Summary: The Pitt football watch party, a longtime tradition at Jack’s house, starts to look a little different as the crew begin to notice the subtle changes that could only mean one thing between you and Jack.
Word count: ~1.4k
Content: no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, no explicit content, age gap (Jack is late 40s, reader is early 30s), fluff, possibly ooc, secret relationship
Author's note: so this is just an idea that's been floating around in my head and I wanted to see if it would be something! I also definitely projected a bit in the beginning bc I know nothing about football lol I love the best friends to lovers trope and this feeds into it just a tiny bit so I love it! I feel like it might be a little rushed at the end so I apologize for that, but please enjoy and let me know what you think! :)
Your eyes scan the fridge with practiced ease. “Jack, where’s the buffalo chicken dip?” you call out toward the hallway, where he’s still in the bedroom getting dressed before the guests arrive.
“Behind the guacamole! And take out the pretzel bites too!”
Football was never your thing. Sundays weren’t sacred, touchdowns didn’t thrill you, and the Super Bowl was just another excuse to show up, chant “Go sports!” and mingle over finger foods. But that had changed due to the Pitt crew and one particular diehard fan.
Jack finally appears, tugging on a Steelers sweatshirt. When you glance over, you try really hard not to focus on the sliver of skin peeking out where the hem has ridden up. He grins lazily at you as you cross the room to fix his collar, meeting him halfway. He hums in appreciation.
“What would I do without you?” he asks, eyes warm and only looking at you.
“You’d starve to death looking like you got dressed in the dark,” you tease, smirking up at him.
Before he can shoot back, the kitchen timer dings. “Ah, my meat,” he sighs excitedly.
You giggle as he grabs utensils and trays, heading outside for the smoker he’s been fussing over all day. “I really hope I never have to hear you say that again.”
He looks back, smirk firmly in place. “But babe, you love my meat!”
You let out a shriek of laughter and hurl the nearest hand towel at him. He ducks out of the way, laughing all the while.
Soon the food’s ready and set out. You’re stirring a batch cocktail for the beer hating crowd when quick, excited knocks rap against the front door, signaling the party’s begun. Jack opens the door to find Robby balancing a case of beer. After the first arrival, guest trickled in and soon enough, the house is filled right before kickoff.
“When did your music taste get so mainstream?” Robby laughs, flipping through Jack’s stack of CDs and vinyls. He has Harry Styles next to Bruce Springsteen.
He scans the room, trying to focus on the details, and not what those details might mean just yet. Cassie sets her drink down on a mosaic coaster Robby’s never seen before, a small, colorful thing that definitely didn’t belong in Jack’s usual lineup of beer rings and forgotten receipts.
He turns and catches Samira fluffing a throw pillow before settling on the couch. That same couch Robby’s crashed on too many times to count, always grumbling about how it had the give of a cement block. Now it’s got throw pillows?
At the kitchen counter, Dana scowls at Shen for rifling through the cabinets. Shen triumphantly pulls out a yellow mug with a faded smiley face. Robby stares. Since when did Jack own anything besides those bone-white mugs permanently stained by years of coffee and neglect?
He spins around just in time to see Princess and Perlah marveling at the food platters of dips, sliders, perfectly golden pretzel bites. The kind of setup you’d see in a commercial, not at one of Jack’s “beer and meat” nights.
“I made dip and some appetizers,” you announce, pointing out the spread. The house fills quickly with chatter and clinks of bottles.
Santos and Victoria follow you into the kitchen while Cassie and Jack immediately start talking about the team's lineup. You can hear Robby vaguely explaining the basics to Dennis and Samira as they try to understand the game.
Victoria’s the first to dig in, scooping up some buffalo chicken dip. Across from her, Santos pops a pig in a blanket into her mouth just as Victoria’s eyes water and she lets out a dry cough.
“Is it bad? What’s wrong with it?” Your eyes widen, rushing to hand her a cup of water. Santos rubs her back as the coughing subsides.
Victoria waves you off between sips. “No, no, it’s really good! I just didn’t expect it to have so much heat. I thought Jack didn't like spicy.”
You frown. “What do you mean? Jack tried it before I baked it and said it was perfect.”
Santos snorts, stealing Victoria’s water. “Jack would say that about anything you make. Hey, when did that even start? Because the betting pool is getting big, and this basically confirms it, so I wan—”
“Trinity, what are you talking about?”
“You and Abbot. When did you two start dating?”
You burst into a full belly laugh, doubling over until you have to grab the counter for support.
They think you and Jack are together.
The commotion draws attention. Jack wanders in, curiosity etched across his face. His hand settles gently on your lower back. “You okay?”
You gasp between giggles, trying to explain. “They think–you and me–we’re together.”
Jack throws his head back and laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for the barbecued pulled pork. “That’s ridiculous. Of course we’re not together.”
You hum, wiping a spot of barbecue sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Try the guac. I used those peppers you like.” You load a chip and hold it out, he eats it in one bite, grinning.
Robby pushes his glasses up his nose, brows climbing. “You two do know how this looks, right?”
“We’re just close,” you insist, looping an arm around Jack’s shoulders for emphasis. “He drives me home from work because he thinks I’ll fall asleep at the wheel, and I make sure he eats something green every once in a while. And he’s way too old for me anyway.”
Samira and Dennis snicker quietly, while Ellis and Cassie exchange skeptical glances.
Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m standing right here, you know. And you talk too much to be anyone’s damsel in distress.” You gasp with faux outrage, whacking his bicep, in hopes of getting even.
Eventually, the moment passes, and everyone drifts back to the game. Some cheer, some heckle, some just use it as an excuse for another drink.
Hours later after everyone had left, the kitchen’s clean, leftovers tucked away, and everything was put back into its rightful place.
Including you.
“Do you feel bad for lying?” you mumble, face tucked against his neck, head rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. Jack’s fingers trace your spine, one vertebra at a time.
He hums. “No, because the minute they know, I’ll have to share this with them. And I kind of like keeping it to myself for a little longer.”
You hum in response, not entirely satisfied but understanding. Starting something with Jack was uncharted territory. You were the first woman he’d been serious about since Clare passed, and even before that, he’d made peace with the idea that chapter of his life was over.
Until you came along.
It hadn’t been an easy decision to keep your relationship a secret. Not that you ever truly meant to hide it, if anything, it was almost impossible to. The feelings between you were raw and unfamiliar, both thrilling and terrifying, yet undeniably profound. Keeping it private seemed like the right choice, a way to let it grow without the weight of curious eyes. Still, you couldn’t ignore the quiet longing to show the world just how much this love meant to you.
“I don’t want to hide it either,” he says softly. “I’m not embarrassed. But once everyone knows, it won’t just be ours anymore. And forgive me if I want to be a little greedy with my girl.”
“Your girl?” you tease. “I don’t know about that, you don’t even want to tell our coworkers.”
Jack huffs, grabbing your waist and rolling you onto your back, laughter bubbling up between you as he nips at your neck, trying to coax that sound from you again, the one that makes the whole house feel alive.
Summary: completing residency means you can potentially run, but you unfortunately can’t hide from your feelings for Jack. Especially when he’s the one serving it to you on a silver platter.
Word count: ~2.9k
Content: no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, no explicit content, age gap (Jack is late 40s, reader is early 30s), fluff, possibly ooc, paragraphs that are italicized are flashbacks, Robby trying to be a good friend to Jack and slight Frank slander lol
Author’s note: Hello! This is my first time ever writing a fanfic and also my first time ever sharing it so please be kind! I appreciate all the work a lot of authors put into the pitt fandom and it’s been inspiring me to see if I’m any good at it. I apologize if the pacing is weird and overall if it’s not good (if it's not- it is what it is, everybody has to start somewhere lol) BUT I’m just excited to be writing for fun and getting creative with it, so please enjoy and let me know what you think<3
Read lover boy (part 2) here!
Loud, drunken shouts from outside your apartment jolt you out of your thoughts. You throw the blanket off and sit up abruptly, heart racing. The clock on your nightstand reads a little past three o’clock in the morning. With a weary exhale, you think about how little sleep you've managed, only tossing and turning since you dragged yourself to bed.
Exhaustion hits you like a truck after the last shift you had. It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but the weight of what it meant sits heavy on you. That was your last shift as a resident. In a few weeks, after your mandated time off, you’ll walk back into that same building as the new attending physician. It felt monumental, but also a blessing to grow roots here and not have to leave everything you worked so hard to build behind.
It was almost tradition for the attendings to take the residents out after their final shift, covering the tab at the dive bar near the hospital that staff frequently visited. Although many tried to persuade you, eager to blow off steam through the celebratory efforts. You decided the excuse of 'I'm so tired but next time!' would suffice. It was easier to come up with an excuse, than admitting the real reason that gnaws at you whenever he was around.
Both chief attendings would be there tonight. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Dr. Abbot, Jack. If anything, it was quite the opposite. Working with him, it almost felt like second nature. He never scolded at mistakes, making space for growth and improvement. His smarts weren't covered with ignorance, which made you feel safe and steady when he walked you through a diagnosis or guided you during a procedure.
The glimmer of attraction you feel towards him was what made it difficult. He was objectively attractive, and he knew it. Patients weren't shy about saying so either, though he was the poster boy for professionalism when it comes to those interactions. But, the second he spots you rounding the corner of the ED, that practice composure cracks. His toothy smile fights its way to the surface as he tosses a witty comment your way. His smile widens when he catches the way his words fluster you. But you were never the type to back down from a challenge, so of course you roll your eyes as you let your tongue run loose with a remark.
"I can't believe we did that," you said, breathless, your chest still rising and falling after working on a GSW for more than an hour before stabilizing. Surgery wheeled away the patient towards the elevators as you turned to Jack. "Only got through it because you were in there with me," Jack smirked and ripped the PPE off his body, throwing it into the disposal bin. You rolled your eyes, already expecting this response. You copied his actions of disposing the PPE and followed him into the break room. From your scrub pocket, you pulled out the granola bar he gave you earlier in the day. You unwrapped it and leaned your back against the counter, watching him fuss with the coffee machine as he tried to make a decent cup of coffee. "Truly, you're the smartest one in this department. I can't imagine doing that with any other resident." His earnest eyes dug deep into yours, like they were trying to say something. It made your chest tighten a little. You scoffed, "You say that every time."
Jack glanced at you and took a step closer, his lips twitching. "Also, I just like the way you smell."
You blinked. "What?"
He shrugged, completely unfazed, "is it lavender? Or cherry blossom? Definitely something floral."
Your eyes widen at the ridiculousness of it."You only pull me into traumas because I smell good?"
"No," a grin tugged at his mouth. "But it's a nice bonus. If I wanted mediocrity and body odor, I'd ask Langdon to assist." He mirrored your stance, leaning against the counter beside you, sipping his coffee as he waited to see your reaction.
"Well," as you tried to look nonchalant, thinking of an rebuttal to his sporadic compliment. You swallowed the last bite of the granola bar as you pushed off the counter, to throw the wrapper in the garbage. "Your black shirts." Jack's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What about them?"
"Ditch the scrub tops and stick to the black shirts. Personally, I love being front row for the gun show every shift."
Jack mouth fell open slightly, his eyes fixed on you. The tips of his ears flushed pink, along with his neck. Satisfied with his reaction, you cross the room and gently took the mug out of his hand, taking a sip. "Caramel, my favorite." You smirked as you turned towards the door, his coffee in hand, and walked out with a small sway into your step, feeling his gaze burn on your figure as you leave.
You appreciate the flirtations with him. It never felt serious enough to stop, just harmless fun that made the long shifts a little lighter. Still, you were always reminded of the speculations that have floated around. People noticed the way he teased you, and how you weren’t afraid to give it right back. Dana once joked that you're his favorite resident, assuring you there is nothing to be embarrassed about.
And maybe she was right. You had nothing to be embarrassed about because nothing was ever going to happen between you and Jack. There couldn't be. He would never feel what he did to you. But it was nice in a way, to know you could still make a guy blush after years of work and no play.
However, once you accepted the attending position, the dynamic started to feel heavier. Suddenly, the teasing had weight, like every joke or lingering glance carried consequences. As time progressed, you were able to pull back from Jack, so you were able to have a conversation with him without sparks of flirtation.
Jack noticed immediately. He would let his stare sit on you with curiosity when your answers came out short and laughter didn't follow his jokes anymore. You didn't think it mattered that much, until you realized he was physically seeking you out. Right as a big trauma was coming in, you first noticed it.
As usual, he called you over and already firing off hypothetical questions as he gowns himself with PPE. On autopilot, you gave your hypothetical answers and reasonings as you slipped your arms into your own gown. You turned toward him, ready to add a thought about potential complications, but your mind goes blank. Heat bloomed low in your stomach as you felt his hands on your waist, steady and certain.
Through layers of latex, PPE, and scrubs, you could still feel the warmth of him. At your waist, his steady hands guided you to your original position with your back facing him, rubbing slightly before moving to your back. You were too stunned to question it until you realized what he was doing, tying the strings to the gown. Jack hummed, voice low, "you were saying?"
He knew exactly what he was doing.
You took a sharp breath, forcing your brain to focus on your explanation. But every word stumbled as his gloved hands brushed the back of your neck, knotting the ties. You did your best not to think about those same hands if they were on the front of your neck, or how easily he could press himself up against your back. And when you finally dared to glance at him, that smirk told you he had read every thought that crossed your mind.
At first, you told yourself it was a fluke. A one-off. But the pattern grew clearer with every shift. You two were playing a new kind of game. The light touches and lingering looks felt like a way to fill a space left by the teasing you had both stepped away from. Almost like a secret method of communication that allows you both to acknowledge each other outside of medicine. It wasn't obvious, but it was there. And it made you dizzy, lightheaded in the best way, like you were the one starting to crave it.
So when the crew planned a post-shift night out after our final shift, you decided to stay home. It felt safer to be away from the drinks, the laughter, and the potential blurry lines. Safer to stay in your apartment, where you could overthink in peace, convincing yourself that Jack’s touch meant nothing more than habit. But that plan was shattered with the sound of drunken shouting outside your window.
Before storming the window to slide it open, giving the party goers a peace of your mind, the shouts start morphing into a name, your name. Staggering to stand, you wobble over to the window. Opening it and sticking your head out, facing down towards the sidewalk.
Nothing could prepare you for the scene that plays out below you. Jack, clearly drunk, shouting your name towards the building as Robby tries to get him to calm down. Shock floods your body, and before you could think too much about it, you call out “Jack?”
Both men immediately stop, snapping their necks up. Jack grins like he just won the largest prize from the carnival, while Robby groans heavily while running his hand down his face. “Hey, I'm sorry about this," Robby calls out. "We went out with some of the other residents and he’s drunk-”
“I’m not drunk,” Jack interrupts, slapping a heavy hand on Robby’s shoulder. Robby let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, and you still have the two legs God gave you.”
Jack looks down to his legs like they were a new discovery. "Oh, fuck.” You couldn't help the small laugh that escapes you. Heat starts creeping to your cheeks as you took in the scene. Your attending, and soon to be colleague, drunk and shouting your name from the street. “I'm coming down," you said, pulling the window shut.
You scramble around for real clothes, anything better than your pajamas. No way in hell were you letting your superiors see you in them. After throwing on a cardigan while slipping on your bedroom slippers, you find your keys as you make your way downstairs. Your heart pounding with something that wasn't entirely dread.
“What’s going on?” You ask, wrapping the cardigan tighter around yourself as you approach them. Robby opens his mouth, but Jack, beats him to it. His words slurring a little, but sure. “I'm here because I need to tell you something.”
“Jack,” Robby hisses, his voice sharp with warning. “You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t the time.” But of course, Jack wasn’t listening. He’s looking right at you, steady despite the alcohol. “I can’t breathe when I’m around you.”
You freeze. Robby groans, dragging a hand down his face for what must have been the hundredth time tonight.
"I wanted to wait. Wait until you were a few months in your first attending year. Wanted it to be special. Take you out on a nice date, buy you flowers,” Jack went on, pressing a hand to his chest like he needs to feel the words leave his heart before they were out in the open. You stare at him, his eyes appearing soft and unguarded.
“But I lose my mind a little every time I'm near you. It’s like something in me won’t rest until I touch you, until I know you’re real. You’re so sharp, always two steps ahead, and I’m just trying to keep up with you. You have this hold on me and I don't ever want you to let go. Sweetheart, if you told me to jump, I'd already be asking how high. Even on my worst days, just seeing your face quiets all the noise inside me. And when you look at me, like really look at me, it almost hurts, because I know I shouldn’t want you this much. But I do."
You barely remember how to breathe, feeling the sharp sting in your lungs.
Jack takes a step closer, his voice breaking just slightly. “I’ve tried to fight it, to turn it off, but I can’t. I look for you in every room, I dream about you when I manage to sleep, and I think about you every damn day. Always you. I can’t stop walking around the ED, hoping to catch a trace of you in the air. I still don’t know if it’s lavender or gardenia or-”
"Jasmine," you say quietly.
Jack blinks, the word catching him off guard.
“It’s jasmine.”
Jack's out of breath, his chest rising up and down rapidly like he just ran a marathon. He exhales a shaky laugh, quirking the left corner of his mouth into a lazy grin. “Jasmine,” he breathes.
Robby just stares at him, then shakes his head down at the ground before returning to look at Jack again, eyes wide with disbelief. “You done?”
“You also do this thing with your hair when it's in your face and I just wanna-” Before he could finish, Robby grabs Jack by the back of the neck and shoulder, jerking him to the car door of what you would assume is the Uber he had already called. “Okay we’re done here," Robby says, half to you and half to himself.
"Sorry for waking you up. I'd tell you to forget everything that just happened, but I think Jack deserves to live with the consequences, ain't that right?” Jack ignores him, fumbling with the door handle like it was a puzzle. “Enjoy your time off," Robby adds with a sigh. "And seriously, I'm sorry.”
Robby pushes Jack into the back seat and slides beside him. You can already hear the beginnings of a lecture as the car door shuts and the car pulls away, leaving you standing alone on the sidewalk. Bedroom slippers on, cardigan wrapped tight, and your heart still racing.
__________________________________
The past two weeks were painfully restless.
You finally mustered up the energy to celebrate with the other residents. Over drinks, a few R2s and R3s were gossiping about the attending’s attitude. "What has gotten into Abbot lately?" You smiled politely, refusing to take the bait. You didn't trust yourself not to give something away.
You tried to stay busy. You went to the farmer’s market, caught up on some TV shows and finally finished the gigantic pile of laundry that has been haunting your corner for weeks. But no matter how productive you were, your mind kept drifting back to that night.
Thinking too hard about it makes you spiral, because this ever-so-casual confession sounded like it came out of nowhere. But looking back, you fear there might be some truth in what he said.
Maybe the fancy coffees and reminders to eat weren’t just about keeping you functional on long shifts. Maybe the teasing between seeing patients wasn’t just trying to pass time so handoff can come quicker. Maybe the way he praised your diagnoses and procedures wasn’t just mentorship.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d meant every word. That thought terrified you more than you cared to admit.
By the time your first night shift as an attending arrived, your nerves were on edge. The hospital looked the same, but everything felt different. Every sound sharper, every step heavier. You knew Jack usually came in early, hanging around to chat with the residents. Now that you thought about it, he’d always found a reason to spend that time with you.
“Welcome to the night shift, my friend,” Ellis smiles over you as you settled at the station. Shen lazily salutes you from his chair. “Glad to be back,” smiling as your head turns to the patient admission board. Your eyes, however, cautiously flicks around the hub for the attending. Time never came to see his arrival as patient’s names populate the board and Ellis starts giving report.
Hours passed before you finally saw the man who has been occupying your mind since his confession. Jack appears by the station, hands shoved in his pockets, an awkward wave half raised, “hey." It was almost endearing. His face was a little pink, and that shy smile was so unlike the confident doctor you knew. “Great work so far. Looks like you’re settling into the rhythm.” You nod your head, smirking up at him from the tablet in your hands. “Yeah well, someone once said I'm always two steps ahead.”
His right leg shuffles under him and he braces his left hand on the counter of the station. His other hand makes its way to the back of his neck, rubbing it like it’s a magic lamp so he could wish for the ground to swallow him whole.
“Yeah, about that," he starts quietly. "Can we talk after handoff?”
You shift your attention, smiling down at the chart and lean on the counter as you finish filling it out, “I want pancakes.”
Stunned, Jack sputter, “W-what?”
“I'm starving, so if we're talking, you’re taking me to that diner we went to after my first night shift, the one with the good pancakes.” He’s nodding automatically, confused on the casual tone as he's still processing. Acting like it was just another night, you look up at him again, a teasing light in your eyes. “Great. It’s a date.”
The word hung in the air between them, and his face cycles through expressions of confusion before settling into a shocked, open mouth stare.
You turn away, the corner of your mouth curling into a smirk as you walk towards your next patient. “Come on, lover boy,” you call over your shoulder. “We’ve got patients to see.”
Summary: It's been a few months since Jack's ever-so-causal drunk confession, and now you’re living in the afterglow of it.
Word count: ~1.3k
Content: no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, no explicit content, age gap (Jack is late 40s, reader is early 30s), fluff, possibly ooc, paragraphs that are italicized are flashbacks
Author’s note: And I'm back! This is a continuation of lover boy that some were asking about! I wasn't planning on expanding the storyline passed the ending of the first part, but I thought this would be a cute short addition to see it through. Again, Im still learning and practicing, so I apologize if the pacing is weird! Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3
Read lover boy (part 1) here!
"Do you wanna add something to the order?" Ellis leans back in her rolling chair, the familiar click of her stretched back echos through the ER. A small reminder of how long they've been sitting there, suspended between patients and exhaustion. No one dares to mention the q or s word around here, so her question feels like a small blessing, unspoken but shared.
"No, I'm good. I've got food being dropped off a little later."
You click off the medication order for the patient in room three, waiting for a bed upstairs. Ellis scoffs as Shen rolls over in his chair, positioning himself between you and her. "So you think you're too good for Judy's 24-Hour Diner now that you've got a lover boy wrapped around your finger? Don't deny the night shift staple, newbie. It's tradition."
Everyone knows you’ve been seeing someone, whispers drift through hallways faster than lab results, but you and Jack decided to keep things private by not mentioning who that someone was.
Since that morning you had breakfast together, things have been good. Better than good.
He’d been steady through your hesitations, kind about your fears. You can't help but listen to the whispers about favoritism, the delicate balance between ambition and affection. When you’d voiced your concern that people might think your new position came from his influence, he’d only smiled and said, “Sweetheart, all you have to worry about is the way I feel about you and I’ll take care of the rest. If I have to get drunk and confess in the street again, I’ll do it. As many times as it takes for you to believe me.”
You’d said you wanted to go slow, you meant it. You wanted to go slow to give yourself space to grow confident in your role before diving headfirst into something new. But feelings have a way of bending timelines. Slow still look like sleepovers that bleed into long mornings, like late night texts that make your stomach flutter, like shared jokes and small moments that now live naturally in the corners of your days.
When you’d asked him, before this shift, if he could drop off dinner, the way his eyes lit up told you he knew exactly what that meant. That it was another small, meaningful step forward.
You think back to the start of the sleepovers, where you were standing in front of his bathroom mirror, looking for your moisturizer in your travel pouch, while he leaned against the counter next you in sweats and a hoodie.
He looked so warm, so soft, that you wished you could bottle that feeling for nights when work leaves you hollow. He’d reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You can put your stuff in a drawer, if you want.”
You’d laughed, glancing at his reflection. “You’d have to clean out a drawer first. That’s a lot of work, and I’d need duplicates.”
He hadn’t answered right away. Instead, he’d turned, pulled open a drawer, and revealed it already cleaned out with a few small items neatly arranged inside.
“I don’t know what creams you use, but we can grab them later,” he’d said. “My nieces told me these headbands are good for keeping hair back, and I picked up those hair ties you always wear.”
The gesture hit you harder than expected. Although the word ‘love’ had yet to be said, the quiet act of the emotion filled the cracks you didn’t realize were still empty. Going slow had meant holding back for both of you, and you could see how much effort it took him not overwhelm you with his want of more. But every so often, he allowed himself these small indulgences that granted you to peek into his beating heart.
Now, back in the ER, you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips when Shen raises a brow.
“No, I’ve got someone dropping off food. I’d rather not waste their time, or my money. I’ve got that attending paycheck now, but med school loans don’t pay themselves. And for the record, ordering the burger instead of the quesadilla is a culinary crime.”
Shen glares, though there’s no bite behind it. Ellis leans forward, chin on her hand. “So who’s bringing you food at this hour?”
You smirk, “I didn’t ask why you were wearing Santos’s sweatshirt the other night at the bar.”
Ellis opens her mouth, caught between retort and surrender. Shen groans dramatically. “So she’s got a house husband making her dinner. I respect it.”
“He’s fully employed, thank you. And no ring yet.” You wiggle your bare left hand, the teasing cadence in your voice impossible to hide. “Wouldn’t call him a house husband, but he sure knows how to spoil me.” Before Ellis can press for more, the ER doors hiss open.
Jack walks in, not in scrubs, but in jeans and a sweater, with a lunchbox swinging from his hand.
"Abbot! Baby! Here to save us from the crushing weight of boredom?" Shen calls, spinning in his chair.
Ellis grins. "What are you doing here, old man? The ER doesn't miss you as much as you miss her."
Jack leans over the counter, eyes finding yours immediately. “Actually, I’m here because I missed my girlfriend.”
Shen clutches his chest theatrically. “Jack, you shouldn’t have! If you missed me, you could’ve just said so-”
Jack shrugs him off with a laugh. Ellis snorts. “Girlfriend? The patient board’s looking empty, are you sure you’re not sundowning?”
You no longer pretend to focus on the computer screen. The grin you’ve been hiding finally breaks free, and Jack’s gaze softens when he catches it.
"Do you want me to put this in the fridge, or are you gonna eat now, sweetheart?" he asks.
The room goes still. Both Shen and Ellis let their eyes dart between you and Jack, taking in the scene.
“I’ll take it now,” you say, warmth flooding your chest. “Thanks, babe.”
Shen’s jaw drops while Ellis’s laugh bursts out in disbelief. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”
You unzip the lunchbox, looking up at Jack through your lashes. “Jackie, did you make pasta?”
“Yeah, and I cut up those persimmons you bought. They’re really sweet.”
“Not as sweet as you,” you tease, deliberately thick with affection.
He smiles. “I beg to differ.”
“Why don’t you come back here, and we can test that theory?”
Shen groans. “I can’t watch this, it’s like seeing my dad make out with his controversially young girlfriend.”
Jack goes to make a quip about how he not that much older, but Ellis recovers quickly, connecting the dots. “So you’re lover boy? The one sweeping her off on dates and sending her late night texts? And the flower delivery mid shift last week?”
Jack laughs. “If ‘lover boy’ means treating her the way she deserves, then yeah. Unless there’s someone else I should be jealous of?”
You shake your head, still smiling. “Come on, you can watch me eat.”
You round the counter and reach for him, your fingers brushing against his sleeve. His hand finds the small of your back, a gentle pressure that coaxes you closer until there’s no space left between you. For a heartbeat, he hesitates, offering you the chance to pull away, but instead you curl your hand around his arm, tugging him down into a kiss.
The teasing and laughter fade into the background, swallowed by the low hum of monitors and the soft thrum of fluorescent light. For that suspended moment, the whole world narrows to the warmth of his mouth, the way his breath catches against yours. It’s quiet, it’s him, it’s you.
When you finally part, you can’t help the grin that blooms across your face, or the impulse that follows. You slip your hand into the back pocket of his jeans, a silent declaration, half possessive and half playful, before leading him toward the break room. His hand stays anchored at your spine, his touch steady, his world still orbiting yours.
“How’s that for getting the word out?” you tease.
Jack laughs softly, eyes glinting. “I think we should’ve done it in front of Princess. By morning, we’d be at the top of the gossip chain.”
You giggle, leaning into his side as you walk. The exhaustion of the night dissolves beneath the low buzz of his laughter, the heat of him still clinging to your lips. You glance up at him, dazed with affection, and for a second it feels like gravity has rearranged itself, every pull leading back to him.
He flashes that boyish grin, the one you’ve come to think of as yours alone, and you swear it could light the whole damn department. "So,” he teases, voice low and amused, “I’m lover boy, huh?”
Summary: PTMC's biggest grump is faced with the force of holiday cheer and underlying feelings.
Word Count: ~1.1k
Content: no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, no explicit content, age gap (Jack is late 40s, reader is early 30s), fluff, emotional tension, possibly ooc, Jack being a grumpy man about the holidays lol
Author's note: Happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate! I wanted to finish this and get this out yesterday but I got nauseous on the car ride to my family's house so I unfortunately had to wait till I got home. It's nothing super crazy, just love the beginning stages of something and anything because you just never know what it can turn out to be! I apologize for any grammar errors, I proofread but not as throughly as I could have. Like always, please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy <3
You don’t know why you’re doing this.
You were warned, loudly and repeatedly, not to poke the bear. Don’t insinuate anything. Don’t encourage him. Treat it like any other shift.
But it’s Jack. Your Jack. And somewhere between the late-night coffees, the shared exhaustion, the quiet check-ins, and the raw moments neither of you meant to reveal, something has been slowly blooming between you. It was quiet, steady, and impossible to ignore. Even Dana noticed, and she has the subtlety of a foghorn.
So here you are, holding not one, but two Tupperware containers filled with the Thanksgiving dinner you made with more effort than you want to admit. With every step you take toward the break room, the containers feel heavier, like they’re filled with meaning you didn’t intend to pack in.
Jack is hunched over the tablet, the overhead lights catching the silver in his hair. He’s reviewing the usual post-holiday cooking injuries, looking every bit the overworked, underfed grump they all warned you about.
“If you stay like that any longer, you’re gonna be crying in neck pain,” you call out as you set the containers in front of him.
He tenses, but once he sees you, and instantly softens. His shoulders drop and his mouth curves into that lazy, private smile he never offers anyone else.
“I’ll be fine,” he drawls. “I have you to take care of me.”
“Not all the time, old man.”
“Yeah? Then what’s this?” His smirk deepens as he gestures to the containers. He’s teasing, but his voice goes a touch softer when he says it. It's as if he’s afraid to push too hard. You tip your chin up with a faux-innocent flare.
“I don’t know, Jack. What do you think it is?”
He chuckles as you start opening the lids, your face heating as if you’ve been caught.
It's because you have, for caught caring. Caught giving him the softness everyone claims he doesn’t crave or want. Caught letting him see you and the vulnerability that comes with it.
“I think,” he says slowly, “it looks like you made Thanksgiving dinner and brought it to the lonely old man so he doesn’t starve.”
“Well, you got the ‘lonely old man’ part right.”
“I’m not that old.” He arches a brow at you, and you smile like you’ve just won something. You slide one container across from him, then gently move his tablet out of the way so you can place the other in front of him. It’s intentional, most intimate as your eyes soften onto him.
And of course, he notices. He notices everything.
He opens his mouth to say something, probably to protest, but you cut him off.
“And don’t even start with the whole ‘I already ate’ excuse. I know all you’ve had today is pretzels and whatever sludge that coffee machine spits out. You’re eating this. Mock me all you want, but Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love the cooking, and the music, and the whole warmth of it. And if I’m stuck working, then Thanksgiving is coming with me. And I bet on my hard-earned money that you haven't had a real Thanksgiving meal in a long time and you deserve at least that, and I just wanted to do something. Something nice, so can you even sue a girl for—”
“Can’t sue you if you’re already betting your hard-earned money,” he murmurs.
You stop, fork hovering, your brows still knitted like you’re trying to untangle something deeper than you can explain. You let out a breath, softer this time.
“I just wanted to do something that felt good. For me, and for you.”
His gaze flicks to your face. It feels slow, warm, almost reverent.
“I see that,” he says, and he starts eating, like really eating. Every time he makes a tiny, appreciative sound, you smile, trying (and failing) to hide the heat creeping up your neck. A few minutes pass like that, comfortable and close.
“I usually end up at Rudy’s,” he says finally. “More out of obligation than hunger. Pretend I’m celebrating so people stop looking at me like I might shatter.” He sighs. “Robby tries to drag me out, but the widower pity gets old real fast. But, this stuffing? It’s making me rethink the whole holiday.”
Your eyes widen, cheeks full. “Really?”
He nods like it’s obvious, then scrunches his nose. “Still not a fan of the whole ‘pilgrims and Native Americans holding hands’ fantasy.”
“Oh god, no,” you snort. “If anyone still believes that, I’m assaulting them with a history textbook. I just like cooking. And gratitude. And taking care of the people in my life.”
He hums. “Gratitude, huh? So where’s Dana’s container? Robby’s? Mohan’s? Santos’? I know the fridge has plenty of space.”
You know what he’s doing, you both feel it in his tone. “They’ve got their own holiday cheer,” you say lightly. “But you, Dr. Grump? It’s time for a change.”
He gasps dramatically. “Me? A grump? Never.”
“You yelled at Dennis for wearing a turkey hat.”
“He looked stupid.”
“And last year someone hung paper snowflakes and you ripped them down.”
“I can only pull so many strings with the fire marshal.”
You give him a look with your arms crossed, leaning forward, close enough he can smell the warmth of the spices from your cooking on your clothes.
“What?” He shrugs, “I watch his dog when he goes to the Bahamas with his wife every spring.”
You sigh, falling back into your chair.“Jack, you volunteer to work every holiday. Even when you don’t get the shift, you still come in, pacing around like the ghost of Christmas cynicism. People literally warn me not to interact with you between November and January.”
His expression flickers with shock, realization, and then something more fragile before he shuts it down, reaching for the safer ground of humor.
“I promise I’ll be better,” he says lightly, “if you make these mashed potatoes again.”
You laugh rushes out as you lean in closer without even noticing.
“Jack, I’ll make you a whole tray if it makes you light up like the Macy’s holiday display.”
His eyes widen just a little, caught off guard by how much you mean it. A flush blooms across his neck and ears, and he ducks his head like he’s afraid you’ll see how much he likes your attention.
But you already do.
And you like giving it to him.
And he likes to do the same with you, more than he likes to admit.
So you both finish eating, the room humming quietly around you, the unspoken promise between you settling warm and sweet on the break room table.
You both know that it’ll take time before one of you bite the bullet and fess up but it’s like a silent agreement.
Agree to take it one moment at a time, until you’re both ready to face the garden of butterflies roaring within you both.
Summary: You getting hurt at work was not on your or Jack's plan for your first Valentine’s Day.
Word count: ~1.9k
Content: no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, no explicit content, age gap but not mentioned (Jack is late 40s, reader is early 30s), harm towards healthcare workers, description of facial injury, emotional tension, a bit of fluff at the end because I'm a sucker for HEA, possibly ooc for Jack
Author's note: I hope one day late isn't too bad for a holiday related fic lol I feel like lover boy Jack needed a Valentine’s Day post, but I personally haven’t been in the lovey dovey mood and Im bit of a pessimist, so I put my own spin on it and Im not sure if I love the way it turned out but I think I like it enough to post, so I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think <3
This wasn't exactly how you thought your first Valentine's Day together would be.
You think about the slow morning you had planned out. Jack's stupidly complicated coffee machine. Your lopsided heart-shaped pancakes. Some low budget hallmark movie that just felt right. You even had a silk set with lace trim tucked discreetly into a box in the back of the closet for later. It wasn't perfect or extravagant by any means, but it was you and him.
Once you were with Jack, everything else was background noise. You couldn't wait to turn down the dial and focus on what was really important.
Jack. Him and you. Together.
However, the fierce frown painting his face and the waves of disappointment wafting off him felt harsh as the lull at the tail end of night shift came to a sudden halt.
You try to ignore the heat of his stare as you turn to Santos, who is already gloved up and ready to examine you.
"Please tell me it's not broken," you sigh, bracing for pain as you watch her small but steady hands guide their way towards your nose.
Both of you had been finishing up your shared shift, handing over your patients to the unlucky group forced to work on the day of love. You sorrowfully eye McKay as she takes in the patient list, reviewing it for questions before you leave.
You were grabbing the discharge paperwork for the patient in South 16, hoping to clear out the stragglers from the "Friday before a major holiday" crowd. Late thirties male, contusion on his left foot. Claimed his date wouldn't 'put out' when he made sexual advances, which lead to a stiletto heel getting jammed onto his foot.
Thankfully, he didn't needed anything more than a few scans, routine antibiotics, and a brace before meeting with a specialist in one week. But his not-so-subtle commentary about the situation, delivered in hopes of gaining support in his new crusade against women who don't "wanna have some fun," made him more unfavorable with every passing minute.
Because of this, you tried to do the day shift a favor by discharging him before shift change.
You weren't sure if it was the pain medication administered earlier in the night, or the lack of response to his sly remarks, but something aggravated him enough that he reeled his fist back, aiming for Princess while you charted on the computer.
It was a split-second decision. Almost like your interneuron reflex acted first before you could fully think to call for security.
Princess shouts as you pull her back, stumbling until her spine meets the charting station, your body filling the gap. More shouts echo and voices fall on top of each other as security arrives for a de-escalation.
You know it's too late as your hands fly to your nose.
Your head tilts back instinctively as you try not to think about the wet, hot sensation flooding your face. Images of the patient's twisted expression and his flying fist plague your mind. You can't tell if the crunching sound came from your stifled breath or fractured bone.
Your eyes water as you try to block out the commotion, straining to hear the one voice that could soothe the pain radiating from the center of your face down into your upper extremities, the kickback buzzing through your nerves.
The mere shade of Jack's backpack from your peripheral vision triggers an inherent reaction. A relieved gasp leaves your lips as it feels like air is crawling into your lungs for the first time.
Your tense shoulders fall as the dust settles.
The heat of his rough palms lands on your shoulders, holding you upright and guiding you into an open room.
Silence fills your ears until all you can make out are two jagged breaths that tighten your chest before confirmation shines brightly into your line of sight.
You barely comprehend your movements as fall back onto the stretcher, Jack's hand cradling your head while his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. His eyes focus on Santos's hands, but his brows lift with ridicule when you grunt out I'm fine.
"Santos, put in the orders for a head CT and follow through with neuro diagnostics to confirm if she's concussed."
Jack finally looks at you, his face hardened with emotions that would usually make anyone run for cover. Beneath it, though, was a layer of truth that bleeds raw and personal. Dark fear runs deep within him, electrifying his nervous system in all the wrong places.
Santos lets her gaze flick between you and Jack. "Are you sure you don't want to do it? I figured since you guys are together-"
The curtain rustles open, revealing Dr. Robby haphazardly zipping his jacket up as his eyes land on you. His gaze dances between you and Jack the same way when he sighs, "what the hell happened?"
You shrug, aiming for nonchalance as you glance at Jack, whose hands haven't stopped clenching and releasing since he laid eyes on you.
Once everything was accounted for and it was decided that you don't have a concussion, HR paperwork was filed and done. Still, you couldn't help but notice the harden expression and unwavering silence Jack wears when you say you don't want to press charges.
All of this comes to a head once you're home, standing in his kitchen, scrubs still on.
You have seen Jack mad before, even angry. But never at you. You're used to comforting eyes and the warmth that wraps around his words when he speaks to you. This feels like uncharted territory, and you don't know where to stand.
He mirrors you, but with one hand bracing the counter, as if searching for something solid to ground him. You take a step towards him, but hiss. The pressure beneath your skin shifts, forcing your head back.
Jack scoffs, already moving toward the freezer for a bag of frozen peas. He shakes his head, ignoring the lancing pain at his own heart as he gently presses the cold packaged vegetable against the bridge of your nose.
"You should've called for me. Or gotten security," he mumbles.
It's your turn to scoff. "I wasn't going to just stand there and let Princess get hit. She doesn't deserve that."
He sighs, releasing the frozen peas once you have a secure grip. You immediately miss the heat of him as he steps back, pacing like he's trying to think his way through the storm.
"I'm not saying she does. But you don't either. Sweetheart, I need you to be safe, not just for your well-being, but for mine too."
You try to ignore the softness that washes over you at the nickname. "What?"
His eyes find yours, sharpened by the fear surrounding emotions you've both been carefully circling for some time.
"You were at the hospital. You were attacked by a patient. The hospital that you and I both work at. I was there," he rambles, his hands slicing through the air. "I was only a few feet away, thinking about how much I wanted to go home, take off my leg, and just hold you. Nothing else. Just holding you. Until we have to physically get up for the dinner reservations I know you said not to make, but I did anyway. I was laughing to myself, thinking, she must be nuts if she thinks I'm not going to do something. And during all of this, you're playing a part in a DIY WWE smackdown in the next room. How do you think I feel, knowing I was right there while you were getting hurt?"
Your body feels paralyzed with surprise. Your mouth opens, trying to shape thoughts into words, but you can't think about anything expect the man in front of you.
You feel like you've been punched again.
This time with realization.
He isn’t angry at you. He's angry he wasn't there. Angry he couldn't help. Angry he has to pick up the aftermath when he believes he could've stopped the explosion before it ever happened.
Your diaphragm expands with an unexpected gasp.
"It's part of my job," he continues. "I'm supposed to protect you. I swore to myself that I would never let you get hurt. Never let you get in harm's way."
A small smile creeps onto your lips, his messy hair and wild eyes suddenly endearing now that you understand the motive behind them.
"You and I both know we can't predict something like this," you say softly.
"Yeah," his eyes finally locking onto you like he'd forgotten you were even there. "But I'd rather it be me than you."
You laugh, stifling it behind your hand. Your expression must betray your disbelief because he presses on.
"I don't know if you're aware of this, darling, but I would gladly lay down my own life to save yours."
Any composure you thought you had dissolves instantly.
Your hands find your hips as his gaze tracks every movement of your face, his body slowly inching closer. Your naturally angles towards his, drawn as if by magnetism.
You gently guide the peas away from your face, the glue and butterfly tape that Santos used still holding firm. Jack's hand engulfs yours as he examines the damage again, cupping your jaw. His eyes trace the dark blues and reds beginning to develop under your eyes.
The subtle touch of familiarity brings a level of calmness you've been craving. Relief follow as his other hand settles at your waist, pulling you closer. It is a conversation spoken without words.
We're okay.
I'm not mad at you.
I was scared.
I want you safe.
Your heart beats heavier as you imagine your original plan for the morning, feeling it become distant and irrelevant.
He clears his throat, like his next words are righteous and final.
"When you get hurt, I feel like I can't breathe. Like I can only catch my breath again when I see you in one piece. And I dread the day you get hurt and you won't be there on the other side. So please, I need it to not be you next time."
"Oh, baby."
"Don't 'baby' me, I'm mad at you," he huffs, through the grievance is paper-thin. "I need you in one fucking piece. Whole. Safe. Healthy. Happy."
"I'm sorry, baby. I really am," you grin up at him, fingers threading into his hair, twirling it lightly. He hums softly, his words landing exactly where he hope they would.
You eyes widen as you hold his gaze, striving for innocence. "But I think I need a reminder." Your hands trail from the back of his neck to the middle of his chest. "On how much you need me to be safe."
Jack catches on immediately, smirking down at you. His hands slide to your waist, circling your lower back, searching for something more intimate.
"Oh really? You want a reminder?"
A laugh escapes you, unraveling the last knots of tension that fill the air. A your hands explore his shoulders, letting your fingers explore his neck and jaw, you shake your head, thinking this might be the cruelest form of foreplay.
No peaceful breakfast was shared, and the dinner reservation were long forgotten. Yet it didn't feel like a failed holiday. Instead, it felt like mastering the art of each other, even if it took a punch for it to blossom.
"That's what has you swooning over your mystery guy? His cargo pants?" Trinity scoffs in disbelief, elbowing Victoria to jump in.
"Yeah, Sam, I love that you're actually with someone, but that's his most redeeming feature?" Victoria's eyebrows rose high as her expressive eyes take on the shape of judgment.
Before Samira can try and defend herself, Mel chimes in with a face of concentration. "Is it because women's pants normally have small or shallow pockets? You want what you can't have?"
Samira grimaces at the fact that Mel isn't too far off, but also their shift hasn’t even officially started yet and she can already sense that she’s going to be today’s topic of discussion.
After Pittfest, she actually did follow up to see what Jack carries in his go-bag. When she joked about how the pockets on his cargo pants could be mini go-bags, she was marveled when he whipped out Sharpies, a penlight, and a pocket knife (that he carefully shows her the button clasp that secures it from any patients that got the wrong idea).
That's when she realized the warm fuzzy feeling that took over her body wasn't from the medicine but was from Jack. His flair for originality and passion for patient care didn't just show her who he was as a doctor but who Jack was as a person.
It's not like he's her boyfriend; they aren't in high school. It wasn't anything serious or official just yet, and she made sure to remind him of that regularly. She was only a few months away from attending status, and although Jack wanted to make it known that Dr. Samira Mohan, the future of medicine and the best resident (in his humble opinion) was voluntarily spending time with him, he understood the position they were in and Samira's hesitation.
He happily took anything that Samira gave him, gradually transitioning their sporadic test messages to routine phone calls and their journal review meetings to movie night with takeout.
But as time progresses, it became obvious they have gotten closer and maybe they had a few slip ups here and there, but they recovered and tried to regain control of any speculation that followed.
Within the time of waiting, she has developed a fascination with the bits and pieces that made up Jack. So along with his collection of mugs with weird sayings, his love for home improvements around the house, and his god awful dad jokes that make Samira fight the smile that edges onto her face; she's recently been fixated on the content of his cargo pants pockets.
Dennis and Langdon side eye each other, making her wish she never contributed to this pre shift conversation in the first place.
"He has a lot of pockets, okay? He's prepared for almost anything, and it makes me feel safe. And plus, he has a pocket just for me!"
Trinity stares at her like she's waiting for someone to jump out and tell her she's being pranked. "Well, aren't you spoiled?"
Samira groans in embarrassment while dragging a hand down her face. "It's his Mira pocket, and he only has a few pockets, and he has one just for my hair ties and lip balm. Isn't that something?"
The mixed reactions of concerned and entertained, along with Cassie lightly touching her shoulder and saying, "Oh, honey," made it clear that from now on, she's keeping all of her thoughts to herself.
"Listen, I don't know who can pull off cargo pants without looking like a dweeb. But hey! If dweeb man gives you that special feeling, then I'm happy for you." Trinity smiles as the others mumble in agreement, wanting to be encouraging.
A sour smile hangs loosely on her lips before Trinity, being who she is unapologetically; she piles it on thick as she swings her arm around Samira's shoulders and pulls her in.
"And I truly hope that dweeb man can knock your socks off. Do you think you'd want him to keep the cargo pants on during sex? And does the number of pockets on said cargo pants correlate to how hot you feel for this dweeb man? Maybe he has a pocket for condoms for all of your practical quickie needs—"
The stifled giggles come to a halt, and Trinity's words die in her throat as Jack hovers over.
"Dr. Abbot," Samira was the first to acknowledge his presence as she prayed he didn't hear the tail end of the conversation.
"Dr. Mohan, nice to see you." Jack flashes a genuine smile at her before wearing a faux look of hurt towards the group. "Wish I could say the same to the rest of you, but it seems like you all have a very distinct hatred for cargo pants?" Before anyone comes to connect the dots, Jack does it for them as he slightly twists his left leg to draw attention to his very practical and very technical cargo pants. They all sit in the awkward silence, unsure of what's happening.
Samira, on the other hand, tries her hardest to keep her eyes off his face because as clever and secretive as she thinks she is, she's fully aware the minute she meets his eyes, she's an open book for him to scroll through, and her book just so happens to be open on the page of things not to tell Jack (yet).
Langdon clears his throat as he gathers his hands behind his back. "I personally love your choice of pants, Dr. Abbot. It’s a very handsome fit with—"
Jack sighs while shaking his head. "Get out of my face."
"Yes sir."
The crowd naturally starts to dissipate, but one thing Samira also learned about Jack is that he loved the ridiculousness of the PTMC gossip mill, participating in it from time to time for fun's sake.
Samira's guessing it's one of those times.
"Dr. Mohan, before I forget." His hand dives into one of the many easily accessible pockets, pulling out a mango-scented lip balm that she spent all morning looking for in Jack’s bathroom, before giving up and coming in for her shift.
Handling it over, he winks at her stunned expression. "It's the flavor I like."
Words seemed to be trapped in Trinity's throat as she looked over between them, shock and disbelief filtering through her. Before Samira could even try and do damage control, Jack started digging in the lower side pocket.
"And since you were curious."
He nonchalantly throws down three linked foil packets of condoms from his cargo pants pocket onto the counter in front of Trinity.
__________________________________
Samira would be the type to think something so mundane and normal to be the hottest thing ever lol I haven’t written/posted in so long and idk if this even makes sense and it reads really rushed and I feel like it’s shit and too ooc but girl whatever, Samira loves cargo pants (specifically on Jack)
Samira chuckles at the command, shaking her head lightly, letting the few curls that escaped her hair clip flow with motion as she clicks the seatbelt in place across her body.
Jack had become a prominent figure in Samira's professional career. With Robby on sabbatical and Al Hashimi only filling one of the two positions, the rotating door of attendings to keep the ED afloat was exhausting to follow. But when Jack was able to fill in for the day, it felt like taking the first deep breath in after staying underwater for a few seconds too long.
She didn't feel the need to flinch when she felt eyes on her patient assessment. She didn't have to prepare a speech on the reasoning behind the panel of tests she ordered. She didn't need to rush her style of practice that allowed the patients to feel heard.
So when Jack offered a ride home to Samira, she took the opportunity to turn what was a good shift into a good day, since she can bypass the walk home in the sticky balm that filled the summer air.
When her gaze returns to Jack, disbelief filters through her as she feels his intense stare bounce from her face to her hair clip.
"Are you serious?" Samira wiggles slightly in the passenger seat, facing his body.
The corner of Jack's mouth lifts a little, giving Samira a brief sense of comfort amid how tense the cabin of Jack's car feels. "As a heart attack."
His left wrist hangs at the top of the steering wheel, while his right forearm rests on the middle console with his palm facing up, patiently waiting for compliance. Confused by his insistence, she feels the need to reassure Jack that there's no need.
"I'm okay, it doesn't hurt my head at all." His eyebrows furrow as his gaze continues to stare into her eyes, making her face feel hot from the undivided attention. "I would like to think I'm a pretty safe driver, Mohan."
He sighs, and before Samira can question his motive, his hand goes to the back of her head and delicately removes the hair clip, releasing her curls from the tight twist. "But I'm not driving you home with the possibility of these plastic prongs getting jammed in the back of your big, beautiful brain."
He snaps the clip open and closed a few times, emphasizing his notion as he places it into the cup holder.
"Oh."
The realization of Jack's strong concern for her safety washes over her, the warmth from her face flooding her body. Her hands immediately go to her hair, feeling it unravel and expand into the frizzy mess she tried to tame early that morning. Her thoughts go blank, not knowing what to say back after the underlying submission.
At surface level, it would be nothing more than the concern from a coworker. But after getting closer with him, she's come to realize that the social butterfly that is Jack Abbot, didn't confide his inner thoughts about her, as much as he does about everything else. Hearing his subtle opinion of her brought an involuntary smile to creep onto her face mouth.
"Plus," his eyes drop to her mouth but quickly moves to look through the car's back window, his arm swinging to the back of her seat as he starts reversing the car. Samira's big beautiful brain was no longer operating when her eyes danced at the contraction of Jack's biceps.
"I get the privilege of finally seeing the Pitt's smartest resident let her hair down, and who wouldn't want a front-row seat to that?"
———————————————————
I’m mourning the loss of Samira, so I thought I would share this in hopes of making myself feel better lol this was a blurb I wrote up before the announcement, and would be my first ever Mohabbot piece!
Just watched the recent episode of the Pitt (ep 5) and (spoiler?- it was something mentioned before the season aired)
with all the spoilers that’s been leaked and teased, at the end of every episode ALL I can think about is how the hell do furries get thrown into this mess??? LMAO
