summary: in the middle of the worst e.r. shift of your whole career, you catch your not-quite boyfriend, shirtless, in an empty room with another resident. (6.4k)
contents: established relationship/friends with benefits, jealousy (mohabbot take five real quick), angst, hurt/comfort, kinda canon divergent 'cause i wrote this when the spoilers dropped a few weeks ago cw for s2 spoilers, physical assault (a la dana in s1), panic attacks, mentions of blood and medical procedures, mentions of patient death, brief mentions of grief, brief mentions of not eating due to stress n sadness, allusions to smut 18+ (MDNI)
The lamplit room is filled with Jackâs exclusion from it.
You writhe beneath the mussed blankets, still buzzing from the remnants of your orgasm, and watch his shadow move beneath the crack of the bathroom door. Youâre still filled by him, still leaking a mixture of him onto the stained sheets below, and yet you find yourself missing him, anyway.
He does not seem as grieved by the distance as you are. He sobered almost instantly from his own orgasm and promptly slid off your body, without another word or a kiss of reassurance shared between you. Heâd slipped his prosthetic back on and made a beeline for the adjoining bathroom â where he has been for some minutes now, just pacing, and leaving you to stew in the worry of what you had obviously done so wrong.
âDo you wanna order food?â you call into the quiet, reaching for your phone on the nightstand beside you. You miss once, then twice, with hands still tingling from a soul-ascending pleasure. The screen fills the dim room with a blue-white light that makes you squint until your tired eyes adjust.
âWhat?!â Jack shouts back, muffled from behind the door. The hissing faucet shuts off to a slow drip.
âI said, do youââ You cut off your yelling when the bathroom door squeaks open. Jack appears in the doorway, now dressed in the t-shirt and jeans heâd arrived in. Heâs shadowed momentarily by the light behind him until he switches it off again â then heâs painted a dim golden color as he walks back into the bedroom for his shoe.
You hold the thin sheet to your bare chest and shift further up the headboard, bending your knees to accommodate his body when he sits on the edge of the mattress to tie his laces. Your eyes soften, waiting for him to look back at you.
He never does.
More quietly, you tell him, âI asked if you wanted to order food. âCause I donât really feel like cooking right now and, depending on what you want, we should probably wait to order âcause Love Island doesnât come on for another hour, andââ
Jackâs scruffy chin brushes the thin fabric of his shirt as he turns his head slowly to look at you. Thereâs a distance in his eyes that cuts you off, like youâre a quick fuck that doesnât know when to stop talking, like heâs waiting for you to stop so he can get away.
âI think Iâm gonna head out now, actually,â he tells you, then returns to knot his laces.
âOhâŠâ you hum, half-breathless, and pretend his foreign dismissiveness doesnât tear your chest in two. âAre you⊠Are you okayâ?â
âYeah,â he shrugs and rises from the mattress. âIâm fine. I justâ Need to get home.â
You follow him with wet eyes as he rounds the bed for the opposite side, where his phone and wallet sit on the nightstand and his branded rucksack rests on the floor. âWell, do you want me to wait to watch it with you? âCause then I have to text Princes and tell her not to spoil it for me in the morningââ
âGo ahead,â Jack shrugs, with a faint smile that doesnât reach his eyes, as he slides the camo strap over his broad shoulder. âI think Iâll survive a week without it.â
Your frown deepens at his joke.
âDid I do something?â you wonder in a meek voice that makes his chest ache.
âNo,â he scoffs. âOf course not. Why would you ask that?â
âI donât knowâŠâ you murmur shyly, shifting on the mattress and grimacing slightly when the sticky sheets cling to your thighs. âYou never leave right after we have sex, so Iâ I didnât know if, maybe⊠It wasnât good for your something, or if I said somethingââ
âNo, it was greatââ Jack interjects, but cuts himself off quickly thereafter, like he was about to say something he shouldnât.
The word âhoneyâ was about to roll off his tongue the way it always does when heâs talking to you, but it feels wrong to say it now, for a reason he still canât name that threatens to strangle him all the same.
âI just gotta go now. Okay?â
At a loss for what else to do, or what else to say that might make him stay, you just nod with a sad smile. âSureâŠâ
Jack leaves with a polite nod â like the sex was some sort of mindless transaction heâs thanking you for and not something youâve done quite regularly for the past several months. He doesnât speak another word to you when he walks out, and doesnât look back at you once when he shuts the door behind him.
You stew in his absence and forget to eat.
Your tired body functions the following day on nothing but heartache and half a granola bar.
You drown in the bustling emergency department, and in the void of the white screen ahead of you, where you try and fail to do your charting. You canât quite garner the strength to use your hands, much less use your brain to put letters on the screen thatâll just look like alphabet soup to you anyway. Youâre stuck idling in the emptiness inside of you, where your heart withers along with your stomach.
Robby watches from afar, studying you as he flits between patients and residents requiring his attention. He has, self-admittedly, quite the soft spot for you â because youâre the smartest person on this floor and the most sensitive, too, which makes for a great doctor but very often the saddest person youâll ever meet. He waits for you to correct yourself before he has to step in, and potentially make your day worse than itâs obviously already going.
You donât move for six minutes straight.
He timed it.
âWhat is going on over here?â Robby wonders slowly, leaning over the top of the desk and peering down at you with a pair of stern brown eyes.
You blink rapidly to clear the haze of rumination from your vision and shrink into your cushioned seat like a scolded child. âChartingâŠâ you answer with an unconvincing waver in your voice.
âLooks like it,â Robby scoffs with a hint of a smile that gets lost in his greying beard. He taps the desk with his palm and stands to full height again, nodding his head and urging you to follow him. âCâmon. Walk with me.â
He saunters off in the opposite direction of the work station, taking a tablet that Dana hands to him as he goes. It takes a long moment for his words to compute, and you scramble to your feet when he throws you an expectant look over his shoulder. You fall into step with the older man as he drags his glasses from the shirt pocket of his black scrubs.
Robby sets the black frames on the bridge of his nose and wonders aloud with his gaze turned to the screen in his hand, âWhatâs going on with you today, kid?â
âItâs nothing,â you shrug dismissively, sticking close to the manâs side as you weave within the crowded hall.
He flashes you an unenthusiastic glare in return. His eyes dart between your furrowed brows, to your anxiety-bitten lips (where your teeth dig into the delicate skin even now), to where you wrench the hem of your long-sleeved undershirt into trembling fists. Whatever it is, itâs very clearly not nothing.
âIâm not asking to be polite, kid,â the older man tells you, firm but not entirely unkind. âI can tell somethingâs wrong, and itâs affecting your work, soâ Just tell me.â
You swallow hard and struggle to find the courage to speak, or to meet the manâs gaze as your eyes dart everywhere but back at him.
âItâs about your friendâŠâ you confess in a sheepish murmur that gets lost in the droning of the bustling E.R.
It takes Robby a moment or more to catch your meaning.
âJack?â he presses, because he knew the two of you were seeing each other, but not that it was quite so serious to warrant the off-day youâre having now. He makes a mental note to ream Abbot out for it the next time he sees him â âcause he canât have any of his residents upset, least of all you.
You nod with an averted gaze. âHeâs just⊠been offââ
âHeâs always off,â Robby scoffs.
âWell, not with me,â you tell him, foreignly firm in your quiet argument. âAnd now heâs not talking to me, and I have no idea what I didâŠâ
âWell, knowing Jack, you probably didnât do a damn thing,â Robby concedes with a heavy sigh and flashes you a sympathetic look as you turn the corner. âJust give him some time, alright? Heâll come around. He always does. For now, youâve got a patient in 8 thatâs asking for youââ
Before you can make a guess on who it is â though you think you already know the answer â a strong hand wrenches suddenly around your wrist.
The manâs fingers are warm, calloused, and unwavering against your delicate skin. Your heart lurches into your throat at the sudden panic as your chin snaps towards the man towering over you. Heâs tall, bearded, rugged, and so angry heâs red in the face.
âI have been waiting out thereâŠâ the man starts, taut voice wavering with a withheld fire. ââŠFor four hours. When the hell am I gonna see somebody?â
âHow did you get back here?â is the first thing you think to squeak out, because you vaguely recall McKay sending him back to Chairs after taking his vitals some time ago.
Robby steps in then, cutting between you and the stranger to urge him backward and away from you. You rub at your tender wrist when the manâs brutal touch is gone.
âWeâre seeing the sickest patients first, sir. So count yourself lucky you arenât back here,â Robby explains in an even voice, sounding much calmer than he really feels. âBut touch anybody in here like that again, and you wonât be seen at all. Got it?â
The man caves with a heavy breath and with his weathered palms splayed in surrender. âI was just asking a question, manâŠâ
âIâll handle it, boss,â Ahmad cuts in, rushing towards the three of you after catching sight of the altercation from down the hall. He steps between the two of you and the angry patient and ushers him back toward the waiting room.
âDonât touch me,â you hear the man spit, but complying anyway.
âTrust me, man,â Ahmad quips. âI donât want to.â
It takes you a long moment thereafter to catch your breath.
It was certainly not the first time youâve been grabbed by an unhappy patient, and it would certainly not be the last, but you can never quite get used to the fear. The panic is slow to ebb from your veins, even as the man is escorted back to Chairs. You find him sneering silently at you when you catch his eyes, moments before the door shuts behind him.
Robby steps into your tunnel vision, ducking down to meet your gaze with dark eyes glimmering with worry. âYou alright, kid? Did he get you?â
âIâm fine,â you answer on muscle memory and muster a smile that doesnât quite meet your eyes. âIâve seen my fair share of assholes, Robby. Today, even.â
âWell, yeah,â the man scoffs playfully. âYouâre with Abbotâ Iâm sure youâre an expert at dealing with assholes by nowâŠâ
By all accounts, you were not supposed to have favorites at the PTMC. And you didnât really; everyone who stepped foot into the E.R. got the same level of medical care from you â even the assholes. But Louie Cloverfield was different, special. He was the first patient you ever saw as an R1, and when he kept coming in, and you kept picking up his cases, he became your patient.
If Louie was in, and you were on shift, you were the one tending to him. Always.
So, you stay by his side when he loses his pulse, even when the rest of the E.R. reduces to the inevitable chaos of the afternoon rush â even when you know the rest of your co-workers could probably use your help out there now â even when you know thereâs nothing more you can do for Louie to keep him alive.
Sweat beads on your forehead as you kneel at his bedside, pounding firmly at the manâs chest in a feeble attempt to keep his heart beating. Youâve lost feeling in your arms now â theyâve gone from aching, to burning, to utterly numb â but your attempt at resuscitation never stops, not even as dark crimson blood spits from his breathing tube; the clearest sign of blood in his lungs.
Robby watches from the back of the room, keeping a close eye on you and the bodies donned in camo outside the window â as the TEMS unit treats a trauma patient across the way, with Jack Abbot among them. He catches the man glancing around the crowded E.R. for a moment, peering over passing heads for a glimpse of you, before the work inevitably drags him away.
Robby knows you have not yet noticed Jackâs presence.
Youâve got the sort of tunnel vision you always get in a crisis, when you refuse to move on until youâve helped the person in front of you first â which has undoubtedly made you the very backbone of the PTMC patient satisfaction score, though at a detriment to yourself perhaps. Because you never know when to stop; and then, when you inevitably have to, youâll always find a way to blame yourself for it.
âThree minutes since the epi,â you hear Perlah say, over the sound of your pounding heartbeat in your ears.
âHold compressions,â Robby commands.
You stop on instinct, and feel the ache done into your bones. You exhale heavy breaths as you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your gloved hand, careful to avoid the drops of blood spotted there. You feel like your chest is tearing in two when that same, menacing beeping sound fills the air.
âGive me another amp of epiâ and more suction,â you say through panted breaths, situating your palms back over the older manâs sternum. You look past the rogue flyaways falling over your eyes and the nurses crowded around you, peering at Robby with a determined but no less pleading gaze. âWhat do we do? Should weâ Should we give PCC?â
Robby shakes his head with his arms crossed over his chest. âNo, itâs too late for thatâŠâ he hums sympathetically. âAnd heâs not an ECMO candidate, soââ
âWell, can you tell me something that we can do?â you snap, harsher than you mean to.
Robby only softens further, dark eyes going tender around the edges as he tells you, âThereâs nothing else we can do for him, kidâŠâ
âRobby,â you whimper, flinching like heâs hurt you, but never once stopping your compressions. âCâmon. Please, we canâ We can think of somethingâ We still have two more rounds of epi, maybe itâllââ
You exhale a punched-out breath, like not being able to save Louie hits you like a fist to the stomach. Your aching arms tingle with numbness when you part from the unconscious man. That wretched beeping fills the air once more, ringing through your ears and pounding skull.
â12:07,â you hear Robby announce the time of death, as Perlahâs soft hands grasp gently at your shoulders.
âCâmon. Iâll clean up,â the woman tells you, sniffling. âYou take a second.â
âIâm fine,â you shrug, half-strangled, as you slip the bloodied gloves from your half-numb hands. You blink back burning tears as you walk them to the trash.
âYouâre not,â Robby murmurs, head bowed to meet your averted gaze. âAnd thatâs okay. Just take a second.â
You remind yourself to breathe â in for seven beats and out for eight â as the muffled exam room breaks away into the chaotic E.R. The rest of it becomes a blur in your tunnel vision, and the calls for concern turn to inaudible slurs in your ears.
âWhoa⊠you okay?â you only vaguely hear Trinity ask as you storm past the work station.
âFine,â you squeak on instinct, despite the obvious.
âOh, yeah, he totally croaked in there,â Ogilvie murmurs, as though to gossip with her, but forgetting to be subtle about it.
âDo you ever think before you speak?â Santos quips. âOr is the stupidity genetic?â
Your heavy eyes search for an empty room to duck into, to at least muffle your screams before you cry in front of everyone. There is no patient in the bed in Central 15, so you burst into that one, still struggling to catch your breath.
Your much-needed inhale gets caught in your chest at the sight you find in the corner of the room â Jack Abbot, stripped off his shirt and wiping blood from his stomach, with Samira standing just behind him, tending carefully to the scrape on his back.
Your sneaker scuffs the tile as you still suddenly in place.
The sound of your sudden presence makes them freeze, too. Their heads dart in your direction, gaping with wide eyes and parted mouths as if youâd just caught them doing something terrible. In a way, it feels like you have.
It feels like youâve stumbled upon some achingly tender moment between them, of which you had been deprived for some time now â because even when Jack was with you, he was a thousand miles away. You wonder if, maybe, a part of him wanted to be here â with Samira, perhaps â and if thatâs why he had left you so abruptly last night, as if it had only occurred to him then that you were no longer what he wanted.
You wouldnât have blamed him for it, if that were the case. You just wish he wouldâve told you before now, so it would feel like less of a white-hot knife lodged into the center of your sternum to find him this way.
âSorry,â you just barely manage to choke out, though it gets lost in a whimper as you fight back the urge to cry.
Jackâs scruffy chest pinches with worry at the crack in your fragile voice and the visibly frazzled sight of you, all wild-haired and glassy-eyed. It hurts him far worse than the wounds burning red-hot on his pale skin now.
âWhat happened?â he asks, greying brows lowered in concern.
Samira stills with her soft fingers on Jackâs broad, freckled shoulder, touching him with a tenderness he hasnât let you give him in some time.
âAre you okay?â she wonders, soft with a worry that is always sincere coming from here, but finds you more like a slap in the face just now.
âYeah, Iâm fine,â you answer on muscle memory, then sniffle as you shake your head at yourself. âIâm not, actuallyâ I donât know why I said thatâ Louie just died. Pulmonary hemorrhage. And I was just looking for an empty room to cry in, I didnât mean to⊠to interruptâŠâ
âYou didnât,â Jack assures you, parting from Samira to take a step closer to you.
It takes quite a lot of strength from you to turn away from him, instead of leering at his shirtless form or cowering at the gentle look in his light eyes. âI-Iâll see myself out,â you stammer hopelessly. âSorryâŠâ
You just barely hear Jack calling your name before the heavy glass door shuts behind you.
With nowhere else to go, and not willing to face the embarrassment of walking back the way you came, you make a beeline for the ambulance bay. The automatic doors part for you, and the cool air outside takes your breath away a second later.
Your chest hitches as you inhale a sniveling breath, trying and failing to regulate your breathing. You stand at the edge of the curb with one hand balled into a fist and one hand clutching your aching chest. Your heartâs telling you that youâre having an embolism and youâre about to keel over at this very moment; your brainâs telling you that youâre just having a panic attack and you need to suck it the hell up.
âHey,â a man calls from further down the sidewalk.
Your head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice. You tense at the sight of the man who had grabbed you earlier, and your aching heart forgets to beat when you see him storming over to you. You find heâs wearing a smile on his bearded face when heâs close enough, but it looks more cynical than kind.
âYouâre the nurse who got me kicked out earlier, arenât you?â he asks.
You donât have the breath or the bravery to correct him now.
âIâm sorry, sirâŠâ you sniffle, wet-eyed, and turn away. âItâs just⊠Itâs been a long day, okay? I didnât mean for you to get escorted out. You just scared me, thatâs all. Iâmââ
You turn to face him again when heâs standing ahead of you. But before the words of an apology can spill from your mouth, his weathered fist collides with your nose.
You hear a sharp crack, a wet whoosh, and then the dull slap of your body hitting the pavement. You grimace when the back of your skull meets the concrete, and struggle to blink away the black spots from your vision.
The very first face you see is Langdonâs, though youâre not quite sure how long itâs been since your eyes have closed â a few seconds, maybe, or several minutes. Youâre still lying on the rough pavement when you come to, with Frankâs gentle fingers brushing the hair out of your eyes with one hand and shining his penlight into your eyes with the other.
âThere you areâŠâ the man coos. âWhat happened to you out here?â
You hardly hear him, like heâs speaking to you from underwater. You answer him with a question of your own, lifting your trembling fingers to the dull throbbing sensation in your nose.
âIs⊠Is it bad?â you wonder aloud, half-slurring. You grimace first at the wet feeling on your cupidâs bow, then at the bright scarlet blood staining your fingertips. You whisper, voice breaking. âOwâŠâ
âWhoa, careful thereâŠâ Mel wavers, rushing from behind Langdon to help you when you try to sit up on your own. She crouches down beside him and takes you by the elbows in a pair of gentle hands. She squints behind her glasses when your inhale rattles in your chest. âDid you fall on your back?â
âDid somebody hit you?â Langdon presses from her other side, bushy brows lowered in worry.
âWowâŠâ you mumble, blinking hard, and wincing when you taste blood in your mouth. âSo many questionsâŠâ
Mel and Langdon share a panicked look you donât see.
âYeah, câmon. Letâs go,â the older man sighs, urging you up by the elbows and steadying you when you sway softly in place. âCome with meâŠâ
âI can walk,â you protest through your ragged breaths, and through the blood dripping from your cupidâs bow and into your mouth. You pull your arm out of his grasp when the strength to do so returns to you, and stagger the rest of the way to the entrance until you regain your footing. âJust⊠Be normal, alright?â
âRightâŠâ Langdon scoffs and fights back the urge to laugh â because you obviously have no idea how you look right now, with the lower half of your face all covered in blood, as if youâve just been rescued from a bar fight. Thereâs hardly anything normal about that.
You try to be, anyway, as you stroll through the crowded E.R., hoping to be blanketed by the chaos inside. Everyoneâs too busy charting or rushing to patients to notice your being there. Youâre five or more steps away from making it to the bathroom when Robbyâs eagle-eyed stare locks in on you from behind his computer.
âJesus fucking ChristâŠâ the older man blurts, sliding off his glasses and rising from his chair. He abandons his work without a second thought and rounds the workstation to rush to your side.
âIâm okay,â you tell him with a dismissive wave of your hand, pressing onward even when you hear his footsteps nearing you. He stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and steps in front of you to block your path.
âWhat the hell happened to you?â he wonders aloud, looking past you to Langdon and Mel as he drags a pair of gloves from his scrub pockets.
âWe found her like this,â Frank shrugs.
âI told you to take a break, not get into a bar fight.â
âHa-ha,â you monotone, then flinch when it hurts to smile. âOwâŠâ
âWho did this, huh?â Robby asks, cupping your bloodied face in his gloved hands. He runs his fingers over the back of your head first, to make sure you have no wounds there, before pressing his thumbs gently to the apples of your cheeks. âIt wasnât that asshole from before, was it?â
âI didnât see him,â you lie through your teeth.
âAny trouble seeing? Any double vision?â
You shake your head against his hands, then inhale another rattling breath.
âDid you fall on your back?â he asks you then.
You nod once.
âWhat about a headache?â
âI always have a headache,â you answer. âIâm fine, Robby. I just need to get cleaned upââ
âLook at youâ Youâre not fine,â the man snaps. âNow, câmon. Youâre coming with me.â
You have no choice but to follow him when he wraps a firm, gentle hand around your arm, ushering you to walk ahead of him. You ignore the looks and calls of concern from the coworkers around you, except for Melâs voice, which comes from behind you.
âShould I find Dr. Abbot?â she wonders aloud.
Your head snaps over your shoulder to look at her, and it makes your vision swim.
âAbsolutely do not do that,â you answer, a little harsher than you mean to.
âO-kayâŠâ she stammers and trails off.
âIn here,â Robby urges, swinging open the door to the nearest empty room. He keeps a steady hand on your back to keep you stable and turns back to Mel before he follows you inside. âFind Abbot,â he tells her.
You lie on your back on the hospital bed while Robby does an impromptu exam. He presses the cold chestpiece of his stethoscope to your skin and listens to your breathing until it evens out again, from where the air had rushed out of your lungs after the fall. He finds your pupils both equal and reactive, and your nose free from swelling or cracking â âNothing that mother nature canât fix,â he says, and takes to cleaning you up instead.
âThese beds are so hard,â you murmur, shifting uncomfortably with an icepack pressed to your nose, which Princess had brought by some minutes ago. âWe should really get new ones in here. How are patients supposed to be comfortable in these?â
âYeah, Iâll go tell Gloria,â Robby scoffs, dabbing at your nose with a wet wipe. âIâm sure sheâll get right on thatâŠâ
He parts from you to chuck the red-tinted napkin into the bin at his side and waits for you to laugh at his stupid joke. You stay silent. You donât even give him a pity giggle, and you always, at the very least, give him a goddamn pity giggle. His brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and concern.
âCan I ask you a stupid question?â
âBetter than anyone I know, Dr. RobbyâŠâ
âHa-ha,â he deadpans, reaching for another wipe with a gloved hand. Itâs freezing against the burning skin of your neck as it dabs it gently there. âWhy didnât you want me telling Abbot about this, huh?â
âBecause he doesnât careâŠâ you mumble cynically, almost inaudibly so.
âOh, câmon,â Robby scoffs. âEven you donât believe that.â
You donât. Not really. You know Jack cares, if only because itâs in his blood to do so. His basic human empathy is what made him such a good doctor. You just arenât sure that he cares about you in the way you thought he did â in the way you wanted him to â and youâre not quite sure how to voice that to Robby now.
âHeâs busy right now,â you answer instead, still half-hidden behind the icepack. âToo busy for me, and I donât wanna bother him, so⊠Just drop it.â
Robby flashes you a sympathetic smile that you donât see as he swipes at the last bit of blood from your skin. âI know he may not act like it, kid, but he does care about you.â
âYouâre right,â you mumble. âHe doesnât act like itââ
Jack Abbot bursts into the room like a red-hot flame through a burning house. His broad chest heaves with panted breaths beneath the thin navy shirt he wears in place of his tactical gear, though his camo pants still sit heavy on his waist.
His wild eyes scan your form. âWhat the hellâs going on in here?â he blurts.
You glare at Robby from behind the icepack. âI hate you.â
âYeah, I knowâŠâ the man sighs, dropping the crumpled wipe into the trash beside him.
âWhat happened?â Jack presses, more firmly this time.
âNothing,â you murmur shyly, unable to meet his gaze when he towers at your bedside with his hands on his hips. âItâs not the first time someoneâs swung at meââ
âYeah, but itâs the first time itâs been this bad. Bad enough that someone had to come get me,â Jack argues, made a bit harsher with the concern pinching at his chest. His head whips over his shoulder. âWho the hell did this?â
âSome guy from Chairs, I think,â Robby shrugs. âNameâs Driscoll. Ahmadâs already handling it. Heâll deal with the police.â
âGood,â Jack nods, firm in a way youâve always adored about him. He was inherently resolute where you were perpetually indecisive. It mostly came in handy when you struggled to figure out what to eat for dinner, not usually in situations like this. ââCause weâre pressing charges on this asshole, alright?â
âHonestly, Jack, I donât care what you doâŠâ you sigh. âBut my head is really starting to hurt, and I really donât feel like handling this right now.â
âOn it,â Robby nods, taking the hint and stalking out of the room. He shuts the curtains after him and dims the light as he goes. The noise of the Pitt muffles again when the door closes behind him, leaving you and Jack alone in the not-quite-silence and the not-quite-dark.
âHere. Câmon,â the man urges suddenly, motioning with his chin. âMake room for me.â
âWhat?â you ask, eyes squinted in confusion as the man turns to sit on the edge of the twin-sized bed, adjusting his prosthetic to swing it over the side.
He gives you an expectant look over his shoulder. âScooch,â is all he says, in a strangely strong voice despite the very silly command.
You shift on the thin mattress despite your better judgment to make room for him. Jack urges his right leg up first, then his left one second. He settles in beside you and urges the railings up to keep him from falling off the side. You try to do the same, though you possess a lot less strength with only one hand than the man beside you.
Your breath catches when he reaches over you with a strong hand, helping you lift the barrier the rest of the way.
âThanksâŠâ you mumble, half-shy.
âDonât mention it,â he huffs politely, with one arm on his stomach and the other curled around your shoulders, keeping you close to accommodate both your bodies on the twin-sized bed. He smells of sweat and musky cologne and antiseptic. It takes everything in you not to melt into his warmth. You remain tense beside him, feeling slightly strange in his hold in a way you never have before.
âIâm sorry about, Louieââ
âYou donât have to do thisââ you blurt simultaneously.
His head snaps over to you. He has to jerk his scruffy chin back to look at you properly from the dwindling proximity between you. His eyes dart between your averted gaze and the slowly melting icepack you fidget with like a stress ball.
âDo what?â he asks.
âI didnât mean to walk in on you and Samira, okay?â you confess quietly, âcause any octave higher, and your voice will start to shake. âI wasnât⊠I didnât mean to make it a whole thing, you know? So you donât have to come in and pretend to be all nice just because you think Iâm upset, âcause Iâm not.â
(Your rambling is hardly convincing in the matter, but he makes no mention of it.)
âOkay. I hear you,â Jack murmurs gently, always so patient with your rambling, even though he can only halfway comprehend it a lot of the time. âBut Iâm still not sure what Mohan has to do with thisââ
Honey, he wants to say, but doesnât allow himself.
âIf you want to be with her, thatâs okayâ Or if itâs just because you donât wanna be with me, thatâs okay, too,â you explain in a strangely even voice. âBut I wish you wouldâve just told me, instead of bailing on me last nightââ
âI didnât bail on youââ
ââSo then I wouldnât have to catch you and Samira doingâŠâ you trail off, face screwed. âWhatever the hell you were doing back there.â
âCatching us?â Jack echoes with a laugh you can feel rumbling against your shoulder. âThat would imply we were doing something worth getting caught. She just walked in on me while looking for her patient, thatâs all.â
âYeah, wellâŠâ you hum, gaze averted to the icepack in your lap. âIt seemed pretty intimateâŠâ
âIt wasnât.â
âMore intimate than youâve been with me,â you argue sheepishly.
âWell, not to be crude here, butâŠâ Jack trails off with an audible smile in his voice. âWe literally had sex last night.â
âYeah, and you left,â you spit, turning to look at him for the first time since he stormed in. You wear a wet look in your glassy eyes and a bruise blooming on the bridge of your nose. âAnd I cried myself to sleep about it. Which means I didnât get to watch Love Island, which means I forgot to eat, which means Iâm running on fumes on what has arguably been the worst shift of my whole life.â
You take a much-needed breath when the words are gone from your mouth.
Jack does not jump immediately to defend himself. He knows he doesnât deserve it now. He just lets himself stew in your fiery words instead, so you know theyâll have a real impact on him before he responds.
âYouâre right,â he sighs after a few long moments. âIâm sorryââ
âDonât be sorry,â you shake your head at his apologetic tone. âJust donât⊠Donât be so mean, you know? If you donât wanna be with me anymore, why canât you just say?â
âBecause I do want to be with you,â he answers, weathered features screwed in offense. âHow would you ask me that?â
âBecause you arenât acting like itââ
âBecause I almost told you that I loved you,â Jack blurts suddenly, in a stern tone of voice that snatches the breath from your lungs. He swallows hard and continues. âLast night, I mean, when we⊠I almost said it⊠Because I felt it, but then I⊠I realized I hadnât said that to anyone since my wife passed, and it freaked me out.â
âButâŠâ you start in a broken whisper. âWhy does that have to be such a bad thing?â
ââCause it makes me feel guilty,â Jack answers. âThe way I love you makes me feel guilty, like Iâm abandoning her. And I⊠I donât know what to do with all that⊠grief.â
You feel your heart aching, for the third or hundredth time that day. You notice Jackâs right hand hanging on your shoulder, how his fingers fidget anxiously there, and how his left hand scratches at the rough fabric of his camo pants â made overwrought by his confession, and unsure what to do with it now.
âWhy donât you just give it to me?â you wonder quietly, then shrug at the confused look Jack gives you a second later. âYour grief, I mean. I can take it. You know, make it a little more bearable for you. So you donât have to carry it all on your own.â
The softness of your words knocks the breath from Jackâs lungs.
The corner of his mouth quirks in a wavering smile as he blinks burning tears out of his eyes. âJesus, we're a couple of goddamn sad sacks, arenât we, honey?â he scoffs a sad laugh and runs his free hand down his scruffy face.
Your lips twitch upward, feeling giddy but fighting it. âThatâs the first time you called me that in two daysâŠâ you observe distantly.
âWhat?â
âHoney.â
âYeah,â he sighs. âIâm sorry for that, tooâŠâ
âDonât be sorry,â you repeat, this time with a smile. âJustâ kiss me or somethinââŠâ
âGladly,â Jack says with a wider grin.
You tilt your chin up to meet him halfway when he leans down to kiss you. His nose bumps into the side of your bruised one, as your hand reaches for his wounded shoulder. You flinch against each other in tandem.
âOw,â you whimper.
âOuch,â Jack winces. âShit, honeyâ Sorry.â
âAre you okay?â you ask with a sympathetic scrunch to your features, cupping his scruffy face in your delicate hands. âI havenât checked in on you yet, I know youâre hurtââ
âIâm fine,â he assures with a shake of his head, leaning instinctively into your touch. âI got a little banged up, but⊠Iâm good now.â
âPromise?â you whisper, swiping an eyelash from his cheek with your thumb.
âI promise. I'll tell you about later,â he nods once and smooths his calloused fingers across your temple, looking at you with a tenderness youâve been craving all day. âWhat about you, honeyâ Are you okay?â
You inhale sharply through your bruised nose and nod on a slower exhale.
âI will be,â you answer honestly for the first time all day.
i want to be sexy to someone
is it too much to ask?
sexy to somebody, it would help me out
â sexy to someone, Clairo
summary: you finally put yourself back out there and set up a date for your night off. to your utter humiliation, you get stood up. the night takes a turn when you see your attending, Jack Abbot, who suggests you have dinner together since you're already all dressed up.
tags/warnings: age gap (reader is a resident), oral (f + m receiving), dacryphilia, protected piv sex, dry humping, crybaby!reader, idiots in love, ER references because I can't help myself :), the tiniest hint of puppy play, discussions of jack's amputation,
wc: 10k
a/n: I'm realizing that I have a tendency to write about jack abbot saving reader from mediocre and shitty men... and you know what he would!!!! genuinely thought this would be a cute lil 5k fic and then... oh well!! being short-winded is not my thing lol
credits: gif credits to @wesandresons
8:21.Â
You checked your phone for the millionth time.Â
You were supposed to meet him at the restaurant at 7pm, and he was almost an hour and a half late.Â
Well, you hoped he was late. You hadnât yet accepted the probable fact that youâd been stood up. I mean, you were no stranger to chaotic schedules, unplanned overtime, and last minute catastrophes that had to be dealt with. Residency often rendered your social life moot; you could barely keep up with your commitments at the hospital, let alone a vibrant dating life. Maybe he had an equally demanding job; maybe there was a plausible excuse for why he left you stranded in this Italian restaurant without the decency of a âsorry, not interested anymoreâ text.Â
You looked at your phone againâ8:26. Okay, youâd give him 4 more minutes before you decide to pack it up. You try to subtly survey the restaurant for any sign of him, but are met only with the pitying looks of the waitstaff, who would, in all likelihood, be the only ones benefitting from this humiliation ritual. The hostess checked in with you at the bar regularly, the bartender had given you a glass of merlot on the house, and a very kind server brought you a charcuterie board to nibble onâhad even brought you extra olives when you commented on how they were your favorite. They were all getting fat tipsâor at least as fat as you could afford.Â
8:31. Despite your best efforts you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your throat got that tight, achy feeling that precedes a sob. You felt so foolish.Â
You looked up at the ceiling, blinking the tears away and tried to even out your breathing.Â
You didnât even want to go on this date. Youâd all but sworn off of dating, the ROI not worth the emotional whiplash you were subjected to more often than not. It was becoming harder and harder as you got older to open up to people, expose your vulnerabilities and greatest fears, only to have them spit back in your face when things didnât go their way.Â
So you stopped with the apps, stopped the meaningless dates that were nothing more than a hookup vehicle for most. But your friends had convinced you that you needed to get back out there, that things would be better in Pittsburghâthe proverbial ocean filled with different, better fish than your hometown. And perhaps they were tired of hearing you wax poetic about the hazel-eyed night shift attending that you had no chance with.Â
But you did want to find that person. As much as you were an independent, capable womanâdoctor, evenâthe truth was you were lonely. Your days consisted of going to work, where you spent 12+ hours caring for Pittsburghâs sickest, and coming home to microwave whatever sad frozen meal you had in your freezer. Sometimes you had the energy to join some of the night shift for post-shift breakfast, but that was about it.Â
You wanted someone to share your life with, to ask about your day or if youâve eaten. Someone who knew that your favorite flower was lily of the valley, but since they were too expensive you would settle for a bouquet of peonies; that you loved horror movies even though they scared the daylights out of you; that knew you loved olives but hated pickles. Someone who knew you, inside and out.Â
There was a chasm in your chest that ached, that yearned for someone to take care of youânot financially, though you wouldnât be opposed to thatâbut emotionally. To tell you that you were good, worthy, that you werenât too much or too clingy. That wanted you as much as you wanted them. That felt the tension leave their shoulders when they looked at you, because you just being there made things better.Â
Was that too much to ask for?Â
Itâd been so long since someone had even flirted with you, and even longer since youâd hooked up with anybody. Your dry spell was bordering on sahara levels of arid. Hell, at this point, you think youâd cum for the next guy who called you pretty.Â
You shake yourself out of your pity party, dabbing your eyes with a napkin and gathering up the courage to ask for the bill, when you hear someone calling your name. Great. Youâre halfway to a breakdown over some stupid guy who stood you up, and now you would have to sit through pleasantries with someone when you desperately wanted to go home and cry into a bottle of wine.  Â
You turned, fake smile plastered on your face.  Â
The person you least expect to see is the aforementioned hazel-eyed attending. Heâs standing by the hostess stand, off to the side, dressed in dark blue jeans and a tight black shirt. It was unfair, really, how good the man could look in the most basic outfit. His shirt was pulled taut across his chest, muscles straining against the fabric and outlining the planes of his pecs. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his strong, freckled arms on display, and sinful thoughts ran through your head at how those arms would feel around you. Â
You smiled and waved at him, reluctantly making your way over. Itâs not like you can avoid him at this point, though these are less than ideal circumstances to meet him outside of work.Â
âSmall world,â he joked as you approached, a soft smile gracing his features.Â
âI guess so,â you said sullenly, not up to your usual banter. Â
âBig plans for the night?â he asked, eyes skating over your form, taking in the pretty red dress youâd donned for the evening, the light coat of makeup you applied, the hairstyle you wrangled your locks into. In any other scenario, youâd be preening under his watchful eye, giddy that he was eyeing you up and down. Â
Now, though, you wilted under the attention. The humiliation from the night and the tingly feeling pooling in your gut at his gaze swirled together in some rancid amalgamation of emotions. You didnât know if you wanted to laugh or cry or both, but ideally not in front of him. Â
Your silence, apparently, concerned him. He looked at you seriously now, his eyes getting that clinical, assessing look in them as he took you in, âYou okay?â he asked, genuine concern lacing his features. Â
It was the one question you did not want to be asked. Because, for some reason, you could keep it all inside, bury the feelings as deep as theyâd go, as long as someone didnât ask if you were okay. The barest expression of concern had your lip trembling, throat tight as you managed to squeak out a meek, âIâm fine!âÂ
You could feel a tear tracing down your cheek, and you wiped it away furiously. Your eyes focused on a spot over his shoulder, unable to bear the pitying look that was undoubtedly on his face. Â
âYou donât look fine,â he said softly, hand coming up to rest lightly on your upper arm. Â
You shook your head, powerless to staunch the flow of tears now running down your face. âSorry, I just, uh, I had a date tonight and he didnât show, so,â you made a helpless gesture, your shoulders shrugging in feigned nonchalance. You felt ridiculous, crying over being stood up in front of your attending who was just trying to make small talk with you.Â
You let out a garbled laugh, âShit, sorry,â you hiccup, âthis isnât your problem, I donât wanna interrupt your night any more than I already have. Have a good night,â you said, moving to push past him and scurry out the door. Â
He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, his body blocking your exit.Â
âYouâre not interrupting. I was just about to place a to-go order,â he said, a hesitant look crossing his face before he continued, âBut, uh⊠would you like to have dinner with me instead?â
You're taken aback. Itâs the last thing you expected him to ask you. I mean, itâs not like you havenât thought about him in this context. On the contrary, Jack Abbot had been the subject of many a âboyfriendâ dream over the past year youâd worked with him. He was kind and generous and funny, his humor as dark as yours. He was steady in the face of chaos, a lighthouse in the foggiest of daysâa man you could depend on when shit hit the fan. Itâs part of the reason you switched to nights. You always felt calmer in his presence, more assured of your capabilities because he believed in you.Â
And he was undeniably gorgeousâhis fine wrinkles and graying curls set your body ablaze each time you looked at him, your panties soaking through in record time. You loved especially when he went a day or two longer without shaving, his scruffy cheeks looking like a delectable place to sit.Â
Your mind was plagued by obscene fantasies of him, the sinful images assaulting you at the most inopportune times. You knew heâd treat you right, wouldnât prioritize his pleasure over yours. He was older, experienced, not a kid fumbling around in the dark, searching for your most sensitive spots and coming up empty. You imagined the way his stubble would feel on your skin, his jaw scraping down your neck as he pressed kisses there, moving lower and lower until he was nestled between your thighs, mouth hot against your aching pussy. The way he would stretch you out and fill you up, have you desperate and begging for more.Â
Youâre snapped out of your lustful daydream when he says your name, an inquiring tone meant to prompt a response. Oh right, he asked you a question.Â
You shook your head, not because you didnât want to have dinner with him, but because you didnât want to do so under these conditions; you didnât want to be a charity case.Â
âThatâs very kind, but you donât have to have a pity dinner with me. Iâm a big girl, I can handle a little rejection.âÂ
âIt wouldnât be a pity dinner,â he shook his head immediately, âcome on, you got all dressed up, let me at least buy you dinner for your trouble.âÂ
He cleared his throat, âUnless you really donât want to, obviously, and Iâll let it go,â he said, âbut Iâd hate to see you go home cryinâ.â And he looked so sincere, his pretty eyes so soft and squishy, all but pleading for you to accept his offer. Â
You chewed on your lip, considering it. It wouldnât be the worst way to spend your night. As of now your plans for the rest of the night were getting sadder by the moment. Things could only go up from here, you supposed. âYeah, okay. If youâre sure,â you nodded.Â
âIâm positive,â he said, hand coming up to rest on the small of your back, guiding you back up to the hostess stand. âTable for two, please.â
The two of you were sat at a corner booth near the back of the restaurant, the section secluded and not too loud. It was a classic Italian restaurantâwarm, dim lighting illuminated the space from antique sconces on the wall, the walls were a beautiful exposed red brick, and the tables were candlelit and laid with red and white checkered cloths. The leather of the booth was soft but worn, the cracks spidering out and indenting into the back of your thighs a sign of how well loved this place was.Â
The booth forced you close together, your thighs not quite touching each other, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His scent is intoxicating, all warm amber and oud, mixed with a hint of citrus and his natural musk. It took all your power not to burrow your nose into his neck and inhale deeply.Â
You were lucky to have the same waitress that checked on you at the bar, though you did have to assure her that this was not the man who stood you up. You were honestly a little concerned at the death glare she gave him at firstâa true girls girl.Â
âSo, Dr. Abbot, how was your day off?â you asked, fiddling nervously with the hem of your dress. Despite your easy rapport at work, it felt awkward to be sitting here with your attending, especially when you were desperately trying to keep your feelings for him at bay.Â
âOh it was fine, picked up a shift with the SWAT unit and didnât get shot at, so, you know, all things considered,â he said, then waved his hand dismissively, âand please, call me Jack. We're not at work,â a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.Â
âOkay, Jack,â you laughed, the tension easing a bit as you threw formalities out the window. Â
âI would ask you how your day off was, but I think I have a pretty good idea,â he said with a teasing lilt.
âYeah, not my best moment. This is partially why I stopped dating, I hate getting my hopes up,â you said, a little more vulnerable than you intended but you supposed you were past that now.Â
âIf it makes you feel any better, I think whatever man decided to let you slip through their fingers is a fuckinâ idiot.âÂ
You sputtered a bit at that, your cheeks heating up. It was a kind platitude, and you wished that it made you feel better, but it did little to alleviate the pit in your stomach that made you feel small; that screamed that you werenât good enough.
âBut enough about that asshole. Do you want to order an appetizer?â he asked, scanning the menu.Â
âOh no, Iâm okay, thank you.âÂ
âYou sure? My treat, remember, donât worry about prices.â he looked up, concerned.Â
âIâm fine, really,â you bit your cheek, reluctant to spit it out, âour waitress may or may not have given me a pity charcuterie board at the bar.âÂ
His face was still for a moment before you saw the edge of his mouth betray him, quirking up in a suppressed smile.Â
âDonât you dare laugh,â you warned, your own resolve already breaking as you took in how pathetic the situation actually was. âItâs not funny!â you laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder with the menu.Â
âNo, no, definitely not,â he intoned, a look of mock-seriousness on his face before he broke out into a laugh, âIâm sorry! But it is objectively a little funny,â he hedged, hands held out defensively to block another menu attack. Â
âIt is not! It means that the poor waitress had to go talk to her boss and ask if they could comp an appetizer for the miserable sad sack at the bar!âÂ
âShe probably didnât call you a miserable sad sack. Maybe sad puppy dog girl, but not miserable sad sack,â he teased.Â
You gasped exaggeratedly, âI am not a sad puppy dog girl!âÂ
âOh yes you are. Itâs the eyes. And the general obedient demeanor," he smirked.Â
Oh. Your tummy twisted at that, but you quickly filed it under things that I simply do not have enough time to unpack right now.Â
âYouâre mean,â you pouted, lip jutting out and arms crossed. You werenât really upset, but it felt fun to play it up a little bit. Â
âAww,â he pouted back at you, his tone just a tad condescending, âlet me make it up to you. What do you say to some good wine and garlic knots?âÂ
You gnawed on your lip, considering his offer, âwhat the hell, let's do it. Itâs not like Iâm going to be kissing anybody tonight anyway,â you said, a little bitter, before realizing that was probably not an appropriate joke to make in front of your boss.Â
âYou never know, we could always pull a Lady and the Tramp,â he joked, not looking up from the wine menu.Â
You were a little stunned at that. Was he⊠flirting? No. Definitely not. This was a strictly platonic date. Right? I mean, the puppy comment you could explain away, but this⊠this was different, wasnât it? Who just jokes like that about the most romantic canine kiss in history? A joke, you settled on. Because youâd already gotten your hopes up enough for one night.Â
Dinner was nice. Really nice.Â
Conversation flowed freely, starting out in neutral territory with updates about patients, work gossip, whatever the fuck was going on with Robby. But you soon moved out of the work realm and into personal matters. You told him about your childhoodâwhere you grew up, your favorite childhood pets, how much trouble you got into as a teen.Â
And you learned a lot about Jack. That he came from a military family that moved around a lot, but spent a large chunk of time in North Carolina. He had two sisters, both older than him. One stayed in North Carolina and the other lived in West Virginia. Both married to military men, and both notorious for giving Jack shit about everything. But they were his rocks when he lost his leg, and then again when he lost his wife, and he was endlessly grateful for them.Â
You both loved 90s alternative rock, which surprised you because you took Jack to be more of a classic rock fan, to which he merely glared at you and said that he wasnât that old. You both had childhood crushes on Winona Ryder; his borne from her role in Heathers, and yours from Girl, Interrupted. He surprised you with the fact that he was a good cook, a fact that seemed unfathomable to you based on his general vibe.Â
Now, though, youâd moved to med school stories, and Jack was regaling you with stories about him and Robby back in the day. Â
âWe must have been⊠god, I must have been a third year med student, and Robby was⊠an R2? and he had really pissed me off that night. I donât even remember what he did, I just remember being so annoyed at him,â he laughed, shaking his head at the memory, âIt was a quiet night, so he snuck off to the on-call room to catch a few hours of sleep, leaving me to do all the scut. So, I recruited the help of the charge nurse, Carol, and our attending, Mark, and we applied a cast to his right leg while he was knocked out.âÂ
Heâs cackling now, almost unable to finish his story between wheezing gasps of air, âwe paged him, like, 10 times until he answered, and next thing we know heâs bursting out of the on-call room and onto his ass before he even realized what happened!âÂ
Youâre laughing hard now, too, trying to picture a younger version of Robby gracelessly tripping over an unnecessary leg cast in his hurry to answer his page. It sounded so unlike the self-assured, stoic version you knew him to be. Â
âOh my god,â you wheezed, âhow mad was he?â Â
âOh he was pissed. Not because of the cast, but because 5 minutes after we paged him, a 15-car pile up came in and he got benched until he could get the cast off. He had to wait for it to dry before he could saw it off, and the whole time he just sat there glaring at me.âÂ
âDid he get you back?â you asked, hungry for more crumbs of their life before you, before the Pitt as it was now.   Â
âYeah,â he rolled his eyes, âthe fucker taped nails to his shirt, took an x-ray, and switched out the real film for the fake before I noticed. I was freaking out to Mark, yelling about how this patient needed surgery before they perfed. Meanwhile Mark was in on it, and made me feel crazy when he pulled out the perfectly normal x-ray for my patient. He said, âI donât know what theyâre teaching you in school these days, but this looks like a perfectly normal x-ray,ââ he said, in an impersonation you could only assume was Mark.
âThatâs fucking crazy,â you giggled, âcan you imagine someone doing something like that in the Pitt? I think Robbyâd actually have an aneurysm.âÂ
âYeah, the old manâs lost a bit of his whimsy over the years,â he shook his head.Â
âOld man, huh? Those are fighting words from a man merely 3 years younger than him,â you teased, âand much grayer,â you added with a wink. Â
âWatch it, missy,â he warned, then, quieter, ânot too old to teach you some manners.â
Feeling emboldened by the wine, you leaned a little closer, âdonât make promises you canât keep.â Tracing the rim of your wine glass, you looked up at him. You swear his eyes drifted to your lips, but before you could do anything about it, he cleared his throat, steering the conversation back into safer waters. Â
âSo, why did you get into emergency medicine?âÂ
You thought about it for a moment, considering how honest you wanted to be. âI wanted to meet people where they were at, help them in a real, immediate way. The traumas are great and exciting, and thereâs nothing like making a pickup that saves someoneâs life. But I like the less exciting stuff, too. The mundane care that doesnât save a life, but makes someone feel better. Helps them get over a cold, or helps soothe a burn; suturing up a lac, or removing foreign objects from patients and not making them feel worse about their predicament. That stuff is just as important as the traumas.
Especially with how fucked healthcare is in this country, people come to us when theyâre at their most vulnerable, and usually donât want to be there. I just hope that I can make things less scary for patients when they come in, make sure they feel like theyâre cared about and not being judged for coming to us.âÂ
Itâd been a long time since youâd answered that question honestly. Usually, you had your stock answer that you pulled out, which was a more eloquent version of âI want to save lives!â And that was still true, but there was so much more to working in the emergency department than just saving lives. It was paperwork and insurance and bed shortages and nursing shortages and all the other fucked up shit in the world that inevitably contributed to the cases you saw come through the doors at the Pitt.Â
âWhat about you? Was emergency medicine always it for you, or did you ever consider going into something else?â you asked.Â
He shook his head, âNot seriously, no. Considered switching to critical care after my leg. I wasnât sure if I was cut out for the hustle and bustle of the emergency room after that. But it was the only place I wanted to be, so I figured it out, did what I needed to do to get back to where I was before the accident.âÂ
âWell, for what it's worth, Iâm glad you stuck with EM. I couldnât imagine working at the Pitt without you. I donât think Iâd be half the doctor I am without you,â you said, looking up at him.Â
You hadnât realized how close youâd gotten, his arm slung over the back of the booth and your thighs pressed against each other.Â
âDonât sell yourself short, youâd be amazing with or without me,â he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. âYou know, Iâve taught a lot of residents in my years, and you⊠youâre really cut out for this. Not everyone is.âÂ
The praise made you preen, the proximity of his hand to your face doing nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart. For a brief moment, you think he might lean in, might press those pillowy pink lips to yours, kiss you until you canât think straâ
âHi, sorry to interrupt but weâll be closing in 15 minutes. Hereâs your check when youâre ready,â the waitress said, setting the check down and scurrying away.Â
You checked the time on your phone: 11:15. Did you really spend almost 3 hours talking to Jack? It certainly didnât feel like it.Â
âI guess we should get out of here before they kick us out,â Jack said, sliding out of the booth and offering you his hand.
Youâre giggling at another one of Jackâs jokes as you leave the restaurant, the bill graciously paid by him despite your best efforts to split it. Your limbs were loose from the wine, goosebumps springing up on your arms from the early summer air turned chilly.Â
âThank you for dinner. You salvaged an otherwise shitty night,â you laughed.Â
âIt was no problem, really. I had a nice time,â he said, leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed.
You mirrored him, shoulder scraping against the gritty brick, and looked up at him.Â
âHold on, I think you have a little sauce on your face,â he said, and before you could grab a tissue from your purse, he reached out. His thumb gathered the sauce at the corner of your lips, going further to brush the pad of it across your bottom lip. The movement dragged your lower lip down slightly, your mouth parting involuntarily with it. Youâre not sure why, but your tongue darted out, licked the pad of his thumb and the residual sauce.
Jackâs breath hitched, the sharp intake of air the only thing you could hear despite the sounds of car alarms and drunk party girls on a Friday night in downtown Pittsburgh.Â
You looked up at him, tongue still pressed flat against his thumb, and searched his eyes for a sign that the heat building between you is mutual.Â
Fuck it, you decided.Â
Without thinking about it too much, you leaned up and pressed your lips against his. And god, did they feel nice. They were soft, but firm, and he tasted faintly of the wine youâd shared earlier mixed with the slight acidity of the tomato sauce from his dinner. Your hand tangled in the curls at the base of his neck, and theyâre so soft, but also a little stiff. You wondered, briefly, if he uses mousse, or hairspray, or if heâs got a whole curly girl routine down before realizing that oh my god he wasnât kissing you back. Oh no, oh fuck.Â
How did you misread this situation so horrifically? You thought you were getting all the right signals, thought that he liked being with you, that he was flirting with you. But maybe it really was just a courtesy, a pity dinner.Â
Your cheeks are hot when you pull away from him, shame sitting thick and heavy in your stomach, numbness prickling up your arms in staticky goosebumps. And Jack is just standing there, the dumbfounded look on his face doing nothing to assuage your embarrassment. Â
You backed up, trying to create some distance, to lower the temperature between you that apparently only you felt.Â
Looking down at your shoes, unable to make eye contact, you babbled out, âI-Iâm so sorry, that was completely inappropriate and I donât know why I-â your voice cracked and it felt like your lungs werenât properly inflating with oxygen, âI donât know how I misread things, but I guess I did so again, Iâm so sorry. Iâm gonna go home and pretend this never happened,â you said, turning around and starting down the street, despite the fact that you most certainly needed to Uber home, not walk.Â
Youâre trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that night when you hear him calling your name, âWait!âÂ
He caught up with you, only a few strides away from where you were standing, and grasped your arm gently. âWait, Iâm sorry,â he said, a little breathless, âI just⊠you surprised me.â
âSurprised you?â you laughed, âI damn near sucked your thumb, Jack,â you said, genuinely confused how a man like Jack Abbot could be surprised that a woman would try to kiss him; that the next logical step from erotic thumbsucking would be a kiss. âAnd you flirted with me all night! You made a Lady and the Tramp joke! How else am I supposed to take that?â Â
He rubbed at his jaw anxiously, a slight blush coating his cheeks, âI mean, yeah, I was surprised. Iâve liked you for a while now but then I heard you talking to Santos about how you didnât want to go out with that cardiology attending and just assumed I didnât have a shot,â he admitted sheepishly. âAnd maybe I got a little brazen with my flirting because I thought you didnât see me like that anyway, figured it couldnât hurt.âÂ
Itâs your turn to be surprised now. You hadnât realized he heard that conversation, or that heâd taken the wrong idea from it; the opposite idea, actually.  Â
You took a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers finding his curls again, âWell, if you recall, snoopy, I said that part of the problem was that I just didnât want to fuck that cardiology attending,â you said, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes, âthat isnât the case with you.âÂ
He looked shocked, but recovered quickly, his confident air returning to him. âOh, is that so?â he asked, lips quirking up into a smile as he backed you up against the rough brick wall. His hand rested on the wall next to your head, the other on your hip, stroking you through your dress.Â
âIn that case, please allow me to make up for my rude behavior,â he said, dipping down to kiss you properly this time.Â
Youâd pictured this moment countless times before, but nothing compared to the real thing. Jack Abbot is a no nonsense manâa wartorn vet who understands more than most the importance of not wasting time. You expected your first kiss with him to be hungry, maybe a little sloppy, but when his lips meet yours, heâs achingly tender. It wasnât uncertainâthere was no question underlying his kissâit was deep and languorous, like he was content to take his time up against this brick wall and savor the slide of your lips against his because he knew he had you right where he wanted you, finally.Â
He commanded you, his hand cupping your jaw to angle your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you instinctively opened up for him. The slide of his tongue against yours was delicious, the slick muscle curling around yours before moving back to your lips, sucking at your bottom lip and biting down gently. Your mind felt fuzzy at the way he handled you, guiding and taking you how he saw fit.
Some of his restraint dissipated, your mouths moving feverishly against each other. You couldnât get enough of him; you pulled him into you and hooked your leg around his waist to draw him as close to you as possible. Pathetic, embarrassing whines and whimpers escaped you involuntarily, your body unable to mask how this man was making a mess of you.
His hand fell to the thigh wrapped around him, calloused fingers sliding up under your dress and gripping the bare flesh. He pulled you close, his pelvis rolling against yours sinfully. You could feel the hard outline of his cock against your cunt, your hips thrusting forward to meet the friction. A frustrated moan fell from your lips at the clothes separating you, at the inability to feel his skin against yours.Â
You pulled away only when air was necessaryâand because you were very close to being cited for public indecency if things went any further.Â
âSorry, I probably taste like garlic,â you said dumbly, fingers tracing over your spit slick lips, numb and swollen from Jackâs attention.Â
He laughed, forehead resting against yours, âyou taste incredible,â he said, pressing a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, and then under your ear. âI hope Iâm not being presumptuous, but my place is a couple blocks from here, if youâd like to come home with me.â Â
You nodded, a giddy smile breaking out across your face, âI would very much like to go home with you,â you said, already grabbing his hand and dragging him down the street.Â
The entryway is dark as you stumbled into Jackâs townhouse, the walk talking longer than it should have due to your need to drag him into searing kiss after searing kiss every dozen or so steps.Â
Jack navigated the two of you through the dark, your bodies unceremoniously plopping down on his couch. You fell onto his lap, knees sinking into the leather cushions and thighs stretching over the wide berth of his hips. Your kisses had devolved from slow and deep to fast and hungry, teeth nipping and clashing against one another, your breathing ragged from the exertion.  Â
He was rock-hard and throbbing under you, the outline of his cock pressing deliciously against your pussy. The only articles of clothing separating you were the thin, lacy excuse for panties you were wearing and his jeans. Your eyes fluttered closed as you ground your hips down on him, the combination of rough denim and the drag of his cock on your aching cunt forcing loud moans and whimpers from your lips.Â
Jack was just as loud, his hips canting up to meet your rolling hips. His hand travelled to the back of your dress, fingers playing with the zipper, âthis okay, sweetheart?â he asked against your lips. You nodded, too caught up in his lips to give a verbal answer.Â
He chuckled as he pulled the zipper down, easing the sleeves down next and pulling away to get a look at you. He let out a sharp breath, the air stolen from his lungs as he took you in, hands gripping your waist tight and rolling his hips hard against you. Â
Your pretty tits were held up in an unlined white bra, your hardened nipples peaking through the barely there lace. He threw his head back against the couch, pupils blown wide as they fixated on your chest. ââMy pretty, pretty girl. Was this all for him?â he asked, thumbs running in circles around your areolas. You nodded shyly, a bit embarrassed that youâd put on your good lingerie for some random guy. But it wasnât all for nought, if Jackâs reaction was any indication.Â
âWhat a fuckinâ idiot,â he mumbled before enveloping your nipple between his lips, sucking the bud through the lace. He captured the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and pinching it, then soothing it over in soft circles. The sensation was dizzying. His mouth was hot and wet against your skin, and he knew exactly the right pressure to ride the line between pleasure and pain.
But the lace was getting in the way; you couldnât feel the scratch of his stubble like youâd dreamed of for so long. You unclasped your bra, tugging on his curls and pulling his face back just enough to let the garment fall down between you.Â
A guttural sound left him as he dove back in, lips suctioning onto your nipple and sucking hard, cheeks hollowed out and tongue swirling around the bud. Your hand tightened in his curls, arching your back and pushing your chest against his mouth. He alternated between the two, sucking, licking, and biting at one and kneading, flicking, and pinching the other. You could finally feel the scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hips doubled their effort, grinding hard against his cock.Â
He released your nipple with a wet pop, âyou know how hard itâs been keepinâ my hands to myself, pretty girl? and all this time youâve been hidinâ this pretty set of tits under your scrubs,â he shook his head in disbelief, âdonât think Iâll be able to think about anything other than stuffinâ my face between these tits when I see you at work.â Â
His lips returned to your chest while his unoccupied hand moved under your dress, his rough palm gripping the fat of your ass and guiding you over his length faster. Every grind of your hips had your clit bumping up against the head of his cock, the pressure exquisite. Your slick was dripping down your thighs and seeping into his jeans, the schlick schlick schlick steady background noise among your moans and groans. Â
You didnât realize how fast your orgasm was building until you were nearly on the precipice of it, letting out a strangled moan and, âIâm gonnaââ before the wave crested. Your thighs trembled, a dull ache forming from keeping them stretched around Jackâs bulk, but it only added to the pleasure that zipped through you. That staticky feeling radiated through you, your pussy contracting and fluttering around nothing.Â
Youâre panting into the crook of his neck as you ride out the aftershocks, your hips still grinding against his clothed cock, your lips letting out tiny gasps and whines.Â
âDid you⊠did you just cum, sweetheart?â Jack asked, a stunned look on his face.Â
You could feel how hot your cheeks were, shame curling through you because yes, you did cum from a little nipple play and grinding on his cock.Â
âI-iâm sorry, itâs just been a long time and no oneâs touched me in so long and you feel so good, I didnât think that would happen so quickly,â you said, panicked, âIâm sorry if I ruined things.âÂ
âHey, sweetheart, itâs okay,â he said, thumbs brushing away the embarrassed tears you werenât even aware had fallen, âyou didnât ruin anything, okay? I was just surprised, is all. Iâm sorry if anyoneâs made you feel that way, but you donât ever have to be embarrassed with me. Never,â The sincerity of his words triggered a new bout of tears. You buried your head in the crook of his neck again, his scent a calming balm to your nerves.Â
âPlus, do you know how much of an ego boost it is to know I had such a pretty girl cumminâ on lap in under five minutes? Thatâs the stuff of dreams, baby,â he teased, pulling you out from your hiding spot and pressing kisses to your cheeks.
You laughed, still sniffling a bit, âgosh, Iâm sorry Iâve been such a crybaby tonight.âÂ
âItâs okay, honey,â he said, then, teasing, âbut I can think of much better reasons for you to be cryinâ, and none of them have anything to do with you being sad or embarrassed,â he said, kissing you properly now, tongue licking deep into your mouth.Â
You moaned into his mouth, then squealed as he hoisted you up, carrying you to his bedroom. He set you down at the edge of the bed, then properly removed your dress from where it was awkwardly gathered at your waist.
He didnât waste any time, dropping to his knees and parting your legs, pushing them up toward your chest. âHold 'em there for me, baby, wanna take a good look at you,â he murmured, eyes fixed on the damp fabric between your legs. You did as he told you, hooking your hands under your knees and spreading yourself open for him. You felt exposed, but the awestruck look in his eye as he examined your pussy sent shockwaves through your body.Â
âThis all because of me?â he asked, thumbing at your center over the fabric, pressing lightly against your clit with each stroke. Your panties were soaked through, the tiny scrap of fabric doing nothing to obscure your puffy folds that were sticky with a mix of your slick and cum. âWhat a mess you made, honey. Guess Iâm gonna have to clean you up,â he said, pulling your panties to the side and licking a broad stripe from your hole to your clit.
You moaned, hips lifting off the bed and chasing his mouth. The contrast of his hot tongue on your cool flesh was blistering. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin there and stopping any movement of your hips. You whined at the restriction, your hands fisting in the soft sheets instead.
âWaited so long for this honey, shit, fuckinâ dreamed about how youâd taste,â he moaned into your pussy, mouth lapping and sucking at your folds, gathering all the spend and slick and swallowing it down like nectar. His face was nestled deep into your cunt, tongue exploring every crease and crevice your cunt had to offer, licking, sucking, bitingâand taking note of what made you scream.Â
And once he discovered it, he didnât just eat you, he devoured you. He was a man possessed, with no regard for his own need for air. His tongue assaulted your clit, alternating between rubbing tight circles around it, short kitten licks, and long, languorous licks that had him shaking his head between your thighs. Every now and again he wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled it, the light leaving your body every time. Your hips rocked against his mouth despite his hold on you, wrecked moans falling from your lips. Â
âFuck, jack, pleaseâr-right there!âÂ
âThatâs it, baby, let me hear you, tell me how good Iâm makinâ you feel,â he said, pulling back just far enough to spit onto your cunt before running two fingers up your slit, pushing them in without preamble. The stretch was delicious, his thick fingers curling deep into your wet heat and finding that sweet spot in no time. He exploited it mercilessly, massaging it with the pads of his fingers. His lips returned to your clit, sucking harshly now, giving you no reprieve from his ministrations.Â
âFeels so good Jack! Never felt this good before!â you cried.Â
The slurping and squelching was lewd, your moans and breathless cries of his name intermingled to create an obscene symphony that youâre sure the entire population of Pittsburgh could hear.Â
âYou gonna cum on my face, honey? Gonna give me another one?â he asked, fingers massaging your g-spot. âWannaâfuckâwanna feel this tight cunt squeeze my fingers when she cums.âÂ
âY-yes, please Jack, âm gonna cum, feels sosososo goodâ you cried out, your second orgasm crashing over you. Stars burst behind your eyes, back arching uncomfortably off the bed and walls clenching so hard around his fingers youâre not sure how he hasnât lost circulation. Your legs clamped around his head, trapping him there as you rode out your orgasm, hips rutting against his mouth and fingers. He didnât mind, licking and sucking you through it, his fingers keeping pressure on your g-spot until you were pushing him away.
He peppered your body with kisses as you came down, starting at your thighs and making his way up over your tummy, ribs, and breasts. He came to rest above you, a dopey smile on your face as you pulled him in for a lazy kiss. His face was soaked with your spend and you could taste the tang on his tongue when he kissed you.Â
âYouâre stupidly good at that,â you whispered, body still boneless and floaty.Â
âYeah? Want me to show you want else Iâm stupidly good at?â he asked while finally shucking his shirt off.Â
âYeah?â you said absentmindedly, eyes glazed over at the majesty that was Jack Abbotâs chest. You immediately began pressing kisses across the newly exposed skinâto his neck, collarbone, pecs, and tummy. Youâre even able to scrape your teeth across a nipple before he holds you back at arms length, laughing.  Â
âYeah, honey,â he laughed between your frantic kisses, âbut you gotta let me breathe for a sec, gotta take care of my leg.âÂ
âLet me,â you said, slipping down to the floor and sitting back on your heels. You ran your palms up his thighs, hands coming to rest on his belt before going any further.
âYou donât have to do that, honey.âÂ
âI know,â you said softly, âbut I want to. If youâre okay with that.âÂ
He cradled your face in his hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. You turned into it, kissing the palm of his hand to assure him that you wanted to do this.Â
âI care about you Jack, and this is part of you. I just wanna help you, wanna make you feel good,â you said earnestly, giving him your puppy dog eyes.
âYeah. Okay, honey, go ahead,â he nodded, sitting back on his elbows to watch you. You grasped his belt again, unfastening the buckle and pulling the belt through the loops, discarding it somewhere behind you. You moved to the button of his jeans, deftly popping it open and hooking your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down with Jackâs help.Â
Your breath hitched at the sight of his dark gray boxers, a wet spot front and center that made your mouth water. You learned forward and kissed the damp fabric, moaning at the slight taste of precum that danced across your lips.Â
âCareful, sweetheartâŠâ he warned, but there wasnât much heat behind his words.Â
You just grinned up at him before getting back to the task at hand. Your fingers travelled down to the sleek metal attached to him, getting a feel for the mechanism before unlocking and twisting it off. The liner came next, tossed to the side before you pressed your fingertips into his skin, massaging the skin to get some blood flow back into the residual limb. You pressed sweet kisses to his flesh, from the front of his knee to the scarred flesh of his leg, tongue dipping out to trace the prominent scar just above his amputation site.Â
Jack breathed heavily above you, tiny groans escaping him unbidden. A look flickered across his face, and you think, briefly, that this may be the first time youâve seen him truly vulnerable. It wasnât a secret that heâd lost the lower portion of his leg in the war, but he didnât flaunt it either. You wondered if there was an insecurity that lay deep within him, despite his overt confidence; if other women had reacted differently, cruelly even to the sight of his prosthesis. It made your heart ache to think about it, to think of someone doing anything but worshipping his beautiful body the way he deserved. Â
âSo pretty, Jack,â you whispered, kisses inching higher up his thigh now, âwanna taste you now.âÂ
When youâre met with the sight of Jackâs cock, youâre well and truly speechless. You knew he was big from your time on the couch, but seeing it was different. He was thick and veiny, the tip flushed a deep red and leaking precum furiously. It rested against his belly, curving slightly to the left. And did you mention that he was thick? Mouth agape, you wondered how you were going to fit him in your mouth. Or pussy.Â
Youâre not sure how long youâve been sitting there, hands perched against his thighs, just staring at his cock, until Jack tilts your head back, fingers tightening in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck.Â
âThought you wanted a taste, honey. You just gonna sit there and stare at it all night?â he asked, a smug smile on his lips.Â
âMaybe,â you mumbled, tongue darting out to wet your lips.Â
Before you can do anything of your own accord, his hand is guiding your head forward, the head of his cock pushing gently against the seam of your lips. You take over from there, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his tip, the precum gathered there salty and sticky against your lips. Your tongue dipped out to caress the spot just below his head, running the flat of your tongue along it before moving back to his head, spitting a glob of spit onto him and wrapping a hand around his base. You started with long, slow strokes, squeezing and twisting on the upstroke, your hand meeting your lips where they suckled at his tip.Â
You moaned at the steady stream of precum invading your mouth, âtaste so good Jack,â you said before taking more of him into your mouth. You're only about halfway down and your lips are already stretched tight around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth in filthy waterfalls. You hollowed your cheeks out, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, your tongue massaging the underside of his cock.Â
âFuck, baby, who knew you had such a filthy fuckinâ mouth on you,â he groaned, hips rutting up slightly.Â
His tip occasionally hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag and tears to prick behind your eyes, but you donât care; the feeling of him weighing heavy on your tongue is reward enough.Â
You feel a light pressure applied to the back of your head, âdeeper, baby, know you can take it,â he groaned. You obliged, breathing deep through your nose and sinking down further onto his cock until you felt him hit the back of your throat and your nose was nestled in the trimmed grey curls at his base. Your hand grappled for his where it was perched on your head, using it to push harder against your head, trying to convey to him that you wanted him to take over; to fuck your face.Â
He groaned, hips jerking involuntarily as he realized what you wanted. He gathered your hair in his hands, hips shallowly trusting into the wet heat of your mouth. His mouth was slack, grunts and groans loud as he fucked your face. His pace builds, his cock roughly pistoning in and out of your mouth. Tears are falling freely now, your mouth stretched to capacity and throat being used and abused by his fat cock.Â
âSee? These tears are much prettier, baby,â he huffed out, thumbs brushing the trails where they fell. âSo fuckinâ pretty, crying with my cock in your mouth.âÂ
You moaned around him at that, the praise and shame swirling in your tummy. Your hand came up to cup his balls, massaging and squeezing them gently between your fingers.Â
Youâre suddenly pulled up off his cock and into his lap, spit stringing from your shiny, swollen lips. You whined at the loss of him, your mouth feeling uncomfortably empty now.Â
âFuckâyou feel too good, honey,â he grunted, setting you back against his pillows, âcanât cum in that pretty little mouth tonight, need to be inside you.âÂ
He grabbed a condom out of his drawer before moving back to you, sitting back on his knees and rolling the condom on. You let out an annoyed whine. Youâve never hated the more rational side of your brain more than you do right now. You craved to feel him bare inside youâto feel him cum deep inside you, the hot white ropes painting your walls. And while you trusted him implicitly, you knew safety was of the utmost importance, so condom it was.Â
âDonât worry, baby, soon as we get tested, you wonât be able to stop me from fuckinâ this pussy raw,â he groaned, settling between your spread thighs. His body was a soothing weight above you, the warmth he emanated relieving any anxiety you had.Â
He gripped the base of his cock and ran it through your sopping folds a few times, the tip catching slightly on your entrance on each pass. âPlease, Jack, need to feel you,â you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close.Â
He cursed before giving in, notching the head of his cock against your entrance and entering you slowly, letting you feel and adjust to every inch on its own. Your head fell back into his plush pillows as he sank fully into you, your mouth open in a silent scream. Your walls were tight around him, clenching viciously at the intrusionâyouâd never been stretched so wide, or filled so thoroughly. It felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs and replaced by his cock. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your short nails biting at his skin.Â
You were still for a moment, both your chests heaving as you adjusted to the feeling of one another. Then, once Jack composed himself, he started to moveâslow, shallow thrusts at first, your pussy still clenching tight around him, sucking him in greedily with each thrust.Â
âRelax for me, honey, thatâs it, doinâ so good for me,â he grunted, eyes closed, âpussy feels so good.âÂ
You willed your body to relax, for your muscles to go lax around him. You shifted your legs up higher, the heels of your feet digging into the soft flesh of his ass.Â
âThere you go, so good for me,â he moaned, âknew youâd be so good for me.âÂ
He pulled out again, easier this time, until only the tip remained inside you, then snapped his hips forward. His thrusts were slow but hard, his hips slamming against you each time he bottomed out. The drag of his cock against your walls felt so good, his thick, throbbing length rubbing up against every sensitive spot. You felt every thick vein and ridge, as if they were imprinting into your walls, making a home there. You moaned at the thought of eternity, of Jack making your pussy his again and again and again.Â
He was watching you with a wondrous look on his face, his eyes flitting between your blissed out face and bouncing tits. âSo fuckinâ sexy, baby, you donât even understand how fuckinâ gorgeous you are,â he groaned, hips picking up speed, fucking you faster and harder.Â
The adrenaline and emotions from the night came crashing down around you. The feeling of his cock dragging through your walls mixed with the sweet words he was whispering into your ear had you feeling exposed and vulnerable, made you feel seen. Your hands were frantic, running over every bit of skin you could get your hands on, needing to feel his skin against yours. You pulled him impossibly closer, his chest now flush against yours, the friction it provided to your nipples dizzying. Â
You didnât notice the tears until Jack was kissing away the salty tracks, his tongue sneaking out to lick up the length of your cheek. âYouâre my little crybaby, arenât you?â he asked, a sweet hint of condescension in his tone, âjust canât help babbling over my cock, huh, baby?âÂ
You could only whimper at that. The words should feel shameful, degrading, even, but the fondness on his face, the constant reassurance heâd been giving you all night only made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Because you werenât a crybaby, you were his crybaby.Â
The coil in your stomach tightened, your orgasm fast approaching. He was fucking you hard and fast now, his balls slapping against your ass with a wet smack. âJaack, Iâm gonnaâfffuckâI needââ you gasped at a particularly hard thrust, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.Â
But Jack knew what you needed before you did, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles against it, and you were done for. Your toes curled, heels pressing harder into his ass as you came, white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Your walls spasmed wildly, your orgasm crashing through you in waves. You were absolutely drenched, your pussy gushing around his cock, leaking down your ass and onto the bed.Â
Jack wasnât far behind, his hips stuttering as your walls seized his cock in a vise grip. âF-fuck, baby, youâre squeezinâ me so tight, so fuckinâ good,â he grunted, his hips going into overdrive now, chasing his climax and fucking you hard and deep.
"Cum for me, Jack, wanna make you feel good," you cried.
He ground his hips into one last time, cumming with a loud moan, cock buried deep inside you and hips pressed flush against yours.Â
He collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest. He pressed lazy kisses to your sternum, collarbone, the soft flesh of your breastsâwhatever he could get his lips on from this angle. Your fingers carded through his curls, the motion soothing as you tried to catch your breath.Â
Eventually, though, you had to part.Â
You whined as he pulled out, your cunt empty and cold now that heâd taken his warmth away. He grabbed his arm crutches, disposing of the condom and retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and began cleaning you up, gently wiping at your swollen pussy and sticky thighs, making sure you were comfortable before tossing the rag in the hamper. Â
He slid back into bed when he was finished, laying on his side and pulling you close against his chest. Your head was cushioned by this arm as you curled into him, your sweat slick bodies cool to the touch now that the heat had dissipated.Â
âYou have no idea how long Iâve wanted to kiss you,â he said, fingers brushing up and down your ribs, the touch featherlight. Â
âMmm probably as long as I have,â you said, snuggling closer to him.
âReally? When did you realize you wanted to kiss me?â
You didnât have to think about it at all. âMy birthday, on the roof. I gave you a cupcake and you got frosting all over you,â you giggled at the memory, âand all I could think about was how bad I wanted to kiss it all off of your stupidly handsome face.âÂ
He laughed with you, the creases around his eyes deepening as he did. He was so pretty, you thought for the thousandth time that night.Â
 âI remember that,â he smiled, âI remember being so proud that I made you laugh that night.âÂ
âWhat about you?â you asked.Â
He thought about it for a minute. âI think the need to kiss you has been simmering in me since I met you, but the first time I had the conscious thought was when you patched me up after that patient clocked me in the head,â he said, his hand now on your cheek, stroking the bone there, âyou were standinâ between my legs, stitchinâ up my forehead, and all I could think about was pulling you close and kissing you until I couldnât breathe.âÂ
âWhy didnât you?â
He sighed, âIâm your superior and I didnât want to make you uncomfortable if you didn't feel the same way.â You knew he didnât want to delve into the âsuperiorâ thing right now, didnât want to have the long, complicated conversation that was sure to come in the following days.Â
âAnd I wasnât sure Iâd be able to stop myself once I started,â he said, lightening the mood a bit.Â
You giggled at that, rolling your eyes affectionately. But something nagged in your head about what he said.Â
âWaitâŠâ you said, piecing together a timeline, âthat was nearly a year ago! Youâre telling me we could have been doing this for a year!?â you exclaimed, slapping him on the chest lightly.Â
He shook his head at you, a sheepish look on his face. You were both idiots.Â
âWell, I guess we have a lot of lost time to make up for, then, donât we?â he said cheekily, capturing your lips again and pushing you onto your back, determined to make you a very happy woman.
a/n: thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it <33
Jack takes off his prosthetic like itâs any other chore, which it is, because itâll never be something he lets carry weight.
Itâll carry him, but nothing else, and when you watch him through half-lidded eyes as he removes it with practiced hands, you think heâs beautiful bare. You donât tell him that tonight.
Youâve learned the whole of Jack well enough that you know he has to be in a particular mood to accept your desecration of his insecurities.
Youâll hunt them down one by one, one day, with your cunt and your need to hold him forever...
With the fact that youâve given him the most perfect baby girl in the whole wide world, and youâll give him more and more and more.Â
âNight.âÂ
Jack sets down his prosthetic against the nightstand, and heâs easy in sliding under the covers and pulling you in with an instinctive tug.Â
âGoodnight.â
His voice is rough. The house is dark and still. He sleeps for a few blessed hours with you in his arms, but only after checking that the baby monitor is truly on for the third time.Â
âShe go down okay?ââ
âYes, Jack. Sheâs a champion at knocking out.â
Jack sleeps, but sometime later, he wakes up earlier than heâd like to. Youâre still a warm weight nuzzling into him, face smushed against him. Thereâs nothing wrong except the fact that itâs a shame his bladder canât make it till daylight.Â
He reaches toward the nightstandâ
And he goes still when his hands find air.Â
â...The hell?â
Jack, half-asleep and in no mood for wherever the hell his prosthetic leg couldâve gone, frowns before reaching again.
Nothing. His nose flares as the sheets slide off his thighs. He searches the floor, then under the bed, and itâs not fear thatâs making his pulse climb. Nope.
It's just the simple, humiliating realization that something he kinda depends on is missing, and he doesnât know how that happened, so heâs just as confused. Confused and embarrassed. Two very fun emotions. God fuck.
He turns back toward you, the peaceful girl whoâs completely unaware that her husband is sitting in the pitch dark because heâs lost a limb. He swallows.
Heâs gonna have to ask you. He hates this. He loves that itâs you thatâs ruined him and you that can crack him open, that itâs you heâll be vulnerable with. But he hates having to ask, because the husband that doesnât deserve you and the father to your baby shouldnât be losing his fucking limb and making you go look for it.Â
Jack leans closer and murmurs your name. With no response, he tries again, a little firmer.Â
âSleepy. Baby.â
He swallows again when your eyes flutter open, a small sound you make to go along with it.Â
â...WhaâŠwhaâs goinâ on?â
Jack blinks slows. Heâll smother the embarrassment flickering under his nerves later.Â
âMy legâs gone.â
You blink at him. Yep. Thatâs something to blink at. He wonât blame you.Â
âWhat?âÂ
Jack simply gestures toward his side of the bed, because maybe if he pretends like this happens all the time, then he doesnât have to be suddenly hyperaware of whatâs not just missing from the room, but from the whole of him. Sounds like a fucking plan.Â
âI took it off. I put it by the nightstand. Itâs not there. Itâs not under the bed. Itâs not anywhere on my side.â
You squint into the dark. âWell, did you move it? Maybe it rolled under the bed and maybe over to my sideââ
You pause, and Jack stares as he watches your shadowed expression shift. Itâs confusion to realization, your eyes widening slightlyâto a look where youâre finding somethingâŠadorable.Â
âOh. Oh my God. I can take a guess.âÂ
You throw the covers off, sliding out of bed.Â
âIâll be back.â
âWhere are you goingââ
You squeeze his hand, smiling sleepily. Fitting. âTrust me.â
Well. He has to, doesnât he? Youâre gone into the hall before he can say anything else.Â
He sits there for a hot minute, and donât worry, sleepy, he doesnât have to be reminded of his own helplessness.Â
Making kiddo look for your limb while you sit pretty. Husband of the yearâ
You reappear before he can even wonder why he couldnât hear your footsteps down the hall, but your eyes are glossy, and youâve found itâyouâve tucked his prosthetic under your arm.Â
âWhat the hell?â
âI found it, and youâll be happy to know where. Oh my god.â
Your face is open in a way that makes Jackâs chest crack open with a furrowed brow. You set his prosthetic in front of him on the bed, and you climb onto the bed on your knees.Â
You pull out your phone. Jack couldnât guess what youâre so in awe about.Â
âWhat are youââ
âLook, Dad.âÂ
Your voice is trembling between the line of laughter and slight tears, and Jack can only listen when you hold the phone up to him.Â
He freezes. The sight isâthe sight isâŠ
The only thing as beautiful and ridiculous than what youâre showing him is you.Â
On the screen is a photo you mustâve taken just minutes ago in babyâs room, only lit by her baby-sun nightlight. Sheâs asleep in her crib, face turned into her pillow.
Sheâs got her chubby toddler body wrapped around his prosthetic leg like itâs a stuffed animal.
Sheâs hugging it. Like the thing is comforting.Â
âŠLike itâs Dad.
You shine in watching Jack stare into the screen, and itâs the blunt force of tenderness burning its way into his heart. His throat might close to the point of suffocation.Â
Not a bad way to go.Â
âChubby mustâve took it while we were sleeping. JustâŠshe just dragged it into her crib and fell asleep with it. Weâve got a little thief on our hands.â
â...Why?â
Heâs unbelieving. He canât believeâ
âI think she thinks itâsâŠI donât know. Sheâs two. If she has your leg, she has you.â Your voice is warm, near wrecked in the explanation. âIâm surprised she was able to carry it. Sheâs got baby muscle.â
âŠHe canât believe heâs this fucking loved.Â
The joke he tries going for slips out broken with a low sigh. He swallows again, dragging his finger along the metal of his prosthetic.Â
âMy kidâŠstole my leg.âÂ
âYes she did. She also had my badge clip. I left it. It might be a little easier to take from her in the morning than your lovely chunk of metal.âÂ
âInherited her mommyâs love for trinkets.â
You laugh at that. Jackâs mouth twitches into something thin.Â
Heâs loved by a perfect kid from a perfect woman, and he guesses he can only be defeated by their love in its most absurd form. Even if thatâs what heâll never deserve.Â
â...She can keep it next time. Long as she brings it back to me.â
You lean in to kiss his shoulder. He only wants the moment he leaves this world to be like this, you lingering with your lips, the grainy sight of Chubby needing the part of him he sometimes loathes to go to sleep.Â
âShe loves you so much, Jack. But maybe we can find her a stuffed leg.â
He can only hope to God itâs something like this.
jack abbott x reader who adopted her nieces (toddler and older maybe six or eight?) after their parents died (sister and brother in law) and none of her coworkers knew until the older got injured and had to go to the ER w/ babysitter and little sister . everyone thinking she has a secret family and her having to clarify those are her nieces - jacks heart just getting all fuzzy seeing her being all soft with her nieces ?!
Jack Abbot x resident!reader || Masterlist || Spotify
summary: The night takes a turn when Jack finds you in the ER hallway with two little girls who look unmistakably like you. He realizes thereâs a whole part of your life he never knew about. But maybe, if you let him, heâd really like to understand it.
word count: 8.0k
warnings/tags: No use of y/n. Hurt/comfort. Angst and fluff. Canon typical medical traumas. May contain medical inaccuracies. I usually prefer not naming kid characters in my stories, but reader's nieces are named in this (I found it too difficult writing two unnamed child characters in the same scene, hehe)
Jack is looking at the board with a slight crease between his brows, eyes scanning the patient list like heâs expecting something to suddenly appear. Itâs an unusually quiet night, which, in Jackâs experience, usually means something is about to go down.
He shifts his weight slightly, arms folded over his chest as he studies the list like it might suddenly rearrange itself if he watches long enough.
A couple of minor injuries. One patient waiting on labs. Someone in observation who probably shouldâve been discharged an hour ago. He canât remember the last time the board looked this manageable.Â
âDonât stare at it too hard,â a well-known voice says from behind him. âYou might scare the calm away.â
Jack glances over his shoulder.Â
Youâre leaning against the counter. You look tired, yet you still have that small, sweet smile on your face, the one heâs noticed shows up most when the shift is at its worst, like youâre stubbornly refusing to let the place grind you down.Â
Itâs a smile he has begun to rely more on than he probably should. Itâs subtle. Easy to miss if someone isnât paying attention. But Jack always notices.
Itâs steady, reassuring. And somewhere along the line, Jack realized he looks for it now. Which is a bit of a problem. Youâre his resident, which means he probably shouldnât be noticing things like that, but he just canât help it.Â
He shouldnât be cataloguing the way your smile softens the hard edges of a shift, or how the tension in his shoulders eases a fraction when you walk into a room. He shouldnât be aware of the way your voice sounds when youâre explaining something gently to a patient versus when youâre arguing with an elderly patient about why they really do need to stay for observation.
But he does. He notices all of it.Â
âCalmâs a myth,â he says after a moment. âJust means the ambulance bayâs about to light up.â
You hum softly behind him. âOptimistic as always, Abbot.â
âJust speaking from experience.â
âSure.â Your tone is light, teasing, but thereâs something softer under it that Jack canât quite place.
You have been a little different lately. Jack noticed it before he meant to. Itâs just in glimpses, short moments where you linger a little longer than usual after a hard case. Your usual optimism is by no means gone, but it seems like youâre fighting a little more for it. The smile is still there. Still warm, still steady. But sometimes it takes a second longer to show up.
Sometimes he catches the moment just before it does. The quiet breath you take before turning back to a patient. The way your shoulders drop when you think no oneâs looking. The way you stare at a chart a little too long after delivering bad news. Most people probably wouldnât notice, but he does.
You push yourself off the counter and walk up beside him, leaning slightly so you can see the board better. Your shoulder brushes his arm for half a second before you settle next to him. Neither of you mention it.
âGot anything good for me?â you ask, leaning a little closer, eyes bright even though your body is clearly tired.Â
âI got a dislocated collarbone in room twelve,â he offers.Â
Youâre studying the list, brow slightly furrowed now, that little smile still sitting at the corner of your mouth like it belongs there. Itâs ridiculous, honestly, how much it steadies him.Â
âYeah, we better get that fixed,â you murmur, voice low, almost to yourself, but loud enough that Jack hears.Â
He glances at you, smiling despite himself. âYou know cherrypicking is against hospital policy, right?âÂ
âYouâre one to talk,â you shoot back, eyes glinting.Â
Jack snorts softly, shaking his head. âThatâs called careful evaluation. Strategic thinking.âÂ
âStrategic, huh?â you tease, leaning just a little closer, it makes you brush your shoulder against his side again. Itâs just the slightest touch, but itâs still enough for him to notice. âIf you say so,â you murmur, voice low and teasing, âbut I think we both know you just like standing here watching me pick the fun cases.â
Jack shakes his head, though a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. âYou finish your notes on the chest pain in four?â
âYep,â you say. âNegative trops, normal EKG, probably reflux. I set up discharge and told him to follow up with his PCP.â
Jack nods once, approving.
You glance sideways at him. âYou already knew that, didnât you?â
âJust checking.â
âYouâre so reassuring,â you deadpan.
Jackâs mouth twitches faintly, like heâs trying not to smile and mostly failing. âPart of my job description.â
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, but you donât move away. If anything, you settle a little more comfortably beside him, shoulder still brushing his arm every now and then when one of you shifts. Itâs easy like this, too easy.
âYeah,â you murmur after a beat, voice softer now, âitâs⊠nice to have a good attending.â
Jack glances at you, caught slightly off guard by the softness in your voice. He opens his mouth to respond, he doesnât even know what to say, but he is cut off when your phone suddenly rings. The sound slices clean through the quiet moment.
You blink, startled, and pull it from your pocket, glancing at the screen. Your expression changes immediately. The teasing ease disappears. Your shoulders stiffen just slightly. You frown, glancing at the screen. âSorry, I really need to take this.âÂ
You turn and begin walking away with quick steps, your thumb swiping over the answer button almost instinctively. âHello?â Your voice is calm, but thereâs an undertone of alertness now, of attention fully focused.
Jack watches you as you disappear down the hall. He gives a soft shake of his head, almost like heâs trying to shake off the sudden shift from warm ease to professional focus. Then he turns back to the board, pushing his thoughts aside.Â
But he barely has time to refocus before Lena appears at the board, her expression tense but professional. She doesnât waste words. âWeâve got a trauma coming in. Motorcycle accident, one patient, multiple injuries. Five minutes away.âÂ
Thatâs all it takes for him to snap fully back. âDo we have vitals?â
âNo.â
âOkay, room prep. Get trauma two cleared, full protocol, you know the drill,â he says, already moving. âVitals on arrival,â he calls out as he reaches the bay.Â
The patient is in rough shape upon arrival, but he pulls through and after working on him for half an hour heâs finally stable and on his way up to surgery.Â
Jack peels off his gloves, the latex snapping softly as he drops them into the bin, and as he washes his hands the adrenaline finally begins to ebb. Warm water runs over his fingers as he scrubs methodically, gaze fixed somewhere on the tiled wall in front of him
The patient had made it. Stable enough for surgery, that counts as a win in the ER. He steps out of the trauma bay and stops short.
Youâre in the hallway near triage. On your hip is a toddler, she canât be more than two years old, sleepy, fighting a great fight to keep her eyes open, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest. In front of you, perched on a gurney with an ice pack pressed to her head, is a little girl who looks suspiciously like you. Same eyes, same shape to the mouth. Even the tilt of her head when she looks up at you feels familiar. She looks to be about five or six years old. Â
For a second his brain just stalls, and then it does something unhelpful. Oh⊠she has kids. Itâs absurd how hard that thought lands. Around him, whispers start immediately.
âDid you know she had kids?â
âSince when?â
âWait, is she married?â
Jack hates how tight his chest feels. You never mentioned a partner. Never mentioned children. Heâs spent so long memorizing all the little things about you, the way you take your coffee, the way you sigh after long shifts, the way you rub your temples when youâre overwhelmed, and somehow missed an entire family?Â
He watches you press your forehead to the little girls on the gurneyâs, murmuring reassurances. The toddler tiredly pats your cheek like sheâs comforting you too. Jack feels something in his chest rearrange.
Ellis raises a brow at him. âDid you know?â
âNo,â he mutters, unable to look away. Â
Jack watches the scene like heâs accidentally stepped into someone elseâs life.Â
Youâre standing there in the harsh fluorescent light of the ER hallway, still in your scrubs, just like he has seen you hundreds of times before, now youâre just holding a toddler like itâs the most natural thing in the world. Your hand is rubbing slow circles on her back while you lean down toward the older girl on the gurney.
Jack stands there longer than he should. Long enough to feel vaguely like heâs intruding on something private. Because the version of you he knows exists in trauma bays and chart rooms and late-night coffee runs. The version of you who stubbornly smiles through brutal shifts and argues politely with patients who want to leave against medical advice
This version of you is⊠different. Soft in a way that makes something in his chest pull tight. But then he pulls himself together. Because standing there staring isnât helping anyone. And the whispers behind him are getting louder.
âDid she ever mention kids to you?â someone murmurs.
âNope.â
âDo we know who the dad is?â
Jackâs jaw tightens. He steps forward before he can think too hard about it. You turn your head in his direction as he approaches. For a moment your expression freezes, but you recover quickly, shifting the toddler a little higher on your hip as her little head droops against your shoulder.Â
âHey,â he says, keeping his voice low and even. âWhat have we got her?â
You glance down at the little girl on the gurney before answering, your voice automatically shifting into the calm, clinical tone Jack is used to hearing during rounds.
âShe fell out of bed and hit the corner of the nightstand,â you finish gently, brushing a stray piece of hair away from the little girlâs forehead. âShe cried right away. No loss of consciousness, no vomiting. Babysitter said she seemed a little dizzy after, but sheâs been alert the whole time.â
âI just had to pee,â the little girl insists, her lower lip wobbles a little.
You give her a soft smile immediately. âI know you did,â you murmur gently, brushing your thumb across her cheek where a tear had started to slip down.Â
The toddler on your hip lifts her head a little at the sound of your voice, blinking slowly like sheâs trying very hard to stay awake. Her tiny hand pats your shoulder once before she tucks her face back into your neck, rabbit still clutched tight.
Jack feels something strange twist in his chest. Â
âLetâs get her to peds and have a look,â Jack says gently.Â
You nod immediately.Â
The next five minutes pass in a blur, the kind of blur that only comes from moving quickly but carefully, every motion practiced and precise. You walk beside the gurney, still cradling the toddler, while Jack guides the gurney towards the pediatric room. Â
âIâm Dr. Abbot,â Jack begins, his voice calm but firm, as he closes the door behind them, shutting out the harsh fluorescent buzz of the main ER. He glances at you, taking in how naturally you balance the toddler on your hip while keeping an eye on the older girl. âIs it okay if I take a look at your head and ask a few questions?â he says gently as he pulls, first a chair for you to sit beside the gurney, before rolling a stool for himself to sit on the other side.Â
You whisper a small thank you as you settle, carefully shifting the toddler from your hip to your lap, letting her slump a little as her eyelids droop.Â
âOkay,â the little girl on the gurney whispers.Â
You give her a soft nod, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. âDr. Abbot is just going to check your head and make sure everythingâs okay, alright? He will be super gentle, I promise. Heâs really, really good at this.â
Jack feels a strange mixture of awe and something heavier, something private, almost fragile, coil in his chest. He swallows hard, keeping his voice low and steady, though his chest feels just a little too tight. âYeah, Iâm gonna be super gentle, promise.â Â
Jack wheels his stool a little closer to the gurney, keeping his movements slow and unthreatening the way you would with any nervous pediatric patient. The little girl watches him carefully, her small fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.Â
âAlright,â he says softly, offering her a small, reassuring smile. âFirst things first, whatâs your name?âÂ
âSophia,â she says in a small voice. Â
Jack nods gently, keeping his tone soft and warm. âHi, Sophia,â he says, like theyâre just meeting under normal circumstances and not in the middle of a late-night ER visit. âThatâs a really good name. Means wisdom, right?â
âMhm,â she nods seriously, like this is very important information.
Jack smiles faintly. Your thumb brushes gently over her ankle through the blanket. âAlright,â Jack continues gently, shifting a little closer on the stool. âI have this flashlight,â Jack says, pulling the small penlight from the pocket of his scrub top. He clicks it on, letting the beam shine briefly against the wall first so Sophia can see it. âIâm just going to use it to look at your eyes, okay?â
Sophia watches the light with cautious curiosity. âOkayâŠâ she murmurs.Â
âPerfect,â he says, offering her a small, reassuring smile. Jack keeps his movements slow and predictable, the way he would with any nervous kid. âCan you look right at my nose for me?â he asks gently.  Â
She is very cooperative, squinting a little as she focuses hard on the middle of his face.
âPerfect,â Jack murmurs. He lifts the penlight and shines it briefly into one eye, then the other, watching the pupils carefully as they react to the light. âGreat job,â he murmurs. âYouâre really good at this.â
That seems to make her proud. Her shoulders lift just a little, like sheâs sitting a bit taller on the gurney. Jack notices and lets the moment sit for a second before continuing.
âAlright,â he says gently, clicking the penlight off and slipping it back into his pocket. âNow can you follow my finger with your eyes, not your head.â
Sophia nods solemnly, clearly taking the task very seriously. Jack lifts a finger in front of her face and begins to move it slowly from side to side. Sophiaâs eyes track it carefully, her brow furrowing in concentration.
âPerfect,â he murmurs. âNow up here.â He moves his finger upward, then down, watching closely as her gaze follows smoothly. âGreat job.â
Sophiaâs shoulders relax a little at the praise.
âI heard you felt a bit dizzy after you fell,â Jack continues gently. âDoes your head feel spinny right now? Or do you feel nauseous at all?âÂ
Sophia thinks about it very seriously, her brow scrunching as she considers the question.
âA little before,â she admits quietly. âBut not now.â
Jack nods once, calm and reassuring. âOkay, thatâs good.âÂ
But the little girl shuffles slightly on the gurney. âBut I still have to peeâŠâ she says quietly.
You sigh, closing your eyes a brief second, the sound carrying a mixture of exhaustion and guilt. âYou never got to go to the bathroom, did you, sweetheart.âÂ
âNo,â she says, her voice small. Â
The sound of your voice wakes the toddler on your lap, her eyelids fluttering as she takes in her surroundings. Her eyes land on Jack wide and curious, a tiny frown tugging at the corner of her mouth. You shift slightly, holding her securely against your chest while keeping one hand free to guide Sophia.
The little girl in your lap lifts the stuffed rabbit in her hand and points it vaguely in Jackâs direction.
âBun,â she informs him.
Jack nods very seriously. âThatâs a great bunny.â
She seems satisfied with that. Her little frown turns into the sweetest, little tentative smile, and she wiggles slightly against your chest, the rabbit still clutched tight.Â
âLetâs go find a toilet,â you murmur softly, shifting the toddler gently so sheâs more comfortable against your hip, but her little feet kick lightly, a little whiny sound of disapproval leaving her mouth, like she isnât willing to move so shortly after being woken up. âSweetie, Sophia has to go to the bathroom,â you murmur gently, tilting your head so the toddler can see your face. Her little frown deepens, and she lets out another small whiny sound, hugging her bunny a little tighter.
âHere,â Jack says, reacting on instinct more than thought, holding his arms out gently toward the toddler. âWant to come to me for a sec?âÂ
Your eyes finds his, a tired, thankful look in your eyes as hand the little girl over her tiny body shifting hesitantly into Jackâs arms. He catches her with ease, one hand under her bottom, the other supporting her back, letting her hug her rabbit close against his chest. The toddler relaxes slightly, leaning into him as if sheâs known him far longer than a few minutes.
Jack gives a soft, reassuring hum, careful not to startle her. âThere we go,â he murmurs gently, adjusting her so sheâs comfortable.Â
âOkay, letâs find you a toilet,â you murmur to Sophia, gently squeezing her hand. âAre you okay to walk?âÂ
She nods and you help her down fram the gurney, your hands steadying her as she plants her small feet on the floor. âWe will be back in a minute,â you say, looking at Jack.   Â
Jack gives a small nod, his arms still steady around the toddler. âIâve got her,â he says softly, his voice low and calm, like heâs afraid any sudden sound might startle her.Â
You glance at him, the weight of the night and the exhaustion in both of you hanging between you for a moment. âThank you,â you murmur quietly, the tired gratitude threading through the simple phrase.
Jack meets your eyes for just a second, his expression softening in a way that makes your chest tighten slightly. âOf course,â he murmurs, his tone steady and gentle, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. âAnytime,â he says gently, shifting the toddler slightly so sheâs snug against his chest.Â
You make it to the door, Sophiaâs hand in yours, your gaze lingers for a moment, grateful and weary, before you turn your attention back to Sophia and leave the room. The toddler shifts a little in his arms, pressing her cheek more firmly against his chest, and Jack instinctively rocks her just a fraction, careful and deliberate.Â
Jack adjusts her tiny weight slightly, settling her more comfortably against him. Her small sigh of contentment is almost inaudible, but itâs enough to draw a faint, careful smile across his face. He rocks her gently, slow and steady, as if the motion itself could smooth out the rough edges of the night.
He glances down at her little hand clutching the stuffed bunny, the way she presses it to her chest like itâs a lifeline. Even in the chaos of the ER, this small, quiet connection feels grounding. His eyes flick up briefly toward where youâve just disappeared with Sophia, and thereâs a flicker of something unspoken in his chest, acknowledgment, relief, admiration.
For a few seconds, itâs just him and the toddler, the world outside the room fading to the soft rhythm of her breathing and the faint hum of hospital life beyond the walls. Jack rocks her just a little more, careful not to disturb the fragile bubble of calm, letting himself breathe into it, too.
He had no idea that you had children, but seeing you now, so effortlessly caring, so present even under the harsh glare of the ER lights, shifts something in him.Â
The image of you juggling a little tired toddler on your hip while gently guiding Sophia, your voice soft and steady, imprints itself firmly in his mind. Itâs not just admiration or curiosity, itâs a quiet, sinking awe that someone so capable, so brilliant, also carries this other life, these tiny, fragile humans who rely on you so completely.Â
âI never got your name,â he murmurs, careful, low, his voice soft as if saying it too loud might shatter the fragile calm between him and the toddler. The little girl in his arms shifts slightly, nuzzling her cheek against his chest, and he instinctively rocks her just a fraction more. She is clearly too tired to answer, but he wasnât expecting her to do so anyway.Â
Her small hand twitches, brushing against the edge of the stuffed rabbit, and he tightens his hold just a little, letting her feel secure. The simplicity of it, her trust, her quiet presence, anchors him more than any adrenaline rush or successful trauma ever could.
For a few minutes itâs just him and her, the faint hum of the hospital, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the gentle sway of his arms. Jack exhales slowly, letting himself sink into the strange, grounding calm.Â
When you come back the world shifts again, snapping into motion with the same gentle urgency that fills every corner of the ER. Sophiaâs hand still clasped in yours, her steps small but determined. The little girl in Jackâs arms stirs slightly at the sound of your voice, lifting her head and blinking up at you with sleepy, trusting eyes.
Jack straightens just a fraction, still careful, still protective, as if even a slight motion might break the fragile bubble of calm. âWeâre back,â you murmur, voice soft but steady, like a bridge between the chaos outside and the tiny universe heâs holding. âDid you fall asleep again, honey?â you murmur gently, tilting your head slightly so the toddler can see your face.Â
The little girl in Jackâs arms lets out a tiny, sleepy yawn and snuggles closer, her grip on the rabbit tightening just a fraction. Jack shifts her slightly as he stands up, easing her into the curve of your shoulder as you step closer. âSheâs been a really good girl,â he says quietly, his voice low and steady, careful not to startle her. âJust got herself a little nap.â
You smile softly down at the toddler, brushing a strand of hair from her face. âI see that,â you murmur, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head before looking at him again. You smile softly, warmth threading through your tired eyes. âThank you,â you murmur, voice gentle but carrying that quiet, exhausted gratitude that Jack can feel in his chest more than he can hear.
He meets your gaze, just for a moment, his expression softening in response, the small crease between his brows easing. âAnytime,â he murmurs, voice low and calm, a faint, careful smile tugging at his lips as he adjusts the toddler slightly so sheâs snug against your shoulder again.
The little girl presses her face into your chest, and you canât help but hum softly in response, rocking her gently.Â
Jack feels that quiet, twisting mix of awe and something warmer, something protective, settle deeper in his chest. He has to look away as if to reset himself, to stop his thoughts from spiraling too far. The sight of you, so effortlessly present with the toddler and Sophia, so gentle and patient, so human, feels like itâs pulling at something inside him he wasnât sure he still had room for.Â
He turns his attention back to Sophia. âAlright,â he murmurs, voice soft and steady, âletâs see how your headâs feeling now.âÂ
Sophia nods, her weary seemingly fully gone, her weariness seemingly fully gone now, replaced with that careful, attentive focus that comes from trying to do exactly what sheâs asked. Jack helps her up onto the gurney just enough so sheâs sitting comfortably, his hands steadying her small frame. âGood job,â he murmurs, his voice calm, low, gentle. âDid you hit anything besides your head when you fell? Anywhere else it hurts?â
Sophia thinks seriously for a moment, brow furrowed. âNo⊠just my head.â
Jack nods slowly, his voice still calm and gentle. âOkay, thatâs good to know.âÂ
Jackâs eyes soften as he examines the small gash on Sophiaâs forehead. Itâs shallow, just enough to bleed a little, but nothing alarming. He keeps his tone calm, gentle, and steady, aware of how closely youâre watching.
âIâm gonna clean this up, okay?â Jack murmurs softly, leaning slightly closer so Sophia can see exactly what heâs doing.
âOkay,âshe whispers, her small voice tentative but trusting.
âAnd then Iâm gonna close the wound with a little bit of medical super glue,â Jack continues gently. Keeping his voice is calm, low and steady, the kind that makes scary things seem small.
Sophiaâs eyes widen just slightly at the mention of glue, and she leans back a fraction. Jack notices immediately and gives a reassuring smile. âSuper glue?â she whispers, her voice tiny and uncertain, brows furrowing.
Jack nods gently, keeping his tone soft and steady. âYeah, but itâs not the kind you use at home. This is special hospital glue. It helps the skin stick together so it heals really fast. You wonât even feel it much, I promise.âÂ
âItâs true,â you murmur softly, brushing a stray curl from Sophiaâs forehead, your voice gentle and reassuring. âAnd Jack is really good at this, and the glue helps your wound heal so it doesnât leave so bad of a scar.âÂ
Sophia blinks up at you, confusion knitting her small brows together. âWho is Jack?â she asks, her voice small but genuinely curious.
âI mean Dr. Abbot,â you correct yourself, looking a little sheepish as you glance back at him.
For a moment Jack pauses, he canât help but like the way his name sounded when you said it. It sounds easy coming from you, natural in a way that settles somewhere warm in his chest before he has time to think about it. The corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement.Â
âJack is fine,â he says gently, his voice warm as he crouches slightly so heâs more at Sophiaâs eye level.
Sophia studies him very seriously, her small face thoughtful, for just about half a second before she then gives a small, decisive nod. âOkay.â
Jackâs smile softens at her approval. âOkay,â he echoes lightly. âNow letâs get that wound cleaned.âÂ
Sophia nods again, a little braver now that she knows whatâs going to happen. Itâs a quick, careful process. Jack works with practiced ease, dabbing gently at the small cut while keeping his movements slow enough that nothing startles her.
âThere we go,â he murmurs softly. âThis might sting a little.â
Sophia scrunches her nose a little at the cool antiseptic wipe but holds perfectly still, her small hands gripping the edge of the gurney.
âYouâre doing amazing,â Jack adds quietly, genuine approval in his voice.
Beside the gurney, you shift the toddler slightly against your shoulder as she stirs, humming softly until she settles again, her cheek pressed into your chest and the stuffed rabbit tucked under her chin. The quiet rhythm of it fills the small space between the four of you.
Jack finishes cleaning the wound and straightens just a little, reaching for the small applicator of medical glue. âAlright,â he says gently. âNow for the tiny bit of glue we talked about. This part is really quick.â
Sophia nods solemnly, eyes fixed on him, trusting. Itâs a quick fix, and heâs sure the scarring will be minimal. âAnd⊠done,â he says softly after a second, leaning back.
Sophiaâs shoulders drop in visible relief. âAll finished?â she asks hopefully.
Jack smiles. âAll finished.â
A small proud smile spreads across her face, and she happily accepts his offer of a high five when he lifts his palm. Sophia beams, as her small hand connects with his in a perfect, confident high five. The sound echoes softly in the room, and Jack canât help but mirror her grin, warmth threading through the exhaustion of the night, and when Jack glances at you, thereâs that same quiet warmth in your eyes that makes his chest tighten in a way it probably shouldnât, but he just canât help it.Â
That warmth in your eyes lingers for just a moment too long. Jack notices it immediately. He notices everything about you lately, which is exactly the problem.
Sophia is still smiling proudly, clearly thrilled that the entire ordeal ended with a high five instead of something scarier. The toddler in your arms has sunk back into that half-asleep state, her cheek pressed against your shoulder, rabbit tucked beneath her chin.
And it hits Jack all over again how strange it feels to see you like this. That he hasnât known this part of you. Not in passing conversation between patients. Not in the quiet moments over stale coffee at two in the morning. Not in the long shifts where people start sharing pieces of their lives just to stay awake.
And yet here you are, like this has always existed just outside the edges of the world he knows. Sophia swings her legs a little where she sits on the gurney, clearly pleased with both the praise and the attention.
âSee?â you murmur softly to her, brushing a curl back from her forehead. âTold you he was good.â
Jack pretends not to notice the way you said that, like itâs something youâve known for a long time.
Sophia nods seriously. âMhm.âÂ
Jack huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. âWell,â he says lightly, pushing himself up from the stool, âI had a very good patient.â
Sophia sits a little taller at that, visibly proud of herself. The little girl stirs faintly against your shoulder, her small fingers tightening in your scrubs as she shifts. You instinctively rock her a little, one hand coming up to steady the back of her head while the other rests against her back.
The movement is automatic, practiced. Jack notices that too, of course he does.Â
You shift slightly, adjusting the toddler so sheâs more comfortable against your hip, and murmur softly. âWe should probably go find Lauren,â you say with a small smile to Sophia before you look at Jack to explain. âSheâs their babysitter, she was panicking when they came in, so I told her to take a snack in the cafeteria.â  Â
Jack nods. âItâs never fun being the babysitter when accidents happen.â
âYeah, it feels like a big responsibility to take care of otherâs kidsâŠâ you mumble, your gaze turning briefly to the toddler in your arms. Jack follows your glance down at the little girl in your arms, whoâs nuzzled comfortably against you, and his chest tightens just a fraction. Â
Your gaze turns to Sophia. âAre you okay going home with Lauren now? I will be back for breakfast.â
âYou donât have to stay,â Jack interrupts softly, keeping his voice low so as not to startle the toddler in your arms.
âI would really like to follow up on my asthma patient,â you murmur quietly, voice low but firm, glancing at Jack. âIs that okay?â you ask, now turned to the girl on the gurney.Â
Sophia nods solemnly. âMhm,â she says, trusting, a faint smile tugging at her lips.Â
He holds the door open for you as you leave the pediatrics room. You shift slightly, adjusting the toddler so sheâs more comfortable against your hip, and pause just outside the door.
âCan you say goodbye to Dr. Abbot,â you murmur softly to Sophia, brushing a curl from her forehead.Â
Sophia looks up at him and lifts her hand in a tiny wave. âBye, Dr. Jack,â she says clearly, her voice proud and earnest.
Jack crouches slightly, meeting her gaze with a soft, warm smile. âBye, Sophia. You were so brave tonight.â
Sophia beams at the praise, then lifts her hand for a high five. Jack feels a warm molten feeling rise in his chest as he raises his own hand to meet hers, holding it steady at her height. Her small palm smacks against his with a crisp confidence, and she grins like sheâs just won something important.
âAlright,â he murmurs with a soft chuckle, lowering his hand again. âPerfect high five.â
The little girlâs grin only widens at that, clearly thrilled with herself. She rocks a little on her heels, still glowing with pride.Â
Jackâs eyes meet yours as he straightens again, and for a moment the hallway feels quieter than it should, the distant noise of the ER fading into the background. Thereâs a softness in his expression he doesnât quite try to hide.
You give him a small, tired smile in return, shifting the toddler slightly, the movement, and the chance from the quiet room to the hallway waking her. She blinks sleepily, brow knitting for a moment as she lifts her head, still clutching the stuffed rabbit beneath her chin. Her eyes drift around the hallway before settling on him.Â
For a second she just stares at him, heavy-lidded and quiet, trying to place where she is. Her fingers tighten a little in the fabric of your scrubs, rabbit still tucked under her chin.
Jackâs expression softens even more at the sleepy focus of her gaze. âHey there,â he murmurs gently, careful to keep his voice low.Â
A small, sleepy smile tugs at the toddlerâs lips at the sound of his voice, slow and uncertain but unmistakably there. She blinks at him once more and her smile widens, the kind that belongs entirely to half-awake toddlers who havenât quite decided if theyâre still dreaming.
She lets out a sleepy giggle, soft and warm, the kind that seems to fill the small space between you all. The soft giggle seems to catch him completely off guard, and his smile widens despite himself.
âOh, you are a real charmer, arenât you,â Jack murmurs quietly, voice warm as he watches her fight sleep. Jack tilts his head slightly, studying her for a second before glancing up at you.
âWhatâs her name?â he asks softly.
âHer name is Rosa, but we call her Rosie the most,â Sophia says quickly, clearly pleased to be the one answering. A small smile touching your lips as you glance down at the toddler. Sophia rocks a little beside you, clearly proud of the introduction she just delivered.
âYeah, youâre our little flower, right?â you murmur softly, brushing your fingers lightly over Rosieâs cheek.Â
Jackâs gaze lingers on the two of you, something warm and thoughtful settling in his expression.
Rosie lets out one more tiny, breathy giggle before she suddenly leans toward him, her tiny hand reaching out curiously. Without thinking, Jack steps closer and lets her grab one of his fingers.Â
Jack stills for a second when her tiny hand closes around his finger. Her grip is warm and unexpectedly strong for someone so small and half-asleep. Rosie peers at their joined hands with slow, fascinated focus, like sheâs just discovered something very important.
Jack watches her for a moment, careful not to move too quickly. âWell,â he murmurs softly, glancing up at you with a quiet, amused smile, âthatâs⊠a pretty firm handshake.â
âYeah, sheâs tougher than she looks,â you say softly, a quiet hint of amusement in your voice, though thereâs something else there too, something more subdued, almost melancholic. Jack notices it. âAnd so are you Phia,â you murmur quietly, shifting your gaze down to the older girl, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.Â
Itâs as he stands there, watching the three of you, with Rosieâs tiny fingers still curling lightly around his, that Lena comes walking down the hallway. Her steps are light but purposeful, an ipad tucked under one arm.Â
âDr. Abbot we need you in room four,â Lena calls softly as she approaches, her voice gentle but carrying that unmistakable urgency. She glances at the scene before her, Rosie still holding Jackâs finger, Sophiaâs small hand in yours, and the quiet warmth between you all, and offers a small, understanding smile.Â
Jack gives Rosie one last, careful squeeze of her tiny hand before letting go, to let her curl her fingers back around your scrubs. âDuty calls,â he murmurs softly, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he straightens.
Rosie blinks slowly when his finger slips from her grasp, her tiny hand hovering in the air for a moment as if sheâs trying to understand where it went. Then her fingers curl again, to bunch into the fabric of your scrubs instead. She lets out a small, sleepy hum and presses her cheek back against your shoulder, rabbit still tucked beneath her chin.
Sophia watches the exchange with great seriousness before giving Jack another small wave. âGoodbye,â she says earnestly.
Jackâs smile softens. âBye, Sophia,â he replies gently. âTake care of your sister, okay?â
Sophia nods like sheâs just been entrusted with something very important. Jackâs gaze flicks back to you then, lingering for a quiet second.Â
âIâll be back on duty in sec,â you say quietly, almost apologetically, shifting Rosie a little higher on your hip so her head rests more comfortably against your shoulder. The words half directed to Lena, who pauses a step behind Jack, her expression softening with understanding.
She gives a small nod. âTake your time,â she says gently.
Jackâs eyes linger on you for another moment, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly as he watches you adjust Rosie against your shoulder, the toddler already drifting fully back into sleep.
For half a second he doesnât moment, he doesnât move. âSee you back on the floor,â he says finally, his voice low but warm, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He gives the girls a last wave then he turns with Lena, the two of them heading down the hallway toward the ER rooms, already slipping back into the rhythm of the shift.
The shift hums around him again, he checks his watch briefly before slipping back into the flow of patients and charting.Â
Itâs not until the end of the shift that he gets a chance to speak with you again. Itâs quiet now, the ER settling into the slower rhythm that comes in the early morning. Youâre at the nurses station, finishing up the last of your charting while chewing lightly on your lower lip. He walks up to the station, settling his forearms on the counter, learning slightly toward you as he watches you work.Â
He watches you for a quiet moment, the hum of the ER soft around the two of you. âYou know lip chewing can lead to inflammation,â he says quietly, the teasing edge in his voice soft but present as his gaze lingers on you.
You glance up quickly. âOf course, Iâm a doctor,â you say with a small, mock-offended smile, tilting your head slightly. âAnd Iâm not chewing my lip,â you mumble, though the small twitch betrays you. âBut I am finishing my charting,â you say, pushing the last key with a satisfying click. You push back slightly from the keyboard, letting your shoulders relax, and finally look up at him fully.Â
He offers you a small, amused smile, the kind that lingers more in his eyes than on his lips. For a moment neither of you says anything. The quiet of the early morning hums around you, monitors beeping softly somewhere down the hall.Â
The events of the night seem to hang quietly between you for a moment. Rosieâs sleepy giggle and Sophiaâs bright smile, seems to linger in the air, like soft echoes. But that underlying melancholy he has noticed earlier still lingers faintly beneath it all.
His expression softens a little as he watches you, though the hint of amusement never fully leaves his eyes. âBeen a long night,â he says quietly.
You nod once, letting out a small breath. âYeah.â
For a second the two of you just stay there in the quiet hum of the ER. Then you glance toward the clock, push your chair back, and stand.
âWalk with me?â you ask casually, nodding toward the hallway that leads to the staff lockers.Â
âSure,â Jack replies easily, pushing himself away from the counter.
He falls into step beside you as you head down the quieter hallway toward the lockers. For a moment neither of you says anything. Itâs the kind of quiet that doesnât feel awkward, just tired after a long shift.Â
âThank you for being so gentle with them earlier,â you say after a few steps, your voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.
Jack glances over at you, a little surprised by the sudden sincerity in your tone. âOf course,â he says softly, his voice low but steady. âAnd it wasnât hard, theyâre great kids.â
You glance at him briefly, catching the subtle warmth in his expression, and then look away, letting a small smile tug at your lips. âI just⊠appreciate it. They have had a hard time, and they donât usually warm up so quickly to new people.â
Jack gives a small, easy shrug. âGuess I got lucky.âÂ
You chuckle softly, shaking your head. âYeah, lucky for them⊠and for me.â
For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet of the hallway wrapping around you like a soft blanket after the chaos of the shift. Then you reach the lockers the two of you stop, letting the quiet stretch for a beat longer.Â
âYou never told us you have kids.â It comes out rougher than he means it to.
You blink up at him, your tired eyes catching his, those pretty, pretty eyes of yours. âItâs also relatively new⊠theyâre my nieces,â you say quietly. âMy sister and her husband...â Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard before continuing. âThey were in a car accident five months ago.â The words settle heavy. âI adopted them.â
Jack swears the air gets knocked out of him. The resemblance clicks into place in a different way now,Â
âI didnât know.â
You shrug, offering him a sad smile.âI havenât told anyone here.âÂ
Jack blinks, his expression softening as he processes your words.
âI guess, I needed to have a place, where things just were ,as they used to,â you continue quietly. âI didnât know how to tell you guys without breaking down, and I canât do that, I have to be there for the girls.â
Jackâs eyes soften even more, the air of playful teasing that often hangs between the too of you is gone completely now, replaced with steady, quiet understanding. He shifts slightly closer, careful not to crowd you, letting his presence speak more than words.
âYouâre doing amazing,â he says softly. âI donât think most people could handle what youâve taken on⊠but you-youâre doing it. And youâre doing it so well.âÂ
You let out a small, shaky breath, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction. âI try,â you mumble, your voice barely above the quiet hum of the hallway. âBut some days⊠it feels like Iâm just holding everything together by a thread.â
Jack doesnât rush to fill the silence. He simply shifts a little closer, his presence steady and grounding, the kind of calm that doesnât demand anything from you. âI get that,â he says softly. âItâs a lot to carry, but youâre carrying it with so much care. And if you need anything,â he continues, his voice low and steady, âyou can always ask. No judgments, no questions.âÂ
You blink up at him, the words settling around you like a warm, quiet reassurance. âI⊠thank you,â you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it carries the weight of genuine relief. âIt means a lot⊠just knowing that.â
Jack gives a small, steady nod, his eyes never leaving yours. âYouâre never alone,â he says softly. âEven when it feels like it, youâve got people who care. And Iâll always be one of them.â
For a moment, the hallway feels almost suspended in time, the soft hum of the ER fading into the background as the two of you simply stand there. You let out a small, shaky laugh, the kind that carries both exhaustion and a touch of gratitude. âI guess Iâm pretty lucky then,â you say quietly.
âMaybe,â Jack replies, a hint of warmth tugging at the corners of his mouth. âBut mostly⊠youâve earned it.â
You glance at him, meeting that steady, unspoken understanding in his eyes, and for the first time in hours, it feels like you can finally exhale.
âI would ask you if you wanted to grab a quick coffee before heading out, but I promised someone I would be home for breakfast,â you trail off, a small, wry smile tugging at your lips. âBut some other time, maybe?â you add softly, tilting your head toward him, voice casual but carrying a quiet hope and just a hint of your usual teasing edge.
Jack lets out a quiet, warm laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. âYeah, I would never say no to that,â he says, his voice low and easy, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
âGreat,â you murmur, a small, relieved smile tugging at your lips. You finally unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and jacket.
âGet home safe, okay?â Jack says softly, his tone gentle but carrying that quiet weight of care.
You give a small nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder. âI will.â
âGood. And Iâll look forward to that coffee,â he says, the faint teasing edge returning to his tone.
You glance at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. âMe too.â
For a second neither of you moves, but the quiet between you isnât awkward, itâs warm, steady, like something gently settling into place.
Jack nods once, that small smile still resting at the corner of his mouth. âGood,â he says softly.
You pull your jacket on and adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. The exhaustion of the shift is still there, the tired gaze still lingering in your eyes, but it doesnât seem quite as suffocating as it did earlier.
As you step past him, he shifts slightly to give you space, but his hand briefly brushes your arm, light, almost absent-minded, the kind of touch that lingers for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
âHey,â he says quietly.
You glance back at him.
âSeriously⊠youâre doing a great thing,â he adds, voice low but certain.
You give him a smile, the kind thatâs tired but genuine, your eyes softening just a little. âI hope so,â you say quietly. âAnd thank you, Jack.â
âOf course,â he replies softly. For a moment he just looks at you, debating with himself if he should say something else but decides against it. Instead he gives you a small nod, the kind that carries quiet certainty. âAnd youâve got this,â he adds simply.
You hold his gaze for a second longer, something warm and steady passing between you. Then you shift your bag a little higher on your shoulder.
âIâll see you around,â you say, a faint smile touching your lips.
âYeah.â
He leans back lightly against the lockers, watching as you start down the hallway toward the exit, the soft morning light already creeping in from the far glass doors.
âGet some sleep,â he calls after you gently.
You glance back over your shoulder with a tired smile. âI will, after breakfast duty.â
That earns a quiet laugh from him.
And as you disappear out the doors, Jack stays there a moment longer than necessary, hands in his pockets, the faintest smile still on his face, already looking forward to that coffee.
summary: a little harmless flirting never hurt anyone, right? you've been on jack abbot's mind a little too often lately and he's starting to suspect the feeling is mutual. after a late night out at the bar, you're determined to show him just how mutual that feeling is.
content/warnings: age gap, inappropriate work crushes, i don't even bother pretending like i know how a hospital works, jealous!jack, masturbation mentions, garsantos crumbs, alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes, reader wears a dress/heels/make up, soft dom!jack, dirty talk (jack's got a filthy mouth), kinda degradation if u squint, praise, oral (f + m receiving), jack abbot is a munch duh, fingering, unprotected piv, some breath play, cream pie? NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 7.5k (got away from me lol)
notes: this is like the first proper thing i've written in several years and probably my first real smut ever, but i couldn't stop thinking about jack abbot's tits. purely self indulgent because i know for a fact that he talks you through it lol he's just so yummy. enjoy my old man brain rot
credit: gif taken from this set by ho-ii :)
â
Jack hasnât been able to focus since you joined the night shift.
You seem to be everywhere. Ever since that first day, he hasnât been able to shake you. Any corner he turns, every trauma room he enters, there you are. Even when he canât see you, you still haunt him. He picks up the faint smell of your shampoo, sometimes. Hears your laughter ringing somewhere in the halls and can't help but turn his head towards it.
Itâs worse when youâre next to him. Youâre great at what you do, there's no denying that. But it's been difficult to work alongside you, elbows and arms brushing while you crowd over whatever patient is bleeding out on the table in front of him. His brain just can't keep up, sometimes. Not with the warmth of your body next to his. Commands come out a little slower than usual. He hesitates for a second longer than he usually does.
However, it's the worst when youâre batting your eyelashes at him when you finally have a moment of downtime. Handing him some coffee from the break room, letting your fingers linger on his for just a beat too long. Casually laying a hand on his bicep when you talk to him, leaving him tingling for an embarrassing amount of time after you leave. He knows exactly what youâre doing. That you know exactly what it does to him. Heâs got scars older than you, but that doesn't stop his gaze from following you as you flit around the ER. And he knows you feel it. Youâre real young, youâre real fucking pretty and youâre real fucking capable.
Which is why it feels like a cruel joke that youâre always flirting with him. Especially since heâs pretty sure youâd never actually see him in the way that he sees you. Honestly, it makes this inconvenient attraction he has towards you all the more complicated. Jack can't help but notice the way you chew your lip when youâre deep into charting. The curve of your neck when you adjust your hair. When you look up at him with those big eyes, just eagerly waiting for him to tell you what to do next.
Fuck, heâs hard just thinking about it.
His thoughts always wander in that direction when it comes to you. He finds himself at home, thinking of the way that you looked at him earlier in the day or when you swept a slow thumb over your bottom lip absentmindedly, lost in thought. Jack feels filthy when he thinks of you like this, but he still can't help but palm himself through his pants when the thoughts come. Which is more often than he'd like to admit.
When he thinks of you outside of that, however, heâs not entirely sure how he feels. Itâs more than just something carnal. He wants to take care of you. And he does, sometimes. Leaves a protein bar by your hand when he hears you complain about how hungry you are, and steps in when patients start being rowdy or handsy with you.Â
Itâs an entirely different feeling while he watches a doctor get handsy with you instead.
It's the early hours of the morning, and the day shift has started to trickle in. It was always interesting, crossing paths with them. The night shift attracted a certain kind of person. Someone who prefers working under the cover of darkness. Jack noticed that the people on the night shift always played their cards closer to their chests, had a little more hidden depth. Maybe that's why they all worked well together, moving like a unit, fluid and unspoken.Â
The day shift on the other hand was, well, bright, in a sense. They were all dazzling smiles and caffeinated energy, bouncing from one patient to the next. They clashed like nobodyâs business, bold and brash. There were exceptions of course, like Mohan, who Jack had grown fond of and even attempted to convince to join the night shift on more than a few occasions. (She always said no.)
Then there were the textbook examples. And no one embodies the day shift more than Robbyâs prodigal son, Frank Langdon.Â
Frank Langdon, who was standing just a little too close to you, elbow propped on the nurseâs station as he gave you one of his signature smiles. Jack was too far away to hear exactly what he was saying, but he didn't miss the way his fingers played with your badge, the light glinting off it as he fiddled with it and examined your photo. Jealousy twists in Jackâs gut, but he can't make himself turn away. He just grips his tablet harder, listening to you giggle at whatever Langdon had to say. Itâs the same giggle that you give him when he's just a little too sarcastic in an attempt to make you laugh. That was his giggle.
A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his daze.
âWhat'd the tablet do to you?â Itâs Robby, looking at Jack expectantly to begin their hand off for the day. Jack can't curb his jealousy fast enough and the other man follows his gaze right over to you and Langdon. He can see the gears turning in Robbyâs mind, piecing everything together until he barks out a laugh and shakes his head. âYouâre so screwed, brother.â
âI don't know what youâre talking about.â Jack grumbles, and Robby raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him. Heâs still gripping onto the tablet, probably moments away from cracking the damn thing in half.
âRightâŠâ Robby has to basically wrestle it out of his grip and Jack finally drags his eyes over to his friend, who looks thoroughly unimpressed. âSo youâre just here, burning holes into Langdon for no reason.â
âIâm not,â Jack says, a little too indignantly for his liking. âHeâs married. He shouldn't be flirting like that.â Robby laughs at him again, which is really starting to get on his nerves. He knows that itâs a terrible lie, but his mind is too foggy from his overnight shift to think of a better one. He wishes his friend would cut him a little slack here.
âSure. And itâs got nothing to do with her, Iâm guessing,â Robby nods over in your direction, and Langdon is still there. Heâs leaning on the nurses station, still talking away while you nod, full attention on him. Doesnât this guy have a job to do? A beat of silence passes, and Jack doesn't answer. âOkay, well, good luck with that then.â
With that, Robby takes his leave, but not before he grabs Langdon by the scrubs, wordlessly hauling him away. You seem shocked at the sudden intrusion, waving goodbye to the dark haired doctor just a moment too late.
It seems like his best friend can cut him some slack, after all.
â
Youâre already two drinks deep when Jack Abbot walks through the door.
Youâre in the day shiftâs favourite bar, squished into the booth seat next to Trinity. Sheâs yapping away and gesturing wildly to Robby and Garcia who are sitting across from you, looking equally as squished. Truthfully, youâd tuned her out a few minutes ago; it was a story about Dennis and the farm girl sheâs told you a million times before.
Your eyes are wandering across the bar, drifting over your friends who are scattered around as if they own the place. Samira and Cassie are perched on stools at the bar, Parker is trying and failing to teach Dennis how to play pool. Movement catches your eye and your gaze drifts towards the door, where John strides in, with Jack in tow.
You can't even pretend to notice Shen, not when Jack catches your eye right away. Heâs got his typical black shirt on, tight in all the right places. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he saunters in, looking confident as always. You swear that youâve never seen him look out of place before. Everywhere he enters, it feels like all heads turn in his direction.
Well, yours does at least.
And itâs really irritating how fucking good he looks all the time. Scrubbed up, in his civvies and in that unbelievably hot uniform that he rolled up in on the fourth of July. He really has you feeling a lot of things you definitely shouldnât be, considering that heâs your attending. But that still doesnât stop your eyes from wandering across his broad frame, up his freckled arms to the grey stubble on his jaw. You practically have to physically stop yourself from biting your lip.
âOh my God, drool much?â Trinity says in a low voice. Sheâs clearly stopped telling her story, as Robby and Garcia are now engaged in a conversation of their own. Trinity has caught you checking out Abbot on multiple occasions and she never gives up an opportunity to bemoan you about it. âHeâs like, geriatric.â
âNot geriatric. Kind of like, silver foxy?â You laugh, shaking your head. âPlus, I thought we kind of had a thing for older people?â You gesture not-so-subtly at Garcia, whoâs taking a sip of her drink and nodding along to whatever Robby is saying. Trinity rolls her eyes at your comment and slips past you, out of the booth.
âOkay, well, Iâm gonna get another drink,â She tells you, waving her empty glass. Before she leaves, she sneaks a peek over her shoulder and then leans in closer to you, her breath tickling your ear. âHeâs heading your way. So try not to cream your pants, huh?â
That makes you sit up straight as Trinity saunters off and Jack comes into view. Heâs looking down at you in a way that makes you squeeze your thighs together. He stares, but only for a moment before sliding into the booth across from you, next to Robby. Garcia seems to have slipped off to get another drink as well. What a coincidence.
âWell, look who finally made it!â Robby gives Jack a slap on the shoulder as he settles in, whiskey glass in hand. He gives his friend a nod, glass extended in an invitation. Robby accepts, clinks his bottle against his cup and both the men take a sip. You canât help but be drawn to Jackâs hands, much like you always were during surgery. There was just something about them â the way his fingers were nice and thick maybe, and you couldnât help but wonder what exactly they would feel like skimming your body.Â
You almost let your gaze trail down to his mouth, but you shake your head in a daze as Jack sets down his drink. He still catches you though, the ends of his lips quirked up in an almost smirk. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at your hands to avoid any further eye contact, but you can still feel the heat of his gaze on you. Itâs dangerously enticing and fuck, are you enticed.
He opens his mouth to say something to you but Dennis plops himself in the spot next to you, interrupting. Heâs looking around, beer hugged close to his chest. âI think if I missed one more time, Ellis would have actually killed me.â He says, and you glance over at the pool table where Shen has gracefully slipped into Whitaker's role instead, much to Ellisâ delight.
The conversation takes off again and you can't help but wonder what exactly Jack was going to say to you. Heâs wrapped up with Robby and Samira, who has floated her way down to your booth and is looking as angelic as ever. Sheâs perched on the corner of the table, all long legs and sweet smiles. You watch the way Jack talks to her; smooth, easy and familiar. Youâre sure your smile twitches and you give Dennis a tap on the shoulder.
âI think Iâm going to get another drink too.â You say, both to Dennis and to no one in particular. You stand and Samira gives you just a bit of a liquored up grin as she helps you adjust your short dress. You thank her with a smile of your own, turning around. Thereâs hope blooming in your chest at what feels like Jackâs eyes on your back as you walk away, but you're too cowardly to look back and see for yourself.
Trinity is standing at the bar, looking about as dishevelled as you expected. She quirks an eyebrow but doesnât say anything as you approach.
âYour drink is taking a long time, huh?â You nudge her with your shoulder and she just rolls her eyes. Ignoring her attitude, you rest your elbows on the bar, trying to get a look at where the bartender fucked off to.Â
âDonât worry about it,â Trinity is reapplying her lipgloss and attempting to tame her hair, using her phone to assess her reflection. You try to help and she gives you a grateful smile in return. She nods towards the bartender, who is still kind of ignoring you. âI already got one for you.â
âYouâre the best,â Youâre still smoothing down her hair, giving her a big smile back. âShould we, like, kiss?â You fake going in for a kiss, and she pushes you away with a laugh.
âPlease. You wish,â The bartender finally slides two drinks towards Trinity, who hands you one of the glasses. The chill from the glass is definitely welcome against your warm flesh, flushed from the drinks previous. Trinity shoots you a smirk as she grabs your hand to lead you back to the booth. âBesides, donât you have a silver fox to catch?â
The two of you arrive at the booth and in the short time youâve been gone, the people seem to have rearranged themselves. Robby and Whitaker have disappeared and Samira has taken your place, McKay beside her. On the other side is still Abbot, nursing his whiskey. Heads turn at your presence and the pair of you are greeting with excited chatter and big smiles from the girls.
It takes you a minute to realize that the only open spot is next to Jack.
Trinity gives you a small push and you claim the seat next to him. Trinity slides in after you and itâs a bit of a tight squeeze, leaving you thigh to thigh with the attending you definitely donât have an inappropriate workplace crush on. You can feel the heat radiating off him â his arms, his thighs. You swear you feel him stiffen for a second, but the moment is over as quickly as it happened. He smells woody and warm, and itâs got you basically swooning. Is that just the way he smells, or is it cologne, body wash? You resist the weird, perverted urge to take a sniff of his neck and take a sip of your drink instead.
Conversation comes easy for you guys, especially as the drinks continue to flow. People come and go: Ellis, Shen, Dennis â everyone shuffles through, exchanging seats and manoeuvring around each other as easy as they do on the floor of the hospital.
You and Jack though, you donât move.
Your two stay pressed together, even when Trinity is long gone. Eventually, everyone thins out and spreads across the bar instead, leaving you and Jack alone together. Itâs getting hard to ignore the mirth swimming in his eyes, your faces just a little too close together for the conversation you two are having.
You trace whatâs left of the condensation from your empty glass with your finger, savouring the feel of the cool water. Is it hot in here? Or is it just you?
âHow about I get you another drink?â Jack offers, the timbre of his voice lower than usual. âOn me?â
 It feels like heâs getting closer, close enough that you can smell the whiskey on his breath. Itâs probably inappropriate to want to kiss your boss, right? Especially one almost twice your age? The prospect of the situation makes you almost dizzy with want, especially when heâs looking at you like that. Or maybe thatâs just the alcohol rushing to your head.
Yeah, itâs definitely just you.
âActually, I think I need a smoke.â You manage to utter, like the responsible adult you are. You need to remove yourself from the situation, fast. He retreats from your space slowly, and you immediately feel the absence. It takes everything in you to suppress the urge to lean back into him again, instead giving him a shy smile as you exit the booth. Jack lets you leave wordlessly, and this time youâre certain his eyes are on you as you walk away.Â
The cool breeze outside is a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming heat inside and you take a moment to let it wash over you. You press your back against the brick of the bar and pull out your pack from your purse and stick a cigarette between your lips, fishing around for your lighter. After some digging, you finally find what you were looking for and you cup your hand around the cigarette, flicking the lighter on until you see the familiar cherry red at the end. Things seem a bit less hazy when you take a deep inhale and exhale slowly, grey smoke curling around the dark sky.
You close your eyes and rest your head against the wall, feeling the tension leave your shoulders. Taking another long drag, you review the night in your head. Youâve always enjoyed flirting with Jack, sure, but Jack also flirts with anything that has a pulse. You never really expected anything to come of it, except maybe something to think about later in the night while you were alone. Lately though, itâs been feeling different. Heâs always brushing against you, placing his hand on the small of your back as he squeezes past you. The way he looks at you recently is glimmering with something you canât exactly place. The way he looked at you when Langdon was trying to charm you.
You lift your hand to take another drag when the cigarette is suddenly plucked from between your fingers. Your eyes flutter open and there stands the subject of your thoughts, Jack Abbot, who has your cigarette between his lips now.Â
âWhiskey makes Jack a bold boy, eh?â You tease, watching as he takes a drag. Itâs unfair how good he makes it look. He gives a small chuckle at your comment but doesnât reply, letting silence settle between the two of you. Instead, he extends the cigarette towards you and you take it back. Something is painted on his face, like heâs mulling something over, but you donât ask. You two continue this for a while, just enjoying each otherâs company for a moment, taking turns until you finally hit the filter. Itâs easy to admire him in the quiet you share. The flex of his biceps, the way he shifts his weight between his prosthetic and his good leg. Heâs so broad and handsome, especially when heâs in his tight shirt and cargos. Itâs got you wanting to drop to your knees right then and there.
You donât miss the way heâs looking at you either, though. Itâs common knowledge that Jackâs got a staring problem. It makes you flustered at the best of times and wet at the worst, but this stare was different. You can see the want in his eyes as his hazel eyes basically bore into your soul. If you didnât know any better, youâd say that he was giving you bedroom eyes. Every so often his eyes flicker down to your lips instinctively, especially when theyâre wrapped around the cigarette the two of you are sharing. Youâre sure that youâre probably doing the same.
âSo, can I buy you that drink now?â He asks huskily as you put out the smoke, tossing it into the garbage can behind you. Your eyes flick between the door of the bar and your phone; the numbers flashing at you indicate that youâve been out longer than youâve anticipated and it was late.
âI was actually kind of thinking of pulling an Irish goodbye. I live pretty close,â You say sheepishly, tucking your phone back into your purse. He almost looks disappointed, and you revel in the feeling. Youâre not sure if itâs the drinks youâve had or the way that he was staring at Langdon like he wanted to strangle him with his bare hands for flirting with you the other day, but the words slip out of your mouth before you can really think it through. âWant to walk me home?â
Your tone is shy but warm, an airy lilt at the end of the invitation. Or at least thatâs what you aimed for. Realization spreads across his face, until itâs replaced with a smirk. You know itâs an offer he canât really deny. Even if he didnât want to fuck you, Jack Abbot was nothing short of a gentleman. Heâd never let you walk home alone so late at night. âOf course.â
âWhy thank you, Doctor Abbot.â You give him a smirk of your own as you push off the wall, enjoying the way that he watches you move languidly. He scoffs at your joking use of the professional title you call him at work, tongue darting out to wet his lips. You adjust your dress and you two look at each other for a moment; him staring down at you with that obnoxiously smug look on his face, and you staring up at him half lidded like you donât know what youâre doing.
âLead the way, sweetheart.â He gestures with a sweep of his arm, breaking your staring contest. You start off in the direction of your apartment, shooting him a cheeky look over your shoulder as he takes a minute to follow behind you.
âThink you can keep up, old man?â
â
He hangs back, just for a second, to admire the view as you flounce away, your heels clicking against the pavement. He canât help but appreciate just how good you look, dress hugging your figure in all the right places. It doesnât help that he caught a glimpse of your panties earlier when you left the booth, and heâs been thinking about taking another peek ever since. Heâs so distracted that he barely catches the words you throw at him.
âWatch it, kid.â He warns, starting off after you. The night is just cool enough that he can feel the alcohol flowing hot through his veins as he reaches you, matching your stride. The nickname was just a slip of the tongue, something he calls you when youâve made the right call when treating a patient or when youâre offering to refill his coffee in the break room. You give him that look that youâve been giving him all night, the one thatâs got him in this mess in the first place. Blinking through your eyelashes, like you want to climb him like a tree. It does make him feel like a bit of an old man in a way, chasing after a girl basically half his age.Â
But youâre the one that invited him, right?
âIâm not sure what you mean.â You say innocently, another flutter of your eyelashes. He gives a chuckle at that, rolling his eyes. The night is quiet at this hour and the tension is thick between you two as you walk alongside each other. Jackâs got his hands tucked into his pockets, watching as you walk a bit unsteadily and heâs not sure if itâs the drinks youâve had or the shoes that you were wearing. Before he could ponder on it any longer, your heel skids and you stumble over a small lift in the sidewalk.
He grabs your waist instinctively, catching you before you go down. Youâre closer to him now and the scent that heâs become so familiar with fills the air, masked a bit by the perfume you wear, all floral and ambery. The proximity between you two almost makes him stumble as well.Â
âCareful, sweetheart,â He says, voice low, still affected by just how close you are. âDonât think youâd like to make a detour back to work before your next shift.â He hauls you upright and you give him another sweet smile. Jack canât help but give you one back.
âWhy would I need to?â You recover much faster from the stumble than he does, smoothing your dress down with the palms of your hands. âYou wouldnât patch me up? Iâd be in very capable hands, no?â You tease, smirking. He knows youâre joking but the idea of getting his hands on you, being able to touch you beyond the feather light touches you have shared, makes his heart beat in want.
âYeah, you think so?â He smirks and you slow to a stop in front of a building that he assumes must be your place. You answer his question with a small nod, suddenly shy. He can see you scanning his face, looking for some kind of answer in it. You press your lips in a thin line and finally speak in a small voice.
âWalk me up?â
He should say no. Any sort of gentleman would leave it here, say good night. Especially one as old as he is.Youâre staring at him, not breaking eye contact as you await his response. He should definitely say no.
âSure.â
Goddamn it.
You give him a smile as you turn, pulling the door to your building and he grabs it, holding it open for you. The climb to your place is quiet, the click of your heels against the stairs punctuating the terrible choice heâs making. But the choice doesnât feel as terrible as it should when he gets to watch you climb the flights of stairs, getting the flash of your panties that he was desperately wishing for earlier.
You approach your door, fumbling with your keys for a second before he hears the soft click of the lock. Heâs got his forearm resting against your doorframe, watching as you slowly pull the door open. Jack catches a glimpse into your apartment for a second before you face him; itâs a small studio, lived in and inviting. It smells like you.
Youâre just staring at him for a moment and heâs staring right back. The thought that this is a terrible idea is swirling in his mind somewhere, but the heat pooling in his gut as you look at him seems to be all he can focus on right now. You cock your head and enter your apartment, door still wide open. Jackâs body moves before he can even think about it, one foot after the other, crossing the threshold. Something he canât take back.
He closes the door behind him with a gentle hand, like any loud noise might snap one of you out of a trance. Youâve got your windows open and youâre bathed in the moonlight, the same way you were outside the bar. That exact vision of you has hijacked his better judgement tonight and landed him in the apartment of a pretty young girl. He tries to push the thought aside.
Jack opens his mouth to speak, maybe even tell you how bad of an idea this is, but youâve already hooked your fingers in his belt loops, pressing your lips against his before he can get a word out. He can taste your lip gloss and it makes his knees buckle a bit, the words suddenly dying on his tongue. You donât hold back, all dirty and desperate, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He can feel you sigh and pull him closer, hands resting at his stomach now. Your nails scratch against the skin above his waistband and it makes all his blood rush downwards.
You let out a shaky moan into his mouth and his resolve just breaks. His hands finally move and take what heâs been wanting, cupping your jaw for a minute before moving down, rough, skimming down and pulling you flush against him, hands coming to a rest on the curve of your ass.
Itâs intoxicating the way you kiss him, like you just canât fucking get enough. Your hands are wound in his hair, carting through the grey curls. You pull away all too soon, chest rising and falling quickly in an attempt to catch your breath. It sends a shiver down his spine when he sees the sultry look on your face and you grab his hand and pull him deeper into your apartment.
He lets you lead him and come to a stop at your couch. Jack must be drunker than he thought, because you barely push his chest and he lands on the couch behind him. Itâs a sight to see when you drop down to your knees without a word, dress rucking up at your waist. He canât help the moan that slips out from between his lips as you look up at him, the same way you do at work. Waiting for him to tell you what to do. His legs part involuntarily and you slip yourself between them.
âFuck, baby,â He canât help but take in the moment, cupping your cheek as you lean into his touch. â You want to suck my cock that fucking bad, huh?âÂ
You nod âeagerly, he canât help but noteâ and he grabs a fistful of your hair loosely. He gives you a small nod, giving you permission to go ahead. Biting your lip, you trace a soft finger over the bulge in his pants and he canât help but shiver. You take your time unzipping his pants and pulling him out, hand wrapped around the hard length of him. Itâs fucking delicious watching you like this, pumping his cock slow, a wicked grin on your face.
You press a kiss to his tip and his hips stutter at the sensation and then youâre pressing the flat of your tongue against him, licking him from root to head. He lets out a loud groan, grip on your hair tightening ever so slightly. He takes in the scene in front of him, you on your knees just for him. It feels perverted in a way, like heâs way too old to be this undone, especially for a woman so many years his junior. But then you place him between your soft lips, lip gloss all smeared from the sloppy kisses you two had shared earlier and he canât really bring himself to care. Your hands skim down the sides of his bare legs, not even pausing when you feel the heat of skin turn into cool metal on one side.
Your mouth is so warm and wet and itâs got him wondering what your pussy will feel like if your mouth already feels this good. Honestly, he canât remember the last time someone has had him like this. Your hand is soft where it grips him at his base, spit dripping onto your knuckles and you take him deeper and deeper, until he almost hits the back of your throat.
âSuch a good girl for me.â He drawls, voice shaking as you swallow around him. Youâve settled into a rhythm now and Jack is happy to hold you by the hair and let you take control. It feels so fucking good that he canât help but thrust into your mouth, a crooked grin forming when you gag and drool for him. He can't help but praise you. âYou look so pretty on your knees, drooling all over your tits like that.â
That earns him a moan from you and he can feel the vibration of it around his cock. He thinks it canât get any better than this, and then you look up into his eyes, lips still wrapped around him and a guttural moan rips its way from his chest. This seems to invigorate you as you begin to suck harder, cheeks hollowed as your other hand sneaks its way up to his balls, rolling them in your palm. Itâs sloppy and wet and loud âthe only sounds in your apartment are the loud, filthy way youâre taking him deep into your throat, and Jack's soft pants and utters of your name. His brows are burrowed in pleasure and it takes all of his focus to not cum in your mouth. Heâs basically dripping from your spit, wet all the way down to his balls.
He pulls you up by your hair, rough. You let out a small whimper, like youâre real sad that heâs not letting you suck his dick like you were trying to suck his soul out of it. His lips are parted and his pupils are blown with lust, the hazel of his eyes barely visible around the black. His voice is husky when he speaks next.
âGet on the bed, sweetheart.â The apartment is small, and the bed is just behind him. Youâre still wearing your heels and the sound of them reverberates in the cramped space. You donât bother to pull your dress down this time and he soaks it all in as he pulls off his shirt, trying his best to kick off his boots and pants that have pooled around his ankles at the same time.
He catches up to you in no time and he knows youâre teasing him, walking all slow and sexy like that. Then he decides youâre teasing just a bit too much and he grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the bed. You land with a soft bounce on the mattress and he crawls on right after you, pulling you towards him.
Heâs nosing at your pussy through your panties, the dampness forming for him to see. You smell so fucking good that it makes him throb and he canât help but wrap a fist around himself and pump loosely a few times.
âYouâre soaked for me,â He says gruffly and you mewl, desperate for him to touch you more. âShould I have a taste?â
Now heâs running his fingertips over your covered slit, and your hips buck. Jack can feel the heat of you just under the thin cloth, radiating through the lace and he briefly wonders if youâll let him keep them after.
âYesâŠâ You breathe, and he takes a peek at you from between your legs. You look absolutely wrecked, propped up on your forearms, staring down at him through half lidded eyes.
âWhy donât you ask me nicely?â He coos and you groan, head tipping back. He loves having you like this, nice and pliant under his hands. Youâre better than he imagined when he was alone, touching himself to the thought of you. âTell me how bad you want it.â
âPlease, Jack,â Your voice cracks as you plead, hips rolling, craving some kind, any kind of friction. âI want it so fucking bad, pleaseâŠâÂ
âYou always listen so well to me, sweetheart. So obedient.â Jack canât deny you when you whine for him all breathy like that, so he pulls your panties to the side and does exactly what he said he would do, taking a taste. He laps at your pussy like a man starved, your wetness smearing all over his chin, gathering in his stubble.
He feels your hands grip his hair as you pull him in deeper, wordlessly asking for more. Obliging, he dips his tongue into your cunt and you tighten around the muscle, making Jackâs eyes roll back into his head. Heâs sure heâs moaning just as much as you are, one hand on your hip, the other one stroking his cock roughly.
Once heâs had his fill of fucking you with his tongue he lets his fingers take over, sliding two of them into your sopping entrance. Your hips buck again at the intrusion and he lets out a deep growl. âYou taste so good, baby âcould eat you all fucking night. You like having my fingers buried deep in your cunt?â
The whiskey has worn off by now but heâs drunk with lust, his head spinning as he ducks his head back down, sucking your clit softly. He can feel you fluttering around his fingers, getting tighter as he fucks you rough. Heâs caught you staring at them more than once and your little comment about his hands earlier hadnât gone unnoticed by him.
He can tell youâre close by the way youâre moaning and the way youâre gripping his fingers; he can barely pull them out. The pace he sets is brutal and then youâre coming on his hand and face before he even realizes. The taste of your cum is heady and heâs licking it all up like itâs his last meal.
Youâre catching your breath and he flips you over without a word, ass up for him. His hands are rough and calloused on your soft skin, pulling down the top of your dress to expose your breasts. You both moan as he tweaks a nipple between his fingers, before palming your ass and yanking your soaking panties down your thighs.
âFuckâŠâ Jack curses. Heâs rutting against you, coating his cock with your cum, moving infuriatingly slow. Youâre pushing against him, pleas falling from your lips as he places a hand on your bare back, pushing you deeper into the mattress. Jack has half a mind to hope that your apartment walls arenât as thin as he thinks they are. Heâs busy trying to sear this moment into his memories to care all that much about it though; youâre under him, moaning his name, begging for him. âStill think Iâm an old man? That I canât keep up?â
Heâs throwing your words back at you, the frantic shakes of your head as you rut back into him going straight to his ego and his dick. Jack can't resist the sight any longer as he drags himself up and down your entrance, tapping on your clit a few times and loving the way you jump at the sensation. Heâs barely got the tip in when you start moaning for him again, breathy and desperate. Ignoring your begging for him to start moving faster, he pushes in nice and slow instead, mesmerized by the way your pussy just sucks him in.
Gripping fabric of your dress that has bunched up around your waist, he sinks in deeper until heâs fully bottomed out. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size and schooling his breathing so he doesnât cum embarrassingly fast. Youâre so tight and he canât help but think youâre one hundred percent better than what he imagined and one thousand percent better than his fist that he fucks into when he thinks of you. Sharp pain interrupts his thoughts, your nails scratching at his thighs as you try to get him to finally move.
âFeels like youâre made for me, sweetheart. So fucking tight for me.â Thoughts are spilling out now, pleasure taking over and loosening his filter. As much as he wants to savour this, savour you, heâs on the fringes of his self control. Youâre gripping his cock in a way that makes his head spin and your small pants have him feeling downright sinful. He tries to start slow, he really does, but he just canât resist. Heâs been thinking about having you for so long, the way you would look under him, and now that he has you, heâs not letting you think about anyone else again. Jack wants you to think about him every time you crawl into bed without him.
He fucks you in earnest, the wet slap of skin on skin just spurring him on. He buries a fist in your hair again, yanking your head up so youâre on all fours for him, back curved. The frame of your bed creaks quickly in time with his thrusts, the same way his thrusts are punching small gasps out of you each time. He loves listening to the noises you make and he pulls your hips up higher, balls slapping your clit as he buries himself deeper. Your moans are getting louder, walls squeezing him tight and he pulls out quickly before his vision goes white.
âJack, please!â He can tell youâre getting tired of the way heâs been teasing you all night, thinking that he just might edge you all night. But really, he just wants to see what your face looks like when you cum around his cock. He flips you over easily, biceps flexing. Before you can even muster out a squeal heâs back inside you, filling you up to the hilt. Your lips part and your eyes roll back into your head, and he canât help but smirk as he begins to move once more.
This time the pace he sets is punishing, determined to make you cum before even thinking about chasing his own high. Jack can tell by the way that youâre squeezing him like you donât want to let him go that it wonât be long. He allows his eyes to sweep over your body appreciatively, your thighs, your stomach, the way your breasts bounce, how absolutely blissed out your face looks.
Itâs hard to resist the temptation to splay a hand just below your neck, gauge your reaction, so he doesnât. His hand is so large against the base of your throat and the way your eyes flutter in pleasure makes his dick twitch. He lets it rest there for a moment, then dips two fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around the tips of them like it was around his dick just a little while ago.
Leaving a wet trail down your chest, he makes his way down to your clit, drawing tight circles around with rough fingertips. He lets out a growl at the noise you make, deep and primal. He glances down, noticing the cream gathering around the base of his cock, his happy trail covered in your slick. His legs shake at the sight, his climax suddenly a lot closer than he anticipated. He can guess that yours is too, judging from the way your cunt is fluttering around him and that youâve seemed to stop caring who can hear just how good heâs making you feel.Â
âYou gonna cum on my cock, baby?â Youâre nodding loosely, like you barely even registered the question. He loves seeing such a capable girl come apart in his hands like this. âYeah? Cum for me then.â
And you do, as he should have expected, since you always do what he tells you to.
Your cunt is milking his orgasm out of him, and he can feel his hips stutter. He barely squeezes out the words, asking you where he should finish, half aware that heâs not wearing a condom. You look up with shiny wet eyes, fingers tangling in the curls at the base of his neck and he nearly cums at the sight.
âI want you to fill me up.â You say, and yeah, that makes him want to cum even more. A few more messy thrusts and he gives a low groan, spilling deep inside you. Heâs hutched over your form, body shaking in pleasure, loving the heat thatâs radiating from your body. After a few moments the haze of sex dissipates and you two are left chest to chest, your nipples brushing his chest with every breath.
âLetâs get you cleaned up, sweetheart.â
â
Jack cleans you up, all nice and sweet, with a warm rag from your bathroom. The action is tender, especially compared to the way he just wrecked you. It makes you feel taken care of, which is not something you would admit aloud to him for now. Youâre a little confused about the position that this puts you in with your attending. The only thing you can really make sense of is that the entire situation has gotten about a million times more complicated than it was eight hours ago.
But when Jack looks at you, eyes soft in a way youâve never seen before when you offer to help him remove his prosthetic, you decide that you donât really care. Youâd give anything to have him look at you that way again.
And now heâs here in your bed, freckled back to you and breathing even. Heâd fallen asleep soon after you asked him to stay the night, which you thought was sweet. Old man was up way past his bedtime.
Your phone vibrates on your nightstand and you flip it over, squinting at the bright light. Youâd pretty much ignored it when you left the bar with Jack, pretty one track minded. Youâd miss a flurry of text messages from everyone else: Garcia asking if she could bum a smoke, Samira asking if you left and then following up asking you to let her know you got home safe, Robby wondering if you had seen Abbot anywhere, Dennis just sending you a blurry picture of the bar floor, which you assumed was a drunken accident.
Trinity has sent you the most recent text, sitting atop of your stack of notifications.
trinity: thank u for winning me the betting pool. will buy u a drink ;)
Synopsis: You tell yourself itâs just a crush. Just proximity. Just long nights in the ED and shared adrenaline. But when a workplace incident ends up with you being accidentally sedated, your filter is stripped away, the truth slips outâand the man youâve wanted for months hears it all. You wake up embarrassed, determined to pretend it never happened, but he has other plans. In a department where gossip spreads fast, youâre forced to confront whatâs been simmering between you two all along.
word count: 2.6k
Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, age gap, medical setting, mention of drugs (ketamine), kissing, implied sexual content, non-graphic intimacy
The shift had already been teetering on the edge of chaos when the ambulance bay doors slammed open. The stretcher came in fast, wheels rattling over the threshold, paramedics talking over each other as they pushed.
âTwenty-eight year old male, altered mental status, possible head trauma. Combative on route. No known history.â
Saying he was combative was generous.
The patient was drenched in sweat, muscles straining violently against the straps. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused, jaw clenched so tight the tendons strained in his neck. He thrashed the second you stepped close, nearly catching a you in the jaw. The trauma bay lights were brutal overhead, all sharp white glare and humming electricity, making the blood at his temple look darker than it probably was.
âSir, we need you to hold still,â you said, keeping your voice steady, low, and nonthreatening. He responded by trying to tear himself off the stretcher entirely.
âThatâs enough,â Dr. Abbot snapped, already gloving up, moving to grab ahold of the patients thrashing legs. âWeâre sedating.â
Dr. Ellis moved in on the opposite side, bracing one forearm across the patientâs chest. âYou got that arm,â she muttered, nodding toward the arm thrashing closest to you.
You didnât hesitate. You grabbed the patientâs upper arm, fingers digging into trembling muscle. He was stronger than he lookedâadrenaline fuelled and panickedâand he bucked hard enough to nearly throw you off balance. Abbot swore under his breath as the patient tried to twist free.
âKetamine ready,â Dr. Whitaker called from your left. His voice had that tight edge to itâfocused but nervous. The syringe was already drawn, clear liquid catching the light.
âOn three,â Abbot said. âOne... twoââ
The patient jerked violently.
Your grip shifted just as Whitaker moved to inject the patient.
Before you realized, sharp pain exploded in your hand.
âOwâwhat the fuck!â
It was sharp and immediate, a hot, blooming sting that made you recoil. You looked down in disbelief.
The needle was buried in your hand not the patients arm, the plunger already fully depressed.
For a split second, nobody moved.
Whitaker went sheet white. âOh my GodâI didnât mean for that to happen! The angle changed right before and I-Iâm so sorry.â
âGet another syringe!â Ellis barked, not even looking up as she continued wrestling the patient down. âWe need to sedate the actual patient.â
A nurse was already moving, efficient and fast. The second injection went into the correct person this time, clean and precise. Within moments the patientâs movements slowed, then stopped entirely, his body going limp against the stretcher.
Meanwhile, the world had started to tilt.
The overhead lights felt wrong. They were too bright, too close. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, but your limbs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.
âOkay,â you said carefully, blinking hard. âSomeone get a gurney.â
Your words came out thick and slightly slurred. The floor shifted under your feet like you were standing on a boat. You tried to steady yourself by grabbing the edge of the stretcher.
âAnd please someone break my faââ
Your knees buckled.
And everything went black.
âââââââââ
Waking up felt like dragging yourself through syrup. The fluorescent lights overhead were blinding, stabbing through your eyelids until you groaned and rolled your head away from them. Your mouth was dry and your thoughts were slow, floating lazily out of reach.
âHello,â you mumbled, voice thick.
âHey there, kid.â
You knew that voice immediately.
You blinked several times until the blur focused into Jack sitting beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you carefully.
âJack,â you whispered, smiling dopily. âIâm so happy youâre here.â
He let out a soft breath, tension easing from his shoulders. âYeah?â
You frowned slightly.
Something wasnât adding up.
You glanced aroundâthe monitor, the IV pole, the curtain pulled halfway around the bed.
âW-where am I?â
âAt PTMC. You were working on a patient and Whitaker injected you with nearly five hundred milligrams of ketamine.â
You stared at him.
âOh,â you said after a long pause. âThatâs not good.â
âNope.â
You shifted under the blanket and felt thin fabric against your skin. You looked down, and froze.
You were in a hospital gown.
âWhy am I in this?â you questioned. âIâm a doctor. I should be saving lives.â
Jackâs lips twitched. âWeâll need a raincheck on that. Weâre observing you until the medication wears off.â
You processed that slowly. âDid you put me in this?â
He leaned back slightly. âNo. Lena did.â
You rolled your eyes dramatically. âBoo. I was hoping you did.â You squinted at him, expression soft and hazy. âYouâre so hot.â
Jack blinked.
ââŠIâm sorry?â
âYouâre really hot,â you repeated matter-of-factly, then dissolved into giggles.Â
Jack's eyebrows launch up.
You poked your own cheek experimentally. âMy face feels like jello.â
Your fingers drifted upward and found the nasal cannula. You tugged at it lazily.
âNope,â Jack said immediately, gently catching your wrist. âThat stays in. Your O2 levels dipped earlier.â
You frowned at him like heâd personally betrayed you. Then your eyes dropped to the IV taped securely in your arm.
âOh no, they forgot to take the needle out,â you whispered, horrified, reaching toward it.
âThat has to stay in too.â
You huffed out in frustration, but then, for absolutely no reason, you started laughing again.
âWhatâs so funny?â Jack asked, a small smile making its way over his lips despite himself.
You looked at him very seriously, leaning slightly closer like you were about to share classified information.
âYou smell like cologne and money.â
Jack blinks, shifting slightly in his chair. âDo I?â
You nod and hold his gaze, eyes heavy but locked on him. âSometimes it makes me want to drag you into an on call room and lock the door.â
Silence.
Complete, stunned silence.
His jaw tightens. âThatâsââ
âIâve wanted to for months,â you add softly, like youâre commenting on the weather. âIts hard not, especially when you look like that.â Â
He just stares at you, visibly recalibrating, breath shallow now.
âYou donât mean that,â he manages. âYouâre high out of your mind.â
You opened your mouth to continue, but before the words could leave your mouth, the door to the trauma room opened, revealing none other than Whitaker.
âHuckleberry!â you say with sudden excitement, your smile widening instantly.
Whitaker gulps nervously and closes the door behind him. âIâI just wanted to come and apologize to you, for, you know⊠injecting you.â
âItâs okay, white chocolate,â you reply generously. âI forgive you.â
Whitaker winces immediately. âI see youâve been hanging out with Santos and Garcia.â
âYeah, theyâre funny ladies,â you giggle, completely unbothered. âIf it makes you feel better, I think the nicknames are cute.â
A wave of exhaustion crashes over you mid laugh. You yawn, blinking slowly as your eyes begin to droop.
âWe should let you rest,â Jack says, already beginning to stand.
âNo,â you protest immediately, instinctively reaching out and grabbing his hand before he can step away. Your fingers curl weakly around his. âI want you to stay.â
Whitaker shifts awkwardly, mumbling something under his breath, clearly aware heâs interrupting something he does not understand but definitely does not want to be part of.
âI have some patients to see,â Jack says gently, voice softening as he looks down at you. âBut Iâll come back in a little.â
âBut Iâm your patient,â you mumble stubbornly.
Before Jack can respond, your grip weakens. Your head tilts slightly to the side, mouth falling open as the medication pulls you under again, breath slow and heavy.
Jack stands there for a moment longer than necessary, still holding your hand.
Whitaker clears his throat quietly, slipping out of the room awkwardly.Â
Jack finally lets go, leaving to room.
âââââââââ
You woke up again, this time slightly more coherent and felt less like you were floating.Â
âGood morning, sleepyhead.â
Jackâs voice pulls you fully out of dreamland. His thumb brushes lightly over the apple of your cheek, slow and uniform, like heâs been doing it without realizing. When your eyes focus on him, he pulls his hand back.
You blink up at him. The room isnât spinning anymore, just a little foggy at the edges.
ââŠHow long was I out?â
âA couple hours,â he says. âItâs almost shift change.â
You push yourself up carefully. âThe patient?â
âStable. All scans were clean. You can relax.â
You nod, then your brow furrows.
âI remember you were here,â you say slowly. âAnd Whitaker came in.â
âHe did.â
You squint at him. âDid I say anything weird?â
Jack doesnât miss a beat. âYou were⊠chemically compromised.â
âThatâs not an answer.â
A flicker of something crosses his face, but itâs gone just as quickly. âWeâll talk later.â
Your stomach tightens. âJack.â
âLater,â he repeats calmly.
Before you can press him again, the door whips open.
âWell, look who's alive,â Santos announces, stepping inside like she owns the hospital. Garcia follows behind her with a coffee and a grin that immediately makes you nervous.
âOh no,â you mutter.
âOh yes,â Garcia says. âThe nurses have been talking.â
You sink back against the pillows. âAbout what.â
Santos gasps dramatically. âAbout how you were calling Whitaker dessert items.â
âI did notââ
âYou absolutely did,â Garcia cuts in. âWhitaker is currently furious that weâre spreading âwhite chocolate.ââ
You clap a hand over your face. âIâm never coming back.â
Despite yourself, you laugh. âI donât even remember saying that.â
Jack clears his throat quietly. Youâd almost forgotten he was there. Heâs standing now, composed, hands in his pant pockets.
âShe needs rest,â he says evenly.
Santos raises an eyebrow. âWeâre being gentle.â
Garciaâs gaze flicks between you and Jack, clearly noticing the tension. âWe also heard something about cologne and money?â
You freeze. âWhatâŠ?â
Jack looks entirely unfazed. âItâs time for shift change,â he says smoothly. âWeâll talk when you're fully sober.â His eyes meet yours briefly.
And then heâs gone.
The second he disappears down the hall, Santos leans in. âOkay. What else did you say?â
âI donât know!â you whisper. âI donât remember!â
Before they can dig any further, the door opens again.
âAlright,â Robby says, stepping in with a tablet in hand. âYouâre clear to go home.â
Relief floods you.
 âYou two,â he looks at Santos and Garcia. âOut. Patients exist.â
They groan in unison but shuffle toward the exit.
âWeâre not done with you,â Santos warns.
âWhite chocolate forever!â Garcia adds before disappearing into the hall.
"Garcia stop saying that!" Whitaker exclaims as he rounds the corner.
Robby shakes his head, amused, and starts disconnecting your leads. âHeard you had the trip of a lifetime.â
âIâm gathering that,â you mumble.
He peels the IV out of your arm. âVitals are good, you just need food and sleep.â
You hesitate. ââŠDid I say anything to Jack?â
Robby pauses, then gives you a look. âDepends,â he says. âDo you want the nurse version or the attending-approved version?â
Your stomach drops. âThe attending-approved version.â
He smirks slightly. âAccording to Jack, you told him he smells like cologne and money. Then you informed him youâd thought about what would happen if you both went into an on-call room.â
Your entire body goes rigid.
âI said that.â
âMhm.â
You stare at the wall in horror. âPlease tell me I stopped there.â
âIâm not sure,â he shrugs. âThatâs all he told me.â
âOh my God.â You drop your face into your hands. âI have to work with him tomorrow.â
Robby chuckles, handing you your discharge papers. âYouâll survive.â
âIâm never going to be able to look him in the eyes again.â
Unfortunately, this time you were completely conscious for the humiliation.
âââââââââ
It's been 22 hours and 30 minutes since you embarrassed yourself in front of Jack.
And you've been avoiding him all night.
Every time Jack stepped into a trauma bay, you found a reason to step out. When he rounded the nursesâ station, you disappeared into a supply closet. The ED had been mercifully slow, which made it easy to slip through the cracks.
You almost thought youâd succeeded.
Almost.
Youâre scanning a chart at the nursesâ station when you feel itâthat awareness. The shift in the air.
âWe need to talk.â
His voice is low as he leaned down to talk right in your ear.
Goosebumps ripple down your neck instantly.
Before you can even respond, his hand wraps around your forearmâfirm and controlledâas he guides you across the ED. Not rough, but not gentle either.
âJackââ you start.
He pushes open the break room door and ushers you inside. The door swings shut behind you.
You swear you hear the click of the lock.
Your heart stutters.
He turns to face you, jaw tight, eyes darker than youâve ever seen them.
âDo you remember anything you said yesterday?â
You swallow. âNo. Not really. Robby⊠kind of filled me in.â
And then it startsâthe rambling.
âIâm so sorry, I was high, and thatâs not an excuse, I justâI donât normally say things like that and I promise Iâm not unprofessional and I completely understand if that made you uncomfortableââ
He steps closer.
You keep going.
âI mean obviously I think youâre attractive but thatâs not the point, the point is I should not haveââ
His hand comes up suddenly, fingers warm against your jaw, thumb pressing lightly into one cheek, steadying you.
âStop.â
You freeze.
His other hand cups the other side of your face, forcing you to look at him.
âDid you mean it?â he asks quietly. âWhat you said last nightâwas any of it true?â
Your pulse is probably in v-tach.
You try to look away. He doesnât let you.
âAnswer me.â
You inhale shakily.
âYeah,â you whisper. âI meant it.â
Silence.
Then the smallest smirk touches his mouth. Before you can process it, he pulls you in.
The kiss is not tentative. Itâs deep and deliberate, months of restraint snapping all at once. Your hands fly up in surprise, but they donât push him away. They grip his scrubs tightly instead.
You melt before you can stop yourself.
When he finally pulls back, your breathing is uneven.
âIâve felt the same,â he murmurs against your mouth. âFor months.â
Your brain short circuits.
âJackââ
âI was trying to be responsible,â he says, thumb brushing along your jaw again. âYou made that very difficult.â
His mouth trails briefly along your cheek, your jaw, down to the curve of your neckâslow enough to make your knees weaken.
âYou wanted to know what Iâd do if you locked the door,â he murmurs.
Your stomach flips.
âI think youâre about to find out.â
And thenâ
BANG. BANG. BANG.
âWhat the hell?â Dr. Shenâs voice comes muffled through the door. âWhy is this locked? My coffeeâs in there.â
You and Jack jump apart like youâve been electrocuted. You scramble to smooth your hair. He adjusts his scrubs, clearing his throat.
You unlock the door quickly and swing it open.
Dr. Shen looks between you both suspiciously.
âMustâve locked automatically,â Jack says smoothly as he steps past him.
Shen narrows his eyes but grabs his coffee and mutters something about 'new facilities policies.'
You do not make eye contact with anyone as you speed walk away.
A nurse calls from down the hall, âCan someone come look at bed four?â
"I've got it," you latch onto that lifeline immediately and start walking towards to bed.
Jack catches up to you easily, falling into step at your side.
âCome home with me after our shifts over,â he murmurs, low enough that no one else hears. âIâll let you finish what you started.â
Your face burns instantly.Â
âYes,â you say eagerly. âI meanâsure, yeah sounds good.â
Jack gives you a knowing look, the corner of his mouth lifting before he turns around to go check on a patient, looking like the picture of professionalism.
By the time you reach bed four, your face is still burning. And you're painfully aware that heâs watching you from across the ED.Â
a/n: Unfortunately inspired by my embarrassing ER visit yesterday :(
summary: on your very first day as an attending at the ptmc, you're forced to navigate the chaos of the night shift, a code silver, and the fact that jack abbot would (and did) take a bullet for you. (7k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, samira mohan, john shen, crus henderson, princess de la cruz, michael robinavitch, jack's dead wife also gets a wee mention
contents: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, heavily inspired by greys anatomy s6ep24, not proofread soz cw for so many medical inaccuracies (like so many), hostage situations, heavy mentions of blood and gore, mentions of trauma and grief
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
It was your first day as an attending, and almost your very last.
Other than your newfound position, there was little else different about this night compared to all the others. The late evening was filled with all the usual chaos that youâve come to find a strange sort of refuge within. Your first patient of the day was a woman in a pretty sequined dress, whoâd sustained a collapsed lung after screaming a little too hard to âBohemian Rhapsodyâ during karaoke â something youâd only find while working the night shift.
âFirst needle aspiration as an attendingâŠâ Jack Abbot said with a nod of approval when the procedure was done. âHowâs it feel?â
The simple question made you dizzy. It was as much of a reminder of your new ranking as the foil balloons in the break room, bobbing lazily against the ceiling tiles. Or the crooked banner strung above the coffee maker, reading CONGRATS in cheap gold letters. Or the plastic container of store-bought cupcakes someone definitely bought last-minute, with neon-colored frosting smeared slightly on the lid.
But what really sent you reeling, though, was the inadvertent acknowledgment of the simmering tension between you and Jack â which had always been there in some ways, but was much easier to ignore before now.
The constant will-they-wonât-they between you was buried under layers of hierarchy, rules, and morals â under the unsaid understanding that whatever this thing between you was could never be acted upon. Not while you were his resident, anyway.Â
The obvious power imbalance was a line Jack Abbot would not let himself cross, no matter how desperately he wanted to.
Only now, that wretched line isnât there anymore. For the first time since he met you, youâre both on even ground. The world is your oyster, as it were; all the opportunities lie now at your feet. You need only to reach out and take it.
âFirst intubation as an attending,â Jack hums from the opposite side of the hospital bed, eyes glittering with amusement behind his safety glasses. âHowâs it feel?â
You scoff a quiet laugh and shake your head. âThat question got old about the fourth time you asked it, Dr. AbbotâŠâ you deadpan, sewing the trachael to the unconscious patientâs neck.
Reggie Brice; thirty-two-year-old male; exhibiting crush injuries to the chest and pelvis from a gnarly car pile-up. Seven people, including this one, were rushed in requiring immediate assistance. The rest were brought in with sustained head injuries, concussions, or minor fractures that needed tending to. You know that there has been at least one confirmed death.
âWell, itâs a big deal,â the man scoffs. âWhy do you think we all chipped in two dollars to decorate the break room? Those grocery store cupcakes actually mean something, you know?â
âWell, I am honoredâŠâ you sigh in a distracted monotone.
Jack squints. âYeah, I can tell. You look downright emotionalââ
You take a step back to assess, gaze flickering to the monitor at your side. You find the manâs blood pressure continuing to climb, which is less than ideal for the injuries heâs sporting now.
âPressureâs too high. We gotta fix that, or heâs gonna crash,â Jack announces in a sharper tone, though it never quite loses its laid-back edge. He always works best under pressure, in truth. âWe could always crack the chest, cross-clamp the aortaâ buy him some time till we get him a room.â
âWhat about preperitoneal packing?â you suggest, gesturing over the patientâs lean stomach with gloved hands. âWe do a simple midline incision below the umbilicus, pack like hell around the bladder, keep the bleeding in check until we get him upstairs.â
Jackâs silence is less than reassuring.
You peer at him behind the glasses sitting low on your nose, stumbling over yourself as you brace for an inevitable rejection. âI know itâs more of an OR procedure, and Iâve only done it once, butââ
âHeyâŠâ Jack cuts in softly, brows raised to his hairline. âYouâre the boss here, kid. Remember? Weâll do whatever you wanna do.â
Your eyes narrow, despite the funny feeling flaring in your chest. His voice, all deep and gravelly and gentle, has always had a way of piercing right through you.
âIâm not a kid anymore, Abbot,â you remind him.Â
So thereâs nothing standing in your way anymore, old man, youâre really saying.
Jack grins wide, like he can hear it in your silence.
âForce of habit,â he shrugs. âNow, câmon. Letâs do it your way, boss.â
Youâre wrists-deep in the conscious manâs pelvis, packing the blood clot around his bladder while Jack holds the Deaver retractor in a steady head. You fall into a strange sort of rhythm together, the way you always do, moving with each other without ever having to speak. Though, for some reason, you canât seem to stop your hands from shaking.
âThis is good, right?â you murmur behind your mask, shoving more gauze beneath the manâs sliced skin.
âYouâre doing great,â Jack praises muffedly, without missing a beat, though he flashes you a stern look behind his glasses a second later. âYouâre an attending nowâ You know what youâre doing.â
You swallow hard with an unsure nod. âRight⊠YeahâŠâ
Jack smiles at your sheepishness â a stark contrast to how methodically your hands move â though the expression gets hidden behind his blue surgical mask. âDonât worry. Itâs always a little weird at first. Youâll settle in in no time.â
You scoff a harsh breath through your nose. âYouâve been uncharacteristically sweet to me today. You know that?â
âIâm always sweet,â Jack squints. âBut I can always get meaner, if you want. You know, if my kindness isnât impressing you.â
âHm,â you shrug and swipe your gloved fingers under the fatty tissue of the fleshy linea alba. âJuryâs still out.â
âWell,â his brows bounce. âI guess Iâm just gonna have to try a little harder, then, arenât I?â
âWhat can I say? I have high standards, Dr. Abbot.â
Your concentrated gaze flickers from the incision to the man standing across from you. Something mischievous glimmers in your eyes, crinkling at the edges with a smile he canât see behind your mask. The air between you charges in a flicker.
âYou doinâ anything after this shift?â the man wonders suddenly, passing you another stack of gauze with his free hand. âYou know, to celebrate?â
âI donât knowâŠâ you sigh and turn away again. âI guess it depends.â
âOn?â
âWhether someone can give me something better to do than collapsing face-first into my bed.â
âI think I could make a pretty strong case,â Jack quips.
âOohâŠâ you hum. âDo tell.â
âSomething involving food. Definitely,â he starts. âMaybe something a lot more filling than two-dollar vending machine snacks.â
âVery compelling start, Dr. AbbotâŠâ
âAnd maybeâ if youâre so inclined,â he croons drily. âSomething where we donât talk about work for an hour. At least.â
You flash him a deadpanned stare. âWell, now, thatâs just way too far.â
âHm. It was worth a shot,â he shrugs.
âI guess weâll just have to see how the rest of your performance goes...â
His eyes widen in amusement at your sudden teasing, not nearly as shy as heâs grown accustomed to. âOh, so Iâm the one being evaluated now?â
âYep,â you nod once, popping the p.
âAnd what happens if I pass?â
You meet his gaze once more, with something a little shier around the edges. âThen Iâll⊠let me take you somewhere for breakfast in the morning,â you shrug, trying to be casual, though your wavering voice gives you instantly away.
A smile curls slow at Jackâs mouth behind his surgical mask. You can see it squinting the very edges of his light eyes as he nods in response. âLooking forward to itââ
The glass door across the room swings open without warning.Â
Your heads whip simultaneously, half-expecting to find a grey-scrubbed nurse standing there, hopefully with some information about the state of the suddenly flooded OR. You find a strange man there instead â late fifties, bearded, tall but with a beer gut that hangs over the top of his baggy jeans. Thereâs dark blood on his t-shirt and the collar of his beige jacket, dripping from a cut on his temple.
His narrow face is strikingly hollow; his eyes are painfully empty. You figure he must be one of the victims from the pile-up. He wears the shock of it all over, no doubt.
âThis is a sterile room, sir,â Jack tells him, authoritative but never unkind. âIf youâre family, Iâm gonna need you to wait outside. Iâll have a nurse give you the detailsâ and maybe take a look at the cut of yours.â
âIâm not his family,â the man says in an even monotone, with a gritty drawl that insists heâs from somewhere further south. There is little inflection in his voice, the same way there is little emotion on his bearded face. He just lingers there in the doorway, frozen still in a way that feels almost uncanny.
Your wide eyes flit to Jack, glimmering with apprehension. Your stomach twists with it, too.
Jackâs firm gaze never wavers from the stranger across the room. âEither way, sir, you canât be in hereââ
The older manâs weathered right hand reaches slowly for the inside pocket of his jacket. Something silver glints beneath the bright white fluorescents overhead. It takes you a second too long to realize what it is â a gun.
The world narrows in an instant. The oxygen gets sucked out of the room all at once. Your chest hitches for a breath it cannot take.
You donât realize until then that youâve never seen a pistol this close before â or at all. Your brain detaches in an instant accordingly, protects you now by convincing you that this is no longer your reality. That youâre only dreaming. That everything around you is just a movie youâre watching from faraway.
âHey, hey, heyâŠâ Jack cautions on bated breath, bloodied hands raised in surrender.Â
His wide eyes dart between the man and the glass door, where the stranger is just out of view of the hallway. He swallows hard, adamâs apple bobbing in his throat, as he takes slow steps towards the assailant.Â
âLetâs justâ Letâs just take a breath here, alright, man?â
The monitor beside you begins to beep wildly when your hands freeze. Your body jerks when the sound fills the silent room.Â
Your gloved hands move on autopilot, adjusting the Deaver retractor in Jackâs absence and continuing to pack the bladder with the remaining gauze. The work is the only thing anchoring you now â the glaring acknowledgment that, if you donât finish up here, the man in the bed will die before he makes it to the OR.
âThat man thereâŠâ the stranger says in a distant voice, like heâs not all the way here either. âHe was driving the car that hit my wife⊠Blew a red light⊠Came out of nowhereâŠâ
Jackâs expression shifts. He reaches for his jaw with slow hands, plucking the surgical mask from his right ear, and letting the left side hang by his chin â allowing the man to see his face.Â
âIâm sorry to hear that, sir.â
âHe killed her⊠On the sceneâŠâ the man continues, gravelly voice tighter now. âI was trying to scoop her brains back into her skullâ Do you have any idea what the kinda shit does to a person?â
âThatâs hard, man,â Jack nods sympathetically but stands his ground at the head of the hospital bed all the same, planting himself firmly between you and the stranger across the room. âI get it.â
âYou donâtââ the man snaps, harsher now.
You flinch when his voice rings suddenly through the room, trying to pack the wound tight with half-numb fingers.
âYou donât just get toâ to fix him like nothing happened. Like her life didnât matterââ
âIt does matter,â Jack assures with a rapid nod. âYour wife matters, I promise.â
âThen let me do something about itââ
Jackâs chest tightens when the manâs knuckles turn white around the gun. He holds it steady despite his troubled state, like he knows exactly what heâs doing with it. Jack understands, then, that if he lets that gun off, itâll hit exactly whatever this man wants it to â wherever he wants it to.
âThere are two other people in this room who had nothing to do with what happened to your wife, man,â Jack tells him. âAnd I know you donât want anyone else to get hurt. I know that.â
âYouâre right⊠I donât want anyone else to get hurtâŠâ the man nods, voice heavy and trembling. âSo tell her to stopââ
The gun shifts over Jackâs shoulder, aiming right for your head.
A pained whimper sounds in the pit of your tightening throat. You can hardly see the incision below you as burning tears gather at your waterline. Your shaking fingers scramble for the sutures to stitch him back up again.
âHey, hey, hey!â Jack blurts, stepping in front of the gun again without a second thought. He keeps his gloved hands raised, but his sympathetic stare turns stern in a flicker. âYouâre talking to me right now, alright? So put the gun back on meâ Weâre gonna figure this out together.â
âI saidâ tell herâ to stop!â
His thumb flicks the hammer of the gun with a daunting click.Â
âI know, kidâŠâ he says without looking back at you, with a voice much more even compared to yours. âI know. Just keep going.â
âStop!â the man bellows. âOr I swear to god, Iâll shoot you both in the goddamn head!â
Jack is not perturbed by his yelling. He wants him to yell, wants him to cause a scene so that someoneâll check in and call in a Code Silver. He just doesnât want that gun to go off. So he keeps his voice calm as he counters gently, âAnd what happens next? If you kill usâ If you kill him. What are you gonna do after?â
The man hesitates for a moment. His grip falters on the gun, as if he hadnât considered the question until that very moment.
âI know you want your wife back⊠But this isnât gonna make it any better.â
âMaybe not,â the man says. âBut itâll make it stop.â
He doesnât elaborate on what âitâ exactly is, but Jack doesnât need him to. Heâs been where this man is standing â not physically, maybe, not with a gun in his hand; but in the deep, dark void reserved only for a special, gut-wrenching sort of grief.Â
âIt wonât. Trust me,â Jack says with a shake of his silver head. âI lost my wife ten years ago. Not like you did, but it still hurt like hell, man, I can tell you thatâŠâ
The man softens slightly. Itâs the first time since the crash that someoneâs tried to level with him, that someoneâs actually understood.Â
Jack takes a hesitant step forward when he catches the strangerâs resolve starting to slip.
âAnd I can tell you it doesnât stay that way foreverâŠâ he continues. âWhatever youâre feeling right now, I know you think itâs never gonna stop. But it will. You just have to let it.â
Another step forward.
âYou see the woman youâre pointing that gun at?â Jack wonders with raised brows, nodding his silver head in your direction. âI like her⊠I really like her. And I didnât think I was capable of feeling anything again.â
Your chest aches at his words. Your glasses fog from the warm tears clinging to your bottom lashes. Your clammy hands fumble with the surgical needle.
The manâs finger loosens slightly on the trigger, and Jack takes another cautious stop.Â
âAnd this is really bad timing, man, âcause I was gonna take her out after this,â he confesses with a not-quite smile. âBut for that to happen, I need us to walk out of here. All of us.â
The beat of silence thereafter feels borderline suffocating. It wraps its cold hands around your neck and strangles you.
Jack almost thinks heâs gotten through to the man. He can see the cracks starting to fissure throughout his hollow face; the flicker of hesitation, the realization of what heâs doing â where his dark mind has led him.
âSo youâre sayingâŠâ the man trails off and swallows hard. His drawl is much too soft for the words that spill from his mouth a second later. ââŠIf I shoot her, youâll understand how I feel?âÂ
Your blood runs ice cold in an instant.
Jackâs shoes squeak hard against the tile as he lunges for the man before you can blink. He pushes him into the wall with an aggressive thud and tries to shove his gun out of your direction. You bend over the bed on instinct, covering your patient without a second thought.
Two shots ring out.
You expect to feel both of them, or perhaps nothing at all, as your limp body hits the floor. You keep your eyes shut and your jaw clenched tight, bracing yourself for pain or certain death.
The harsh ringing in your ears is slow to fade. When your hearing finally returns to you, and your eyes peek slowly open, you find a sea of bodies crashing into the room like a tidal wave â and you, yourself, still standing.
Your head swivels on your shoulder, still half-hunched over your patient. Your gaze drags unwillingly past the blur of bodies and dark scrubs until it finds Jack, lying flat on the ground instead of you.
It takes your brain a long moment to make sense of it â the strangle ngle of his body, the stuttering of his chest, the tear in his shirt from the bullet, and the wet crimson darkening the tile beneath him. The sight doesnât fit, doesnât belong. Not to Jack, anyway; not to the man whoâs far too steady, too solid, to ever look like this.
And the worst part of it all â the part that will follow you long after this moment ends â is that that bullet was meant for you, and that Jack didnât even hesitate to take it instead.
The ED descends into a different sort of chaos than youâre used to. The PTMC fractures, splinters into something unrecognizable, as voices overlap and distort in your ears. âGunshot woundâ Attending down!â you hear someone shout, followed by a quieter, âHelp me get him up,â and a harsher, âSomeone get me a fucking line!âÂ
None of it feels all the way real.Â
Itâs like looking through the rest of the world through a fishbowl, where everything is blurred and warped and muffled. You can see armed guards detaining the crying gunman in the foreground of it all, along with Jackâs body being transferred to a stretcher, right before Samira ducks into your tunnel vision.
Her dark brown eyes are lined with exhaustion from her double shift as they dart attentively across your face â the first person to reach out for you in the midst of all the chaos.
âWhat do you need me to do?â is all she says.
Your voice comes out strangled. It sounds like itâs coming from somewhere else entirely as you choke through panted breaths, âF-Finish up hisâ his sutures, and⊠and get him to the OR... Walsh has a⊠has a room ready for him, I thinkââ
Your legs feel half-numb as you step back from the patient before you, left totally unaware of the chaos surrounding him. You stumble for the entrance, peeling off your stained gown and bloodied gloves as you go, and follow Jackâs body as they lead him out of the room.Â
You migrate to his side like itâs muscle memory to you, struggling to find your footing in the midst of the growing crowd as the doctors rush the gurney to the elevators. For every step you take, Shen and Crus seem to take three more. It makes it nearly impossible to keep up in your stupor.
You crane your head to catch a peek of the man from behind the towering bodies before you. âI-Is he okay?â you wonder breathlessly.
The gurney jerks too hard around the corner, scraping the side of the wall.
âMotherfucker!â Jack groans.
âWell, shitâ He definitely sounds the same,â Parker quips from beside you.
âHow are you feeling?â Crus calls from the manâs side. âTalk to me, Abbotâ Youâre still with us, right?â
âNot unless you two learn how to maneuver a goddamn gurney,â Jack jokes through gritted teeth.
âPage Walsh,â Shen tells Lena with a stern nod, pushing the button for the lift. âMake sure sheâs got a room open.â
The doors part with a ding. They wheel the stretcher inside, and you make sure to squeeze in with them, elbowing past the attendings and nurses to get to Jackâs side.
Heâs clammy and pale when he comes into view, writhing in place as he clutches at his ribs. His black scrubs are stained a darker color from the blood spilling from the wound, which turns the white towel pressed there a deeper shade of scarlet than you think youâve ever seen.
Your trembling hand reaches for him on instinct. You press your palm over his bloodied knuckles â keeping some pressure there, reminding him that youâre still here.
âJack?â you call to him in a voice taut, as your teary eyes dart wildly across his scruffy face. âJack? A-Are you okay?â
He swallows hard, adamâs apple bobbing in his throat. His head turns slowly, just enough to find you, and he blinks wildly to clear the blur in his vision. The corner of his mouth twitches in a faint hint of a smile when he spots you standing over him.
He clears his throat, but his words still come out a little gravelly as he arches an expectant brow and says, âTold yaâŠâ
You shake your head, features screwing in confusion. âTold me what?â
âThat Iâd make a good caseâŠâÂ
Your chest flares. Something wells suddenly in your throat, though you canât be sure if itâs a laugh or a sob. You just scold him instead. âItâs not funny, Jackââ
âHey. Youâre the one who said you had high standards, kidâŠâ he rasps.Â
His eyes fall over your form, trying to assess you despite his dwindling vision. You watch his scruffy features twist with concern a second later. His chest stutters as he questions breathlessly, âWhoaâ Is that⊠Is that my blood? Or yours?â
You tilt your chin to follow his gaze. Only then do you feel the warm blood trickling down to your elbow; only then do you feel the white-hot, searing pain of the bullet that had grazed your shoulder.Â
You feel very suddenly like the world is spinning around you.Â
The stares you get return, as everyone else seems to notice too, only adds to the dizziness.Â
âYouâre bleeding,â Shen observes sharply. âWhy didnât you tell anyone you got hit?â
âI-Iâm fine,â you insist despite the waver in your voice, shaking your head to fight the lightheadedness away. âI canâtâ I canât even feel it, okay? I swear.â
âGet someone to take a look at that when we get upstairs, alright?â Shen commands with a stern glare. âI mean it.â
Your wet eyes harden in an instant. âIâm not leavingââ
Jackâs hand, still weak on his side, twists over the damp towel to grab yours. His bloody fingers are cold and trembling as they struggle to find purchase on your smaller ones. You hold him with enough strength for the both of you.
âYou got hurt âcause of me, kid. At least let someoneââ
âHey,â you snap, meaner than heâs ever seen you. âThat was not your fault.â
âLet âem take a look at you, alright?â
You shake your stubborn head. âI need you to focus on yourself right nowââ
âI am,â he insists. His gravelly voice never loses its humorous edge, and neither do his glassy eyes lose their tenderness as they flit back and forth between yours. âAnd Iâm not gonna be okay if you arenât, alright? So just⊠please.â
Your features crumple at the pleading look he gives you â with his eyes all squishy around the edges, and glazing over with unshed tears.
The elevator stills with a ding, shattering the tense moment. It jolts faintly, just enough to make your swimming stomach feel sicker. You catch yourself nodding despite your better judgment.Â
âFineâŠâ you tell him in a fragile voice.
Jack tries to smile but finds the strength to slowly leave him, a little like the blood trickling from his side.
âIâm in good hands,â he assures you, then turns to the attending on his left. âRight, Dr. Shen?â
The younger manâs brows lower. âDidnât you just call me a motherfucker?â he quips.
Jackâs weathered face twists as heâs wheeled out of the elevator. ââŠDid I?â
Your hand slips from his as you watch him go. Something about it feels wrong, though you canât exactly place why. You just know it feels like something ripping in two â like the torn skin of your bloody shoulder, times a thousand.
The room they put you in is achingly quiet; the kind of quiet that makes everything else seem ten times louder. The green-white fluorescent bulb clicks and buzzes mercilessly over your head, drilling straight into your skull. The AC hums gently alongside it in a mundane sort of symphony that matches the empty room youâre in â where only one hospital bed sits beside a shuttered window, in front of a porcelain sink and mirror.
Everything smells like stale air, sharp antiseptic, and metallic blood.
You stand before the cloudy mirror with your scrub sleeve pushed up your shoulder, kept awkwardly in place by your chin. You struggle to do your sutures with a hand that wonât stop trembling.Â
You donât realize how ardently youâre still shaking until the needle slips across your skin â not enough to do any real damage, but enough to make you hiss through your teeth when it stings. You clench your jaw and pull the thread through, until the raging skin around the laceration pinches together again. Your features flicker as you try and fail to ignore the dull burn that spreads up and down your arm a second later.
The fiery sensation is the only thing keeping your mind distracted from all the rest of it â the way the gunshot made your ears ring; the way Jackâs body jerked before it hit the ground; the way the man called out for his wife when security pinned him to the floor.
You tug the sutures harder, relishing in the sting. You push the needle through once more, harder than necessary, and let it slip a little sloppier than you should â anything to take your mind off of it.
âCarefulâŠâ a voice cautions from the doorway.
Your head whips over your shoulder. You blink rapidly as your brain struggles to catch up â like you half-expect to find yourself back in that room; like you half-expect to find the man from before standing there.
You feel a little like the ground has been pulled from underneath you when you find Robby there instead, rubbing disinfectant between his calloused palms.
Someone downstairs mustâve called him about Jack, and about the Code Silver currently turning the PTMC to shambles. And, based on the surgical mask sticking out of his jacket pocket, you figure he mustâve just gotten back from checking in on him in the OR.Â
His dark eyes flit from your face, to your shoulder, and to the supplies scattered across the sink before you.
âThey said you were supposed to be getting looked at,â he says. âNot playing DIY surgeon.â
You huff out a breath that wouldâve passed for a laugh any other time.Â
âEveryone else is busy⊠At least I can make myself useful this wayâŠâ
You canât bring yourself to meet his gaze. You canât stand the way heâs looking at you now. His gaze is too sharp, too focused. Itâs like heâs studying you, cataloging, assessing â the same way you do with your patients. The thought of being so helpless makes your stomach twist.Â
Robby doesnât argue, but instead lets his eyes linger on the slight tremor in your hands. The leftover adrenaline is likely buzzing like electricity in your veins just now. Youâre bound to crash at any second.
âI know you donât want my help,â he starts slowly, sauntering further in with his arms crossed over his chest. âBut at least lie and say I did your suturesâ so Jack doesnât try to kill me when he wakes up.â
âI think heâll know you didnât do âem when he sees how neat they are,â you joke drily.
âRudeâŠâ Robby scoffs, sneakers scuffing as he plants himself at your side. You can see the leftover slumber in his swollen eyes more clearly now, as he ducks down to look at you. âWant me to get you something for the pain, at least?â
You shake your head instantly, not trusting your voice enough to speak without wavering.
âYou sure?â he presses.
âIâm fine,â you snap. âIâm not the one in surgery.â
He is not dismayed by your anger. He knows itâs not meant for him.Â
âWell, Jackâs doing just fine. Walsh is finishing up with him now,â he tells you. âHonestly, I think the hardest part is gonna be keeping him off his feet for the next little whileâŠ. âCause thereâs about a hundred percent chance heâs gonna want to come back to work when heâs discharged.â
You exhale sharply through your nose in place of a laugh as you tie the sutures and cut the excess with a pair of small medical scissors.Â
You just barely catch sight of your delirious smile in the cloudy mirror before a chuckle sputters suddenly from your mouth. The sound of it fills the quiet room as you tumble into a fit of half-drunken giggles, bowing your head and propping your gloved hands on the porcelain sink.
Your shoulders shake as your laughter turns quickly into sobs.
âIâm fine,â you blurt once more and shake your head. Your voice is strangled through the tears in your throat, but you dismiss him anyway. âIâm fine. I-I donât even know why Iâm crying, so..â
âYou went through something traumatic tonight,â he coos. âEverything youâre feeling is completely normal.â
You shake your head again. âI shouldâve gone with himâ I should be helping in thereââ
âYouâd just be a liability,â Robby shrugs, a little blunt but not entirely unkind. âYouâre still in shock. Your hands are still shakingâ I wouldnât let you anywhere near an OR like this⊠Youâre better off here, and you know it.â
You turn your head to flash him a teary-eyed look. Your chin quivers as your taut voice trembles, âHe asked⊠He asked me if I wanted to go out with him when we got off,â you confess in a strangled whisper.
Robbyâs brows raise to his hairline. âDid he?â
You nod slowly. âAnd I was gonna say yesâŠâ
âGoodâŠâ the older man nods, lip flickering into a smile beneath his beard. âAbout timeâŠâ
âSo he canât⊠He doesnât get toâŠâ You stumble over yourself to get the words out. âHe doesnât get to not come back after that.âÂ
Robbyâs sympathetic grin widens at the stern, wet-eyed glare you give him. He takes a slow step closer and splays a warm, comforting hand along your back.
âJack Abbot is the most stubborn son of a bitch Iâve ever met,â he tells you. âIf thereâs even the slightest chance of him coming out of that OR just to take you out, then⊠Heâs gonna take it. Trust me.â
âYeah,â you quip drily. âHe betterâŠâÂ
Jack wakes after surgery to a tingling ache in his side and a heart monitor beeping faintly overhead, pervading the strange silence surrounding him â a silence he doesnât usually allow himself.
His eyes crack slowly open, dry and unfocused for several long moments. They dance across the ceiling tiles as he blinks the haze of sleep from his gaze. He struggles to recall how he got here â in this dim recovery room, which he had never seen as a patient until now. He remembers the stranger with the gun first, the warmth of the blood that came spilling from his side second, and the way you cried from him third.
Your name spills from his dry mouth like itâs the only word he remembers.
âGreat. Now I owe Crus twenty dollars,â he hears a familiar voice joke from his side. Jackâs head swivels until he finds Princess standing there, checking the IV hanging by his bed. She smiles softly down at him and quips, âHe said the first thing youâd do is ask for her. I thought for sure youâd want a beer.â
âYeahâŠâ Jack rasps, then clears the gravel from his throat. âI could go for that, tooâŠâ
âWant me to go grab her for you?â
He hesitates. âIs she⊠Is she okay?â
âSheâs great. Last I heard, Robby was patching her up,â the woman grins. âAnd, for what itâs worth, she was asking about you, tooâŠâ
The anticipation of seeing you again was somehow worse than the pain, blooming something sharp in his abdomen, and only slightly ebbed by the morphine drip.Â
The minutes drag on. The heart monitor at his side counts the seconds instead of his pulse. His fists curl against the stiff hospital sheets when he remembers the sticky red blood that had dripped slowly down your arm â the way you so easily brushed it all off, the way you so desperately wanted to stay at his side.
The door creaks softly open.
Something tightens in his chest.
You linger in the doorway for several long moments, as if you arenât allowed to come any closer just yet. Youâre bathed in the shadow of the lamplit recovery room and backlit by the too-bright hallway outside. He can only vaguely see the outline of your features from here â weighed down with fear and exhaustion and relief.Â
The laceration on your arm has been cleaned and sewn. Itâs still raging a little around the marred edges, but will heal into a thin scar in a few weeksâ time â a story youâll tell for years to come.
Jack grunts as he struggles to sit further up on the raised bed, but hides it by clearing his throat. âYou look goodâŠâ he observes in a rasp.
âAre you flirting with me, Dr. Abbot?â you joke with narrowed eyes.
âI am,â he quips back. âThanks for finally noticing.â
You scoff a faint laugh and shut the door behind you with a quiet click. You canât help but feel a little like the air has thinned as you walk further inside. You focus on your wringing hands the entire way to his bedside. You donât have the strength to meet his unwavering stare, still puffy from a medically induced slumber, but never once straying from your face.
âYou okay?â he wonders aloud, shattering the silence between you.
You huff a weak laugh. âIâm not the one who just came out of surgery, JackâŠâ
âFair pointâŠâ he nods.
âBut yes⊠Iâm okay,â you add, if only to appease him. âWhat about you? How do you feel?â
Jack exhales a heavy breath, chest deflating behind his thin hospital gown. ââŠLike I got shot.â
That almost gets a real laugh out of you.Â
âYeah. Thatâ That makes senseâŠâ
You flounder in place for a moment, before reaching for the chair by the curtained window and dragging it closer to his bed. Jack is able to eye you more clearly when you settle into the cushioned seat by his side. He can see the redness in your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way your clammy hands hover like youâre not quite sure what to do with them.Â
Whatever closeness you had before those shots rang out is long gone now. You orbit around him like heâs a stranger to you, like youâre not quite sure what to do with him, like youâre too scared to get any closer.
He bows his head, made of mussed silver curls, in a feeble attempt to meet your stare. He silently begs you to look back at him, but you never do.
âIâm okay, you know?â he coos to you, equal parts because itâs true and because he knows you need to hear it from him.
âNo, I know, I justââ You cut yourself off when your fragile voice finally breaks. You shake your head to yourself and swallow hard, picking at the skin of your thumb until it starts to bleed. The scratch there blurs as burning tears gather once more in your gaze. âI canât stop thinking about it, you know? If you wouldnât haveâ have gotten as hurt if⊠you know, if you werenât standing in front of me like thatââ
His chest twists at the thought of you blaming yourself for it. The burning sensation there hurts him far worse than the one at his side.
âYou wouldâve gotten it a lot worse if I hadnât.â
Your eyes snap finally to meet his gaze, though your stare is much more hardened than heâd like.
âBut what if something worse had happened to you? Huh? What if you died, Jack?â you scold in words that spill faster from your lips than you can stop them. âWere you even thinking about that?â
âNo.â
His honesty stops you cold as much as his lack of hesitation.
âI guess I was just thinking about youâŠâ
The room goes eerily quiet, saved only by the even beeping of the monitor at his side and the distant voices talking in the hall.Â
Jack holds your gaze even as it weakens around the edges, even as it glazes over with burning tears you canât seem to keep away. A rogue droplet clumps your bottom lashes together when your eyes flick down to his abdomen, to the place beneath the blanket where you know the damage lies.
âYouâre not supposed to do that to a person, you know?â you whimper. âItâs cruel.â
Jackâs brows furrow. âDo what?â
âMake someone like you, and thenâ And then get yourself shot,â you stammer, gesturing wildly with your anxious hands. âMake someone almost lose you beforeââ
Your breath hitches.
Jack leans further in. âBefore what?â he presses gently.
âBefore theyâve even gotten to have youâŠâ
His lip flickers with a weak smile. âYou do have me,â he assures. âYouâve had me way before I ever asked you outâ You know that.â
âYeah,â you scoff with a grin of your own, much sadder in comparison. âSo much for that date, huh?â
Jackâs eyes narrow in a challenging stare. âAnd what makes you think itâs not happening?âÂ
You blink owlishly back at him. âDo you want a list, orâŠ?â
That earns a weak chuckle from him, until he winces at the ache it puts in his side a moment later. He cradles the bandaged wound with a grimace, and your chair scrapes the tile when you stand. âIâll tell Princess you need more morphine,â he vaguely hears you say, though he reaches for your hand before you can stray too far.
You still in place. Your wide eyes fall to the fingers around your wrist, warm like a furnace, and calloused like softly textured velvet. Â
âIâm okay,â he tells you, then takes a wavering breath in before repeating more firmly. âIâm okayâ And youâre not going anywhereâ And Iâm not missing our date for the world, alright?â
Your features screw, hardly convinced.
âWeâll order something here,â he shrugs. âHell, we can eat the cafeteria food for all I care, just⊠Donât leave. I mean, I kinda got shot, soâŠThe least you could do is indulge me a littleâŠâ
You cave instantly under the weight of his light-eyed stare. Your chest hitches with a quiet laugh. âItâd be a pretty grim first dateâŠâ you quip.
âYeah, wellâŠâ he trails off, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. âI plan on having plenty more, less grim ones with you, soâŠâ
Your eyes narrow in a cynical squint despite the smiling tugging at the edges of your mouth. âThatâs very presumptuous of you, Dr. AbbotâŠâ
âWell, you could always so no,â he croons drily.
âNot a chance,â you argue without pause, gripping his hand with great strength â an unsaid promise. âYouâre not getting rid of me that easily.â
âGetting rid of you?â Jack echoes with a scoff, wincing when it hurts him but smiling up at you anyway. âThat was never a part of the plan, kidâ I took a bullet trying to keep you, in case you forgot."
