promise - j. abbot
✧･ﾟ: * pairing: Jack Abbot x Female!Reader
✧･ﾟ: * summary: you've been working the day shift throughout your pregnancy without much of a problem. but the third trimester is a bitch.
✧･ﾟ: * content: tooth-rotting fluff, blood draw, pregnancy, soft-whipped-husband-jack abbot
The sun rises over Pittsburgh and it's really a beautiful morning. The lady on the weather channel said that at least three times as you begrudgingly got ready, so it must be true.
You, however, practically crawl into the ambulance bay at the hospital to clock into the day shift and do the best you can for your patients. The best you can on only four hours of sleep, that is—if you were even counting them correctly.
You hear him before you see him. Jack is whistling "Mr. Brightside," one of his favorite songs ever. Comin' out of my cage and I've been doin' just fine, gotta gotta be down because I want it all. He emerges from the sliding doors, his camo backpack slung over one shoulder. His chipper attitude is the one thing you've smiled at since you woke up.
It means all the more because you know he's tired and ready to go home, but wants to give you a good start to the day shift. You're reminded once again that you have the best husband in the world.
"Dr. Unstoppable," Jack smiles crookedly, giving you a kiss and a coffee from the break room. "It's decaf, promise. Good morning."
It's a game the two of you play now: at shift change, he gives you a cute nickname and a cup of decaf, which he makes just for you as he does his final charting. Switching to decaf during your first trimester was maybe harder than all of medical school put together.
"Good morning, sunshine," you say with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.
"You doing okay?" he asks, his voice lowering with concern. "You and baby?"
You instinctively rest your hand on the swell of your belly, now seven months along, rounded under your blissfully loose maternity scrubs. "Just tired, hon. You know how it is."
"Nah. I've never carried someone else around for an entire twelve-hour shift." He steps forward and presses the back of his fingers to your forehead. Satisfied with your temperature, he takes your pulse at your throat.
"Jack—"
He quietens you with one serious look and lets his hand drop after a few seconds.
"Little too fast for my liking. Sure you shouldn't come home with me?"
Robby's voice pipes up from somewhere behind you. "Who's going home?"
"No one," you sing before Jack can answer. You turn to see Robby putting away his headphones. "Morning, Robby."
You love working with Robby. Having him as your attending eased the difficulty of switching to an entirely different shift from your husband, and he's a great teacher. Where Jack is the decisive and creative rebel, Robby is the textbook and patient mentor. Getting to learn from both of them is a gift, one that you're eternally grateful for.
You and Jack worked together for most of your time in the Pitt, first as an intern and then as a resident, even though Gloria threw fits about the HR implications all throughout your relationship. Jack never was a rule follower, and in his mind, you made it all worth it regardless. You got married and stayed on the night shift, never tiring of your firecracker attending physician.
As soon as you found out you were pregnant, Jack kindly but firmly insisted you switch with someone on day shift. Your OB-GYN, who Jack knew and trusted, recommended it, as well as working fewer shifts altogether. So you switched with Collins. And you simply pretend that you never overheard Jack on the phone with Robby, telling him to take care of you or else.
The change was unexpectedly hard—having to recalibrate your Circadian rhythm for the first time in years, not to mention the bonkers pregnancy hormones. You spend your days off trying not to cling to Jack, forcing yourself to remember that he needs to sleep while the sun is up. But he stays awake as much as he can, and it makes your heart swell.
But the concerned look on his face now, lit up by the morning sun, is making your heart crack a bit.
"Morning," Robby chimes, taking off his sunglasses. He nods to Jack. The two of them know each other so well that sometimes they don't even bother with words. "How's baby?"
"She was rolling around last night," you say with a groan. "Imagine trying to sleep with a rotisserie chicken in your torso."
Robby throws his head back and laughs. "I don't think I can." Seeing Jack's expression, Robby sobers and pats you on the shoulder in his friendly way. "You sure you're up for it today?"
You very pointedly do not look at Jack. Just last week, the two of you had an argument about you continuing to work full twelves multiple times per week. You love your job as much as Jack loves his, but he is increasingly worried. The hours took a toll on any person, so he could only imagine what it was like doing ER shifts with a first-time pregnancy.
And it kills him that you have to do it without him.
"I'll be okay, promise." You hold up the lunchbox Jack packed for you and finally dare to look at him. "I'll eat and keep my fluids up, Dr. Abbot."
Jack finally allows one side of his mouth to quirk up. You kiss his cheek, basking in the feel of the scruff on his face, and tell him to head home.
"Have a good day. See ya, Robby."
"Bye, Jack. I've got her, buddy."
It's only two o'clock and shit has, as they say, hit the fan.
A city bus crash in the mid-morning brought in a flurry of critical cases, so the trauma bays and chairs were completely full even earlier than normal. The bus collided with a minivan carrying a pregnant woman and her two kids, one of whom had a serious neck injury, and the trauma of it all sent the expecting mother into an early delivery. It was moving too quickly for her to get up to labor and delivery's floor, so the poor woman screamed in a bay while the crash victims sat in the hallways murmuring to one another.
Apparently, the windows completely blew out of one side of the bus, so almost everyone on board needed stitches, which took hours in and of itself.
One of the better off crash victims, Marina, only needed stitches in her left arm. She lit up like a Christmas tree when she realized you were pregnant and interrogated you the entire time, in the well-meaning way of a young woman who's just gone through something very scary.
"When are you due?"
"December 29. I can't wait."
What does kicking feel like? Like there's an increasingly large fish trapped in a tank that is your stomach. Is this your first pregnancy? Yes. Is the father in the picture? Yes, he actually works here. Really? Oh, how sweet! Is he a doctor? Yes, he's also an ER doctor. Is it the older guy I saw out in the hall? No, that's Dr. Robby. But he's a very good man, too. He looks like it—if I may say so! I think that's the general consensus. Thanks, Dr. Abbot. Take care.
You discharge Marina after you promise her that you'll keep her name in mind as a contender for the baby. While you're showing an intern how to do a clean suture line on a different patient, a psych patient sprints down the hall with a (thankfully empty) bedpan. He spots the three of you in one of the central rooms and hurls it at the intern, who was just putting her tools back on the tray. The corner of the bedpan nails her in the temple, and she crumples to the floor.
"Robby! Mateo!" you shout. "I need a little help here! And for God's sake, somebody sedate Mr. Bryant!"
Once the intern is roused, assessed, and put in the on-call room with some apple juice and a prayer, you finally get to circle back to one of your pediatric cases. It was just a bad asthma attack, and the kid is now stable, waiting on his parents so he can be discharged.
"Hey, Dr. Abbot," he says cheerfully. "I finished my orange juice."
"Good job, sweetie. While we wait for mom and dad, can you repeat back to me what we talked about earlier? About how you're going to remember to keep your inhaler on you all the time?"
Looking accomplished but a little bashful, he begins to recall the tips you went over with him. You try to nod attentively but you feel strange.
The painted animals on the walls start to change colors a bit. They become pastel instead of their normal vibrant colors. When you blink, they don't go back to normal.
Your lungs don't fully expand when you breathe. The edges of your vision are darkening, like someone reaching around and cupping their hands by your eyes. It sounds like a machine somewhere is whining. I need to turn that off.
Your patient nods with finality, expecting you to congratulate him on his sharp memory, but you can't.
The door opens behind you. Distantly, you hear Dana say, "Dr. Abbot, mom and dad are finally here. Time to discharge this sweetie pie."
Thrilled, the kid jumps off the bed and follows Dana out.
When you stand up to leave, your entire field of vision flashes white and your legs buckle. You feel a twinge of fear, and then nothing else at all.
It's Robby's voice you hear first. "Dr. Abbot. Wake up for us, sweetheart!"
You want to open your eyes, to put him at ease, but the light is so unbearably bright. You feel multiple gloved hands: one holding your wrist, one rubbing your sternum vigorously. It hurts, and you finally know what it's like to be on the receiving end of a pain response assessment.
The confusion is almost worse than the headache and lightheadedness. You can feel a gurney beneath you. You're also freezing cold. And it seems like no matter how hard you try, you can't get your damn eyes to open.
Whoever's digging their knuckles into your sternum is doing a good job, because you finally groan and open your eyes a sliver. You hear Princess shout, "She's awake!" and a deep exhale from Robby.
"Come on, Dr. Abbot," Mateo says. "Open those eyes for us. You're scaring the crap outta me."
You're earnestly trying to comply when Robby flashes his penlight into both your pupils, and you groan again, biting back a few swear words. "Pupils look good," Robby says.
"I—I get that a lot," you try to joke, but your voice sounds far away and reedy.
Robby chuckles, more for your benefit than any real amusement. "Mateo, you get ahold of Jack?"
"Yessir. He's on his way."
At that, you finally get your eyes open all the way, squinting at the seemingly full patient bay. You're surrounded by Princess—holding your wrist and saying something to herself in Tagalog—Robby, Mateo, your sweet little intern, and Dana, who is peeping in without straying too far from central, just in case she's needed. You hear Samira calling from another curtained-off bed, asking about you.
Tears well in your eyes, unbidden. Of course you passed out on one of the most hectic day shifts in a long time. Robby sees the sheen in your eyes and tells Princess to go help Samira and for Mateo to go get a needle and an ultrasound machine.
Terror hits you then. You splay your hands over your stomach, your breath coming out in short gasps.
"Robby," you start to sob, and the tender look on his face makes you cry harder.
The intern shuffles out, pushed on her way by Dana, who gives you a caring smile.
"Shhh. We're gonna check everything out." Robby holds one of your hands. "If you'll let me, I'm gonna do an ultrasound while Mateo does a blood draw for a panel. That ok?"
Swallowing the rest of your sobs as well as you can, you nod, staring up at the ceiling to try to conquer your dizziness. You hear the ultrasound machine's squeaky wheels and Robby warns you about the cold gel, even though he knows you know.
You hate that you're too afraid to even look at the screen.
"There she is," Robby says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You cover your eyes so he can't see the tears again. "Baby Abbot, happy as a clam. Heartbeat's good." He switches the machine off and wipes your stomach with a tissue while you blow your nose into another one.
"Thank God," you whimper, gripping Robby's forearm, just needing some comfort from another human being. He lets you.
"Where is she?" a familiar voice nearly shouts in central. You hear Dana using her very best customer service tone, the one that could calm even the rudest patient out in chairs.
Jack appears around the curtain, Dana and Mateo close at his heels, and you release a shuddering breath. Jack's jaw is clenched tight and his shoulders are locked.
"Sorry to wake you up, honey," you say weakly, absolutely refusing to cry any more. He rushes over to you and grabs your still-freezing-cold hand.
"Don't apologize," he rasps, biting his lip hard. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "You alright?"
You muster up a smile. "'Course I am. I'm Dr. Unstoppable."
Robby gestures to Mateo, who maneuvers around Jack with a needle in his hand. Mateo expertly finds a vein in your arm and takes a sufficient draw before Jack can even ask more questions.
"Baby's alright," Robby says, taking his gloves off and looking seriously at Jack. The former takes an iPad from Princess. "I'm ordering a rapid blood panel. If it's all the same to you, we're gonna put your gurney in the break room. It's quieter and you'll have privacy while you wait."
"And that'll free up this patient bay," you retort without any real venom. You know how it is in the Pitt, and you already feel horrible for inconveniencing all the staff during an already crazy day. "Thank you, Robby. And I'm so sorry."
"None of that," Robby says as he stands up. "My order is in. Now let's get you situated."
Without needing to speak, Jack and Mateo work together to push the gurney out toward the break room. You're certain you blush fiercely with all the staff and patients staring at you, but Jack has one hand on your shoulder, and it grounds you. The two men park you in the corner of the break room, the table moved to one side, and Mateo bows out with one of his sweet smiles.
I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to—
"Sweetheart," Jack murmurs. The raw worry on his face snaps you in half. "What happened?"
He's met by gut-wrenching sobs that threaten to tear his heart out of his chest and out the window. You're crying so hard that it's difficult for you to catch your breath, and he presses your head into his chest, holding one of your cold hands so tightly he's afraid he might be hurting you.
"Talk to me, angel." He pulls up the bottom of his old army shirt—something he had yanked out of the dresser in a hurry, no doubt—and wipes your face with it, not caring how the fabric will look. You hiccup.
"I don't know," you finally answer, shakily. "One minute I'm in pedes talking to an asthma case and the next, Robby is trying to fracture my sternum." You're joking, to ease the pain of it all, but Jack only runs a hand down your spine and nods. You look up into his hazel eyes. "Jack, I'm so glad you're here."
He holds your face in his hands and kisses your forehead. "That's right. I'm here." He steps over to take one of the wooden chairs from the table and places it as close to the gurney as he can. "The labs are going to take a couple of hours. I want you to sleep. I'll wake you in a bit to eat."
You frown. "I promise I meant to eat, Jack. Really."
"All the ER staff say that," he hums, but his usual cutthroat sarcasm doesn't have an edge. "I'm going to go find you a pillow and blanket." When he returns, he tucks you in earnestly and kisses you as gently as he can.
Ten minutes later, you're floating on the edge of sleep despite the muffled noise of the ER and the fluorescent lights. Jack has his chin propped on the gurney and is running his fingers through your hair so softly that you almost don't feel it. In the last moments before you drift off, you swear he's talking to himself.
"Gonna be okay, sweetheart. I swear it. My girls are gonna be alright."
After Jack feeds you your lunch and you take another long nap, Robby comes in with an iPad. The sound of the door wakes you, and Jack pulls out a chair for Robby.
"Alright, Dr. Abbot, Dr. Abbot," he says with a smirk, nodding at each of you. "I've got great news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
You say bad news at the exact same time that Jack says great news. You squeeze his hand.
"I'll respect the lady's wishes. The bad news is you've got rather severe anemia. Not too uncommon in the second and third trimester with the increased blood volume, as I'm sure you both know." He spins the iPad around to show you your chart, ever the teaching doctor, even when he's not trying to be.
"The great news," he says, looking at Jack specifically, "is that everything else is normal. I even consulted with McClellan from labor and delivery. She agrees with me. Recommends iron supplements, bed rest for a while, and a high-iron diet hereafter."
You and your husband still. Then, Jack seems to deflate, his head coming to rest on your thigh. You watch as his rigid hands curl out of their fists. You smile broadly and stroke your husband's back. "That's it? That's all?"
"That's all. The combined low iron, high stress, little sleep, and moving into the third trimester is what caused the fainting. Hopefully it won't happen again." Robby clutches the tablet to his chest. "And I'm sending you home for at least the rest of the week."
"Robby!"
"Doctor's orders," he shrugs. "Jack, I'm feeling inspired to work a double tonight and let Shen take tomorrow. Will you let me?"
Jack is quiet and you realize that his eyes are glistening with tears. "Thanks, man."
They shake hands, which turns into the one-armed hug you recognize from years of knowing them both. Robby even leans down and squeezes you tight.
"Thank you so much, Robby. We love you."
Robby races over to the door. "Don't get sappy. Get outta here." He opens the door and points at you. "Bed rest!"
"I hear you."
Robby waves and disappears.
"Let's stop by the pharmacy for some iron and then head home," Jack says with finality. He briefly leaves and comes back with your bag from the locker room—he knows your code as well as his own. He throws your floral-pattered tote over his shoulder without a bit of irony, and it makes your heart lurch.
No complaining. No I told you so. No arguing. Just a gentle invitation.
You grin like an idiot as he helps you off the gurney. "I love you, Dr. Abbot."
He kisses the top of your head as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. "And I love you, Dr. Abbot. And our little one. So much."
"I won't tell anyone."
"Good. I've got an image to maintain."