Summary: An unplanned pregnancy proves itself too weak for the stress of the ED, after confining in Dana, You go to your attending with this information.
Miscarriage TW. lots of Angst. Fluff. F!Reader. Established Relationship. Medical inaccuracies.
A/N: in a mood for angst and sadness rewatching season 1 with a friend whose never seen the Pitt before, and this was kind of inspired by Dr. Collins. I have also had a miscarriage before, so this is partially from personal experience.
It was one of those rare evenings when the night shift wasn't busy. There wasn't a crazy slew of events, just a regular flow of patients. The nausea had plagued you almost immediately, and you had been sipping on an electrolyte drink in between charting. The bout of Nausea was likely brought on by stress- a headache turned bad. Maybe it was a migraine. Those were common. Whatever it was you could handle it.
You seemed assured you could take care of it until the first hour of your shift. You found yourself kneeling over the toilet, sick. A quick flush and you took a moment. Your suspicions were confirmed when you had borrowed a few HCG tests from the supply closet. It showed a double line indicating pregnancy, which you were in disbelief about.
You knew exactly who the father was. You're attending. He was sweet, funny, and well-adjusted for everything he'd been through. A pregnancy would throw off your career, you'd have to take time off- You'd be Nauseous and aching all the time. You didn't anticipate Jack being upset about it, but it would change everything. Would it really be worth that?
As you exited the bathroom stall, Dana had entered, her bag slung over her shoulder, her sunglasses on her head. She gave you a soft, sympathetic look. She had picked up on what was happening and gave a sharp smile. "You alright, Hun?" she asked. You nodded, going over to wash your hands. Dana lingered by the wall. "I had the worst of it when I had my kids," she said. "Sick as a dog, every morning." You nodded, not feeling sociable in that particular moment.
She sighed, finally. "Does he know?" She asked you pointedly. Dana had a way of knowing everything, while it seemed like she hung around the nurses' station all day- in reality, she was the all-seeing person that picked up on everything- sometimes before the ED even noticed. She was observant in that way. A quiet and knowing presence that felt comforting. "No, he doesn't." You were hoping someone else would come in, and that would make the conversation move along, and you'd go back to work.
"Well, this is a stressful place for someone in your condition," she offered gently. "I don't want things to change," you said. Your relationship, your career. Anything really. Your body fought against you as your stomach cramped from being emptied and agitated. "Things will change- that's unavoidable," Dana said, stepping closer, offering a glance. "But then everything will be back to normal. It just takes time. Talk to him, don't leave him in the dark. He deserves to know." You nodded. "Thanks, Dana." you said gently. "Of course. You take care of yourself." She said firmly.
Change had been on your mind the rest of the shift and onward. You'd have to tell Jack- and the rest would know soon enough. You'd have to let the hospital know, and then you'd be bedridden and pregnant. You were terrified to say the least. Your rendezvous with your attending would be over, and everyone would know. As a senior resident, you'd worked hard to work your way up, and all of this now could jeopardize that. You expected the very worst case scenario, single mother working part time in the ED. It all felt like too much to swallow.
You hadn't eaten in a few days, at risk of it coming back up. You were burnt out, tired. You only had a few patients, none of them incredibly urgent. A little boy whose mother was in hysterics over her son's broken arm- It was warming seeing a mother be so worried over such a minor injury. and a teenager who had sliced his hand open while trying to cook up some elaborate recipe for his girlfriend. Sweet interactions you were thankful for. The patients kept you going on that day. And after just a few hours, the late-night lull began, and you had been dodging Jack since the evening started.
You found solace in an empty room behind the fabric curtain, a small sliver of privacy in between tasks. You leaned over the railing of the empty bed, taking a moment as a wave of nausea and weakness washed over you. Jack entered, his expression softening when he saw you were in discomfort. "Hey," his voice is soft and low. "Everything alright?" he asked, approaching you slowly. "Yeah," you said immediately. "Can we talk later?" you asked hurriedly.
"Of course," he said. He stiffened and crossed his arms. "Is everything okay, though, really?" he pressed again. You wondered if Dana had told him anything. "I'm fine, Jack. just a little tired," he nodded. You tried to straighten yourself up, but faltered slightly. Jack was there on a moment's notice with a hand over the small of your back, offering his support.
You wanted to tell him then and there, but it felt wrong- the door was open, you were feeling dizzy, and everything was still overwhelming. You nodded again as the wave passed and turned forward to face him. You were inches apart; you could smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his body.
The moment was interrupted by Lena, who slung the curtain open. "There you are," she said. Jack straightened up again, stepping away. "We have an incoming car accident. Semi-blocked traffic. Could be a dozen injured, maybe more." You exhaled. Things were about to get busy. You both rushed out, ready to have useful hands. You shook off the dizzy feeling that grew weaker.
You had all spread out and began tackling tasks- Doctors of the ED rushed past as patients came in, one by one. EMT and triage were slammed in just a moment. The hospital got busy and fast, and loud. Skilled hands administered care to each patient, and you had hopped on a case as it came in. An unconscious pregnant woman whose airbag had deployed and broken her nose. You took each of her vitals and searched for any signs of injury. The EMT doing the handoff was prompt. "She's about 6 months pregnant. Slid off the road, she's lucky she avoided the pile-up. She wasn't hit by the semi. We suspect she lost consciousness when the airbag deployed." The EMT says, you got to work, the typical routine.
The woman regained consciousness slowly and then grabbed your arm in panic. "The baby!" she shrieked. "Is my baby okay?!" She said, trying to lean up, her nose smeared with blood and her face puffy. She'd have some bruising for sure. "Stay still, I will make sure the baby is okay," you reassured her. That's all she cared about in that moment. She was placed into a room, and you finished your general assessment. Once the initial panic had washed over her, she began to cry.
"I just-" she sighed. "This is my fault," she whined. "My husband and I got into an argument, and I ran off with the keys," she mumbled in between sobs, ignoring the pain that troubled her and worrying about her unborn child first. "There is no fault here; you're safe. I will have one of the nurses call your husband. We will take good care of you." You said in the professional tone you always used. It felt like some kind of sick irony.
The next step was an ultrasound. The woman was incredibly lucky her injuries weren't severe or worse. You both waited in agonizing anticipation as you used the machinery to look for the baby, a healthy-looking sign on the screen. It picked up the baby's heartbeat, which was steady, and the woman wailed in relief. "Oh my god," she exclaimed. "The baby is looking healthy, unharmed." You said definitively. The woman wailed and cried her tears of joy and relief. "Thank you so much," She uttered. "Just take it easy, okay?" you instructed her.
A man calling her name rushed through the halls. They made the sweetest couple. This was the husband. He rushed into the room to be at her side, kissing her forehead. As you entered your notes into her chart, he, of course, had a million questions. "Is the baby okay?" was his first. "Yes, the baby is doing fine." The man burst into tears. "Your wife is very lucky. Her nose is broken, and she's a little bruised, but both are looking very healthy otherwise. We have some tests to run, and we'll get you guys back home safely as soon as we can." You nodded, beginning to exit the room.
The husband began another slew of 'thank you,' and you had to step out, A sudden sharp pain growing in your abdomen. You tried to seem calm, but there were tears in your eyes. Emotions were running high. Your pain level was increasing, and you rushed to the bathroom.
When you realized you had passed the pregnancy, everything melted away. Your anxiety, your anger, your fears. You just felt at a total loss. The thought of having Jack's baby was terrifying, sure- but now it felt like that decision was taken from you. You wanted to blame yourself- for working too hard, for letting this happen. Jack would be furious if he knew you weren't taking good care of yourself. You were scared of his reaction, scared that he'd be upset. You just wanted him to be near you, to comfort you and hold you. But in that moment, all you could do was clean the tissue from your underwear and move forward. You were in the bathroom for 20 minutes, not a long time for a regular person, but in the ED that felt like forever.
When you had cried enough for your eyes to be puffy, your cheeks rosy, and your face pale, and the shaking had calmed down, you had to put on a brave face and walk out there like nothing happened. Mid shift, and your whole world had changed, and then shattered. You walked over to Lena quickly at the nurses' station. "I'm going to step outside for a minute." You said. Lena gave you a pointed look, and nodded.
What you hadn't noticed was Jack seeing this interaction. He shed his gloves, watching you, the life drained out of your expression, your body language weak. His heart skipped a beat seeing you like that. He assigned Dr. Ellis the case and excused himself in an instant. Worry plastered his face. He rushed after you, finding you sat just outside the ED watching the quiet and empty street with the stars above you. The tears fell gently down your face.
He sat next to you, his gentle presence calming enough. "What's wrong?" he cooed gently. "Hey, talk to me."
You shook your head slightly, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "Jack," you began in an unsteady, shaky voice. "I lost the baby," you said with finality. He knew it was his. He knew what it meant; his heart dropped in his chest. "Hey," his tone switched from worry to comfort. "That's not your fault," he said sternly.
"I didn't even know I was pregnant." You continued. "I was terrified to tell you. And now it doesn't even matter," you said with a casual tone. He gazed into your eyes, trying his hardest to take on the pain. To take it away from you and bear it himself. "I had no idea," he said softly. "I had my suspicions, but I trusted you," he trails on. "And I don't blame you for this- or for not telling me." his honesty makes you feel less anxious.
There's a moment that passes by. "You know that I love you, and you shouldn't have had to carry that pain alone," he says. You lean your head on his shoulder, and his arm comes up instinctively with a gentle rub. You look out at the quiet night, distraught over the unfortunate circumstances. "I'm sorry, Jack." he shook his head. "Don't be." he says.
"I'm going to send you home, go back to my place ill take care of the ride. Relax, order some takeout, and get some rest. Doctor's orders," he retorts. You smiled softly. "You aren't my doctor," you said. "Medically, no," he teases. "Regardless, as you're attending, I'm sending you home to rest. Your body has been through something traumatic, as your Boyfriend," his words hung in the air. "I want you to be okay, not just at work." That was the first time he had called himself your boyfriend, you had always danced around the labels, but it made sense. It felt right.
You spent most of the time you weren't at work together, you made dinners together, and got each other gifts. The label itself didn't matter. It just felt right. And you didn't mind it at all. He felt safe. He felt at home. "I love you," you whispered finally. Jack smiled, though you didn't see it, and kissed your forehead. Everything felt okay again, being in his arms.
“what the hell are you doin’ here?” unfortunately, it isn’t the first time phillip graves has decided to darken your doorstep uninvited, and it’ll probably not be the last. he never knows when to quit. it’ll be the end of him. and you, if you’re not careful.
he grins, all pearly whites, quarter-deep dimples, and false arrogance that makes your belly flutter. the same smile that won you over, years ago. but it’s different this time, muted, subdued in a way that doesn’t suit him. he looks tired, you think, lacking his usual swagger. there’s a small, loathsome part of you that worries about him. “since when do i need an excuse?”
he raises his hand, holding a six-pack of bud light with two fingers, an expression teetering between confident and desperate playing on his face. you should slam the door, turn him away, protect the peace he’s so keen to take from you. if you were smart, that’s exactly what you’d do.
instead you step outside, barefooted and resigned, and shut the front door behind you. “you ain’t comin’ in the house.” it’s a minuscule sort of defiance, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. still, you take pride in it, because you remember a time when you couldn’t have told him no to anything.
the tension in his shoulders loosens somewhat at that, and he lowers himself onto the creaky old porch swing you found at a garage sale in the spring. you hate how much space he takes up, like it’s his to claim and keep, like the centre of the universe is wherever he wants it to be. “fine by me. it’s nice out, anyways, it’d be a shame to miss it.” he isn’t wrong. it’s cooler than usual, this far south, and the sun’s just starting to set, painting the lawn in pink and gold.
you sit beside him with a sigh, the scarce space between you electric, dangerous. you have to purse your lips to resist the urge to chide him when he pops the top off your bottle with his teeth—it isn’t your place anymore.
“i’ve missed you, baby,” he tells you, and you swallow hard in order to keep from saying something stupid like me too. the beer’s bitter, and the taste makes your nose scrunch. you don’t drink much these days. not like you used to, when phillip was the one filling your cup, at least.
“what’s goin’ on, phil?” you know it’s something, it must be, because he’s got that same look on his face that he did when he told you he’d been screwing your hair dresser. mournful, ashamed, his age making itself known in the line of his brow.
he doesn’t look at you, like he didn’t that night, or any of the nights it came time to fess up that he’d done you wrong. he’s a coward. you’re not much better. “just shit with work. nothin’ you gotta worry about.”
that could mean anything. you know all about his work, the shadows, the awful things he’s seen, that he’s done. he’s not a good man, your phillip, despite what you might’ve believed when you were young and in love. he never wanted you to know what you do, tried so hard to let you think he was something different than he is, but the truth always comes out, in the end.
“you hurt someone?”
“more than just someone, honey.”
“you have a good reason?”
“i thought so. it’s looking like not.”
this is the part where you’re meant to head inside and call your mama to tell her all about his audacity. showing up here, like he has the right to exist where you do, seeking sympathy like a damn stray looking for scraps. you shouldn’t feel bad for him. he’s in a hell entirely of his own making, after all.
yet, you shuffle closer, you let your head fall to his shoulder, and relax as his arm wraps around you. he’s warm, like a bonfire in the fall, solid and unrelenting. he’s still wearing that same cologne you bought him for christmas two years ago, the last holiday you guys spent together.
“you can’t keep doin’ this to me.” you say, though you lament the day he quits. the day he gives up on you, the day he stops coming back to remind you that he still loves you, still needs you, that he still has the ring tucked away in his nightstand, waiting for you.
“i know.” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “i just can’t keep away from you. god knows i’ve fuckin’ tried.”
you laugh, despite yourself. god’s a busy man, you think, he does not have time to waste on devils like phillip graves. god doesn’t know shit about him, but you do.
and you know that he’ll never stop. not until he’s dead and buried, at least. because he’s awful, and he’s selfish, and he loves you too much to care what’s good for you.
