#in. pre.

[pittvet]

Hey Robby ( @fcrthestars ), 

I’m writing from Fort Sam Houston for the time being, but you already know that from the envelope. Hopefully you didn’t toss this in a fire or tear it to shreds right away. Wouldn’t blame you if you did though given everything. 

I didn’t mean to disappear on you without warning. I kept thinking that I’d tell you at some point before I had to leave. Almost did a couple of times. Never seemed like the right time. And then it came time for me to get on the bus, and it was too late. Guess I could’ve called from the bus and ran up both of our minutes. But I just… couldn’t figure out how.

Maybe I was scared. No, scratch that. There’s no maybe about it. I was scared. Still am honestly. I just didn’t want to start a fight with you about it. Kinda ironic, right? I’m here for training to deal with the casualties of warfare, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of starting a fight with you. I don’t know. 

I’m really fucking sorry, man. 

It’s scorching out here. PT these last few days has been hell. Guess that’s a good thing overall. Environmental preparation for what’s in store for my immediate future. Might sound crazy, but somehow I kind of miss the New Orleans humidity….

How are things at Big Charity? You still hanging in there okay? You’re gonna have to order my usual and have a drink for me next time you go out. Invite the med students and interns with you. They’ll get a kick out of it.

Write me back soon, Jack Abbot.

[pittvet]

@bydana // continued.

it’s too fucking loud, too bright with all the different screens. nauseating, all the movement on the screens, the movement of the other patrons at the bar, the chatter that presses in on all sides of him. or maybe that’s the drinks. he’s not sure it matters either way. jack slides off the bar stool, steadies himself against the bar as the world tilts too far with the movement. he needs to go. somewhere quieter. anywhere quieter. 

between one blink and the next, he finds himself outside. sitting on the sidewalk, back pressed to the bricks, head between his knees. the phone in his hand vibrates again, and jack reflexively opens the unread messages. reads over the near indecipherable letters several times before they begin to make sense. when had he texted michael? 

[ message: michael ] a little coudknt go home yet. didnt know wgat to tell annie about suspension today [ message: michael ] promised things wre better at work. [ message: michael ] howss evans? husband pick her up?

[pittvet]

@broughtpeace continued.

he stands there, hands clasped behind his back, watching, watching, watching dana without moving. the usual chaotic din of the emergency department fading with the intent on which he focuses upon the nurse. something is wrong with this picture. he knows it. as sure as he knows the back of his hands. the slight variation in her stance as she transfers the patient, a subtle stiffness that betrays pain. something jack is intimately familiar with. 

“yep, waiting for you,” comes the immediate reply as jack turns to follow her out of the patient’s room. he falls in step beside her, close rank. no hesitation in the easy lie as he continues, voice as deliberately calm and measured as ever these days, “wanted to pick your brain about how to approach a patient.” 

hazel eyes sweep over the department as another nurse passes too close by them — a habit he cannot break, that he does not want to break — lingering for a moment on the board. marking which room is free, he turns his attention (as much as he can spare) back to dana. “stubborn to a fault; won’t listen to a word anyone says. you’re good with the hard ones. think you could make time for it?”

[pittvet]

@adanimi (robby) said: it was shit before , but at least i had you .

“you still have me.” the response is immediate, all but trampling on the tail end of michael’s words. hazel eyes dart towards the tent flap where the muffled sound of boots and irritated chatter remains present, and jack takes a steadying breath. forces himself to continue in a quieter voice, to smooth out the raw edge of panic worry that rears its head each and every time he chooses to call michael. ten minutes if they’re lucky. that’s all jack can spare. he hates that is all he can spare. suck it up, jack. you’re the one that chose to do this. you’ll make it up to michael when you ship back home in eight weeks.  

“you still have me. i’ll be back home soon, okay?” he’s not supposed to say that. tempting fate and all. but this is worth it. if he can reassure michael, it’s worth it. 

“what’s going on, man? you’ve gotta talk fast, we’ve just got…” he glances at the time, hoping against hope that it has dragged for once, and releases a frustrated huff, “seven minutes, but tell me what’s going on. what's so shit about things now? did something happen?” 

[pittvet]

John ( @adanimi ),

I’m not blowing smoke up your — let me not finish that phrase. I hope you understand that I am not saying this just to boost your spirits. I don’t believe in empty praise, so I mean this with complete sincerity.

You were an all-star in that emergency department tonight, and I am so proud of you for sticking through that shift. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d ducked out when the offer was given. And if you need some days off, I’ll cover it, no questions asked. Just… everything that’s going on right now… it’s not normal, not by any standard. I know you know that, but it feels worth repeating. This shit is not how it’s always going to be. You’ll get through it. And everything else will be a walk in the park by comparison after it’s over. 

Let me know what kind of meals you like or would like to try, and I’ll cook something for you. I’ve gotten really good at it these days. You’d be doing me a favor honestly. Especially if you called after and gave me a review. Can’t improve without feedback, you know. 

Keep up the good work, Jack Abbot.

P.S. Don’t report me to the postal service for delivering this directly to your mailbox. I didn’t have any stamps left in my bag. 

[pittvet]

"when was the last time you slept?" / from annie

thump, thump, thump. the crutches beat a frantic rhythm against the wooden floors. again and again, jack swings himself along his patrol. window to window, door to door. searching, searching, searching in the dark expanses of the street, in the too dark corners of the house for — he comes to an abrupt stop, back of his neck prickling with the sudden weight of eyes upon him.

scarcely a breath later, @bydana's voice reaches him.

“when was the last time you slept?” 

something ragged tears free of his throat as the crutches resume their path past the windows, carrying him away away away from annie’s concern. it might have been a laugh. he still does that sometimes, doesn't he? from the wetness on his face, he thinks it might have been a sob.

"i don't know," he gasps. reaching the boundary of the foyer, he turns back along the same path. his hands ache on the grips, leg trembles beneath him with each step. heart races in his chest, lungs struggling for breath. how long has he been doing this? long enough that she got up to find him. he tries not to look at annie, but his eyes snap to her immediately as she steps further into the living room. "i don't — don't look at me like that please."

[pittvet]

@broughtpeace liked for a starter

he had noticed it, of course he had.  the same way jack notices everything in the emergency department.  ( every single body moving, every voice speaking, every monitor and pump beeping. all of it all at once. )  shared glances among the nurses.  looks thrown his way when his attention is seemingly fixated elsewhere.  sudden silences when he enters a room.  the deliberate way that evans, only ever evans, filled the subtly vacant spot at his shoulder each trauma.  each thing catalogued and disregarded in favor of moving, always moving to the next thing. 

but he truly notices it after the gunshot wound is brought in midshift.  every set of eyes in the room daggers upon him.  sharp removals of protective equipment as the room emptied of the nurses.  no backwards glances, no additional remarks.  robinavitch lingering, once familiar eyes burning with frustration. 

it doesn’t come as a surprise that he’s sent to triage.  ( get some air, then triage, okay?  chairs are backed up.  we’ve got it covered back here for a while. )  

he’s fucked it.  not beyond repair,  hopefully.  which is what leads him here, lingering beside the lockers after shift instead of heading straight home.  the silence is deliberate, he knows.  he knows that now.  so is the intense focus on collecting belongings.  

“evans, wait.”  he tries for a smile to soften the bite of the order request, but it wavers and vanishes the second the nurse’s eyes flick over to him.  jack’s hand tightens on the strap of his bag — once, twice, thrice — and he clears his throat to try again.  “do you drink? the nurses, after shift...?  i’ll buy tonight."