I just read your piece on Jack and the epileptic reader and it was so awesome!! Do you think you could do something similar, but where the reader has POTS and stretching herself too thin?
Thank you!!❤️
💞Tags/Warnings💞: slight age gap relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, ( brief ) mentions of POTS flare up, AttentiveBoyfriend!Jack Abbot
💞Plot💞: After comforting a patient, Y/N gets sick. Luckily, she’s dating Jack Abbot..
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: Happy Anniversary
💞A/N💞: Little short, but I really hope you like it, babes!!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
The sound of a hefty sniffle breaks you from your conversation.
It’s followed by a tiny cry that breaks your heart.
With a deep frown, you move to sit on the edge of the patient’s bed.
A six year old girl who’d just come in to be tested for the flu. “I don’t wanna be sick…” The young girl whimpers as she uses the sleeves of her supergirl hoodie to wipe at her tears. But more come down, replacing the ones brushed away.
“Oh… Honey..” You say tenderly as you move to hold the girl close. The mom pouts at her daughter’s cries.
“Hey. I’m sure the doctor has a plan to make you feel all better..” The mom finally says as you stroke the girl’s hair back from her face..
Deep down, you know you shouldn’t be this close, but.. Anyone with a heart would want this baby faced cutie in their arms.
Jack walks past the room at that moment, pausing at the sight. “Dr. Y/N?” He calls out softly. You look over and pause at the look on his face. “A word?” He asks.
“Uh.. Of course, Dr. Abbot..” You say softly, excusing yourself politely before stepping outside. Jack is quick to take you straight to the hand sanitizer on the wall.
“Isn’t that a flu case, Y/N. You shouldn’t be that close.” Jack says, making you sigh.
There it was. The reason for that disapproving face.
See, Jack Abbot was an ideal boyfriend.
He loved you in a way that made you hope there were other Jack Abbots out there in the world because everyone should feel this kind of love and support..
He loved you in a way that made you wonder what the hell past boyfriends had been complaining about.
Because he loved you easily. Simply. Like it was just a given. And he loved you whole. Things you’d been told were ‘dealbreakers’ by others were just things he accepted as a part of you.
Yet he also worried too much..
You understood it. POTS could be scary, but you had lived with it your whole life, and you couldn’t let it take away your urge for independence anymore than it already had..
“One hug isn’t gonna get me sick..” You try.
“I don’t wanna risk that. You’ve pulled a double already and I know you haven’t been refilling that cup. Plus, you’re about to get your period-“ You quickly cut Jack off.
“I’m starting to think we’re too close..” You note, half joking as you eye him. He gives you a look.
“Bambi..” He whispers. “I want you taking care of yourself. Especially for this weekend..” He tries softly. You sigh.
This weekend was your two year anniversary and you didn’t know what Jack had planned, but you knew it must be something big because he had off for both Saturday and Sunday.
And begged you to do the same.
“I will be fine. You worry too much..” You note.
“I’m yours. Worrying is a part of our deal..” He snorts a bit as he crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing you closer. You blush a bit at the tender way he proclaims your ownership of him.
“I know what I’m doing..” You assure gently before walking away..
*
*
*
It happens all at once, really. Well, actually, you feel it all at once. Like the warning signs of your early morning wake up were just your body giving you a friendly reprimand.
‘Hey! Just stay down, okay?’
But you don’t listen until you try sitting up and fall right back down against the pillows, blinking the dizziness from your eyes. You feel lightheaded and whimper.
Oh, fuck…
You had to face the facts. You were feeling the beginning parts of the flu for the first time in years, and it was making your POTS 1000x worse.
Your heart rate just won’t come down as you lay in bed, staring at your Apple Watch. Your bp is practically on the floor and it’s 7:30am by the time you’re on your fifth high HR notifications.
Moving from this bed is a big no for the day and when you hear the front door finally open, you let out a weak whine.
The flu in general is no fun, but you’re dizzy just trying to sit up, and you’ve genuinely debated if walking to the bathroom would be worth it. Even the thought feels like running a marathon..
Jack walks into the bedroom tiredly. “I’m thinking a power nap for me and then we hit the road..” He freezes as he sees you laying in bed, the virus that had taken almost two days to brew was now fully on display.
“Oh god..” He breathes out, moving closer. “Bambi..” He says as he feels your forehead. You moan softly at how good his hand feels against your hot skin, shutting your eyes as you rest against his palm.
“You’ve got a fever going.” He mutters as he shakes his head, quickly getting up from the edge of the bed now. You wanna call out to him, tell him not to leave, but you feel too weak. Jack heads to the bathroom and you can hear the water begin running.
You shut your eyes. That was easier somehow. You come to again to being lifted up though. You don’t bother opening your eyes, knowing who’s moving you based on his body spray. “I got you, baby..” He whisper, making you relax more.
There’s no ‘I told you so’ moment when it comes to Jack. No ‘our anniversary weekend is ruined!’.
His girl is sick, so there’s only a soft assurance in helping you get better.
“No…” You whine at being sat on the bathroom sink.
“Shh… Lean against me..” Jack assures as he balances you as best he can while undressing you.
You groan.
You knew he had to break the fever, but you felt cold, snuggling into his firm form for some warmth. He gently strokes your hair as he gets you fully undressed, carrying you to the awaiting bath..
*
*
*
Soups, medicine, and water. Lots and lots of water..
That’s how you spent your morning. Barely sitting up in the bed and using pillows to keep your head propped up enough to be spoon fed just enough to coat your stomach for some meds. You don’t fight back. You hate the taste, but you let him feed you and then take slow sips from the straw he positions for you..
Blankets, socks, and his shirt. You needed it more than he did..
That’s how you spent your afternoon. His shirt bringing you comfort as the tv played in the background on a low volume. It was meant to keep you company as Jack washed up and made some calls. The guilt was now adding on to your already sick form as you lay on the couch. Moving spaces was a good sign. At least that’s what Jack was telling you.
Tissues, vapor rub, and his soft voice. Perfect..
That’s how you spent your evening. Laying on top of him as he softly reads some article he’d found on his phone. You couldn’t say what the hell it was even about, the lull of his voice enough to put you in a comforting daze..
His free hand had been absentmindedly brushing through your hand as he softly read, and it did nothing to slow the exhaustion you felt.
His reading glasses sat perched on his nose as he spoke. You sheepishly rub at his chest as you sigh finally.
“I’m sorry. About this weekend…” You mutter. Some two year anniversary this had turned in to..
“Don’t apologize. We’re doing the same thing we would’ve done at the lakehouse..” He assures gently without much thought. It makes you freeze.
“The lakehouse?!” You ask and groan. “Oh, man..” You mutter.
One of Jack’s old army buddies owned a few lake houses in upstate Pennsylvania, and he had happily rented it to Jack during your one year anniversary. You had so much fun watching Jack cosplay a big and buff lumberjack, and the peace and quiet was a pleasant welcome for two ED doctors from the city..
“We’ll find time to go. After you’re over this and rested..” Jack assures before kissing your forehead. It makes you sigh.
“Yeah. And then you can propose…” You tease quietly after a moment of silence. Jack stiffens under you.
“How did you…” He trails off as you giggle softly.
“I found the receipt last month. In your scrubs..” You explain quietly, smiling up at him.
It’s rare when Jack Abbot would blush out of embarrassment, but it was always adorable.
“I told you, you never check your pockets before you toss em in to wash…” You point out, your voice in a whisper due to a sore throat…
You look up at a now soft eyed Jack. He gently cups your face, slowly opening his mouth with emotions clear as day swimming through those dark browns that you love so much.
“Jack Daniel Abbot..” You say slowly. You hadn’t believed at first that that was his middle name until meeting his parents a few months back. Jack’s dad proudly bragged about coming up with it himself the night Jack was born..
“You better not propose to me while I’m looking like this. You will wait.” You grumble, making him laugh softly, sighing as he nuzzles his nose into the top of your head, lazily kissing your forehead as he sighs.
“Fine, fine..” He says softly. “But for the record… You’re as beautiful as the day we met, Bambi..” He states firmly as he pulls back to look at you lovingly. It makes you smile sheepishly.
“Happy anniversary, baby..” You sigh as you nuzzle into his neck.
“Happy anniversary, honey..” Jack whispers back against your hair…
You can stop with that psychopathic stare of yours
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: A headache, an emergency physician fiance - and a trip to The Pitt.
A/N:
(1) It's officially Chapter 100 guys! That's just SO HUGE for me! Thank you to everyone who's still reading, leaving such lovely comments and encouraging me to keep getting better and better. This story is as much yours as it is mine, so... thank you for all the support! ❤️
(2) I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Interlude XIII: Tell Me About It (The Jack Sessions Part VII)
--- --- ---
The morning arrived slowly. At some point during the night Lizzie had woken up with some kind of nightmare, only settling when you took her to bed with you. So she slept between Jack and you - or, better, she became the sole owner of the entire bed in two minutes.
You woke with one arm trapped awkwardly beneath the blanket, your shoulder pulled into an angle that definitely shouldn’t count as ergonomic. Meanwhile Lizzie’s tiny feet pressed insistently into your ribs.
How one toddler managed to occupy ninety percent of a queen-size mattress remained one of life’s greatest mysteries.
For a second you just laid there, blinking blearily at the ceiling.
The room was too warm - summer air drifting faintly through the cracked window. Something behind your eyes pulsed dully. Not exactly painful, just really annoying.
But nothing coffee wouldn’t fix.
You shifted carefully, immediately regretting it when something pulled unpleasantly along your neck. A quiet sound escaped your mouth before you could stop it.
Beside Lizzie, Jack stirred. Of course he did - that man could detect discomfort even when he seemed to be unconscious.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.
You rubbed absently at your temple. “Hm?”
“That sound.”
Lizzie let out a tiny sleepy sigh between you, rolling over, snuggling against Jack’s chest. You carefully sat up, trying not to wake her.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just slept weird, I think.”
Jack pushed himself up slightly, steadying Lizzie’s tiny figure with his hands. “Head?”
You paused. “A little.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s the third time this week.”
You stared at him. “Are you keeping score?”
“No” he replied defensively. “Hm, yeah, okay, maybe.”
“I’m not one of your patients, Jack” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine.”
By the time you made coffee the morning already felt slightly off. Not bad exactly, just kind of crooked. Like the day itself had woken up on the wrong side.
Lizzie had entered a phase where personal space didn’t seem to exist any longer. Which meant she now sat balanced heavily on your hip while you attempted to function one-handed in the kitchen, hair still messy from sleep, coffee cooling far too quickly because somebody kept aggressively trying to reach for your mug.
“No, Lizzie” you muttered, moving her tiny hand away. “You are not even a year old. We don’t get you started on caffeine."
“CAFA!” Lizzie declared cheerfully.
You sighed dramatically, then turned around - just to find Jack standing in the doorway. Still dressed in boxershorts, prosthetic on, his curls unruly - incredibly handsome. But his face had an expression you found hard to read.
“For once I agree with her” he said slowly.
You furrowed your brow. “You also want to steal my coffee?”
“Nah, still not a big fan of oat milk” he said with a shrug. “But I want you to stop pretending coffee counts as breakfast.”
You narrowed your eyes. “It does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Jack-”
“I’m a doctor, I literally know more about nutrition than you do, so for once just listen to me, okay?”
You blinked. You rarely heard his doctor’s voice. “Um, okay.”
“Good.” He walked over to the counter, already reaching for bread. “I’m going to make you a sandwich and you’re gonna eat it. Okay?”
For a tiny moment you wanted to argue - there was still something behind your eyes lingering unpleasantly. Not enough to ruin the morning, just enough that bright light felt slightly annoying and Lizzie’s enthusiastic babbling sounded louder than usual.
Eventually you just shrugged, shifting Lizzie's weight on your hip absently.
God, when had she gotten so heavy?
The movement pulled somewhere unpleasantly along your shoulder and up the side of your neck. Enough that you winced.
Jack looked up immediately. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
You pressed your lips together. You knew he probably just cared but god, sometimes you hated the analytic look and this kind of questions. “Yeah. Just slept weird.”
“Hm.” He paused. “Head still bothering you?”
You sighed. “Jack.”
“What?”
“Stop it. It’s barely even there, okay?”
His expression stayed unreadable. “Okay.”
He didn’t sound convinced.
You nodded slowly anyway, then put Lizzie in her high chair. You let out a deep breath and stretched slightly, moving your neck from side to side. Then you looked down at Lizzie, who was clapping hands for a reason no one really knew.
“So, princess, what about breakfast?”
By evening the dull pressure still hadn’t completely disappeared. It hadn’t gotten any worse, it was just lingering stubbornly behind your temple.
So when Lizzie finally surrendered to sleep and the only sound was Jack rumbling around getting ready for night shift, you found yourself rubbing absently at the side of your neck while scrolling mindlessly through your phone.
Jack walked past the living room, already dressed in scrubs, peeking inside - and stopped. “You’ve been doing that all day.”
You looked up. “I barely had time today to look at my phone” you replied, confused.
“No, not that.” He gestured vaguely. “The neck thing.”
You rolled one shoulder. “Yeah, it’s just still there.”
He sat behind you on the couch. “Come here, baby.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What are you plotting?”
“Nothing” he said with a chuckle. “You’re always so suspicious.”
His hand settled against your shoulders - and a quiet groan escaped before you could stop it.
“That bad, hm?” he asked softly.
“No” you lied immediately.
His thumbs pressed gently near the base of your neck.
You hissed. “Okay, maybe, yeah.”
Jack didn’t say much after that. He just worked quietly with the ease of a man who knew exactly where tension lived in a body. At one point his fingers paused briefly near your jaw.
“You’ve been clenching, darling.”
You shrugged. “Probably stress.”
“Hm.”
He continued massaging you. The pressure eased a little - not gone, but definitely better than before. At one point you leaned back against him with a quiet sigh. Jack pressed a kiss against your temple.
“Better?”
“Yeah” you muttered. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Literally my job description” he replied dryly. “You sure you’re okay?”
You tilted your head slightly. “I have a headache, not the plague.”
There was a small pause.
“Yeah, right” he said quietly. His hand lingered for a second at the base of your neck before he let them fall away. “But still - call me if it gets worse during the night, okay?”
You laughed softly. “Jack.”
“No, honey, I mean it.”
“You’ll be busy.”
“And I still want you to call.”
There was something oddly serious in the way he said it.
You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, okay, if it gets worse, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” He kissed your temple again, arms reaching around you, snuggling you closer. “I really need to go now.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying his touch and his warm breath against your neck. “I know.”
Another kiss. “I see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes, of course. Have a good shift, Jack.”
“Sleep well, sweetheart.” He swallowed hard. “I love you.”
You smiled. “I love you too, Jack.”
The next morning he came home late, looking exhausted. You were used to the familiar post-night-shift version of him but still - every time you saw him tired, red-eyed, hair messy, your heart skipped a beat. Because even in this disheveled state he was the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.
You were standing in the kitchen when he walked in, swallowing an ibuprofen with a sip of water. Lizzie sat in her high chair, devouring some mashed bananas with her bare hands, lighting up when she saw her dad.
“DADA!”
“Hey bean.” He walked over, kissing her on the crown on her head, then stopped. His eyes dropped instantly to the pill bottle on the counter.
“You okay?”
You glanced up. “Good morning to you too.”
Jack set his keys down and put his backpack on the floor. “Still a headache?”
You shrugged. “Yeah, kinda.”
You didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened and how something in his face shifted. “How long now?”
“I don’t know” you replied with a sigh.
“You’ve mentioned it all week.”
“Yeah, but I also had the hangover from hell last weekend.” You turned toward the coffee machine. “Seriously, it’s fine. You want coffee? I can make you one before we get out of your hair so you can go to sleep.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
You could feel him staring at your back. Eventually you turned around. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Before the conversation could continue Lizzie slammed both hands onto her highchair tray, before lifting her arms toward you.
“Yeah, yeah.”
You lifted her automatically, adjusting her onto your hip while trying to avoid her banana-smeared hands - suddenly something unpleasant pulled sharply on your neck. You winced.
Jack noticed. “You sure you wanna go out?”
“It’s just the playground, Jack.”
“You can also just lay down and-”
“Fresh air helps” you interrupted, shifting Lizzie again.
He hesitated before nodding once. Like he clearly disagreed but knew arguing wouldn’t really help.
You handed him his coffee. “Here you go, handsome.”
He smiled reluctantly. “Thanks.” He took a sip. Then - “You’ll text me from the playground, okay?”
You chuckled. “You’re supposed to sleep, you know? You’ve got another shift tonight.”
“Still.”
“Okay, I’ll text you. With great updates like ‘Lizzie ate sand’ and ‘Lizzie ate more sand’.”
Now it was his time to chuckle softly. His hand lingered briefly against your arm. “You sure you’re okay?”
You smiled despite yourself. “Jack.”
“Okay, okay” he sighed quietly. “I get it.”
But he didn’t sound convinced. Not even a little.
The playground helped a little. Fresh air. Coffee. Sunshine. And Lizzie aggressively socializing with random toddlers like she was a local mobster.
By the time you got home she was filthy. Like actually filthy.
Sand somehow everywhere - in her hair, her shoes, her diaper, her nostrils for some reason. You stared at her while unlocking the apartment. “How did you even manage that?”
Lizzie blinked at you, entirely innocent. “RARA!”
“Mhm, I don’t think your Uncle Robby has anything to do with sand in your bellybutton, bean.”
“RARA!”
The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside. Which made sense because Jack should’ve been asleep.
But instead you found him at the kitchen table, awake, coffee mug in front of him, wearing nothing but boxershorts.
You glanced at the clock, frowning. “Why are you awake?”
Jack looked up, then glanced quickly over Lizzie. “She looks feral. What happened to her?”
“Sandbox” you replied, like it explained everything.
He nodded. “Right.”
He reached automatically for her - and you handed her over willingly. Lizzie settled on his lap, immediately reaching for his face, smiling. “DADA!”
“Hey bean. Did you have fun on the playground?”
You rubbed absently at your neck again. The effect of the painkiller slowly started to wear off and you could already feel the dull ache behind your temples again.
Jack sighed. “You still have it.”
You closed your eyes for a moment. “Jack.”
He adjusted Lizzie on his lap, then looked up at you again. “I want you to come in tomorrow.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Come in where?”
“The Pitt.”
You laughed out loud. “What?”
He didn’t seem too amused. “I’m serious.”
You stopped and tilted your head. “Jack, it’s just a headache.”
“It’s been over a week.”
“Okay, it’s a stupid persistent headache.”
His jaw shifted slightly. “Please. Just come in and we run a few tests.”
You frowned. “Jack…”
“I just want somebody to look at you.”
You crossed your arms. “Nobody goes to the emergency department for headaches.”
He looked at you for a moment. “I already talked to Robby.”
You stared at him. “Um, what?”
Jack suddenly looked uncomfortable because he knew exactly how patronizing this sounded. But he still didn’t let it slide. “He’s there tomorrow.”
You opened your mouth and closed it again. You were actually confused - but you didn’t have the time or the motivation to argue right now. Instead you sighed deeply.
“You really think this is necessary?”
He paused for a moment, thinking, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, okay, then.” You shrugged, then lifted Lizzie from his lap again. “I trust your doctor’s instinct. I’ll come in tomorrow. And you and me, little Miss sandbox, are going to run a bath now. Because you’re gross and sandy.” Lizzie shrieked delighted, patting against your shoulders. You turned toward Jack. “And when I come out of this bathroom and find you still awake, we’ll have a very serious conversation.”
Jack frowned slightly, then smiled. “Okay, okay. I’ll go back to bed.”
He stood with a groan, stretching. Then he leaned over. “Join me in bed after you cleaned up our feral kid?”
You raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like you want to actually sleep.”
“I really want to sleep…” he said, then kissed you and added - “... with you.”
By 6:45 in the morning you stepped inside the emergency department, shifting Lizzie higher on your hip, already feeling ridiculous.
Because actually - it was ridiculous.
You had headaches. And meanwhile actual emergencies existed.
For a moment you seriously considered leaving - but you knew you couldn’t. You had promised Jack - and he would probably send a search party if you weren’t there in five minutes.
The clerk behind the counter looked up at you. “Oh, Mrs. Abbot!”
You blinked, stepping closer. “Um, well - not technically yet.”
She smiled, waving her hand. “Close enough. Jack mentioned you’d stop by” she said, typing something into the computer. “You don’t need to wait. Go right through.”
Of course your fiance had coordinated your visit like a military operation. Everything was timed, everyone was on board. The clerk buzzed you in and you stepped in the hallway behind the door.
Dana spotted you almost immediately. “Oh, finally - emotional support!” she said with a smile, walking toward you. She took Lizzie from your arms - and your daughter, the little traitor, seemed excited about this. She stared at Dana like she was the most fascinating person she’d ever seen. “Baba!”
Dana raised an eyebrow. “Close enough sweetheart.” She gave Lizzie a quick kiss on her head, then turned toward you. “Robby should be here in a minute. We’ll look after this little troublemaker while you’re getting looked at.”
“You sure?” You already felt guilty. “Don’t you have work to do or something?”
Dana shrugged. “Well, yeah, but nightshift’s off soon and Mateo already volunteered to stay and babysit. I guess he thinks carrying a baby around will help him with the girls. Which isn’t exactly needed. That guy’s adorable.”
You frowned, but secretly amused. “Not sure if I approve that my kid is used as a pick-up strategy.”
Before Dana could reply something, Lizzie’s face lit up and she reached her arms out. “RARA!”
“Hey Lizzie.” Robby stepped closer and stroked softly over Lizzie's curls. He looked like someone who had just crawled out of bed - coffee in hand, jacket half-zipped, hair slightly messy. “She’s the only thing improving my mood when she says my name.”
“She says Rara” you replied dryly.
“Close enough” Robby said with a shrug.
“I say your name like a hundred times per day.” Dana looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, because you want something from me. She is just happy seeing me.”
Dana laughed. “Whatever.”
Robby's attention shifted towards you. “Okay, so apparently you’re my very dramatic 7 a.m. appointment.”
You crossed your arms. “I’m not dramatic.”
“No. But your fiance certainly is.”
You gave the tiniest smile. “Yeah. Where is he?”
“Somewhere around. Quite busy. Taking over the morning shift, while I examine you.” Robby held open an exam room door. “Come on.”
You looked back to Dana, who was already very absorbed with Lizzie. “So, come on, Elizabeth - let’s find some good toys for you, huh?”
When you stood in the exam room you suddenly felt weirdly shy about all of this. Embarrassed. Like you were wasting everyone’s time.
Robby, who stood at the computer, typing something, seemed to notice immediately. “Hey.” His voice was unusually gentle.
You looked up.
“This isn’t weird, okay?”
You hesitated. “It feels weird.”
“Yeah, but you’ve met emergency physicians. This doesn’t even crack the top fifty weird things I’ll do before lunch.”
That helped a little - in a very strange way.
You let the diaper bag fall on the ground and sat down on the gurney.
“Okay” he said, finishing whatever he had done on the computer, pulling on gloves with practiced ease before sitting down in front of you. “Okay. I’m gonna be annoyingly doctor-ish for a few minutes, okay?”
You nodded.
“Good. So - talk to me. What brought you here?”
And suddenly - he wasn’t Robby anymore. Or - he still was. But in another version.
Quieter. Sharper. Gentle. Professional.
Full doctor mode.
“I’ve got this headache” you said with a tiny shrug.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a week? Two tops?”
“Mhm. Is it always the same kind of headache or is it different?”
You hesitated. “Um, mostly the same?”
“Okay. Where is the pain?”
You gestured vaguely. “Temple and sometimes behind my eyes. And maybe… the neck?”
“Hm.”
The exact same sound Jack made when his brain was running laps in his head.
“Any nausea?”
“No.”
“Weird vision?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Is it worse in the mornings?”
“Um… kinda?”
Robby nodded again. “Okay, I’m gonna check a few things. Don’t worry. It’s standard procedure.”
He checked your pupils, then your eye movements, reflexes, strength. He was strangely thorough - and you could tell he had already done that hundreds, if not thousands, of times.
“Okay, looks all fine to me” he said eventually. “Can I check your neck?”
You shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”
You regretted it the second his hand pressed lightly near the base of your neck. You winced hard.
He chuckled softly. “That’s impressively awful. Like examining a wooden plank.”
Then he moved carefully again - over your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.
You flinched again. “Ouch.”
“Huh.”
That sound wasn’t casual - which made you nervous immediately.
“Everything’s okay?” you asked.
Robby looked thoughtful for a second, then said, completely deadpan: “Maybe the giant rock on your finger is weighing you down.”
You stared, then started laughing. “Oh my god.”
He grinned, snapping off his gloves, walking over to the computer again. “We’ll do some bloodwork. And I’m gonna send you for imaging too.”
You blinked. “Imaging?”
“Mhm” he hummed while typing.
“Is that really necessary?”
Robby stopped mid-movement, then shrugged. “Probably not.”
You frowned. “Then why are we doing it?”
Robby let out a deep sigh, looking briefly toward the hallway before he turned toward you again. “We’re doing it because Jack’s scared.”
You blinked again. “He is scared by headaches?”
The confusion in your own voice sounded genuine enough that something softened in Robby's expression. He rubbed briefly at his jaw.
“Hannah started with headaches, you know? It’s one of the earliest symptoms for glioblastoma” he said quietly.
You went still. “Oh.” That tiny word barely made it out.
Glioblastoma. You knew the word. And you knew it was some kind of brain cancer. And it was terrible. But you hadn’t connected the dots between simple headaches and… her.
And suddenly pieces shifted into place in a way they hadn’t before.
Jack noticing your headaches. The questions. The way he had looked at the pill bottle. The strange seriousness in his voice.
Robby watched your face carefully. “He knows this is probably nothing” he said eventually. “Logically. But logic’s not winning right now.”
“Oh.”
“He really freaked out yesterday” Robby added in a serious voice. “And he isn’t really the kind of guy freaking out. So I decided to take this serious. For him.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get it.” You swallowed hard. “Fine. Then we’re doing everything to put his mind at ease. I’m fine with that.”
Robby smiled. “Atta girl.”
The door opened and Dana stepped in, holding supplies. “I heard someone needs to get their blood drawn.”
You looked over to Robby. “You’re running a very smooth ship here.”
He shrugged. “Honestly? Dana’s the one in charge here. I’m more like the supervisor.”
She grinned. “That’s what I wanna hear” she said, while starting to prepare a tray for your blood work.
“Where’s Lizzie?”
“Mateo has taken over and apparently they’re getting hot chocolate from across the street.”
You blinked. “We’re actually trying to avoid too much sugar.”
Dana shrugged. “Tell Mateo that.” She turned around. “Okay, sweetheart, give me your arm.”
The blood draw happened quickly. You were actually impressed by Dana’s skills - you had barely noticed the sting.
“You’re really good in this” you said, while pressing down on the puncture site.
Dana was labelling the tubes. “Yeah, thirty-five years of practice, honey.”
Before you could reply the door opened again.
This time it was Jack, still in scrubs, still looking tired, with a tight expression around his eyes. He immediately looked at you, scanning you quickly over.
Robby finished typing and stood up. “She’s fine, brother” he said. “For now we’re just checking things. You can stop with that psychopathic stare of yours.”
He clapped him once on the shoulder as he passed. “I’ll be back in a bit. Shout if you need anything.”
Dana gathered the blood tubes. “I’ll send these off” she said, then glanced toward Jack. “You take care of this lovely fiancee of yours in the meantime.”
She left - and suddenly the room felt quieter.
Jack sat beside you on the gurney almost immediately. “You okay?”
You nodded. “Yes. You?”
He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “Yeah. Getting there.”
You squeezed his hand gently. “You know this is probably nothing, right?”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” You turned and kissed him softly on the cheek. Then you let your head rest on his shoulder.
The wheelchair was deeply unnecessary - you had said this several times. And Jack? Had ignored you every single time.
“You know I can walk, right?” you repeated.
“Yes. Please, sit down.” Jack held the handles, looking at you.
“But…”
“Please, honey.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re weird.”
Jack shrugged. “I am. Now please sit down so I can bring you to your scan.”
You let yourself fall into the chair. “Just for the record - I’m protesting.”
“Okay, honey. Do that.”
And he wheeled you off.
The imaging itself had been quick. And the poor technician tried very hard to make small talk while Jack hovered nearby and you mostly wondered how on earth a headache had turned into the full emergency department experience.
Back in the exam room he helped you out of the wheelchair despite the fact that you absolutely did not need any help. Then he immediately sat down behind you. His fingers found the back of your neck and he applied slow pressure.
You sighed before you could stop yourself.
“Good?” he asked quietly.
“Very good. Awfully nice.”
His fingers worked your sore muscles in a gentle but very effective way. “Hm.”
“Still weirdly dominant.”
You could hear him chuckle.
“You’re not denying it.”
“Nope.” He paused. “I am weirdly dominant, honey.”
You huffed a short laugh.
The door opened again. This time Mateo stepped inside, already reaching for the diaper bag standing on the floor.
“Sorry for interrupting but there has been an accident.”
You straightened immediately, which sent another rush of pain through your head. “What kind of accident?”
“Um.” Mateo scratched his ear. “Half a cup of hot chocolate led to some serious distress in her diaper, I’m afraid.”
“You two should think about hiring a stable boy for her” he added with a wink, then he disappeared back into the department.
Jack huffed quietly under his breath.
“Sounds like he has it under control” you said, leaning back into Jack.
“Of course he has it under control. He’s one of my nightcrawlers.” You could hear the proud oozing out from every single word of this sentence.
“I know, I know. You’re the weirdest and the wildest of them all.”
Jack nodded. “We are.”
You closed your eyes for a second. “And I’m going to marry the weirdest and wildest of them all.”
Jack softened immediately, his hands reaching around you, holding you tight, while his jaw rested lightly on your shoulder.
“Yes, you are.” He paused. “And I can’t wait.”
Another hour passed slowly.
At one point Jack went to the hospital cafeteria to get some coffee and a bagel for you - both of which were aggressively mediocre. You ate it though, because you didn’t want to worry Jack. (Even if you couldn’t tell if he was adding “loss of taste” to your symptoms because you didn’t even flinch while eating it.)
The knock came just after nine. Robby stepped inside holding a tablet, his expression unreadable in that very practiced physician way.
And Jack straightened immediately. “And?”
Robby sat down, ignoring him completely. Instead he turned toward you. “Before we talk results - are you okay with Jack staying in the room?”
Jack blinked, offended. “Brother, seriously, what the fuck?”
Robby raised an eyebrow. “HIPAA doesn’t care about your sensitivities, Jack. Besides - she’s your fiancee, not your property. So don’t get off on me because I’m asking her for her permission.”
Jack still looked scandalized. “You know what I mean.”
“I do” Robby replied calmly. “And I still have to ask. So please zip it so she can answer the question.”
Jack muttered something under his breath, but didn’t argue.
You looked between them. “Yeah, obviously he can stay” you said, then added: “But thanks for asking.”
Jack looked weirdly relieved by this.
Robby nodded once. “Good.” He took a deep breath. “The imaging is clear.”
For half a second nothing happened, then Jack exhaled, like he had been holding his breath for days. His eyes closed and one hand came up to rub across his face.
Something in your chest shifted painfully because that reaction wasn’t normal relief. That was a hundred pounds of worry lifted from his shoulders.
He moved closer to you, one arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you in. His lips pressed carefully against your temple - lingering, longer than necessary. You felt him exhale shakily against your hair.
Robby very deliberately looked anywhere else - the ceiling, the wall, the tablet, the floor. Whatever. Just to give you two space.
Then, eventually he spoke again. “So, you see the good news is your brain appears extremely boring.”
That got the tiniest laugh out of you. “Well… thank you?”
“It’s actually a compliment. We love boring brains.”
Jack nodded like he wanted to give that statement extra meaning.
“Bloodwork looks good too.” Robby glanced toward your neck. “But your muscles are unbelievably pissed off.”
You frowned. “What?”
“Your neck. Your shoulders. Your jaw. I guess because you’re constantly carrying around twenty pounds of a very adorable toddler. Mostly on one side, I’m guessing.”
You paused, blinking. “Yeah, um… maybe.”
“I knew it” Jack muttered quietly.
Robby rolled his eyes, ignoring him. “We can do a trigger point injection today if you want. Might help calm things down.”
You glanced at Jack with wide eyes. “Um, that sounds terrifying.”
He squeezed your hand reassuring. “It sounds scarier than it is, honey.”
Robby nodded along. “And you should probably look into massages, some back strengthening, posture work. Maybe physical therapy if this keeps happening. We can provide you with resources for that.”
Jack straightened. “I’ll do the massages.”
Robby looked at him. “Somehow that feels motivated by self-interest.”
Jack looked slightly smug.
“You should also stop carrying Lizzie exclusively on one hip” Robby added. “That child weighs like thirty pounds.”
“Twenty-two” Jack corrected automatically.
Robby stared. “I was exaggerating for dramatic effects, Abbot.”
Jack looked mildly offended. “Then try exaggerating something else and not my cute little offspring, please.”
Robby sighed and stood. “I’ll prepare everything for the injection. And yes, before you even ask - I’ll do it myself” he added toward Jack, who already had opened his mouth.
You shook your head, amused. “I get now why they don’t let you work shifts together.”
Now both men stared at you.
You shrugged. “You would be too much of a distraction for anyone else, bickering like an old couple.”
By the time the injection was over the whole side of your neck felt vaguely strange. Not numb exactly just - very different. Like somebody had finally found the knot your body had been building for weeks and loosened it.
“You might feel sore later” Robby warned while peeling off gloves. “Take it easy today. Heat helps. Stretching. Try not to haul around anything heavy. And by god, if you make a penis joke now Abbot, I’m going to end you. I’m seeing that smile on your face” he barked toward Jack.
You started laughing hard.
After you collected a very cheerful Lizzie from a very exhausted Mateo (who you invited to dinner someday as a thank you) you found yourself in a diner for a proper breakfast Jack had insisted on.
Lizzie sat happily in the highchair beside you looking profoundly pleased with life while munching on a stack of pancakes. At one point she looked at you, making grabby hands so you reached automatically to lift her.
Jack intercepted immediately. “Absolutely fucking not.”
You stared at him. “What?” You blinked. “And also - language.”
“Didn’t you hear what the doctor just told you?”
“Robby said take it easy, not become useless.”
Jack shrugged, already lifting Lizzie effortlessly onto his lap. “Daddy’s got it, right bean?”
Lizzie accepted this change of plans immediately - mostly because she was now allowed to sit dramatically on his lap while stealing breakfast potatoes right off his plate.
“I’m not going to sit around all day, doing nothing” you said, choosing your words carefully.
“You had a medical procedure, honey.”
“Oh god, it was one injection!”
“Darling.” He reached over, taking your hand. “Could you please - please, for the love of god - stop arguing about this? I’m literally a trained doctor. Please be good and don’t try to undermine my training. Even if it’s just for ten minutes. Can you do that for me?”
You narrowed your eyes, but felt laughter bubbling up in your stomach. Nevertheless you tried to remain a straight face. “Well… okay. But no promises.”
“Well, thank you.” He squeezed your hand.
You watched him for a moment. “You know I’m okay, right?”
His thumb moved slowly against yours. “Yeah, I know.” He looked briefly down at Lizzie, then up again. “I just got scared.”
Your heart ached but you still smiled at him. “Do you remember what you told me when I was pregnant with that little gremlin there?”
He looked at you, clearly trying to remember, but already shrugging. “No?”
“You said - you’re not doing this scared and alone. We’re doing this scared and together.” You let that sink in, then added: “You don’t have to carry this stuff alone, you know? You can always talk to me.”
He scratched the back of his neck briefly, then let out a sigh. “Yeah. I know. I’m trying.”
You squeezed his hand again. “Okay.”
Something in his expression shifted but only for a moment because Lizzie decided this was the perfect moment to shove her sticky fingers into his nostrils.
He jerked away immediately, looking scandalized at his daughter while you were laughing hard.
“We should have been more scared together of her, honestly” Jack muttered, then pressed a kiss on Lizzie's soft curls.
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Part 101: Throwback: Wanna come over for dinner?
the pitt x reader | dr jack abbott x black! fem! reader
on the 10th anniversary of his wife's death, jack believes he can't get any lower. he takes a walk in hopes of clearing his head and his heart from the pain, but what he finds instead is a woman beating the shit out of her mugger. who would have guessed she'd be his new R3 and the solution to all his problems?
cw - wc: 4k, fluff, angst in the beginning but it gets better, jack is very sad, jack needs some love, reader is a bad bitch, reader is very confident, bad medical jargon, takes place about 3 years before the events of the first season, reader is in her early 30s, this will be split into multiple parts.
If Jack knew he'd have to spend the first hour of his shift coding a woman with the exact same physical trauma as his wife on the anniversary of her death... he would've just taken the day off and stayed home.
Which is funny because he actually did have the day off, thanks to Robby—who called in every favor imaginable, even sweet-talked Gloria, to make sure he did.
And he actually did plan to stay home, and he actually did do so for the majority of the day.
He woke up painfully early—translation: he didn't sleep at all—flew through in an extended session of sunrise-nudist yoga, ate a protein bar and black coffee breakfast.
He picked up a few things at the grocery store, got lunch from his favorite Chinese food cart, straightened up a bit around his apartment—translation: cleaned every single microscopic speck of dust from an already pristine home.
He even treated himself by buying a pint of Ben & Jerry's—translation: he ate two scoops and will never touch it again until it's time to throw it out in a week.
But it was right when he was about to go to sleep, right as he laid his head down on the pillow—at seven-thirty, no less, since his body was on the verge of physical collapse from exhaustion—that he came to the realization:
He was totally alone.
This was the longest time in years he's had without SWAT or the ED to occupy his mind.
No adrenaline rush to distract him into forgetting, no maimed patients to make his problems feel insignificant.
Not even sound.
He spent the entire day in complete silence—he had no one to talk to and dislikes talking to himself.
The man was wide awake, sprawled out on this mile-wide, freezing cold bed as he stared up at the ceiling, unsure of what to do with himself.
Until he was...
In five minutes, he was in his scrubs and out his apartment.
In ten minutes, he was walking into Chairs just in time for hand-off.
Naturally, Robby was furious and, naturally, Jack didn't give a shit.
The two managed have about a minute of whisper-bickering before a patient was rushed into Trauma One that required both their attention.
Thirty-two year-old female in a high-velocity motor vehicle collision with a concrete median—the exact same age and mechanism of his wife's death.
Both of her legs were crushed by the dash and non-salvagable—devastating open-femur tib-fib fractures, near complete tissue avulsion, catastrophic blood loss.
Three of the ribs on her left side were broken when she collided with the steering wheel—her airbag had malfunctioned and failed to deploy—which punctured her lung and caused a tension pneumothorax.
They gave her etomidate and succinylcholine for the respiratory failure, intubated to give her some air, thoracostomy with chest tube for the pneumothorax, three units of blood with TXA and tourniquets for her legs, but she'd already lost too much blood.
Her crushed legs were cutting off her blood supply and sending her into hemorrhagic shock, and her punctured lung was preventing oxygen from getting into her blood.
It didn't take long for her to go into cardiac arrest, and Jack took on the compressions damn near instantly, barking out orders to check if anyone fucked up something along the way so they could fix it and fix her.
But the chest tube was perfect.
The blood was being pushed as fast as it could.
There was no tamponade.
And she still had no pulse.
But Jack remained steadfast, performing a whopping forty-five minutes of premium CPR before Robby called time of death.
And even after her dead body had been carted off, Jack remained rooted in his spot, the events playing in a violent loop in his head over and over and over again.
He wasn't there when his wife died, or when they pronounced her dead, so the distance allowed him to make it perfect in his head.
There was no pain, no blood, no suffering, it wasn't real.
Out of sight out of mind, right?
But he was here for this... this was real.
This was bloody and painful and agonizing and tragic... and this was her... on her day.
Safe to say, Robby sent him home almost immediately, and for the first time ever, Jack didn't fight it.
Which brought him here, on the dark streets of Pittsburgh, walking home to his lonely, empty apartment in complete and utter silence.
At least... until he saw you.
Or rather, the guy sneaking up behind you.
The sound of fast-scuffling feet on concrete snapped him out of his thoughts, turning his attention to the other side of the street where—sure enough—a man was running up after an unsuspecting woman.
"Hey... Hey! HEY!" Jack shouted, voice hoarse and brows furrowed, hoping to get your attention.
But you must've had earbuds or Airpods or something in your ears, because you didn't even flinch until the man's fist came down on the back of your head.
The instant you let out a scream, Jack was moving, sprinting—with a faint limp due to his prosthetic—right into oncoming traffic and toward your attacker as he grabbed you by the hair, dragging you into a nearby alley despite your intense struggle.
Tires screeched.
Cars honked.
Belligerent drivers stuck their heads out their windows to shout profanities.
Jack didn't care.
He didn't hear them, anyway—and even if he did, they wouldn't have registered.
Nothing would've.
In that very moment, the only thing that existed in the universe was you.
There would be no more death today—no more blood, no more pain, no more suffering.
He was going to save you... or die trying.
After what felt like eternity, he finally made it to the other side of the street, the sound of wet thuds and punches connecting and bounding off the surrounding walls of the alley.
Without hesitation, he drew a ten-blade from a secret flap in his pocket, not breaking stride as he jumped the curb and discarded the sterile packaging.
"GET THE FUCK OFF—her?"
Taken aback, Jack practically skid to a stop, eyes wide with genuine shock as they settled on the scene before him.
You were straddling your attacker—completely oblivious to Jack's presence—both knees on either side of his hips while your hand roughly fisted the front of his hoodie, holding him up while your free hand turned his nose into ground beef.
"Fucking!" Punch. "Asshole!" Punch.
"M'jus'!" Punch. "Trying!" Punch. "To walk home!" Punch.
Jack winced, each thud getting seemingly more crunchy and squishy at the same time.
He wasn't one to gag easy, but the way that man looked, one would think someone had taken a meat cleaver to his face rather than a fist.
With a final, powerful blow, your punch made his head slam back against the pavement, forcing his body to go limp and effectively signalling that enough was enough.
You dropped him with an unceremonious huff, letting the man go like a bag in a trash can as you rose to your feet, shaking out your punching fist, which was stained red with a mix of both his blood and yours—yours being from your split knuckles.
"Goddamn it..." you winced, flexing and extending your fingers, your glare returning to the unconscious man at your feet. "I have to work tomorrow, you dick!"
In a bout of frustration, you sent a swift kick to his side, the man letting out a weak and pathetic groan in response.
"I think you got him," Jack remarked, the words seeming to fly out his mouth before he could stop them.
Sure, he wanted to see that asshole pay as much as the next guy, but after what you'd just been through, he doubted having a death on your hands would be helpful in the long run.
Snapping back to reality, you realized someone was now standing right behind you, and at the sound of his voice, you flinched, eyes crazed as you turned around, fists ready to defend yourself.
Sensing your fear, Jack dropped his ten-blade, raising his hands in surrender.
"Hey, hey, hey, easy," he assured, voice soft and calm as he took a step back, not taking his gaze off you. "I come in peace."
Finally having the chance to get a good look at him, you took in his appearance.
With his broad chest and camo backpack, you'd he'd be on the cover of Sexy Vets weekly, arms and legs thick with soft but firm muscle from what you could see through his scrubs.
Your eyes met in an instant, an electric buzz shooting up your spine at his features.
From what you could see through the darkness, they were rounded, but strong and handsome in their own rugged way.
His lips pulled in a taut line as he stared back, brows furrowing while his eyes flicked around you, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction.
"You with him?" you asked, tone sharp and clipped as you nodded to the unconscious man behind you.
"No," he shook his head, "Saw him grab you from across the street. Ran over to help."
Suspicious, you scoffed, "And why should I believe that? You look military... but for all I know, you could be his partner or somethin'."
"'Cause if I was, I would've knocked you out while you were busy killing him," Jack answered, not missing a beat. "Or just slashed your throat with my blade."
You paused a moment, gaze flicking from his oddly sincere face, to the knife at his feet.
Accurate? Yes.
Graphic? Also yes.
"Kick it away,"you ordered, fists still firmly locked in front of your face.
He did so without question, kicking it so deep into the alley that even if he did make a break for it, you would have more than enough time to escape.
It was surprising, but only further eased the tension in the air.
"Thank you," you exhaled, shoulders sinking as you allowed your arms to fall to your sides, relief finally soaking into your bones. "I'm sorry. I thought I heard someone else shouting, but things moved so fast and that guy just caught me by surprise and I was just trying to get home—"
"Don't apologize," Jack quickly shut down, lowering his hands and instead shoving them in his pockets as he slowly approached, making a point to move extra slow as not to spook you. "That was intense and you just..."
His gaze drifted back to the man, who was still unconscious.
"Wow..."
"What?" you smirked, amused by his surprise. "You expected a damsel-in-distress type situation?"
He nodded, "Honestly? Yeah."
The sincerity of his response made you chuckle, but also respect him for his candor.
"Sorry to disappoint," you shrugged, sauntering over to your attacker and crouching beside him. "Growing up, my house had no room for damsels."
Reaching out, you pressed two fingers against his carotid, checking his pulse.
"He still with us?" Jack asked, cocking a brow.
"Sadly," you sighed, annoyed. "Pulse is strong. About seventy-three, if I had to guess. Face is already clotting."
Leaning down, you pressed your ear against his chest, listening closely.
"Good breath sounds bilaterally. He'll be fine. A few ice packs and a nasal fixation and he'll be back to assaulting in a month or so."
At your vocabulary, Jack stopped for a moment, brows furrowing.
Clotting?
Breath sounds bilaterally?
Nasal fixation?
Were you... were you a doctor?
"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a roll of gauze in that bag of yours, would you?" you asked, slowly approaching him as you carefully examined your knuckles.
"As a matter of fact, I do," he nodded, fishing one out of the side pocket and tossing it over. "Catch."
"Thanks."
He nodded, falling in step as the two of you exited the alley, "And don't worry about that guy. I got a friend on the force I can call who can take him in."
"Actually?" you asked, eyes on your hand as you wrapped it like a boxer, hoping to give your fingers a little more mobility.
"Yup."
You glanced up from your work, a small smile curling on your lips.
"That's actually... really nice," you glanced up from your work, a small smile curling on your lips. "Thank you."
"You shouldn't thank me for having common decency," he remarked, amused.
"Well, between that guy and the asshole that cut me at the Pizza Hut today, I'd say there's a pretty low standard around here," you scoffed.
And, for the first time on this day in ten years, Jack chuckled.
Really, truly, and genuinely chuckled.
The sky was falling.
"You just moved here?" he asked, raising a brow.
You scoffed once again, tickled that he thought you would answer, "Wouldn't you like to know."
"Well, judging by the fact that you're a woman walking home alone with loud music in an area like this... I'm gonna go out on a limb and say yeah."
Damn.
He saw right through you.
"Alright, fine, I moved in a little over a week ago," you caved with a huff.
"Figured as much," he nodded. "New job? Doctor?"
"How the hell did you—?"
"A normal person doesn't say good breath sounds bilaterally when checking to see if someone is breathing. Not unless you're one of us."
"There's an us?"
"NPs, physicians, surgeons, residents, med students. Take your pick."
"I think I'd like to keep at least one part of my life a secret from you, Captain Analyze."
"Captain Analyze?" he smirked, brows rising to his hairline.
"Seemed fitting since I don't even know your name and you're already trying to figure out what I do for a living," you shrugged, gaze pointed as you turned away from your bandaged hand.
"Jack Abbott."
Once again, the words came before he could even think of them, his mouth answering at a speed that would've been embarrassing were he not so exhausted and distracted.
Your brows raised, lips unable to fight the curve of a smile at his quick answer.
"A full name, eh? Lucky me," you teased, plastering on a suspicious look as your eyes scanned over him. "You'll have to settle for (y/n) for now. Can't be too careful."
"Fair," he nodded, unable to bite back much of his grin either. "Though, now that we're acquainted, I was hoping you'd let me walk you home... make sure you get in safe."
Your brow arched, "After all that, you don't think I can take care of myself?"
"Oh, I don't doubt it," he shook his head. "But by get in safe, I mean get in without cuffs. This is strictly for the safety of the rest of the neighborhood."
Oh, God, was he flirting?
With you?
Today?
Jesus Christ...
He needed to get the fuck home before he did something he'd regret.
Despite all odds, you laughed at his joke, the sound a relief when he fully expected you to rip him a new one—you were a hard read, and he hadn't had a... whatever this is, since his wife passed.
"You promise you're not some psycho killer?" you asked, playfully, with a hint of severity in your tone.
"If I was smart, I would've done it already," he answered earnestly.
"Very true..." you nodded along, finally giving up. "Alright then, you can stick around. But we're gonna have to turn around 'cause we walked past my place about two blocks ago."
"Me, too," he agreed, turning on his heel as you started back the way you came.
And—of course—it turned out that the both of you lived in the exact same apartment building.
And not only in the exact same apartment building, but on the exact same floor.
And not only on the exact same floor, but in the units right across each other.
Somehow, for an entire week and a half, neither of you had noticed each other until now.
You were totally confused—as you knew Jack was nowhere near the realm of forgettable—but Jack knew that between SWAT and the Pitt, he was barely home, anyway.
Regardless, the two of you said your good nights, wished each other luck in your respective endeavors, and went on your merry way.
Completely none the wiser as to how intertwined your futures would be from this point on.
.
.
.
Day 1
"Don't you think it's odd? Transferring to another hospital in your third year of residency?"
"I think it's none of our business... And I think you should be more concerned with getting a head start on your charting."
"My charting'll get done when it gets done," John waved her off, flippant, as he took an obnoxious sip of his iced coffee—which had long since been empty. "Don't act like you're not curious."
He sat lazily on the swivel chair next to Parker's work station, leg mindlessly swinging while he swirled the leftover ice in his plastic cup, using the vibrant orange straw to shift it around in search of the last few drops of caffeinated goodness.
"Insubordination... malpractice... affair with the attending... the possibilities are endless."
"How 'bout the possibility of you leaving me alone?" Parker groaned, throwing her head back with annoyance as she sharply turned to him, "You been talkin' my ear off about this for the past thirty minutes and, last I checked, you've got a kidney stone in Central 10."
"Still waiting for her labs. Day shift had a car pile-up that delayed a bunch of staff upstairs," John answered, plainly, as he slurped his empty cup once again.
The familiar buzz of daytime nurses, NPs, and MAs shuffling their way out filled the relatively quie—er... calm space, save for John's insufferable thirst.
"Then hit up Triage," she deadpanned, turning her attention back to her screen. "Chairs is winding out the door. Could use the extra hands."
The man scoffed, an amused smile stretching across his lips as he let out a genuine, incredulous chuckle, "You're kidding, right? You trying to get me killed? I heard most of them have been out there since six a.m."
"All the more reason to go."
"Yeah, sure. If you're so eager, why don't you do it?"
"Cause I'm in the middle of something."
"Oh, please, you were done with that chart ten minutes ago. You don't wanna go out there as bad as I do."
"Call me old fashioned..." Lena chimed, glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as she flipped through leftover paperwork on her side of the nurse's station, "...but shouldn't it be the man takin' on the possibly hazardous work?"
"Thank you," Parker grinned, vindicated, as she tossed a thankful nod over her shoulder.
"Don't even go there. You honestly think I can defend myself better than Ellis can?" John quickly rebutted, brow arching to the sky. "Really?"
Lena paused a moment, thinking it over.
"Touché."
"Hey!" Parker scoffed, snapping her head over to the older woman. "Traitor..."
"Glad to see my med students have time to chit-chat," Jack remarked, sarcastically, as he strode over, plopping a patient file on one of the flat surface of the hub and clicking his pen. "Especially when they're packed like sardines over in Chairs."
John swirled his chair around to face him, an easy smile curling on his lips, "Just talking about how great our attending is."
"Already told you, Shen, kissin' my ass'll get you nowhere," Jack muttered, eyes trained on the paperwork in front of him as he scribbled down a few notes.
"Always worth a shot."
"Just finished the chart for Collins's amaurosis patient," Parker reported, signing out of the computer and rising to her feet. "Gonna do one more vision test before I discharge him."
"Sounds good," Jack nodded, not taking his gaze off his task.
"Say... weren't we supposed to be getting a new R3 today?" John asked, eyes narrowing dramatically as he made a show of lifting his wrist to check his watch. "It's almost an hour into the shift and they still haven't arrived."
"First day. She probably overslept."
John instantly sat at full attention.
"She's a she?"
"I guess," Jack shrugged. "All I've been told is we're getting a female R3 named Dr. (l/n)."
"Keep it in your pants, man," Parker shook her head with at Shen with a smirk, amused.
"Hey! Happily married over here. I'm just curious."
"She's probably stuck in traffic downtown," Lena chimed. "Heard they're still sortin' things out after that pile-up."
"Well, it's not like she's missing anything. It's been quiet so far."
Instantly, all three heads snapped up and jerked toward John, very clearly displeased.
"Dude!" Parker hissed, smacking him in the shoulder.
"Ow! What?!" John winced, brows furrowed as he flinched. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you guys believe that stupid superstition."
Jack chuckled, tongue in cheek as he dragged his gaze back to his papers, shaking his head.
Kids today...
3...
"Tack on about twenty more years of experience and get back to me," Lena smirked, turning to pick up a phone call.
2...
"It's just a myth. One word can't make emergencies appear out of thin air," John rolled his eyes. "This is the ED not Candyman."
1...
"See? We're fi—"
Suddenly, the ambulance bay doors slammed open hard enough to rattle the crash cart parked by he wall.
"GSW, peds arrest! Move!"
Jack froze.
He knew that voice...
Whipping around, he watched as rainwater hissed off the stretcher wheels while two EMTs barreled through PTMC's entrance, scaring the shit out of Logan—the night security officer—who was stationed near the door.
The child on the gurney couldn't have been more than seven—small, pale, soaked in blood from the chest down, tiny Spider-Man pajamas cut open in calculated strips.
And kneeling on top of the moving gurney itself, one knee braced beside the boy's hip, was you.
Last night you.
Nearly killed a man you.
Gave him butterflies for the first time in ten years you.
And you were standing—sitting—right in front of him, in the flesh, as what looked to be his new R3.
Fuck.
Your black scrub top was darkened with blood at the hem, your palms locked over the boy's sternum, elbows straight, compressions clean and steady.
Behind the stretcher, the mother stumbled after—barefoot—mascara and tears streaking down her face, clutching a crying toddler to her chest.
"I locked it! I swear I locked it! Oh, my God, my baby! I'm so sorry—!"
Jack snapped himself out of it at the sound of her cries, expression going from pale to laser-focused in a heartbeat.
"Trauma One! Now!"
Beside him, Parker was already moving, tugging on a pair of gloves.
John followed with his usual calm speed, making a point to ignore Parker's sharp glare.
"Looks like Candyman to me..."
You didn't even look up as the team fell into step around you.
"Accidental GSW. Low-velocity handgun, 9 mil. Shot by younger brother at close range," you barked, voice rapid, clipped, and perfectly controlled despite being in the middle of compressions. "Single anterior abdominal entry, no identified exit wound."
Jack's eyes flicked over you—scrubs, hospital badge clipped haphazardly at your breast-pocket, movements sharp and precise like you'd done this a million times before.
He should've known.
Of course you were a doctor—and of course you were his new resident.
Life had a funny way of making things happen.
"Fancy seeing you here," he dryly remarked, jogging alongside the gurney.
You shifted seamlessly to allow him more room—and to keep your ass out of his face, "Likewise."
Parker cocked a brow, "You two know each other?"
"Not important,"you bothanswered in unison.
As the other two approached, now close enough to get a good look at you, Parker's eyes partly widened, John blinking once, taken aback.
The harsh fluorescent wash of the ED caught your face in flashes between the ceiling lights—caramel skin that glowed warm even under hospital pallor, dark brown eyes fixed and unshaking, full two-toned lips shaping pointed, detailed medical information.
For one dangerous half-second, both of them stared.
Parker recovered first, muttering under her breath, "Damn..."
You kept going.
"Single penetrating wound two centimeters left of midline, upper abdomen. Massive intraperitoneal hemorrhage suspected. Initial pulse weak and thready on scene, then lost en route. Decreased breath sounds absent—no evidence thoracic penetration. No obvious head trauma, no secondary injuries."
The EMT swapped in, "Switch compressions."
"Switching."
You slid off the mattress just as she jumped up, resuming your work while you landed beside the moving gurney, keeping stride.
"Found initially GCS 6, then rapidly deteriorated to 3. Pulse 168 sinus tach before arrest, BP 62 over 43. One round of epi given at 0.01 milligrams per kilo IV."
The eight of you practically flew into Trauma One, the doors already shoved open by nursing.
The mothers cries echoed off the tile and steel.
"I though the safe was locked! I just looked away for a minute! I thought they were playing! Please save him! Please!"
You pushed through the threshold with the team.
"Pressure dressing improvised on scene with folded towel and duct tape to staunch the bleed."
Jack's head snapped toward you as Parker, John, and the EMTs transferred the boy to the trauma bed.
"You did the dressing?"
You were already snapping gloves on.
"I was heading out for my shift when I heard a gunshot from my neighbor's apartment. I went in, secured the scene, packed the wound with clean dish towels, cinched pressure with duct tape, elevated his legs, and called 911," you rattled off as if it was nothing. "Duct tape and cloth's as good as any hemostatic bandage in a pinch."
Jack stared a beat, impressed despite the chaos—this seemed very on brand for you.
"You ran toward gunshots?" John scoffed, disbelieving.
You shrugged, "She made me a tray of cookies when I moved in."
Jack nodded, focusing back on the patient, "That pressure bought him time. Let's not waste it."
Then, his voice cracked like a whip.
"Ellis, airway setup. Shen, ultrasound and second access. You—" his gaze locked on you "—you're with me on circulation."
"You got it."
In an instant, the room detonated into controlled violence.
"Pulse check."
"Still PEA."
"Resume compressions."
"Ellis, Miller 2 blade. Prep for RSI but hold meds 'til we have a pulse. John, I want a femoral line tray open in case the IO infiltrates. Ultrasound now."
"On it."
John passed the probe over the child's abdomen.
Your eyes cut to the screen, "Free fluid in the Morrison's pouch. Pelvis, too. It's filling the belly."
"Gimme three units!" Jack ordered. "Peds ratio pack!"
"Nurse, activate MTP, 1:1:1 modified pediatric dosing," you added. "Warm blood only. Get calcium chloride ready after first unit."
The first cooler hit the room.
"Why warm blood?" Jack asked, wanting to test your knowledge.
You spiked the blood yourself, hands sure.
"Warm blood prevents hemolysis. Cold blood can sometimes break down healthy cells or initiate a state of hypothermia in the patient," you answered, not missing a beat. "Ellis, squeeze this in. Shen, once tube's in, bag him and confirm with bilateral rise."
"Tube passing."
"Hold compressions."
The cuffed ET tube slid through tiny cords.
"Resume."
"Color change?"
"Yellow end-tidal," Parker said. "CO2 up to 24."
Better.
Jack was already scanning the wound with his eyes, "We need temporary hemorrhage control."
You nodded once, already there mentally, "We can try REBOA."
Parker's head whipped toward you, "For a kid?"
"Seven-year-old, borderline size but feasible," you said, already palpating the femoral region. "Better than letting him exsanguinate before OR."
Jack's mouth twitched—the closest thing he had to a grin.
"Do it."
You guided John's shaking hand to the ultrasound probe.
"See the common femoral? Freeze there. Needle at forty-five degrees. Gentle."
He followed your instructions.
"Flash."
"Wire."
"Wire advancing."
"Good. Parker, balloon catheter."
The room seemed to tighten around the moment.
You advanced the sheath, then the catheter, eyes flicking between estimated insertion depth and monitor.
"Zone I depth... inflate."
The syringe depressed.
Seconds later—
"Pulse check."
The nurse's fingers found the carotid.
Her eyes widened.
"I have a pulse."
The whole room exhaled.
Parker let out a disbelieving laugh, "No way."
Jack was already moving again. "Call Walsh. OR now. Exploratory laparotomy for penetrating abdominal trauma with temporary REBOA control."
You leaned over the boy, checking pupils and securing the ET tube ties.
"Pressure 84 over 50 and climbing," John reported.
"Good. Keep him permissively low till surgery has clamps on the source."
The doors burst again as trauma surgery arrived with transport.
As the bed rolled out, the mother caught sight of her son's color—less gray now, monitor alive.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"Is he—?"
"He'll live," Jack nodded, his gaze shifted to you. "Thanks to MacGyver over here."
But now, suddenly, the adrenaline began to ebb just enough for your details to land all at once—for the second time in about twenty-four hours.
The loose curl stuck to your temple.
The soft fullness of your lips as you finally let yourself breathe.
The heavy rise and fall of your chest as you came down from your own high.
Jesus Christ...
Distracted, his feet stuttered over the threshold of the trauma bay, but he managed to smoothly and discreetly play it off without anyone noticing before awkwardly correcting his posture, eyes partly wide and chest tight.
When Gloria told him he'd be attending a new, female resident, she failed to mention the resident would be you—he knew the woman had no idea you two knew each other, but she could've at least given him a name.
I mean, Jesus, he'd just met you yesterday—after a mugging, no less—and all he could think about was the way your hair framed your face as you pulled it out of its original confines.
The way your dark, stained scrub bottoms still faintly displayed the curve of your figure.
The way your eyes practically glowed with a warmth unique to a doctor who'd just saved a life.
He honestly had half a mind to think you were some sort of prank, a test to throw him off his game or do God knows what.
Yet, realizing that he was probably entering creepy old man territory with the way he was silently staring, Jack cleared his throat, forcibly neutralizing his face back to its usual steel.
"Creative wound packing, early hemorrhage control, seamless hand-off, and REBOA under pressure on your first shift," he folded his arms, clearing his throat. "You saved a boy that should've been dead twenty minutes ago."
He nodded.
"Solid work."
For the first time all evening, you smiled.
Small.
Tired.
Stunning.
You arched a brow at his impersonal tone, especially after the events of last night.
"How formal..." you teased, folding your hands behind your back. "This the part where I say Thank you, Dr. Abbott and ramble about how glad I am to be here?"
"You knew I was your attending when I told you my name yesterday," he stated, eyes narrowed as the pieces all came together. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Stranger danger," you shrugged, plainly. "Attending or not, you were a random man on the street, and I'd just been attacked."
You cocked a brow.
"You expect me to reveal the details of my employment just because you walked me home?"
"I—"
But before he could get a word in, Parker immediately stepped between you two with a grin.
"Okay, no, hold on—that was badass."
"No kidding. Where'd you learn to REBOA like that?" John laughed, joining in.
You tugged off your gloves, playing off the praise with a shrug, "See a few things, pick up a few tricks. It's the Wild West over in Newark."
"Oh, wait 'til you spend a week here."
With your attention elsewhere, Jack seized the opportunity to disappear in the incoming crowd of nurses and patients and MAs, his grey-auburn curls growing more distant by the second as you glanced past Shen to watch him go—totally not because he had no real response to your question.
Outside Trauma One, the mother's sobs had shifted—still broken, but now threaded with hope.
Somewhere upstairs, surgery would crack open the boy's abdomen, find the bleeding vessel, retrieve the bullet, repair the damage.
And he would live.
Because a woman, who'd fought like hell to keep herself safe a few hours ago, had heard one gunshot through an apartment wall—
—and ran toward it.
.
.
.
let me know what you guys think. this didn't turn out as good as i hoped. i had a hard time writing for jack and i think i lost some steam at the end.
and plz give me more ideas. i have concepts of where i wanna go with this but suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
(i am open to writing for the pitt (brendon park and jack abbott only)
Swamped with back-to-back malpractice cases at the Pitt, Lead Attorney Y/N Abbott faces severe exhaustion on a grueling 12-hour shift. When a persistent doctor refuses to respect her boundaries, her exhaustion turns to fire—all under the watchful, protective eye of her husband, Dr. Jack Abbott.
The fluorescent lights of the Pitt’s administrative wing hummed with a clinical, relentless buzz that vibrated straight through Y/N’s skull. She leaned her head against the cool metal interior of the elevator, her eyes closed, letting the brief transit between floors serve as her only sanctuary.
She had just spent the last four hours in a grueling deposition, fiercely shielding one of the ED’s best trauma nurses from an aggressive, predatory malpractice lawsuit. She had won the day—tearing the opposing counsel’s argument apart with the sharp, calculated precision that earned her the title of Lead Attorney—but the victory offered no rush of adrenaline. It just left her empty, her mind scraping the bottom of a barrel that had run dry hours ago.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, dragging her back into the reality of the Emergency Department.
Y/N stepped out, her heels clicking a little slower against the linoleum than they usually did. Her shoulders carried a heavy, invisible weight, and her vision blurred slightly at the edges. Just two more hours, she reminded herself, rubbing the bridge of her nose where a tension headache was steadily blooming. Just two hours, and then Jack can drive us home.
"Y/N! Thank God you're back."
The voice belonged to Robbie, who was waiting near the central desk with an armful of manila folders. Y/N blinked, trying to force her brain to process his face, but for a terrifying three seconds, his name completely evaporated from her mind. She stared at him, a cold spike of panic piercing through her fatigue.
"Hey..." she stumbled, her tongue feeling thick. "Sorry. Yes. What’s going on?"
"The board just sent these down," Robbie said, entirely missing her hesitation as he stacked three thick folders into her arms, nearly causing her to drop her briefcase. "The patient from Bed 4 last night is threatening a liability suit over a misplaced IV line, and Risk Management needs you to sign off on these incident reports before the shift ends."
"Right. Right, of course." Y/N nodded mechanically. She reached into her blazer pocket for her favorite silver pen—the one Jack had bought her when she took the lead position—but her fingers found nothing. She frowned, her heart sinking. Where did I leave it? The courtroom? The cafeteria?
"Are you okay?" Robbie asked, finally noticing the blank, glazed look in her eyes. "You look a little pale."
"I'm fine. Just... lost my pen," she muttered, her voice sounding distant even to herself. "I'll review these in my office."
As she turned to leave, Dana cut her off at the pass, holding out a tablet. "Y/N, sorry to add to the pile, but Dr. Santos needs a quick consult. We have a John Doe in Trauma 2, no ID, and the police are pushing for blood samples without a warrant. Can we legally refuse?"
Y/N stared at the tablet. The words on the screen swam together, the legal statutes she usually quoted from memory suddenly looking like a foreign language. She closed her eyes, taking a deep, slow breath to stop the room from spinning.
"Give me ten minutes, Dana," Y/N whispered, her voice tight with a strain she couldn't hide. "I need to... I just need to get to my desk. I'll page you."
She didn't wait for a response. Clutching the heavy folders to her chest like a shield, Y/N hurried toward her office, her breath coming in shallow, ragged clips. The avalanche had started, and she was entirely unequipped to dig herself out.
The Emergency Department was locked in its usual late-afternoon rhythm—a chaotic symphony of monitors beeping, gurneys rushing through corridors, and the constant murmur of staff managing the city's crises. At the center of it all stood Dr. Jack Abbott, checking a chart at the central station, his posture characteristically steady and grounded.
But while his hands were busy with patient files, his eyes kept drifting toward the double elevators across the floor. He knew Y/N’s actual office was upstairs in the quiet administrative wing, but as the hospital’s Lead Attorney, her job frequently dragged her right into the trenches of the ED floor.
He had caught the tail end of her interactions with Robbie and Dana near the desk. He’d seen the subtle, telltale signs that anyone else would have missed: the slight stumble in her stride, the way she had blanked for a fraction of a second when Robbie spoke to her, and the protective, defensive way she was now clutching those case files to her chest as she turned back toward the elevators to go back upstairs.
"Hey, Dr.Abbott you copy on those labs?" a Nurse asked, passing by with a tray of vials.
Jack pulled his gaze away from the elevator bank, forcing his focus back to the immediate surroundings. "Yeah. Potassium is still low. Push another 20 mEq and re-check in two hours."
"You got it."
As the Nurse walked away, Jack looked back across the floor. Y/N was standing by the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. She was staring at a document in her hands, but her eyes weren't moving across the page. Her head was bowed, her shoulders slumped under the weight of sheer exhaustion.
He knew that look. It was the same look he’d seen on soldiers during long deployments when the adrenaline finally wore off and left nothing but raw fatigue.
Stepping away from the main desk, Jack grabbed a fresh cup of coffee from the breakroom, adding the exact amount of cream and sugar she liked, and caught up to her just as the elevator doors chimed and slid open.
Instead of letting her ride up alone, Jack stepped into the empty elevator right behind her, pressing the button for the administration floor before turning to face her.
Y/N didn't look up immediately. When she realized someone else was in the elevator, her eyes heavily shifted to him. "Jack," she breathed, her voice a little faint as the doors closed, sealing them in brief privacy. "Hey. I'm just... trying to get back up to my desk to finish these incident reports."
"Hey," he said softly, his voice a calm, anchoring presence in the small, moving space. He gently took the heavy stack of legal folders from her arms and replaced them with the warm coffee mug. "You’ve been staring at the same paragraph since you left the desk, sweetheart. Take a second."
Y/N wrapped her hands around the warm mug, letting out a shaky sigh, leaning her back against the elevator wall. "I mislocated my pen, Jack. The silver one. And I couldn't remember Robbie's name for a second out there. My brain just... it feels like it's misfiring."
Jack stepped closer, blocking the rest of the world out. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently squeezing her shoulder, offering a steady weight she could lean into. "Because you just spent four hours fighting tooth and nail in a deposition after barely sleeping last night. It's not a misfire, Y/N. You're just running on empty."
"I have a 12-hour shift, Jack. I have two hours left, and Santos needs a warrant consult, and the board wants these signed upstairs—"
"And you'll get it done," Jack interrupted gently, his tone firm but deeply supportive. "But you're going to drink that coffee first. I'm going back downstairs, but I'm keeping my radio on. I'll handle Santos for ten minutes—tell her you're reviewing the legal precedent upstairs. Just breathe for a second."
The elevator chimed, arriving at her quiet floor. Y/N leaned her head against his chest for a brief, fleeting moment, drawing strength from his presence. "Okay. Ten minutes."
"That's my girl," Jack murmured, handing her back the folders and giving her shoulder one last reassuring squeeze.
As she stepped out into the quiet hallway of the administrative wing, Jack stayed in the elevator, watching her walk safely toward her office before the doors slid shut. Back down on the ED floor, he was on high alert, serving as her quiet shield from afar, making sure he kept tabs on her until her grueling shift was finally over.
The quiet of the administrative floor was a sharp contrast to the chaos downstairs, but the silence inside Y/N’s office offered little comfort. For the past hour, she had been trapped in a losing battle against her own eyelids.
The warmth of the coffee Jack gave her had taken the edge off her headache, but it couldn't cure the heavy, leaden exhaustion deep in her bones. She sat at her desk, the three thick incident reports spread out before her. She had managed to read through two of them, but her progress was agonizingly slow. Every few minutes, she would find herself staring blankly at the same sentence, her mind spinning its wheels without registering a single word.
Worse, the missing silver pen was still bothering her. It was a silly thing to fixate on given the mountain of legal liabilities she was handling, but her exhausted brain kept looping back to it.
With a frustrated sigh, Y/N dropped her chin into her hands, closing her eyes for just a moment. Just one more hour, she told herself. Just sixty minutes.
Buzz.
The sudden vibration of her phone against the polished wood of her desk made her flinch. She blinked open her heavy eyes and reached for the device, her thumb dragging across the screen.
From: Jack ❤️
Status down here is stable for now. How are you feeling, beautiful?
A faint, tired smile touched Y/N’s lips. Just reading his text felt like a lifeline pulling her back to the surface. She sluggishly tapped out a response, her thumbs clumsy on the keyboard.
To: Jack ❤️
Two reports down, one to go. I'm ok just exhausted. Mostly. Still haven't found my pen though. I think my brain left the building at hour eight.
Her phone buzzed almost instantly in reply.
From: Jack ❤️
Your brain is doing fine, sweetheart. Don't worry about the pen, we'll get you a new one. Just finish up that last file and start packing your bag. I'm counting down the minutes until I can take you home. Text me if you need me to run up there.
Y/N stared at the screen, letting his words anchor her. She took a deep breath, feeling a tiny second wind push through the fog. "One more file," she whispered to the empty room, locking her phone and pulling the final manila folder toward her.
She was determined to push through the final stretch, completely unaware that the peace of her quiet office was about to be shattered.
The clock on Y/N’s desk computer shifted to 11:03 PM. Hour eleven.
She had managed to sign off on the final incident report, but the small victory was completely overshadowed by the heavy fog wrapping tighter around her brain. Her office felt suffocatingly quiet. Unable to sit still without her eyes drifting shut, Y/N stood up and began a frustrated, cyclical search of her room. She checked her briefcase for the third time, lifted the legal pads on her side table, and even knelt to look under her desk.
Nothing. The silver pen was gone.
An irrational wave of emotion hit her, her throat tightening with a sudden, exhausted sting of tears. It wasn't just a pen; it was the piece of comfort Jack had given her when she took this high-stakes job. Losing it felt like proof that she was completely failing to keep her life together today.
Ring. Ring.
The sharp, high-pitched trill of her desk phone cut through the quiet, making Y/N jump. She rubbed her eyes fiercely, swallowed the lump in her throat, and snatched up the receiver. "Y/N, Lead Counsel."
"Y/N, thank God you’re still up there," Dana’s voice came through the line, sounding uncharacteristically strained. "I need you downstairs right now."
Y/N pressed her palm to her forehead, trying to force herself into professional alignment. "Dana? What's going on? Is it the warrant consult for Santos?"
"No, that’s resolved. This is worse," Dana said, her voice dropping to a rushed, hushed whisper as she moved away from the main desk. "The father of the teenager in Trauma 3 just found out we had to perform an emergency procedure without his explicit signature because we couldn't reach him in time. He’s out here right now, shouting, recording staff on his phone, and threatening a massive lawsuit. Security is on their way, but he's demanding the lead attorney. I’m trying to keep him calm, but we need you to de-escalate the legal threats before this turns into a riot."
The words felt like heavy bricks dropping onto Y/N’s chest. Her body screamed at her to stay in the chair, but her duty to the Pitt overrode the exhaustion.
"I'm on my way down, Dana. Give me two minutes," Y/N said, her voice tight but resolute.
She hung up the phone, bypassed her desk entirely, and grabbed her clipboard. Her hands were slightly shaking from a mix of fatigue and a fresh spike of adrenaline. She didn't even have time to text Jack to warn him she was coming back into the fray.
Leaving her quiet office behind, Y/N headed straight for the elevators. Her 12-hour shift wasn't over yet, and the Pitt was calling her back into the storm.
The elevator doors chimed and slid open, thrusting Y/N right back into the brightly lit gauntlet of the Emergency Department.
The tension in the air was palpable. Near the entrance of Trauma 3, a tall, imposing man was pacing furiously, his voice booming over the ambient noise of the ER. He was holding his phone out like a weapon, recording the staff while screaming about medical malpractice and parental rights. Dana was standing a few feet back, her hands raised in a calming gesture, trying to keep the man from pushing past the curtain.
Across the room at the central desk, Jack was ostensibly charting. His fingers were on the keyboard, but his head was up, his sharp eyes locked onto the elevator the moment the doors parted.
He saw Y/N step out. From fifty feet away, he could read the intense strain in her posture—the rigid line of her shoulders, the slightly uneven stride of her heels, and the tight grip she had on her clipboard. Every instinct in his body told him to stand up, cross the floor, and pull her behind him. But he knew her. He knew she was the Lead Attorney of this hospital, and interfering with her job in front of a hostile civilian would only undermine her authority.
So, Jack stayed at the desk. But he stopped typing. He leaned forward, his entire focus narrowing on his wife, ready to move the absolute second things crossed a physical line.
Y/N took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the exhaustion deep down into a hidden pocket of her mind. She smoothed down her blazer, stepped past the central desk—giving Jack a brief, subtle nod to let him know she was holding it together—and walked straight into the line of fire.
"Sir," Y/N’s voice rang out, clear, authoritative, and entirely professional despite the fog in her head. "I am Y/N, Lead Counsel for the hospital. Please lower your phone and step over here with me so we can discuss your daughter’s care."
The man spun on his heel, his anger redirecting toward her like a spotlight. "Are you the one running this place? Because your doctors operated on my kid without my permission! That is assault! I am going to sue this entire hospital into the ground, and I’m putting it all on the news!"
He stepped aggressively into her personal space, thrusting the phone camera within inches of her face.
Y/N didn’t flinch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack instantly rise from his seat at the central desk, his posture shifting into something dangerous and protective. She gave a microscopic shake of her head, a silent signal to her husband: I've got this.
"Sir, under state emergency medical statutes, when a minor presents with a life-threatening hemorrhage and a legal guardian cannot be reached within a critical window, our physicians are legally obligated to intervene to save the patient's life," Y/N explained, her voice steady, cool, and unyielding. "The doctors did their job, and your daughter is alive because of it. Now, if you want to speak about legalities, we can go to a private room. If you continue to film patients and harass my staff, security will escort you from the building and you will be barred from the premises."
The sheer legal weight of her words, delivered with absolute conviction, seemed to punch the wind right out of the man's sails. He looked at her sharp, unwavering eyes, then lowered his phone, his shoulders deflating as the reality of the situation finally cracked his anger, revealing the terrified father underneath.
"I... I just want to see my daughter," he muttered, his voice cracking.
"Of course," Y/N said, her tone softening with genuine empathy now that the threat was neutralized. She turned to Dana. "Dana, can we get him a chair inside the room?"
"Right away," Dana said, exhaling a massive sigh of relief and guiding the father through the curtains of Trauma 3.
The adrenaline that had kept Y/N upright instantly evaporated. The room gave a sudden, violent tilt, and she had to lean heavily against the counter of the central desk to keep her knees from buckling.
She was about to turn to back to her office until Jack reached her
"I’m going to run to the locker to grab my bag, and then I'll head upstairs to your office to get your briefcase and the files," Jack said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. He kept one hand resting gently on the small of her back, a steady anchor amid the lingering hum of the ER floor. "Stay right here at the central desk. Don’t move a muscle, sweetheart. I’ll be back in five minutes, and then I’m taking you home."
Y/N offered a faint, exhausted smile, leaning into his touch for just a second. "I won't move. I promise. I'll be right here."
"Five minutes," Jack reiterated, giving her waist a tender squeeze before turning toward the staff locker room to start their exit.
Y/N watched his broad shoulders disappear down the hallway, taking a deep, heavy breath. She shifted slightly, leaning her weight against the high counter of the central desk. Her feet felt like blocks of concrete, and her eyes felt incredibly heavy now that the adrenaline from the hostile father was gone. She just needed to wait for Jack to come back down with her things, and she could finally crawl into bed.
"Well, look who finally crawled out of the trenches."
The uninvited voice shattered the brief quiet. Y/N flinched, her heart spiking unpleasantly as she turned her head.
It's was Dr. James Ogilvie, a med student that has been flirting with Y/N since his first day.
Ogilvie was leaning casually against the edge of the central desk, a smug, self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. Though he was a medical student currently rotating through the department, he carried himself with an unearned, arrogant confidence that had made him a nuisance since his very first day at the Pitt. He had been relentlessly flirting with Y/N for weeks, completely blind to professional boundaries, but tonight her patience was completely non-existent.
Y/N closed her eyes for a brief second, praying for a shred of sanity. "Ogilvie. I'm off the clock. If you have a question about a case liability or hospital policy, ask your attending in the morning."
Instead of backing off, James took a step closer, intentionally invading her space. "Come on, Y/N. No need to be so cold. I saw you handling that psycho father earlier. Incredible performance. Very commanding." He tilted his head, his eyes scanning her pale, exhausted face. "But you look absolutely wrecked. A beautiful woman like you shouldn't be working herself into the ground like this. You need a distraction."
Y/N felt a cold, dangerous simmer ignite beneath her profound exhaustion. She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white. "I am going to say this to you one last time. I am a married woman. I am completely uninterested, and your comments are highly inappropriate and unprofessional."
Ogilive didn't back down. Instead, he chuckled, taking a step closer until he was almost entirely crowding her against the desk. He leaned in, a patronizing, overconfident smile on his face. "Come on, Y/N. Don't be like that. Just let me take you out. One drink, one dinner, and if you still say no, I’ll stop. I'll completely leave you alone. What do you say?"
That was the absolute breaking point.
The last thread of Y/N’s patience snapped. The exhaustion that had weighed her down all day vanished, replaced by an absolute, scorching fire. She stepped forward, forcing him back a step by the sheer force of her movement, pulling herself to her full height. Her eyes flashed with a dangerous, razor-sharp intensity that completely caught the medical student off guard.
Thud.
She slammed her clipboard down onto the charting counter. The sound echoed through the immediate station like a gunshot.
"You think this is a negotiation?" Y/N whispered. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried the terrifying, icy precision of a lead prosecutor delivering a final verdict.
Ogilvie blinked, his smirk faltering as he took another hasty half-step back. "Hey, I was just offering—"
"You were just committing career suicide," Y/N interrupted, backing him away from the desk. The brain fog was entirely gone, replaced by pure legal wrath. "Let me make something completely, unequivocally clear to you. Your inability to comprehend the word 'no' since your first day here is no longer just annoying—it is a textbook definition of workplace harassment. I told you I am married. I told you I am uninterested. I do not owe you a dinner, a drink, or a single second of my time to buy your compliance."
"Y/N, come on, it's just a dinner—"
"Do I look like I am joking?" she snapped, her voice cutting through his excuse like a scalpel. "You have cornered me, ignored explicit boundaries, and created a hostile work environment. I am the Lead Attorney of this hospital. I write the policies that can have your residency placement revoked before you even match. If you ever look at me, speak to me, or breathe in my direction for anything other than a strict, peer-reviewed medical inquiry, I will personally file a formal harassment suit with HR, ensure the dean of your medical school reviews your misconduct, and see to it that you are barred from practicing medicine in this entire network. Am I making myself clear, or do I need to write it down for you?"
Ogilvie's face went entirely pale. The arrogant smirk was completely gone, replaced by absolute panic as he realized he hadn't just crossed a line with a tired colleague—he had poked a sleeping apex predator.
"I... I'm sorry. I'm leaving," he stammered, fumbling to step away from her.
He spun around to bolt down the hallway toward the main doors, only to freeze instantly.
Standing right at the entrance of the corridor, holding Y/N's briefcase and a stack of folders, was Dr. Jack Abbott.
Jack had his bag slung over his shoulder, but his posture was completely rigid. He had just gotten off the elevator from her office and caught the tail end of the interaction, hearing Y/N's fierce verbal takedown. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek, and his dark eyes were bored into James with a terrifying, protective fury that looked less like an attending physician and more like the soldier he used to be.
"Is there a problem here, Ogilivie" Jack asked, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with a quiet threat that made the hallway feel ten degrees colder.
James swallowed hard, looking between Y/N’s icy glare and Jack’s imposing, broad-shouldered frame. "No. No problem, Dr. Abbott. Just leaving."
The medical student practically sprinted past Jack, ducking around him and disappearing toward the main exit without looking back.
The moment Ogilvie was gone, the fiery adrenaline drained from Y/N's system just as fast as it had arrived. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a long, ragged breath, staggering slightly as her knees threatened to give out.
Jack didn't hesitate. He set her briefcase and his bag on the counter, closed the distance between them, and caught her before she could fall. He wrapped his strong, warm arms around her, pulling her securely against his chest right there by the central station. Y/N buried her face into his shoulder, finally letting go, drawing in the familiar, comforting scent of him.
"I've got you," Jack murmured softly, his voice completely transforming from the cold edge he'd used on the student into a gentle, soothing balm. He rubbed her back, holding her tight against him. "You were incredible. You completely handled him, sweetheart. But it's over now. I have all your things. The shift is done."
"He was... I just wanted to go home," Y/N whispered against his scrubs, her voice muffled and exhausted.
"We're going home right now," Jack promised, keeping one arm wrapped securely around her waist to support her weight while he gathered their bags with his free hand. He kissed the side of her head. "Let's get you out of the Pitt."
The heavy wooden front door of their house clicked shut, finally locking the rest of the world out. The relentless humming of the Pitt, the blinding fluorescent lights, and the weight of the endless files evaporated the second they stepped into the quiet warmth of their own entryway.
The drive home had been silent, with Y/N leaning her head against the passenger window while Jack gently kept one hand over hers on the center console. She was so physically and mentally spent that even walking from the garage to the kitchen felt like climbing a mountain.
Jack set their bags down by the door, not caring about the paperwork inside them. His focus was entirely on his wife. He stepped up behind her, gently sliding her heavy winter coat off her shoulders and hanging it up.
"Come here," he murmured, his voice low and grounding.
Y/N didn't need to be told twice. She turned around and let herself fall forward. Jack caught her instantly, his large, powerful arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against his chest. He was still wearing his soft scrubs under his jacket, and he smelled like home—comforting, steady, and safe. Y/N buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting her eyes close as a shaky breath shuddered out of her.
"I’m so tired, Jack," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly under the sheer weight of the day. "My brain won't shut off, but my body feels like it's giving out."
"I know, sweetheart. I've got you," Jack said softly. He began tracing slow, soothing circles on her back, his hand a warm, heavy weight through her blouse. "You carried the entire hospital on your shoulders today. You’re allowed to let it go now."
He kept one arm securely around her waist, supporting her as he guided her down the short hallway and into the living room. The space was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the hallway light, making it a perfect sanctuary for her throbbing headache. He gently nudged her toward the plush sofa.
"Sit down and stay put. I’ll be right back," he instructed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
Y/N curled up on the edge of the couch, pulling her knees to her chest. A few minutes later, Jack returned. He had shed his boots and jacket, replaced them with a soft hoodie, and was carrying a pair of her favorite oversized sweatpants, a thick fleece blanket, and a fresh glass of water.
Without a word, he sat down at the opposite end of the couch and pulled her legs into his lap. He gently rubbed her tired calves, his strong fingers expertly kneading away the tension from twelve hours of pacing the linoleum floors of the Pitt.
"Drink a little water for me," he coaxed, handing her the glass.
Y/N took a few sips, the cool water soothing her dry throat, before setting it on the coffee table. She uncurled her legs, slumping sideways until her head was resting in Jack’s lap. Jack immediately adjusted, draping the heavy fleece blanket over her shoulders, sealing her into a warm, protective cocoon.
His large hand found its way into her hair, his long fingers gently running through the strands, massaging her scalp in slow, repetitive strokes that finally started to quiet the buzzing in her mind.
"You were incredible today, you know," Jack said quietly, his eyes fixed on her face in the dim light. "Watching you shut down that medical student... you were a force of nature. I wanted to break him in half for cornering you, but you didn't even need me. You protected yourself, and you protected our marriage."
Y/N let her eyes drift shut, a faint, genuine smile finally tugging at the corners of her lips. The anger from the confrontation had entirely faded, leaving behind only the deep comfort of being understood and looked after.
"I just wanted him to know he couldn't cross that line," Y/N murmured, her voice growing heavier by the second. "I'm your wife. I'm not a target for his games."
"Damn right you are," Jack whispered, a proud, fiercely protective edge in his voice. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, warm kiss to her forehead. "And he's never going to forget it. Tomorrow, I'm having a quiet word with the residency director anyway, just to ensure he stays in his place. But tonight, you don't have to think about him. You don't have to think about lawsuits, or warrants, or the Pitt."
He continued the slow, soothing rhythm of his hand through her hair. For the first time in over fourteen hours, the tight knot of anxiety in Y/N's chest completely unraveled. She let out a long, peaceful sigh, her breathing syncing up with the steady, reassuring rise and fall of Jack’s chest beneath her.
"Thank you for keeping an eye on me today," she whispered into the dark room, her consciousness finally slipping away.
"Always, sweetheart," Jack murmured, shifting his weight slightly so she could sleep more comfortably against him. "Always."
Summary: You never expected to be saved from an embarrassing situation by your attending.
Hoping on the Jack Abbott band wagon. Idk why but I feel like Jack and this trope work so well. Just a quick little blurb I wrote!
Warnings: mentions of drinking, pet names, age gap, not edited the best
The music in the bar had started to annoy you. It only added to your bitter and overwhelmed state. You checked your phone for the hundredth time in the two hours you had been waiting.
You expected the same sight you'd seen all night.
The text he sent you this morning confirming the date and then your texts after you had arrived at the bar.
This time you saw that your last message hadn't been received.
He blocked you.
You couldn't decided what you wanted to do. . .
Scream?
Cry?
Laugh?
It was ridiculous. You'd hit it off so well, at least that's what you thought. He even went so far as to plan the whole evening and yet here you are...blocked.
You could've been home, in bed after your long shift but no, you decided to give dating another try.
He offered to drive you home, you had taken the public transit to work and since the bar was in walking distance you thought it had all worked out perfectly... and now you're stranded.
"Are you ready to close your tab?" The bartender asks a sympathetic look on his face. You truly wanted to be swallowed up by the floor under you. Maybe you could make a run for it? Ditch your tab and start a new life somewhere else. Maybe in the countryside away from jerks who stand you up.
Your cheeks burn as you nod your head, avoiding eye contact. You go to take out your wallet until someone else reaches over, giving the bartender their card.
"I'll cover it, put it on my tab."
For a moment you thought it was your date. The one who stood you up with the promise of dinner, drinks, and a ride home.
You would've given him an earful but you don't get the chance.
Instead you turn to see your attending, his arm draped over the back of your chair and he was so close you could smell the colone on him. He looked too good for someone wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans. His dogtags sway when he leaned over to give the bartender his card.
You could only look at him for a second before you averted your gaze.
"What are you doing here?" You question.
"Just getting a drink after my shift."
"Are the others-"
"Yeah, at that back table." He says. You look over his shoulder to see Dr. Robby, Dana, and a handful of the medical students as well as residents. People you had boasted about your date to. You had left your shift as soon as you got the okay to get ready for the date.
"Ooo lucky date night, have fun kid."
"Taking off so soon? Oh that's right you have a date!"
"I'm happy for you, you seem to like him a lot!"
"I'll hurt him if he does anything to you."
"Let me know how it goes."
What are they doing here? How could you face them?
You sigh placing your head in your hands, and utter a curse. You sip your drink, using the burning sensation as a distraction from the same feeling on your cheeks. This is a bad dream it has to be.
"Whats going on sweetheart?" Jack asks softly, his voice carrying over the rnb music playing through the bar.
"I'm a dumbass." You replied, shaking your head. "He never showed up."
Saying the words made it all real and you felt a tear roll down your cheek. Why did you care so much? True it's been a while since your last date and it's been a while since someone showed so much interest in you but still.
This hurt.
The rough pad of a thumb brushes just under your eye, catching the stray tears. When you look up you see Jack's hazel eyes. He remained silent as he searched your face. Glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, he could feel his heart beating quicker.
He looked at you conflicted.
"Why don't I take you home?" Jack asked but it didn't seem like a question.
"You don't have to do that." You answer quickly.
"I want to." Jack replied just as fast.
"I couldn't ask you-"
"I'm offering."
"But I-"
"No buts." He finalized. His tone left no room for discussion.
You nod your head, sliding off the bar chair. When you land on on your feet, Jack shifts his eyes over your figure. You look incredible, how could you look this good after an entire shift? You look like you just stepped off a runway. Jack hands you the keys to his car, looking back at the table filled with his peers.
"Here, go wait for me, turn on the heater, and I'll be there in just a minute."
Wordlessly you nod before doing just as he says. The warmth of his car felt like a warm blanket, you probably could fallen asleep right there.
You don't have to wait long before Jack in walking out of the bar and towards the car. He doesn't waste anymore time before hopping into the car, starting the engine, and driving off. After you give him your address a tense silence fills the car.
"Thank you." You finally said. Your eyes glued to your hands in your lap.
"It's no problem sweetheart." Jack responds, stealing a glance at you. There go those butterflies. You almost wanted to roll your eyes at how easily he could make those happen for you, now wasn't the time.
"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to but that guy is a fucking idiot for blowing his chance with you."
Your heart pounds against your chest, like it activates at his voice.
"Thank you Dr. Abbott."
"Jack," He simply reminds you, turning to look at you for a second. "Please call me Jack outside of work."
The way he said it was different than other times you'd heard that phrase. Not a polite 'please call me jack' but it was somewhat... a plead.
'Please call me Jack.'
You shake your head trying to rid any of those thoughts floating around in your head.
"Right." You respond, the car suddenly feeling too small and too intimate.
Once again, silence falls in the car. Despite the intimate atmosphere, it was more comfortable.
"Did you eat dinner?" He suddenly asks.
"No, not yet. I'll just heat something up when I get home." You said knowing that probably wasn't true. In reality you would probably crash as soon as you got home. Too tipsy and disappointed to really care.
"I uh" Jack pauses as if he's rethinking what he plans to say next. "I know this little Italian restaurant, great place. The owner promised me a free dinner because of an ER visit he had a few weeks ago." Jack pauses at the stoplight and glances at you once again.
Your eyes were still a bit wet and glossy from the alcohol and minimal crying you had done earlier. The traffic lights illuminate your face adding a gorgeous hue to the atmosphere.
The way you look over at him made him so nervous, he almost forgot what he was saying.
"If you're hungry...would you want to have dinner with me?"
The question had your mind short circuiting. A pause hangs in the air, longer than you intended.
"Wha-really?"
"Yeah, I mean I know I wasn't who you wanted to spend your evening with but it might take your mind off of it." He replied with a slight shrug. His biceps flexing under his shirt as he gripped the wheel.
You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Jack Abbott asking you to dinner?
He said it so casually, you wonder if you're the only one whose heart races at the thought of having dinner together.
You never allowed yourself to think of him as anything more than an attending. Your older attractive attending that you see whenever you work nights.
The one who always brought a smile to your face with his flirty behavior and dry humor. He was incredibly smart and a quick thinker, not only that he always supported you when dealing with patients and staff.
You didn't know when it happened but overtime you started to look forward to seeing him, to talking with him, and any sort of contact you had with him.
Okay so maybe you have feelings for Jack Abbott, it's not like you ever expected to be in this situation.
That's the reason you went out on the date in the first place. You were tired of overthinking every interaction and decided putting yourself out there was the best way to handle these emotions.
Now an offer to go out with him is sitting right in front of you, it didn't feel real.
"Uh sure, I'd like that," you finally said after a few long seconds. "Thanks, Jack."
He grins upon hearing you say his name. The tense energy immediately melting away. The two of you smiling like giddy teens.
In that moment, as Jack starts talking about the restaurants menu, you were glad you had gotten stood up.
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, phone sex, masturbation, no use of y/n, dirty talk, age-gap, reader is in her early to mid 20s and jack is…how old he is…, two for one: dad’s best friend & best friend’s dad, no jake, probable medical inaccuracies, reader getting drugged, secret relationship, drug & alcohol consumption, no langdon addiction arc, heavy angst, & use of medical jargon.
author’s note: writing for this show wasn’t on my bingo card, but here we are! i need this man with my whole being and i’m so serious. i would also like to clarify that you did not grow up knowing abbott or his daughter. you met them in the last year or so, while finishing up your bachelor's degree and starting on your master's. also, before reading, please heed all the warnings above, as this fic is meant to be read with care. read at your own discretion.
Jack always takes such good care of his girl...
"Jack," you narrow your eyes, a smile breaking your serious facade. "I'm serious."
"So am I," he defends, hand over his heart, a cheeky smile spreading across his lips before twirling a finger in the air. "Turn around."
You roll your eyes playfully, twirling where you stand as your dress twirls with you. The fabric rides only slightly up on the back of your thighs, which has him groaning in the bed where he lays naked, only the comforter giving him a shred of decency.
"You're gonna give all the college boys whiplash, sweetheart," he chimes with a gruff laugh.
"Too bad for them because I have a boyfriend," you wink, picking up your dress so it pools around your waist as you crawl over to him on the bed to straddle his lap.
His hands move to grip your thighs, massaging them lightly. "Mhm," he hums softly, leaning forward and kissing your lips softly.
"You smell like sex," you randomly murmur against his lips.
"Well, funny enough, I did just have sex, so that checks out," he jests, hands moving up and down your thighs with ease.
"Oh. Did you now? I had no idea," you press your lips back to his, hand moving to rest on his cheek. You nip his lip lightly as your hands skim down his chest and torso to hover over the blanket that covers his naked lap.
"Insatiable, you are," he mutters against your lips; his words come out breathless.
You let out a dry laugh as his hands grip your waist tightly, and his head dips into the crook of your neck. "You know, your dad would throw a shit fit if he knew where you were right now," his warm breath flutters across your skin.
You let out a hushed moan as his teeth come out to nip the sensitive flesh. "Well then...we best keep it a secret then. Huh?" You simply say, hand skimming his bare chest.
"You know whatever consumes your mind will eventually bleed into the real world?" He asks, hands skimming up your hips. Then he tilts his head away from your neck to look into your eyes.
You quip your brow in confusion.
"Law of attraction," he shrugs simply.
You roll your eyes, groaning as you push him away. "God. You sound like my philosophy professor," you huff, shoulders hunching in defeat.
He lets out a rough laugh. "Is that a good thing?"
"An irritating thing," you inform, your voice tinged with exasperation. "He's such a dick."
"Want me to fight him?" He jokes, his fingers playfully tugging at the hem of your dress, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
You contemplate for a moment. "Ask me that after mid-terms."
He smiles, head leaning back to rest on the headboard. "You know, I've always wondered, why philosophy? Could have done EM? You're smart enough for it." His curiosity is genuine, and it warms you.
"Hell no to EM. I'd rather take a bullet to the head," you laugh before realizing he quite literally works in EM. "No offense."
"Some taken, yeah," he nods with a light smile to show he's joking.
You give him a smile before your brain starts turning. "Philosophy…it's...I don't know…grounding," you utter, avoiding his gaze. "Do I sound like an idiot?" You question with a small laugh, eyes finally moving to his.
"No. Of course you don't," he assures, shaking his head. "I get it. I took a philosophy course in med school," he recalls with a hint of nostalgia in his smile. "My attending at the time all but forced me in the class. Said it would help me understand death," he supplies.
"Did you like it?" You ask, tilting your head to the side as you fidget with his fingers resting on the bed.
He nods. "Yeah, I did," he replies, his gaze meeting yours. "It helped me understand morality, which is a miracle in itself.” His eyes then drop to the mattress, lost in thought.
"You know, speaking of that," you say as you shuffle off his lap, to his dismay, searching for your laptop. "I have to write a dissertation on a case study about the ethical implications of fabrications." You swipe your laptop from your bag and sit back on the edge of the bed on his side.
"You can help me with it," you decided, fingers gliding across the keyboard.
He lets out a dry laugh. "Why am I going to help you with your homework?
You turn to look at him. "Because you're smart."
"Sorry, sweetheart," he begins, resting his head on the headboard. "I already did my time."
You roll your eyes playfully, returning to the laptop and tapping the keys to go to the case study. "Yeah. Like forty years ago," you snicker under your breath.
"Oh. Now I'm definitely not helping you," he says, with mock hurt.
You turn to him again, your expression softening. "Sorry…" you chew on your lip, setting your laptop aside to move back towards him. "I'm a dick," you murmur, legs once again straddling his lap.
"Happens to the best of us," he presses a kiss to your lips.
"I find it hard to believe you can be a dick. You're always so sweet," your hand rests on the back of his neck, fingers dragging up and down softly.
"To you," he closes his eyes softly as your fingers delicately move against his skin. "Just to you."
The ER isn't as bustling and noisy as it usually is when you stroll in the following day.
It's almost...quiet.
Too quiet.
"Hotshot strollin' in, and it's not even eight am?" Langdon chimes from behind the triage desk. "Someone's in trouble," he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest.
You give him a smile. "You know me too well, Frank."
He nods his head towards you, a playful glint in his eye. "What did the old man do this time?" He prompts with humor in his tone. "Missed a brunch? Sold your favorite childhood toy?"
You shake your head, moving to lean on the desk. "Oh, much worse," you say as Langdon quips a curious brow. "He's dipping out of our annual family vacation."
"Yikes…" He cringes before tilting his head in thought. "But that sounds like you have an empty seat," he comments, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Where are we going? The tropics? I've been meaning to work on my surfing techniques," he adds, bringing his hands up to pretend to surf, a playful smirk on his face.
You let out a chuckle. "Funny, but not a chance, loser," you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest. "If I were to take anyone else, it would be your wife," you affirm, a teasing glint in your eye.
"Right. Sorry," he reaches for a clipboard off the desk next to him, scanning it quickly. "I forgot you love Abby more than me," he gives you a short smile.
"Did you really forget though?" You tilt your head, voice pitiful. "I thought I made it painfully obvious," you say as he gives you a fake laugh, skimming around the corner of the desk to go to a patient's room.
"Dana," you greet, swiveling your attention to her sitting at the desk, only half paying attention.
"With a patient, south side, room 15," she immediately says, scribbling on some paper.
"Oh. You know I love you," you tap on the desk, blowing her a playful kiss before turning on your heels, a warm smile on your face.
"Give him hell, kid," she mutters, eyes still focused on the paperwork.
You find the room and see your dad and some medical residents huddled up with a patient.
That does nothing to deter your stride.
You cross across the hall, opening the door open.
"What's this about you missing the family vacation?" You chime, eyes on your dad.
Dr. Robby turns to you, his shoulders sagging at your presence as if he already knew what would happen. "Oh, what a joy," he mutters, wiping his face. "Honey, I'm kind of with a patient right now," he expresses, voice low.
"Good, he can hear how ridiculous you're being," you retort, your lips pursed in frustration. "Mom told me you aren't coming on the trip anymore," you accuse again.
"Um…Dr. Robby, do you want us to call security?" Javadi asks timidly.
"Security?" You repeat with a laugh.
"No, Javadi," he begins with a sigh. "Unfortunately for us, that's my kin," he exhales before fixing his stethoscope. "Whitaker, get 40 milligrams of prednisone. Javadi, get the pulmonologist down here to do a breathing treatment," he orders, snapping his plastic gloves off and tossing them in the trash as he walks over to you, gesturing for you to step outside. "I'll be just outside if you need me," he assures, with a hint of humor. "Call the cops if you don't hear from me in fifteen," he jokes, following you out, trying to lighten the tense situation.
"You're in trouble," you point your finger at him when you enter the hall. "You promised you would go," you exasperate, hands on your hip.
He sighs, his hand wiping over his face. "I know. I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone to cover for me. I told your mother that," he says, his voice tinged with regret.
"Dad," you tilt your head forward, frustration coating your words. "We've had this trip planned for months," you enunciate, your disappointment clear.
"I'm sorry, honey. I just can't swing it right now. Hospital is short-staffed," he says, sincerity in his tone before his eyes light up in thought. "How about you get Abbott's daughter to go with you and your mother?" He nods. "You two are really good friends," he says before his face contorts into confusion. "Surprised she isn't here with you," he huffs deeply.
"She had a thing," you bring your hand up and shoo it to the side.
"A thing? What's a thing?" He says with confusion in his tone, watching your hand flail in the air.
"Just something she had to do," you confirm, not sparing much detail.
"Ah. A secret thing," he says, lifting his hand to pull an invisible zipper across his lips before twisting a fake key on the corner and throwing it to his side. "Got it."
Before you can get a word out, your dad looks behind you and issues a smile towards them before quickly moving to greet them.
"Jack," he addresses, bringing him in for a hug.
"Hey, man," Jack says to your dad, hugging him back, his eyes then wandering to you. "Hey, kid," he smiles towards you, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Hi, Dr. Abbott," you squeak, feeling a surge of nerves.
"Thought you only worked tonight?" Your dad questioned, tilting his head in confusion.
"Eh. Got called in since one of the other doctors got the flu," he shrugs, though his eyes aren't even fixed on your dad.
"Dr. Bigley? Heard his wife's back in town after being gone for two weeks. You think she mysteriously caught the flu, too?" Your dad jests, a knowing tone in his voice, unaware of the brewing tension beside him. "But, hey, since you're already here, could you take Whitaker on your rotations? Kid could use more patient practice," he tips his head towards the room he's in.
"Sure...yeah," Jack says, finally tearing his eyes away from you to look at your dad. "I can do that."
"Thanks," your dad moves to grab his pager, blaring loudly. "Jack, could you walk her out?" He says, referring to you as he starts over to you. "Make sure she leaves," he raises his brows at you. "Bye, hon. Love you," he presses a kiss to your forehead before spinning on his heels to head in the opposite direction.
"Bye, Dad. Love you too," you yell back, eyes glancing at Jack.
The air crackles with tension as he extends his hand, silently urging you to lead the way. You pick up the cue, your steps quickening as you head towards the front doors, your hands nervously clutching your purse strap.
"You look like you want to be anywhere else than with me," Jack murmurs lowly so no one around can hear, taking note of your sour expression.
You can't help but let out a dry laugh. "Considering I was on my knees for you yesterday morning, I'd say that isn't the case," you say with a casual smirk, adjusting your purse strap.
He stops in his tracks, a cheeky smile growing on his lips. "You little minx—"
"What do you recommend for bruised knees, Dr. Abbott?" You ask with interest and muster a serious expression, eyes locked onto his.
His eyes widen slightly, searching for a crack in your serious facade. "I...well—"
You snicker, making him release a sigh of relief. "I'm just teasing you, Jack. I'll call you later," you murmur, your eyes boring into his.
"Looking forward to it, sweetheart," he says with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you.
He wants to reach out and kiss you.
Pull you tight against his body and thread his fingers through your hair, but he can't.
Not here, not now.
His fingers flex as if to touch your fingers that come close to his as you leave.
Yours flex out, too, he notices.
He smiles at the exchange.
It was better than any kiss he could ever get.
About midday, you're parked at your desk, your computer wide open, and your screen is black, responding to your inactivity.
You can't focus on anything you start working on.
Every time you start reading a case study, your brain wonders to Jack.
You always loved seeing him at the hospital when you visited your dad.
Dressed up in his scrubs, hair slightly disheveled, combing his fingers through it when he's irritated, and the teasing tone in his voice when he gets frisky, you can almost smell the antiseptic and hear the distant beeping of machines.
You catch yourself slipping far away from the case study again.
Fuck it.
You're feeling needy.
You grab your phone, sliding your finger to hover over the call icon on his contact.
It takes two rings, and you hear the familiar sound of heart monitors and shuffling in the background.
"Hey. What are you up to?" Your voice echoes through the line, and your finger fidgets with your pen.
"Just had to consult a teen with a co-infection," he informs you, voice low. "Syphilis and herpes."
"Woah. Save some of the fun for the rest of us," you jest, a hint of longing in your voice as you put the pen between your lips.
"Hilarious. What are you doing?" His voice is slightly muffled; you assume he placed the phone between his shoulder and cheek.
"Attempting to study. Have an ethics midterm tomorrow," you sigh.
"Oh. Look at you. Smart girl," he praises as you hear his pen scribbling on some paper.
"Eh. Should have started yesterday, but this guy I know kept me busy all day." You sit up in your chair, chewing on your lip.
"Hey. Don't blame me for your scholastic missteps," he laughs as you continue to hear his pen on the paper.
"Why are you assuming you're the guy I'm talking about?" You contest, attempting to stir him up.
"Call me an optimist," he shakes it off, still continuing to write.
"What if you had competition? Would that scare you?" You find yourself asking with eagerness.
"I'm an ER doctor who's ex-vet with nice hair," he begins, not paying close attention. "Who's competing with me?" His words don't hold smugness, just exude confidence.
"Someone's cocky," you tease, leaning your elbow on your desk, palm holding your cheek, enjoying the playful banter.
"Confidence isn't cockiness, sweetheart," he simply says as you hear a chair creak over the line.
"So they say," you say, feeling a sudden hotness.
"So, why did you call?" He asks curiously, eyes still focused on a patient file.
"Am I not allowed to call my boyfriend?" Your voice is full of faux hurt.
He smiles. "Of course, you can call me anytime sweetheart," his voice is sweet. "You just usually have a reason. Are you stressed?"
You let out a deep sigh. "A little, but I feel bad ranting to a guy who literally has to save lives for a living."
"Come on," he urges, his patience evident. "Hit me."
"It's just…midterms are coming up, and this fucking dissertation," you struggle to articulate, "I know this is going to sound dramatic, but I feel like I'm being swallowed whole, you know?" Your voice quivers with stress.
He sets his pen down. "It's hard," he agrees. "But doable."
"Wow. That's some great insight, Jack. You should consider writing a self-help book," your apparent sarcasm makes him smile.
"Nah. Writing passages for the uninspired, unwilling to make the application is not really my thing," he quips, tilting back in his chair.
"Everyone's a cynic," you say with a humorous undertone that has him smiling in his chair.
The silence hangs over the phone for a moment.
"Are you on break right now?" You finally break the silence, tone full of anticipation.
"Just took twenty to breath," he suspires, hand coming to massage the bridge on his nose.
You chew on your bottom lip. "Are you in your office?"
"I am, yeah," he sits up in his chair. "Why?"
"Just curious," you lick your lips. "I miss you."
"Saw you this morning, sweetheart," he voices with a smile.
"I know, I know," you affirm. "I'm just feeling…needy."
He can hear you shuffling around. "What are you doing?"
"What do you want me to be doing, Jack?" You coax, lying on your bed.
You don't hear anything over the line, and you go to speak before you hear the click of a door closing and the same creaking of the chair.
"Pants off," he commands, voice husky.
You oblige eagerly, stomach fluttering as you slip your pants off and toss them on the floor. "What now?" You ask, already feeling breathless.
"Let's put those pretty little fingers to good use, yeah?" His voice is so low and raspy. "Slide them over your stomach. Don't go any lower," he directs, shifting in his chair.
You slide your fingers down your stomach, tenderly and easily, panting into the phone as you do so.
"That's it, pretty girl," he praises. "Keep going for me."
You let out a shallow moan at the praise, fingers moving up and down your stomach with purpose.
"Take your panties off, baby," he almost releases a groan at the sounds that come off your tongue as you slip your panties off, tossing them off you with the swing of your foot.
"They're off," you breathe, fingers coming back to brush on your stomach.
"Good girl," he begins. "Move your fingers across your pussy. Nice and easy strokes," his voice is so gruff, you could just come to the sound of him talking.
Your fingers move down to place easy strokes on your aching cunt, arousal already accumulating. "Feels good," you whimper, brain hanging onto his praise.
"Good. Just follow my voice," he says. "I'll make you feel good, okay?" He prompts before leaning closer into the phone. "Rub your fingers against your clit," he tells you.
"Jack…." You mewl into the phone as your finger plunges into your cunt, rubbing gently against where you ache.
"Oh. That's it," he gruffs. "Touch yourself, baby…just how you like, yeah?"
"Okay," you breathe out as your fingers actions speed.
"Doing so good," he compliments, hearing the wet sounds of your fingers plunging in and out of you. "Talk to me…let me hear you."
"Feels so good, Jack," you moan out, fingers working faster. “So good.”
"Yeah?" He says, egging you on.
"Mhm," you reply, pleasure building in your lower stomach.
"You gonna be a good girl and come by the hospital later?" He asks as he hears your panting increase.
"Yeah…can't wait to see you," your voice is strained as your fingers work, rubbing against your clit fast.
"Oh, I bet, baby," he says. “I'll make you feel even better in person. Rub you off myself until you come on my fingers." His tone is downright scandalous.
You let out a louder moan, feeling an all-consuming, toe-curling orgasm crash into you.
Jack's eyes locked onto the door knob twisting open, issuing a hurried goodbye before hanging up and tossing his phone on his desk.
Dr. Robby enters, file in hand, staring curiously at Jack's phone on his desk. "Who was that?"
"No one," Jack says instantly, grabbing his phone to put it into his pant pocket.
"Okay. Guess we'll do the secrets thing," Dr. Robby raises his brows before handing the file to Jack. "Got a patient with a heart arrhythmia."
Jack abruptly shifts his focus back to work, his mind void of his personal matters. "Send them to cardio," he instructs, his tone professional and detached as he scans over the file.
"Yup. Already on it," Dr. Robby agrees.
Jack tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. "If you already did that, why did you need my consultation?"
"He's a vet. Said he knows you," Dr. Robby shrugs tilting his head to the side. "North side, room 25."
Jack simply nods as Dr. Robby heads out the door before sinking into his chair, deeply exhaling, the gears in his brain turning.
He was on the phone making you come just mere seconds ago, and he was a fragment of a second away from your dad being able to hear your sweet voice through the phone.
If that doesn't constitute a one-way ticket to the fiery pits, he's not sure what does.
The overwhelming sound of a thumping base and the smell of cheap beer and sweat hangs heavy, clouding your senses.
Your friend has convinced you to go to one of the frat parties.
Nothing like spending your Friday night in a small, confined room full of horny college boys and desperate sorority girls.
The friend in question is a girl you've grown exceptionally close to within the last year.
Did everything together.
You were practically a part of her family, even her moms boyfriend took a liking to you and he was a hard ass.
But, you were particularly close to her dad.
Dr. Abbott.
Oh, you know, the guy you were secretly dating and screwing.
Even made you come over the phone just some hours ago.
Guilt gnaws at your brain as your friend leads you into the house where the party is happening.
"God, it reeks of weed," you say, covering your nose as the pungent odor fills the air.
"It's a college party. I'd be concerned if it didn't," your friend replies dryly, pulling you through a crowd of college kids toward the kitchen to grab some drinks.
"Don't pour anything too strong," you warn, raising your eyebrows as your friend reaches for a bottle of vodka.
"Just one shot? To celebrate you finishing your dissertation?" She asks, messily pouring the shots.
"I haven't finished it yet—" you begin to protest, but she thrusts a shot in front of you, filled to the brim, causing some of the liquid to spill over the side.
"Shot incoming!" She says with a bright smile, bringing the shot to her lips.
You begrudgingly down the shot with her, both cringing at the taste.
"Tastes like shit," you remark, wiping some off your lip.
"Ugh," your friend winces at the potent flavor and, like clockwork, grabs two more cups to make another drink, this time less intense.
You spot another friend on the couch in the living room, showing off a bag of white pills. You grab your friend's arm, leave your drinks on the counter, and walk over to him.
"What are those?" You ask, crossing your arms and tilting your head toward the pills.
"It's black star, straight from Germany," he replies, shaking the bag.
You and your friend raise your eyebrows in confusion.
He tilts his head and shakes the bag again. "You know, superman? Because it takes you to space." He flaps his arms, pretending to float until his girlfriend elbows him.
"Christ. Enough with the theatrics," she chimes in, standing beside him. "It's LSD. You guys want one?" She tips the bag, letting a couple drop into her palm.
"Sure," your friend shrugs, reaching for the pills.
You shoot her a disapproving look. "Absolutely not. You have no idea what those are made of. Do you want to end up in the ER, having to explain to your dad what you were thinking?" Your eyebrows raise as you speak.
"You're no fun," your friend with the pills laughs, popping one onto his tongue.
You give him a disapproving look before turning back to your friend. "I guess you're right," she says quietly. "He would kill me if the pills didn't."
You nod in agreement. "Let's go get those drinks you made, yeah?" You grab her arm, leading her back to the kitchen.
Your drink has shifted slightly to the side on the counter, but that doesn't deter you from throwing it back completely.
Your friend chugs her drink, licking her lips. "Should we do another?" She poses it as a question, but she isn't asking, already cracking open a fresh bottle of Everclear.
You ponder for a moment, then hand your empty cup to her. "Fine," you exclaim, feeling a mix of exasperation and amusement.
Your friend beams, pouring the spirit into your cups.
"Cheers to..." she trails off, pursing her lips as she hands you a drink.
"...a good night," you finish, clinking your cup with hers.
A smile spreads across her face, and once again, you both down the alcohol. The burn in your throat soothes your thoughts and lulls your brain into submission.
Tonight was definitely going to be a good fucking night.
It's been twenty minutes since then.
Your skin feels blistering yet icy.
Your head is pounding; you wouldn't be surprised if your brain imploded and cracked your skull.
A wave of nausea hits you, then retreats before you act.
What the fuck is going on?
Sure, you drank more than you should have, but this was not what usually happens.
You glance at your friend perched in a corner near you, talking to a girl about something regarding her last lecture.
Nerd.
You presume she's fine.
Leaning against a wall, disoriented, you pull your phone out, opening up your text thread to the one and only.
Jack Abbott.
You haphazardly type out your sentence, and your vision starts to double, but that does nothing to deter you from texting him.
He answers immediately.
Me: what r u up 2? working 2night?
Him: Why are you texting me in numbers?
Me: omg ur so oldd im crying kinda heartwarming though
Him: Heartwarming? How so? Him: Also, where are you?
Me: its just cute lol ur so cute Me: @ party that ur daughter dragged me 2 i feel woozy
Him: I'm cute? Honey, I'm old. Him: Have you been drinking? No drugs, right?
Me: yea ur cute sexy hot yup u check all the boxes dr hotness Me: no my friend tried 2 give uss lsd but i scolded ur daugher Me: i wouldnt ever take that shit or let her im drunk though
Him: Dr. Hotness? Hmm...that's a new one. Him: You need me to pick you two up? I can.
Me: noo were good i wouldnt wanna keep u from saving lives and all
Him: Let me come get you.
Me: jack im fine promise you better not show up or ill kill uu Me: i wouldnt actually but id be mad
Him: I can handle you being mad at me, sweetheart. Him: I just want both of you to be safe.
Me: were fine i promise! ur daughter is lit talking to a girl about her bio stats lecture shes such a nerd
Him: And you? What are you doing?
Me: texting u ofc
Him: Enjoy your party, but don't be stupid. Him: Take care of yourself and my daughter. Him: Call me if you need me.
Me: okay mr serious pants ill talk later byee
"Who ya texting?" Your friend scoots next to you, dilated eyes attempting to look at your phone screen.
"No one," you pull your phone to your chest in a panic, straightening your posture.
"Oh my God. Is it a guy? Do you have a secret boy toy I don't know about?" She nudges your side, face warmed from the alcohol.
"It's none of your beeswax," you huff, rolling your eyes playfully, attempting to sound nonchalant, though you can feel your head begin to spin again, but this time much faster.
"You know, I've never understood that saying," she says, her expression serious.
You release a silent laugh as your words slurry, "Just, just go back to talking about your nerd things," you pat her shoulder gently, feeling your body shift, muscles relaxing to a disturbing degree.
"Whatever," she laughs, trudging herself back over to her friend.
Him: Funny, but seriously, please be safe. Talk to you later.
That was the last thing you read.
Your phone screen goes black as you feel the smack of your cheek hitting the cold wood and the sound of your friend rushing over to you, shaking your shoulders.
The urgency in her actions is palpable, a silent scream in the air.
Your friend calls your name over and over again, repeating it with more desperation each time, sobbing as she attempts to shake you awake.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she curses; your body is still, skin hot to the touch. "She, she won't wake up," her voice is shaky and frantic as she shakes you again, begging you to wake up. She snaps her head to whoever is close to her, her eyes filled with fear and desperation.
"Call 911. Now."
"Female, early to mid 20s, unresponsive. Found at a party with signs of possible drug ingestion," a paramedic shouts, rushing you in on a stretcher into the ER as a nurse materializes at your side, the urgency palpable in the air.
Your friend follows close behind, mascara running down her cheeks as she frantically tries to see you.
"What the…oh shit," Langdon exclaims, his shock evident as he moves quickly from behind the triage desk, his gaze shifting from you, looking lifeless, strapped onto a gurney, to Abbott's daughter hot on the paramedic's trail, sobs escaping her.
"Frank. Oh my God," she cries out, rushing over to him. "Please. You, you need to help her. They're, they're saying she was drugged," she stutters, hands moving messily through her hair.
"Hey, hey. Calm down, okay?" He puts his hands up, eyes searching her frantic eyes. "Tell me what happened," he says, now rushing over to you.
"I'm, I'm not sure," she heaves out as Langdon comes to your side, pulling your eyelids up to look at your pupils. "I turned around for a se, second then I heard her hit the ground."
"Dilated pupils. No sign of head trauma," he says, his voice urgent, his actions swift. "Let's move her to the north side, room 27," he turns, gesturing for Whitaker, whose eyes curiously stare at what is unfolding. "Whitaker, with me," he supplies, tipping him towards you. "Did she take anything?"
"No. Not that I know of," your friend sputters, her concern palpable, hot on Langdon's trail as he moves with you to the room, Whittaker following close behind. "She just drank."
"Drank what?" He asked promptly. "Let's get her on a monitor and start an IV with naloxone." He directs the nurse before looking at your shell-shocked friend. "What did she drink?"
Your eyes widen, and you search for the right words. "Um…vo, vodka and tequila…with Everclear," you manage to say, your voice trembling with shock.
"Yikes. Sounds like a bad night waiting to happen," he comments with a wince as he starts pushing the naloxone into the IV catheter. "Whitaker, go get Robby and Abbott. They're gonna wanna be here," he says, not looking up.
"Need her BP, pulse, and oxygen saturation. Let's get a tox screen, too," Langdon says urgently, not missing a beat.
"BP's 90/60, pulse is 110, oxygen saturation's 92% on room air," The nurse supplies.
Langdon cringes. "Let's give her some oxygen and start another IV with 1 liter of normal saline wide open. Need to do a CT scan of her head so that we can rule out intracranial hemorrhage," he continues, assessing you as your friend anxiously waits by the door. "Where the hell are Robby and Abbott?"
"What's going on?" Dr. Robby moves in, following Whitaker, with Abbott close behind Robby.
Dr. Abbott turns to see his daughter sobbing near the door as they all flood in.
"Came in unresponsive. Possible drug ingestion," Langdon eyes flick between Robby and Abbott. "Robby...it's your daughter."
Dr. Robby's eyes widen, twisting his head, issuing a curse as he moves into action. "Fuck—what the hell did she take?"He spits, looking around, and his eyes land on your friend.
"I don't, I don't know," her voice trembles with fear. "I, I just looked away for a second, and then I heard her hit the floor," she turns to Dr. Abbott, chest heaving. "She, she looked...so lifeless, Dad," she cries out. "I, I thought—" she trails off as Jack brings her into his arms.
"Shh," Jack holds his daughter as she sobs. "It'll, it'll be okay."
Jack wants to rush over to your side, heal you, then ambush you with a kiss.
But he can't.
Not now, anyway.
"Where's the cardiac monitor? Get the God-damn monitor on her!" Dr. Robby's voice echoes with urgency, his mind racing frantically. "Were you watching each other? How did this happen?" He blurts out a million different, unimportant questions in the heat of the moment.
All he can focus on is your lifeless body right in front of him.
"Robby...Robby," Langdon raises his voice. "Look at me," he pleads; Robby's eyes move to Langdon, with a deep exhale through his nose. "You need to calm down and treat your daughter," he says, his head nodding as he speaks. "Save her first; ask those questions later."
Dr. Robby sucks in a deep breath giving Langdon a nod before turning his attention back to you. "Whitaker, push in another dose of naloxone," he directs.
Whitaker nods, pushing in a second dose of the medicine.
Everyone stands around you, anxiously waiting for you to wake.
Jack releases a shaky breath as he holds his daughter, mind already imagining the worst.
You spring awake, eyes wide and bright with a gasp, a sudden surge of relief washing over the room.
"Oh my God," your friend rushes to your side, grabbing your hand to ensure you're real. "You saved her," she turns to Whitaker.
"I just—" Whittaker starts before your friend pulls him right against her, pressing a messy kiss to his cheek, smearing lipstick on his skin.
"Thank you so much," she mumbles into him, her voice choked with emotion as she pulls away to hug you, her gratitude palpable.
“I’m, I’m alright,” your voice is barely above a whisper, betraying your vulnerability as your friend steps aside for your dad's embrace.
"You're never leaving me again, kid," he half-jokes, his voice filled with relief and a hint of fear, hugging you tightly.
You can't help but laugh, your eyes meeting Jack's, who's staring at you with such intensity.
You open your mouth to call him over, but he leaves the room.
He dissipates, as does the protest on your tongue.
"Let me get you some water," Dr. Robby kisses the top of your head, tilting his head toward Langdon to follow him out, leaving only you, your friend, and Whitaker in the room.
He's charting something when your friend moves next to him; her steps are careful, and her voice is a gentle murmur.
"I meant it, you know? Thanks for helping her," she smiles at him, eyes softening as she sees the lipstick mark still on his cheek. "You're gonna be a great doctor."
He gives her a smile, the tips of his ears going red from nerves. "I, well, yeah…than, thanks," he stutters, pretending to write something down.
"It's cute how nervous you get," she smiles, rocking on her heels.
His eyes widen. "Sorry, I, I have another patient," he says, avoiding her gaze and walking to the door.
She giggles as he walks out the door, bumping into the doorway as he exits. His face turns bright red as he turns to go in the complete wrong direction.
"I'm glad you're using my passing out as a means to meet cute guys," you say groggily, humor in your tone.
Your friend's eyes widen. "I would never—"
"I'm kidding. Whitaker is the only guy I don't think any dad would object to. He's super sweet. Would be a good match for you," you simply say.
"He's nice, yeah," she agrees, her face warming with a playful blush.
"He's really nice," you correct. "And he wants to be a doctor," you release a breath. "Might as well marry him on the spot," you joke.
She lets out a laugh before coming over to you. "You're okay?"
You nod your head. "I'm okay."
Dr. Robby comes in, walks over to hand you the cup of water, and then turns to your friend. "Honey, the police want to ask you some questions," he begins. "I can come with you."
She nods, lightly squeezing your hand before moving in front of your dad to walk out the door.
You sit up and see Jack hovering outside. "Jack, can you wait with her?" Dr. Robby murmurs to him.
He nods, coming in and slowly closing the door behind him.
"Jack..." You can already feel your throat clogging and want to die from embarrassment.
How could this have happened to you?
You've always been so careful.
"I'm, I'm here, sweetheart," he says, pulling up a chair next to your bed before sitting in it to hold your hand.
"I, I don't remember anything," you start, tears clinging to your lashes. "Do you know what happened to me?"
He hesitates for a moment, squeezing your hand tighter. "Think you were drugged."
Your eyes widen. "Dru, drugged?" You stumble over your words, unable to comprehend what he said. "Like someone spiked my, my drink?" The shock of the revelation hits you like a wave, leaving you struggling to process the information.
He gives you a weak nod. "Most likely."
You sink into the bed, tongue coming to lick your dry lips before the tears start pouring down your cheeks. "I, I can't believe it. I could have—" you start, eyesight blurring from your tears, chest beginning to heave. In this moment, you feel more vulnerable than you ever have before.
Jack pulls you into his arms, your tears pooling on his scrubs. You're trembling with fear, and his embrace is the only thing calming you.
"I got you, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You're safe now."
You press your face into his chest, salty tears coating your lips, his embrace offering you immense comfort.
"I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
author's mini note: he would so talk you through it...
Since my Robby one is so popular lol, I thought you guys would appreciate an Abbott one! Stay tuned for more Abbott and Robby solo fics, but I will have part 3 of my Rabbot fic out soon.
Loves cooking for you, he hates that you're so busy you "forget to eat". Morning after morning, he sees you scrambling out of the house on an empty stomach and sees you come back home and pass out with no dinner. He gets so worried that you're gonna pass out, so he starts packing your lunch and making you breakfast/dinner when you're over. "Alright, Jackie, I gotta go, MWAH." he runs after you with a little lunch bag. "Wait, wait, sweetheart, I made you lunch, don't forget it." You damn near cried when he gave it to you because you've never been cared for like this.
2. Weirdly so good at crafts, no like frustratingly good. You suggested you guys do a little paint-and-sip night. This man eats you up and makes such pretty, little, detailed work. You wanna crochet? You'll be struggling on a stitch; meanwhile, he's made you a little skirt you can go out in. Sewing? You can't hem properly, oh, but he can make you new god damn pillow covers. He thinks it's adorable when you get annoyed and yell, "Jack?! What the hell?? Did you secretly take classes for all these behind my back?" he laughs, rubbing his jaw, "I'm an old man, sweetie, with time comes skill."
3. He has such a soft exterior but tough interior. He'll be very calm and relaxed, doesn't wanna start fights, but he does not play about you. One night, you guys were getting drinks, and some asshole grabbed you, and Jack played it off in front of you, telling you to go wait in the car, and he's gonna "talk to the guy". There was no talking; he punched the guy till he was a bloody mess in the alley, then sweetly came back to the car, saying it was all good. You saw the bruising on his knuckles, but you don't say anything. He would never let you see how aggressive he can get.
4. Jealousy problems, but won't admit it. He saw you talking and laughing with Dennis one time, and he literally wanted to jump off the roof. Seeing you so happy and smiling with someone closer to your age was another big punch to the gut. He casually strolls over after asking, "What was that about, sweetie?" clearly trying to be nonchalant but failing. "Oh, nothing, Whitaker invited me out to Amy's farm!" you said excitedly. He just nods like he's so cool with it, but now he feels like he needs to go find Whitaker and shoot him. "That's great, angel, I'm happy for you." Spoiler alert, he was not fine with it, and you have to reassure him.
5. SOFT DOM!!! He's a soft dom through and through. He talks you through it and praises you for listening. "There we go, sweetheart, just a little more, you can take it. Good girl." Does not accept any whining or complaining. You let out a big whine, "Pleaseeee, daddy, please put it in." he shakes his head, pulling it away, "Tsk tsk, no whining. You're a big girl, use your words."
6. Non sexual dominance all day, every day. Tells you what to do all the time: "Drink your water, all of it." "Come here, angel." "Go to bed, it's late". He has no issue guiding you through everything, and he knows you love being told what to do even when he's not pounding you in bed.
7. Encourages you to do nude yoga with him. He says it's relaxing and good for you, but the real reason is he wants to see you naked in different positions. Will definitely remember poses and try them in bed with you.
8. Pays for everything. He despises it when you use your own money. He had you add his cards to your phone and told you to use them. "Save your money, angel. I don't ever wanna see a charge on your card for anything, okay?" Will constantly tell you to work fewer hours and relax. "Don't want my sweet little girl stressed over anything. Take all the time you want off." He doesn't want you worrying your pretty little head about anything.
9. Worries about you all the time. He has really bad PTSD, and losing his wife on top of that makes him terrified for you. He gets panicked when you don't pick up the phone or take a little too long to reply to your texts. He also struggles with his own mental health, and he sometimes worries that you'll do something to hurt yourself the way he wanted to when he was stressed. One time your phone died and you forgot to charge it when you got home so you woke up to him on your front door pounding, he was spiraling and you had to sit with him on the floor and assure him everything was okay.
10. He doesn't do casual. The man used to be married, for God's sake. He gets drinks with you, and after the first night you guys slept together, he started being your boyfriend. He brings your flowers every week and will openly tell everyone he's in a relationship. You're confused when he pays for everything and calls you night and day to check on you, and also plans dates. You've never had to ask him, he just does it cause he's a grown ass man, not a 20-year-old college boy who plays around with you for weeks and needs to be told everything.
