"Disappointing Writing"
(If only characters could speak for themselves)
"You know, you could have warned me, before forcing me to look at something so utterly disgusting..." cit*
summary: before your shift, you and jack into a disagreement. when a patient accidentally hurts you, you realise something about your relationship with him.
content: jack abbot x afab!reader (i wrote this with afab in mind, but it’s pretty gn), reader uses she/her pronouns, reader has hair, reader is shorter than jack, non-specified age gap, medical inaccuracies, descriptions of injury (broken cheek bone, gash, and bruises), reader gets assaulted by a patient, hurt/comfort, fluff, bad writing, proof read only once because i’m lazy
wc: 2.7k+
a/n: hey everyone!! sorry for being absent for so long. depression + anxiety + ocd + uni is kicking my ass. i’ll do my best to write some more just for funsies. this is my first abbot fic, so please be kind!! i’m so sorry if i mess anything up, please let me know in a nice manner. i know my writing is very truly terrible, so if anyone has any tips or comments, do let me know!!
It had been a beautiful day, not that you or Jack had noticed, sleeping through the light until your blaring alarm went off.
When you awoke, his arms were wrapped around you, his warmth comforting in your shared world of morbid brutality and death. It was the little things that made you able to cope with the constant loss.
It was a leisure evening, just relaxing and having dinner before a long shift started. You don’t know how it happened, how it escalated so fast.
It started off as nothing more than a silly disagreement over something unimportant like where the salt should go in the cabinet. It carried from the kitchen to the bedroom, where you two were getting dressed. It wasn’t long before you were at each other’s throats, yelling and screaming until you said something you couldn’t take back.
You didn’t realise what you had said until you saw his expression falter, his eyes glossing over and a frown framing his lips.
Pulling your scrub top over your head, you quickly stand up and walk towards him. “Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry I didn’t-“
He shakes his head dismissively, his adam’s apple bobbing along the column of his throat. “I’ll see you later,” Jack drawls, slipping his go-bag over his shoulder before walking out of your shared apartment. The door closed gently behind him. Even in anger and hurt, he cared.
Guilt immediately settled into your chest, the gravity of the situation finally taking toll on you. You had been dating Jack for almost two years and never had a fight like this. He had never left.
Once you slip on your shoes, you follow after him, grabbing your backpack on your way out. He was already so far ahead, but you manage to catch up to him.
Usually when you walk together, there was this silent calm. It was light, nothing like how it felt now. It’s weighted, heavy in a way it has never been before.
Your eyes flicker between the sidewalk and his face, the hurt lingering there in his eyes. Jack never met your gaze, slipping on his professional apathetic mask.
An ache grew in your chest, knowing this wasn’t something you could fix before the shift. The sun had already begun to set, oranges and yellows painting a beautiful story across the sky.
When you finally reach the hospital, he immediately peels away from your side to go to his desk.
You knew you deserved it, but the sting wasn’t any duller.
The shift started off smooth, routine and steady. A few kitchen accidents needing stitches, a kid who fell out of his bunkbed and broke his collarbone, and a couple of drunken fist fights. Halfway through a few more serious injuries popped up, but all were steadily handled.
It was easy to fall into that familiar rhythm of practiced smiles and examinations. It was a normal shift for you, but it felt so empty.
Jack kept his distance, but remained professional. You still went to him with any questions, after all, he was still your attending. But he didn’t linger, not tonight. He didn’t guide you with his hands like he usually did, or whisper gentle instructions and praise into your ear.
You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the incoming patients. It was pointless, your gaze drawn to him no matter how hard you tried to stop. Already eleven hours in, on the last hour of your shift, you couldn’t wait to get home and be with him.
“Hey,” your head snapped towards John as he said your name, walking towards you with a small smile and tired eyes. “A drunk guy with a huge facial laceration and a possible broken cheekbone just came in, do you want to take him?”
“What’s the occasion?” You ask, amusement creeping into your tone. It wasn’t like Shen to give up the good cases.
He simply shrugs, glancing towards Jack with a knowing gleam in his eyes. “You look like you could use a distraction,” he offers simply before tilting his head to the right. “He’s in exam room three, good luck.”
Rolling your eyes, you smile and walk away towards the room where the man is. Just like John said, his face has a long cut across his very swollen cheek. Blood trickles from the wound, mixing into his blonde beard. Half of his face is enlarged, bruising already marring his skin. He was large, taking up most of the bed in height and width.
“Good evening, sir,” you state your name as you lather your hands with hand sanitiser before snapping on some gloves. “Can you tell me what happened?”
The man sits up, leaning towards you. “It doesn’t matter, just fix my fucking face already,” he snaps, his brown eyes bloodshot and wide. Rudy, the name you got from the chart, reeks of alcohol. The smell makes you fight back a recoil, your sinuses stinging from the sharp scent.
You smile politely, trying to hide your disgust. “All I need to know is if there is any chance of debris in the cut? If there’s anything left over I would need to locate it and pull it out,” you explain, trying to coax him into telling you the truth. “So, sir, is there anything that I should know?”
Once he shakes his head, you walk him through the procedures, following protocol. As soon as he gives consent to treatment, you roll over one of the tray carts and place a few needed items on top of it.
To give you more room, you press the metal tray against the wall. “Can you look that way for me, Mr. Taylor?” You ask sweetly, relieved when he finally looks towards the door and gives you a clear view of the wound.
“It looks like a minor cheekbone fracture, nothing out of place or too serious,” you comment, looking along the swelling for any signs of displacement. “I’d recommend some ice, pain killers, and not moving it around much. Now, I’m going to apply some numbing cream around the cut, it may tingle for a moment or two,” the warning comes off soft, tentative as you begin to gently dab the area. He hisses, flinching away and cursing under his breath. A hushed apology falls from your lips as you continue rubbing the ointment around the torn skin.
Allowing the numbing cream to set in, you ask a few more questions before continuing on with the procedure, the action practiced and nearly perfected after many years of administering sutures. “I’m going to clean the cut, now. Tell me if anything hurts,” you utter, taking the antiseptic solution and bringing it to the laceration.
When it meets his skin, Rudy shouts, recoiling and reflexively swinging his arm. His elbow collides with your shoulder, knocking you harshly into the hard metallic tray.
Crack.
Agony blooms in your side, spreading across your ribs. You try to catch your breath, closing your eyes as you slide down to the floor. You’re winded at least, but you know it’s more than that.
As your senses slowly come back to you, you hear it, the screaming and the yelling.
“That hurt, you fucking bitch!” Rudy screams, wincing when he opens his mouth too wide. “I need a new doctor!”
The sound is muffled, your eyes dazed and your head foggy. Your breaths were shaky as you tried to catch it, but it felt as if you had been running a marathon. Every breath felt like needles poking at your side over and over again.
Indistinct voices echo around the room, a few people coming in to calm the man down.
Snapping out of it, you grab onto the wall and push yourself up, biting your lip to hold back a whimper. Without a word, you slip out the door and beeline towards the only spot that can clear your head.
The sky was beautiful, oranges, pinks, and yellows already painting the horizon in shades of morning. The wind was cold, biting even. You didn’t care, it cleared your head in a way others couldn’t.
The night shift was over, the city slowly coming to life. Your arms rest laxly over the railing, climbing over the metal too much of an effort in your state.
Your cheeks stung, wet streaks left where your tears had dried. The raw skin stung with every icy kiss of air, the sensation grounding. You just wanted this night to be over. Just wanted to go home and curl up in bed with Jack.
Ever stealthy, you feel him before you see him. His warmth welcome as he settles in next to you, his side pressed against yours.
“Shen told me what happened,” his voice was rough, trailing off towards the end. Heat blossoms as he turns, both of his large hands cupping your cheeks gently, tilting your head to look up at him. Jack notices the tears right away, his dark hazel eyes immediately soften. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
His gentle coo only makes its worse, a soft sob leaving your lips as guilt and pain bubble up inside you. Instinctively, Jack wraps his arms around your trembling frame, only for a soft whine to leave your lips.
He pulls back, searching for the source of your hurt. “Sweetheart, I need you to tell me,” leaning down, he kisses your tears away, lips brushing softly against your skin. “Please, baby, just tell me what’s wrong.”
Like a dam, you break, giving in to his beautiful, big puppy eyes and his whispered plea. “I w-was trying to help a p-patient,” you stutter, adrenaline rushing through your tired body in a way that was nothing short of overwhelming. “I-I must not have applied enough numbing cream, because when I went to clean it, he accidentally h-hit me. I was too slow to-”
“He hit you?” Jack cuts you off, his tone firm, catching you off guard. “Where are you hurt?”
Biting your lip anxiously, you shake your head. “I-It was an accident, he didn’t mean any harm,” you start, trying to explain. “I’m fine,” the lie slips out, but he doesn’t believe it. “It was just my arm.”
Jack’s warm hands gently take your right one, slowly sliding up your arm until he reaches the sleeve of your scrubs. His gaze dart towards yours, silently asking permission. When you nod, he pushes the fabric up until he sees the ugly, swollen Monet of purples, reds, and blues.
You watch his face as he takes it in. Curiosity, sadness, worry, and rage flicker across his features before he calms down. He swallows thickly, looking down at you with such sincerity. “Is there anywhere else,” he asks, knowing there’s something you’re not telling him.
“When I fell back…” you pause, not meeting his gaze. You felt exposed, raw and open like a scrape. “I hit the cart. M-my ribs took most of the impact against a handle. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Shaking his head, Jack pulls back and drops to his knees, strong calloused hands reaching out for the hem of your shirt. “Can I?” The doctor whispers softly, looking up at you with pure worry and concern. “I just want to see it.”
Reluctantly you nod, gaze turning up towards the sky. You didn’t want to see the look on his face when he saw it. You hadn’t checked it, but with how much it hurts you know it’s not going to be pretty.
Cold air licks at your skin, causing you to shiver as he slowly raises the hem. Jack’s warm breath skims across your skin as he sees the damage, his breath shaky as he examines it.
A dark maroon colour spilled like wine across your ribs, even the air irritating the deep bruise. “Fuck,” Jack whispers as he reaches out, one of his knuckles dragging tenderly across the contusion. An involuntary whimper leaves your lips, tears stinging your eyes as you look down at him. “Sorry, baby. You definitely broke a few.”
Jack looks up at you, deep hazel eyes looking so hurt for you. God, you loved his eyes. The light always caught in them, hiding away his darkness with streaks of brilliant innocence. Keeping eye contact as he leans forward, Jack presses a gentle kiss to your lower stomach, a silent apology for the momentary pain he had caused.
Seeing him like this, so sweet and doting despite this morning’s argument made your chest ache, something so bittersweet. You don’t realise you’re crying again until his rough hands are gently cupping your face, his thumbs swiping the tears away.
“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper breathlessly, instinctively leaning into his touch. “I was such an asshole to you earlier. I didn’t mean to say those things.”
Jack shakes his head, shushing you softly. “It’s okay, honey,” his warm hands gently caress your cheeks, a small attempt to soothe you. “I forgive you, and I’m sorry for leaving without you. It won’t happen again,” with that, his arms wrap around your shoulders, carefully pulling you into him.
Heat blankets you, your body slowly relaxing under his comfort. Without hesitation, your arms wrap tightly around his torso, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips when you feel just how solid his body is.
“It’s truly unfair how hot you are,” you mumble against his chest, the fabric of his scrubs tickling your face. His chest rumbles beneath you as he laughs, the sound rich and amused. For the first time that night and morning, a genuine smile tugged at your lips.
Taking a small step back, one of his hands moves to your hip, the other gently cupping your jaw. Sunlight hits directly across his face, his hazel eyes glowing a mix of gold and greens. “Can I kiss you?” Jack breaths, his gaze darting down to your lips before meeting yours.
Giggling, you lean up and connect your lips. The moment they meet, your body melts against him. A soft gasp slips past as he deepens the kiss, angling his head and running his tongue along the seam of your lips. He groans, the sound rich and throaty. Your breath hitches at the sound, cheeks flushing with heat and need. The kiss nothing short of dizzying.
As soon as it’s begun, it’s over. Jack had pulled back, worry in his eyes. “Shit, honey, are you okay?” He asks, his hands hovering above your frame. That’s when it clicks. He thought you were in pain, not knowing you were just so desperate for him that you forgot to breathe for a moment. “I didn’t mean to hur-”
Lips clash, your body pressing firmly into his, a soft contented sigh leaving your lips. “Opposite of hurt,” you mutter between kisses, smiling against him. “Never stop kissing me, Jack.”
He just laughs, his lips on yours once again. Unlike the first kiss, this one was steady and slow. It’s just a beginning, a build up. Fire slowly lapping at wood, destined to ignite sooner rather than later.
You could stay in his arms forever. Jack’s hands, so rough and callous, touch you like your porcelain, holding you so delicately.
You had never met a man like Jack. After years of being treated like a means to an end, he always reassured you and let you know he was in on it for the long run.
After one last quick kiss turns into minutes, he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. Breaths mingling, lips swollen, minds silenced after such a long day. It was heaven.
Jack’s lip brush against yours before he pulls away, looking down at you with such gentle reverence. The sun’s rays danced in his silver strands, defining each and every curl. His eyes sparkle in the sunlight, like light reflecting off of water. “Let’s get you home,” he whispers sweetly, kissing your forehead and taking your hand in his.
No matter how many arguments, how many disagreements, you know you’ll last. Everyday that passes, mortality makes itself known. It’s in the small things, not just death or pain.
It’s in the yelling, the smiling, and even worst the laughing. One day it might end, sudden as a thunder strike. All you know, is when that time comes, you’ll be appreciative of every second spent with him.
In light and dark, life and death, your forever is him.
divider creds: @/diviniyae
tags: message me, comment, or fill out the google form (pinned page) to be tagged in future posts
final a/n: i hope you enjoyed this random thing!! thank you so much for reading!! do let me know if the formatting is okay or if it wasn’t great
Your front door clicked shut. The sound vibrating through your empty flat. You had only moved here a week ago and had yet to go find furniture. Or proper dishes. Living off of paper plates, plastic cups and a single mattress in the center of the room.
You sighed loudly. Even that echoed.
This was pathetic. You moved out of your home, insisting that you could handle yourself in real life, that you were a grown ass adult but-
There was a loud clatter outside. Nearly making you jump out of your skin. "God, why me." You whispered.
Another shift outside. Near the back door where the creepy alleyway was. The one you had to go out of to take the trash out and dreaded every single second of it.
Heart pounding, you grabbed your purse. Was it a weapon? - no, not at all. Was it all you had? - yes.
Steeling yourself for the potential horrors on the other side, you whispered, "Yes, genius, do the dumb horror movie stuff." Then you pushed open the door.
You seized. Not expecting there to be an actual man there. Maybe a cat, a dog. Something.
His head snapped towards you. A mask covered everything but his eyes. He was tall but quickly hunched over again, gripping the opposite wall for support.
You were too busy being in shock to see that he was strapped to the teeth in weapons, a bullet proof vest and - blood.
Then he collapsed. Legs giving out as he braced himself and landed on the ground with a dull thud. His deep brown gaze cut towards you. "Leave."
That took you out of your shock. "Excuse me?"
He jerked his head. "Y' heard me. Go on." The corners of his eyes crinkled in what you assumed was pain. He was holding his thigh.
"Are you hurt?" You asked dumbly, wanting to punch yourself in the face for asking the obvious. He was not amused.
"If you're going to keep talking atleast bring me some damn guaze." He huffed.
You don't know why but you did. Running to grab the only type of preparation you did take with you. Then ran back but before you could get any closer than his legs, he held up a hand. "Close enough. Hand it over."
You scowled but tossed the kit at him. He began stemming the blood with calm skill that made you wonder how many times he's done this. "Are you military?"
He nodded. The amount of blood he was losing made you want to throw up. It was amazing he hadn't yet passed out. Or maybe you spoke too soon.
One second he was tending and the next he was limp and leaning to the side. Panic striked you. You weren't trained for this! "Oh! Uh, hey, wake up. Don't- uh die. Please don't die."
You grabbed his arm. And damn, was he heavy. Grunting, you slowly but surely managed to get him inside. Probably not your best idea. Letting a strange man in your home.
He remained impassive. You pressed down on his wound, it looked knife like. You couldn't tell if it wss deep or not. So you kept the pressure until you couldn't feel your fingers.
Slowly, he came to, blinking slowly. Observing but as still as a statue. His fingers twitched. "You brought me inside." He noted. "Of your home. Which is very unfurnished."
You stared at him in disbelief. "I'm trying to help you."
He sat up and removed your hand none too gently. "Don't need it." Then he grabbed the needle and thread. "What I do need is to get out of here as soon as possible."
You watched in mild horror as he pushed the needle through one side of the wound and out the other. He took the pain in a stride. "What if you pass out again?"
"I'm more worried about you, love. You look about ready to piss yer' pants." He snorted. Threading it in again.
You sighed in annoyance. "Fine. Let me atleast get you some water or something." You stood up and went to the kitchen.
He said nothing, only turned to watch you. Closely, like you were under his microscope before you came back.
Your hand brushed his as he took the water, downing most of it in one gulp. "What made you help me anyway?"
Crossing your legs beneath you as you thought of the answer, you messed with a stand of your hair. "Basic human empathy."
He raised a brow. "Love, you pulled an armed man inside your house. I think theres a bit more."
You sighed and threw your hands. "Why does it matter?"
His hands paused on the needle. "Because most people wouldn't have. Not in my experience."
Your expression shifted a fraction. A moment passed. Then too. And he was still looking at you. "Why do you keep calling me 'love'?" You asked quietly.
I actually think 96 minutes is plenty of time to present a cohesive and well-thought out story that doesn’t waste itself on convoluted and ultimately useless plot points while hinging on the retconning of established and vital canon (which still doesn’t help it much)
The issue with the finale isn’t the shortened time. The issue is that at the end of the day, bad writing— whether stretched across an hour and a half or six hours— is still bad writing.
