Cico buff
warnings: dr. robby, ANGST (tons of it actually), hurt/comfort (not caused by jack nor reader), implied age gap, mention of suicide, mention of death, anxiety attack, overdose, medical inaccurances (I tried my best). pairing: jack abbot x indigo!reader word count: 10.1k a/n: based on this idea. hi everyone! this is my first jack abbot fic, hope you guys will like it!! I'm not gonna lie..i cried a bit while writing this, indigo reader has a special place in my heart, also I thought that it wouldn't take me so long to write but the medical part, combinded with uni exams, really kicked my ass. while reading this i reccomend listening to these songs cico buff - cocteau twins, should have known better - sufjan stevens, all of me wants all of you - sufjan stevens, teardrop - massive attack, chihiro - billie eilish, when i close my eyes - tom odell and john wayne - cigarettes after sex. remember that english is not my first language so sorry in advance for any possible mistakes that you may encounter. likes, comments and reblogs are very much appriciated. 🤍🩵 DO NOT COPY, REWRITE OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. MDNI.
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"Hey doc." Your attending approached you, fingers tapping on the counter slightly above you. Doc, he only used this nickname when he needed a favor, the other times he called you simply by your surname or he added the title doctor right before it. You weren’t complaining though. You didn’t want him to give you a permanent nickname like the one he’d picked up for himself; it would have made you uncomfortable and at the same time it would have pointed out even more his lack of professionalism at the workplace.
“Since things here seem to have calmed down a bit I need you to be for a little while in triage, yeah?”
Your gaze didn’t leave the screen, you kept charting. “Do I have a choice Dr. Robinavitch?” The tone was flat.
“Actually no.” He exhaled. “Make sure to say that to Dr. Mohan too okay? I can’t find her anywhere and -”
You finished his sentence before he could continue. “Yeah I’ll tell Kwon or Ogilvie to join us too, since this is a teaching hospital.”
“Perfect, you learn rapidly. See you later. Heads up Doc,” and with that he left.
You finished your chart before leaving the nurse station in search of Dr. Mohan that was nowhere to be found so, you stopped the only person who knew everyone’s business. “Princess, hi, have you seen Dr. Mohan by chance?”
“Oh you heard the rumor too? You know, I didn’t think of you as the noisy type of girl.” She gave you a playful smile and a wink. “Apparently they have been in that room for nearly an hour now.”
Your face clearly showed signs of confusion and irritation but she didn’t seem to notice at all. “What are you talking about exactly?” You tried to hide your frustration, you were wasting too much time and in a ER you couldn’t afford to.
“Well, Dr. Abbot and Dr. Mohan. I thought you knew,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I didn’t and respectfully, I don’t care. I asked you about her cause Robby needs us in triage but I couldn’t find her.” Those words slipped out before you could even think.
Princess noticed the shift in your tone from a seemingly calm one to an harsher one. She pointed out the room in which the two of them were. “Right there Doc, see you later.” You gave her a half of a smile before heading to it.
Fucking Robby.
As soon as you stepped in you saw them. Abbot was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless while Mohan was behind him, carefully taking care of what it seemed to be a wound. The two of them were too immersed in the moment and in the conversation they had to notice you. A sudden and sickening hollowness found its way into your stomach, accompanied by an unexpected strangling sensation. You couldn’t believe how much people loved wasting time as if they weren’t working in a damn hospital and patients struggling between life and death didn’t come in at any moment. You swallowed and shoved those unpleasant sensations away. You needed to get a grip, there were lives to be saved. So, you knocked at the glass door.
“I’m not sorry to interrupt whatever is going on,” you said firmly.
They startled. Samira immediately got his hands off Jack’s shoulders, as if you had caught her red-handed.
You continued. “Dr. Mohan, Dr. Robinavitch need us in triage together with a med student. It doesn’t matter if it is Kwon or Ogilvie.”
She nodded and then placed once again her hand over Abbot’s shoulder.
“Now.” You emphasized.
“Okay, yeah. Are you sure that you can take care of this? Earlier you seemed to be struggling.” She asked him.
“Jesus I’m not geriatric yet, I think that I can still take care of a silly wound like that.”
She chuckled and you were about to too but you bit your lips, instantly.
“Okay well, let’s go then. I’ll search for Kwon.” Dr. Mohan informed you while approaching the exit. You followed her but as you reached the door jamb and as your colleague already headed toward triage, you turned your head in Jack’s direction. “Oh and Dr. Abbot, please put a shirt on after you finish. Patients need you.” The words that left your mouth were intended to be more stinging than they actually sounded.
A subtle smile appeared onto his face. “Yes ma’am.”
This time you were able to let out a chuckle, comforted by the fact that nobody was around. Then you went to join your colleagues in Triage.
“And all done Mrs. Fernandez.” You smiled at the patient while removing your gloves. “For the next few days you need to rest and if anything happens please, don’t hesitate to come here and ask of me.”
“I will do doctor, thank you for everything.”
“I’m just doing my job. Now carefully grab your belongings and try to get up slowly.” You instructed her, making sure that she wouldn’t hurt herself in the process. As she stood up you were ready to escort her to exit, where one of her relatives was waiting for her, but your attention got caught by Donnie calling your name.
“Yo, we need you back there.”
You nodded. “Sure. I will accompany Mrs. Fernandez outside and then I’ll be there.”
“No, I’ll do it.” He uttered with an oddly firm tone. You frowned, this was your patient not his, but before you could reply anything he began to speak. “There’s an emergency. Go, please. I’ll take care of the patient.”
“Okay, thank you.” That was all you could say before offering a smile to the old lady and rushing to the hub. The first sound that you heard once you passed the door was that of Robby’s voice.
“All right, everybody, circle up.”
Your body moved without hesitation, finding its way towards the most familiar face of the pitt.
“What happened?” You asked the night shift attending, who was standing by your side.
“System was preemptively shut down to avoid a cyberattack” Abbot casually explained.
A loud sigh escaped your mouth. “Great.”
He chuckled. “You know you’re allowed curse right? I promise you that it won’t jeopardize your career.” You rolled your eyes.
His eyes scanned you from head to toe, noticing how chest rise and fall rapidly, still not having recovered from the small run. His gaze then returned to your face and his brow arched. “Where were you?”
“Got stuck with a patience in triage. Old lady, swollen ankle, nothing too serious but she was worried. I just wanted to make sure she was doing fine of before her nephew arrived to come pick her up.”
Jack leaned over you, until his bristly chin brushed your shoulder and whispered, “You’re too good for triage, you know that?” as if he didn’t want to make you feel embarrassed. You stared at the wall in front of you, unable to say anything, too focused on his close proximity, and all of the implications involved. Had somebody noticed you? If the answer was yes, would you become the protagonist of a new bet? Or worse, would they start a rumor about the two of you that would send you directly to the HR office? But most importantly, why that small and almost imperceptible contact had brought with it a sense of warmth that you hadn’t felt in a while.
In the end, Jack resumed the distance between you two. You decided to ignore the comment, filling the silence with a “You have to tell that to Dr. Robinavitch, not me,” while meeting Jack’s eyes. But deep down you appreciated both the small compliment and the way his tone shifted when pronouncing those words, and even though your colleagues knew nothing about your life nor your personality, he seemed to comprehend you somehow. That was the part that made you uncomfortable. He saw you when you didn’t want to be seen.
He winked at you, still maintaining the eye contact. “Will do, don’t worry about that.”
After that brief exchange the three attendings instructed the staff how to work without the benefits of technology.
Jack Abbot was a man of his word. As soon as all of the instructions were given, he talked to Robby and suddenly you were no longer needed in triage.
Now that all of your patients were set up, you had a moment to dedicate to charting. But right after you logged into the computer you heard the paramedics shout an “Incoming.”
You turned your head, only to see a woman in her fifties tied to the gurney, convulsing and desperately trying to free herself from the stretcher straps that held her with such a brutal force reminiscent of a lioness trying to escape her enclosure. Without any further do, you headed to the patient, followed by Dr. McKay.
“What do we have here? ” you said in unison.
“Anne Davis. Fifty three. Overdose. Her neighbor, Halimah, found her in a deep state of confusion and also mentioned that she was hallucinating once she arrived." The paramedic explained while the lady nodded. In the meantime, you noticed that the neighbor, standing on the left side of the gurney, was holding an empty yellow plastic container. You moved towards her.
“After we got her out of the ambulance she started convulsing.” The other paramedic added.
“And she overdosed on?” McKay asked.
Halimah, visibly exhausted and shaken by the situation, handed you the container.
Once you read the label your heart skipped a beat and for a moment every sound felt distant and muffled, until you swallowed all of your sensations away and uttered, “Antidepressant. To be more specific SSRI fluoxetine, Prozac. The typical dosage is between 20 and 80 mg per day. She obviously must have been taken more than that but there has been record of someone taking 8 grams of it and still being able to recover. In comparison to other types of antidepressants they are one of the least toxic in overdose. Nevertheless, we need to act now and expel all of the medication out of her body. Get her into trauma.”
Dr. McKay gave you a satisfied look accompanied by an equally satisfied smirk, and then she clapped her hands to catch the attention of the paramedics.
“All right, you heard the doctor, get her into trauma now.” She said before the four of you rushed into trauma, leaving the neighbor outside with a nurse.
With all of your attention focused on the patient, you didn’t noticed that there was also someone else who was watching you amidst – and despite – the chaos of the ER. Jack Abbot was about to dismiss a patient and place the paper chart on the desk when he saw the paramedics reporting both McKay and you the state in which they found the woman tied to the gurney. Right after that he heard your voice, serious and professional, delivering those information in such a firm, rapid and precise way that was uncommon for a R1, and to be frank it was a quality that was rare to be found even among the most experienced residents nowadays and yet, you never failed to surprise him. Even if you had worked together for a couple of months, you had proven to the night shift attending your expertise and willingness to learn and to improve your skills. That was apparently enough to gain Jack’s trust and admiration that occasionally became known to you during those rare moments where the two of you were alone and you could discreetly accept his compliments. But his trust and admiration could be also silently seen through the way he looked at you, if only you had the courage to let yourself losing in his hazel eyes. Today it was no exception, he was watching you with the same pride and affection that his face wore countless time, before you disappeared into trauma with a more stabilized patient that didn’t require an attending supervision, and he finally put the chart on the desk.
By the time you entered the room, the woman had stopped convulsing and before the paramedics, together with the help of McKay and Jesse could transfer the patient to the hospital trauma bed, you quickly did an airway check.
“She’s breathing, let’s move her to the bed.” You instructed.
Once the patient was settled, Cassie and you put on a new pair of gloves before she called you and said.
“Listen. I know that we didn’t quite have the chance to work together in a while, but at the same time I also know that you handled different cases of overdose in the past few weeks and from what I’ve seen so far you seem perfectly capable of taking the lead. The convulsion has stopped now so…”
The way that McKay phrased everything was odd. Too formal and unnatural for a woman like her, always sarcastic and loose. But unfortunately you did have this effect on people. You kept yourself at distance, disturbed by the fact that eventually someone could get even a slightly glimpse of your personal history and get blinded by it, instead of focusing on your skills. It was a deliberate choice, that’s true, but it still hurt when you noticed how differently your colleagues acted when interacting with you, especially those of the day shift. All of them acted as if they were a family, and while you agreed with that statement, you couldn’t help it but to think that you weren’t part of it. You felt like the moody neighbor that had just moved across the street, the one who said hi only when forced by the circumstances. But it was okay, you were there to work, to save lives, not for socializing or worse, for finding the love of your life.
You nodded and moved towards the hospital bed. “It would be a pleasure Dr. McKay, thank you. ”
“Good.” She exhaled. “Now illustrate me the next steps.”
“First we need to asses her vital signs, then her LOC, before performing a -” your explanation was interrupted by the patient, who now started convulsing again, even more violently than the first time.
Your body reacted without thinking. “We need to move her to her side now, come help me.”
Jesse, McKay and Perla came in your help and helped you moving the convulsing patient onto her left side, meanwhile some painful, yet necessary, words escaped your mouth, Facing Cassie, who was at your left. “Even though I would be perfectly able to handle this case, I’m an R1 Dr. McKay, and this is not a low-risk overdose scenario anymore. Protocol is protocol.” You then turned your head to your right, towards Perla. “Go search for Dr. Abbot.. or Robby or Al-Hashimi, an attending.” Perla looked over McKay who gave her a nod.
You were being selfish. You wanted Jack to be there because he would have let you handled the case anyways, in contrast to Robby, who somehow always seemed to underestimate your skills and knowledge.
“We need to sedate her, as soon as possible, we were lucky with the first seizure but this one could possibly be deadly.” You said while maintaining your gaze to the woman, in order to avoid McKay.
A few seconds later Perla entered into the room and said. “Dr. Abbot and Robby are in trauma 2. Dr. Al-Hashimi is nowhere to be found.”
A smirk appeared onto Cassie’s face. “I’m the boss now, so that means that you are going to handle the case. I trust you and I’ll be observing you.” You gave her an appreciative smile.
“Okay. Jesse fill a syringe with 2 mg of lorazepam diluted in an equal part of normal saline and give it to me.”
In no time the nurse handed you the syringe and you injected the medication into her right arm, the one who wasn’t getting flattened by her body-weight. In less than two minutes, the patient had stopped convulsing, and you were able to move her onto her back. Your colleagues helped you asses her vitals, and everything seemed fine since she was able to breath normally and eventually started regain consciousness.
You looked at face and at her fragile state and began to talk to her. “Hi Anne, you did something dangerous but we are here to save you. Now I have to insert a tube in your nose, it will be a bit annoying but it won’t cause you any pain, is this okay?”
The only thing that she could do was to nod.
With the approval of your senior resident you changed your gloves for the third time, to avoid potential infections, and then once Jesse and Perla passed you the supplies and placed a linen-saver pad onto the woman’s chest, you began the procedure. Gastric suction.
You first checked which nostril was the more patent for tube insertion which turned out to be the left one then, you measured the length of the nasogastric tube and once you reached the end of the xiphoid process Perla handed you a piece of tape to note the length. After that, you generously lubricated the insertion end of the tube with lignocaine and gently began to insert the Nasogastric tube into her left nostril and started rotating it when you were met with a slight resistance, once you reached the nasopharynx. Afterwards you continued gently pushing the tube down to the esophagus until the predetermined mark was reached, only to fix it to the bridge of her nose with an adhesive plaster. During the whole procedure the patient surprisingly remained quiet, but conscious.
In the meantime, Jesse had placed the other supplies on the Mayo table near you while McKay gave approval for your actions and attentively observed you.
You removed the syringe form the insulation bottle and inserted the it into the end of the tube, only to instill small air bolus and auscultate the patient’s stomach with your stethoscope. Once you heard the stomach gurgling, you checked the gastric residual and let the gastric content drain onto the container placed on the table. After all of the return had stopped from the tube, you began irrigating with sixty cc of saline and let the liquid drain into the belly. Then you moved the syringe towards the container and let all of the content drain back into it. You repeated this procedure several times, until the gastric contents run clear back out of the tube and removed the syringe from it, not before filling the stomach with some air.
“Okay Anne, can you take a deep breath for me now?” you asked gently.
“Yes” she said with a weary voice and you proceeded to remove the nasogastric tube while Perla disposed the linen-saver pad away.
Eventually the woman was transported into another room and immediately feel asleep.
You had saved her.
Before exiting trauma McKay gave you a pat on your shoulder and uttered. “Good job Doc. Now go check your other patients.” Those were the only words that seemed the most authentic and real. Not in terms of content but in form. Smoother than your previous interactions, more Cassie like.
You thanked her and then exited the room.
Outside trauma you were surprised to notice not only that the neighbour of Anne, Halimah, had left but also that Dana came back after finishing assisting the SA victim. She waved at you from her desk.
“Hey Doc welcome back” She greeted you while chewing a gum. You smiled politely.
Suddenly a young boy entered the bay and rushed towards the charge nurse. He put his hands on the desk and tried to catch a breath.
You moved towards him, afraid that he might be sick and needed assistance, and in fact he needed assistance, just not the medical one.
“I’m Jayce Moore.” He painted, worn out by the run he had to make to be there. “I’m umh the son of Anne Davis. My neighbour, Halimah told me that an emergency happened and she had to call an ambulance.” Slowly his breath returned normal and the painting was replaced by a tone of desperation mixed with a glimpse of hope. “Where is she? Please, tell me that nothing bad has happened to her.”
Dana was about to speak when you stepped in. “Hi Jayce, I’m the doctor who treated your mom.” You said as calmly and as sweetly as possible, in order to instill in his body some sort of calm.
He tiled his head to you and locked his glistening eyes with yours. “Is she alive?” he asked you with a trembling voice.
“Yes. She’s asleep now. Why don’t we continue this conversation elsewhere? Somewhere quieter perhaps.”
The boy nodded and moved away from the desk. Your first instinct was that of placing a hand onto his shoulders, a simple sign that wanted to communicate to him that he wasn’t alone, even though you could only a little to ease his pain. Eventually he melted into the touch that in such a difficult and stressing moment was very much appreciated.
While heading towards the family room you turned your head towards Dana and told her, “Once Kiara is available can you send her to me?”
“Sure thing Kid.” She responded while looking at some documents.
The family room was small and cold, not in terms of temperature but in terms of atmosphere. The walls were white and there were two grey sofas placed in the middle of it, facing each other, and a small wooden coffee table. That’s it.
Jayce and you seated on the same sofa, with you deciding to keep a distance that was both appropriate for a doctor and a family member’s patient, but that at the same time communicated that you were there for him, to help him.
“So what happened to my mom?” he asked you while rubbing his hands on his thighs.
“Your mom had an overdose. Prozac. Your neighbor Halimah found her in your living room in a deep state of confusion and was also hallucinating. She called the ambulance and once she arrived here, she was convulsing. The first convulsion stopped after a minute but then she was hit with another one and we had to sedate her. Fortunately she was conscious and we were able to perform a gastric suction, without intubating her.” You explained.
He remained silent for a moment and then he dragged his hands across his face and he doubled over in tears.
“It’s my fault.” The sound of his voice was muffled by her hands.
The sight of him made your heart shrink.
While patting the space between his shoulder blades you whispered , “No it’s not Jayce.”
His hands were now holding his head. His gaze locked to the ground beneath him.
“Yes.” He sobbed. “It is. My mom is dealing with depression and instead of staying at home with her I went to a stupid fourth of July barbecue with my friends. I’ve already lost my dad a few years ago and I can’t afford to loose her too. I should’ve stayed at home…”
Chills went down to your spine. You swallowed.
“How old are you Jayce?”
“Nineteen.” He responded.
“Well it is perfectly normal for a boy of your age to have some fun. No matter how hard your situation at home is. I mean it, it was not your fault. She is safe now. That’s what matters.” You hoped that your words were comforting enough but unfortunately, that was not the case.
The boy’s sadness and tears turned into anger and guilt which weren’t directed at you, but at himself.
“No, Damn! It is it.” His fingers gripped his hair tightly. “That’s what I get for hanging out with my friends instead of looking out for her. She overdosed because of me man. Because she thought I didn’t love her or care about her.”
You removed your hand from his back, giving him space to grieve, to be angry, to feel those sensations and feelings that you knew too well, before you began speaking.
“You know…” You exhaled and continued looking at him. “When people unalive themselves or attempt, they don’t do it to punish you. Their brain chemistry is altered in a way that distorts their perception of life. It’s not necessarily that they don’t notice how people around them care for them, but it’s more of that they can’t do it anymore.” You paused. His gaze was still focused to the ground.
You continued. “They don’t think it’s worth living life anymore. Most of the time they do it because they don’t want to be a burden to their family. In psychological terms it’s called perceived burdensomeness.”
He tilted his head to look at you. You half smiled.
“What I want you to understand is that it’s not your fault.”
His eyes started glistening again.
“You’re just nineteen Jayce. While it’s a good thing to want to care of your mom, you have the right to have fun. Your life has just begun.”
He nodded. “I know but it’s hard.” His voice broke.
“I know, but you don’t have to do everything alone. There are some grassroots organizations like NAMI which help you navigate this situation. By offering counseling and lessons meant to teach how to interact and handle people who suffer from mental illness.”
He hummed.
“Once Kiara will be here, she’s a social worker you know, she will explain to you in detail everything.”
As if to speak of the devil, Kiara knocked and entered the door.
“There she is.” You said.
Kiara sat on the sofa besides the boy and started introducing herself while you got up from it and headed towards the door and opened it. Before you could exit it though, you called him and softly said, “If you need, me go to the nurse desk and ask of me. Okay?”
His eyes met yours once again and nodded. “Will do that Doc. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” You replied before uttering.
“It is not your fault.”
Only that this time, you were saying that mostly to yourself, not to him.
Eventually he gave you a weak smile. You waved at both of them and exited the room.
To your surprise, technology was finally back in the pitt, and before you could think and replay the events that both occurred in trauma and in the small room, you took a deep breath and focused on work.
Busy with handover and charting you hadn’t noticed that it was late. Your shift nearly ended one hour and an half ago, so you decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time for a little break before clocking out. Break that Dr. Al-Hashimi was more than willing to give you, since the waters seemed to have calmed down a bit in the ER.
You headed to the bathroom near the elevator. The nearest and the quietest you could find, since only the staff could have access to it. The exact moment you stepped in, all of the noise from the ER became muffled and obviously distant. You let out a sigh, finally a moment of peace.
Everything seemed normal. You did whatever you needed to do and then you went over the sink to wash your hands, where a mirror hung over. You placed your hands to the sides of the sink and started looking at your reflection for what it seemed an eternity. You noticed your messy hair, your worn out eyes. Nothing new, it happened at the end of every shift. Not a single thought crossed your mind. It was oddly empty like a ghost town .
The water continued running from the faucet, making you realize that you starred at the mirror for too long. You turned it off immediately. Then, you lightly smiled at your own blank reflection and burst into tears.
Your mind was racing now, replaying once again the events of today. Anne convulsing onto the stretcher and then onto the hospital bed, the exhausted expression that Halimah wore, the half-empty yellow plastic container, the guilt of Jayce, the cracked and desperate tone of his voice, him putting is hands in his hair, in a sign of desperation, and the big breath that you took once you exited the room. It was all too much. To much too bear, too handle, to remember. Because all of this was deeply connected to the reason why you had left Maine, and your beautiful home near the ocean in the first place.
Tears run over your face in the same way the water was running from the faucet a few moments before. Scalding and gushing, wetting the collar of your scrub and the shirt underneath.
You were a sobbing mess, finding it difficult to breath normally.
There was only one thing that helped you set yourself free from the intricate bramble of your thoughts. You were still in the ER, at work. This sort of thing couldn’t be possibly happen in here, where your colleagues could enter at any moment and see you.
Slowly you began to breathe with your diaphragm and started focusing on the little things around you. The muffled noise, the greenish tiles, the soft fragrance of the soap and the shocking sensation of cold water on your wrists. You repeated this little game several times, until your breath returned to a normal pace and your eyes stopped producing tears.
You splashed fresh water to your face, grabbed some paper towels to dry it, tossed them in the bin and then turned off the faucet one last time.
As if nothing had happened, you went outside, and the noise, went from being muffled to vivid.
The first person you met was Robby. Your back was facing the bathroom door. He on the other hand, was standing right in front you. Arms crossed and an expression you couldn’t quite decode. Was he annoyed? Angry? Or simply exhausted? In that position you could see all his wrinkles branch off his face and his thin chapped lips trapped by his unkept beard. He looked like a rag, even worse than you.
“Where were you?” He said with an altered tone which displayed all his annoyance.
You didn’t know whether he was tired, hallucinating, or if your level of tolerance was starting to lower to zero, as your shift was coming to its end.
“In the bathroom.” Your index finger accompanied the words that escaped your mouth, pointing out the sign RESTROOM right behind you. Your eyebrows frowned. “What happened?”
Before he could answer, a nurse needed to use the bathroom, forcing you to walk away from it and changing spot, to continue your conversation. You both went towards a slightly less busy area. Robby’s back now faced the elevator. Yours instead, was facing the corridor that lead towards central, and utility cart filled with different medical supplies was standing at your left.
“Has an emergency happened?” You resumed the conversation.
“Jesus. This is an ER, what do you think?” He let out a breathless laugh while running a hand into his hair.
You decided to not give in, keeping your composure. You found his manners rather childish and snappy. Definitely not appropriate neither for a man of his age, nor for an attending. But maybe, he just had a rough shift, like the rest of you, and definitely the fact that he was about to leave for three months didn’t help him at all.
You smiled politely, before saying. “What do you need me for, Dr. Robinavitch?”
“You know what? This is not even the point!” He shouted, causing some of the staff to look in your direction, before lowering his voice and continue. “Your shift isn’t over yet; you can’t simply disappear.” He adverted your gaze and shook his head.
“I didn’t disappear. I asked Dr. Al-Hashimi if I could take a break since my shift finished nearly two hours ago and my patients are all set up” You simply explained.
“You asked her uh?”
“Yes. She’s an attending. I don’t see what’s the problem actually.” Your tone was forcedly calm, but your body told a different story. It was tense, with your arms resting at your sides and fists clenched.
“The problem is that I’m your attending. Not her.” He emphasized his words by indicating himself. “She knows nothing about this place. Hell!” He interlaced both of his hands behind his head. “She keeps disappearing too. And you can’t hide yourself in the bathroom for fucking twenty minutes while the ER is a fucking shit show.” And then, abruptly released them.
His face was getting redder each time he uttered a word. Something had definitely happened to him today, but whatever it was he didn’t have the right to let it out on you.
He was getting on your nerves now. If only he knew why you did take a break. It was better to die and let him scream at you instead of speaking. Instead of confessing him why it took you so long in there, because you knew that eventually, he would have used it all against you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were trying immensely to keep your cool and find the right words to diffuse the situation. He, on the other hand, was studying you with a predator’s unwavering attention. His gaze focused first on your scrub top, still a bit damp from the tears and then, on your eyes, puffy and slightly irritated.
Instantly you crossed your arms and your expression hardened. A defense mechanism, to shield yourself from his actions.
He laughed. “You’ve been crying too?”
He hit the jackpot with that one. In in response, you bit your cheek, not wanting to give in to his provocations. It simply wasn’t worth your energy.
There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his laugh, more like irritation and awareness. “I can’t fucking believe that this ER has turned into a fucking kindergarten full of whiny babies. What have you been crying on uh? You got mommy issues like Dr. Mohan too?” He snickered.
If until that moment you had decided to be the bigger person, now it was over. He crossed a line, a very important one, and you couldn’t simply stand there, doing nothing and withstanding his words. It simply wasn’t your style. Not when someone, it didn’t matter whether he was your boss or your patient, was displaying the reason of your meltdown, was making you vulnerable in front of everyone. Making you a person, not a doctor.
In a heartbeat you slammed your left hand onto the utility cart, with such a brutal force that not only made some of the supplies tip over it, but also caught the attention of those around you. Then, with your hand still vibrating from the brutal slam you pointed your index finger at him and bawled.
“Fuck you!”
For a second the ER remained silent, until you turned around with such an intimidating look that made all of your colleagues resume their work.
Robby couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. There were rumors about you, concerning your personality and temper. People called you cold, distant and aggressive. And while he certainly he agreed with the first two adjectives, he was having an hard time picturing you for the aggressive type, at least until now.
At this new sight of you he flinched, before biting back. “There she is. The others told me you were aggressive jeez.” He paused for a second and touched his beard while nodding. “You see, I know exactly why you left the hospital in Maine now. For your behavior.”
“You know nothing about me and nor do the others. Nothing about my behavior or my problems. So cut it.” You hissed.
He wasn’t intimidated by words. “Well I know a thing or two since you were crying in the bathroom.”
You thought that it was over, that him mentioning you mental breakdown, meant that you reached the peak of your argument. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t give in, and with a patronizing tone he snarled. “I’ll give you a piece of advice. Keep your problems out of the fucking ER. When you clock in here your life is GONE, you need to think about your patients not about your pathetic issues.”
You didn’t back down. Your resentment for him grew even more.
“Respectfully Dr. Robinavitch, you’re the last person from who I would take personal advice from.”
“Watch it kid” He warned you by pointing his finger at you.
You couldn’t care less about his warnings.
“Or what? You gonna sign me up? Fire me? Move me back to the night shift? Seems fine to me. Really.” You mockingly reassured him.
He was the one who provoked you in the first place, openly humiliating you, hinting at your weak spots in front of everyone.
“But let’s go back to what I was saying. Why would I take a piece of advice from a man who can’t separate his work life from his personal one? Come one I mean..” You paused and sneered. “You you flirt with Noelle and everybody see that. Oh and don’t even get me started on your sabbatical. It’s been days since you’ve been talking about it and making it a everyone’s problem. You’re supposed to be happy to have the chance to rest and instead you’re nervous, irritable and moody.” You spat those words like a snake envenomating its prey.
Part of you wanted to go further. Telling him how much of a cunt he was, treating others, especially female workers like shit. But maybe it was enough because what you uttered afterwards was far worse.
“So maybe, just maybe you should be the one taking advice from me, since I haven’t caused a single problem since I’ve started working here. Here’s the piece of advice Dr. Robinavitch. Why don’t you take your fucking motorbike and go fucking…”
“Hey what’s happening here?” A third, raspy voice that came from the back, asked.
…kill yourself.
Those words died in your mouth the exact moment Jack interrupted you.
He now was standing at your right, between you and Robby, with his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. His eyes were darting back and forth between the both of you, waiting for a valid explanation.
“Nothing Dr. Abbot.” You said in a rush, eyes locked to the ground while a wave of shame, that forced your voice to lower, rushed over you. “I was asking Dr. Robinavitch if I could take a break and he agreed. Isn’t that right?” You glanced at the day shift attending, silently asking him to forge a brief alliance to which he agreed.
“Yes.” He answered in such a fragile way that didn’t go unnoticed to you.
Your eyes scanned him. He wrapped his right arm tightly around his left hip, while he was torturing the cuticle of his left thumb, to divert his attention somewhere else because a sudden glassy, reflective sheen coated his pupils. He was about to cry.
The realization left you shocked. A part of you wanted to sink deeper into the guilt that was finding space in the back of your throat, the other part though, was proud to have made him that miserable. He didn’t have the right to publicly expose and humiliate you like that.
That corridor became rapidly an uncomfortable place to be in, you felt trapped. You needed to go away.
An half smile appeared on your face. “Now, If you excuse me.” You said, before reaching the elevator unbothered to wait for the two men’s reactions or to notice their surprised expressions.
The exact moment the doors closed, you began furiously pressing the top floor button, convinced that if you pressed it repeatedly, the elevator would have taken you to the rooftop faster. The ride on the elevator was unbearable, one of the longest of your life. His cruel words poisoned your mind, and consequently, your whole body started trembling out of rage. Angry tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You tried to stop them by violently biting your lips and cheeks that in just a few seconds were already marked by your blood.
Once the elevator opened you hastened towards the rooftop door, opened it and took a step out. There, you were met with a warm and humid wind. You first checked if someone was there, you knew that sometimes your coworkers liked to come here, but fortunately, there was no one. Your only company were the stars that decorated the dark sky, the buildings around you and a few noises coming form the street.
Comforted by this loneliness, you furiously slammed the door and let out a violent “Fuck!”. Then, you moved a few steps to the right while running both of your hands across your face, before collapsing to the floor with the wall supporting your back. Your brought you knees to your chest, without removing the hands from your face. Pitch black and hospital soap that’s what you saw and smelled in those moments where you remained in that position, thinking that all of your rage will disappear alone, but it didn’t. You needed to released it.
Quickly your hands found the lower part of your scrub top, rolled it into something that resembled the form of a ball, and proceed to shove it into your mouth. With your mouth stuffed and your eyes squeezed shut, you began to scream. A piercing, muffled, garbled sound of pure frustration and anger that filled your body with heath. You screamed with all of your force, until your gums and teeth started hurting, until drool pooled over the part of the scrub that you couldn’t hold in your mouth, until your knuckles turned white and pleaded you to let go of that piece of fabric.
Eventually you released all of the rage that poisoned your body. You won.
After that, your arms rested open to your sides, palms looking at the sky, mirroring your face. You counted the few starts that shone despite the light pollution, melting in the night stillness that you despised so much, but that now, was more than necessary.
But that sensation of relief didn’t last very long. Your brain replayed the conversation that you had with Robby and guilt washed over you. For a moment you starred at the skyscrapers in front of you, hoping to find some distraction, but you could feel remorse and shame in every bone of your body. Emotions that were slowly consuming you because ultimately, you almost said to your attending, a human being who was definitely struggling, to end his life.
You felt sick. You couldn’t feel a drop of pity for yourself. What you almost did was wicked and unforgivable. Especially because everything, starting from Anne and Jayce and finishing with that, led back to the reason why you left your home.
Instantly your hands reached the pockets of your scrub pants, pulling out three objects. Your phone, your headphones and your most beloved and important possession, a silver heart-shaped locket necklace. You left the first two on the floor, while opening the locket on your lap. You traced its rim with your fingers and exhaled, looking first at the small piece of paper that said “We love you, M. & D.”; and then, at the photo within. A younger, happier version of you at the centre, hugged by the light of your life, your parents, that now were dead and gone. You eyes lingered on the smiling face of your mother, and there, you broke.
You brought the open locket to your lips like you were reciting the rosary, and then, you whispered with a strained voice. “I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought that.” Heavy and uncontrollable tears flooded your face and your breath began hitching. You repeated those words like a mantra, a mantra that accompanied your despairing wail.
Desperate for a second of calm in the midst of sorrow, you reached for your headphones and put them on. Calm music began soothing your ears while you hugged your knees and your hands still held the necklace. You stared at an indefinite point in front of your, unconcerned about the tears that were dripping from your chin.
Memories came in waves, and soon, you let yourself drown in them.
You were standing in the hallway of your childhood home. It was October. The clock on the wall read 1.23 AM. You had been awake for more than thirteen hours. Your shift had been a nightmare that day, a mass casualty had occurred and you had to remain there until those of the nightshift could handle the patients alone. Tired, you dropped your backpack near the staircase, not bothering to switch on the lights, as the moonlight coming from the window lighted your way. You called your mom, informing her that you were finally home. She didn’t respond which was odd, because she usually stayed up until 2AM. You didn’t worry too much about it though, sometimes the antidepressants made her fall asleep earlier. She was diagnosed with depression three years prior, after the death of your dad. On your first year of medical school. He died from heart attack on his way to work, the doctors in the ER tried to save him, but it was impossible. In the end, your mom and you grieved him differently, you like a daughter and she as a wife, married to the love of her life.
You called her another time, still no response. But again, you weren’t particularly worried, as the last few weeks proved that she was getting better. “She is just asleep”, you thought. You were the one in the first place that told her that, when you had informed her of your extra stay at the ER. “It’s okay darling. I love you so much and I’m proud of you.” She answered softly.
Still, you went to her bedroom, illuminated by the same moonlight that led you there. You leaned on the jam, arms crossed. You saw her, peacefully sleeping on her left side, with one arm that dangled over the bed, no duvet on. You moved towards her, as silently as you could and sat right next to her, in the small space that her body made. Her hair was all over her face, you chuckled and whispered a sweet “Goodnight” while stroking her head. It was only in that moment that you realized she wasn’t moving, nor breathing. You swallowed, you eyes began to sting. Slowly you tilted your head to the nightstand, where the empty bottle of Zoloft stand with the lid open. You had picked up the prescription the day before. You starred at it for too long, unable to do anything. The realization hit you like a truck. She ended her life, and you weren’t able to save her, to prevent that. You bursted out crying and pulled her cold body in your arms, with your tears wetting her soft hair, unable to say a word. You remained like that until you had the strength to call your neighbour.
Three days later, after the funeral you asked for a leave of absence that eventually led you to sell your house and continue your first year of residence at the PTMC.
Your memories were interrupted by a pair of cargo pants materializing in front of you. One hand found immediately your heart, not expecting anyone to come after you. In a second, you took your headphones off and wiped out your tears, while still holding the locket in one of your palms.
You looked up and met Jack with a paper cup in his hand.
“Jesus Christ! You scared me Dr. Abbot.” You said still recovering from the little fright.
He chuckled. “I didn’t think that I was that ugly. And please, it’s just Jack now okay?”
No, he wasn’t. Even at your lowest you couldn’t help but to notice his old-fashioned beauty. It was definitely the weariness that spoke for you, because you never truly admitted that to yourself before, scared that that simple recognition led to something more dangerous and unpredictable.
“Okay Jack.” You remarked, too tired to keep your professionalism intact. After all here, there was no one besides the two of you.
That was the first time you called him by his first name. There was something in the way your voice pronounced his name that made Jack’s heart fumble.
“May I?” He asked while pointing at the empty space near you.
You nodded. Before checking in, still looking at him. “Sure your leg won’t hurt?”
“It will or maybe it won’t. Who knows.” He playfully answered while seating at your right. Cup still in his left hand. Unlike you, he sat with his legs stretched out to the floor. The wall though, kept supporting both of your backs.
Unsure of his response, you turned your head to him and with a serious voice you ordered. “Take it off. You’ve been standing all day.”
He mirrored you. In that close position you could smell the sting odor of the hospital sanitizer as well as see an unexpected sparkle in his eyes. Your shoulders were brushing against one another, mimicking the closeness you experienced earlier that day.
He smirked. “At your orders Dr. Sweetheart.” He momentarily put the cup onto the ground, taking off his leg and placing it besides him.
Dr. Sweetheart. A nickname that you hadn’t heard in months. A nickname that Jack gave you after seeing you how you treated patients, with consideration and empathy. A nickname that he used only when no one was around, because he didn’t want the others to start stupid rumors about the two of you.
You shook your head and let out a breathless laugh. “I’m not a sweetheart Jack you know it, especially after today.” Bitterness and melancholy could be found in the tone of your voice. There was a time in which you were one, at least within the walls of your house. Outside though, you had always been a bit distant to people, even though you had formed occasional friendships throughout the years. But after the death of both your parents the distance you kept with people only got bigger and bigger, and the sweetness you once were familiar with was replaced with pain.
This didn’t go unnoticed by the night-shift attending who tried, as best as he could, to diffuse the situation.
“Nah. You are one. Especially with patients, and sometimes with me.” The last words were whispered, as if he didn’t want you to hear them which in that position was impossible. He was the one who felt too exposed for once.
He lowered his gaze, lifted it again. “At least when I have a shirt on. You know.”
His witty comment earned a laugh from you, a honest and hearty laugh that you didn’t have in a while. It was the first time he truly ever saw you like this and he felt mesmerized by it, by you letting him see more of you. You were different around him, unconsciously more at ease. Funny thing was that neither of you were able to fully catch that.
Before He could forget, he grabbed the paper cup and handed it to you. “I made this for you.”
Your smile faded and your brows frowned, and took the cup.
“Shift is already over. You never leave without drinking tea.” He continued.
You swallowed, and the warming sensation you felt earlier, when Jack leaned over you in central, found its way in your belly.
You took a sip. You murmured. “It’s Jasmine. My..”
“Favourite.” You both said in unison.
You bit your cheek because suddenly your eyes were becoming a bit watery. It had been a while since someone had shown you some kindness, and care perhaps.
You adverted his gaze, as he changed the topic of the conversation.
He rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs before gently asking, “What happened down there with Robby?”
You froze. Placed the cup on the floor and then started fidgeting with the chain of the necklace. Gaze focus on it. “We had a conversation that led into an argument.” You coldly said.
He cleared is throat, “Yeah, he informed me about it.”
“Then why asking?” You retorted, meeting his eyes again.
Jack waited a moment before answering, trying to find the right words. He knew how difficult that question was for you. How difficult it was for you to conversate about something that wasn’t work related, to reveal something of you. He only had glimpses of you, but just because it was a good observer. But right now, that question was more than necessary and in the end, instead of finding complicate ways to address the conversation and his concern for you, he opted for the truth.
“He also told me that you were crying in the bathroom. And seeing you like that, it felt weird. I-umh never saw you yelling like that. I got worried.”
You froze for the second time in a row. You felt as getting caught red handed, like you found Dr. Mohan and him this morning.
Both of the attendings knew you were crying in there. But there was something else that unsettled you even more. He was worried about you.
With your fingertip you wiped one small tear that was threating to escape from the outer corner of your eye. You then sighed. “I almost told him to kill himself Jack.” You met his attentive gaze which never stopped leaving you really.
A quiet, breathless “Oh” escaped his lips.
You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, not wanting to cry in front of him. But mostly, you feared you had disappointed him with that confession.
“If you hadn’t interrupted us, I would have told him that.” Your voice cracked, and the guilt returned stronger than ever.
You tried, so so hard not to cry, thinking that your body had expelled all of the tears possible, but it wasn’t like that. You quickly covered your face with your hands, a shield that masked your sobs and weep.
Jack at first didn’t utter a word. Both surprised and concerned, he circled your shoulders with his arm, pulling you closer to him, before placing a tender kiss between your hair; as if he had done it a million times. “It’s okay sweetheart. Even if you thought it, you didn’t say it. You were angry. You didn’t mean any of that.” He murmured, still holding you. “You’re a good person, and he’s not gonna fire you, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” He planted another kiss.
You cried even harder, not because of what almost happened with Robby, but because of that delicate touch, paired with those soft words contained in his raspy voice, that you accepted. You were crying because you was accepting was he was willing to give you: affection and care. Because you didn’t avoid his touch, you melted into it. You were crying, because you realized that you had feelings for him. Because Jack was able to find its way beneath your armor and towards your heart.
But the man didn’t know what happened inside your mind. He only saw and heard you wail and suddenly, he thought that he overstepped. He tried to fix the situation as best as he could.
“Do you want me to call you someone? Maybe a friend or your parents in Maine. Sometimes it helps hearing a familiar voice during hard times.”
But little did he know…
You knew he had good intentions, really, but your body reacted anyways, stiffening and he noticed it. You removed your hands from your face and quietly let go of his touch.
You handed him your opened locket. He grabbed it and a light smile appeared on his face at the sight of the younger you.
“The only people that I ever truly had and could call are trapped in there.” You confessed with a touch melancholy.
His smile instantly faded. He didn’t need to ask you for further explanation. He understood and gasped “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”
“Don’t be.” You placed you hand on his palm, the one that held the locket. “Nobody knows.” You half smiled.
At those words he closed his fingers around your hand in a gentle motion that made your heart flutter.
Eventually you gave in, and revealed him the true reason why you left Maine. You told him everything, not because you felt obliged to, but because you wanted to.
He was the first person to know about the death of your parents and the tragedy behind it, after your therapist.
His brows frowned and he shook his head. He was visibly moved by your story. “You’re so strong sweetheart.” And his thumb softly stroked yours.
You chuckled. “Says the veteran.”
He didn’t even register your joke, because his mind was already somewhere else.
“Come back to the night shift. So far the day shift hasn’t done you any good.” He said off the cuff.
“Jack…” You rebuked, “You know I’m having troubles working at night, after my mom committed suicide it’s..”
He cut you off. “I know but, if something happens to you I can help you. Because now I finally know why out of the blue you decided to move to the day shift. You couldn’t bare it anymore.”
His hand gripped yours tighter.
You were about to speak, but he didn’t let you.
“The night crawlers miss you.”
You shook your head, adverting his gaze, but he didn’t give up.
“Ellis misses giving you unwanted gossip and gaining no reaction back. Shen misses not being the only one having a drink addiction of some type.”
You lightly laughed.
“Jeez!” He exclaimed. “Even Walsh misses you. She misses working with a clever R1 while she’s operating.”
“Really?” You were frankly and oddly surprised by that.
He nodded. Then his voice, as well as his gaze, lowered, concentrated on the small circles that he was drawing on your knuckles with his thumb. It seemed that what he was about to say was only meant for himself.
“And I miss you. I miss having you around all the time.”
Your heart skipped a beat. Not ready for that confession that came unnoticed. But once again, you didn’t escape from it. Instead you observed him. His grey curls, the freckles that covered his arm and his eyes that were still fixated on your interlaced hands.
You acted on impulse, ignoring the anxiety that tried to find space in your head, telling you to stop.
With your free hand, you lifted his chin and closed the space between the two you. You pulled him into a soft and tender kiss. After the initial shock, he cupped your face with his other hand and shifted slightly his position to have a better taste of you; and for the same reason, you adjusted yourself too. You felt the scrape of his beard on your chin, his work-worn hand against your cheek, and his slightly chapped lips melting against your equally chapped ones. It was a kiss that tasted of tears shed and jasmine tea. It was a kiss that spoke of mutual respect, trust, admiration and that silent devotion that both of you started feeling right after you arrived in the pitt, on February.
When you parted, you rested your foreheads against one another. Both smiling shyly.
“Was it unprofessional?” You asked a bit embarrassed.
“No, it wasn’t.” He whispered out of breath.
He then let go of that position, and of your interlaced hands, carefully placing the locket on the ground, and after that, he opened his arms. “Come here.”
You didn’t hesitate to welcome his comforting hug. With your chin rested on his shoulder and his fingers gently running through your hair he murmured, “I hate to say it but in a bit we must go. You haven’t clocked out yet. Can’t let you waste your fourth of July.” He paused for a moment. “Lemme accompany you at home, you’re exhausted. The others won’t find out I promise.”
You hummed, trusting Jack’s promise and accepting his offer, while feeling his smile against the top of your head.
In that moment there was no space for fear and preoccupation. There was just Jack and you, and a proud feeling that settled in you, for letting yourself admit your feelings and ultimately, for letting yourself set free from your own self-imposed chains, even for a slightly bit.
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