PART ONE OF FAIR WINDS.
(ao3!) (playlist!) (masterlist!)
FAIR WINDS — JACK ABBOT
pairing: jack abbot x fem!attending!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: two months into your mandated veteran ptsd support group, your leader, curtis, abruptly passes away, leaving behind a note with very specific orders. one of those orders? for his old vet friend jack abbot to take over the group in the interim. lucky for you, another one of those orders is for jack to keep a close eye on you. even luckier, jack just so happens to be one of your fellow attendings at your new job.
word count & rating: 9.3k, R
chapter warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mentions of death and a brief mention of suicide, typical pitt blood, guts, and gore, probably conflict of interest with how the reader and abbot's lives coinside but its fine, discussions of grief and illusions/minor flashbacks to traumatizing events involving death and blood, likely inaccurate medical talk (i am a woman with google, reddit, and a dream), reader is a little mean but we love complicated characters, banter, lots of angst, slight fluff. also sooooo not beta read but shut up about it
author's note: well, it's here. the long awaited follow up to flight risk. very similar vibes going on here when it comes to in-depth character studies and angst, but it's still going to be fun and cute and hot. WARNING: this fic will deal a lot with death, grief, and the work that's involved with overcoming it. if that's not something you're in the headspace for, totally get it. if you're ready for the ride, i'm so happy you're here to enjoy it. love you all tons! -mags
There is something so overwhelmingly exhausting about pretending to be interested in other people's issues.
It's a bitchy thing to say, and dear God, you know that, but at the end of the day, you’ve found that the only thing that's more exhausting than pretending to be interested in other people's issues is pretending to believe that you’re a good person. Because after years of that bullshit and after years of realizing the only person you were fooling was yourself, you figured that you should start embracing it.
The world didn't always look like this. It wasn't always so gray and jaded and miserable-looking. You weren’t always that way, either. You used to be a good person, or something like one, at least. You used to care. Caring and listening to people’s issues, in all ways, shapes, and forms, has been your career for years upon years. It was easier to do so before everything. You think about before a lot.
It feels like a distant memory, something in the realm of a dream. It’s strange to think that there once was a before to begin with. It feels strange to know that you used to be a different person and that you were once more than the shit you carry around with you. It's even weirder to think that you, at one point in time, didn't have that baggage. You didn't even know it was coming. There's a piece of you that wishes you had some way to know before it all happened, simply just to appreciate life without it. There's another piece of you that knows that all of those experiences would have been tainted, though. Especially if you knew you’d end up here one day.
Here is a VA in the middle of Pittsburgh, where you’re listening to some guy named Paul talk about how much he misses the feeling of having a gun in his hand. You wish you were interested. You really do. But you’ve been stuck in your head for the last fifteen minutes, thinking about your own week and your own issues as people vent about theirs. It's probably not what your therapist envisioned for you when she ordered you to attend these 'Veteran PTSD Group Meetings' once a week, but hey, you’re here. You’re not skipping them like you used to. That's enough, right?
The meeting's small-- ten people, max-- made up of mostly men who all look to be as in their heads as you are (you feel a little guilty, but that does make you feel a bit better. You’re not the only asshole here). The guy who's leading is new, replacing your mentor, Curtis, who used to lead these meetings. You’ve got nothing against him; he mostly knows what he's doing and is a bit rougher around the edges than Curtis was, but you don’t mind.
Curtis was moonier than this guy. He liked words like validate and phrases like we’re all on our own journeys. His vernacular had originally made you roll your eyes, but eventually, it was something you’d grown to appreciate. It was difficult to be soft without being irritating in a place like this.
This guy didn’t have much of that. He’d repeated the phrase I hear you, man approximately seven times since this had begun, and seemed to prefer to have a conversation with each person rather than counsel them.
He introduces himself as Jack Abbot. He tells your group he was a Vet and that he’s now a doctor. Apparently, he's been in the area for a while and happened to meet Curtis at a Vet bar a couple of years ago through a mutual friend. They’d been friends. Great friends, even.
He tells you he was actually one of the last people to see Curtis before he passed.
Your heart lurches as he drops that fact. While you’d only known Curtis for a few months, this guy had known him for years. You couldn’t imagine what he was feeling.
Two weeks ago, Curtis had been found in his bathroom, unconscious with a bottle of pills beside him. But he wasn’t unconscious.
His cause of death had been presented to you more kindly than that. Something about losing his battle, something about mental health demons. You were well aware of the tragic irony of your PTSD support leader losing to the things he was trying to help you fight. You’d also seen it happen one too many times, especially with veterans his age. The VA stops checking in, the government stops giving a fuck about you. There’s very little support for the ones who make it out.
Jack lets you know that, as a final favor to his friend, he agreed to take over the Group in the interim. Just until they find another, preferably more qualified person to take over. He makes a joke about paying him back for something or another, because he needed to add yet another thing to his plate.
Out of everything he says in the first couple of minutes, the real thing that sticks with you is that he didn’t introduce himself as Doctor Jack Abbot like so many in your profession do.
At least he’s not pretentious, you think.
But, then again, you could have guessed that by the… well, everything about him.
Despite this, admittedly, you haven’t been the most welcoming to Jack. It's nothing personal, and it doesn't mean that you don't like him (something that you’re pretty sure he knows), but you can't seem to talk to him the way you talk to Curtis. You miss his stupid, sweet, moony ass.
While you’d had a meeting last week to unpack everyone’s feelings about the tragedy, you’d stayed completely silent. It wasn’t uncommon for you not to participate, but it was common for people to at least hear your voice. But you couldn’t even try to speak up. You’d just sat there and cried. You’re not like that. You haven’t been in months.
You’re not Paul, who seems to love to talk about his problems. You’re not Katie, the sweet woman four seats away from you, who brings homemade cookies to every meeting, who has no issue speaking her mind. And she’s able to be articulate about it. Asshole.
When it comes to these meetings, you prefer to speak when spoken to. You’d answer Curtis’s questions in a short, hopefully succinct way that won’t draw that much attention to yourself. You’d talk to him privately if you truly needed some sort of guidance. That was fine with him, and that was fine with you.
What's not fine with you, however, is the fact that you can feel Jack’s eyes shifting to you every ten seconds. You refuse to look away from the slightly dirty tile floor because you know that as soon as you do, he's going to ask you something.
Paul's wrapping up his rant. Jack’s telling him that he appreciates his sharing. You want to fucking leave as soon as there's a brief silence because just as you thought—
“You,” Jack’s voice is like an alarm going off after only an hour of sleep. "The one who’s trying her hardest not to look at me right now.”
Fuck. You feel like you’re back in school, being called on by the teacher in class when you don’t know the answer. Slowly, you meet his gaze, trying your best to act like you don’t know that he’s talking about you.
A wry sort of smile tugs at his lips as you lock eyes. “Yeah, you. I see you.”
You could keel over and die. It’d certainly be a faster way to see Curtis again. When it’s clear that you’re not going to respond to him, that smile of his grows ever so slightly. "You feel like sharing today?" he asks.
You shift uncomfortably. "Not really."
"Alright," he says. It’s not sarcastic or clipped like you’d thought his response to that would be. There’s a brief pause before he asks, “Would you at least be open to introducing yourself to me?”
Your lips part, not expecting that. You figure that you should have. He’d asked about everyone’s backgrounds before talking to them, or had woven those types of questions into the conversation. If you were giving him nothing, he’d at least try for this. It makes you scowl.
You tell him your name. You say that you moved to Pittsburgh just about five weeks ago. You let him know you were a military doctor. Navy. Discharged recently as a Captain. You don’t miss the intrigue in his eyes when he leans back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Navy, huh?” he asks. His voice is lilted with humor as he points at himself. “Army. I was a field medic.”
You all but groan. “I’m being counseled by a grunt?”
“Easy with the names,” he chuckles. “Last thing you want is me calling you a Squid for these next few weeks. Because I will.”
Fine. Maybe he’s kind of fun. “So, you were a field medic. You said you’re a doctor now, right?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “Didn’t become one of those until much later on. You’re a few steps ahead of me, Captain.”
You feel the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly. “I would have done it your way,” you reply. “Less required time.”
“Yeah, but I’ll bet you had a hell of a lot less debt,” he replies.
You make a face as if to say, fair enough.
This new rapport has him comfortable enough to ask, “What were you discharged for?”
The question has you feeling as though you’ve been dunked in an ice bath. Curtis knew the answer to that coming in. You never had to talk in-depth about it in front of the group. They knew you were here for similar reasons to them-- PTSD from combat, poor mental health help from the VA, and therapist-required attendance. You’d covered what you were comfortable with ad nauseam.
But talking about… all of that? Those were conversations for you and your therapist only.
Jack clocks the look on your face immediately and knows he’s made a misstep.
You swallow, shifting in your chair uncomfortably. You shift your gaze for half a second. “Next question, please.”
Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. He just nods, staring at you as if he’s trying to figure you out. There’s a piece of you that knows what he’s doing— he’s assessing a patient. You’ve done it millions of times yourself. However, there’s something about being on the receiving end of it that makes your skin crawl.
The intensity of his stare makes you feel like he can see right through you. It’s like he already knows. It’s as if he can see inside your head and has been sitting in there the entire time, simply observing. He’s got one eyebrow raised, eyes slightly narrowed, accusatory without the aggressive nature of an accusation. Hint of a smile on his face. You can't help but look away again.
You wish Curtis were here. If he were asking questions like that, maybe you’d be more inclined to answer. He'd... Well, would have understood. He always understood.
"How about..." Jack begins, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, clasping his hands together. "...you just tell me what you're thinking about right now?"
You nearly laugh out loud. "Not sure that's gonna be what you want to hear."
He shrugs. "I don't care. Let me have it."
Your lips part at his response. You’re not sure if you should. You’re not sure if you want to. You don’t know why he's so intent on getting you to speak today, but here he is. You glance around the room at the other members of the group, who now have all decided to pay attention. Your lips twist into a scowl.
It's clear Jack’s not going to give up. You huff. He brought this one on himself.
"I'm thinking about—" You cut yourself off, clearing your throat. It echoes throughout the room. "I'm thinking about how much I miss Curtis."
You catch Paul snickering to himself out of the corner of your eye. However, you’re not expecting Jack to laugh.
"Ouch.” He doesn't look at you any less kindly. You’re not sure how to react to that. "What's got you thinking about that?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
Yes, you do, and you hate that he can tell. The silence in the room makes your ears ring. You can't take your eyes off the chip in the tile you found. You wish you were anywhere but here or anyone but yourself. If someone else were in your position, maybe they’d know what to say to get Jack off your back right now.
You’re getting fed up with everything already (yourself, him, the situation, your life, fucking everything) and you can feel that ever-present aggravation begin to bubble up in your stomach. You remember your brief stint in anger-management training and take a deep breath, shutting your eyes as you inhale. You’ve got something to say when you exhale and your eyes open.
“I’ve just…” You meet Jack’s eyes for a brief second before you focus on the floor again. “I’ve had a really bad week. It isn’t just the stuff with Curtis, either. There’s a ton of transition happening for me right now. I don’t… do well with change, and this week, I’ve got a lot changing for me. So, Curtis being gone on top of all of that?” A sigh escapes your body as the words do. “It’s hard. Talking like this to someone I don’t know is hard. Especially this week.” Jack’s smiling when you look at him again. “I don’t mean to be rude or closed off, or whatever.”
That smile remains on his face, and when it’s clear that you’re done, he shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” he tells you. “I get it. I’m bad with change, too.”
It’s a casual dismissal. It’s way more understanding than you had expected. Curtis would have made you stick with that feeling. Expand upon it. Explain to him why you were so uncomfortable with change. He wouldn’t have gotten into the transition of it all, but he would have been… Curtis about it. You suppose that if Jack were sticking around, you really should stop comparing the two of them. It’s easier said than done.
Before you can react to that in any way, he continues. “Can I ask you one more thing? Then you can tell me to fuck off?”
Your brows raise, too taken aback by him to do anything but agree. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
His head tilts ever so slightly. “What kind of change is happening this week?”
That you can talk about. That you’re actually excited for.
“New job,” you reply. “Starts Monday.”
Jack’s eyes narrow for a split second before he leans back in his chair once more. “Monday?” he repeats. “Clinic? Hospital? VA? Private?”
“Hospital. I work better in a high-stress environment. Used to it.”
There’s a small smile on his lips, as if he knows the answer to the next question he’s about to ask you. “What department, Doc?”
The look on his face has you hesitating. “ED.”
You’re not expecting that small smile of his to get wider. There are no teeth shown, but the shift is noticeable. You can’t help but shake the feeling that he knows something that you don’t.
“Exciting,” he finally says. Then, he nods at you. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a fun first day.”
Within a split second, he’s moving on to Katie, four seats away from you, asking her about the tin of cookies in her lap.
She tells him they’re oatmeal chocolate chip, and Jack lets her know that those are his favorite.
He doesn’t ask you another question all night.
Jack’s cryptic responses make sense within the first three minutes of your first day on the job.
You’d walked into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital fifteen minutes before your 7 AM start time, always preferring to be early, especially on the first day. Not only had you wanted to make a good impression, but years of military training had made you way more regimented than you ever thought you’d be. Five minutes early meant that you were five minutes late. You preferred never to get into that threshold.
Throughout your extensive interview process with the hospital and its other attending doctors, you’d spoken with Doctor Michael Robinivitch the most. He’d been warm and cordial each time you’d talked, addressing each of your questions and concerns with an easy, casual professionalism that had instantly made you feel more welcome.
He, of course, had his own questions and concerns for you— people with your background didn’t typically leave the Medical Corps to join EDs, especially in Pittsburgh. Even more, people with your personal reasons for leaving certainly didn’t bounce back as quickly as you had. You were sure your responses weren’t as easy and casual as his had been, but it seemed that they were received well enough.
However, none of those right answers meant that you were competent at your job. Today, you had to show exactly what it was you could do. You weren’t worried about that. Proving yourself was something you could do. You were never shy about your skillset. You hadn’t been top of your class for nothing.
But, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, now that you were here, you were a bit nervous about stepping back into this type of environment. While yes, you did work better in high-stress places and knew you could handle the different ailments and traumas that would be thrown at you, you hadn’t been in a place like this in… well, since everything.
Doctor Robinivitch (Robby, he’d told you to call him, you’d have to remember that) had voiced his apprehension about that exact thing. He’d told you that while he wasn’t worried about how you’d perform, he wanted to make sure that you were ready for all of it. You had assured him you would be. You’d understood why he’d be concerned about it, but you wouldn’t be applying for these positions unless you were sure you were ready to return. Not only would it not be fair to your patients, but it wouldn't be fair to the team. You weren’t reckless enough to risk putting anyone in that position.
He’d liked that way of thinking enough to let you know you were hired the next day.
There was no time for nerves. There couldn’t be. You knew how this worked. The second you met Robby, the residents, and the nurses, they’d be throwing you face-first into the deep end. You couldn’t afford to wear a life jacket. You were ready for this. You had to be.
What you were not ready for, however, was to see your substitute PTSD Group leader chatting with one of the nurses as he entered something into a computer the second you walked into the ED.
Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor as you froze in place. The sound was loud enough to carry over the typical noise of the floor, and your stomach dropped the second Jack’s eyes shifted to meet yours.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the perplexed, mildly outraged look you wore.
Had he known? He had to have known, right? He had to have known that a new attending was starting this week, one that had come straight from the Navy, one that had the same background you’d briefly told him about. That’s what all of those questions were about. That’s why he was being so weird toward the end of your conversation.
The mild outrage on your face grows ever so slightly as he lifts a hand to wave at you. Jack can’t help the way his lips quirk up.
With a heavy sigh, you trudge your way over to the Nurses Station, clutching the strap of your bag. The blonde nurse he’s talking to turns her head to follow his gaze, peering over her glasses to get a better look at whatever’s caught his attention.
“Cap,” he greets you as you approach. “Happy first day.”
You scowl at him. “You could have told me what hospital you worked at.”
“You didn’t tell me where you were starting,” he replies, which, you suppose, is fair.
But still, you argue, “You’d pieced it together, though. Clearly. You could have said something.”
Jack shrugs. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You scoff. “This has to be some sort of conflict of interest.”
He hums something non-committal with a small smile and goes back to whatever he was logging into the computer. You send one last look at the top of his head before turning to the nurse beside him. Her eyes have been darting back and forth between you two, watching the exchange with mild intrigue. Her eyes meet yours as you introduce yourself to her, holding out your hand. “I’m the new Attending.”
“Dana,” she replies, meeting your hand with hers. “Charge Nurse.” She shoots Jack a suspicious sort of look. “I take it you two know each other?”
Jack doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, but the humor in his voice grows. “Cap’s a military friend of mine.”
It’s a simple and wildly vague answer that only makes Dana’s suspicion grow. There’s a piece of you that’s thankful that he didn’t mention the Group meetings. The other wishes he’d at least tried to come up with a story.
Still, you nod at Dana with a sigh. “Yeah. We go way back.” It comes out way more sarcastic than you’d intended, and as the words land, you send her a small smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, though.”
“Nice to meet you too,” she replies, and it’s clear that she doesn’t believe a word of your story. “Robby will be in in a few. I’ll let you two catch up.”
She raises her brows at Jack before she leaves, silently letting him know that she will be harassing him with questions about this later.
The second she’s gone, the smile falls from your face, and you scowl at him when he finally looks at you once more. “I told you that I got a job ED at a hospital in the area, and you didn’t think to mention—”
“There are four in the area you could have been starting at,” he says breezily, straightening up from his hunched-over position.
“I’d argue that you, of all people, would have been told that a new Naval Doc was starting here as an attending—”
“Well, you know what they say about assuming—”
“Are you gonna be this annoying for the entire shift?” you ask.
Jack snorts. “I’m nights. You only gotta worry about me for the next ten minutes.”
You can’t tell if the feeling that floods your body is relief or nerves. Despite how frustrating it was that he hadn’t told you that you’d be working at the same hospital, you couldn’t lie and say that your first-day jitters hadn’t been eased the second you saw him. Perhaps it was just that you’d seen a familiar face in a sea of strangers.
“Oh,” you say, and by the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly, you know he’s trying to figure out your tone as well. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”
Those eyes narrow further. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” You shrug. “It makes sense for you. You have a very night-shift vibe to you.”
“I don’t know how to take that.”
“Take it however you want.”
His lips quirk upward. “And if I were to say the same about you?”
“You wouldn’t be wrong,” you reply. “Used to be a night owl myself. Switched over a couple of months before I was discharged.”
“Which one do you like more?”
You glance around the floor and the chaos of the current shift change. “Ask me in a few weeks.”
Jack laughs again, but you notice that his eyes have shifted to look over your shoulder. The second he nods, you turn, straightening up as soon as you realize that Robby’s behind you.
He holds his hand out to shake yours with a small smile. “Morning, Doc. Happy first day.”
You hope he doesn’t notice how clammy your palm is. “Thanks. Excited to get started.”
His gaze flashes to Jack. “Whatever miserable monologue he’s given you so far, ignore it.”
Jack has the audacity to look mildly offended. “I’ve been nothing but positive.”
“And I’ve got no problem ignoring him,” you say to Robby, whose brows rocket up at your rather blunt response.
Luckily, Jack’s got you covered. “She’s an old military friend,” he says with a soft smile. “She’s been ignoring me since we met.”
You can see the relief wash over Robby’s expression. “Well, I guess we’ve got something in common,” he tells you. “We’re starting Rounds in five.”
“Heard,” you reply with a single nod, smiling politely as he makes his way over to one of the computers on the opposite side of the nurse’s station. That smile drops as you glance back at Jack. The humor in his expression only grows. “You’re still not off the hook.”
“And it’s eating me up,” he quips back, voice almost sounding bored. You watch as he closes the window on his computer screen and grabs his belongings next to him. A small smile twists his lips. “Have a good first day, Cap. Can’t wait to hear all about it in Group on Wednesday.”
“Cute of you to assume that I’m coming back,” you reply. “I’m gonna write a strongly worded email to the VA to let them know their substitute group leader is an untrustworthy, deceitful liar.”
He snorts in response and shakes his head. You could reach across the counter and sock him. “Sure,” he huffs. “You show me their response on Wednesday, okay?”
He holds your gaze for another infuriating moment before chuckling to himself once more. Your eyes don’t leave him as he walks in the direction of the lockers.
There’s steam coming out of your ears by the time Rounds starts.
Two days later, your next mandated Group meeting goes about the same as your first.
Jack continues to ‘hear you, man,’ Paul talks some more about his love for guns, and you speak just as infrequently as you did before. The only notable difference is that Katie doesn’t make cookies, and frankly, it does bum you out a little. Those were always good.
Jack seems to feel the same, given the over-dramatic sigh that escapes him at the news. “Oh, I was really looking forward to those,” he tells her. “I’ve got a shift after this. I was gonna ask if I could take the leftovers to work.”
He’s got Katie giggling softly to herself, promising she’ll make some next week, and she’ll even bring extras for him to take to the hospital.
When the meeting wraps up, you find yourself by the dinky little snack table Jack had been setting up when you had walked in. There’s a variety of grocery store brand items scattered across the top, ranging from packs of assorted nuts to granola bars and fruit snacks.
You’re slipping three packs of fruit snacks into your jacket pocket when you hear a voice behind you. “I saw that.”
A scowl immediately takes over your lips as you drop the snacks in your pocket, turning to see Jack leaning against the table with a small smirk on his lips.
“They’re the best thing on here,” you mutter. You wave a hand over the table. “If this is gonna be the norm for the next couple of weeks, I’m gonna stock up on the good stuff.”
He glances at your hand. “These aren’t good options?”
“They’re fine,” you say with a shrug. “Curtis usually brought ones that are better.”
There’s no venom in his voice when he replies, “Curtis seems to have done a lot of things better than I do.”
It’s an observation presented with a smile. He’s testing the waters with you. You hadn’t spoken much during the meeting; your mouth used to sport a perpetual frown rather than talk with him. However, his words almost make you feel bad. It’s then that you finally realize that he’s grieving his friend, too. Probably more so than you are. Those thoughts have your shoulders dropping, and you stare at him with the slightest bit of sympathy.
That look in your eyes has apparently made him bold enough to say, “Glad to see you made it today. Have a change of heart about attendance?”
Any sympathy instantaneously is replaced by annoyance. “Evidently.”
He doesn’t buy your one-word response for a second. “What’d that VA email say?”
Your VA had said exactly what you’d expected them to. To be fair, you hadn’t emailed to complain about Jack or your conflict of interest. It was more of a question about the necessity of your attendance, especially now that the group leader you’d been promised was no longer there.
(It was the best reason you’d had to get out of this shit in months. You’d take what you could get.)
Their response was straight to the point. We are saddened to hear about the loss of Mr. Williams. He and his loved ones are in our thoughts and prayers. However, you have been medically mandated to complete your assigned intensive therapy and are required to attend a support group weekly. If you feel that the interim leader is insufficient for your needs, you are welcome to find groups in the area elsewhere.
Assholes. You knew they were right. You knew this plan was what was best for you. But it didn’t make them any less of assholes for not bending to your whim.
“Words like medically-mandated were used,” you finally respond. Jack seems tickled by this. “I was told that if I felt you were insufficient, I could find other groups in the area.”
“Insufficient?” He has the gall to act offended. “Well, if you’re here, I'll take it that I’m not too bad.”
“Or the closest group to me was in Brackenridge, and the idea of driving on 28 in any capacity was more painful than seeing you.” You shrug. “I’ll let you believe what you want.”
You’re surprised when Jack laughs out loud at your words, a full grin tugging at his lips. However, you’re more surprised when you realize that there’s a bit of pride bubbling up inside of you.
No. What the hell? Don’t be happy that you made him laugh, idiot. You’re still mad at him.
“Fuck, you’re mean,” he says, but there’s no malice in his words, and that pride inside of you grows. You have to bite back a smile, but you think he sees the beginnings of it. You’re so disgusted by the feeling that it makes you want to take a cold shower. “Remind me to never actually get on your bad side.”
Instead of dwelling on all of that for too long, you change the subject after a moment of quiet passes between you. “You’re working after this?”
Jack takes the branch in stride and nods. “Heather’s covering for me until eight,” he says. “I’ve got about fifteen minutes before I need to head out, or she’ll take my other leg. You’ll be in tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow, Friday, and Sunday,” you respond. “Working Princess hours on Tuesday and then I’m off until Friday.”
He hums. “Getting the weekend shifts, huh?”
“I’m the new kid. It makes sense.” You shrug. “Not like I’ve got much to do on the weekends anyway.”
His lips purse for a split second, as if he wants to ask about your last comment. Instead, he chooses to ask, “How’d your first two days go?”
Surprisingly well, is what your honest answer was. You had no idea what to expect from your first two shifts, but you certainly hadn’t expected to perform as well as you had. To be fair, you’d been mostly shadowing Robby, but even still, it was a relief not only to have gotten your first days over with, but to have done well.
You’d been so nervous to return to a hospital environment after so much time off, but, as cliché as it sounded, it was kind of like riding a bike. There had been a hiccup here and there, but that was to be expected. You hadn’t killed anyone, hadn’t hurt anyone, and hadn’t diagnosed anyone wrong. You’d call that a win.
The ED environment was exactly what you needed and had been missing. It was fast-paced, a little stressful, and entirely rewarding. Even better, the team you’d been placed with was great, too. Everyone was competent, fun to work with, and good at what they did. You didn’t always agree with Robby’s unorthodox approaches to certain procedures, but he consistently made the right calls. His residents and students seemed to follow suit.
“Good,” is what you finally land on. The word is spoken through a sigh. “Really good, actually.”
“Yeah?” Jack hums. “Robby said the same thing. He’s pretty impressed with you so far.”
Your brows raise. “Seriously?”
He nods. “Hard praise to get, Cap. You must have done something right.”
You can’t help the way that your lips curve. “It felt nice to be back to work.”
“I’m sure,” he says. “You’ve been away for a long time, right?”
He sees you freeze at the question. “Yeah,” you say, curt.
“Just about a year, right?” You look almost shellshocked, too uncomfortable to put the pieces together as to why he might know that. To get that expression off your face, Jack tries hand at a joke once more. “Relax. Robby told me. He didn’t tell me why.”
It takes everything in you not to snap at him. Everything about his demeanor says that he’s telling the truth, but it still rubs you the wrong way. He’s trying, you tell yourself. He’s doing his job. If Robby hadn’t told him that bit of information, Curtis probably would have. He can't help the fact that you never want to talk about the reasons you’ve been away.
A long, tough second passes before you manage to get out, “Yeah. It’s been a year.”
It’s clunky and clipped and it nearly makes you breathless. Jack knows that’s the best he’s gonna get from you tonight. There’s a beat of silence, and he lets his words hang there, giving you room to add or expand upon them. You don’t. It doesn’t surprise him in the slightest.
You’re thankful when he doesn’t press any further. “Well, I’m glad you were here tonight.” He nods at the snack table. “If you come back next week, I’ll have a better showing.”
He offers a small, parting smile and makes his way to the now-empty circle of chairs to start folding them up. When he turns around to look at you a moment later, he’s even less surprised to find that you’re gone.
You’re not expecting to have to talk to Jack until your next meeting, and you’re fully content with that idea. You’re no stranger to politely (or not politely) ignoring your coworkers, especially those on a shift change. Unfortunately, you’re not exactly that fortunate.
Your Sunday shift ends up being the busiest one you’ve had since you began at PTMC. Robby lets you and Heather know mid-shift that he’s called in reinforcements, and you don’t have to ask who it’s going to be. You already know in your gut that it’s him.
When he clocks in, it’s chaos. He can hear machines squealing and doctors calling for help as they wheel a patient toward Trauma Two. He watches you blow past him to follow the bed. He sees the back of your head as you glove up, pointing and directing the residents around you with a certain type of command that he hasn’t seen from an Attending in years.
Jack doesn’t take his eyes off of you when he asks Dana, “What’s going on in there?”
The concern in her voice sounds off all kinds of alarm bells for Jack. “Not sure. That’s the Aortitis patient that came in this morning.”
Jack’s moving toward the room before he knows it.
You, on the other hand, are still trying to figure out what happened. You and Langdon had responded to the cry for help at the same time, only to find Whitaker, Mel, and a med student with the patient, panic written across all of their faces, and it’s for good reason.
The patient had come in with an aortic infection-- something rare and something you knew your students and residents would have likely never seen before. You know you should have been keeping more of an eye on them with this type of thing. But, he had seemed okay. It didn’t appear serious enough to operate on, and he’d been responding well to the medication. There was nothing about him that could have made you anticipate this.
He’s unconscious, unresponsive, and on the verge of coding. You frantically search through your mental rolodex, attempting to understand how something like this could have happened so quickly.
“What happened?” you ask. It’s more of a demand than a question.
Whitaker doesn’t look away from the patient as he responds, “I don't know! He was complaining about the bed being uncomfortable, so Rhodes and I—” The poor med student raises her hand to identify herself. “—helped lift him to see if the sheets had bunched or something. The second we did it, he started screaming in pain and then passed out.”
Langdon looks at you with wide eyes. “Shit. The aorta probably ruptured when they moved him.”
You’re on the same page before he even says it. “Get Garcia down here now,” you order Langdon, who grabs the phone in an instant. You point at Whitaker. “And get Robby. I need an adult to help me unfuck this, right now.”
For once, you’re revealed to hear Jack’s voice behind you. “You’ve got the next best thing, Cap.” He’s already putting on gloves. “I heard what’s going on. We need to cut into him now.”
“Cut into—?” It’s the right call, but something like this needs to be done by a specialist. “We need a surgeon—”
“He’s gonna internally bleed out before Garcia gets here.”
“And he’s going to bleed out on the fucking table if we cut into him without—” Jack’s taking over before you can say anything else. A horrified gasp leaves your lips, and Jack takes a scalpel and makes an incision. “What the fuck, Abbot?”
Every machine the patient is hooked up to starts going crazy the second Jack cuts into him. There is blood everywhere. There is so much of it, and it’s coming out of him so fast. It spills all over the table and onto the floor, and for a split second, you’re rooted to the spot.
The amount of blood, it’s… You’ve seen blood the past week, but you haven’t seen that much since… The location, too. It’s… It’s the same fucking spot.
Luckily for you, your fellow attending is quick on his feet. He either doesn’t notice or ignores the way to lock up and springs into action. As quickly as the fear hits you, it’s gone, and you’re suddenly back in the room. If you could slap yourself awake without making a scene, you would. But instead of that, you resort to channeling a similar, sharp feeling that you’re very familiar with.
Rage. Your vision’s now clouded by it. However, despite this, you can still see the work in front of you and the people who are relying on you.
Awaken, don’t interfere, you tell yourself, as you have so many times before.
While it feels like minutes, only about a second has passed. You then see what Jack’s doing and pick up on the plan quickly.
You start shouting orders at Mel, Langdon, and Rhoades, the med student. They comply immediately, and before Abbot can even ask for your assistance, you’re holding out a clamp.
His mouth opens to call for it, and you swear a hint of a smile curls at his lips when he sees it in your hand. “Thank you, Cap,” he says.
You’re too concerned with the life-or-death situation in front of you to ream him out.
He takes the clamp in stride, and you work in tandem to attempt to save this guy’s life. Mel returns to the table with a vac to suck up the blood. Langdon’s moving in across from you, following your lead with an efficiency that should be surprising, but you’ve seen what that kid can do.
You’ve seen what all of these people around you can do. Sure, it’s not your naval crew, and it’s certainly not your sick bay that’s staffed with the country’s best and brightest, but you were pleased to find that it’s pretty damn close. You’re fortunate to have found this place.
Garcia’s in the room within the next thirty seconds. The patient is coding, and frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he died on the table. A ruptured aorta had a ninety percent mortality rate, and the chances of this guy being in that other ten percent were slim. But you’d still try.
“Did you fucking cut into him without me here?” Garcia barks out, jumping into action as soon as she enters.
You surprise yourself when you say, “Not my call, but Abbot was right. The aorta ruptured, patient was FUBAR. We needed to at least attempt to clamp it.”
Jack whistles. “Haven’t heard someone use FUBAR in years. Love it.”
“Fuck off. We are not friends right now,” you bite back. “You’re so fucking lucky that his tissue wasn’t too friable for that shit.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Garcia says, moving in next to you. You step back to let her in. “We finally have someone at your rank to tell you off, Abbot. Maybe you’ll listen.”
“Wishful thinking,” he replies.
It’s then that your patient flatlines. You swear out loud, directing compressions from Mel. Your next order is for a CPB. It’s automatic. Despite the fact that your stomach is in your chest and your heart’s now in your ass, you move with efficiency, doing everything you can to save this sinking ship.
There’s no more joking. The only communication is people saying the things they're doing and things that others should be doing. The chances of your patient falling into that ten percent are looking even worse. But it’s not impossible.
Within three minutes, you get his heartbeat back. While it’s a relief, that’s only half the battle. You still need to get him to stop bleeding.
But that’s no longer your job. The rest of Garcia’s team rushes in, finally making their appearance after hearing the call. They step in to perform what is now basically open-heart surgery, and you can only offer your best wishes.
It’s only when you feel someone bat at your shoulder that you’re taken out of autopilot. You start at the feeling and find that you’ve walked away from the table and are now standing in the corner of the room. Abbot’s next to you, taking off his gloves and gown that are covered in blood. You’re covered in blood. You knew you would be, but didn’t think it’d be this much.
The memories you’d pushed away minutes ago suddenly come flooding back to you. You blink them away, but it’s harder this time around.
No, you scold yourself. You still have five hours left in your shift. This can’t happen now. Save it for your miserable, dark, and empty apartment, where you have all the time in the world to relive the worst moment of your life.
“Cap?” he asks, and it’s the first word that isn’t an order that you fully process. You look at him, still slightly dazed. “You alright?”
When you can see his face clearly, that rage returns. It bubbles something awful in your chest, and it takes everything in you not to do something drastic.
“That was…” You manage to get out. He’s not sure if he should be taken back more by the genuine anger in your voice or the tears that are pricking in your eyes. “...so fucking reckless.”
“That—” He cautiously points at the table, “—was us giving that guy his best chance of making it out of here alive. You said it yourself. It was the right call.”
“But to do it like that— That abruptly—?” You shake your head. “There was no way you could have known—”
“I did know. I’ve done that before. I’ve seen it end with less of a chance than he has now,” he says. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If the tissue was friable, nothing else would have worked. That was the only thing we could have done. And look—” He points at his heart monitor. “—he seems to be doing alright so far.”
You know he’s right. You do. He has yet to be wrong about… well, fucking anything. But your brain’s too jumbled. You can’t look at him right now. You’re blinded by past and present visions of blood spilling over a table, and you being too frozen to do anything.
You take a step back from him, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. “Just…” A shuddering breath escapes you, and your words come out through a ragged sigh. “Stay out of my way for the rest of the shift. I need… I need a second.”
Jack watches you swing the door of Trauma Two open, and you take off across the ED floor.
You tell Dana you need five minutes, not waiting to hear her reply before walking into the bathroom and locking yourself into the first stall.
Three minutes is all you need to collect yourself and push everything down. You spend the next two fixing yourself in the mirror.
The next, you’re back on the floor. You go into the break room to grab one of your energy drinks from the fridge, letting the cool air hit your face.
You crack it open, take a sip, and you’re taking on another case thirty seconds after that.
You’re almost home free. Almost.
Five grueling hours later, you escape from PTMC with half your sanity intact. Normally, you’d call that a win, especially after the day you had.
But before you can call it a win, before you can escape your place of work and return to your apartment, you feel someone fall into step with you.
“Fuck,” you curse, abruptly stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. You glare at Jack, clenching the strap of your go-bag tighter. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re like a… a rash. I can’t get rid of you. You keep coming back.”
He blinks at you. “A rash?”
You all but grit your teeth. “I’m tired. I’d be meaner if I could think straight.”
“No, no,” he says. “I think it’s a decent metaphor.”
Because you can’t help yourself, “It’s a simile.”
“Naval Doc and an English major. You must have blown your fleet away.”
You’ve had enough. “Did you stop me just to piss me off again? Because it’s working.”
Jack gives you a look, and there’s enough kindness in it that it makes you feel bad. Damn it, he’s good at doing that, isn’t he?
“Didn’t stop you to— I’m not trying to piss you off.” He sighs softly. “That’s not at all what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“I’m trying to—” He cuts himself off, wiping a hand down his face. There’s a brief moment of silence before he says, “I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. And that’s the problem.”
That’s not at all the answer you’d been expecting. It catches you completely off guard, and you find yourself just staring at him, that pity you’d been feeling earlier now becoming more tangible.
Before you can ask or say anything, he drops his hand and looks at you. “I’m not good at this. I know that. I—”
“Good at what?” you question.
“This… support thing. I’m trying to follow Curtis’s lead. He left this list about the group, and there were notes that said to keep an eye on you, and—”
Your lips part in what you think is half shock and half distress. “He what?”
“He was worried about what you’d do without him. If you’d shut down or stop coming or whatever. And I owe him… I don’t know how many favors. I’m just trying to be half the guy he was.” Jack doesn’t love the way you’re looking at him, but he’s pleased to find that you’re less angry than before. “I’m trying my best to follow those orders he left, y’know? But I… I feel like I keep fucking up with you, kid. I always make some sort of misstep that gets you pissed at me.”
He wasn’t wrong, per se. There had been… many missteps made on his part. But you’re honest with yourself to know that you hadn’t been the most graceful with all of this either. You weren’t exactly the easiest person to talk to. Or get through to. Or to get along with.
You feel bad enough to throw him a bone. Crossing your arms over your chest, you mutter, “It’s not all your fault.” Jack’s eyes shoot up to meet yours in surprise. “I get pissed at a lot of people. Too easily, sometimes. That’s on me.”
He was also right about another thing. He wasn’t great at this support thing. But there was one thing that he and Curtis shared— they both fucking tried. They were consistent, and they showed up for you. They were trying. One was much more successful than the other, but still. Maybe Jack was owed the benefit of the doubt.
You both had set some pretty high expectations for who you thought this ‘Leader Jack’ would be, ones that would probably never be achieved. You begrudgingly tell him as such.
“I told you I’m not great with change. But I’m also not…” It takes everything in you to get the words out. “...being fair to you. But you’re not being fair to me.”
Jack tilts his head. “How’s that?”
“I’m treating you like you’re Curtis. Because that’s what I’m expecting you to be. Not an interim leader, but an understudy.” You sigh. It’s long and heavy and resigned. “I’m expecting you to know the lines and the directions and to act like Curtis. That’s not fair.”
Your arms unfold and fall from their position on your chest. “But I think you’re also trying to be his understudy. But you’re not,” you say. “And that’s not fair either.”
Jack takes a beat to sit with this. For the first time since you’ve met him, you see him really think. He’s always so fast. Lightning-fast decisions, quick responses. It’s one of the things you’ve actually grown to appreciate about him.
But right now, his entire thought process is broadcast before you. You can see everything written across his face as he ponders the situation, truly taking your words into consideration.
“Okay,” he finally says. He nods as if to confirm it again. “You’re right.”
Once again, because you can’t help yourself, you say, “I know.”
A smile twists his lips. “So, where do we go from here?”
Now, it’s your turn to think. It takes way less time.
“You be yourself. You lead me or support me or whatever the fuck,” you tell him. “And I’ll try to be… as open as I was with Curtis.”
He chuckles. “From what I’ve heard, that’s not exactly a high bar.”
“Of course that traitor would tell you that,” you grumble, and you scowl as Jack laughs again. “Well, then maybe, you’ll be better than him at something.”
The humor in Jack’s smile turns into something more sincere. “I’m sure as hell gonna try.”
You’re struck by the sentiment. He’s throwing all sorts of curveballs at you tonight, and you don’t know how to handle them.
“It’ll be fun to watch you do so,” is what you finally land on. It’s your turn to surprise him, now. You offer a small, tight-lipped smile that nearly makes him stumble back. “I’ll see you at Group on Wednesday.”
You keep his gaze for a bit longer, then nod at him as you part. It’s an acknowledgement and a promise.
It’s enough for Jack to call out to you and ask, “What are you doing tonight?”
If this were a cartoon, your feet would come to a squealing halt at how hard you stop in your tracks. Bewildered, you turn around to see if he’s being serious with whatever proposition he’s about to present to you.
“W-What?” you stammer, partially because you don’t believe that he’s doing this.
“There’s a decent bar down the street.” It takes physical effort for your jaw not to drop. “I know the bartender pretty well.”
You hold your hands out like that will stop the whiplash you’re feeling. “You’re asking me to get drinks with you? Right now?”
“Do you not drink?” he asks, suddenly more concerned. “Curtis didn’t mention anything about—”
“No, I— I drink,” you say. “I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck you’re doing.”
That smile of his reappears. “I’m trying to get you talk to me,” he says, as if the answer’s simple. “But I’m doing it my way. Not Curtis’s.”
“By… getting me drunk?” you question slowly.
Jack laughs, and once again, you can feel it warm you from the inside out. Gross. Stop. You’re still trying to figure out if you actually like him as a person.
“By making it casual,” he corrects. “We’ve only ever talked in high-stress environments for you. Work. Group.” His explanation eases your worries ever so slightly, but he still reads the hesitation on your face. “Plus, I’d love to buy you a drink to make up for whatever the fuck I did wrong with the aortisis patient. Maybe you’ll even tell me about it.”
When you scowl yet again at him, he relaxes. There’s just a bit of humor in your eyes to go along with it. What makes him feel better is when he realizes that you’re actually considering his offer.
At your silence, he puts his hands up in defense, knowing he should offer you a way out just in case. “If you don’t want to, you don’t gotta. I was just putting it out there.”
The breakthrough he’s been trying for for the last two and a half weeks finally happens as you knock your head back and slump your shoulders in resignation.
“Fine. Sure,” you say, picking your go-bag up from the sidewalk. “One drink sounds fine. I could use one after today anyway.”
Jack almost jumps for joy right then and there. He’s not sure if he believes in any type of God, but he certainly believes that Curtis is in some sort of better place and can hear him. He’s got no doubt that he made that happen.
He resorts to sending a thank you to him instead.
