#in. main.

[pittvet]

“you and annie on the way up to the house yet? stop by the gas station on the way. i’m out of cigarettes.”  every time,  every single time,  he thinks he’s prepared for it.  for leslie to bring her up with such casualness.  her memory breathed to life with ease and skipped over for the actual important question.  he never is though.  always he ends up collapsing sitting on the bench.  always that ugly,  wounded sound building, building, buildingbuildingbuilding.  released as his thumb reflexively hits the mute button.  

a long drag on the cigarette.  in four.  hold four.  out four.  unmuting,  he brings the phone back up to his ear.  “— ck,  i’m talking to you.  you listening?  i need you to pick up some cigarettes on your way in.  not those shitty—”

“you really should quit smoking, dad.  it’s not good for you.”  the words are hardly out of his mouth before he’s taking another drag on his own cigarette.  in.  hold.  out.  “don’t you start with that stupid shit,  jack.  I’ve been smoking longer than you’ve been alive.  hasn’t killed—”  in his peripheral,  he sees the outline of a familiar figure waiting just within earshot.  god,  he needs this conversation to end.  “fine, i’ll buy the goddamn cigarettes,  okay?  i’m still at work right now,  so annie —” his voice cracks on her name, but he soldiers on with desperate determination, “annie and i will be there late.  just … i’ll call you when we leave.” 

he doesn’t wait for a response before hanging up.  doesn’t turn his head yet towards his audience,  afraid that the sharp pricking of tears will be visible if he does.  but with a remarkably level voice,  he asks,  “think we’ll manage to get out of here on time for once?  or has it gone to hell in the three minutes i’ve been out here?”

[pittvet]

[ @adflorum sent ]: uber so expensuve rn :(

[ d. whitaker, ed ]: Kind of what happens this late at night.

[ d. whitaker, ed ]: How much is it? I'll send you money for it.

[ d. whitaker, ed ]: ... Or would you rather I give you a ride?

[pittvet]

INCOMING: 🤒 your muse to find that my muse is sick and refusing to rest

it’s an inevitable thing really,  getting cornered by @pittbangs.  he’s spent the last few hours of this ‘accidental’ overtime successfully avoiding being cornered alone with the day shift resident.  partially through luck.  traumas brought in,  other residents presenting their cases and asking for opinions.  partially through skill.  a well known fact about doctor jack abbot is he’s always aware of the moving pieces in the department,  even when he is not at the helm of their struggling ship.  hard to pin down if he doesn’t want to be.  most people would leave him be after several failed attempts.  one of his and mckay's overlapping qualities seems to be a certain relentlessness and obligation to act on their observations,  much to jack’s annoyance. and robby’s delight,  he’s sure.  ( he can almost hear the gleeful ‘taste of your own medicine’ remark the man would enjoy leveling at him ).  

cornered because he’s been too slow in shedding his ppe, unable to retreat back to his preferred charting station at the hub ( where discretion was all but impossible given the proximity to certain nurses ) before she’s there.  he'd almost laugh at the fact he can tell she was waiting for this exact opportunity if it weren't for the headache threatening to split his skull in two.  he tries to ignore the ringing in his ears that has yet to fully subside,  and the way the brightness of the unyielding overhead lights leave him feeling nauseous as he lifts his gaze from the floor to glance at her.  

“you got a case to present?”  deliberate ignorance.  he hates when robby does this to him,  but there’s the distant hope that it’ll be effective against mckay.  he finishes stripping off the gown and moves to dispose of it, movements stiff from the whole body ache that’s been plaguing him since midshift last night.  his usual post shift unsteadiness on his feet feels even more pronounced as he limps walks towards the hand sanitizer. “talk fast.”    

[pittvet]

rumor has it everybody sees right through your self destructive tendencies masked as heroism.

not new information, really, that he's painfully transparent at times. hadn't robby thrown his second job back in his face just the other day? hadn't john looked sidelong at him and offered to switch zones halfway through the shift? isn't it an open secret that he'd been going to the roof in the past, before the tems job? of course they knew, despite his best efforts, despite his repeated remarks about being in therapy, in praising it to robby like the shit actually works. ( it would work if he were honest in it. how many times has keith tried to get that point across? that tinge of genuine frustration in the other man's voice and eyes. )

"and? i'm far from the first physician with some kind of a complex. it's almost a requirement for this type of job. i'm working on it."

[pittvet]

i heard from someone that annie wanted to leave you before you got hurt, but then stayed because she felt she should and not because she wanted to

"who the fuck said that to you?" there's only one person who could have said it with any certainty, he knows. his eyes are flying across the emergency department towards michael. an instantaneous thing. always, always he's aware of where the other man is. it's been that way for years. but, for once, he stops himself. wrenches his gaze away, anywhere else. settles on the safety of the board instead. he won't look. he can't look. michael wouldn't say this about her. he wouldn't do this to her memory. he wouldn't. but jack can't bring himself to look, to confirm that there's no trace of guilt on the man's face. "she wasn't like that, so shut your fucking mouth about shit you don't know anything about."

[pittvet]

there’s the sudden increase in noise as the door opens, quieted once more as it thuds shut behind robby. he should’ve known better than to grab the portable ultrasound and drag it into an empty room. or hell, maybe robby had just noticed the goddamn bullets lodged in the fucking plate carrier as jack came in. he shouldn’t have trusted that robby was too distracted to notice him slink off. the man has a sixth sense for foolishness in his emergency department, and this… this is certainly foolish. hardly anything like the grazes he’d treated off the books before. 

he doesn’t turn to look at @sympatheticdominance, despite the hole jack can feel burning through the back of his head. instead, jack lifts hands that do not tremble up to start on the releases for his plate carrier. forces himself to take steady, deep breaths, despite the sharp flair of pain with each inhale, eyes closing against the way the room shifts at the edges. pointedly, he ignores the too loud slap of the badge against the scanner that is swiftly followed by the clack of keys. 

( he’s not starting a chart for you, jack lies to himself. robby is just catching up on charting in a quiet room. overstimulated from the constant noise. you know how it is. )

a quiet groan slips through clenched teeth as jack sets the ruined carrier on the foot of the bed. which of course seems to be the perfect opportunity for robby to sever the tense silence between them, an almost vicious reprimand leaving his lips,

“you can’t keep putting yourself through this shit and expect me to just sit back and watch.” 

something bursts from jack at the words. an ugly thing, twice removed from a laugh, high and frantic, fracturing at once into an agonized whine. he falls sits heavily on the edge of the bed, pushing himself backward just in time as his good leg collapses beneath him. hazel eyes seize upon the other man as he moves into line of sight. a quick, desperate shake of his head. i’m fine. i’m fine, robby. it’s fine. don’t do this to me. despite the silent pleas, robby’s hands are on him, dragging him further onto the bed. fuck. fuck, this is exactly what he never wanted. robby’s patient after all.

[pittvet]

rumour has it that you and a particular charge nurse are closer than you're letting on

fuck the goddamn rumor mill. he's well aware of his hypocrisy as a huff of annoyance leaves him. after all, he often catches princess on her way out, leans in to quietly ask for the four-one-one by the lockers. anything interesting that came up during the day, anything that'd be beneficial for him to know before he gets to it for the night. he's an avid listener. of course he and dana are going to be a featured story. only good thing is that this time is he knows where the leak is. it'd been too much to hope that the half vacancy to mateo's drunken grin that night would mean that he wouldn't remember just how close he and dana had been, the way that her hand had squeezed his with that soft-spoken promise to pick things up later. fuck.

"right, you run that one by dana, and let me know how it goes for you." ignore the beginnings of a smile, the hint of a blush, the very pointed way he steps into the ambulance bay to meet a non-existent trauma. ( @broughtpeace )