✭ THE LENGTHS ✭
Jack meets the new nurse Robby's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.
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You don't know the lengths to which he'd go.
Jack finds you. You're a new nurse working the night shift for the first time, and even though his introduction to you is you dead asleep at your desk, his time stuck with you and your eccentric, peppy behavior doesn't stop him from realizing your capabilities that are beyond what you should be able to do. With that, there's something about you that manages to grasp onto him despite what Jack knows best, to the point where even he's not willing to let you go for the sake of staying sane. For the sake of staying himself.
WORD COUNT: 7.9K || SLOW(ISH)BURN!! EVENTUAL SMUT (p in v sex, rough, unprotected) graphic depictions of violence, assault, death, and blood. Abuse (Not from Jack) Jealousy, obsession, possessive behavior, Dr. Robby x Reader if you squint like there's no tomorrow. Age gap (the reader is just younger than Jack, you can decide by how many years). Mentions of suicidal behavior. Manipulation (is it manipulation if Jack really believes what he's saying??). Delusional behavior (That Jack is very much aware of and hates himself for, but delulu be deluluing). Very inaccurate depictions of the healthcare system and medical terminology. This is probably my one and only Jack Abbot fic, if his characterization is off, I'm sorry...let's just chalk it up to him being too much in love, like how he does here <3
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Robby, my brother.
I don't even know where the fuck to begin. But I am so, so sorry. For everything. Please. Take care of her.
————————————————
Although there is solace in the darkness, that doesn’t mean there aren’t monsters hiding in it. It almost feels too fucking childish for him to think like this, but it’s too easy.
This night tempts harm. It tempts Jack to hold himself too tightly, or to hide his tension away in his anger.
He already readies himself for the slight guilt he’ll feel when he’s too harsh and quick in correcting mistakes while taking too long to give credit when it’s earned. But tonight?
The few outwardly kind things about his soul can’t make their way to his bones and eyes…but what’s the truly awful thing about this shift to make Jack feel as if there’s violence and internal misery around every corner of the hospital?
“Oh, Abbot, I was wondering–”
“Sorry, not now.”
No patients have died. No patients are near death.
Jack has failed no one yet, and yeah, thinking that staying true to his vows of medicine as the most terrible thing about tonight is shitty, so fucking shitty that it goes against the said vows that have consumed his instinct to work and manage the ones who need help, but to him, he just remembers the worst about what’s steady about him.
That sometimes he’s not steady, that even on good shifts and quiet nights, his pain will make its way back to him.
This is trauma.
It’s never new, but sometimes wordless, nameless in the feelings that are brought to a boil, like now, and there-fucking-fore, it’s much easier to hide in the dark as it waits for Jack to get comfortable in his skin. Apparently, this is progress according to his therapist.
That it’s good that his trauma finds way into even the best of shifts because that means he is comfortable enough to let it in on the good days, that he’s not beating the worst of his emotions into a little box he’ll save for opening up on a shit shift as he makes his way up to the rooftop.
Well, sure as hell doesn’t feel like progress, but he has to trust the therapist he pays 120 dollars an hour.
“Abbott, the patient in room three, the elderly man with a breath like death, is there a possibility-”
“Sorry. Not now. My bladder is turning against me.”
“...Didn’t need to know that.”
“Okay. Sorry, I’ll never make a quip as long as I live.”
“Not now” is his phrase for the next ten minutes, and he’ll feel a slighter slight guilt in how he’ll take a breather in the bathroom, or next to the vending machine, because there is a job to be done and it’s not hiding in the dark with his monsters.
But Dr. 240-bucks-for-80-minutes says these breathers are needed for Jack to be the best at his job. For others. Something like that.
Unfortunately, Dr. 240 bucks for 120 minutes is right. Jack tries not to choke on the breath he can’t let go of. He tries to stay strong because he’s here at his job, so he tries to keep the walls standing up right and unblurred, which he should be able to do on good days. Easily.
It’s almost a strong stride to the bathroom until the nurse's station. Jack slows in his step, brows slightly furrowing as he looks around. Only by eyes, not by the turn of his head.
And like that, under the scene of unprofessionalism, the way he feels is no longer unbreathable. So.
Thank you for that.
He doesn’t notice how quick he is to turn his sights back on you. This girl. No, this woman, just a younger woman…a nurse he’s never seen before.
You’re dead asleep. He means dead asleep. There’s no other name for the way your body leans its weight onto your swivel chair, head lifted back, breath deep.
It’s the 3rd most unprofessional thing he’s ever seen.
Jack lets out a breath. He takes one in. Let’s that one out, and it’s continuous as he studies the way you almost snore. He must’ve found it easier to breathe in standing instead of indulging his restlessness by pacing all over the trauma center.
Makes sense. Makes a hell's lot more sense than this newbie who’s taking a nap on her shift. And Jack allows for the slight hand of his anger to curl.
You are sleeping on the job without a care in the world, and considering that he’s never seen you before, you’re probably doing this while new to the crew.
He ignores the ten seconds of the way he watches you almost-snore before he knocks his fist on your desk to wake you.
“I’m up! I’m…I’m up.”
You rub your eyes as you force yourself to sit up straight. Jack continues to stare as you collect yourself.
Jack's eyes slightly narrow when he notices you're beautiful, but he doesn't think it, not when there’s a lecture to be had.
“I’m sorry.”
Jack tilts his head forward in a way that’s curt.
“...I am glad you are. Considering that you’ve taken the hours when you’re on the clock as hours to have naptime, it’s good that I can see you’re apologetic.”
It seems that you truly are in the way your brows twist in the soft lines of your face, as you scratch your nose.
Jack looks away. He puts his arms behind his back, squeezing his wrist because it feels right to do here. “That’s not what we’d consider professional. Or safe. For the patients we’re watching, I mean. I hope you know that?”
“I know, I know. I promise you, sir–I’m not as stupid as I look right now. I think.” You pull on your scrub top, fixing the sleepful parts of you. “I arrived maybe ten minutes ago? I’m covering for…Princess.”
“...I don’t think she was supposed to work tonight.”
Jack blinks when you put your head in your hands, rubbing your temple.
“I don’t even know, this is my first time working a night shift ever. I woke up to being called in, so here I am.”
Jack blinks again when you spin in your chair. Not once, but twice in the way your voice goes high at the end of your sentence.
Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?
You drop your smile when he doesn’t say anything, and yeah, it’s because you deserve to be a little uncomfortable with your mistake, but also…Jack doesn’t know what to say.
“It won’t ever happen again, sir.”
“No. Not if you keep to the day shift.”
“Oh. Hopefully.” You swallow with a small smile, twirling a pen in your hands. “No offense to you night owls.”
Jack doesn’t look away when your smile reaches him with your eyes on his. Why would he?
The only other question to ask is why he knows his chest would feel less hot if he did.
“Not everyone can find the dark shifts fun enough to stay up for.”
“No, I enjoy a healthy sleep schedule too much–” You break your words with a yawn that you try to stop. Literally. It’s like you try to wave it up and out of your little neck. “...for that.”
Jack’s brow furrows down with his eyes going slightly wide. You’re an oddball who’s pissed him off a little, and he wonders if this charming, sunny banter is purposeful to get him off your case.
“Anywayssss, sorry for keeping you off duty, sir.”
He won’t give you that satisfaction, because you aren’t supposed to be sleeping on the job. You won’t get away that easily. He means, he’ll quit when he sees a properly embarrassed pout, or something that can prove to Jack that you’re serious about said embarrassment…
Yeah. That’s why he doesn’t walk away to spend his last free minutes in the bathroom. You seem alright…bright, but if you’re new, you simply need to learn. It’s not against you, that’s just the way it is.
“You decided to prioritize a healthy sleeping schedule before or after nursing school? Or did you realize how much you love to sleep when you decided to become an E.R nurse?”
Jack lowers his eyes to where your elbow rests on the table as you let your chin fall into your palm. Is that purposeful too? The softness of it all?
“Ha ha. I try my best, which is why this is my first night ever. I’m surprised I made it this far without taking up…what the darkness offers.”
…Should he kill himself for noticing the way you’re soft? Maybe. It isn’t professional how he notices, and it’s a bit intense, like he’s a schoolboy who can’t control the way he oogles. Whatever's going on with your face shouldn't make a different.
"...Sir?"
He’s not oogling, really. He’s noticing you’re pretty, and you’re lit in the way you’re pretty. He doesn’t know you, but with the way you smile even though you’re being snarkily reprimanded, with the way you tap your pen, with the way your hair shifts with every head tilt…that’s not on him.
That just means you’re pretty. He’s not reacting to what he’s seeing. Besides, even if he was, killing himself would probably be the more unprofessional and intense thing, right?
Besides, a pretty face doesn't mean anything here. Not to him. Blood sprays far and wide.
“...Yeah. Well, if I find you again and I report you to healthcare management, you’re not making it further than tonight.”
The way Jack says it, he’s pretty sure it was supposed to be serious in reprimand, maybe not, but it comes out weak in that context. He doesn’t know why it falls on his tongue like he’s joking with you. But really…he can’t keep up when you laugh.
“So, I’m assuming I can’t eat at my desk either. Alrighty.”
Why can’t he keep up when you laugh? And how does he stare and turn away when you do?
Why does the sound and look of you sear him at the skin and chest?
“Just–don’t knock yourself out on the clock again. You hear me? Not cool.”
Jack doesn’t care how he realizes then, when you nod curtly with your smile under your soft and blinking focus, he really doesn’t care for it…how he doesn’t have to ask for eye contact with you.
Even more so, he’s the one to look away first, as if he has to if he doesn’t want to feel the heat of the sun hurling towards him. That bit of Jack is lost and replaced with something unlike him, because why?
“Can do.”
This could be something he never has to think about again if he just leaves at that, if he continues to walk to do what he planned on doing five minutes ago, but for some reason, he’s willing to face whatever insecurities this introduction is brewing, because…
Despite all his flaws, his many, many flaws, acting like a shy and flustered little guy at the first sight of someone like you isn’t one of them.
It takes ten seconds for you to look up at him again when you realize Jack hasn’t moved.
“What’s your name?”
Your smile drops.
“Sir, please don’t report me to healthcare management–or Dana! God, no! I came in ten minutes ago, and I close my eyes for a minute and–”
Jack goes to put the palms of his hand on the counter, but it’s a movement he decides against before putting his hands behind his back again. Well. One hand. The other makes a fist at his hip.
“That was a joke. As long as you’re not kicking patients out their beds to use them, I wouldn’t risk this hospital losing nurses. It was a joke.”
It became one, didn’t it? Your eyes close with your sigh. When they open, you take to looking at the tile.
“Hey. I was joking. I think.”
This is familiar, the way he leans his head forward, slightly demanding your sight on him. This is him, and he deserves to be himself, apparently. Or, it’s good that you know he’s not a flustered stumbler if you’re gonna stick around.
“I’m definitely going to take your word for my sake. Okay.”
You stick out your hand with your name greeting him past your lips. Jack nods, and he doesn’t take his eyes off yours when he takes your palm firmly
He shouldn’t be proud that he does this without surprise, smacking him across the face, but he is when your name fully registers in his head. He’s heard about you before, as people hear about new people before they get the chance to meet them first.
You’re the new nurse who showed up about three weeks ago.
You’re the new nurse. Robby’s nurse.
It hasn’t even been a month, and in the chances he gets to spend his moments talking with Robby during the handover of shifts, Robby's mentioned you way too fucking much.
With your name in the squeezing of your smaller hand, Jack knows too much about you. He guesses that if you’re as capable and talented in your duties as Robby says you are, then it’s warranted.
But still, he was happy to know the nursing shortage was challenged by the Pitt gaining a competent addition to the team at first, but in every other conversation, your name just happened to pop out of Robby’s mouth.
“She’s just–it’s not just about having no complaints about her and her abilities. She’s great.”
“...I gathered that, Robby. These past weeks, I’ve been a gatherer of information for our new nurse. Besides the last story and the last story, just tell me, does the sun shine out of her ass?
Robby smiled a smile that was almost as bright as yours, even though Jack didn’t really ask it as something to laugh at, his words were dead in the pan.
“Medically speaking, yeah. You know, man–could just be that you’re expecting a good nurse and you end up with a great one who’s knowledgeable in a way that’s beyond her paygrade.”
“All nurses are underpaid.”
“I’m meaning…that she’s basically a third-year resident and a nurse combined. I don’t give her the tasks of a resident, but it’s like, like…if it came down to it, I could trust her with it. The tasks.”
“...Hopefully you’re not projecting this professional infatuation onto her, because the last thing I need is a cocky-connie trying to run my shifts.”
And Robby gave him a look, as if their conversation was no longer banter.
“Cocky-connie? That's just something you made up right now, and it’s not infatuation if she’s that fucking good, man. It’s just the truth. But you don’t gotta worry, she’s humble. She doesn’t wallow in self-degradation, but she’s just humble.”
“Oh. Good. I’m wondering how I haven’t met the savior of Pittsburgh's nursing community.”
“Yeah, she kinda makes sure to leave right when her shift’s over. Which is a shame for you, all her baked goods are gone in an hour.”
“She bakes?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“...Okay. Robby?”
“Yeah?”
“Everything you’ve claimed her to be in the past half-month has been invalidated just now.”
“What??”
“The baked goods have gone to your head. I can’t trust your recommendation.”
“Oh, come on, brother! People can have multiple talents, and this place can benefit from all of it.”
“...Sir?”
Jack blinks himself sober. “Sorry. Nice to put a name to the perpetrator.” He squeezes your hand again. “Jack Abbot.”
You’re the first one to let go.
You blink, mouth parting slightly.
“Oh! Dr. Abbot, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”
…He guesses Robby told you about him, or maybe it’s just the perpetual gossip that exists in the walls of this hospital that’s led his reputation before him. For a second, the tenseness of his hands begs the question, what have other people said about him to you?
Another question is begged at the curl of his palms, why the hell does he care?
“Robby’s told me so much about you. Dr. Robby.”
Jack could scoff. There are things Robby didn’t mention about you, and he’s assuming that was for a reason.
“Good things? Or do I have to beat on him?"
“I thought when we’d be introduced, there’d be light trailing you.”
Jack’s head shakes once. What?
“...What?”
“You are apparently so, so badass. And also good at your job. I guess the latter is more important, or you’re badass because you’re so good? Anyways.” You scoot your chair in closer. “Excuse my language, I’m just surprised the sun doesn’t shine out of your ass with the way he talks about you.”
…Huh.
Jack nods as if this is an expected thing to hear, because if he doesn’t, he’ll notice the way his face has gotten hot, and if he does, he’ll find a one-way ticket to the rooftop a reasonable thing to joke about. Ha-ha.
“...Yeah, yeah. That’s good.”
Apparently he’ll never make a quip as long as he lives.
“Yeah.”
“...Yeah! Well, I guess I should actually do my job. Again, nice meeting you, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack watches you get up from your chair and away from your desk. You nearly brush shoulders when you do.
“Yeah. Nice meeting you.”
He scratches the back of his ear as you walk away.
“I better not find you knocked out in a supply closet.”
His words almost echo, and he almost smiles when you throw a thumbs up without looking his way.
When he turns back to the nurses station, whatever’s on his face drops immediately.
“Dana?”
“...Nothin’. See you met our new girl. She's smiley, ain't she?”
"I didn't notice."
"...I'm gonna let that one slide."
"What--"
"I'm taking my smoke break."
…Alright. The bathroom. The bathroom, right? Jack takes his way there.
You’re alright, and he doesn’t know if he’ll see your capabilities tested tonight, but you’re alright. They’re lucky to have a new addition to the center to make the days…and nights easier, but he wouldn’t mind if it were a night. Singular.
He wouldn’t mind if it were in the plural, either, he guesses. In the end, what he’s felt tonight are the bits of him that aren’t him, the unusual – and he’s allowed to be unusual when he’s meeting someone who can be that cheery and mutually quippy five minutes after waking up from the dead.
He’s allowed to feel confused about what he felt in his chest as much as he’s allowed to ignore it, and he’ll ignore it because it’s nothing.
Nothing but a funny, pretty nurse who knows how to get out of trouble and make Robby go...gooey. If he ignores it…well then, he can take advantage of your talents without a problem.
That and your possible baked goods. That he'll take advantage of.
Other than that, he’s sure the night will keep the distance between the two of you. Not that he isn't capable of doing that himself.
Not that he even has to, and that's nothing against you.
————————————————
Jack moves quicker when he sees you running towards him the next night. His brows rise with widening eyes.
“...Well.”
You look up at him with that same smile that finds the pit of his stomach, and when it happens, he almost doesn’t register the seven pudding cups in your hands.
A surprise night two and he’s already seeping with…ridiculous, unnecessary ardor. If he can even call it that. But he’s not gonna blame you, you can’t be at fault for something that’s supposed to be nothing.
Unless you know how uncaringly bright your smile is, and he’s not gonna create an issue for the suckers up in H.R just to ask a stupid fucking question.
It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, because there shouldn’t be a faltering on his end just from a smile and a laugh and some banter from the new nurse. There’s not.
But still, Jack kinda wonders if you do know.
“Hey! Lookey, no need to sound Reveille for me.”
…No need to sound Reveille?
“How much did Robby tell you about me?”
“You’re too cool to keep a secret. But why? Did I say something–”
“No. No. But…lookey indeed. You got lost in the dark to the point you couldn’t find your way back to the day shift?”
Your smile softens with a sigh. “Yep, you and any other night-preferred physician are stuck with me for the next five days.”
His head gestures to the pudding cups. “Do I wanna know? Wait, rephrase. Do I have to know as your attending physician?”
“Not really. Lucky you, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack allows what's almost a smile to creep on his face, because this is sorta funny, and you know what? He’s glad to see you again, despite what’s seeping in against his best interest. Which is nothing.
He crosses his arms.
“We’ve got you for the week, why?”
“I was covering for Princess last night. She has COVID, and her mandatory five-day stay away from the world has me covering for her. So, if you’re empty-handed right now, there’s a man in room six desperate for a doctor to guide him through the motions of taking the light bulb out of his ass.”
You’ve allowed yourself comfortability with Jack already. Even he wasn’t like this with Robby in the early days of their friendship.
Maybe you don’t know how you smile or tilt your head or fiddle with your body language, because if it’s everyone that can see it, maybe they’re not purposeful or even impulsive decisions outside of what you usually do, it’s just who you are. Who the fuck ever knows who they are?
Besides, if they were uncommon, purposeful movements, why would you choose to do them towards him? That’s where it seems pretty fucking impossible.
“I was told you always leave exactly when your shift is done, and that seemed true last night.”
It is. You took off the minute your time in the Pitt was over. But your smile faltering isn’t purposeful, Jack thinks. Here, he shames himself for yesterday, the way he was secretly relieved he didn't see much of you or you as a nurse during the shift.
The begged questions wouldn't do him any favors with the night he was having. But the sun came up, and you were gone before anyone knew it.
He doesn’t know you, but for once, there’s almost something of a…serious nature on the lines of your face and lips. Just like that.
“Yeah…yeah, you were told right. Responsibilities in the world outside our castle stop me from going above and beyond as a nurse. If there’s ever a moment, day or night, when I have to work overtime, I will definitely, but you know. Life.”
“Okay. For Pittsburgh's sake, let’s hope it never comes to that."
Jack scratches his ear.
The name-dropping from his mouth is natural, he thinks. Acceptance at what's been given to him, turning fatigued lemons into banter-full lemonade, because you know what?
At the end of the day, he cares for the group of people he's partnered with. The people he teaches, the people he saves others alongside with.
But none of them have ever made him feel likes he's bits of a newer, flustered-fuck of a man on the first day of meeting them. They don't affect him that way. You shouldn't.
He can play with them on occasion and is more than cordial. He should be no different with you.
"Am I able to look to you first for nursing assistance if I need it tonight, sleepy?”
He crosses his arms when he can hear your footsteps halt past him. Saying it nearly dead-panned was purposeful.
“I cannot be given a nickname from a five-minute mistake. Please, Dr. Abbot.”
“I’m not giving you a nickname, I haven’t known you long enough to deserve that kind of bullied affection. It’s just…” Jack delivers his word deadpanned, he turns to you with your face already pleading. His eyes shift quickly to the floor, then back to you with a curt nod or two. That’s purposeful. That’s feigning thought.
He’s in a better mood tonight, he doesn’t know why.
“It fits.”
He can tell you stop yourself from rolling your eyes, because you’re probably smart enough to know where to tow the line when it comes to dry-humored conversations with a senior attending you barely know.
“Are you saying I have to earn your professional friendship to earn your harassment?”
“Let’s not use the word harassment, sleepy. Healthcare management has eyes everywhere.”
“You know what, Dr. Abbot?” You ready a pudding cup in your hands, swinging it like you’re about to throw it. “Challenge accepted.”
“Hey! Don’t–”
You throw the pudding cup that was never gonna be hard to catch. Still.
You've accepted this easier than Jack would've thought. Sure, you're obvious in your light and...medical pep, but you're willing in play already.
Well. That reaction really shouldn't effect him either.
“Don’t throw objects in the walkways.”
You begin walking backwards.
“And don’t walk backwards.”
“If that name reaches the day crew, you’re in for it.”
“...Excuse me?”
And like that, you’re gone with a light jog when Jack can hear a voice screaming “Nurse!” throughout the curls of the halls.
The strangeness of you found questions in Jack, too many for a tolerable night.
It would be too much for Jack and Jack alone, really…because maybe those feelings can be chalked up to what you claimed, a professional friendship, and despite the parts of his bones that are hardened, guarded, and whatever else his therapist accuses him of being, he’s not entirely closed off.
Being closed-off doesn’t make a good doctor or caretaker; it doesn’t help anybody, especially not himself, if he somehow does deserve help by the end of the day.
Nobody knows the whole of themselves, but these are the few things Jack is sure of, and with that, you're about to be what everyone else is to him: A person he can get along with. What more is needed?
————————————————
Dr. Jack Abbot is a nice man. A cool guy. And you’re glad you trusted Dr. Robby’s word on him. He is pretty badass. Even though there hasn’t been much chaos in the two shifts you’re partnered with him on, you can tell he’d be able to thrive under it.
And he’s funny. He’s a person you can find yourself comfortable with easily. Although…it’s been a long time since you were yourself, you’re not sure if you should be giving credit to Dr. Abbot or to yourself for that, but–
“Sleepy.”
You jump when Dr. Abbot is just suddenly in front of you.
“...Hey. I didn’t mean to make you jolt out of your seat, but…hi.”
But he’s gone now. You have more than enough time to figure who you are without him hurting you.
“No–no. What’s up?”
Dr. Abbot puts his hands at his sides.
“Tonight’s the night you take me up on my offer. A lady’s in room seven with what looks to be a non-critical issue. Diaz was gonna check her in, put down the vitals and lab sheets for me, but with it being a slow night on your minor rotation…and with what I’ve heard about you,”
His hands make his way up to the counter, one palm lies flat.
“Am I allowed to put your skills to the test? Or should I let you take another nap?”
You smile with your heart speeding in its beat. He’s funny. You think he likes you, or maybe he’s the person here that can be easy with others, make others smile. But, either way, the night shift isn’t looking to be so bad, after all.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s so handsome either, not that that matters. But it’s…you’re in a place where it can, and you won’t be hurt for it.
You’re in a place where you can get along and care for others, and you can exist for other people, people who you can tell are already great at their jobs, great at being.
You can exist for others and not be bruised for it. That’s how it should be, your therapist says. It’s valid to feel guilty after how long you were with him, what he forced your mind to learn, but this is how it should be.
“Of course.”
…Even though you’re suddenly terrified. Still, you keep your smile along your face.
You are confident in your capabilities as a nurse; you have to be if you’re gonna be working with emergency patients, but you trust Dr. Abbot to be a great doctor.
Even if he isn’t, he’s obviously a superior, and putting your skills out there for anyone to observe is terrifying, especially when you’re newer, you want to impress everyone, and that feeling is intense; the anxiety that comes with the idea that you won’t is even worse.
But you’ve been through worse. You’ve felt worse.
“Room seven, you said?”
“Yep. I have some charts to finish, another patient to check on. When you’re done, come find me and give me a debrief.”
“Alrighty, Dr.”
You throw a salute at him. Dr. Abbott only confuses you when his brows go low with a stare.
“...How much did Robby tell you about me?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying that you would ask that.”
“...Just get on the patient, please.”
You do. She’s a 57-year-old woman named Lillian. She’s nice enough.
“What happened to that young Hispanic man? I was looking forward to being examined by him.”
It’s the not worst sexual harassment you’ve ever witnessed or have received from a patient, but even in the shameless comment, you can tell she’s pale and uncomfortable.
“I hope my face does just well enough, ma’am. You’re stuck with me. So, what’s exactly the matter, tonight?”
You find that what’s been the matter with the patient for a while is that she was previously healthy to only come in with intermittent chest tightness, dyspnea, and a dry cough with a bit of lightheadedness.
No on COVID. No on the flu, but most of her concern is how every hospital before yours claims it’s only a cold as her immune system weakens into old age.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll try our best to stop you from feeling like this.”
As you slowly make your way to Dr. Abbott at the nurse’s station, you do more than you’re supposed to in your head in thinking about her symptoms.
You are a confident nurse. You’re proud to be one…even if it wasn’t your first career choice, but still, you do know you’re not supposed to be the one to make the conclusions. You can suggest, offer, assist, but you cannot allow your confidence to lie in the things you’re not allowed to do.
Still, there’s something wrong here. It’s more than all the things that have been ruled out, and even though you know there is a risk of seeming pushy or out of your depth at bringing up your theory to Dr. Abbot if he comes up with it first, but for the sake of the patient, you have to. The well-being of them outrules…the rules.
This is not about seeming impressive to him…or to anyone, but if it does, you wouldn’t mind the emotional benefit of that.
“Dr. Abbot.”
Dr. Abbot turns around, stern in the movement…strong in the arms. You wonder if you’d noticed that before.
“You’re done already?”
“Mhmm.”
“I was told to be expecting a mystery illness.”
“Yeppers,” You hand him the chart and he’s quick to flip through it, studying it with a practiced eye. “She’s been two primary care doctors and urgent care before going to another E.R in Philly.”
He continues his study, and this is really the first time you’re able to see Dr. Abbot doing his job. Although he’s literally just looking at a chart, his focus is natural. Admirable.
“Normal ECG, troponins are slightly elevated but not screaming at us. Is the echo still pending?” You nod. “Labs are not gonna be for another couple of hours.”
“Mhmm. But if it’s the same as the last department, they’ll probably run clean. Still,”
“Mhmm. What?”
“...Did you just mock me, Dr. Abbot?”
“Mm-mm. What is it?”
You stop yourself from rolling yourselves with the rush of blood against your arms. The way his jokes come out as if they’re fact, as if he’s not joking.
The night shift isn’t so bad. And Dr. Abbot is more than a good man, he’s much too likable already.
“I’ll wait on the echo before I suggest anything.”
Dr. Abbot looks up. He blinks before his eyes slightly narrow.
“Alright. I suppose it’s my turn to examine her now, and whatever comes from my assessment, you’ll sit with me on the next patient after.”
“Alright.”
Your word is not unkind, but curt in a slightly lowered voice.
You try to not let your smile get so wide when Dr. Abbot points a low finger.
“I’m just going to state my rules, well, my preferences. I couldn’t have specifics rules for a nurse, I’m not your superior, Dana Evans is–”
“Damn right.”
It’s Dana flying past, covered in a fluid you will not ask about.
You turn back to see Dr. Abbot’s eyes on you first. You suppose he’s more used to Dana or any nurse or fellow attending or resident covered in fluid.
“If you’re gonna take to the night shift, I’d rather not have you mock me. But I’ll be in room seven with…” He takes his sights back to the chart before handing it back to you. “Lillian.”
You wait a few seconds before Dr. Abbot’s away from you.
“Right back at ya.”
You smile when Jack stops in his tracks. He takes two seconds to turn and takes seconds to stare at you when you blow a finger gun. His brows raise. His eyes go small.
“You are so strange.”
Your smile keeps at his simple statement, despite the fact that you’re shocked at his easy bravery. You suppose you’re glad he can already feel comfortable around you to bully, that makes for good teamwork. That seems to be the truth for your time with Dr. Robby and his little group of residents and students you’re trying to get to know.
He turns back, and for the next twenty minutes, he’s gone.
Dana’s suddenly next to you, chair against chair. She sighs shakily.
“People need to stop shoving shit up their anuses. At the very least, the country needs to make a law against it. Why is it that every nurse that has been and is to be will encounter butt stuff?
“I don’t know about lawmaking, Dana. That won’t stop anyone.”
The blonde woman smiles thinly, but sweetly before it fades slightly.
“How’s the night shift treating ya, so far?”
“Alright, actually.”
“...How’s Abbot?”
"Dr. Abbot? He’s great. For a conversation where I’m bullied, I mean. But he’s a pretty good doctor, yeah?”
“One of the best, don’t tell him I said that. Tell him I said he’s good. Just enough praise to situate confidence, but not enough to build an ego. The same goes for Robby.”
You chuckle at Dana’s rightful plan, chin resting on your hand when you squeak your chair closer to her.
“...How do the others like him?”
You already regret the question when Dana’s brows raise, but you don’t know why, it’s just a question where you want to see if the others you’re getting to know like him as much as you do.
You like him. And that’s okay. You can exist around him and it’s not a crime.
Nothing about the way you feel deserves punishment. Remind yourself of that if you want the way you smile and the way you want to make others laugh and feel good feel real. If you want to be yourself.
“In this department, with his ability? He’s easy to like and learn from. He’s not sunshine in a can like you, but you’ve obviously seen he’s able to…appear like he has a will to live.”
“...Sunshine in a can?”
You’re completely confused in the way you blink quickly.
“You’ve been here for almost a month and one would think we suddenly have a teddy-bear rotation. The fact that I have not come to resent your constant smiling or surprise granola says something about you.”
“Dana–”
“Take the compliment, sunshine. If I have to hear our McKay bitch about the lack of brownies since you’ve been put on the night shift, that means you belong here.”
You smile small, and you’re smile being small doesn’t mean it’s any less genuine, but the idea of people perceiving you, or at the very least, your charge nurse perceiving you as someone who already belongs here makes your heart unbelievably shy.
You’re glad that the person you can finally be is a person others like, but even in the confidence you need to relearn, you’ll keep that thought down for the sake of being humble.
“Tell Cassie the day shift will have assorted scones ready for them when I come back. And speaking of my sunny absence, how’s you with the double shifts?”
“It’s probably my 15th anniversary of double shifts tonight. Maybe you can join me for once this time. Stop running for the door the minute your shift is done.”
You try to smile.
"Hey, it's your one flaw, I'll take what I can get--"
“Sleepy,” You and Dana both look up at Dr. Abbott in front of you two, arms stretched out, palms flat on the counter. “On your feet, we’ll leave Evans to take a nap she actually deserves. Seriously, slugger, you running back and forth tonight worries me.”
You almost moan when Dana’s mouth parts with a scoff readied on her tongue. “Sleepy? Oh, sweetie, that’s much better than sunshine.”
You only burn when Dr. Abbott looks at you, then Dana, then you again, all with a stiff head and unblinking eyes.
“Let’s go.”
And you can only mouth “why?!” at Dana as you walk backwards behind him.
“Stop doing that, please.”
You stop walking backwards.
“Thank you.”
Before you know it, you’re standing alongside the newly introduced attending in the intake bay. A patient’s chart rests in his hands, and there. He’s focused again.
His face is beautiful in his stern, simple sight, and the only issue is your instinct to blush instead of teasing him about it, so you try to focus on what must be the rare reprieve of the night shift, no drunk college kids or wounds from bar fights, right?
The fluorescent light hum you know this place for is almost enough to not notice the way Dr. Abbott scratches his leg, and when he does, the pant leg pulls up by a few inches.
And what’s underneath is metal instead of flesh and bone. Another life that’s built into him.
Oh. To sound the reveille. The salute. The leg. Or lack thereof. That’s probably a cruel thought to have. You’re sorry.
He must be a vet, and although you like him, and you want to get to know more of him, you feel like knowing that now, without Dr. Abbot’s own words feel wrong. But you can’t think like that.
These simple things do not deserve punishment.
You clear your throat, dropping your body on a wheeled stool to spin. And spin.
Dr. Abbot doesn’t look back down when he looks up at you.
“What are you doing?”
“You look like you’re trying to decode the Zodiac letters.”
The small, clueless smirk you pressed your lips together for fades when Dr. Abbot puts the chart to his chest, and his face is plain, but already, you can tell by his eyes that he doesn’t find the joke in this.
You stop spinning.
“You must be very good at baking. Good on you.”
You blink. “Oh! My reputation precedes me. And I am, if I do say so myself…” You blink again.
Is he saying what you think he’s saying?
“Dr. Abbot, if…my attempts–if I ever get too much, you can tell me. Whatever you’ve heard about me, I can assure you, I’ve definitely caused eye-rolls before.”
Dr. Abbot gives you no reaction. You can’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but the way he simply looks back down at the chart strikes you. You swallow.
Impress. Make do. Make people feel good.
“Let me guess–non-traumatic, vague abdominal pain, vitals are stable, and the labs could bore you?”
Dr. Abbottlooks up and holds the chart over his legs, his head slightly lifted, but his eyes only on you.
“There’s nausea, some lightheadedness. Minor tachycardia but not sustained. He says it gets worse after meals. Negative for ulcers. No fever. Nothing glaring at us in the CBC or BMP. You’ve ever caught smoke with your bare hands?”
You shake your head. He blinks. Oh.
“Of course you haven’t.” You try not to smile when he shakes his head. “I’d say it feels pancreatic, but the clarity on that isn’t as clear as I’d like it to be. Could be early gallbladder, but the imaging’s clean. I could go get Dr. Shen, or leave it to Robby in the morning for a second opinion but…I don’t know, sleepy.”
“Can I?”
You point to the curtain, and Dr. Abbot doesn’t take a moment to nod; he only crosses his arms and narrows his head.
You end up glancing through to see the patient. He’s mid-thirties, male. Seemingly alert and coherent, annoyed but not in distress.
“May I?”
Your hand gestures to the chart in Dr. Abbot's hands, and he gives it to you to study.
Here, you wonder what it is he’s trying to do with you exactly, other than figuring out the situation with the new nurse he’s only met yester-night.
…Is he challenging you? Trying to disprove what others believe? It makes you wonder what’s exactly been said about you to the point where Dr. Abbot or anybody else would think you’re more capable than the average nurse (and the average nurse is nothing short of God here in the Pitt, you think).
And then you wonder what it is about the other parts of you that might make it harder for him to believe you are what you are, which is a nurse that knows more than she should.
You can’t blame Dr. Abbot exactly, considering you were just playing spinsies on the chair two minutes ago. Still, the answer to his problem comes to you easily, and you can’t help but wonder what face he’ll make when you tell him.
“I’m seeing he started a new ‘clean eating’ thing two weeks ago?”
“No red meat, high fiber, the load of raw veggies.”
You nod thoughtfully after he drags out the word load on his tongue. “Did you palpate the LLQ?”
Really. You try not to smile when Dr. Abbott makes no face, but only shifts his crossed arms to folding his knuckles over his stomach. That says enough.
“Yeah. He winced. No rebound, but no rigidity.”
“And what about percussion on the sigmoid? Or the gas pattern?”
And even though you’re not looking, you can feel his eyes watching you, asking a question.
How the hell do you know exactly what to ask?
“...Some distension, but nothing dramatic. You…what are you seeing in this chart that I’m not?”
You smile something that all too quickly turns into a smirk. You hate to break down your humbleness the way you do when you hand Dr. Abbott the chart.
“I’m thinking, and only thinking, not diagnosing–that’s your job. But…it could be acute colonic pseudo-obstruction.”
You lean against the wall, growing taller on your tippy toes and dimples coming along wide.
Dr. Abbot flips through the chart.
“He’s ticking all the boxes, don’t you think? Sudden dietary shift, high fiber, gas buildup, and some mild nausea."
It’s rare, so I don’t mean to think of zebras instead of horses, but if the labs and tests are coming up empty with more common illnesses, you can claim it’s not impossible in a younger patient, you know? The imaging’s not gonna catch it, and even if it did, no one thinks to look for Early Ogilvie’s in someone his age.
You let the Dr. blink in the moment of silence.
He puts the chart down on the counter before leaning against it.
“You’re serious.” In the moment, you’re almost thankful for him taking his sights off you to watch the sterile glow over the tile, but when he looks back up at you, there’s something new in his eyes.
It’s odd, you try your best to be confident in the way you talk, the way you comfort patients and your colleagues, but you don’t think you could be as confident with your eyes as Dr. Abbot is with his, but you hope your confidence has the same effect as his focus.
That it puts trust in others.
“Ogilvie’s?”
You shrug before leaning into Dr. Abbot’s space, you only do it for dramatics as you whisper.
“Just a theory, but I’d put my money on it. You, good sir, could ask for KUB focused on his distal colon, or maybe a contrast if you want to go fancy. But you probably already know that, because if everyone thinks you’re great, well…what can I do but follow?”
You think that after this, you have to keep looking in his eyes, because what’s the point of proving yourself to him if you can’t appear confident in your proof? Still, you’re thankful that he’s the one to look away first.
“If you’re right, excellent job.”
And there it is again, your veins and bones trying to sit still when it faces a compliment.
“...Thank you–”
“Excellent.”
And they possibly can’t when you realize that Dr. Abbot is truly serious in his words. Almost…breathless, but that must be how he sounds when he’s not facetiously bullying you. Still, you have to stop the corners of your brain from closing in on its believability.
Impress, but relearn how to accept the praise when you finally do.
But here…it’s different with Dr. Abbot, and you couldn’t know why, but it’s easy for your system to accept his praise, and maybe it's because it wants it badly enough that it’s willing to ignore his voice. His words.
“If you’re wrong, I will call on Evans to severely reprimand you.”
“I’ll start a betting pool when you walk off to order the imaging.”
Dr. Abbot nods before lifting himself away from you and your sights, and it’s only a matter of this being a calm shift that you’re able to sit next to Dana again.
You only regret when you meet her knowing look. What could she know? You wouldn’t.
“Aw, shit. You glowing from your diagnostic confidence or from Abbot’s praise when you did whatever the fuck it is you did this time?”
“I’m allowed to be proud of when I’m right, Dana."
“Mhm-hm.” Whatever it is that Dana’s unconvinced about, you can tell she is still when she stands up with two pats to your shoulders. “Sure.”
And when she walks away from you, she’s only more unconvinced when she meets Abbott in the walkway.
“Her. What is with her? How do…others like her?”
And Abbot’s only as confused as you when Dana snorts.
————————————————
It was just all...so different in my head.
