Jack takes off his prosthetic like it’s any other chore, which it is, because it’ll never be something he lets carry weight.
It’ll carry him, but nothing else, and when you watch him through half-lidded eyes as he removes it with practiced hands, you think he’s beautiful bare. You don’t tell him that tonight.
You’ve 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.
You’ll hunt them down one by one, one day, with your cunt and your need to hold him forever...
With the fact that you’ve given him the most perfect baby girl in the whole wide world, and you’ll give him more and more and more.
“Night.”
Jack sets down his prosthetic against the nightstand, and he’s easy in sliding under the covers and pulling you in with an instinctive tug.
“Goodnight.”
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.
“She go down okay?—”
“Yes, Jack. She’s a champion at knocking out.”
Jack sleeps, but sometime later, he wakes up earlier than he’d like to. You’re still a warm weight nuzzling into him, face smushed against him. There’s nothing wrong except the fact that it’s a shame his bladder can’t make it till daylight.
He reaches toward the nightstand—
And he goes still when his hands find air.
“...The hell?”
Jack, half-asleep and in no mood for wherever the hell his prosthetic leg could’ve 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 it’s not fear that’s making his pulse climb. Nope.
It's just the simple, humiliating realization that something he kinda depends on is missing, and he doesn’t know how that happened, so he’s just as confused. Confused and embarrassed. Two very fun emotions. God fuck.
He turns back toward you, the peaceful girl who’s completely unaware that her husband is sitting in the pitch dark because he’s lost a limb. He swallows.
He’s gonna have to ask you. He hates this. He loves that it’s you that’s ruined him and you that can crack him open, that it’s you he’ll be vulnerable with. But he hates having to ask, because the husband that doesn’t deserve you and the father to your baby shouldn’t be losing his fucking limb and making you go look for it.
Jack leans closer and murmurs your name. With no response, he tries again, a little firmer.
“Sleepy. Baby.”
He swallows again when your eyes flutter open, a small sound you make to go along with it.
“...Wha…wha’s goin’ on?”
Jack blinks slows. He’ll smother the embarrassment flickering under his nerves later.
“My leg’s gone.”
You blink at him. Yep. That’s something to blink at. He won’t blame you.
“What?”
Jack simply gestures toward his side of the bed, because maybe if he pretends like this happens all the time, then he doesn’t have to be suddenly hyperaware of what’s not just missing from the room, but from the whole of him. Sounds like a fucking plan.
“I took it off. I put it by the nightstand. It’s not there. It’s not under the bed. It’s not anywhere on my side.”
You squint into the dark. “Well, did you move it? Maybe it rolled under the bed and maybe over to my side—”
You pause, and Jack stares as he watches your shadowed expression shift. It’s confusion to realization, your eyes widening slightly—to a look where you’re finding something…adorable.
“Oh. Oh my God. I can take a guess.”
You throw the covers off, sliding out of bed.
“I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going—”
You squeeze his hand, smiling sleepily. Fitting. “Trust me.”
Well. He has to, doesn’t he? You’re gone into the hall before he can say anything else.
He sits there for a hot minute, and don’t worry, sleepy, he doesn’t have to be reminded of his own helplessness.
Making kiddo look for your limb while you sit pretty. Husband of the year—
You reappear before he can even wonder why he couldn’t hear your footsteps down the hall, but your eyes are glossy, and you’ve found it—you’ve tucked his prosthetic under your arm.
“What the hell?”
“I found it, and you’ll be happy to know where. Oh my god.”
Your face is open in a way that makes Jack’s 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.
You pull out your phone. Jack couldn’t guess what you’re so in awe about.
“What are you—”
“Look, Dad.”
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.
He freezes. The sight is—the sight is…
The only thing as beautiful and ridiculous than what you’re showing him is you.
On the screen is a photo you must’ve taken just minutes ago in baby’s room, only lit by her baby-sun nightlight. She’s asleep in her crib, face turned into her pillow.
She’s got her chubby toddler body wrapped around his prosthetic leg like it’s a stuffed animal.
She’s hugging it. Like the thing is comforting.
…Like it’s Dad.
You shine in watching Jack stare into the screen, and it’s the blunt force of tenderness burning its way into his heart. His throat might close to the point of suffocation.
Not a bad way to go.
“Chubby must’ve took it while we were sleeping. Just…she just dragged it into her crib and fell asleep with it. We’ve got a little thief on our hands.”
“...Why?”
He’s unbelieving. He can’t believe—
“I think she thinks it’s…I don’t know. She’s two. If she has your leg, she has you.” Your voice is warm, near wrecked in the explanation. “I’m surprised she was able to carry it. She’s got baby muscle.”
…He can’t believe he’s this fucking loved.
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.
“My kid…stole my leg.”
“Yes 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.”
“Inherited her mommy’s love for trinkets.”
You laugh at that. Jack’s mouth twitches into something thin.
He’s 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 that’s what he’ll never deserve.
“...She can keep it next time. Long as she brings it back to me.”
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.
“She loves you so much, Jack. But maybe we can find her a stuffed leg.”
Quite An Impression - jack abbot x marine biologist!reader
find other parts here !!: 2, 3, 4.
Pairings: jack abbot x marine biologist!reader
Summary: when a jellyfish sting at work leads you to the ED, an unsuspecting Jack finds himself more and more interested in the pretty marine biologist that invites him for a tour of the aquarium she works at.
Warnings: minor injuries, talks of ER/ED, explicit language, injured animals (it all ends good), age-gap, slow burn, pinning, mentions of widower jack, yearning/longing, probably some scientific & medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 5k+
Author’s Note: part 1 is FINALLY here !! i’m so excited to get this out to you all, it’s been a long time coming !! i hope it lives up to expectations !! (am i gonna use sabrina references for each title ?? it’s possible…) bonus: uncle!jack content !! <3
“Jack”, Robby popped his head into the break room; “Come here, you’re gonna wanna see this, brother.”
Jack was bent halfway at his knees, inches from finally, finally, sitting down for the first time in hours and letting the weight off his prosthetic when Robby interrupted him. He didn’t even bother to suppress the groan that left his mouth as he pushed himself back to his full height.
He’d feel the soft couch cushions under him after this, he promised himself that much.
Jack followed Robby out, swinging his stethoscope back around his neck and holding both end of it in his hands.
“What do we got?”, Jack asked, inhaling the same way he always did during a long shift; the kind that made his back arch a little and his chest puff out.
“Female, late twenties to early thirties, jellyfish sting on the left arm and hand”, Robby read out the chart in his hands.
Jack almost stopped walking, a surprised look on his face that turned almost into a smirk.
“You serious?”
Robby laughed; “Hell yeah, figured you’d want in on it.”
Jack scoffed in the way he did when he found something funny; “Hell yeah I want in on it”
He grabs the chart from Robby’s hands flicking through the pages as he reads; “Haven’t seen anything like that since med school.”
“You and me both, brother.”
Robby turned and pushed open the exam room door with his back, sliding on a pair of gloves as he wheeled over on the swivel chair.
You looked up from the bed, eyes bright and not at all like you were in pain. Jack stopped in his tracks at the sight of you.
He realized then he wasn’t expecting someone so…pretty.
So lively and bright.
“Hi i’m Doctor Robbinavitch, this is my fellow attending Doctor Abbot, we’re gonna check you out today”, Robby says, offering a small and professional smile.
“At least buy me dinner first”, You jut back with a laugh.
Oh. Jack wanted to make that laugh leave your lips over and over again.
Robby got to work, carefully inspecting your sting, gloves fingers pressing gently into the raised red skin.
“So jellyfish sting, huh?”, Robby asks, motioning to Jack for a syringe off the tray next to him.
Jack hesitates for a moment, but his brain eventually follows, letting his eyes wander away from you for a moment.
Your hair was clipped back in a claw similar to Dana’s, a few strands falling loosely around your face and ears. A pair of black leggings and a Pittsburg Aquarium shirt. Even in the simplicity of it all, you looked so pretty. Jack swallowed hard.
“Yeah, comes with the job”, You say with an easy shrug, like it’s nothing new.
Robby pauses; “Oh yeah?”
“Yup. Marine Biologist at the aquarium. Little guy snuck up on me today.”
Robby chuckles; “Happen often?”
“More than you think. Not my first sting, won’t be my last.”
Your eyes wander over Jack, who’s still standing slightly off to the side, arms crossed over his chest. You lean a little closer to Robby.
“He always hover like that?”, You ask.
The noise that leaves Robby’s nose makes you laugh.
“Only when he’s working.”
You nod, eying Jack up and down. His silver curls and broad shoulders. The stubble that decorated his jawline. His dark hazel eyes that seem to get darker each time his eyes land on you.
“So often then?”
Robby looks up and tilts his head; “How’d you know?”
“I read people”, You shrug; “He seems like the type.”
Robby bites his cheek from saying something that’ll have Jack kicking him later, shooting him a look. You’re so accurate at reading him, it makes Robby gloat.
“Hey Doctor Abbot”, You nod your chin at him; “You ever sleep or blink or do you just…hover?”
Jack’s eyes flick back to you, the tiniest twitch of a curve at the corner of his lips as he adjusts his weight, shifting on his feet; “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
You snort, covering your mouth.
Oh you’re adorable, Jack thinks.
Robby’s still examining your sting, taking pictures on his phone cause who knows when he’ll ever see one again.
“Been meaning to visit the aquarium”, Robby says, not looking up, “My daughter likes fish.”
You light up instantly, eyes flicking between the two men, clocking Jack’s jaw twitching like he’s fighting internally on whether or not he wants to say what’s on the tip of his tongue. He eventually decides against it.
“How old is she?”, You ask.
Robby’s smile softens; “Almost two.”
You hum in response; “Fun age, usually very curious.”
Robby laughs like he couldn’t contain it; “Oh she’s very curious.”
You turn back to Jack, just as Dana pops her head into the room.
“Robby, when you’re done pawning over the jellyfish sting—trauma one needs you”, She says it with a smirk, a witty sarcastic tone with no heat behind it. Just enough to agitate him.
“Cmon Dana, this is so cool.”
Dana rolls her eyes, pointing two fingers at him; “Trauma one, now.”
She’s gone as quickly as she appeared, a sigh leaving Robby as he bows his head with a laugh, snapping his gloves off.
“That’s my cue”, He says, wheeling back in the chair and standing; “Doctor Abbot here will finish up. Get you some topical steroids and something for the pain and you’ll be good as new.”
You don’t see the wink Robby sends Jack’s way as he leaves the room, following the same path Dana had just taken.
Jack pushes off the wall, pulling a pair of gloves out and setting up everything he’ll need on the steel tray in front of him.
“I’m going to deactivate the area with some acetic acid, it’ll stop the stinging”, He begins, pulling on his gloves with a quiet smack.
“Acid?”, You ask, furrowing your brows.
Jack hums with a nod; “Don’t worry, it’s basically just vinegar. Shouldn’t hurt too much.”
You watch as he dumps the liquid carefully over your arm and hand, whatever stinging was there slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind a dull ache and general soreness.
“I’m gonna check to see if there’s any tentacles that need removed. Then we’ll get you all set up with some antihistamines and a topical corticosteroid”, He explains each step as he’s preparing it—whether it’s to ease the nerves he can sense off of you or to reassure himself—you find yourself appreciating it.
You can’t help swinging your legs a little as you watch him slide a pair of glasses onto his nose, a new pair of gloves on his hands as he grabs a pair of tweezers.
“Let me know if anything hurts”, He says.
But you’re too busy watching him.
The way he leans in close, the overhead lamp he brought over casting a slight golden hue to his curls, making them shine like silver. His features look more prominent this close up—aged in a rugged and handsome way that shows he has years of experience and stories behind him. Steady hands that hover. Sharp eyes that train on whatever he’s looking at. His brows furrow a little as he concentrates, his lips parted just slightly as he works.
“So you always pick fights with jellyfish or do you rotate through sea creatures?”, Jack asks, eyes flicking up to your face for a brief moment before returning to your arm.
You try to suppress a laugh—it doesn’t work.
“Nah, new animal each week. They’re usually pretty nice though…think that jellyfish had it out for me.”
Jack’s lip quirks at the corner of his mouth.
“What’d you do to it?”
“God nothing, they don’t have brains to know if I even did.”
Jack hums softly in response, letting you talk as he works. Committing everything you’re telling him to memory.
He lets a beat or two pass before speaking again; “Which one’s your favorite?”
You tilt your head; “My favorite what?”
“Animal, sea creature, whatever you call it.”
You can’t help the smile creeping onto your lips; “Beluga whale…name’s Arlo. He was brought in as a baby with an injured flipper about a year into me working there. I’ve pretty much helped raise him.”
Jack’s chest softens.
“He ok now?”
“Oh yeah!”, You say waving with your other hand, “He’s doing amazing! Just safer to keep him than set him out into the wild. I honestly don’t know how well he’d do with his flipper being permanently damaged.”
Jack finds himself nodding along as you talk, not realizing how long it’s been until he’s almost done tending to your arm. But he doesn’t really want to stop, or for this to end. He could listen to you talk all day.
So he lets you.
He listens intently as you talk about your job; which animals are your favorite, which ones are learning new commands and tricks, what shows you get to put on for guests. The conservation jobs you’ve been on. He watches your free hand move about as you talk—the many faces you make when—each full of passion. He finds himself enthralled by all of it.
“We also do two tours a day for guests to take them around some behind the scenes stuff, meet some of the animals”, You explain.
Jack lifts his head up, eyebrows raised at that; “Yeah? That sounds kind of interesting.”
Without a beat, you respond;
“Yeah? You should come. I’ve got tickets for this weekend you can have.”
Jack falters for a moment, forcing his brain to slow down and his breathing to continue.
“Oh that’s really thoughtful, but I’d hate to just take them, let me do something in return-“
“You’re patching me up, I think that’s enough.”
He stares at you, really stares. The unwavering look of certainty on your face, that small, smug smile at the corner of your mouth that was already doing things to him.
Then finally, he lets his shoulders drop with a sigh; “Ok.”
You perk back up instantly; “Yeah? Great!”
Jack smirks to himself as he pulls off his gloves, wheeling over to the computer stand and tossing the blue latex out. You find yourself staring a moment too long at the way his biceps flex under his scrub top—black material pulled taught against his skin and across his chest—littered with freckles; each different and unique in their own way. You’d be perfectly content counting and tracing each one.
“Think I’ll live, doc?”, You ask.
Jack’s lips twitch again; “Keep your arms away from jellyfish and I think your chances are pretty high.”
You let yourself smile, not caring how ridiculous and enthralled in him it makes you look. He was interesting.
You listen as Jack explains your discharge instructions, hands you a paper with them on it and a number to call if you need it.
“Come back if it gets really painful or infected. Keep using the topical cream I gave you and it should heal up good in no time.”
“Thank you, Doctor Abbot”, You say softly, sliding off the exam bed and letting him guide you out the door.
You don’t miss the way his hand hovers at your lower back, not quite touching, but the ghost of his warmth is there.
He nods once, head jutting towards the exit doors; “Know your way out from here?”
Like he’s offering to walk you.
“Yeah, thanks”, You smile; “Well hey, hope we can talk again sometime.”
His lips quirk; “Hopefully on better terms than this.”
“That’d be nice”, You say, knowing full well it won’t be the last time you walk through those hospital doors; “Maybe this weekend?”
Jack stills for a moment, the wheels in his brain turning before he offers a movement that’s almost a nod.
“Yeah”, He says it like he’s thinking, “Yeah, we’ll see.”
With that you’re heading towards the door with a thanking squeeze to his bicep that makes him feel like he’s a teenager again, watching as you stop and turn back towards him again.
“See you around, Doctor Abbot.”
Jesus, he was in fucking trouble.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Jack finds Robby in the break room later, hovering over a pot of hospital coffee.
“You free this weekend?”, Jack asks.
Robby quirks a brow; “What’re you asking me out?”
Jack bites his tongue, his eyes squeezing shut to compose himself; “No, I was gonna offer you these tickets I got.”
“What tickets?”
Jack sits down at the small round table with Robby in tow, passing him a steaming cup as he does.
“Remember the patient with the jellyfish sting from earlier?”, Jack asks.
Robby’s already smirking; “You mean the one that was flirting with you?”
“She wasn’t flirting-“
“Jack”, Robby chuckles; “You’re geriatric not stupid.”
“You’re geriatric and still older than me.”
Robby can feel the glare Jack shoots his way burning into the side of his head.
“What about her?”, Robby asks.
Jack sighs into his coffee; “She offered me tickets for some tour of the aquarium this weekend…they’re already in my inbox. Figured maybe you and Noelle would wanna take Nora.”
Robby shakes his head; “Nah she offered them to you man, you take them.”
“And do what? Stand around like a creep?”
“I don’t know…go?”, Robby says it like it’s obvious; “She offered you these tickets. Not me. You have to go.”
Jack doesn’t answer, just sipping on his coffee that’s starting to taste more and more like dirt with each passing day.
“She obviously likes you brother, or she wouldn’t have said anything”, Robby says.
Damn it, Jack really hated when Robby was right.
The older man sits up in his seat.
“Listen, Noelle’s out of town this weekend so it’s just me and Nora. Why don’t we go with you?”, Robby offers.
For some reason, that makes Jack relax a little.
“Careful”, Jack says with an arched brow, already clocking Robby’s enthusiasm; “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you actually like me, brother”,
“God don’t make me regret this”, Robby says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What else am I here to do?”
Jack stands to lean against the counter, stirring his coffee and tracing the rim of the cup.
“You’d seriously go?”, He finally asks, shoulders closing in a little.
“Yeah, why not?”, Robby shrugs; “Nora loves seeing the fish and for some reason you. Plus I can play matchmaker if i’m there.”
Jack groans; “And there it is.”
“What?”
“Your ulterior motive.”
“Gotta entertain myself somehow, brother”, Robby says, smacking a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
It takes everything in him not to smack Robby right then and there.
“I hate you.”
Secretly though? Jack’s grateful and almost relieved at Robby’s offer. But he’d never live down the day he tells him that.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
“Unca ‘Ack! Unca ‘Ack! Phish!”, Nora’s little voice shrieks as she bounces it Jack’s arms, pointing to the floor to ceiling cylindrical fish tank.
They’d made it exactly five steps in from the front entrance, and Nora was already amazed. Her wide brown eyes stared at the fluorescent colors—her tiny hand pressed up against the glass—the tank lights reflecting off her face.
“Papa! Phish!”, She called out for Robby, turning her entire body abruptly in Jack’s arms, making him readjust his grip.
“Careful, Peanut”, Jack warned softly, his own eyes wide as he watched her, willing his hold on her to keep up.
“I see the fish, Munchkin”, Robby says, stepping in next to them and smiling up at the fish that swim by.
The sound of people bustles around them, other families being drug along by their own toddlers seeing something across the room. A group of teenagers off in the distance.
It smells like seawater—not in the gross dead fish way, but salty and soft—wafting through the air. It’s slightly cool inside, overhead fans and misters in certain spots with signs that say ‘Feel the Ocean!’
Jack has no doubt that kids would be absolutely sucked in by all of it.
“What time is it?”, Robby asks, eyeing his watch.
Jack beats him to it; “10:30, tour starts at noon.”
He’d looked at the schedule, of course he had.
Robby smirks knowingly; “What should we go see first?”
They find themselves in the underwater viewing tunnels—polar bears and elephant seals swimming overhead—light reflecting off the water.
Nora’s eyes are wide, pointing at each animal that swims by. Making sure Robby sees, and then Jack.
The ‘Dory tank’ quickly becomes her favorite, running as fast as her small and chubby legs will carry her almost two year old body—pulling Jack by wrapping her entire hand around two of his fingers.
He grunts in surprise, struggling to catch up for a moment before he’s laughing; “Peanut you’re gonna take me out.”
Robby claps him on the shoulder, quickly adjusting the backpack slung over his shoulders; “Don’t worry, I know CPR.”
Jack shoots him a glare; “You’re so lucky the kid’s here.”
Nora’s hands are pressed up against the glass, face as close as she can get it without actually touching it—Robby and Jack had both scolded her twice already about the germs—her small mouth falling open with a grin as big as her face.
By the time 11:30 rolled around, Jack was leading the way towards the Penguin exhibit where the tour would start. Nora was now in Robby’s arms, giving Jack’s back a break. She weighed almost nothing to him, but the constant pulling on his neck and shoulders each time she bounced or lean towards something made him a little sore.
Robby set Nora down, letting her walk over to the giant tank in front of her, Penguins swimming around at her height as they dove in and out of the water.
“Nora, smile for mommy!”, Robby called out, kneeling down.
Nora grinned as wide as she could, a penguin swimming past her just as Robby captured the photo.
“I see?”, Nora asked, already climbing into Robby’s lap where he was crouched down.
“See? Very cute, huh?”
Nora giggled, eyes on Robby’s phone before she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Mommy see?”, Nora asked.
Robby nodded; “Mommy will love it, it’s a keeper. Think it should go on the fridge when we get home?”
Nora clapped happily at the idea of that.
Meanwhile, Jack noticed the employees starting to make their way out onto the landing from the doorway to the side. Then his world froze when his eyes landed on you.
Clad in your wetsuit, a ponytail braid down your back that swished back and forth as you walked. Clinging to you perfectly. Water shoes squeaking faintly, clearly slightly wet. His heart hammered against his rib cage. He didn’t notice Robby slide in beside him, Nora still in his arms.
It didn’t take long for you to find him, and once your eyes settled on his frame, your cheeks turned pink.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Starting a tour was absolutely second nature to you now. But you’d had nerves all day. Hell, you’d had nerves since earlier in the week when you met Jack. He’d been rattling around your brain ever since like he lived there.
When you followed your coworkers out onto the Penguin landing exhibit, you couldn’t help but let your eyes scan the group of people waiting. As soon as your eyes met his, you felt the blush creeping up your neck. Seeing the way he reacted the same, eyes unwavering and hovering over you—looking you up and down—had you biting your bottom lip in a last ditch effort to suppress a smile.
It didn’t quite work.
You offered him a wave that came off slightly shyer than you would’ve liked; but he didn’t seem to notice, and offered a wave back.
You could see the man you remembered as Robby nudging him with his elbow, eyes now trained on you as well—the little girl in his arms bouncing as she watched the Penguins.
After a quick introduction, it was your turn to talk, forcing you to finally pull your attention away and stand closer to the front.
You introduced yourself to the crowd; “But you can call me Skipper, I’ll be leading you on your tour today. Are you ready to see some animals?”
The response from families and kids around you was instant, but all you could see was Jack from the corner of your eyes; expression soft and gaze determined not to miss a thing. So the staring was an outside of work thing too, huh?
You didn’t mind. His eyes were soft in the way they were when he’d tended to your wound—like he was taking in every word you said and cataloging it for later—the same way he did with a patient’s information or a SWAT mission log.
God, you were screwed.
The tour went on smoothly, and as you talked, Jack found himself sinking deeper and deeper; like the ocean had opened up and swallowed him whole in the most peaceful and sunlit way.
He committed each fact you said to memory like his life depended on it; Octopuses have three hearts, the ocean produces 50% of earth’s oxygen, Angelfish choose one partner for life, a Blue Whale’s tongue is heavier than an entire Elephant, Dolphins are sleepwalkers, 50-80% of all life on earth is found under the ocean’s surface—he desperately wanted to seem like he knew something about your work.
You showed off starfish, turtles, dolphins. Jack watched with a childlike awe as you used simple hand signals for the dolphin, who happily obliged and did tricks for fish. He had no idea so much went into all of it.
His favorite though? Was finally getting to see Arlo the Beluga you talked so fondly about. He was huge to say the least. A permanent smile almost etched on his face.
Nora laughed when a spray of water from Arlo’s blow hole misted her face, clapping and bouncing where she was perched on Robby’s shoulder’s.
“‘Gain! ‘Gain!”
Jack—who was normally so enthused with his niece, only spared a quick smile at her before he was drawn back to you.
You with your bright smile and eyes to match as you held out different shells and artifacts. You who knew quick facts and talked so passionately about your work, you who kept glancing at him each time your eyes swept over the group of visitors in front of you.
Your heart stuttered in your chest each time you looked up to find his eyes already on you, like they never left in the first place.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
By the time the tour ended in the stingray room, you were a little smug to say the least. Eyes flicking to where Jack stood each chance you got as you spoke with other guests. Taking in how he stood carefully behind Nora who was pressed up against the glass again, watching stingray’s swim by. Protective and oh so gentle.
Jack’s hand was carefully on the tot’s back as he crouched down next to her, dipping his face close to talk softly in her ear. Like he was making sure she knew all his attention was on her.
Eventually most of the guests cleared out, only a few staggering behind to check out other animals in the room. You quickly made your way over to the two doctor’s at the big tank—Jack already rising to his feet as he saw you approaching, taking Nora’s tiny hand in his.
“Well look who came”, You breathe out, smile engulfing your cheeks.
“Wouldn’t miss it”, Jack spoke.
His voice was softer than it had been in the ED, more relaxed and mellow. Like he belonged here standing with you.
“I hope it lived up to its expectations.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Jack’s smile didn’t waver, a comfortable silence drifting over the room as you both looked each other over. You in your wetsuit, Jack looking so mundane and domestic out of scrubs it hurt. His hair a little more messy than usual, no doubt from Nora playing with it.
Robby cleared his throat.
“Papa! Up!”
The small voice and noise beside you snapped you both out of your gaze, eyes flicking to the brunette man as he lifted Nora up into his arms.
“Nice to see you again, Robby”, You say, offering a small nod; “Who’s this lil girly?”
“This is Nora”, Robby beams, tucking his head more to her level; “Nor, can you say hi?”
Nora offers you a small wave, hiding her face in the crook of Robby’s neck.
“Hi Nora, I heard you like fish?”
She perks up a bit at that; “Phish?”
“Mhm”, You nod, “Wanna meet one of my friends?”
Nora’s already nodding enthusiastically as you lead them back to Arlo’s tank. He’s already hovering close to the edge, head peeking out and still smiling.
“It’s almost Arlo’s feeding time, he’ll be so happy to see us”, You speak out loud, not really sure if it’s more towards Nora or yourself.
You climb onto the landing at the edge of the tank, pulling a bucket of fish over with you, snapping a pair of gloves on.
“These are his favorite.”
Almost on cue, Arlo’s halfway out of the water, looking almost like he could clap as he opens his mouth for the fish you throw him. The water splashes, Nora giggles in Robby’s arms.
“Do ‘gain!”, She shrieks.
All three of you laugh as you happily toss another fish Arlo’s way before turning back to Nora; “Wanna pet him?”
Nora’s eyes grow so wide there’s almost no iris left, looking up to Robby like she’s asking for permission.
“Cmere, I’ll show you how”, You explain how to be gentle, guiding Robby over so they’re both close enough.
You take Nora’s tiny hand and press it flat against Arlo’s nose, letting her pat it gently. Another squeal from her tiny body, now almost vibrating with excitement.
“He’s a little slimy, isn’t he?”, You beam, nose slightly crinkled as you look between the two.
Then you look up at Jack, who’s standing with his legs wide and arms folded across his chest, so similar to the way he had been when you first met him. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth. But his eyes gave him away. His love for Nora and seeing you with her practically pouring out onto the landing, and a hint of something else entirely that you couldn’t quite place as he looked back at you.
“Mommy, ‘icture?”, Nora asks.
“Sounds like a good idea to me”, Robby says, “Do you mind?”
He’s holding his phone out to you.
“Not at all.”
You switch spots with him, letting them stand against the tank in front of Arlo, raising the phone to take the picture when Robby cuts in again.
“Jack, get in here brother.”
He hesitates for a moment, before ultimately standing on the other side of him, squishing Nora comfortably between them. Both of her arms wrap around the back of their necks as he smiles crookedly, her few tiny teeth poking out.
“Smile!”
You take a few, pausing at the one where Jack and Nora are looking at each other—bright goofy smiles that make your heart ache. You wanted to burn it into your memory. Instead you hand Robby his phone back, watching as he walks off with Nora as his phone begins to ring, leaving you alone with Jack.
He’s rocking on his feet, back on his heels as he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“So Skipper, huh?”, He’s right back to teasing.
You groan; “Coworkers gave it to me when I started, not my first choice.”
Jack shrugs; “It’s on theme. Better than fruitcake.”
You quirk a brow; “Fruitcake?”
“One of our frequent fliers gave that one to Robby.”
Jack’s small smile turns a little mischievous.
“Oh i’m never forgetting that”, You laugh.
Jack laughs too, like the whole thing is so easy.
A beat of comfortable silence passes before he speaks again;
“Thank you for inviting us, really”, He says, rubbing the back of his neck; “Nora loved it.”
You don’t hesitate; “And you?”
Jack’s mouth parts at your forwardness, that stupid little smirk twitching again.
“I thought it was…nice.”
“Nice?”
“What? Nice is good!”
“Nice is what you say when something is boring but you don’t want to say it.”
“Trust me, I wasn’t bored.”
“Could’ve fooled me, Mr. ‘it was nice’.”
Jack sighs, shaking his head as he smiles at his shoes, rocking on his heels again.
“Fine. It was really interesting. I had a good time”, He sighs, but there’s no real heat behind it, rather amusement.
“See? Was that so hard?”
“You’re trouble”, He juts, eyebrows almost in his hairline.
You bite your lip, watching as he traces your face with his eyes, his own demeanor suddenly falling serious again.
“But seriously”, He says, “Thank you for having us. I really did enjoy it.”
You nod in return; “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too.”
Jack looks over to where Robby’s standing with Nora, talking away on the phone with Noelle; a softness taking over his features again.
“You really love her, don’t you?”, You ask, following his gaze.
“Yeah”, He says; “I’d do anything for her. She’s good for him too.”
He lets a beat pass.
“Don’t tell Robby that, I’ll be out a pony.”
“A pony, huh?”
“Secret side business.”
You snort at that, desperately trying to cover your mouth but the noise had already slipped out. You except him to cringe, but instead he looks, amused? Content? Happy?
Reveling in the fact that he finally got to hear it again.
Inside Jack’s heart did a flip at the noise. Wondering how many things he could say to make you laugh like that again.
“How’s your arm?”, He asks.
You flick your gaze down to your bandage.
“Pretty good. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Jack nods; “That’s good. I’d hate to see you still hurt.”
Your heart stutters.
“How can I repay you…for all this?”, He asks, gesturing around.
You wave him off.
“Again, patching me up was plenty. Thank you, Doctor Abbot.”
“Jack”, He says once, “You can call me Jack.”
“Ok, Jack.”
You test it out, tongue tingling at the shape of his name. Already liking the way it sounded. Yeah, that seemed perfect. Jack.
“There’s gotta be someway I can repay you. This couldn’t have been easy to set up.”
“Really it’s fine, Jack. My treat-“
“How about dinner?”
You freeze, mouth still parted and eyes wide as he continues with a smirk;
“My treat.”
You need an excuse, something believable, because if you’re honest with yourself—you’re already falling for him; and that seems dangerous.
But you don’t find one. Secretly? You’re relieved you don’t.
“Dinner sounds perfect”, You say, and then; “Just no seafood places. Too close to work.”
“Noted”, Jack smiles, nodding gently; “How’s next Friday?”
“Friday’s perfect.”
Suddenly you’re exchanging numbers with him, watching as he saves his name in your phone and you do the same to his. Then he’s saying goodbye all too soon, walking off to join Robby and Nora again; leaving the air around you too cold and lingering of his warmth and cologne.
You wave to them as they go, smiling down at your phone, breathing hitching as the new contact name staring back up at you.
➻ pairing: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!ER Nurse!Reader
➻ summary: Jack Abbot is the dad that stepped up for the sweet little girl who is the daughter of his favorite ER nurse- having been a part of her life since she was a newborn. How does he not fall for her mom?
➻ warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, longing, shitty bio dad to a sweet little girl, mentions of past shitty relationship, Jack’s dead wife mentioned, postpartum depression and stress mention
➻ author’s note: I’ve had this idea brewing for a while- Jack is definitely the best stepdad.
Jack Abbot is still raw and wounded from the death of his wife two years ago- closed off and sits across from his therapist while he listens to him talk about changing to the night shift for a bit. Comfort in the darkness? More like he can still pretend his wife is sleeping in bed- that he’s just working late and will see her once he gets home later. And when she’s not home after his shift? She’s left for work- she’s running errands- she’s just not home. She’s not dead. She’s not gone. She’s just left for a few hours. All while he’s getting used to the swing of the night shift Pitt crew- where the kids are over caffeinated and the chaos is constant. Where he can forget about his life for a bit- where the silence in his mind is deafened for just a bit.
Jack Abbot who was having a terrible shift. Who was going through the motions of pushing the pain from his leg down and trying to find a place to rest when he hears a soft cry, a whimper even- coming from behind the door of the supply closet. Opening it and expecting maybe the intern who got yelled at by the radiologist but it’s a nurse- and a baby. A baby who’s barely a few months old- sleeping in your arms while you cry and try to not wake the baby up after working so hard to get her to sleep. “I’m sorry Dr. Abbot, I was just-” you sob but stop when he holds his hand up- as if to say it’s okay, grunting softly when he slides down the wall next to you before sighing in relief. “Who’s this?” He asks, nodding towards the little pink bundle that your husband deposited in your arms a few hours ago- grumbling about her wanting you and won’t take the bottle and how he needed sleep while you were trying to chart on your patients.
Jack Abbot who holds your daughter for the first time that night- taking her in his big arms while you chart next to him. It was cathartic for you both- Jack hasn’t held a baby in years and she somehow made him forget about the shooting pain in his leg and heart and you haven’t had someone else hold her without her screaming or feeling anxious. She settles in his arms- doesn’t struggle the way she does with your husband. There’s silence in the supply room that night- the soft, sweet sounds of your daughter cooing or sighing in her sleep that you’ve fallen in love with while Jack rests against the wall and lets the weight of her ground him. He hasn’t felt this relaxed since his wife passed- hasn’t been able to let his mind be silent and for a minute he thinks he’s able to do this again. He’s able to live- even if she’s not there anymore with him. Who doesn’t dread going home that morning.
Jack Abbot who watches you nearly every shift- exhausted and struggling with a newborn because your husband refused to be a father. The hospital child care center won’t take infants until they’re 6 months old- you’d bring her if you could because you knew your husband didn’t love her. It became painfully obvious when you both found out it was a girl- his smile dropped, his face told you everything- he didn’t want this baby. He didn’t want your daughter. Her father rejected her- he went through the motions when you told him you were pregnant. Your husband smiled and nodded when they asked if he was excited- but he was still detached. Completely different uninterested, didn’t even help you postpartum- left you bleeding and sore and mentally exhausted but said women do it all them time. His mom did it three times- you’re fine.
Jack Abbot who sees the exhaustion on your face- who sees the way you fight to stay awake because you’ve spent all day tending to your daughter and now you’re trying to work and tend to patients now. He can’t coddle you- he doesn’t. Who knows you’re competent but he can tell you to sit down- he can tell you to eat something because you need to keep your energy up. Who slides you a coffee at 3 am, perfect temperature and made exactly how you like because he pays attention to you. Who slips protein bars in your pocket- offers you some of his dinner because he makes way too much and won’t even get to eat it all so it shouldn’t go to waste. Who trusts you- immediately finding a bond with you because you’re both passionate about what you do and- you’re both lonely.
Jack Abbot who recognizes your daughters cries now- who smiles softly when he sees her in her carrier at the nurses station with your after your husband left her there without even a text or so much as a warning. “She’s teething,” you apologize- attempting to gently shove a pacifier in her mouth but she won’t stop and her little face is scrunched up in anger and tiny fists balled up to let the entire pit know she’s upset. “C’mere- no none of that,” Jack fake chastises the baby when she whimpers- taking her out of her carrier and asking if it’s okay to take her for a moment. Who takes in your exhausted look and messy hair and the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. Who you find 15 minutes later in the break room with your daughter in his lap- gumming on his gloved fingers and drooling all over his hand while he reads a case study out loud.
Jack Abbot who doesn’t shame you for having your daughter- who helps you in those few months until she’s able to go to the hospital’s daycare. When he’s not busy he’ll take her in his big arms and call her a baby bunny because of the way she kicks in frustration when someone takes her from him- little angry thumps that endear him. Who lets you cry on his shoulder when you find out your husband was having an affair- “you’re just not the same anymore,” his excuse when you when you confronted him about it. But you didn’t cry for your marriage- you wept for your baby. Sweet little girl with big eyes and a gummy smile- “I don’t think he ever loved her,” a confession to Jack, while wiping your face and sighing before Jack tells you “you love her- that’s enough.” Who helps you through the divorce process- even arguing on the phone with the expensive lawyer your husband hired because they were trying to leave you with nothing.
Jack Abbot who is there for all your daughter’s firsts. Her first tooth- poking out like little fangs and going “ow!” dramatically when she bites him for the first time. Her first solids- baby sat in his lap while you push a spoon of puréed veggies at her and says it looks disgusting- when you try to scold him because now the baby is making a face and- “I’m just being honest.” Who gets excited when she takes her first steps- chunky legs tentatively taking a step forward while the nurses encourage her and the only person she wants to walk towards is him. Catching her before she falls and throwing her up in the air with a laugh and a “good job baby bunny!” Who is actually her first word- not mama or dada but “ACK!” trying to mimic you saying Jack. Repeating it over and over when he says “no- Abbot,” “ACK” “Dr. Abbot,” “ACK.”
Jack Abbot who stays by her bedside when she gets sick- when you bring her into the ER because something is wrong and you know this isn’t normal. Who watches you stumble over your words while you try to take control of triage but- this isn’t someone else’s child- she’s yours. You know her breathing is off, you’ve been watching her fever and it refuses to budge, she hasn’t had an appetite or wanted water- you even tried to bribe her with popsicles or soda and she didn’t even react. Who watched you force back tears while you rattle off her vitals and didn’t stop until his heavy hand landed in your shoulder- “hey, we got her okay? I got her.” Who goes up to the peds floor to check on you both after his shift was over- leans against the doorframe when he sees you asleep with your head right next to her on the bed. Who smiles when he hears her little “rabbit?” because she still can’t say Abbot- “hey baby bunny,” with a whisper so he doesn’t wake you up. Who promises you he’s not tired- he’ll watch her while you go change and take a shower- he’ll watch her while you work that night because you can’t afford to miss a day of work since the divorce. Who spends the night reading to her- checking her vitals and monitors and coloring with her. Who gives her as many popsicles as she wants- both their mouths purple when you come in during your lunch and ask if they’ve had actual food yet.
Jack Abbot who watches her little face crumple every time she gets disappointed when her sperm donor bails on her- when he doesn’t show up to his scheduled visits because he’s busy with his new girlfriend and her son. Her son that he’s devoted to- a boy who can play catch and run around and who he can be proud of. And maybe that hurts you more than anything because his absence is purposeful- his lack of love was a choice. And Jack can’t understand how this little girl’s father can willingly leave her life. She’s so bright and sweet- has your eyes and smile and the little scrunch of her nose when he tells her she needs to do her homework- “I didn’t do my homework- that’s how I lost my leg.” Who sits her at the break room table to help her- basic math or reading but he’s encouraging her and smiling and wondering what this would have felt like if he and his wife would have had any kids.
Jack Abbot who falls for you so easily. Who’s watched you struggle for 5 years alone with your daughter. Who loves your laugh- because you still have a sense of humor and will make snide comments that have him doubled over some times. Who still has little supply room breaks with you- sitting on the floor with your backs to the wall like when you first met. Sharing a protein bar between you both and taking a minute to just breathe. Who reminds you that you’re a good mom- that you’re doing the best you can and your daughter is happy and that’s what’s important. Who makes sure you get approved off for holidays or her birthday or any little dance recital that she has- who also buys her flowers for said dance recital and watches with a smile when she demands he see her practice. Who loves your smile- soft and sweet and even amid the chaos of the ER it’s like a breath of fresh air for him. Who sits on the roof with you after a tough shift- sharing pizza and beer and watching the sunrise together with your hands dangerously close and brushing together.
Jack Abbot who knows your daughter’s favorite color is purple, that her favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry, that she hates math but loves reading so he buys her books, that she loves to color and sing and he knows her favorite song and knows the characters in her favorite movie. Who listens to you argue on the phone again when her dad says he can’t make it to the zoo date that he promised- all while she sits at the nurses hub with her backpack and a sad face and- “he’s not coming- is he?” But Jack says he’ll take her- he’ll take her to the zoo instead. Asking if she’d like that and if you would mind and the three of you spend the day together- like a family would. Where she sits on his shoulders and points out the elephants or where he helps her lean over to feed the giraffe or when he buys her as many stuffed animals as her little arms can carry. Who passes her to you- when she’s asleep and dozed off in his arms and when she settles back against you she whispers- “goodnight daddy.”
Content: michael robinavitch x f reader x jack abbot / unprotected sex (p in v) / non-consensual / established relationship / MDNI (+18)
Summary: Reader is in a relationship with Robby and Jack. Jack used the last condom and Robby doesn’t want to stop so he continues even though reader says no. Jack says he’ll get Plan B so it’ll be fine.
Robby has you on all fours as he pushes his cock into you. It’s a stretch, but he has you so worked up that you’re dripping for him. After a while, Robby flips you to your back and continues to drive into you.
Robby notices Jack get of the shower and walk into the bedroom to grab his clothes.
“Hand me a condom.”
“Used the last one earlier.” Jack says as he puts his underwear on and steps into his pants.
“Fuck me.” Robby looks at you as he continues to thrust into you. “Guess we’re going without.”
“R-Robby stop. I’m not on the pill.” You try to wiggle away but Robby puts more of his weight on you to keep you there.
“You can’t cum inside me. Robby, please!” You try to push at his chest but he grabs your hands and pins them to the mattress.
“Doesn’t it feel better though? Having nothing between us. I can feel all of you.” He puts your wrists above your head and holds it there using one of his hands. His thrusts are getting deeper. He wipes at a tear that has fallen towards your hairline.
Jack gets closer to the bed and brushes a piece of hair from your face. “I’ll pick up Plan B, don’t worry.”
“Write her a script for the pill while you’re at it.”
You’re so overwhelmed by everything at the moment, it feels like Robby is everywhere. You feel the warmth from his release inside you. “You feel me inside you, sweetheart?” His hand goes to your stomach. “Feel me fill you up?” Between Robby’s words and his unrelenting battering of your pussy, you cum with such intensity that it takes a moment to come to.
Robby spreads your thighs apart and looks at the mess you both created. He sees that some of his cum dripped out. He takes his thumb and pushes it back in. You go to sit up and as you do it forces a little more out.
“Lay back down.” He tells you.
“What are you doing?”
He takes his thumb and pushes the cum back into you. “Just playing with my girl. Jack will get you Plan B so putting it back in doesn’t hurt. Just want to get her used to being full.” He gives a quick kiss to your clit before getting up from his spot and moving next to you.
He moves to sit behind you with his back to the headboard. Robby pulls you against his chest and spreads your legs to drape over each of his. He traces over your thighs and occasionally circles your clit. You’re sensitive and every time he does you let out a whine.
“Oh. I know, baby. I know she’s all tender, but I want to make sure she’s ready for when Jack gets back.”
Jack walks into the room a bit later, holding up the pharmacy bag and a glass of water. He opens up the pill bottle and shakes a pill out. “Open your mouth.” He places the pill on your tongue and hands you some water. “Now, what we do today won’t matter baby.”
“Go ahead and see what we did so far brother.” Robby says as he brushes some hair off your neck.
Jack leans down to inspect, seeing the mess between your legs, he lets out a whistle. “God, you’re beautiful.” He starts to undress before he climbs on the bed and settles between your legs. “Let’s clean you up before we make another mess.”
Jack flattens his tongue and licks a strip up your center. Your heads falls back against Robby’s shoulder, his hands kneading your breasts. You’re so worked up from Robby teasing you that it doesn’t take long for you to cum on Jack’s tongue.
Jack moves to lay down on the bed and both men adjust you so that you’re sitting on his cock.
“It feels amazing bare, doesn’t it brother?” Robby asks, as he lays on his side to watch.
Jack looks up to you as he guides your hips. “You feel like heaven, angel.”
For the rest of the morning, both men make sure they get their use out of that Plan B pill.
Okay but LISTENNNNN. Reader and Jack having feelings for eachother but he pulls back (she’s still new , too young , etc) he’s been cold and she decided to take that day off work and go to Pitt Fest and …oh no…. (Still lives but it’s BAD)
Strip Her: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader
Synopsis: Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?
Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma/gun violence, mass shooting, GSWs, blood; Reader basically does what Santos did, but in the field hah! > No "good girl" energy from Jack, just anger for putting yourself in danger lol
Word count: 2k+
A/n: Thanks so much for sending this in, so sorry it's taken so long!! Lmk what you think!! ♡
This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.
Blood is for the ones we can save.
Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.
Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.
He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.
"Hi, handsome."
"Wanna come over after your shift?"
Read.
You huff out a humorless laugh. The old man really left you on Read.
You know Jack isn't a big texter, making the age-gap between you hilariously obvious. But today it gets to you.
Jack isn't your immediate superior, but you wonder if this is why he's been acting cold. More than usual.
The ER staff love to talk. Of course they do. But neither Jack nor you care about that. You’ve made it clear there’s an undeniable connection between you.
So, you’ve acted on it.
The last couple of months have been bliss, an unspoken understanding of exclusivity.
But now, Jack's been distant. Swapping shifts, avoiding working with you.
Was it something you did?
You've already double texted him today, wishing him a good shift and letting him know that Robby's asked you to 'babysit'.
How embarrassing. But you draft another.
"Heading to Pitt Fest now, will be up for some fun when you get home... ;)"
You delete the last part. God. Don't show your age!
"Heading to Pitt Fest now, see you soon."
You hit send.
Code Triage. Emergency Department Now.
The mass casualty event is in full swing. Patients come and go. Green. Yellow. Pink. Red. Black and White.
It's a haze of coordinated chaos.
Jack keeps trying to reach you in-between treating patients, leaving you countless voicemails.
Of course he would.
"Hey, Y/N. It's Jack. Call or text me the second you get this message, okay?" His voice trembles. "She's not picking up."
"I can't reach Jake either." Robby mutters.
"I'm sure they're ok." Dana offers gently.
Time slips away, minutes turning into hours. Their shift was supposed to end a while ago, but they've stopped keeping track.
"I'm going to check on triage." Robby announces, stepping out to help Shen and Ellis assess incoming patients. "No pulse. Black and white. Pink zone. Strong pulse. Unresponsive. No obvious GSW. Red zone GSW left chest."
A familiar voice cuts through the noise. "She was talking when we first got into the truck. T- There was so much blood."
Robby is at a loss for words, his medical instincts fighting the fatherly ones in a gruesome match.
"I've been putting pressure on the wound the whole time", Jake stutters.
"That's good. You're good", Robby reassures him, more for himself than Jake.
The team rushes Leah into the ER. Jake follows closely behind. "You can't stay with her. There's no room and we need to work on Leah right now", Robby says firmly, getting to work immediately.
Jack spots them and hurries over, panic rising in his chest.
"Where’s Y/N?" he asks, voice tight.
"I- I don’t know," Jake mutters. "She stopped Leah’s bleeding, then went back in."
"What do you mean?" Jack growls, trying to keep his voice calm.
Robby looks up, taking in Jake's words. The lines on his forehead growing deeper.
"People were screaming. The shots were so loud. She- She went back to see if others needed help." Jake's eyes well up, before he is wheeled off to get treated.
Of course you would put someone else's safety over your own.
Others might see it as noble, but Robby and Jack think it's reckless.
They exchange a look, knowing there's nothing they can do to reach you. To make sure you're okay.
Jack is called to another patient, while Robby proceeds to work on Leah.
Despite their best efforts, it's not enough.
Minutes pass. Jack watches Robby closely, his desperation becoming more evident by the second. Dana gives Jack a knowing look, recognizing the only person who can reach Robby right now is him.
Jack steps closer, glasses off, his voice gentle.
"The bullet tore through her heart", he says softly, giving Robby time to process.
"Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can't keep up with the blood loss. If she was our only patient, we'd do a thoracotamy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we'd get her back." Jack's words hang heavy in the air, but he continues.
"We're gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl." Jack doesn't let it show, but it pains him to see Robby hurting like this.
Robby does one final pulse check. But Leah's heart is no longer beating, the realization shattering his own.
"Okay, we're done", Robby whispers, breaking.
"We stopped at 19:47", Dana declares. "Move her to Pedes?", she asks gently.
Robby just nods.
"You want me to go with you to talk to Jake?"
He shakes his head. "No. No, thanks. I got it."
But another gurney is wheeled in. Robby notices first.
"Jesus Christ", he mutters. "What's going on?"
"Female. 30s. GSW to the right inguinal region. Retroperitoneal bleed", Dr. Mohan declares. But there's someone else kneeling at the end of the gurney, holding the patient's leg up. Robby and Jack's eyes widen, when they meet yours.
"The bullet must have tracked north and hit the external illiac", you state nonchalantly, ignoring the stunned looks from your colleagues.
It was supposed to be your day off.
"Dr. Y/LN did a REBOA in the field to stop the bleeding", Samira continues.
"You did what?!" Robby gasps, incredulous but unable to hide his pride.
Jack is by your side in an instant. "Are you shitting me?"
"Hello to you too, Dr. Abbot", you smile weakly, still focused on the patient’s wound.
Another time, your smile would’ve lit a spark. Not now.
Jack's anger is palpable.
You’ve seen it before, his cold, stone-faced demeanor, always one existential crisis away from breaking. But never directed at you.
"Are you hurt?" Jack’s voice is dangerously low.
He's scared.
Robby and Jack scan your blood-soaked clothing. You quickly dismiss their concern.
"Uncontrollable bleeding from a pelvic artery, no other options. I blew up a balloon in the aorta to stop the bleed. Going in a few inches, zone three, below the kidney. I just needed to hit the femoral artery."
You hesitate, but go for it anyway.
"Piece of cake", you grin, weaker than usual, but you hope they don't notice. They do.
"Radial's stronger." Mel confirms.
Robby and Jack both notice your uneven breathing but chalk it up to the stress and trauma you've experienced.
"Also, GSW to the chest, left hypochondriac region. Probable internal bleeding", you continue.
"No. That's not true-", Samira objects.
You direct everyone's attention to your own chest, your breathing becoming erratic.
"What?!" Jack's voice cracks, disbelief, shock and fear hitting him all at once.
You feel like you can hear your own heartbeat, the ER growing eerily quiet at your confession.
"Okay. Let go of her leg", Robby orders in an intimidating tone.
"Gurney!" Jack barks.
"I need to lock the balloon first." You stare directly into Jack's eyes, knowing he won't budge. You turn to your friend and mentor, pleading.
"Robby." He knows you're right.
"Do it." Robby nods, ordering Whittaker to check the wound once you're done.
"BP's 110, by palp", Donnie announces.
Jack remains frozen, his mind racing a million miles a minute.
"The balloon can stay up for an hour max. Get IR and Vascular on the case." Robby directs, before drawing everyone's attention back to you.
Your patient is stable.
You've done what you can.
But the blood loss is catching up with you.
"I- I think it's a through-and-through. My back hurts like hell and my legs feel funny." Jack snaps out of his trance, his training kicking in.
Robby lifts your top, shocked at the severity of the injury. Jack shuts his eyes, unable to stomach the sight.
It must be bad.
But it doesn't hurt too much.
Not a great sign.
"Okay. Stabilize her", Robby orders, multiple hands are on you immediately, steadying you. Grabbing the base of your neck, your shoulders and hips, securing you in place.
You're still sat on the gurney, but have now let go of the patient's leg.
"Strip her", Jack commands, voice low and firm, eyes dark and unreadable.
You try to lighten the mood. "Gee, buy me dinner first, won't you?"
A few giggles from the team, but Jack's lips are tightly pressed together in a fine line, facing downwards.
Dana cuts through your top, leaving only your bra. Unusual. But you're relieved to not flash your coworkers. You'd rather like to maintain the mysterious vibe you've got going on.
"Cowards", you tease. More chuckles, but worry growing on everyone's faces.
You whisper to Jack, "I'm sorry."
He doesn't respond. Can't look at you. Instead he orders a chest tube and a unit of blood.
A sharp gasp rips through you, the weight on your chest suddenly making it hard to breathe. "Fuck, that hurts." Any last traces of playfulness vanish, replaced by something else.
Fear.
Jack realizes he has to save his anger for later. "Hey. It's okay", a slight smile now tugging at his lips. "I've seen you worse", but the vulnerability in his voice betrays him.
Shit. It must be really bad. He's cracking jokes now?
Your anxiety spikes.
Is Jack about to watch you die?
You shiver at the thought. Or maybe it's the blood loss. Probably both.
Your vision blurs. Your thoughts get foggy.
"J-Jack?" You're not sure he hears you. Or anybody really. Did the words even come out?
Your eyes flutter shut. There are no more thoughts.
Only darkness.
Robby orders Jack to step back, the roles tragically reversed.
This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.
Blood is for the ones we can save.
Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.
Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.
He has been distant with you. But not because of your age, or your careers.
No, it's because letting you in means risking losing you and he knows he can't survive that kind of pain. He’s seen too much death, too much loss. And loving you only makes that fear stronger.
He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.
"I know." Robby is laser-focused, but shudders at the thought of Jack up on that roof again.
Painfully aware of the inevitable cost of losing you.
They won't. They can't.
Monitors and machines beep in a faint rhythm.
You wake, eyes heavy. A familiar figure is propped up in the armchair beside your bed.
He looks like shit.
Jack's wearing the same bloodstained scrubs, dark circles beneath his eyes, hair dishevelled. On second thought... it's a look.
"Hi, handsome", you whisper, unsure if it’s the relief of being alive, the pain meds or just seeing Jack, but a wave of comfort floods you.
He leans in, eyes wide with tenderness.
"Hi, beautiful."
His gaze radiates a warmth that kept you alive, even when your skin grew cold.
"How are you feeling?" His voice is soft. So unbelievably soft. The anger has subsided, but you know there’s a conversation you’ll have another day.
He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently.
"Peachy", you exhale, giving him a warm and genuine smile. He returns it, his shoulders relaxing more with every steady breath you take.
You hesitate, but finally go for it. "So, about you leaving me on Read." Your smile turns into a familiar smirk. "You know only old people leave voicemails, right?"
Jack's breath catches in his throat, caught off guard. He chokes out a strangled laugh.
"You're unbelievable", he says, before leaning down, his lips brushing gently over yours.
The grip this man has on me I swear... Also, I'm still in shock from ep13 and I fear it's only getting worse... Jack being so rational about letting Leah go was So Painful, so writing this was very cathartic. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡
I have a request for Jack abbot, so him and the reader are a couple and the only people that know are robby and Dana (robby is readers brother). Reader is in a car accident Dana is first to find out and tells people to keep jack and robby out they only find out when paramedic gives them the readers bracelet or something. Had this one in my head for a while also I love your fics :).
💞Tags/Warnings💞: slight age gap relationship, secret workplace relationship, hurt/comfort, ( slight ) angst, Worried!Jack Abbot, OlderBrother!Robby
💞Plot💞: At one point or another in their careers, both Robby and Abbot have had to tell a patient’s loved ones to hang in there and let the doctors do their work. But when Y/N is involved in a car crash, they’ll find it doesn’t feel good being on the other side of those words..
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: Waiting Room
💞A/N💞: Thank you sm! I really hope you like it!!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
For as long as Y/N Robinavitch could remember, she was constantly behind her brother.
Most times it was literal. Sometimes though… It was a nagging feeling she’d get in the deepest parts of her chest.
Being raised by their strict, single, ER Nurse of a grandmother in downtown Pittsburgh wasn’t as easy as it sounded. And Robby heard the phrase ‘take your sister with you!’ more times than he’d like. Y/N would always stand somewhat behind their grandmother, smiling hopefully. Hoping this time he wouldn’t roll his eyes or argue back.
Or make her walk ahead of him and his friends.
She couldn’t remember when he started acting nice to her. But at a certain point in her late teen years and Robby’s early 20s, he began to actually like spending time with his baby sister.
He never really knew how much he inspired her to be better. To grow from where they came from. And so, even in her grown age.. Even with all her accomplishments..
Y/N was always behind her brother.
And not many people saw her there. His opposing frame hid her most of the time. But one man did.
Jack Abbot.
It had been a simple moment. One that Y/N wondered if Jack even remembered. Or even realized how significant it was.
One morning, she’d been at her desk after being told something by Robby. He’d walked over to check on her and then leaned in close to her ear. ‘Don’t listen to Robby. You’re doing. Fucking. Amazing..’
Those words.
They were casual enough to any outsider, but the look he’d given her afterwards, it had caused a blush to boil up to the surface. From then on, Y/N had a crush.
This wasn’t her first time having a crush on one of Robby’s friends. But this was the first time one of Robby’s friends made it clear they had a crush on her too. Jack found himself remembering the small things. He trained himself at being fluent over understanding the looks on her face.
Lips pressed tight? She’s thinking hard.
What does she need? Someone to listen to her idea.
Slight pout? She’s feeling drained.
What does she need? Coffee. Specifically from the deli a block away from the hospital because their coffee is stronger than the hospital’s.
Squeezing her eyes? She’s trying not to cry.
What does she need? Not you asking her what’s wrong. She’ll just say she’s okay. She’s Robby’s little sister after all. No, just get her something that’ll make her smile. Her favorite snack. Set it on her desk when she’s not looking. She’ll accept it only then.
Jack became an expert at reading Y/N like a book. And there were always new pages to explore. And then one night, drunk in the park from a terrible shift, Y/N made her move. The kiss ignited Jack. But he had to cut it short, much to her dismay. It had made him chuckle a bit. ‘If I’m gonna kiss you.. I’m gonna do it the right way..’
The very next day, Jack sat with Robby on the roof. And told him everything. Flat out. It wasn’t easy. They did fight. But once Robby let himself listen… He realized just how much Jack cared for her.
See… Life is too short. Being in this line of work, you get that. Robby could die tomorrow. He was the only family Y/N had left. And… It brought him some peace to know that even if it was his time to go… Y/N would still have someone. She’d have Jack.
Robby never thought about it the other way around though. He never considered that maybe one day… He’d lose the only family he had left..
And Y/N was guilty of this too.
Until she watched the red and black Subaru Outback run a red light and head straight for her…
*
*
*
“Where’s your better half?” Robby asks the minute Jack steps off the elevator. Jack slows his footing, eyeing Robby with humor clear on his face.
“First of all.. Ouch.” Jack taunts. “Secondly,” He continues as he walks over to his friend. “What are you talking about? She’s officially back on day shift..” He says to jog Robby’s memory. Robby frowns at that. If that was the case.. Y/N was late. Really late.
The red phone at the nurse’s station rings as Robby checks his phone. Usually there’d be a string of texts from her, apologizing and explaining why she’s running late.
But.. Nothing.
In fact, their last text thread had been from last night. Y/N had asked if Robby knew why Jack was acting so odd lately. Robby tried to push out the image of the ring his friend had shown him earlier this month, instead texting back ‘You know Jack. Could be anything..’
The two had ended their conversation with a goodnight and then an ‘I love you’ from Y/N’s side which Robby had replied to with a playful thumbs up emoji. Y/N had sent back a thumbs down, her last text being ‘You never say it back!’
Robby pockets his phone as Jack checks his. “I’m sure she’s okay. Uh… She left real early this morning. Something about uh… Your grandmother’s grave? I think? I think she was gonna go visit her..” Jack says softly. Robby frowns softly. She only went to visit their grandmother when she needed to rant about something. Probably about Jack acting weird lately.
“Sweet Jesus…” Dana breathes out as she gets the description of the two individuals coming in from a bad car accident just seven blocks away from the hospital. “Fuck.” She mutters as her eyes instantly move to the two men of Y/N’s life. Taking a deep breath, she gets off the phone with paramedics and rubs her forehead.
“Okay!” She finally shouts, needing all eyes on her. “We’ve got two incoming. Car accident. One code blue. One code green but intoxicated…” She shouts.
“You and me?” Jack asks Robby as he nods. Dana quickly walks over to them. “You two get the code green.” She orders. The two men frown at that. “Mel! Langdon! Code Blue incoming. Prep.” She orders them. They nod and run off to get ready.
“Shouldn’t we handle-“ Dana cuts Robby off.
“Shouldn’t you listen to me? Go. Prep.” She says to them, hoping they’d miss seeing Y/N get rolled in. They shake it off and go to get ready. Dana heads outside to the ambulance bay and paces a bit as the first ambulance pulls up.
“Male. 37. You can smell the drinks from here.” A female paramedic says as they jump out of the van and head to the back. Dana tries to keep the anger off her face.
Everyone deserves medical treatment…
Robby and Jack come rushing over, guiding the paramedics on where to go from here. The guy keeps slurring things like ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Came out of nowhere’ as they wheel him to an operating room.
Ambulance two pulls up and Dana can’t look, but she owes it to Y/N. “Female. (your age). Unresponsive on scene…” A male paramedic says as Mel and Langdon come rushing out but freeze as they see who it is.
“Not a fucking word to Robby or Jack. You hear?” Dana mutters to both shocked doctors as they quickly nod, knowing time is too precious to hesitate. “Go! Work!” Dana orders. They guide the paramedics to another operating room, focusing on Y/N as if she was just another patient.
But she was so much more…
Jack and Robby pull in Santos to help out. The guy’s got two broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and a laceration to his spleen from the seatbelt and impact. They work to stabilize him, and only when they’re sure he’s okay enough to head up to the OR, do they leave him in the hands of Santos and now Javadi.
The two men step out into the hallway and with a heavy sigh, Robby checks his phone again. Still nothing. Dana watches from behind the nurse’s station as Jack tries calling her phone finally. The ringtone comes from a paramedic’s back pocket.
It’s like time stands still.
Robby has heard that phrase before from people. He’s never questioned what that means exactly. He just always assumed it felt how it sounded.
But here’s how it feels..
Everything around you… Is barely moving now. You are barely breathing now. Hell, you don’t even know when your last breath was. But you think you can go longer.
No breathing.
If you don’t breathe, it won’t hurt. He doesn’t remember the paramedic handing over Y/N’s phone. He doesn’t remember taking it. He doesn’t remember walking over to the other operation room.
He’s on the outside looking in for the first time in his career. And he doesn’t like this position. He doesn’t like the view. Jack and Dana try to stop him. He can’t say how he slipped away from them. He’s moving in slow motion. Or at least that’s how it feels. He hears nothing but a loud ringing in his ears as he enters the room.
Have you ever watched a scary movie?
Maybe you’re in the audience. Watching on the big screen as a figure stands in the middle of a room with a blanket over them. The main character inches closer.
The tension builds.
Maybe your shoulders tense as you mumble a quiet ‘no’. And then the sheet is yanked back. And you feel a jolt through your heart and travel down your body. That was Robby.
Watching his actions. Watching his body on autopilot as he finally pulled the blanket back and saw who was being worked on.
His baby sister..
“No!”
The word leaves a mouth, but it’s not Robby’s. It’s Jack’s. He grips Robby, standing in front of him to hold him back and only then does reality seep back in to Robby’s head. He’s crying.
When did he start crying?!
It’s like he’s broken through the surface again, gasping without meaning to.
Fuck, it hurts.
Jack holds him back, pushing him out of the operating room. He still had enough sanity to know Y/N needed to be worked on. And him or Robby in that room would do more harm than good.
“You two gotta go. You can’t be here.” Dana says as Jack gets Robby out of the room and back into the hallway. Robby feels like the whole ED is spinning. And then his eyes land on the operation room where their Code Green was still in. Laid out comfortably while he waited for his turn in the OR.
“Son of a bit-“ Dana cuts Robby off.
“Hey! Hey..” She gets in his way. “That won’t help a thing. I need you to go have a seat. And let the doctors do their job..” She says.
It’s like a blow to the gut.
Robby clenches his jaw at those words. Words that have left his mouth in the past with ease. What a cruel thing to hear now..
He slowly gives in when Dr. Al-Hashimi walks closer to lead him away. Jack’s feet stay rooted though. It’s as if now that he’s not holding Robby back, he actually has to face the reality too. That on that operating table is the love of his life…
“Jack. You should go too..” Dana whispers as she touches his shoulder. He shakes his head fast, eyes welling up. It’s like a rope is tightening around his neck.
“No..” He quietly whispers, practically mouthing it. “Not her…” He manages to wheeze out. He slowly looks at Dana, breaking her heart. “It’s not her..” He mutters. If he says it enough times it’ll be true.
That’s not his Y/N. It can’t be.
“Go sit down..” Dana tries again as he lets her lead him away from the operating room and towards the break room instead.
*
*
*
Robby can’t sit down. And Jack can’t stand up.
The irony of it, really.
Two of the most capable doctors of this Pitt, completely at the mercy of fate.
And both men know.. Fate can be cruel…
The break room door opens and Mel rushes in first. She freezes though when she sees what Jack is staring at in silent mournfulness. She’s still wearing her bloody scrubs. “Oh. Uh…” She quickly yanks at the white coverup and sheepishly hands it over to an awaiting Langdon. She then looks back at Jack and Robby.
“She’s a fighter.” She begins with a soft nod to assure them. Jack shuts his eyes. It feels like he’s been plunged into an ice bath. He breathes shakily as Robby rubs his sweaty face, also allowing those three words a moment to breathe in the silence.
“She pulled through real well.” Langdon says, voice a bit rough with emotion. Like he could just imagine the panic and pain of today for these two men. “Obvious signs of a concussion though. Slight whiplash of the neck, fractures of one rib, and.. The most concerning thing is a bruised lung, but…-“ Jack cuts Langdon off.
“Where is she?” He asks. He just wanted to see her. See her with his own two eyes.
“She awake?” Robby asks.
“She might be? She got moved upstairs…” Mel says softly as she fidgets a bit, watching both men with a deep frown.
They two rush out of the room before anymore can be said. Up to the eight floor they go. With heavy arms, they step off the elevator. And from the look the girl who’s running the nurse’s station up there gives them, it’s clear word has spread on who Y/N is..
She nods towards a room without having to be asked and Jack is faster than Robby. He wants to push past him though. Wants to get to Y/N first.. But he knows deep down Jack can only act strong for so long. He watches from outside the room as Jack drops to his knees by Y/N’s bed, grabbing her hand ever so softly so he can hold it to his cheek. He turns his back to give his friend this moment…
*
*
*
No one bothers Jack.
No one brings up how odd it is that he has yet to leave Y/N’s side.
No one brings up how odd it is that Robby came back down to work instead.
No one… Except for Princess, that is.
Robby sits at his desk trying to focus on the task at hand when he hears her and Perlah walking over to the nurse’s station together. “I’m telling you. I think they’re dating. 10 bucks on it..” Princess says.
“You really think that?” Perlah asks in surprise.
“Why else is he up there?” Princess raises an eyebrow back. “It’s obvious..” She shrugs. Robby has heard enough.
With a low huff, Robby gets up from his desk and walks over to the two women as they stand by the nurse’s station. “I didn’t know Dr. Y/N’s personal life was apart of your job description, ladies.” He states sharply as he watches the nurses. Princess stiffens a bit, as if she didn’t expect him to be here.
“I… Am so sorry, Dr. Robby..” She mumbles as he eyes both women.
“Why don’t we focus on work.” He suggests shortly before walking past. Dana watches the interaction from afar, sighing to herself.
Robby knew sitting in that room, watching Y/N in that bed, wouldn’t help him in any way.
He needed to keep moving.
He needed to keep busy.
So he worked.
He worked until 7:40pm or so. He kept his head down as he did, until he’s practically shoved out of the ED by Shen who had heard everything from day shift.
Stepping off the elevator, he nods politely to the night nurse at the nurse’s station. He moves over to Y/N’s room pausing as he sees Jack stroke her face and push back her hair to tenderly kiss her forehead. Y/N is awake and the two seem to be having a moment. He averts his eyes to give them some privacy before he finally taps on the glass door to make himself known.
Jack looks over and so does Y/N. She smiles a bit, some cuts on her face and a bruise on her left shoulder, but she smiles.
And Robby feels settled..
She slowly lifts her left hand with a slight wince, showing off the ring on her finger. Robby keeps his emotions down enough to whisper a soft ‘congratulations’ to them both. Jack eyes the siblings. “I… Uh… I’m gonna get you more pillows..” He says. Y/N gently touches his cheek before letting him go.
Robby watches Jack leave before looking back at his sister. “No more driving for you.” He says simply. She goes to chuckle and then winces, coughing as she touches her chest. She grabs a notepad on her bed tray.
‘Don’t make me laugh! Hurts!’
Robby reads it and chuckles quietly. He shakes his head at that. “Y/N..” He whispers, getting slightly choked up. She frowns softly and places her finger to her lips in order to stop him from talking before she goes back to writing. She turns the notepad towards him.
‘I’m glad you two had each other today..’
Robby stares at the sentence for a while as it begins to really sink in. See… Life is too short.
Being in this line of work, you get that.
Robby could die tomorrow, and he was the only family Y/N had left. It brought him some peace to know that even if it was his time to go one day, Y/N would still have someone.
She’d have Jack.
Robby never thought about it the other way around though. And as he watched Y/N, he realized the same thought brought her peace too.
The thought that if anything happened.. He’d have Jack too.
Smiling softly, Robby slowly sits down by her bedside.
“Let’s see that ring. It better be expensive.” He finally jokes, making Y/N smile as she lays back in the hospital bed, showing off her left hand again..
⭒ Jack Abbot ⭒ Part 02 ⭒ Part 03 ⭒ Part 04 ⭒ Part 05 ⭒ Part 06 ⭒ Part 07 ⭒ Part 08 ⭒ Part 09 ⭒ Part 10 ⭒ Part 11 ⭒ Part 12 ⭒
Incident masterlist | @violetsnowdropp
The story of Jack losing his leg, and how you both got through it.
i’m always on my own | @pencil-n-pen
your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
Through His Stomach | @langdonsbracelets
The only time you get to enjoy your dinner at PTMC is when you head to the roof, only for a certain night shift attending to start joining you.
The Date | @/langdonsbracelets
Jack finally takes you out for that dinner and The Bear date… and a little more.
Young at age, old at soul | @fangirl-dot-com
Imagine | @headkiss
He takes care of you when drunk
imagine | @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction
refusing medical help and Robby calls for backup - Jack Abbot…
To build a Home. | @psychotina
Jack would give you anything in the world if you asked for it, but he never expected you to ask to take an abandoned baby home.
Proposal | @barnesdreamcatcher
Like Father, Like daughter | @asawanitrinitysantos
in where you and jack find a baby rabbit while leaving work
Grovelling and Bad Timings | @/asawanitrinitysantos
A tense argument before their shift leaves you and Jack barely speaking—until he corners you in a storage room, stumbling through a sincere (and slightly desperate) apology. Though you forgive him, he sticks close like a guilty puppy, the tension not fully gone. When you’re both called to pediatrics, you effortlessly comfort a frightened child with a dinosaur plushie.
What The Living Owe Each Other | @softseasun
After a quiet, late-night argument in the kitchen, you retreated to bed before anything is resolved. Jack won’t let the night close over something unfinished between you. He never does, not since he learned at the worst possible price what it costs to leave the true thing unsaid.
can we start over?, part 2 | @an-abysma1-0bserver
Jack finally introduced you, his girlfriend, to the Pitt. This is the aftermath.
The crying Angel | @10ava01
during a horrible shift, Jack finds you on the rooftop. While he believes he knows almost everything about you after being together for a while, he realises how untrue it is.
MAROON | @clarktologist
you don’t mean to pop a blood bag onto jack abbot, but you’re surely not complaining. even if he makes it his life mission to fluster you afterwards.
Permissions | @pellucid-constellations
Jack overhears your daughter calling him dad, and his world seems to widen, to make sense. But there are always some bumps in the road when starting a new family, reassurances to be made.
Everything | @/pellucid-constellations
You wake up from surgery, unfamiliar with the man hovering over you. Your husband copes.
Napping with Jack | @dixonlvr
BABY DRAMA ! | @of-apollo
You think that you’re doing an excellent job at keeping yours and Jack’s little secret. And you are! But, when you take a hit at work, a routine question asked by Mel reveals your precious little thing. An excited Mel and Langdon is an unstoppable force, and within the hour, you are faced with more congratulations than you know what to do with.
PITTFEST PHONE-CALLS ! | @/of-apollo
After weeks of begging from Jake and Robby, you finally agree to supervise Jake and Leah at Pittfest. Nothing could prepare you for the tragedy that occurs on the day, and nothing can stop you from trying to help Leah even as a bullet rips through your own body. All that keeps you going is adrenaline and the voice of your husband over the phone.
HE WHO HOVERS ! | @/of-apollo
The ER is not a pleasant place to work when you’re six months pregnant. The constant check-ins from your coworkers and patients is one thing, but the attention from Jack Abbot? That’s another thing entirely, and it thrills and terrifies you all at once.
THE BIRTHDAY BLUES ! | @/of-apollo
One of the worst days you have ever experienced in the ER happens to fall on your birthday. Nothing goes your way, and seconds after you finish your shift, you are sobbing in the passenger seat of Jack Abbot’s car. Luckily, Jack knows how best to remind you that you are so important and so, so loved.
Don’t Let Go | @thislilmindofmine
Jack noticed it. The way she'd flinch at doors slamming, tense up at raised voices. So he slowed his movements around her, watched his tone. And when a patient attacks her, it changes everything.
I Couldn’t Make It Any Harder | @annaevermore
You consider yourself really hard to love, so you try to keep your distance from Jack. He won't have any of it.
Everybody Here Wants You | @/annaevermore
You have everybody's eyes on you, but you only have eyes for Jack.
All Night | @harryscherriess
You’ve had a crush on your attending Jack Abott and in a final effort to get over it, you go on a date but that makes it worse.
An Unusual Night Shift | @memoriescountthemiles
On a usual night shift, your growing feelings for Dr. Jack Abbot are thrown into focus when his ex-fiancée becomes a patient. As professional walls crack, jealousy sparks a confrontation that finally forces the truth into the open—changing your relationship in ways neither of you can ignore.
FINALLY SAID IT. | @crosshajr
in which jack says ‘i love you’ for the first time in the middle of a rough shift.
NOT WHAT I MEANT. | @/crosshajr
in which you and jack have your first small disagreement at work.
NO GOING BACK. | @/crosshajr
in which you notice jack has taken off his wedding ring.
HEAT WAVE. | @/crosshajr
in which jack tries his best to keep you cool during the hottest day of the year.
NIGHT SHIFT SURPRISES. | @/crosshajr
in which you find out you and jack are expecting!
DAD MODE, ACTIVITIED. | @/crosshajr
in which jack starts his journey into fatherhood.
the littlest dr. abbot | @sargeant-bxrnes
jack abbot knows how to run a trauma bay. he knows the protocols and the medicine. but when his daughter decides he's "vedy, vedy sick"? it turns out he’s an even better patient.
Horrible Day | @thatfanficstuff
you have a horrible day and Jack just makes it worse.
Trinity and Dennis | @/thatfanficstuff
Trinity and Dennis ask Jack about his wife
Widow!Jack Masterlist | @/thatfanficstuff
just messin’ with ya | @izzwhatitiz
Jack can't help "tormenting" his favourite nurse.
Up To No Good | @voidsagent
chaos ensues when jack takes himself & your son for a haircut.
Two Under Two | @/voidsagent
jack & your sons surprise you with a day all about you for mother’s day
i’m thinking again… | @/voidsagent
Willing & Able | @/voidsagent
with jack’s mental health deteriorating he tries to pin an accusation on you.
Sticky Notes & Scrub Tops | @/voidsagent
when you start packing lunches for jack, the ED takes notice. not just of the notes you leave, but of the changes in jack too.
sarge and jack | @/voidsagent
Something To Remember | @/voidsagent
you help jack get through a holiday that he finds difficult, an iconic summer party, & share some exciting news.
Gossip…Boy? | @/voidsagent
After finding out a certain attending likes to gossip, you find yourself having a very unexpected Fourth of July shift.
the shape of wanting. | @p1stach-io
you bring jack as your date to a wedding and he brings everything you’ve both been avoiding.
Hidden Heartbeat | @medusasfics
You find out you’re pregnant, and decide to hide your pregnancy from Jack, because you’re scared he won’t want to be a father.
The Ex and the Epiphany | @/medusasfics
an ex of Jack’s shows up at the PTMC as a patient, wanting him back. He realises his true feelings for you.
Something in the way she moves. | @lionalsowrites
in which jack abbot doesn’t really need to learn new things to impress you.
The Space We Stop, part two | @mcybank
Jack has already decided what he can survive losing. You didn’t realize you weren’t on the list until you weren’t.
Busy Woman | @/mcybank
jack has seen you leave a trail of broken hearts and bad dates, and he’s determined to prove to you that you’re looking for love in all the wrong places.
LOVE IN A BOTTLE | @eufezco
when meds start disappearing from the er and your best friend langdon becomes responsible for it, your name gets dragged down with his. and your boyfriend, jack, decides to take care of it before it reaches any higher.
PAGING DR. VALENTINE | @/eufezco
working in the pitt is already chaotic, but do it on the valentine's day week is even worse, especially when a pink box covered in glitter suddenly appears in the nurses' station, inviting everyone to drop an anonymous note. you never expected to write one, not for your attending, jack abbot. what you expected even less was jack writing one too.
SIDE BY SIDE | @apertcre
Jack Abbot trusted his daughter; significantly so. When she is out with her friends and doesn't answer her phone, however? He can't help but think he should've been a bit more protective.
1 plus 1 equals 3? | @mistas-bullets
Your first born, Bean wants a baby sister or brother after having a conversation with Mel about her sister.
Mother’s Day | @morguesiren
jack doesn’t know what he should give you for mother’s day until rose gives him an idea; but he ends up being the one getting surprised.
You, Me. Home? | @burgundysnow
Jacks not clumsy, he’s not! But a honest mistake turns into you joking about him needing Home care. He agrees but only if your his primary caregiver….
Blurb | @wynnevee
imagining jack abbot with a toddler that has discovered a new game called “decorate daddy’s prosthetic while he’s asleep” (despite you, her mother’s, best efforts) but she is always so proud of herself, so he just leaves it.
Mommy Makeover | @rimunagenius
high at sunrise | @romanticpursuit
reader and jack have come to terms with being in a situationship after the third attempt of being in a relationship. that title doesn't come out of anyone's mouth, but it's essentially what it is. reader has begun to come to terms with it, but jack has realized he wants more, even if he's the one who agreed to casual.
Secret relationship | @deathreverse
Little Bird | @/deathvalleyqueen
Apartment Seventeen - Series Masterlist | @/deathreverse
Jack Abbot is not an overly-neighborly person. He has secret nicknames in his head for most of the people on his floor and actively avoids any and all types of neighbor politics. However, he can’t deny his growing fondness for the single mom and toddler in apartment seventeen. (Nor his burning hatred for your baby daddy).
broken heart syndrome, part 2, part 3, part 4 | @deawritestuff
your break up with jack causes more than just emotional scars
Sunrise Yoga | @khadijasdiary
nosy reader sees her new neighbor for the first time. fem!reader
let the light in | @douwannaseethewestwithme
Jack has been ignoring you for days and you've finally reached your limit.
Sweet Mornings | @popcornpoppypop
You have a sweet morning with Jack Abbot
Not Just Us Anymore | @veronicalovesmatcha
Sometimes, you need a fresh start, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 | @deathvalleyqueen
the smallest abbot | @starfires-comet
jack maybe sharp, distant, and a little cruel at first, but when his wife shows up to the pitt with contractions, he shows a side that no one but a select few have seen before.
With You, I Serve. | @sweetestcowboy
everyone in the pitt knows how inseparable you and jack were. jack had believed that himself too. so, when one particular case leaves you rattled, he finds it in himself to jump into action. what he didn't expect was to realize he didn't know you quite as well as he thought.
The One Place You Never Belonged | @gragrace
In The Pitt, Dr. Abbot is known for control, precision, and distance. No one believes he has a personal life—let alone a wife. Only Dr. Robby and nurse Dana know the truth.
Snowed in after a conference, you and Jack Abbott are forced to share a hotel room, where one bed, a power outage, and months of unspoken tension make “professional courtesy” harder to believe.
Jack Abbott looked like he would rather be intubating someone in a supply closet during a power outage than standing in the ballroom of the Philadelphia Grand Hotel wearing a name badge.
That was your first thought. Your second thought was that he looked unfairly good for a man who had spent the last twenty minutes silently judging an entire conference hall.
He stood beside one of the tall cocktail tables near the back of the room, one hand wrapped around a paper cup of coffee he had not actually drunk from, his conference lanyard hanging crooked against the front of his dark sweater. He had taken off his blazer sometime between the trauma systems panel and the keynote address on "Innovative Compassion in High-Pressure Emergency Environments," which was a title Jack had heard once and immediately decided was a personal attack.
The ballroom was too warm. Too bright. Too full of physicians pretending they had never once eaten a vending machine granola bar over a trash can at three in the morning.
There were banners everywhere. There were sponsored pens. There was a man from Boston wearing a bow tie and explaining airway management like he had personally invented oxygen.
Jack had been quiet for most of it. Not polite quiet. Jack quiet. The kind of quiet that made residents straighten their backs and consultants reconsider their tone. The kind of quiet that looked harmless from across the room right up until someone said something stupid near it.
You had watched three people attempt to make small talk with him already. The first had asked what hospital he was representing. Jack had said, "UPMC Mercy." The second had asked if Pittsburgh had "much trauma volume."
Jack had stared at him for one full second too long before saying, "Enough." The third had smiled too brightly and said, "I always think emergency medicine is really about resilience."
Jack had said, "It's mostly about staffing." You had nearly choked on your coffee. Now he was standing beside you at the back of the room, radiating the particular kind of irritation that came from being professionally trapped.
"You know," you said, keeping your voice low as the speaker at the front of the ballroom advanced to another slide full of stock photos and bullet points, "some people enjoy conferences."
Jack did not look at you. "Those people need hobbies." "You're a doctor. You're at an emergency medicine conference. This is technically one of your hobbies." "No," he said. "This is Robby losing a bet and somehow making it my problem."
You turned your head, smiling into your coffee. "He made you come?" "He strongly suggested." "That sounds like Robby." "He used the phrase 'good for department visibility.'"
"Oh, no." Jack finally glanced at you. There was nothing overtly warm in his expression, exactly. Jack did not really do overt. His face was all sharp restraint and tired intelligence, mouth set like he was holding back three separate complaints and a legal disclaimer.
But his eyes shifted when they landed on you. Only slightly. Enough that you felt it. Enough that you hated that you felt it. "You laughing at my suffering?" he asked. "Yes."
"Good to know." "I'm enjoying your commitment to misery." "I commit to things." "You do," you said, before you could stop yourself. It came out softer than you meant it to.
Not flirtatious, not exactly. But too honest for a ballroom full of laminated schedules and sponsored tote bags. Jack looked at you for half a second longer than necessary.
There it was again. That pause. That tiny, dangerous bit of space that kept opening between you lately. At work, you could usually avoid it. The ED was useful that way. There was always something screaming, bleeding, crashing, coding, ringing, paging, demanding. There was always a monitor alarm or a consult call or someone yelling for a blanket warmer key.
There was no room for pauses in the ED. There was no time to notice that Jack brought you coffee when he made some for himself. No time to wonder why he always seemed to appear when a patient's family member started getting aggressive near your workstation.
No time to think about the way his voice changed when he said your name instead of your title. No time to think about his hand at your back when he moved behind you in a crowded trauma bay, not touching exactly, but close enough that you felt the heat of it through your scrubs.
No time for any of that. Here, unfortunately, there was nothing but time. Time and bad coffee. Time and Jack standing too close beside you because the back of the ballroom was crowded and neither of you had moved away.
On stage, the speaker clicked to the next slide. COMPASSION FATIGUE: RECOGNIZING THE WARNING SIGNS. Jack made a sound low in his throat. You looked over. "Don't." "I didn't say anything."
"You made a noise." "A clinical noise." "A judgmental noise." "Same system." You pressed your lips together to keep from smiling too obviously. The woman seated in front of you turned halfway in her chair and gave you both a tight look.
Jack stared back with no change in expression whatsoever. The woman turned around again. "You're going to get us kicked out," you whispered. "From this?" "That would be a shame."
"Would it?" You tried to look stern. "We are representing the hospital." "We're standing in the back drinking burnt coffee while a man named Brent tells a room full of emergency physicians to try mindfulness."
"His name is Brett." "I don't care." You lost the fight with your smile then. Jack saw it. Of course he saw it. Jack noticed everything he had no business noticing. His gaze flicked to your mouth, barely there and gone so quickly you could have convinced yourself you imagined it.
Except you had stopped giving yourself that much credit. You had been imagining things with Jack Abbott for months. Or maybe you had not been imagining them at all. That was the problem.
The speaker's microphone crackled. Somewhere near the middle of the room, someone coughed. Outside the tall ballroom windows, snow pressed thickly against the glass, turning the city beyond it into a blur of white and grey.
It had started that morning as a pretty dusting. The kind of snow people from conference registration desks called seasonal atmosphere. By lunch, it had become an inconvenience.
By three, it was an advisory. Now, at almost five in the evening, it was beginning to look like a problem. You checked your phone under the edge of the cocktail table. Three weather alerts. Two emails from the airline. One text from Dana.
DANA: Heard Philly's getting buried. Tell Abbott not to pick a fight with cardiology. You snorted. Jack's eyes shifted down. "What?" "Nothing." "You laughed." "Dana says hi."
"She does not." "She said to tell you not to pick a fight with cardiology." Jack's expression did not change. "Cardiology started it." "You haven't even seen cardiology today."
"That you know of." You sent Dana a quick reply. YOU: Too late. He's fighting the concept of conferences as a whole. Dana responded almost immediately. DANA: Sounds right. Bring him back alive. Or don't. I'm flexible.
You tucked your phone away, still smiling. Jack watched you do it. "What did she say?" "Nothing." "You're a bad liar." "You're nosy." "I'm observant." "You're nosy with a medical degree."
"That's the profession." That pulled another laugh out of you, quiet but real. Jack's mouth moved like he was trying very hard not to let his own expression change. He failed, just slightly.
It was not a smile, not by normal standards. But for Jack Abbott, it was practically fireworks. You looked away first. You had to. The thing about Jack was that he made stillness feel loud. You could handle him in motion. In the ED, with his hands gloved and his voice clipped and his body angled toward disaster, he made sense. He was built for crisis. He was decisive, sharp, controlled. He moved through chaos like he had made some private agreement with it years ago.
But stillness made him harder to manage. Stillness let you notice the tired lines at the corners of his eyes. The scarred steadiness of him. The careful way he shifted his weight after standing too long. The fact that his left hand had settled near his hip, thumb brushing absently over the edge of his pocket.
Stillness let you remember that under all that competence was a person who got tired. A person who hurt. A person who, for reasons you were trying very hard not to interrogate, had started keeping track of whether you ate during twelve-hour shifts.
You looked down into your coffee. It had gone cold. "You okay?" Jack asked. It was so quiet you almost missed it under the speaker's voice. You glanced up. "What?" He was not looking at the stage anymore.
"You went quiet." "I'm listening." "No, you're not." "You don't know that." "What was the last slide?" You opened your mouth. Closed it. Jack raised his eyebrows. You sighed. "Fine. I wasn't listening."
"Good choice." "I'm okay," you said, because you understood then that the question had not really been about the presentation. Jack held your gaze. There were days when that look irritated you. The steady, unblinking attention of it. Like he could read your pulse without touching your wrist. Like he saw whatever you were trying to tuck out of view and simply decided whether or not he was going to let you get away with it.
Today, it did not irritate you. Today, it made something behind your ribs go a little unsteady. "Long day," you added. His expression softened by a degree. For anyone else, it would have been nothing.
For Jack, it was practically a hand offered. "Yeah," he said. You both looked back toward the stage. The speaker had moved on to a case study about physician burnout that somehow included a clip-art image of a candle.
Jack stared at it. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. You coughed into your cup to cover the laugh. The woman in front of you turned around again. This time, she looked only at Jack.
Jack looked back. You gently touched his sleeve. It was instinctive. Barely a touch. Your fingers against the dark fabric at his forearm for one second, maybe less. "Behave," you murmured.
Jack's eyes dropped to where your hand had been. You pulled it back too quickly. Too obviously. Heat climbed up your neck, which was ridiculous. You worked in emergency medicine. You had held pressure on arterial bleeds. You had told surgeons where to stand. You had been vomited on by strangers and once had to explain to a grown man that shampoo bottles did not belong there, no matter what the internet said.
You should have been able to touch Jack Abbott's sleeve without forgetting how breathing worked. Jack said nothing. That was almost worse. The room clapped suddenly, polite and scattered. The session was ending.
Chairs scraped. People stood. Voices swelled all at once, filling the ballroom with that post-lecture noise of professional relief. Lanyards swung. Tote bags rustled. Someone near the doors started talking loudly about dinner reservations.
You stepped back from the cocktail table, grateful for the movement. "Well," you said, "that was very informative." Jack looked at you. You managed to keep a straight face for two seconds.
"Okay, no. It was terrible." "Thank you." "But we survived." He glanced toward the windows. The snow was falling harder now, fast and thick under the streetlights outside. It moved sideways in violent gusts, smearing white across the glass. People were beginning to cluster near the lobby entrance, phones out, faces lit with the blue glow of cancellation alerts.
Jack's jaw tightened. "What?" you asked. "Storm's worse." You followed his gaze. "It was supposed to slow down." "It didn't." "You secretly a meteorologist too?" "No. I have eyes."
You rolled yours, but you checked your phone again. Another airline email. Your stomach dropped. FLIGHT CANCELLED: PHILADELPHIA TO PITTSBURGH. "Oh," you said. Jack looked over immediately. "Cancelled?"
"Yeah." He did not ask to see your phone. He just read your face. His mouth flattened. You refreshed the app pointlessly, because apparently denial had a user interface. "All flights tonight?" he asked.
"Looks like mine, at least." You tapped through the airline page. "The app says earliest rebook is tomorrow afternoon, but that's assuming the airport opens properly." Jack pulled his own phone out.
He did not look surprised by whatever he found. "Mine's cancelled too." "Great." "Roads?" You opened the weather alert. The words hazardous travel, whiteout conditions, and avoid unnecessary trips were not especially comforting.
"Also great," you said. Jack slid his phone back into his pocket. "We stay another night." You looked toward the lobby, where a line was already forming at the front desk.
"Everyone is going to try to stay another night." "Then we get there before the orthopedic surgeons." You laughed despite yourself. Jack started walking.
You followed him out of the ballroom and into the broad hotel corridor. The conference had spilled everywhere now — doctors and nurses and vendors in branded fleeces, everyone talking too loudly over everyone else. The lights overhead were warm and expensive. The carpet was patterned in a way that made you suspect someone had been paid too much money to make beige feel important.
At the far end of the hall, the lobby opened wide and bright, all marble floors and high ceilings and enormous windows looking out onto a city disappearing under snow. The front desk line was already fifteen people deep.
Jack stopped. You nearly bumped into him. He glanced over his shoulder. "You checked out this morning?" "Yeah. My room was only booked through today because my flight was supposed to be tonight."
"Conference block?" "Full. I tried earlier when the delays started." His face shifted. Not much. But you saw the calculation begin. "No," you said immediately. "I haven't said anything."
"You're about to." "You don't know that." "I know your face." That made him pause. Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or something warmer pretending to be amusement.
"You know my face?" "I know your about-to-be-stubborn face." "That's just my face." "No, your regular face is more quietly judgmental." He gave you a dry look. You smiled sweetly.
The line at the front desk moved one person forward and somehow became more chaotic. A woman in a navy pantsuit was telling the receptionist that she was a keynote speaker and therefore needed a room. A man behind her was arguing with someone on speakerphone. Near the windows, two residents were sitting on their suitcases, looking exhausted.
Jack's attention moved over the lobby once, quick and assessing. Then he looked back at you. "You can take my room." You crossed your arms. "There it is." "It's a room." "It's your room."
"You need one." "So do you." "I can figure it out." You gave him a look. He gave you one back. The trouble with Jack was that he did not posture. He did not make generous offers with softness around the edges. He did not say things to be gallant. He simply looked at a problem, decided on the cleanest solution, and expected everyone else to fall into line.
Which was irritating. Because sometimes the cleanest solution involved him being quietly self-sacrificial in a way that made you want to shake him. "You are not sleeping in the lobby," you said.
"Neither are you." "Jack." His name came out sharper than you intended. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His expression eased by a fraction, but his voice stayed even. "I'm not arguing about this in a hotel lobby."
"Then stop being wrong in one." His eyes narrowed. Not angry. Almost amused. Almost. "You always this difficult?" he asked. "With you? Yes." "Lucky me." "You bring it out in me."
Jack held your gaze for one beat too long. The noise of the lobby seemed to pull back for a second. Around you, people were still moving. Suitcases rolled over marble. Phones rang. The automatic doors slid open and let in a blast of cold air sharp enough to make someone curse.
But Jack was looking at you, and you were looking back, and there was that pause again. That impossible little pause. The one neither of you ever knew what to do with. Then the front desk clerk called, "Next guest, please," and the spell cracked.
Jack stepped toward the desk. You caught his sleeve again. This time, you did not pull away immediately. "Don't give up your room," you said, quieter now. His gaze dropped to your hand.
Then back to your face. "Don't sleep in a lobby," he said. "That's not an answer." "It is if you listen." You let go of his sleeve. He moved to the desk before you could argue again.
You stood beside him, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched, and watched as he gave his name to the exhausted-looking receptionist. "Abbott," he said. "I have a room for tonight. Need to extend it."
The receptionist typed quickly, her face already apologetic in the way customer service workers got when the computer was about to ruin someone's day. "I'm so sorry, Doctor Abbott. We're completely sold out for tomorrow night at this point. The storm has stranded most of the conference guests."
Jack's expression did not change. "Existing reservation," he said. "Room 1117." "I understand, sir. But all rooms are currently booked. If housekeeping confirms no-shows or cancellations, we can add you to the waitlist."
You leaned in slightly. "What about my reservation? I checked out this morning, but with the flight cancellations—" The receptionist looked at you with genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry. We don't have anything available."
Jack looked at her. "Anything." "I'm afraid not." "A cot?" "No cots left." "Conference room?" "Sir—" "Not for me," he said, impatient now. "For her." Your stomach did something stupid.
The receptionist glanced between the two of you. A tiny, knowing sort of understanding moved across her face. You hated her a little. "I'm sorry," she said again. "We really don't have a safe accommodation option outside of existing rooms. The city has issued travel warnings, so we're advising all guests not to leave the property unless absolutely necessary."
Jack went still. You could almost see him biting back a response. You touched his arm again, this time with warning. "Jack." His jaw worked once. Then he looked at the receptionist. "Keep the room under my name."
"Of course." "And if anything else opens, call up." "Yes, Doctor Abbott." He gave a short nod and stepped away from the desk. You followed him toward the edge of the lobby, away from the worst of the noise.
"No," you said. Jack turned. "You don't know what I'm going to say." "You're going to say I should take your room and you'll do something ridiculous like sleep sitting upright by the vending machines."
"I wasn't going to specify vending machines." "Jack." "What?" "No." He exhaled through his nose. Outside, the wind threw snow hard against the windows. Somewhere overhead, the lights flickered once, just enough for half the lobby to pause and look up.
When they steadied again, Jack's face had changed. Not softened. Settled. Like something in him had made a decision and locked the door behind it. "You're not going anywhere tonight," he said.
"Neither are you." "No." "No?" "No," he repeated. "We're not doing the noble idiot routine." You blinked. "That was directed at you, right?" His mouth twitched. Barely. "Both of us."
"Oh, progress." "We share the room." The words landed between you with the subtlety of a dropped instrument tray. You stared at him. Jack, infuriatingly, looked completely calm.
"We what?" "We share the room," he said again, like saying it plainly made it less insane. Your voice lowered. "Jack." "It has a lock. Heat. Bathroom. Presumably fewer orthopedic surgeons."
"That is not the issue." "It's a room." "It's your room." "You already said that." "With one bed?" He paused. And there. There it was. Not much. Not enough that anyone else would have caught it.
But you did. The tiny hitch in his expression. The one beat where practical Jack Abbott, the man who could handle blood and death and impossible decisions without blinking, appeared to remember that you were not simply a stranded colleague but a woman he had been standing too close to for months.
His eyes shifted away first. That almost never happened. "I'll take the chair," he said. "You will not." "I've slept in worse places." "I know," you said, softer before you could stop it. "That doesn't mean you should."
He looked back at you. The argument died a little in his face. Not completely. Jack was not built for surrender. But enough. The lobby carried on around you. People complained. Phones buzzed. The storm kept pressing itself against the glass like it wanted in.
You could feel the heat in your cheeks now. Not embarrassment exactly. Something worse. Awareness. Sharp and immediate. One room. One bed. Jack Abbott standing in front of you, close enough that you could see the dark flecks in his eyes, telling you in that maddeningly practical voice that he was not going to let you be unsafe tonight.
He cleared his throat. "It's not ideal." You let out a small laugh, mostly because if you did not laugh, you might say something dangerous. "No. I'd say it's a little past ideal."
"We're adults." "Are we?" His eyes narrowed. You lifted both hands. "Sorry. Tension response." "Clearly." "We work together." "I noticed." "People will talk." "People always talk."
"You hate when people talk." "I hate when people are stupid. Overlap, not causation." Despite everything, you smiled. He looked at your mouth again. This time, you were sure of it.
The smile faded. Jack looked away, jaw tightening like he had caught himself doing something he had not given himself permission to do. "Room's there," he said, his voice lower now. Rougher around the edges. "You can have the bed. I'll figure out the rest."
You should have said no again. You should have insisted on the lobby or found another stranded doctor to double up with or called Dana and let her laugh you through a nervous breakdown.
Instead, you looked outside. At the snow. At the city disappearing. At the people sitting on suitcases under expensive chandeliers, trying to pretend they were not scared of being stuck.
Then you looked back at Jack. He was tired. You could see it now, in the way he held himself. The conference chairs had been bad for him; standing through the reception had been worse. The cold would not help. Neither would an argument that lasted another twenty minutes because both of you were too stubborn to admit the obvious.
You sighed. "Only if you don't sleep in the chair." His brows drew together. "That's not—" "No," you said. "We are not doing the noble idiot routine. You said it. It applies."
Jack stared at you. You stared back. "I'm serious," you said. "So am I." "You always are." "Someone has to be." "You're impossible." "You keep saying that like it changes anything."
You looked at him for a long second. Then, because apparently the storm had knocked all common sense out of the sky along with the snow, you said, "Fine." Jack blinked once.
"Fine?" "Fine. We share the room." His face was very still. Very controlled. Too controlled. "But," you added quickly, "we are establishing rules." "Rules." "Yes." "For sleeping."
"For survival." His mouth twitched again. That almost-smile. The one that should not have had the power to make your chest feel too small. "Fine," he said. "Rule one: no chair."
He looked annoyed. You pointed at him. "No." "I didn't say anything." "You were thinking loudly." "Occupational hazard." "Rule two," you said, trying very hard not to think about the fact that you had apparently agreed to share a hotel room with Jack Abbott. "No being weird."
Jack looked at you. "You think I'm going to be weird?" "I think we're both going to be weird." "That's probably accurate." "And rule three…" You stopped. Because you had no idea what rule three was.
Do not look at me like that. Do not stand too close. Do not make this feel safer than it should. Do not be kind in that quiet, gruff way that makes me want things I have no business wanting.
Jack waited. You swallowed. "Rule three," you said, "we pretend this is normal." His gaze held yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Jack gave one short nod. "Professional courtesy," he said.
You laughed. You could not help it. It came out softer than before, edged with nerves. "Is that what this is?" His expression was unreadable. The storm threw another gust of snow against the windows.
"Sure," he said. But he did not sound convinced. And God help you, neither were you. The elevator ride to the eleventh floor was silent. Not peaceful silent. Not comfortable silent.
The kind of silence that had bones in it. You stood on one side of the elevator with your overnight bag tucked against your hip and your coat still buttoned to your throat. Jack stood on the other side, his conference tote hanging off one shoulder, his gaze fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors like they had personally offended him.
Four. Five. Six. The elevator hummed upward. You watched his reflection in the polished metal doors because looking at the actual man felt like a risky decision. He looked tired now.
More tired than he had in the ballroom. There was a set to his jaw you had learned to read over months of working beside him. Pain, probably. Or irritation. With Jack, the two had a habit of presenting similarly unless you knew where to look.
His weight was shifted slightly more onto one side. Not dramatically. Jack did not do dramatically when it came to his own body. He was careful in a way that pretended not to be care. Precise. Controlled. Almost invisible about it.
But you knew. You had no right to know, maybe. But you did. "You're doing it again," Jack said. You looked away so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "Doing what?"
"Watching me in reflective surfaces." Heat crept up your neck. "I was not." "You were." "It's an elevator. Everything is reflective." "Convenient." "You're very suspicious for a man who just invited me to share his hotel room."
He turned his head then. Slowly. "That was not an invitation." You raised your eyebrows. His mouth flattened. "It was a logistical decision." "Ah." His eyes narrowed. "Don't."
"I didn't say anything." "You made a noise." "A clinical noise." "That's my line." "I'm borrowing it." "You need better material." "You need better coffee." "I know." That, somehow, eased the air between you.
Not by much. But enough that you could breathe again. The elevator climbed past eight. A family got on at nine, two exhausted parents and a little boy in dinosaur pyjamas clutching a stuffed bear by one ear. The mother gave you both a brief, tired smile. The father looked like he had spent the last hour on hold with an airline. The little boy looked at Jack's conference lanyard, then at his face, and immediately decided Jack was the most interesting person in the elevator.
Jack stared forward. The little boy stared harder. You bit the inside of your cheek. Jack's eyes flicked sideways. "What?" "Nothing." "You're laughing again." "I'm not." "You are internally laughing."
"Can you diagnose that?" "Yes." The little boy tugged on his mother's coat and whispered, much too loudly, "Is he a spy?" His mother's eyes went wide. "Elliot." Jack did not move.
You looked at the ceiling. The father closed his eyes like he wanted to disappear. The little boy kept staring. Jack turned his head just slightly and looked down at him.
"No," he said. Elliot blinked. "Are you sure?" "Yes." "Because you look like one." Jack considered that. Then said, "I get that a lot." You made a small, strangled sound.
The little boy nodded seriously, apparently satisfied. The elevator stopped at eleven. Jack stepped forward as the doors opened. You followed him out, barely keeping your laugh contained until the doors slid shut behind you.
Then you lost it. Not loud. Not enough to carry far down the hotel corridor. But enough that you had to press a hand to your mouth. Jack glanced at you. "Don't start." "He thought you were a spy."
"I heard." "You told him you get that a lot." "He was under stress." "He was six." "Children are often under stress." You laughed again, softer this time. Jack's expression shifted.
You almost missed it because it was small and gone quickly, but there was something there. Something like satisfaction. Not smugness. Not exactly amusement. More like he liked making you laugh and did not know what to do with that information.
That made you stop laughing. The corridor was quieter than the lobby, muffled by thick carpet and expensive wallpaper. The air smelled faintly of linen, citrus cleaner, and overheated radiators. Somewhere far down the hall, an ice machine rattled. Beyond the windows at the end of the corridor, snow blew hard against the glass.
Jack started walking. You followed half a step behind. For some reason, that felt worse than walking beside him. Maybe because it made you look at things you usually avoided looking at. The slope of his shoulders under the dark fabric of his sweater. The careful steadiness of his gait. The conference tote knocking against his side. The back of his neck where his hair sat slightly mussed from the collar of his coat.
This was ridiculous. You were an adult. A medical professional. A person who could calmly handle a dislocated shoulder, a combative drunk, and a cardiologist with an ego the size of Allegheny County.
You could walk down a hotel corridor behind Jack Abbott without constructing an entire emotional crisis out of it. Probably. Room 1117 was near the end of the hall. Of course it was.
Because apparently the universe had decided to commit to the bit. Jack stopped outside the door and pulled his key card from his pocket. Then he paused. You stopped beside him.
"What?" you asked. He did not look at you. "Last chance." "Last chance for what?" "To decide the lobby's better." You stared at him. Jack kept his gaze on the door like it was suddenly fascinating.
The awkwardness of the situation had finally caught up with him, you realised. Not because he regretted offering. Jack was too stubborn and too protective for that. But because he was aware of you.
Painfully aware. The same way you were aware of him. You were both standing in a hotel hallway with snow trapping you inside and a single room waiting beyond the door, and the months of not saying things had followed you upstairs like another piece of luggage.
You shifted your bag on your shoulder. "Do you want me to say the lobby's better?" His jaw tightened. "No." The answer came too fast. Too honest. You looked at him. He still did not look back.
"No," you said quietly. "I don't either." That made him turn. Only a little. Enough. His eyes met yours, and for one breath, the corridor felt narrower. You had said nothing shocking. Nothing romantic. Nothing that should have made his expression change.
But it did. It softened in the smallest possible way. Then the ice machine rattled again, brutally loud, and both of you looked away like teenagers caught holding hands behind the gym.
Jack cleared his throat and tapped the key card to the lock. The light flashed green. He pushed the door open. "After you," he said. You looked at him. "Professional courtesy?"
His mouth twitched. "Don't push your luck." You stepped into the room. And stopped. Because the hotel room was not bad. That was the problem. If it had been cramped or ugly or strange, you could have laughed. If the carpet had been stained or the heating had sounded like aircraft failure, you could have turned the whole thing into a joke.
But the room was warm. Quiet. Low-lit. The curtains were partly open, showing a wall of storm-dark sky and snow-lashed glass. A small desk sat near the window with a conference programme folded beside the lamp. Jack's suitcase was open on the luggage rack, clothes folded with a level of military precision that should not have surprised you and still somehow did. His coat hung over the back of the desk chair. A pair of boots sat neatly near the wall.
And the bed. The bed was large, white, neatly made, and extremely singular. One bed. One. Not two small beds pushed together. Not a fold-out couch. Not even an ottoman that could plausibly become a desperate sleeping surface.
Just one king-sized bed sitting in the middle of the room like an accusation. You heard Jack come in behind you. The door clicked shut. Neither of you said anything. The silence immediately became unhinged.
You stared at the bed. Jack stared at the bed. The bed, smugly, remained a bed. Finally, you said, "Well." Jack dropped his key card on the desk with unnecessary precision. "Don't."
"I didn't say anything." "You were about to." "I was only going to say it's… roomy." He looked at you. You looked back. "It is," you said. "It's a bed." "Yes, Jack. That's the issue."
"It's a large bed." "Again. Not helping." He exhaled through his nose and turned away, moving toward the thermostat near the door. "Heat's on." "Good." "You can take the bathroom first."
"Fine." "And the bed." You turned. "We already discussed this." "We discussed the room." "We discussed the noble idiot routine." "I'm not being noble." "You are physically incapable of not being noble in the most aggravating way possible."
Jack shot you a look over his shoulder. "That is not a sentence that makes sense." "It does to me." "That's concerning." "You are not sleeping in the chair." He glanced at the chair.
You did too. It was a perfectly nice hotel desk chair, upholstered in grey fabric, with curved wooden arms and absolutely no business being considered a sleeping arrangement by any person over the age of twelve.
Jack looked back at you. "I've slept sitting up before." "Yes," you said, "and now you are older and more breakable." His eyebrows lifted. You froze. "Not breakable," you corrected quickly. "That came out wrong."
"Did it?" "Yes." His face was unreadable, but there was a dry edge to his voice. "Older, then?" You closed your eyes briefly. "I am making this worse." "You are." "I meant your leg."
"I gathered." You opened your eyes. Jack's expression had changed again, but not in the way you feared. He did not look angry. Not offended. Maybe a little guarded, but that was Jack's baseline around any mention of his body that did not come from a medical chart.
You softened your voice. "I meant you've been on your feet all day. Conference chairs are awful. It's freezing outside. You're not sleeping upright because of me." The guard shifted.
Just slightly. His eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to find the trick in what you had said. There wasn't one. That seemed to be what unsettled him. "I'm fine," he said.
You sighed. "Of course you are." "I am." "You know, when you say that, it has started to sound less like a status update and more like a legal defence." Jack turned fully toward you.
"You keep notes?" "Mentally." "On me?" The question was dry. The look was not. You should have had an answer ready. Something sharp. Something easy. Something that would put the conversation safely back where it belonged.
Instead, you said, "Sometimes." Jack went still. The room held its breath around you. The heater clicked on with a low rush of air, warm and dry, but you felt cold suddenly in the centre of your chest.
Sometimes. What a stupid thing to admit. Except it was true. You kept notes on him.
The way he preferred bitter coffee but drank bad hospital coffee without complaint if it was hot enough. The way he always stood between you and agitated family members without making a show of it. The way he hated fussing but tolerated directness. The way his patience with interns was better when no one was watching. The way grief seemed to live near him but not always in him, like a room he knew how to pass without opening the door every time.
The way he noticed when everyone else missed something. The way he noticed you. Jack looked away first. "I'll take the floor," he said. "Oh my God." "What?" "You are impossible."
"It's carpeted." "That is not an argument." "It's a fact." "You are not sleeping on hotel carpet." "I've slept on worse floors." "Stop saying that like it helps." "It's true."
"It's depressing." His mouth twitched faintly. "You wanted honesty." "I wanted common sense." "You're asking a lot." "Apparently." You set your bag down by the dresser and slipped your coat off, mostly to have something to do with your hands. The room was too warm now after the cold of the lobby. Your skin felt prickly. Your mind was moving too fast.
One bed. Jack. Snowstorm. Professional courtesy. Very funny, universe. Tremendous work. No notes. Jack moved to the window and pulled the curtain back a few inches. Snow slammed across the glass in thick gusts. The city beyond was nearly gone, reduced to blurred lights and white movement. The roads below were barely visible. Cars crawled through slush with hazard lights flashing. At the corner, a traffic signal swung hard in the wind.
"That's bad," you said. "Yeah." His voice had changed. Less irritated. More serious. You stepped closer, stopping beside him with enough space between you to pretend you were being normal.
Outside, Philadelphia looked suspended. The usual movement of the city had slowed to something strange and fragile. Sirens flashed somewhere far off, red and blue diffused through snow. You thought of everyone stuck out in it — EMS crews, police, hospital staff trying to make shift change, patients trying to get home.
Your stomach tightened. Jack glanced at you. "Don't." You looked at him. "What?" "You're thinking about the ED." "You don't know that." "You get that look." "What look?" "The one where you start trying to personally take responsibility for weather patterns and systemic infrastructure failures."
You stared at him. "That is very specific." "You're very specific." The words landed quietly. No joke wrapped around them. You looked back out at the snow before your face could betray you.
"I just hate knowing people are stuck out there." "I know." That was the thing with Jack. Sometimes he could be blunt enough to bruise. And sometimes he said two words like they carried a hand under your elbow.
You folded your arms loosely, not because you were cold but because you needed to hold yourself together. "The Pitt will be slammed," you said. "Probably." "Dana's going to be running on spite and vending machine pretzels."
"Dana can run a hospital on spite and vending machine pretzels." That made you smile. "True." "Robby'll keep it moving." "Also true." "They don't need us tonight." You looked at him then.
Jack kept his eyes on the window. It occurred to you that maybe he had said it for both of you. "They don't," you agreed. A gust of wind hit the glass hard enough to rattle it.
The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then steadied. You both looked up. "Comforting," you said. Jack let the curtain fall back into place. "Hotel'll have a generator." "Probably."
He gave you a look. You smiled faintly. "Sorry. I'll stop being reassuring." "That was you trying?" "Barely." He crossed to the desk and picked up the room service menu. "You eaten?"
The shift was so abrupt it took you a second to catch up. "What?" "Food," he said. "Have you had any since lunch?" "Yes." Jack looked at you. You looked back. "Define food," he said.
"That feels hostile." "It was a simple question." "I had half a muffin during the afternoon break." His eyes closed briefly. "Don't make that face." "I'm not making a face."
"You're making the doctor face." "I am a doctor." "You're making the disappointed attending face." "With cause." "It had blueberries." "It was conference food. It had the concept of blueberries."
You laughed, despite yourself. Jack picked up the phone. "Room service." "You don't have to—" "I'm ordering food." "I can order my own food." "Good. Then you can tell me what you want."
You opened your mouth. Closed it. He waited. You crossed your arms. "You are very bossy." "Yes." "No denial?" "I'm tired." That caught you off guard. It was small, the admission. Almost nothing.
But Jack did not give away small things without meaning to. Your expression softened before you could stop it. "Yeah," you said. "Me too." His eyes met yours. For a second, the argument fell away.
The bed was still there. The storm still existed. The whole strange shape of the night still waited around you. But so did the exhaustion. So did the fact that you had both been awake since before dawn, sitting through panels and making careful conversation and pretending, always pretending, that the invisible line between you was not getting thinner every day.
Jack looked away first, but gently this time. "What do you want?" he asked, lifting the phone. You glanced at the menu. "Grilled cheese." He paused. "What?" "Grilled cheese."
"They have salmon." "I don't trust conference hotel salmon during a weather emergency." "Sensible." "And fries." "Of course." "And whatever dessert looks least disappointing."
Jack's mouth tilted slightly. "There's chocolate cake." "Done." He nodded once and lifted the receiver. You watched him order with the same brusque efficiency he used when calling consults, except instead of demanding neurosurgery he was asking a very overwhelmed kitchen employee for grilled cheese, fries, black coffee, tea, and chocolate cake.
It should not have been attractive. It absolutely was. You turned away and busied yourself with your bag. You had packed badly. Not disastrously, but with the optimism of someone who thought she would be back in Pittsburgh by midnight. You had a spare blouse, a phone charger, toiletries, and a soft sleep shirt you had only thrown in because your last flight delay had taught you humility. No actual pyjama bottoms. No extra jumper. No thick socks.
Wonderful. Jack hung up the phone. "Forty-five minutes," he said. "Not bad." "Kitchen sounds like a war zone." "Poor them." He glanced toward your bag. "You need anything?"
You looked up too quickly. "What?" "Toiletries. Shirt. Charger." "Oh." You swallowed. "No. I'm okay." He watched you for half a beat. "You packed for one night." "So did you."
"I have clothes." "Congratulations." "You're doing the defensive thing." "You're doing the observant thing." "Occupational hazard," he said again. You looked down at your open bag.
It was not a big deal. That was what you told yourself. It was just clothes. Just a hotel room. Just a storm. Just Jack. You were so tired of the word just. "I have a shirt," you said. "No bottoms. I'll survive."
Jack did not react obviously. Which somehow made it more obvious that he was reacting. His gaze moved to the dresser. "I have sweats." "No." "They're clean." "That was not my concern."
"They have a drawstring." "Also not my concern." "You'd rather sleep in conference pants?" You looked down at your trousers. They were perfectly professional and deeply uncomfortable after a twelve-hour day.
"I hate that you're making sense." "Happens." "Rarely." Jack opened his suitcase and pulled out a neatly folded pair of dark sweatpants. He held them out without looking directly at you.
The gesture was so practical. So simple. So completely dangerous. You took them. Your fingers brushed his. Barely. Nothing. A nothing touch. Except Jack's hand stilled for a fraction of a second, and your pulse jumped like an idiot.
"Thank you," you said. His voice was rougher when he answered. "Professional courtesy." You glanced up. He was looking at you now. There was humour there, buried under exhaustion and restraint. But there was something else too. Something careful. Something that knew exactly how thin this joke was becoming.
You held the sweatpants against your chest. "Right," you said. "Professional courtesy." The bathroom was small and aggressively hotel-like, all marble counter, bright mirror, and towels folded into shapes no one needed. You changed quickly, keeping your sleep shirt on and tying the borrowed sweatpants as tightly as they would go.
They were too big. Of course they were. They sat low on your hips and pooled slightly at your ankles. They smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something cleaner underneath. Jack's suitcase, maybe. His soap. The same faint scent you sometimes caught when he leaned over a chart beside you.
You stared at yourself in the mirror. "Oh, this is bad," you whispered. Not bad because you looked bad. Bad because you looked comfortable. Bad because the pants were his.
Bad because you could already imagine walking out and seeing him notice. You pressed both hands to your face. "Get a grip." A knock came at the bathroom door. You jumped.
"You alive?" Jack asked from the other side. You opened the door too quickly. "Do not say it like that." He was standing a few feet back, one hand braced on the desk chair, his shoes off now, his sweater sleeves pushed to his forearms.
He looked at you. Then very pointedly looked away. It was possibly the least subtle thing he had ever done. Your stomach flipped. "They're too big," you said, because apparently you had chosen death.
"They have a drawstring," he said. "I used it." "Then they're functional." "Is everything functional to you?" "No." The answer came too quietly. You looked at him. He was still not looking at you.
The air changed. That was the only way you knew how to think of it. Changed like weather. You stood barefoot on hotel carpet in Jack Abbott's borrowed sweatpants, and he stood across from you in his shirtsleeves, and the room felt suddenly too small for the amount of not saying happening inside it.
Then someone knocked on the door. Both of you startled. Actually startled. Jack recovered first, because of course he did. "Room service," he said, like that was not obvious.
"Right." He crossed to the door. You sat on the edge of the bed without thinking, then immediately stood again because sitting on the bed felt insane. Jack opened the door and accepted the tray from a harried-looking employee who looked one room away from quitting the hospitality industry entirely. Jack thanked him, tipped him too much, and shut the door with his hip.
The smell of hot fries filled the room. You nearly groaned. Jack set the tray on the desk. "You look like you're about to propose to the food." "Don't judge me." "I'm not. It's the most enthusiasm you've shown all day."
"That's not true." "No?" You stepped closer to the tray and lifted the metal cover from the plate. Golden fries. Grilled cheese cut diagonally. A small bowl of tomato soup you had not ordered but immediately respected.
You looked at Jack. His expression was neutral. Too neutral. "You ordered soup." "It came with it." "Did it?" "Yes." "Jack." "What?" "You ordered soup." "It's cold out." You smiled.
He looked annoyed, but not enough. "Professional courtesy?" you asked. He pulled out the desk chair and sat down a little carefully. "Eat your sandwich." You did. You sat on the edge of the bed because there was nowhere else to sit, balancing the plate on your knees while Jack took the chair at the desk. It should have been awkward, but food helped. Food made it normal, or something adjacent to normal.
The storm raged outside. The room smelled like fries and coffee and radiator heat. Jack ate like a man who had forgotten hunger existed until food was placed in front of him. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to notice you noticing.
The silence between you grew less sharp. You dipped a corner of grilled cheese into the soup and looked over at him. "So," you said, "besides Robby and department visibility, why did you really come?"
Jack did not answer immediately. He leaned back in the chair, coffee in hand, eyes on the window. "For the conference?" "No, Jack. For the ambience." His mouth twitched. "I was asked."
"You always do what you're asked?" "No." "Exactly." He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. "Bad?" "Hotel bad." "You ordered it." "I was desperate." "You could have had tea."
"I'm not eighty." "That is hurtful to tea." "Tea will recover." You smiled, but you did not let him off. "Why did you come?" Jack looked down into his coffee. For a moment, you thought he was going to dodge again.
Then he said, "Robby thought I should get out of Pittsburgh for two days." That was not what you expected. Your face softened. "Why?" Jack's thumb moved along the side of the paper cup.
"Because he's annoying." "Jack." He exhaled. Not quite a sigh. "He thinks I've been working too much." "You have." His eyes lifted. You held his gaze. "What?" you said. "You have."
"You're one to talk." "I didn't say I was innocent." "No. You just keep mental notes on me and forget to eat." You looked down, smiling despite yourself. "That sounded almost affectionate."
"Don't get excited." "Too late." Jack's eyes stayed on you. The smile thinned a little on your face, not because you stopped feeling it, but because suddenly feeling anything seemed dangerous again.
He looked away. "Robby wanted someone senior here," he said. "I had the time. You were already going." There. Quiet. Almost buried. But there. Your fingers tightened around your fork.
"You came because I was going?" Jack did not move. "I didn't say that." "You kind of did." "I said it was a factor." "A factor." "Yes." "In the logistical decision." He glanced at you, and there was that dry look again. The one that made your chest ache because it was almost easier than softness.
"You're enjoying this." "A little." "Dangerous habit." "Noted." You ate another fry to give yourself something to do. But your mind had snagged on it. You were already going.
Not a confession. Not even close. But with Jack, half the time the truth came wrapped in enough caution to survive impact. You wondered how many other almost-truths he had offered you over the months that you had been too careful to pick up.
Outside, thunder cracked. Not thunder, maybe. Something heavy and distant. A transformer. Ice shifting. A city noise made strange by snow. The lights flickered again. This time, they went out.
The room dropped into darkness. For one second, everything disappeared. You heard yourself inhale sharply. Then the emergency lighting kicked in, faint and amber from the hallway through the crack under the door. The city glow outside the window blurred through the curtains. The heater went silent.
"Jack?" "I'm here." His voice came immediately. Close enough that your panic had no time to grow teeth. Then your phone screen lit up where it sat on the bed beside you, buzzing with an alert.
WINTER STORM WARNING. SHELTER IN PLACE. You stared at it. "Well," you said, trying for lightness and not quite getting there. "That feels dramatic." Jack stood. You heard the chair shift, then the careful sound of his movement in the dark.
"Stay there." "I wasn't planning on sprinting." "Good." He moved across the room with a confidence that made something inside you ache. Even in near-dark, even in a strange hotel room, Jack was calm. Measured. One hand found the desk. Then the lamp. Then the wall.
A second later, his phone flashlight clicked on, casting sharp white light across the room. You blinked. He aimed it toward the floor, not your face. "Power's out," he said.
"Really? I thought they were setting the mood." His eyes flicked up. Even in the thin flashlight glow, you saw the look. "Joke response," you said. "Ignore me." "I usually try."
"No, you don't." "No," he said after a beat. "I don't." You looked at him. The darkness softened everything except the places it sharpened. His face was half-lit, half-shadowed, the lines of him drawn in silver and black. His sweater was gone now, you realised belatedly, leaving him in a dark T-shirt that made him look less like the attending who could silence a trauma bay and more like a man trapped in a room with you and all the things neither of you said.
He crossed to the dresser and opened a drawer. "What are you doing?" "Looking for extra blankets." "In the dark?" "I have a light." "You also have a habit of ignoring your own limits."
He stopped. Not for long. Just enough that you knew he had heard the thing beneath the words. Then he pulled open the lower drawer and found a folded blanket sealed in a plastic bag.
"Found one," he said. "Of course you did." He brought it over and handed it to you. You accepted it, fingers brushing his again. This time, neither of you moved away as quickly.
The room was colder without the heater already. Or maybe that was your imagination. Maybe you were just suddenly aware of every inch of space between you. Jack's hand was warm.
Steady. Scarred along the knuckles. You let go first. Barely. "We should call the front desk," you said. "They're aware." "Because of the power outage?" "Because half the hotel just started calling them."
"You're probably right." "I usually am." "Incredible how you say things like that and expect people to like you." His mouth moved. "Some people manage." Your breath caught.
Jack seemed to realise what he had said at the exact moment you did. His expression locked down. But not fast enough. You saw it. The flash of something unguarded. The room felt very quiet.
Too quiet. Then his phone buzzed in his hand, cutting through the moment with brutal efficiency. He looked down. "Generator's delayed," he read. "Hotel says emergency lights remain active, heat may be intermittent, guests advised to stay in rooms."
"Great." "Could be worse." "How?" "We could be in the lobby with orthopedic surgeons." You laughed. You really could not help it. The laugh came out tired and a little shaky, but it was real.
Jack looked at you for a second with that almost-soft expression again. Then he glanced at the bed. You followed his gaze. One bed. One extra blanket. No heat. Professional courtesy, your traitorous brain supplied.
You pulled the blanket against your chest. "So," you said carefully, "this got more complicated." Jack's jaw shifted. "Yeah." "We can still be adults." "Probably." "Probably?"
"I'm accounting for variables." "Such as?" He looked at you. In the phone light, his eyes were darker than usual. "You," he said. Your pulse jumped. Jack looked away almost immediately, like he had not meant it to come out like that.
But it had. And now it was in the room with you. You. Not the storm. Not the bed. Not the lack of heat. You. You swallowed. "I'm a variable?" "A persistent one." You should have laughed.
You almost did. But his voice had gone too quiet. Too honest. So you only said, "That sounds inconvenient." Jack's gaze returned to yours. "It is." The snow hit the window hard.
Neither of you moved. Then, somewhere down the hall, someone shouted, "Power's out on ten too!" and another voice yelled back something about flashlights, and the moment snapped before either of you could decide what to do with it.
Jack exhaled, low and controlled. "You should finish eating before the food gets cold." You blinked. Then laughed softly, because of course. Of course that was where he went.
Food. Practicality. A safe surface after stepping too close to the edge. "Right," you said. "Professional courtesy." He looked at you for one long second. Then he said, very dryly, "Don't make me regret naming it."
You sat back down on the edge of the bed with your plate and the extra blanket over your lap. Jack returned to the chair, phone flashlight propped against the lamp base so it lit the room in a strange upward glow.
You ate in semi-darkness while the storm pressed against the windows and the hotel groaned softly around you. And for a while, neither of you talked about the bed. Neither of you talked about variables.
Neither of you talked about the fact that the room was getting colder. But Jack took the blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it around your shoulders without asking.
And you let him. When his hand brushed the back of your neck, neither of you said anything at all. By the time you finished eating, the fries had gone soft, the grilled cheese had gone lukewarm, and the room had become noticeably colder.
Not freezing. Not dramatic. Just cold enough that the tips of your toes had started to curl against the hotel carpet. Cold enough that you had pulled the borrowed sweatpants lower over your ankles and tucked the extra blanket tighter around your shoulders. Cold enough that Jack had noticed, because Jack noticed everything, and was pretending he had not noticed in a way that meant he absolutely had.
The emergency light from the hallway bled under the door in a thin amber line. Jack's phone was still propped against the lamp base, flashlight angled at the ceiling so the whole room sat in a pale, strange glow. Shadows gathered in the corners. The window was a black mirror now, occasionally flashing white when the wind threw snow hard against the glass.
The hotel was quieter than it had been. Or maybe it only felt that way because the power outage had changed the sound of everything. No humming heater. No elevator chime. No faint television from the room next door. Just wind, the distant murmur of stranded guests in the hallway, and the occasional muffled thunk of something outside giving in to the storm.
Jack stacked the empty plates back on the room service tray with the kind of precision that suggested he could not quite tolerate mess when there were too many other things he could not control.
You watched him from the edge of the bed. "You know they have people for that." He did not look up. "For what?" "Stacking plates like you're preparing them for sterile processing."
"That would be a terrible use of sterile processing." "You understood my point." "Unfortunately." He set the cutlery on the plate, folded the napkin once, then stopped when he caught you watching.
"What?" "Nothing." "You keep saying that." "You keep asking." "You keep looking at me like you have commentary." "I always have commentary." "That's true." You smiled faintly.
The silence that followed was softer than the ones before. Less sharp, anyway. The food had helped. The ridiculousness had helped. The fact that you were both too tired to maintain full emotional defences had helped in a deeply inconvenient way.
Jack took the tray to the narrow table near the door, then checked his phone. "No update?" you asked. "Generator crew's working on it." "That sounds fake." "It does." "Do you think they're lying?"
"I think they're busy." "That was generous." "I have moments." "You hide them well." He glanced at you, dry. You tucked your feet under the blanket and tried not to shiver.
Failed. Jack saw it. Of course he did. His gaze dropped to the blanket around you, then to your bare feet, then back to your face. "You cold?" "No." "You're a bad liar." "I'm fine."
"That one's mine." "I'm borrowing it." "You use it worse." "You use it constantly." "With more conviction." "With more denial." His expression shifted. Not a flinch exactly. Jack was too practised for that. But something in him went still around the edges, like your words had touched a place you had not meant to press.
You regretted it immediately. "Sorry," you said, softer. "That wasn't—" "It's fine." "Jack." He turned toward the suitcase instead of looking at you. "You need socks." "I don't."
"You do." "I'm not taking your socks." "Why?" "Because there are lines." "There's a line at socks?" "Yes." "But not at sweatpants." You looked down at yourself. The borrowed sweatpants were still much too big, bunched slightly at your waist where you had tied the drawstring tight enough to survive a storm. You hated that they were comfortable. You hated more that you had stopped noticing they were not yours.
"That was an emergency." "So is hypothermia." "I am not hypothermic." "You're shivering." "I'm dramatically chilly." "Clinical distinction?" "Emotional distinction." Jack opened his suitcase.
You sighed. "Jack." He pulled out a pair of thick dark socks and held them out. You stared at them. He stared back. The socks hung between you like the dumbest possible symbol of intimacy.
"You're very bossy," you said again. "You're very cold." "I could put my shoes back on." "You're not wearing shoes in bed." The sentence landed. Both of you heard it. Both of you froze.
In bed. Not the bed. Not that bed. In bed. The words sat in the dim room, far too casual and far too specific. Jack's jaw tightened. You took the socks mostly so neither of you had to keep looking at each other across the space between you.
"Thank you," you said. His fingers brushed yours as you took them. A small touch. Accidental. Still, your hand warmed like his skin had left a mark. Jack stepped back too quickly and turned toward the window.
You pulled the socks on under the blanket, trying to do it with dignity. It was impossible. The blanket slipped off one shoulder. The sweatpants rode up. You nearly kicked the nightstand with your heel.
Jack did not turn around. Which meant he was very deliberately not turning around. Somehow that made it worse. "There," you said when you were done. "Feet saved. Crisis averted."
"Good." His voice was rougher than before. You looked at the back of him. He stood near the window with one hand braced against the frame, shoulders slightly bowed. The phone light made a dark outline of him against the curtains. Without the hotel noise, without the conference, without the ED, he seemed more human in a way that made your chest ache.
Still Jack. But less armoured. You wondered if anyone else at The Pitt had ever seen him like this — barefoot in a hotel room, tired around the edges, quietly trying to make sure another person was warm without making it a scene.
Probably not. The thought did something strange to you. "Are you cold?" you asked. "No." "Bad liar." He did not look over. "I'm fine." "Worse liar." His mouth moved, barely visible in profile.
"Probably." That answer felt too honest. You watched him for another moment, then looked away before he could catch you looking again. The hotel groaned softly around you.
Somewhere down the hall, a child laughed. A woman shushed him. A door opened, then closed. The storm kept pressing at the windows, steady and relentless. You reached for your phone on the bed and checked the time.
8:47 p.m. It felt much later. You had been awake since four-thirty that morning, because the first flight out of Pittsburgh had seemed like a good idea when you booked it. It had not seemed like a good idea when your alarm went off in the dark. It had seemed actively hostile by the time Jack appeared at the airport gate with black coffee, a conference folder, and the expression of a man who had already decided the day was guilty until proven otherwise.
You had laughed at him then too. He had handed you the coffee without comment. You had not asked how he knew your order. That was the thing with Jack. He gave things in ways that made asking feel impossible.
He would notice. Adjust. Provide. Protect. Then act like anyone would have done the same. Anyone would not have. That was the problem. You scrolled through your notifications. Dana had texted again.
DANA: You alive? You smiled. Jack, still near the window, said, "Dana?" You looked up. "How did you know?" "She asks that when she wants reassurance but refuses to phrase it emotionally."
"That is… uncomfortably accurate." "What'd she say?" "You alive?" Jack huffed softly. It was almost a laugh. "See?" You typed back. YOU: Alive. Snowed in. Power out. Abbott still hasn't killed anyone.
Dana's reply came fast. DANA: Yet. DANA: Where are you staying? Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. Ah. There it was. The simple question with the deeply complicated answer.
You glanced at Jack. He had turned from the window and was watching you now. Not suspicious. Aware. Always aware. "Dana asked where I'm staying," you said. Jack's expression went carefully blank.
"What are you going to tell her?" You looked down at the phone. That was an excellent question. The truth was simple. You were in his room because the hotel was full and the city was shut down and neither of you had any better options.
The truth was also impossible. Because Dana would understand the logistics. Dana understood emergencies. Dana understood bad weather and full hotels and professional adults making practical decisions.
Dana would also absolutely hear the silence between the words. Dana had eyes. Worse, she had instincts. Even worse, she liked you. You typed. YOU: Hotel. It's chaos here. Everyone stranded.
Not a lie. A strategic omission. Jack watched you send it. "She'll know," he said. "Probably." "You omitted relevant details." "I learned from doctors." "That's charting, not lying."
"Overlap, not causation." His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was something warm under it. "You're getting too much use out of my lines." "You should write better ones."
"I'll workshop it." Dana's next text buzzed through. DANA: You dodged that question so hard I felt the wind from Pittsburgh. You pressed your lips together. Jack saw your face.
"What?" "She knows." "I said that." You set the phone face down on the bed. "I'm ignoring her." "Sensible." "I can practically hear her eyebrows." "Dana has loud eyebrows."
"She really does." You both smiled. The room went quiet again. This silence was different. It was domestic in the strangest, most dangerous way. You were sitting on his bed in his sweatpants and socks, ignoring a text from Dana while Jack stood by the window in his T-shirt, and for one awful second you could imagine this without the storm. Without the conference. Without the emergency explanation.
A room. Food containers. Shared warmth. Jack looking at you like you were something he had learned the shape of without meaning to. The thought was so clear it startled you.
You stood abruptly. "I should brush my teeth." Jack blinked. Then gave one short nod. "Okay." "Then we should probably…" You gestured vaguely toward the bed, immediately regretted it, and turned the gesture into pointing at your bag. "Sleep. Eventually. Because we're exhausted. And adults. Professional adults."
His mouth twitched. "Professional adults brush their teeth?" "They do." "Good to know." You grabbed your toiletries and escaped into the bathroom. The mirror was bright only because of your phone flashlight propped against the soap dish. Without the overhead lights, your reflection looked softer and stranger. Tired eyes. Messy hair. Jack's sweatpants. Jack's socks.
You brushed your teeth with too much focus. Then you stood there for a moment with your hands braced on the sink. This was fine. Fine was a word doing heroic work tonight.
You had shared tighter spaces with coworkers before. Ambulance bays. Trauma rooms. Supply closets during disaster drills. Once, a hospital break room with six people, one working microwave, and a smell you all silently agreed not to identify.
This was not different because of square footage. It was different because of Jack. Because every quiet thing he did felt louder in the dark. Because he had remembered food. Socks. Blankets. The fact that you got anxious when you thought too long about the ED functioning without you.
Because he had said, You were already going. Because he had called you a variable. Because when the power went out, your first instinct had been to say his name, and his first instinct had been to answer before you could be scared.
You rinsed your mouth, dried your face, and stared at your reflection. "Normal," you whispered. "We are being normal." When you opened the bathroom door, Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Not in it. On it. His prosthetic was off. You stopped before you could stop yourself. It was not the first time you had seen him without it. Not exactly. The ED had a way of stealing privacy from everyone eventually, and Jack was not secretive in the way people assumed. He was matter-of-fact about the reality of his body when he had to be.
But this was different. This was not clinical. This was not a glance through a curtain gap or a practical adjustment after a brutal shift. This was Jack in the low light of a hotel room, one leg extended slightly, his liner set aside with careful precision, his hand resting near his thigh. His posture was composed, but there was something in the stillness of him that made you understand, immediately and painfully, that he had not expected you to come out just then.
His head lifted. His expression closed. Fast. Too fast. "Sorry," you said softly. You did not know what you were apologising for. Walking out. Seeing. Making him feel seen. All of it.
Jack looked away first. "It's fine." There it was again. The legal defence. You stayed where you were by the bathroom door, toiletries in hand. For once, you did not tease him.
You did not say he was a bad liar. You did not try to make the room easier by making a joke. Instead, you said, "I can give you a minute." His jaw shifted. He looked at you then, and there was something in his eyes you could not read.
Not embarrassment, exactly. Not shame, though something close enough to make your chest hurt. Wariness, maybe. A man used to people either looking too long or looking away too fast.
You did neither. At least, you tried not to. "You don't have to," he said. His voice was low. Rough. You nodded once and crossed to your bag, setting your toiletries inside with deliberate calm. Not ignoring him. Not staring. Just letting the moment exist without making it bigger.
Jack watched you for a second. You could feel it. Then he reached for the compression sleeve beside him and adjusted it with efficient, practised movements. You turned toward the window and gave him privacy without leaving.
The snow was still falling hard. The glass had frosted slightly at the corners, feathered white around the dark. The city lights outside looked blurred and far away. Behind you, fabric shifted. Jack moved carefully. The bed creaked once.
"You can turn around," he said. You did. He had pulled the blanket over his lap, sitting upright now, back against the headboard. The bedside lamp was useless without power, but his phone flashlight on the nightstand lit the lower half of the room. His face was half in shadow.
"You okay?" you asked. Then immediately wanted to kick yourself. Jack's eyebrows lifted. "I mean—" You stopped, exhaled. "Sorry. Stupid question." "Not stupid." "You hate that question."
"I hate most questions." "True." His mouth twitched faintly. The tension eased by a millimetre. You sat carefully on the opposite side of the bed, leaving as much space as possible between you. The mattress dipped under your weight, and both of you noticed.
How could you not? One bed. One room. No power. The space between you suddenly felt measured in inches and bad decisions. Jack reached for his own toiletries. "Bathroom's yours?"
"I'm done." He nodded and shifted to stand. You looked away before he could need you to. It was instinct. Respect. Maybe both. But before he moved, he paused. "You don't have to do that."
You looked back. "What?" "Look away like I'll break." The words were quiet. Flat, almost. But something under them hurt. You swallowed. "I'm not looking away because I think you'll break."
Jack held your gaze. "Then why?" You thought about lying. You were both good at it, in your own ways. Little lies. Necessary ones. The kind that kept rooms functioning. I'm fine.
It doesn't hurt. I don't care. This is professional courtesy. But the storm had narrowed the world to this room, and the lights were out, and Jack had given you socks like it meant nothing when it meant everything, and you were so tired of talking around the truth.
"Because I don't want to make something private feel less private," you said. He went still. You could hear the wind dragging snow across the window. Then Jack looked down.
For a long moment, he said nothing. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "That's considerate." You tried to smile. "Don't sound so surprised." "I'm not." "You are a little."
"I'm used to people being curious." That landed hard. You kept your voice gentle. "I'm curious about you, Jack. Not about that." His eyes lifted. Oh. The room seemed to stop.
You realised what you had said a second too late. Not about that. About you. There was no good way to pull it back. No joke quick enough. No professional framing strong enough to cover it.
Jack looked at you like you had put a hand directly over a bruise. You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Then he looked away, and the moment passed. Or he let it pass. You were not sure which.
"I'll be quick," he said. He stood, carefully, and you kept your gaze on your hands this time. Not because he had asked, not because you thought he needed saving from being seen, but because the room already had too much honesty in it and you were not sure either of you could survive another piece.
The bathroom door closed. You exhaled slowly. Your phone buzzed against the blanket. Dana again. You turned it over. DANA: You are absolutely not telling me something. DANA: Fine. Don't die. DANA: Also Abbott better not be pretending he doesn't need sleep. He does.
You smiled despite yourself. Dana was the human equivalent of a locked medication cabinet and a warning label. She saw more than people wanted her to see, kept what mattered safe, and made sure you knew when you were being stupid.
You typed back. YOU: He is being managed. You stared at it. Then deleted it. Absolutely not. You tried again. YOU: We're both going to sleep soon. Power's still out. Dana replied.
DANA: Both? You closed your eyes. Of course. Of course she caught that. Before you could decide how to answer, the bathroom door opened. You dropped your phone face down like a teenager hiding contraband.
Jack paused in the doorway. "That subtle?" "Shut up." "Dana?" "No." "Liar." "Fine. Yes." "What did she say?" "Nothing." He gave you a look. You sighed. "She noticed I said both."
Jack's expression did something complicated. "Ah." "Exactly." He moved back to his side of the bed with his toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, then set them on the nightstand. The room was colder now, enough that goosebumps had lifted along your arms where the blanket had slipped.
Jack noticed. He pulled the top blanket down on his side. The bed suddenly became a real object again. Not a prop. Not a joke. A place where both of you were expected to sleep.
You stood. Too quickly. "I can sleep on top of the covers." "No." "Jack." "It's cold." "I know." "So don't be stupid." You looked at him. "Did you just call me stupid?" "I told you not to be."
"Fine distinction." "Important one." You crossed your arms. He leaned back against the headboard and looked up at you with tired, unamused patience. "We are not doing this for another hour," he said.
"Doing what?" "Pretending either of us is sleeping anywhere but the bed." The bluntness of it sent heat straight up your neck. Jack noticed that too. His gaze flicked away, but his mouth tightened like he regretted nothing.
"You could phrase things less aggressively," you muttered. "I could." "You won't." "No." You stared at him. He stared back. Then, because exhaustion was apparently making you brave, or reckless, or possibly both, you said, "Fine. But the pillow stays in the middle."
Jack looked at the row of pillows stacked against the headboard. "One pillow?" "One pillow." "As a border?" "As a diplomatic boundary." "That's not what pillows are for."
"It is tonight." He considered this. Then reached for one of the pillows and placed it lengthwise down the centre of the bed with dead-serious precision. You watched him.
The absurdity hit first. Then the tenderness. Jack Abbott, attending physician, military veteran, professional misery enthusiast, was sitting in a powerless hotel room during a snowstorm creating a pillow wall because you had asked him to.
Your chest did that stupid, aching thing again. "There," he said. "You made it very official." "It's a terrible wall." "It's symbolic." "It's structurally unsound." "Most emotional boundaries are."
He looked at you. You looked back. For a moment, neither of you smiled. Then Jack's mouth twitched. You laughed quietly and climbed under the covers before you could think about it too much.
The sheets were cold at first, crisp against your legs. You slid carefully onto your side, keeping the pillow between you. Jack stayed sitting up for another moment, phone in hand, probably checking alerts. Or pretending to. You suspected he was giving you time to settle before he moved.
The thought made you ache in a way you did not know how to name. Finally, he set his phone on the nightstand with the flashlight still aimed upward and lowered himself under the blankets.
The mattress shifted. The world narrowed. You were lying in bed with Jack Abbott. There was a pillow between you. There were several inches of careful space. There were covers pulled up to your shoulders, socks on your feet, snow at the window, and a storm blocking every exit the two of you had spent months pretending you needed.
"This is normal," you said into the darkness. Jack turned his head slightly. "Is it?" "No." "Then why say it?" "Manifestation." "That doesn't work." "Evidence?" "This." A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Jack's eyes were on the ceiling, but his expression had softened. The flashlight glow caught the line of his jaw, the tired slope of his mouth, the lashes casting faint shadows beneath his eyes. He looked exhausted now. Not just annoyed. Not just inconvenienced. Truly worn down.
Something in you quieted. "You should sleep," you said. "So should you." "I will." "Good." "You too." "That was implied." "Was it?" "Yes." You smiled into the dim. For a while, neither of you spoke.
The hotel settled around you. The storm battered the window. Somewhere distant, a door opened and closed. Your phone buzzed once more, but you ignored it. The cold made the bed feel smaller than it was. Or maybe awareness did that. You could feel the heat of him on the other side of the pillow. Not touching. Not even close enough, really.
Still, you knew exactly where he was. Every breath. Every subtle shift. Every careful movement made by a man trying not to make this harder for either of you. "You asleep?" Jack asked eventually.
"No." "Why?" "Because you asked me if I was asleep." He huffed softly. You smiled. A long pause. Then he said, "Your flight tomorrow. What time?" "Rebooked for two-thirty. Assuming the airport doesn't stay closed."
"Mine's three." "Good." "Good?" You stared at the pillow boundary between you, barely visible in the dark. "Means I'm not leaving you stranded here alone with all the orthopedic surgeons."
"You'd make that sacrifice?" "I'm heroic." "You forgot to eat today." "I contain multitudes." "Mostly bad decisions." "That's rich coming from you." He was quiet for a beat.
Then said, "Fair." The honesty of that made your smile fade. You turned onto your back carefully. "Can I ask you something?" Jack did not answer right away. His gaze stayed on the ceiling.
"That depends." "On what?" "Whether you're about to ask something I don't want to answer." "I don't know if you'll want to answer it." "Then probably no." "Jack." He sighed.
"Ask." You hesitated. The question had been sitting in you since dinner, since you were already going, maybe even before that. Since the airport coffee. Since the way he always turned up near you without making a thing of it.
"Why do you do that?" His head turned slightly. "Do what?" "Take care of people and pretend you're not." His face went unreadable. You rushed on before you could lose courage.
"The coffee. The food. The socks. The room. At work too. You act like it's all logistics, but it isn't always." Jack looked back at the ceiling. The silence stretched. You almost apologised.
Then he said, "It's easier if people don't make it a thing." Your chest softened. "Why?" His jaw moved once. "Because then they expect you to talk about it." The answer was so Jack that it almost hurt.
You turned your face toward him. In the low glow, he looked carved out of restraint. "You don't always have to talk about it." His eyes shifted to yours. "No?" "No." "What do I have to do?"
The question was quiet. Too quiet. You were not sure he meant it the way it sounded. You answered anyway. "Let someone notice." Jack did not move. Something passed over his face — guarded, tired, almost unbearably vulnerable before he buried it.
"I let people notice plenty." "Charting irregularities don't count." His mouth twitched, but it faded quickly. "People notice what they want," he said. "That's not true."
"It's often true." You studied him across the ridiculous pillow. "Then let me notice." The words came out before you could stop them. Soft. Plain. Terrifying. Jack looked at you.
Fully now. The room seemed to contract around his silence. You felt your heartbeat in your throat. Outside, the storm kept going. Snow against glass. Wind at the windows. The city hidden. The hotel powerless. Everything ordinary stripped away until there was only this: you and Jack, inches apart, pretending a pillow could hold back months of almosts.
Jack's voice, when it came, was rough. "You already do." You could not breathe for a second. He looked away first. But the damage was done. The truth was there between you, small and live and glowing.
You did not know what to do with it. So you did nothing. Maybe that was the only thing either of you could manage. You lay there in the dark, his words moving through you like warmth.
You already do. For a while, neither of you spoke again. Eventually, exhaustion began to pull at you. The edges of the room blurred. The storm became a dull, steady rush. Your body, traitorous and tired, stopped caring about awkwardness and started caring only about heat.
The bed was cold where you were not touching anything. Your feet were warm in Jack's socks, but your shoulders were not. You curled slightly on your side, facing the pillow wall, tugging the blanket higher.
Jack shifted on the other side. "You cold?" "No." He made a low sound. You did not even open your eyes. "I know. Bad liar." "Terrible." "I'm fine." "Mine." "I know." The mattress dipped as he adjusted, and the blanket shifted over you, tucked more securely near your shoulder. Not intrusive. Not too much.
Just enough. His hand brushed your upper arm through the fabric. You opened your eyes. Jack's hand withdrew immediately. "Sorry." "It's okay." "I was just—" "I know." His face was close now.
Closer than before because you had both shifted toward the middle without noticing. The pillow was still between you, crushed slightly under the weight of your shoulders.
The flashlight had dimmed as his phone battery dropped, turning the room softer. Jack's eyes were dark in the low light. You should have moved back. You did not. Neither did he.
"You should sleep," he said again. His voice had changed. Low. Careful. Like he was speaking near a wound. "So should you." "I'm trying." "Are you?" "No." The honesty made something in your chest go still.
Jack closed his eyes briefly, like he regretted it. You watched him. Then, because you were too tired to be wise, you whispered, "Me neither." He opened his eyes. There it was again.
The pause. The dangerous pause. His gaze moved over your face, not quickly this time. Not hidden. He looked at you like he was memorising the cost of wanting something. Your fingers rested near the pillow between you.
His hand lay on the blanket on the other side. Not touching. Almost. Almost had become a language between you. Jack swallowed. "We shouldn't," he said. You had not asked what.
You both knew. "No," you whispered. But you did not move. The room held very still. Then the hallway erupted with noise. A door slammed somewhere. Someone laughed too loudly. A man cursed about the emergency lights. The spell shattered so abruptly you almost flinched.
Jack looked away. You let out a breath you had not realised you were holding. The pillow wall suddenly looked absurd again. Useful, maybe. Merciful. You turned onto your back, staring at the dark ceiling.
"Orthopedic surgeons," you murmured. Jack was quiet for half a second. Then he huffed a laugh. A real one. Small. Exhausted. But real. It loosened something in the room. You smiled.
The two of you lay there in the dark while the hotel settled again and the storm carried on, pretending nothing had almost happened. Eventually, your eyes grew heavy. Your body warmed under the blankets. The borrowed socks were soft against your feet. The bed no longer felt quite as cold. Jack's breathing evened out beside you, slow and controlled, though not quite sleep.
You drifted in and out. At some point, the pillow between you shifted. You were too tired to know who moved first. Maybe you curled toward the warmth. Maybe Jack turned in his sleep.
Maybe the bed dipped and the pillow slid down between your knees and neither of you woke enough to correct it. The room had grown colder. The blankets had tangled. The storm was loud.
You came halfway awake to the feeling of warmth against your forehead. A steady body near yours. An arm, heavy but careful, resting around your waist. For one hazy second, your mind did not understand.
Then you felt Jack's breath against your hair. You should have startled. You should have pulled away. Instead, half-asleep and freezing, you made a small sound and shifted closer.
The arm around you tightened. Not much. Just enough. Jack murmured something you could not make out. His hand settled flat against your back, warm through the borrowed shirt. His body curved around yours with a kind of unconscious care that made no room for embarrassment because neither of you was awake enough to choose it.
The pillow boundary was gone. The diplomatic border had failed. You tucked your face against his chest. He was warm. So warm. The storm battered the window, but under the blankets, in the dark, the world narrowed to the steady rise and fall of him.
Jack's chin brushed your hair. His hand rested between your shoulder blades. You fell asleep like that. Not deciding. Not confessing. Not crossing any line either of you could name while conscious.
Just cold and exhausted and drawn, somehow, to the safest heat in the room. Outside, snow buried the city. Inside, Jack held you like he had been doing it for years. Jack woke before the power came back on.
For a few seconds, he did not move. That was habit. Old habit. Useful habit. The kind of stillness that came before assessment. Before pain caught up. Before memory sorted itself into place. Before the body told the truth the mind had not agreed to yet.
Dark room. Hotel. Storm. Philadelphia. Conference. You. That last one arrived slower. Not because he had forgotten. Because his mind seemed determined to give him one merciful second before handing over the evidence.
Warmth against his chest. Soft breath through the fabric of his T-shirt. A hand curled loosely near his ribs. Your knee tucked between his. His arm around you. Jack stared at the ceiling.
The phone flashlight had died sometime during the night. The only light came from the window now, weak and blue-grey through the curtains, the city beyond still blurred by snow. The power was still out, or the room would have been humming. Instead, the silence was deep and cold around the edges, broken only by wind and the steady sound of your breathing.
You were asleep. Against him. Not beside him. Not near him. Against him. Your cheek rested over his heart like you had chosen the exact place designed to ruin him. Jack did not move.
He should have. That was the first reasonable thought. The second reasonable thought was that if he moved, you would wake up embarrassed, and then he would have to watch you apologise for something that had been as much his fault as yours.
The third reasonable thought was that he had no idea how the hell the pillow had ended up near the bottom of the bed. He looked down slowly. The diplomatic boundary, as you had called it, had collapsed sometime in the night. One end of the pillow was wedged between the blankets near his shin, completely useless. The other had vanished under the duvet.
Structurally unsound, he thought. And then, despite himself, almost smiled. Almost. His hand was spread against your back. He became aware of that next. Not gripping. Not possessive. Just there. Warm through the cotton of your sleep shirt. His thumb had found the small space beneath your shoulder blade and rested there like it belonged.
It did not belong there. That was the problem. Or one of them. Jack should have moved his hand. Instead, he let himself feel the weight of it for one more second. One more second, he told himself, was not a crime.
You shifted in your sleep. Jack went completely still. Your fingers tightened faintly against his shirt, and your face turned a little closer into his chest. A small sound left you, half breath and half protest against the cold room.
His arm responded before he could stop it. It tightened by a fraction. Your body settled. Jack closed his eyes. Idiot. The word had no force behind it. He had been called worse by better men and disagreed less.
Because this was stupid. Not the storm. Not the hotel room. Not even the bed, in itself. Those had been logistics. Bad logistics, but logistics. This was something else. This was waking up with you tucked against him and feeling, for one unguarded awful moment, not alarmed but relieved.
Relieved. Like some part of him had been waiting for the world to arrange itself like this. Like he had slept better with your breath against his shirt than he had any right to.
That was the dangerous thing. Not desire. Desire was simple enough to recognise and avoid. Jack had been avoiding wanting you for months with the grim discipline of a man disarming a device he refused to admit was live.
But this— This quiet. This ease. This body-deep reluctance to leave. That was what frightened him. Your breathing changed. He heard it before you moved. A slight catch. A deeper inhale. The soft, muddled shift of someone beginning to surface.
Jack opened his eyes. He still did not move. There was no good version of this. If he pulled away now, you would wake to rejection. If he stayed, you would wake to everything.
You stirred again. Your hand slid a little against his shirt. Then stopped. Your body went still. Jack held his breath. He felt the exact moment you woke properly. Your fingers curled.
Your cheek lifted a fraction. For a second, neither of you did anything. Then your eyes opened against the dim grey of his chest. You blinked. Once. Twice. Jack watched your face change.
Sleep-soft confusion. Recognition. Horror. Not horror of him, he thought. Not that. Horror of the situation. Of your hand on him. Of your leg tangled with his. Of his arm around you like he had made some claim in his sleep that he had not had the courage to make awake.
You lifted your head very slowly. Your eyes met his. Your hair was mussed on one side. Your face was warm from sleep. There was a faint line from his shirt pressed into your cheek.
Jack's chest tightened with such abrupt force that it bordered on pain. "Morning," he said. It came out low. Too rough. Your mouth parted. Nothing came out for a second. Then, because apparently you were both determined to survive by saying the least helpful things possible, you whispered, "Hi."
Neither of you moved. His arm was still around you. Your hand was still on his chest. The room was still cold. The snow kept hitting the window in softer gusts now, less violent than the night before but steady. The world outside had gone pale and quiet, buried under white.
Your eyes dropped to where his arm lay across your back. Jack became very aware of his hand again. He loosened it at once. "Sorry." The word left him before he could stop it.
Your gaze snapped back to his face. "No," you said quickly. "No, I'm— I'm sorry. I must have—" "We both moved." You stopped. Jack watched that land. You looked down between you, where the blankets were tangled around your legs, where the pillow boundary had failed catastrophically, where all the evidence suggested neither of you had been an innocent bystander.
"Oh," you said. Jack's mouth twitched faintly. It was not exactly funny. Except it was a little funny. You saw the almost-smile and exhaled a small, embarrassed laugh. "The wall failed," you murmured.
"Poor construction." "I blame the contractor." "You approved the design." "I was under duress." "You were under a blanket." "That too." The tiny rhythm of banter returned like a match struck in the cold.
It did not fix the intimacy. It made it worse, actually. Because neither of you had moved away. Not properly. Jack's arm had loosened, but his hand had not left your back. Your hand had shifted lower against his ribs, but it had not disappeared. Your knee was still pressed against his thigh beneath the covers.
You both knew. You both pretended not to know for one more second. Then you said, softer, "Are you okay?" Jack looked at you. He could have answered the usual way. He almost did.
The word sat ready. Fine. A shield. A reflex. An old door that knew how to close itself. But your face was close to his, and your voice had none of the clinical edge people usually carried when they asked him that. You were not asking about pain only. You were not asking whether he needed help. You were not asking because you had seen something and wanted reassurance that it had not disturbed you.
You were asking because you had woken in his arms and still wanted to know if he was alright. Jack looked away. "Yeah." A beat. Then, because the room had apparently stripped him of common sense, he added, "Better than expected."
Your expression changed. Slowly. Carefully. Like you did not want to frighten the admission by looking at it too quickly. "Yeah?" you asked. Jack should have corrected course.
He did not. "Yeah." Your fingers relaxed against his shirt. The movement was tiny. He felt it everywhere. "I'm okay too," you said, though he had not asked aloud yet. He looked back at you.
"You sure?" You nodded. Your cheek was still marked from his shirt. It made you look younger somehow, more vulnerable, and he hated that the sight of it did something warm and unreasonable to him.
"I'm sure." The words settled. No one moved. The morning had made the room visible in pieces. The room service tray near the door. His suitcase open on the rack. Your bag on the floor with a sleeve hanging out. The dead phone on the nightstand. The useless lamp. The curtains breathing faintly whenever the wind found a seam at the window.
And the bed. The two of you in it. Too close to pretend it meant nothing. Not close enough, a terrible part of him thought. Jack shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "You're probably cold."
You blinked. Then laughed, the sound soft against him. "That's where we're going?" "It's relevant." "Is it?" "The power's still out." "Ah. Logistics." "Yes." "Professional courtesy?"
He looked down at you. The joke had been easier last night. Now it sounded like a challenge. His hand, still traitorous, rested against your back. Your body was warm where it touched his.
He could feel your heart beating. "No," he said. The word left quietly. Barely more than breath. But it changed everything. Your smile faded. Not in a bad way. In the way a person goes still when a door opens somewhere they thought was locked.
"No?" you asked. Jack swallowed. The smart thing would be to move. Sit up. Reach for his phone. Check the flight status. Talk about snowplows and airport delays and work schedules and the thousands of ordinary facts that could bury this one extraordinary one.
He was good at ordinary facts. He was good at burying things. But you were looking at him, and for once, the cost of silence seemed heavier than the cost of speech. "No," he said again.
You looked at him for a long moment. Then your hand flattened gently against his chest. Not pulling him closer. Not pushing away. Just there. "Okay," you whispered. Jack had no idea what that meant.
He had no idea if you meant okay, I understand or okay, stop or okay, me too. He had no idea how a single word could make him want to lean in and run at the same time. His voice came out rougher than he wanted.
"You should know better." Your eyebrows drew together. "Than what?" He looked at you. "Than to get involved with me." The words were blunt because bluntness was easier than fear.
There. Said. Ugly thing on the table. Except there was no table. Just a cold hotel room, a failed pillow wall, and your hand over the centre of his chest. Your expression shifted.
Not hurt. Not quite. Angry, maybe. Softly. The way you got angry with patients who apologised for needing help. "Jack." He looked away. "I'm serious." "I know you are." "You work with me."
"I noticed." His mouth tightened despite himself. "You know what I mean." "I do." Your voice stayed quiet. "But I also know I'm not a child, and I don't need you to make decisions for me because you've decided you're complicated."
His eyes came back to yours. That hit somewhere precise. You knew it too. He saw it in the way your face softened after the words landed, like you had not meant them to bruise but were not taking them back either.
"You are," you said. "Complicated. So am I. So is everyone who works where we work and keeps showing up anyway." "That's not the same." "No," you agreed. "It isn't." The honesty of that did more damage than reassurance would have.
You did not pretend he was easy. You did not pretend there was no grief in him, no damage, no history that stood in rooms before he did. You did not smooth him down into someone more convenient. You did not make him harmless.
You just stayed. "You deserve someone who—" he began. "No." Jack stopped. Your voice had sharpened. Not loud. Not harsh. Just firm enough to cut through the sentence before he could use it against both of you.
"No?" "No," you said. "You don't get to do that." His brows drew together. You pushed yourself up a little, enough that your faces were no longer so close, though your hand still rested lightly on him.
"You don't get to decide what I deserve if the only reason you're doing it is because you're scared I might choose you anyway." Jack went utterly still. Outside, the wind dragged snow across the glass in a long hiss.
Your own face changed then, as if you had surprised yourself. But you did not look away. Brave, Jack thought suddenly. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just there, under the borrowed sleep shirt and the oversized sweatpants and the line from his shirt on your cheek.
Braver than him, maybe. Often. His throat worked. "That's not—" he started. You waited. He stopped. Because it was. Of course it was. The room was quiet. You sighed softly, not with impatience. With tiredness. With tenderness. With something that made him feel more exposed than anger would have.
"I'm not asking you for everything right now," you said. "I'm not asking you to have some perfect answer in a hotel room with no power after six hours of sleep and terrible conference food."
"Good," he said, because he was still himself. "That would be unreasonable." A smile broke over your face before you could stop it. Small. Affectionate. Devastating. "There he is."
His chest tightened again. You said it like you had been waiting for him under all the fear. Like the deflection was not all of him, but it was a familiar enough piece to love.
Love. No. Not going there. Not yet. Jack looked at your hand on his chest. Your fingers shifted as if you had only just realised you were still touching him. You began to pull away.
He caught your wrist. Gently. Not enough to hold you if you wanted to go. Just enough to make you pause. You looked at him. Jack stared at the place where his fingers circled your wrist.
Your pulse tapped against his thumb. Fast. Not fear, he thought. Or not only fear. His voice was low when he spoke. "I'm not good at this." Your face softened again. "I know."
That might have offended someone else. For Jack, it felt like relief. "I mean it," he said. "I know." "I'll make it harder than it needs to be." "Probably." His eyes flicked up.
You shrugged a little. "What? You will." A faint laugh moved through him before he could stop it. You smiled, and the whole room changed around it. "But I'm not exactly known for choosing the easy thing," you said.
"No?" "No." "That seems like a character flaw." "You would know." His thumb moved once, unconsciously, over the inside of your wrist. You looked down at the movement. So did he.
The banter faded. The air shifted again. Jack let go of your wrist. But slowly. Very slowly. Your hand did not retreat this time. It lowered to the blanket between you, close to his.
The space from last night returned. Almost. A language, you had made it into. A habit. Jack was tired of almost. That was the problem. He had been tired of it for a while.
He had just called it professionalism. Timing. Caution. Decency. Self-preservation. He had dressed fear up in enough adult words that it could pass through most rooms unchallenged.
But here, in the low morning light, with your hair mussed and your body still warm from his and your eyes not letting him disappear inside his own excuses, it looked exactly like what it was.
Fear. And wanting. Both. Your phone buzzed. Neither of you moved. It buzzed again. You closed your eyes. "Dana," Jack said. "Probably." "Persistent." "You respect that." "I do."
The phone buzzed a third time. You groaned softly and reached toward the nightstand, nearly overbalancing because the blankets were tangled around your legs. Jack's hand moved to your waist automatically, steadying you.
You froze. So did he. His palm was warm through the shirt. Your eyes met. The phone stopped buzzing. Neither of you said anything. His hand stayed where it was. You were close again.
Not accidentally this time. Not entirely. Jack could see the hesitation in your face. Not doubt. Not regret. Just awareness. The same line both of you had been walking for months, suddenly under your bare feet.
He should have let go. He did not. Your gaze dropped to his mouth. It was so quick he might have missed it if he had not been looking for some reason not to be the only one losing the fight.
His breath changed. You noticed. Of course you did. "Jack," you whispered. He had heard his name in every possible context. Shouted across trauma bays. Snapped in frustration. Called over noise. Written on charts. Spoken by patients, colleagues, strangers, people dying, people grieving, people angry enough to spit.
He had never heard it like that. Soft. Terrified. Wanting. It reached somewhere he had not fortified well enough. He lifted his hand from your waist slowly, giving you time to stop him. Giving himself time to stop.
Neither of you did. His fingers brushed your jaw. Barely. A question more than a touch. Your eyes fluttered, then held his. He leaned in. Not all the way. Just enough. Enough that your breath warmed his mouth. Enough that the whole room seemed to vanish except for the inch between you. Enough that if either of you moved, there would be no pretending this was about weather or beds or professional courtesy.
Your phone rang. Loudly. You both jerked back. The sound tore through the room with the violence of an overhead page. Your phone skittered slightly on the nightstand as it vibrated.
Dana's name lit the screen. For one second, you and Jack stared at it. Then Jack closed his eyes. You made a sound that was half laugh, half despair. "I'm going to kill her," you whispered.
"No, you're not." "I might." "You like her." "That's the only thing saving her." The phone kept ringing. You grabbed it, cheeks flushed, and answered with the tone of someone clinging to the last scraps of dignity.
"Dana." Jack lay back against the pillows and looked at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him. You avoided looking at him. Mostly. "What? Yes, I'm alive. No, the power's still out." You paused. "No, I'm not in the lobby."
Jack's eyes closed harder. You sat up a little straighter, dragging the blanket with you. "No, I found somewhere safe." Another pause. "Dana." Jack turned his head slightly.
Even in the dim light, you could see the amusement beginning to break through his exasperation. Your face warmed further. "Because I'm an adult and I don't have to give you my full lodging itinerary." You listened, then looked briefly skyward. "Yes, I ate. Yes, actual food. No, not just coffee."
Jack mouthed, barely. You glared at him. He looked almost pleased with himself. "I am ignoring that," you said into the phone, though you were not entirely sure whether you meant Dana or Jack. "How's the ED?"
The shift was instant. Jack saw it. Felt it, almost. The way your face changed. The softness tucked away. The clinical focus returning. Concern sharpening your posture even though you were sitting in his bed in his clothes with your hair a mess.
You listened for nearly a minute. The room changed with you. Jack watched quietly. "They got extra staff in?" you asked. "Good. Is Robby there? Of course he is." You smiled faintly. "Tell him Abbott hasn't caused an interstate incident yet."
Jack gave you a look. You ignored it. "No, don't tell him the rest." A beat. "There is no rest." Jack's eyebrows rose. You covered your eyes with one hand. "Dana." Your voice dropped. "I'm hanging up now."
Whatever Dana said made your mouth fall open. Jack could not hear it, but he could guess the flavour. You pointed at the phone like she could see you. "That is harassment."
A pause. "Love you too." You hung up. The room went quiet. You set the phone down very carefully. Jack waited. You did not look at him. "She knows," he said. You nodded once. "She knows something."
"What did she say?" "No." "That bad?" "She said…" You stopped, pressing your lips together. Jack watched your restraint with growing interest. "She said?" You turned to him, face hot. "She said if I'm with you, she hopes you're being less emotionally constipated than usual."
Jack blinked. Once. Then looked away. You waited. His shoulders moved. Just slightly. Then again. "Oh my God," you said. "Are you laughing?" "No." "You are." "I'm not." "You absolutely are."
He pressed his fingers to his brow. It was contained. Barely audible. But it was there — a low, reluctant laugh that seemed dragged out of him against his will. The sight of it did something catastrophic to you.
Jack Abbott laughing in a dark hotel room under a snowstorm because Dana had called him emotionally constipated. Your heart did not stand a chance. "It's not funny," he said.
"It's very funny." "She's insubordinate." "She's charge." "That explains the confidence." You laughed then too, and the room warmed a little around the sound. It helped. It saved you, maybe.
Or delayed the inevitable. Jack's laughter faded first, but not completely. There was still something loose around his mouth when he looked back at you. For a second, it was easy to imagine waking up like this again. Not in a hotel. Not because of a storm. Just morning. His voice. Your phone. Someone from work interrupting with unnecessary accuracy. Jack pretending to be annoyed while secretly pleased you had people who checked on you.
The thought must have shown on your face because his expression softened. Not much. Enough. "ED's okay?" he asked. You nodded. "Busy. Not catastrophic. Roads are bad, but night shift got stuck, day shift came in early, everyone's annoyed but functioning."
"Normal disaster mode." "Pretty much." "Good." "Robby told Dana to tell you that if you're bored, you can review the conference notes and send him bullet points." Jack's expression went dead flat.
You grinned. "He did not." "No." "Good." "He did say, apparently, that you should not pick fights with anyone from cardiology while stranded." "Cardiology keeps coming up."
"You have a reputation." "I have standards." "Same system?" "Same system." The quiet settled again, gentler this time. You were sitting up now, blanket around your shoulders, and Jack was still half-reclined beside you. The accidental closeness had been disrupted, but not erased. If anything, the interruption had made the unfinished thing between you brighter.
You both knew what had almost happened before the phone rang. Neither of you could unknow it. Jack looked at your phone, then at the dead lamp. "We should check flights."
"Probably." Neither of you moved. A beat passed. Then another. You turned your head toward him. "Jack." He looked at you. There was caution in his face again, but not the closed kind. More like a man standing at the edge of a room he had avoided for years, listening for whether it was safe to step inside.
You swallowed. "We don't have to pretend nothing almost happened." His jaw flexed. "No." "No, we don't?" "No," he said. "We don't." The answer was steady. Your pulse was not.
"Okay." "Okay." It would have been easier if one of you had looked away. Neither of you did. Jack's hand rested on the blanket near your knee. Yours rested beside it, fingers curled in the fabric.
Close. Almost. Again. This time, you moved. Only a little. Your fingers brushed his. Jack looked down. You waited. His hand turned beneath yours. Slowly. Palm up. An offering.
Not dramatic. Not polished. Not the kind of gesture that belonged in speeches or films. Just Jack, quiet and tired and scared enough to be careful, letting you decide if you wanted to take what he could give right now.
You slid your hand into his. His fingers closed around yours. Warm. Firm. Real. Something in your chest unknotted so abruptly it almost hurt. Jack kept looking at your joined hands like he was studying an X-ray for a fracture line.
Then he said, "This is a bad idea." You squeezed his hand once. "Probably." His eyes lifted. You smiled faintly. "You're not the only one allowed to make bad decisions." "That's not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be." "You could try." "I could." "You won't." "No." A faint almost-smile tugged at his mouth. The shape of it was so familiar now it made you ache. "What happens when we get home?" you asked.
There. The real question. Not the storm. Not the bed. Not the almost-kiss. Home. The Pitt. The ED. Dana's loud eyebrows. Robby's knowing looks. Long shifts. Short breaks. Professional distance. Charts and traumas and grief and the kind of fatigue that made honest things hard to hold.
Jack's fingers tightened around yours. Not much. Enough. "I don't know," he said. The answer should have disappointed you. It did not. Because he did not pull away. Because he did not say nothing.
Because Jack Abbott admitting uncertainty while holding your hand felt more intimate than any clean promise would have. You nodded. "Okay." "That enough?" "For this minute?"
His eyes stayed on yours. "Yes." You looked down at your joined hands. "For this minute, yeah." Jack let out a slow breath. Then, after a long moment, he said, "When we get home, I'd like to take you to dinner."
You looked up so fast you nearly hurt your neck. "What?" His face shifted, some of the vulnerability closing under dry irritation. "You heard me." "I did. I'm just checking for carbon monoxide."
"The power's out, not the ventilation." "Could be subtle." "It's not carbon monoxide." "It might be concussion. Did you hit your head?" "You're making this difficult." "I'm panicking."
"That's obvious." You laughed, breathless and ridiculous and on the edge of something much softer. Jack's eyes warmed. There. No hiding it this time. Not entirely. "Dinner," he repeated.
Your smile settled. "Like a date?" His thumb moved once against yours. "Yes." One word. No flourish. No professional courtesy. Just yes. Your heart went very quiet. Then very loud.
"When we get home," you said. "When we get home." "And not at the hospital cafeteria." His eyebrows lifted. "You have standards." "I do." "Good." "Somewhere with actual food."
"Fine." "And no orthopedic surgeons." "That may be harder to guarantee." You smiled. He did too. Barely. Perfectly. The room hummed suddenly. You both looked up. The heater clicked.
The lamp beside the bed flickered once, then turned on, flooding the room with warm yellow light. The power was back. For some reason, neither of you moved for several seconds.
The return of normal things felt rude. The lamp. The heater. The faint buzz from the mini fridge. The hotel room snapping back into itself as if it had not spent the night holding you both outside of ordinary life.
Then your phone began charging again and immediately buzzed with a flood of notifications. Jack looked at it. "You're popular." "I'm monitored." "Accurate." The heat began to push through the room slowly. The window stayed pale and snow-blurred, but the worst of the storm seemed to have softened. Somewhere beyond the walls, the hotel came alive again — pipes shifting, voices rising, the distant chime of an elevator finding power.
The spell should have broken. Maybe it did. Maybe that was why you noticed, suddenly, that you were still holding Jack's hand. Maybe that was why Jack noticed too. Neither of you let go.
Not immediately. Then, carefully, like he did not want you to mistake the movement for regret, Jack released your hand and reached for his phone. "Flights," he said. "Right."
"Need to know if we're stuck another day." "Imagine." His eyes flicked to yours. You held his gaze. The joke did not quite land as a joke. A flush climbed your neck. Jack looked back at his phone.
His mouth twitched. "Airport's delayed," he said after a moment. "Cancelled?" "Not yet." You checked your own phone. It took a second to load, then the airline app opened with the kind of cheerful incompetence only travel software could manage.
"My flight's still showing delayed." "Mine too." "So we might get home." "Might." You sat there with him, both of you looking down at your screens and pretending the ordinary task was enough to steady the room.
It helped. A little. Then a notification from Dana appeared at the top of your phone. DANA: If he asks you to dinner, say yes. If he doesn't, tell him I'm disappointed but not surprised.
You stared at it. Jack glanced sideways. "What?" "Nothing." "Dana again?" "No." "Liar." You turned the phone screen down against the blanket. "She's invasive." "She's usually right."
You looked at him. Jack's eyes were on his phone, but his expression had gone deliberately neutral. A smile crept across your face. "She is, actually." He looked up then.
The warmth between you changed shape. Not less. Just steadier. A little less accidental. A little more chosen. You tucked the blanket around yourself and leaned back against the headboard, suddenly aware of how tired you still were. The night had not been restful, exactly, even if it had been something close. Your body felt warm now in the returning heat, heavy with interrupted sleep and emotional whiplash.
Jack noticed. Of course. "Sleep another hour," he said. You blinked. "What?" "Flights aren't going anywhere yet. Checkout's delayed because of the outage. Sleep." "You too?"
"I'm awake." "That is not an answer." "It was adjacent to one." You gave him a look. He sighed. "Fine." "Fine?" "I'll sleep." "Good." "But if you steal the blanket—" "I will."
His mouth twitched. "You admit it?" "I contain multitudes." "Mostly theft." "Mostly survival." He set his phone down and reached to turn off the lamp. Then he paused. The room was warm-lit now, no longer hidden in emergency glow. Morning had made everything more visible. More real.
He looked at the bed. Then at you. The pillow wall was still at the bottom of the mattress, defeated and crumpled beyond repair. You followed his gaze. A laugh threatened, but your throat felt too tight for it.
"Do we rebuild the border?" you asked. Jack looked at the pillow. Then at you. "No," he said. Soft. Certain. Your breath caught. He did not touch you. He did not make it bigger than that.
He just turned off the lamp, easing the room back into dim morning, and settled under the covers beside you. Not as far away as before. Not pressed close either. Just there.
Close enough that if either of you shifted in sleep, you might find each other again. Close enough that pretending would require more effort than honesty. You lay on your side facing him.
Jack lay on his back, eyes on the ceiling. For a minute, neither of you spoke. Then you said, very softly, "Dinner when we get home." His eyes closed. "Yes." "Not professional courtesy."
His mouth moved. "No." You smiled into the quiet. Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, under the returning heat and the tired morning hush, Jack reached beneath the blanket and found your hand again.
