was gonna break any second now. You barely recognized it as your own--usually carried by strength and steadiness.
He passed a hand over his face.
“This isn't about her” He mumbled, looking at anything but you.
You were too stunned to speak for a moment.
“You know this is wrong”
“No, no I don't” You slowly shook your head. You could feel the faint throbbing of the concussion, but it quickly faded into the background. “Why would it be wrong?”
“Because I ruined your life” He admitted in a mutter. “He'd still be there if it wasn't for me, you'd be happy together. You're willing to taint this?”
You couldn't believe your ears. How could he even think that? You had never blamed Jack for it, because you respected your husband enough to know he made his own decisions. His own stupid, reckless decisions that got him killed, but his nevertheless.
“Jack” The pain in your voice was enough to make him flinch. “I grieved Damian, I—”
“Clearly not enough” He crossed his arms against his chest. “For fuck's sake, you still wear his name”
It was like he had slapped you in the face. You stood there, mouth agape, shocked that he went that far. He had been well aware of your reasons for not changing your name back to one associating you with violent parents and a childhood of neglect, even if it meant clinging to the name of someone long gone. Jack had seen the scars, he had known the whole story, even things you'd hidden so deep you hadn't even had gotten to tell Damian.
You couldn't believe he had used that against you.
He seemed for a fleeting second like he wanted to take his words back, regret clouding his expression.
Yet he didn't.
“Wow” You mumbled, taking a step back. “That's low, Jack”
“Doesn't make me wrong”
You let out a dry chuckle as you felt shock being replaced by anger. So, so much anger all at once that overflew like milk on an unattended stove top.
“Actually, you know what? How dare you” It came out strained, but you you were determined not to cry. Not now. Not when you still weren’t done with this conversation. “How fucking dare you. You know I grieved him every night and day for years. I grieved him until I ran out of of fucking breath and will to live. The name's got nothing to do with where I'm at now—”
You took a deep breath to hide the sob that threaten to wreck over your body. You calmed your breathing down and looked down at your hands, shaking your head.
You spoke again when you regained control over your emotions, or as much of it as you could given the circumstances.
You had that conversation in depth with Damian. You knew there was a possibility that one day he wouldn't come back, and he insisted to talk about it before he was deployed. His wishes had been clear that he'd want you to pursue happiness and find that special someone again.
“I know he would have wanted me to be happy—he'd want me to move on, you know that— you know all of that”
… You told me that, too.
He chuckled humourlessly. “But not with me” Each word felt heavier than the last. “I'd be disrespecting his memory”
Rip my heart out of my chest while you're at it, yeah?
The words rolled out of your tongue before you could stop them. “What about respecting what I want?”
No answer.
Not even a glance your way.
The pain in your chest churned into bitter storm, reawakening the embers you had barely snuffed already.
“Damian's dead. He's gone and he isn't coming back” Each of your words hit the nail deeper. “You'd care more about a dead man's hypothetical feelings than mine?”
Jack held fast. “In this situation, yes”
You felt the ground give up under your feet. Everything you thought you knew had been dragged into the mud by the person the closest to you. You felt humiliated, infantilized, patronized. Like you were a silly girl with a crush instead of a grown woman with her own thoughts and feelings.
“Then what have we been doing?” You couldn't help your voice raising again. “What is this? What's been this?”
He kept his composure in the outside.
On the inside, however, he was unraveling faster that he could slow down the rope. You had caught him blind with this, he hadn't expected this discussion to happen today. He hadn't been prepared at all for it. He wanted to say the right thing and be the person you needed, he really did, but he couldn't.
So he did the only thing he could now.
Let you down before you got your hopes up.
“Nothing” His voice was so low that you almost missed it. “This was nothing”
He finally met your eyes. The light from him was gone, snuffed behind the mask that allowed him to lie to you in such a cruel way. It took everything in him to keep it up as he took in your absolutely shattered expression, deepened with his betrayal. He'd have to live forever with the knowledge he had done that.
“Fuck you Abbot”
He flinched.
It was all he'd return you on the matter.
You took another step back, tripping on the chair and almost sending yourself flying on the ground, but steadying yourself on the counter top with a hiss of pain before you could. You recoiled when he instinctively, most likely subconsciously reached out to help, as if he had any right to touch you at all. You grabbed your bag in the entrance and your key from the hook on the wall, opening the door. You paused in the doorstep, turning around one last time.
“Go to hell”
You slammed the door on your way out, leaving Jack alone inside. He hated to break you heart, fuck, he broke his own heart too in the process. There would be no coming back from this, he made sure the matter was closed and over with for good. It would be for the best, he kept telling himself.
No need to remind me, I already know this is where I'm going.
•••••••••••••
In retrospective, driving your motorcycle back to your apartment had been the stupidest thing you could do.
Between the bright midday light sensitivity, the concussion throwing your balance off, both of your arms injured and the angry tears blurring your eyes, you probably came closer to death than yesterday while you were faced with an active shooter. It was a miracle you even made it to the indoor parking lot, and even more up to your studio apartment you still had an active lease for on the fourth floor.
You were already exhausted, ready to collapse by the time you crossed the threshold. You took in the tidy space that had been left to collect dust for months as a nasty feeling of emptiness washed over you. For years now it had been used as a quiet space to go to when you or Jack needed to be alone with your thoughts, a space to meditate and calm down. Yet, the silence now had never been so suffocating.
And while cozy and homey, your studio lacked the warmth of a home…
Lacked the warmth of Jack.
Like a zombie, your feet took you to the couch, not finding the strength to open up the pull out bed from it. You crashed on the cushions, face down and let it all out.
You began crying, feeling the last ten years of your life catch up to you. Without Jack to hold it all at bay, all that grief came crashing down upon you, tearing your heart apart all over again.
You cried, and cried, until the darkness took you over and plunged you in the cold prison of your subconscious.
Series Summary: 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.
Series tags: mid-30s!widowed!EMT!reader, widowed Jack, basically spiritual spouses to strangers to lovers, idiots in love, age gap my beloved, slow ish burn, two emotionally stunned assholes soft for each other, reader and Jack have known each other for like 15 years and knew each other's spouses, reader had a rough/abusive childhood, no use of Y/N but reader has a determined last name through marriage (used like once), reader not described in terms of hair/eyes/skin but heavily implied to be physically quite strong/has apparent muscles, reader is very bisexual.
Series warnings: Age gap (about 13 years), medical inaccuracies, blood and injuries, people are getting shot at a lot, language, eventual intimacy, hurt/delayed comfort, reader's husband dies quite violently in the background (RIP).
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Hey :) First fic for The Pitt fandom, starting with a bang. I hope you guys like it! Reblogs and comments are very appreciated ♥
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: 5,255
Series tags: mid-30s!widowed!EMT!reader, widowed Jack, basically spiritual spouses to strangers to lovers, idiots in love, age gap my beloved, slow ish burn, two emotionally stunned assholes soft for each other, reader and Jack have known each other for like 15 years and knew each other's spouses, reader had a rough/abusive childhood, no use of Y/N but reader has a determined last name through marriage (used like once), reader not described in terms of hair/eyes/skin but heavily implied to be physically quite strong/has apparent muscles, reader is very bisexual.
Chapter warnings: Reader is on site for the PittFest shooting, medical inaccuracies, blood (lots of it), language, injured reader, flashbacks not in italics, Robby is not doing great lol.
Chapter Summary: Your shift at the PittFest takes a turn for the worse (as did everybody's evening, to be fair), leaving you in a funny position of being both the care provider and the patient. High adrenaline and near death experiences make you rethink your relationship with Jack how you'd like to take it a step further.
Dr. Abbot glanced at his phone for the twentienth time in a minute, the pressure in his chest growing with every second he didn't see a new text, or a call notification.
The first injured from the PittFest shooting would arrive any moment now.
Despite the impulse to look one more time, he put his phone on silent and shoved in in his locker, wasting no time to rejoin Robby and the rest of the staff to prepare for the impending chaos.
He'd have to set his personal feelings aside and reconcile with the meaning of still not having heard from you after the mess is dealt with.
•••••••••••••
Being a night shift EMT usually meant you were dispatched to the various festivals of Pittsburgh as on-site emergency responder.
The gig was simple, with most cases being dehydration and kids experiencing with drugs for the first time in an overwhelming environment. Sometimes your evening was even spiced up with stitches from a few unfortunate souls being accidentally kicked in the face in the pit, but the worst that really ever happened to you during those nights was being relentlessly puked on, which, at this point, didn't phase you anymore.
Needless to say, you hadn't planned your afternoon to turn so sour so quick until you heard the first gunshot from frighteningly too close for your liking.
Screams rose up like thunder as chaos erupted around you. Time slowed and your ears rang as you visually swept the festival grounds, realizing, much to your absolute terror, that the general movement of the crowd was moving away from you.
Despite your blood freezing in your veins, your emergency-trained brain took over and jolted you into action. With no time to think, you pushed the drunk girl you were attending to onto the ground and shielded her with your body as the next round of bullet rained upon you.
A sharp pain in your left arm sent ripples into your entire body, letting you know in no uncertain terms your had been hit. Despite this, your body pumped enough adrenaline through your entire system to keep you sharp and alert. Your uninjured arm shot up to quiet the whimpering girl under you until the gunshots began to echo farther away from you.
Once you were sure the shooter was far away from the med tent, you sat back up, watching in horror as both you and her were covered, covered in blood, so much that it couldn’t just be yours. Your eyes quickly found the source of the leak, noticing the bullet that had hit you had gone through the girl's thigh.
Fuck.
Grabbing the first roll of gauze in your belt, you immediately began stuffing the bullet hole with your thumb, then did the same for the exit wound. You rolled the rest around her thigh as her crying quickly turned into syrupy whining, indicating she was losing too much blood too fast. Probably nicked her femoral artery.
“Hey hey, stay with me” Voice voice was like a whip in the chaos, loud and commanding. Her eyes blinked, meeting yours. She was scared and in pain, and entirely too aware death was near. “Eyes on me sweetheart, don't look around, don't close ‘em, only on me”
In nearly 15 years as an EMT, you had an impressive rate of patient being delivered alive to the ER, if only for your sheer stubbornness and indomitable will to find a way out of sticky situations. Today wasn't the day you'd make those numbers lie, even if the odds definitely weren't in her favor.
“Mmm hurts”
“Yeah” You nodded as you secured the bandage that grew rapidly red. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Your hand reached for her discarded jacket, spinning it from one sleeve to make a long rope. “I need to slow down the blood sweetheart. I'll need to squeeze as hard as I can”
She mumbled something you didn't quite catch, letting you know you were running out of time. You quickly set the makeshift tourniquet above the bullet wound and tied the sleeves together, tightening the knot as tight as possible until her screams returned to a loud, sharp wail.
The blood somewhat stopped as her vocals returned to a sustained whimper, but you were still concerned by how much of it was pumped out of her. You reached into your belt and put another bandage on top of the other one to soak up the blood as the first dispatchers reached the festival ground. Being around the med tent, they reached you first with a gurney.
“One, two, three—”
Without any other instruction, you worked with the paramedics to get the girl secured with the straps.
This small movement however triggered the blood flow.
“Fuck, I'll need to hold pressure” You said to the two paramedics as your hands clamped around her thigh, one hand on the entry wound and the other on the exit wound.
“Are you sure you can hold it until we arrive at he hospital?” One of them asked you as you moved toward the ambulance.
“Positive” You nodded as you kept pace with the gurney. You felt the adrenaline keep your arms in place like vices. “I'll hold as long as she needs”
“Your arm—” The other pointed out. “You got hit?”
You barely glanced at it. “Yeah, fuck that I'm fine, let's go” The paramedics loaded the gurney in the ambulance while you climbed along with it.
The man got in the back with you while the woman went behind the wheel.
“You sure you're ok?” He asked as strapped the gurney to the floor, then placed an oxygen mask on the victim. “It's bleeding a lot”
You sighed. “Bandage it tight then. I'll deal with it at the hospital”
The man obliged as the ambulance lurched forward. A few seconds later, you were patched up as much as you could while holding pressure on a gunshot wound.
Between you squeezing the girl's leg like you where trying to smash it flat, the bumps on the streets of Pittsburgh and the paramedic dancing around administrating medicine and monitoring her vitals, you barely saw the ride to the hospital pass by, even though it must have felt like an eternity to anyone else.
You were greeted by a swarm of white-covered medics in the ambulance bay, who all rushed to you when they took in the amount of blood everywhere, slapping a red bracelet on the girl's wrist.
The paramedics yelled her vitals over the wails of the sirens, jogging along to the gurney being rushed into the ER. You felt the doctors trying to push you away, but you remained steady.
“Guys, I'm literally holding the wound closed, not a great idea to try and pry me off now” You snapped at the third attempt to make you back off. “I'm not letting go until we get in a trauma room”
Then, you heard your name being shouted over the noise, somewhat louder than the ambient chaos.
Your eyes followed the sound, landing on Dr. Jack Abbot and taking in the relief mixing through with the pure adrenaline coursing his body. In an instant, he was by your side, taking over this case.
“Fucking hell, I thought you were dead”
You huffed as Trauma 1 came into view. “Ah, can't get rid of me so easily”
“Talk to me”
“Bullet through the thigh, through and through, fully out as far as I know. She's lost too much blood though” Your words still carried through the noise of the machines. “But she's not gonna die today Abbot”
“Agreed” He replied dryly as he gloved up. You moved aside as much as you could while he took position by your side, ready to take over. A new face came to your other side to take over holding the wounds, but you tuned out the various unfamiliar names been thrown around along with barked orders.
You focused back when you heard your name.
“Let go on three”
The countdown began.
One.
Two.
Three.
You pulled your hands, but your muscles didn't obey. A half second of silence passed over the room as you tried again, but it was like you were frozen in place.
“Fuck me” You swore. Your muscles refused to cooperate, so strongly holding the leg, yet so weak to your command. You felt like your body was slowly alienating itself from your brain, like the sheer amount of adrenaline was too much to handle. “I'm locked”
Instantly, a woman you've never met stood behind you and grabbed your wrists in a vice grip. The countdown began again, and on three, she pulled your hands and your whole body away. You stumbled back upon her, then regained your footing and faced her.
“Thanks” You breathed out. “Doctor..?”
“Santos”
“Doctor Santos” You nodded, chest heaving with deep breath of relief, giving her a thumbs up as she looked you over.
“You good?”
You looked down too, taking in your blood covered arms and neck. Your tshirt and trousers were black, but the red stains were still obvious. You couldn't see the extent of the makeover, but you could feel it, sticky and congealing already, mixing with your sweat. With all of that blood all over you, you didn't notice how clammy your skin had become, or how the temporary relief of loosening your muscles didn't seem to ease off as the seconds passed.
“Yeah, most of it is not mine”
She didn't look convinced, but a call of her name drew her back to the girl on the table. With one last look at the army of doctors and nurses attending the girl, you nodded again and left the room, taking off your blue latex gloves and dropping them in the bin on your way out.
You didn't really notice where you were even going until someone grabbed your arm and began dragging you around.
“Fucking hell kid, what happened to you?”
“Dana” You greeted when your vision settled, not having noticed it even got blurry. Damn. “I'm fine, I'm fine. I gotta—” You hissed as you tried to refocus your mind. “Gotta go back to the festival, people need help—”
“Oh I promise you're in no state to help anyone” She scoffed as she sat you on one of the free chairs. “You look drunk”
You shook your head slowly. “Jus' a lil light headed” You corrected, widening your eyes a couple of time to force your vision back under your control. “I just need five, I'll be good to go”
She laughed dryly, completely devoid of humour. “No, I don't think so. What you need is— jesus christ did you get shot too?”
“Just a graze” You brushed off, feeling more and more tired by the second. You kept ignoring the fact that your breathing had not slowed down either, if anything, it had gotten faster and more shallow. “S'nothing”
“Like hell” She scolded, swatting your hand away when you tried to stop her from checking you over. She barely even looked at the hazardously placed bandage before she returned her fury on you. “Are you kidding— it fucking went through?”
“Huh?” You squinted, looking down at your left arm. That would explain a lot. The laugh that came out of you was as airy with dizziness and derision. “Ha, can't catch a fucking break can I?”
“Dumbass” She grumbled before she stood up straight. “I need a doctor over here!”
“Fuck off I don' need a doctor—”
“—Bullet went through the arm, she needs patching up'—”
“—Other people need it more—”
“—Gunshot… Losing blood—”
“—I'm… fine…—”
You couldn't help but give in when the darkness came for you this time, going limp in the chair until you crashed on the floor like a log.
•••••••••••••
The rain fell hard on the umbrellas like the skies themselves shared your grief. You stood quiet as the casket was lowered into the ground, the American flag neatly draped over the mahogany under. The sound of the trumpets were drowned by the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears as your husband, or whatever had been left of him, disappeared before your eyes.
You felt like screaming with the thunder, crying and wailing until your throat was raw, jump in there with him, but all you could do was stare.
The ceremony afterwards was beautiful.
You think.
Between the rehearsed thank yous and polite greetings, you had pretty much blacked out, wanting nothing else than to shut the world out and hibernate until the grief went away. You didn't even know it had been over until someone sat beside you on the porch's bench.
Your eyes remained fixed forward.
“They wouldn't even let me see him”
Jack Abbot wasn't often speechless, but this, this he truly didn't know what to say. He didn't think telling you that the pieces of man inside that casket wouldn't even look like your husband would help you. He didn't believe either that reminding you he was in this state because the kid had took a cluster bomb in the chest to save him would do anything to cheer you up.
“It's for the best” He finally mumbled, resting his eyes on your twitching fingers. “Better that your last memory of him be all of him”
You nodded slowly. He was right of course. Always the voice of reason. It's why your husband looked up to him so much. It didn't hurt any less though.
You swallowed the dry lump in your throat as his hand reached yours and squeezed lightly. You finally allowed your eyes to meet his.
“I…” You swallowed again. He didn't rush you. “I don't know if I can do it without him. If I even want to do it without him”
Something you couldn't described flashed in his eyes. He almost broke eye contact as your own vulnerability hit him like a brick. His hand squeezed tighter.
“You can” He said, then clear his throat. “You must”
“I'm not strong enough”
“You are” He said with such assurance that you almost believe him. “You will be, for Damian. He'd want you to live”
Your chest tightened at that. Your husband would never forgive you if you were to let yourself fade away completely without him. Yet, he wasn't the one who'd have to do it alone.
You were about to spiral again when the wooden steps up to the porch creaked, drawing your attention to the sound. There stood Sienna Abbot in all of her grace and tact, making a beeline for you.
You hadn't known how much you needed a hug before she took you in her arms and held tight. No words needed to be said as she embraced you like a big sister, like a best friend offering to share the burden.
You had met her for the first time when Damian had completed his base camp and chose his specialization, then being sent to the unit Jack was mentoring. As quickly as Jack had taken to mentor your husband, you had gotten closer to Sienna. She became your best friend, your closest confidante, the only person you trusted as much as your husband.
You had countless dinners at their places, a handful of stay in holidays as well. When your husbands got deployed, she offered to room together for support, and to fight the loneliness. It felt like you had known her forever, when it had been a couple of years at most.
You pulled back from the hug first. You had a feeling she was waiting for you to do it of your own accord.
“You're strong. You'll get through this. We'll be there for you” She whispered. “C'mon, let's go home now. We don't need to linger here”
She gently guided you to Jack's car as numbness slowly took over you, sitting in the backseat with you. After some time, you realized the unfamiliarity of the landscape.
“My apartment's not that way”
“We're not taking you there” Sienna took your hand. “You're not going through this alone, love. I want you to stay at our place until you get back on your feet”
•••••••••••••
When you woke up again, chaos had considerable quieted down to a soft background noise. Not that you'd care either way in your state, as you couldn't really think of anything beyond your immediate vicinity.
What you saw in there, or rather whom you saw made a loopy smile stretch on your lips.
“Robby”
The man jolted at being called upon, looking up from the clipboard with most likely your medical information and what had been done to you in the last few hours.
With a tired, exhausted smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he put down the clipboard and turned to you. Just the way his body stood, you understood you might be the one coming out the most unscathed of the two of you.
“Look what we have here” He said as he rubbed his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Grrreeeat” You beamed. “I feel…. fantastic”
“That makes one of us at least”
“You holdin up ok?”
Your drunken concern was unexpectedly touching, and before he knew it, he allowed himself to vent a bit. You'd most likely forget everything by the time you sobered up.
“Not really, Sweets” He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. “It's going really fucking bad”
You did not reply, but your attention, or whatever of it was currently available, was on him.
“I lost— I couldn't—” He shook his head. “I can't, I can't—” He took a deep breath, stopping himself from spiralling again.
“Robby. Robby listen to me” You said, and surprisingly enough, he listened. That's a first. “You're the best damn doctor in the world. No, no, don't try to say no— You are. If you couldn't save them…. nobody could”
He scoffed, leaning on the bed's rail and letting his head drop down. “You're the second person to say that”
“Well, it's right” You nodded. “And you know what too? You've been here too long. Go to sleep Robby. I'm the doctor now. I've got it”
He couldn't help but chuckle at that, pushing back the tears in his eyes. Maybe it's why he decided to randomly check up on you after his breakdown, imploring the universe that you'd wake up and give him just the little bit of strength he needed to finish this shift. And as usual, you answered the call, as you've always done in the more than ten years he's known you. Very high, very slow, but always truthful and helpful.
“Did you patch me up?” The change of subject was a welcome one.
He shook his head. “One of our resident, Santos, was hot on your trail after you went down. She's the one who took care of you”
You slowly blinked once, then did it again. “Cool”
There was a moment neither of you said anything.
“Hey”
“Yea?” He replied.
“You're a tall glass of water Robby” You parted your ancient wisdom upon him, making him cough an unexpected laugh. “Never forget that”
“Promise I won't” He chuckled.
“Hey Robby?”
He hummed, raising his eyebrows. His shoulders were already a little lighter.
“I need your professional medical opinion”
He nodded shortly, inviting your to continue.
“Do you think Jack and I have a shot?” Your words came slow, yet they still felt blurted out. “I don't know if I'm just high but damn. I don't know if I can keep pretending I don't want to ffffff-kiss him”
Sober you would have never said that, especially not to Robby. High you, however, had no such reservations.
“Woah Sweets” He exaggerated a grimace, but you could see his little grin come through. “You—” He pointed a finger in your direction. “Are definitely high off your rocks”
“Mmmyeah” You seem to accept the situation well as you already leaned back in the bed and closed your eyes, ready for the morphine to take you back. It was like you hadn't even been aware of what you had just said.
Robby observed you for a moment, at first with fondness for your surprisingly peaceful bluntness. But then, the more he looked, the sadder he became. He felt something break in his chest, leaving a hollow echo behind that he couldn't help but try to patch.
Today had been hard enough, too many losses, too many close calls, too many unhappy endings. He stepped closer to where your head was rested on the pillow and leaned forward. “You still with me?”
You smiled. “Yea”
He swallowed hard. “I know you're not gonna remember most of this but if you do…” He hesitated, the went for it. Too many unhappy endings. “Tell him. Stop dragging this along and tell him how you feel before you can't anymore”
You were gone again by the time he was done speaking.
•••••••••••••
The sun had been oppressing on that day.
Suffocating.
Batting down with scorn the small crowd reunited around a beautifully crafted cherry oak casket covered in flowers and pictures.
It was too bright, too hot, too much.
Jack could barely stand it or the people trying to talk to him.
It had been a car accident, so violent and so quick that she didn't even suffer for a second. Most likely, she didn't even see it coming at all before it killed her.
He didn't know if it was a comfort, or if the knowledge there was nothing he could have done to save her would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He was weary to the bone and people wouldn't stop. The respectful chatter around was too loud. The sun was too bright, his black suit was too tight. He had to get out of here.
And then, a hand slipped in his.
A blanket of quiet surrounded him, grounding him in reality. A shield from the unforgiving sun, and anchor steadying him.
No word needed to be said.
You stood beside him, taking his burden on your shoulders too, to let him breathe.
•••••••••••••
When you woke up again, gone was the euphoria of the morphine, leaving place to a throbbing headache, pain in your arm and light sensitivity making both even worse.
“Take it easy”
You groaned at that, throwing your good arm over your squinty eyes until Dr. Abbot gently but firmly brought it back down. Slowly, your eyes opened to take in the environment around—you had been placed in a quiet, out of the way hallway away from the chaos of the Pitt. They usually don't place patients there as it was the gateway to the five minute timeout corner, and no one wanted a frustrated patient to catch them going for a breather.
“Hey Doc”
“How y'feeling?”
“Hm.” You huffed. “I'm ready to roll. What time is it anyway?”
He checked the time on the board over the nurse station. “Almost eleven. Just cleaned up the mess”
You nodded very slowly. “Gotta discharge me now so I can sleep. Got an early shift this afternoon—”
He laughed, short and dry. “No I don't think so”
“You're not the boss of me”
He smirked, crossing his arms against his chest and looking around for something he knew damn well wasn't there. “Actually, I am”
You made a dismissive noise with a half-hearted wave of your hand, which seemed to amuse him more.
“I'm fine”
“You are?” He raised his eyebrows, then made a show of picking up the clipboard on the bed. “Let's go through it together, yea? Let's see, well, got shot—you knew that—” He paused, eyebrows raised as he intently stared at you, then dramatically flipped a page. “Major blood loss, dehydration, light concussion, and it seems your wrist is sprained too”
You frowned, grimacing. “My wrist?”
“When you collapse on the ground from all the aforementioned issues” He clarified with a smug little tilt of his head. He then poorly mimicked a wrist bent out of shape. “Fell right on it”
You rolled your eyes at how he shamelessly mocked you, even if it hurt doing it. Damn concussion.
“So I'm signing off on a medical leave for you” He leaned in to whisper, “And I'm not afraid to renew it as many times as it takes”
You sighed. “Cruel bastard. I hate you”
He chuckled. “Oh I know”
He seemed satisfied with your compliance for a second, then seriousness slowly but steadily washed all traces of his amusement. His hand found yours as he took a beep breath, tracing the wrist brace with his fingers.
“For a second there I thought…”
You looked at the side of his face, a softer look replacing your combative one. He took another breath, shakier this time. You let him recompose himself, not mentioning the fleeting show of emotions, not now and not to anyone else.
“I assumed the worst” He admitted. “When you didn't text. I should have known you couldn't, but I couldn't focus right until I saw you”
You recognized it took a lot for him to admit this—he probably wouldn't have if he hadn't been worn out to the bone. You squeezed his hand as much as you could with your brace.
There was a lot of things you wanted to say at that moment, reassure him, tell him you'd always come back for him, that you were in this hell together and no rogue bullet would be able to take you away from him.
The part of your brain that processed speech decided otherwise.
“Can I have my phone?”
A small jolt went through his body and he frowned in confusion, finally looking back at you. He definitely wasn't expecting that to be your reply.
Well, neither did you to be fair.
Carefully, he reached in his pocket and handed it to you, despite the questioning tilt of your head. You thought it would have been on the pouch attached to your bed, but Jack had kept it safe from sneaky opportunists with his own stuff.
Ignoring how it made you feel proved to be incredibly hard.
Holding the device certainly was a struggle with one arm sending thousands of tiny electric bolts every time you slightly moved and the other restricted with the brace, and on top of that, the bright screen hurt your eyes like it personally hated you, but you finally managed to do what you needed. Not a second later, you turned the screen off and dropped it face down on the bed.
“There” You said, “I turned on location sharing with you”
The question marks in his eyes only grew tenfold.
“24/7. Anytime you need, no need to request” You explained. “You'll see where I am. If I'm moving. If I'm away from the hot spots”
“What? I can't— I don't—” It took a moment to string his words together. “I don't want you to think you have to do this, I don't want to seem like I need to know—”
“Hey,” You cut him rambling off. “I want that. For my peace of mind. And beside, I trust you with it”
Something passed over his eyes, but was gone as quickly as it came. He nodded slowly, breath catching his shoulders on the way up. He nodded again in lieu of a verbal answer, but you knew him enough at this point to know it was just as meaningful as his words.
“Jack?”
His eyes snapped up to meet yours again.
“The girl I brought in..?”
The fact that he didn't immediately shut down was encouraging.
“Stable, for now” He began, and you knew that word to be neither a positive not a negative. “She lost a lot of blood, but—” He chuckled, looking down and shaking his head. “Do you still believe in fate?”
Your expression became hesitant for a second. “… Sometimes”
“She had an emergency bracelet on her wrist with he medical information. Blood type AB positive. She didn't have to wait for O neg”
“Shit, okay, that was lucky” You mumbled.
“Lucky you say” He repeated to himself, then frowned. “I am most certain she survived because the bullet was deviated and slowed down by something, for some reason”
It took a second of your brain thinking his words over before you slowly looked down to your bandaged left arm. You winced, whispering, “Ohhhh I think that something was me”
His gaze followed yours until they landed on your injury. He pointed at it like it had been the key to the whole thing.
“Makes sense now” He mumbled, eyes fixated on it. He had seen enough gunshot wound to understand how bullets made their damage in the human body, and how speed and angle mattered for survival rate. He had spend a bit too long thinking about the girl's wound, trying to reconstruct the events leading to it. With your information, he had a much clearer picture of it all.
“If the bullet went through you first, it likely slightly changing its trajectory. I'm pretty sure a direct hit would have sliced that artery clean. She would have been dead before you even began bandaging it. As it is, it seems the bullet only damaged part of the membrane”
Your eyes widened. “What”
He nodded. “Or at least I think that's how it went. Slower bullet makes for messier entry and exit wounds, messier everything actually, but this time, it might have saved her life”
You scoffed in disbelief, a small, cautious smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
“She's still not out of the woods yet, we still don't know if her heart will be able to recover from the blood loss” He warned. “But…”
You let your head gently fall back on the bed. “Holy shit… Yeah, I still take that as a victory”
“You should” He agreed. “Good job out there. If she makes it through, it'll be because of you”
You gave him a smile, which turned a bit sad. Before you could even say it, Jack fended you off.
“Don't start” He scolded. “Don't even think about it”
He was right of course. Has he even been wrong? You, and him for that matter, often forgot that saving even one life was colossal. It was easy to think you could always do more, save one, two, three more live if you just pushed through. You had spent the last few years taking turns reminding the other of it.
Tell him how you feel.
You almost frowned at the thought echoing in your mind like a distant memory. Bits and pieces came to you, you knew you had been told that. Told by whom? You did recall talking to Robby while high, but had no clue about what. But why would Robby ever talk about that?
“You okay there?”
“Hm?”
You must have suddenly looked deep in thoughts, because Jack was suddenly looking quite concerned.
“You blanked out for a moment”
You gave him a smile. “Probably just whatever's left of morphine in my system”
He didn't look convinced, but didn't press it either. “We're about to go grab a beer in the park. I'll discharge you on my way back and we can go home, ok?”
“Sure” You nodded, replacing yourself on the bed as comfortably as you could. “Enjoy, you guys deserve it”
