You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works. TW mentions of eating disorders/vomit 1.5k
June writhes in your lap. Her little knuckle knocks hard into your nose as she bends away from both you and the nurse. He’s been great so far— Jesse, you think. You must have apologized to him a thousand times by now.
“No, no!” June gasps. Tears spill over, little droplets down to her chin.
Your heart breaks for your little girl. And the guilt snowballs into a stomachache as you cuff her wrists together with your hand.
“It’s just so I can see up your nose. I promise it won’t hurt.”
June kicks so hard your chair tips off it’s feet.
You had no choice. Three days in a row of skipped lunches, and now she’s thrown up her dinner too. You can’t fix this on your own.
“No— I want— I want Doctor Rab—bit!”
Jesse blinks up at you, mouth parted in a loss. It makes you feel useless. You’re her mom, you’re supposed to have all the answers. You could list her allergies, her blood type, her pediatrician, but hell, you’re just as clueless as Jesse is as to who this Doctor Rabbit she’s asking for is.
June lets out this pitiful whine, her eyes glossy under the fluorescents. “Doc—tor Rabbit,” she manages through shuttered breath. She’s looking past Jesse at somebody else, you realize. A familiar head poking around the hospital curtain.
“Who do we have in here? Oh, no. June, was it? Back so soon?”
A doctor that you vaguely recognize gets a squirt of hand sanitizer before he gloves up. He’s older, freckled with salt and pepper curls. You’d think he’s handsome if you weren’t drowning in your own worry right now.
“Dr. Abbot,” Jesse introduces with a sigh pulled from the very bottom of his lungs.
It clicks then. You’ve seen a dozen doctors by now, so you hadn’t even known his name. Which is awful to admit for how great he was with your June the last time you were here.
“Sorry, I’m late, kiddo. Didn’t know you were looking for me.”
“Neither did we,” Jesse chuckles dryly before shooting his gloves into the bin. He slips away without another word, probably eager to escape the room after the painful last half hour.
Dr. Abbot crouches down in front of you and June.
“Don’t tell me it’s your poor stomach again?” he asks her in a voice so sweet you can’t blame June for asking for him.
She shrugs her knobby shoulders into your neck. She’s still shaking, but a hell of a lot less than before.
“Think I could take a listen to your heart?” Abbot asks her gently. When she doesn’t respond, he sets the stethoscope in her unwilling hands. “Here, wanna give her a try?”
June’s fingers go limp beneath the device. A fresh set of tears boil on her bottom lash line.
Dr. Abbot loops the stethoscope back around his ears. He stretches the end of it to your chest. “Want mom to try first?”
You lean into his touch, his hand warm over your heart. It’s like a jackhammer in his ears.
But he beams, “Sounds good to me! Wanna listen?”
June shakes her head.
“Well, it sounds like this. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Real fast. Think yours sounds like that, too?”
“Come on, Junebug, let’s see.” You encourage her to lean forward on your thighs.
Dr. Abbot shifts the stethoscope to land on June’s left leg. It’s pencil thin next to his wide hand.
“That’s weird, I can’t hear anything,” he says.
June mumbles into your shirt.
“What’s that?”
“S’not my heart,” she mutters.
“It’s not? Where is it then? Did you lose it?” Dr. Abbot asks real serious.
“No, it’s here.” She thumbs the center of her chest.
He nudges her hand away with the stethoscope. “Here?”
“Yeah.”
He listens. “Oh, yeah. Look at that, you’re right. They should give you one of these, huh? Let you practice medicine.” His gaze lifts to see your grin as he taps his badge. He gives you a tight smile, the kind that’s wrinkled from a lifetime of them.
He checks her ears, her throat, presses gently at her abdomen, listens to her lungs. He’s calm, methodical, and so, so gentle. June’s a sensitive kid. It’s a real miracle she makes it through this free of tears.
“How many do you have?”
His eyes flick back to yours. “How many what?”
“Kids.”
“Oh. Zero.”
“You’re too good at this not to be a dad.”
His frown lifts, but the rest of his face stays serious. “I appreciate that.”
The squeal of sneakers behind him steals away Dr. Abbot’s attention. “Abbot, we’ve got an incoming MVC. Teenage male, intoxicated driver. Five minutes out.”
“On my way,” he calls calmly over his shoulder, voice softening as he turns back to you. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll get a few tests ordered and be right back.”
You don’t even get out a thank you before he’s gone, the curtain swishing shut behind him.
The next time you see him, he’s a blurry shadow of scrubs in front of you. His arms are crossed like he’s been there for a while.
“Sorry,” you croak. It’s not easy to sit up when June’s a deadweight against your chest, and your neck’s screaming from how wrong you slept.
“Don’t be,” Dr. Abbot whispers, gloved hands clasping over his heart. “Sorry to wake you. How are you holding up, Mom?”
“I’m okay.”
He rolls over a stool and sits, and pretends not to notice your lie. He can only fix so many problems at once. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay.”
You pull June tighter to your chest and pick her sweaty strand of hair off your cheek. “Of course.”
“June has been here, what— four times in the last three months?” Dr. Abbot glances between you and her chart. “All tied to eating issues or stomach symptoms. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And her weight percentiles… down since the last visit?”
“I think so.”
“When did she start eating less?”
“She’s always been picky. Ever since she started eating solid foods.”
“What about gagging? The vomiting? When did that start?”
“Maybe at the start of this year? I’m not sure.”
“Was there a specific incident— think choking, getting sick, anything like that?”
“No, no, not that I remember.”
“Does she become anxious or upset around certain foods? Any tantrums at meal times?”
“Sometimes. I don’t know. I try my best.”
“I know,” he assures. “Based on everything you’ve told me, and all of her tests coming back great, I believe June has something called ARFID.”
“Is it bad?”
His head shakes, and his hands fold. “It stands for Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder.”
“An eating disorder? She’s not starving herself. She’s just a kid.”
“It’s not about her body image. For some kids, food just starts to feel unsafe. That can be because of texture, fear of choking, getting sick… sometimes their brains just file food under ‘danger.’”
You feel awful. Your mouth goes dry, and the back of your throat aches.
“It’s common,” he says quickly. “And it’s not caused by bad parenting.”
He can see the tears prickling. He reaches out and gives your shoulder a squeeze.
“What we’re seeing with June is that her safe foods are getting narrower. Her weight’s trending down. That tells me this isn’t just picky eating anymore.”
You nod, sniffling all the emotions back up.
“But the good news is she’s young. Kids her age respond really well to feeding therapy. There’s pediatric nutritionists. Sometimes play-based exposure to food can help.”
He waits for you to say something, but you don’t. Your head is spinning.
“I’m going to have someone from our nutrition team come talk to you. They’ll help figure out what she’s actually getting right now and where we can safely build from there. I’m also putting in a referral for a pediatric feeding specialist. They work specifically with kids who are afraid of food or have sensory issues.”
He watches June squirm into your collar.
“If her electrolytes come back off, we might keep her overnight just to give fluids and monitor her. But that’s just precautionary.”
You nod. You don’t know what else to do.
“You did the right thing bringing her in.”
You look him in the eye. He’s got pretty hazel ones. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He shakes his head. He hates this part. The thank yous like he’s some sort of hero. “Jack, please. And I’m just doing my job.”
“You’re the first one to take us seriously.”
His brain stalls, he’s weighing whether or not it's appropriate to say— “I’ll leave you my cell. Case you have any more questions or concerns.” Before you can get two words out, he stands and interrupts your praise. “It was good to see you. Both of you. Take care, okay?"
He makes a quick exit, leaving you suspended between relief and something heavier, something you can't even name.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works. [ part one ]
TW mentions of eating disorders/vomit 1.5k
You’re juggling your car keys, June’s backpack strap, and the wastebasket from her bathroom when you realize she’s not going to make it inside before it happens. She bends over with a whine, her poor little face twisted up in pain.
“Just a few more steps, baby.”
Her head shakes fervently just before her body convulses with a shuddering heave.
You drop all your things right there in the middle of the parking lot. Her hair gets twisted in a knot around your pointer finger, and you rub the back of her sweaty neck with your thumb.
She cries when she throws up. Every single time. It’s awful. But every squeamish part of you takes a backseat to the part that just wants her to be okay.
She finishes, and against all odds, you make it through the front doors with June wrapped around your chest. You get her signed in and have a seat on a plastic chair that does no favors for your achy back. And while it’s not the busiest waiting room you’ve ever been in, with June as sick as she is, just the one hour you’re there feels like a hundred.
By the time her name is finally called, she’s passed out, her face a furnace against your neck. It’s not the woman behind the reception window who calls for her, though.
“Jack.”
His furrowed gaze roves all over you and June. “Why didn’t you call me?” His voice thins out toward the end as he says your name. You’d been upgraded from Mom to your real name at some point in the last few months of the phone tag you’ve been playing with Jack.
“I didn’t know you were working.”
“I thought the therapy was helping.”
“It was. Stomach bug.”
His mouth tightens, hand coming up to her forehead. He hums indifferently. “Well, come on.”
You glance around. There are other people waiting, staring. “Are you sure? There’s—”
“I’ve got a room with her name on it. Let’s go.” He shoulders June’s bag— pink and purple and full of butterflies, but somehow perfect on his back. You’re a little guilty for thinking that it’s cute.
“Lupe, don’t you know Miss June here is a VIP,” Jack calls as he whisks you past the receptionist.
She shrugs emphatically, her phone pinched between her shoulder and ear like she has more important things to worry about. She probably does.
“Mind running by 4B and seeing how that kid’s doing?” he says to another doctor. “And take a peek at the Wilson patient for me while I get them settled.”
He escorts you to the pediatric room. It’s better than the rest of the trauma bays with woodland decals on the wall and polka-dot sheets on the bed. But June doesn’t care about any of that right now.
“Thanks. You really didn’t have to.”
“For this one? Of course I did. She’s my favorite patient.”
June stirs on your chest, her lashes tickling the side of your neck. “Did you hear that, Junebug?” you whisper. “You’re his favorite patient.”
She complains as you set her down on the bed, but your arms are in dire need of a break.
Jack kneels in front of her with a generous smile. “Hey, Junie. How ya feeling?”
Her eyes struggle with the fluorescents, and her hair looks like a bird’s about to nest in it.
“Can I take your temperature real quick?” He swipes the thermometer across her forehead before she’s even noticed. He flips the screen your way— the yellow glow of a low-grade fever.
“How often has she been vomiting?”
“Every hour or so. She can’t keep anything down.”
“Sneezing? Coughing?”
“No, just her stomach.”
“Always you and that stomach, huh?” He pokes the side of her belly. “Should I get you on a waitlist for a new one?”
She doesn’t crack the slightest smile. She’s so spaced out that she can barely look at him.
Jack prods at her fingernails and pinches the skin beside her bellybutton to determine that she is indeed very dehydrated, as you suspected.
“Has she been drinking any fluids?”
“She can’t even keep water down. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
He nods. He gets it, he always does. “I’ll have a nurse come by and get an IV started.”
You knew there wouldn’t really be any other option, but it still makes you wince. “Could you do it?” you ask. “I think she’d take it better from you.”
“I’ve got some very skilled nurses who handle this far better than I do.”
Somebody pops their head in through the door before you can agree. “Jack, incoming trauma. Eighty-two-year-old male, fall from stairs, possible hip fracture and head injury.”
“I’ve gotta get that,” he tells you, “but I’ll be back. Promise.”
He gets the hip splinted, a third cup of coffee, and two more ambulance arrivals before he can make his rounds again. By the time he swings back to June’s room, the awful sound of her screaming has reached the other end of the ER.
Jack watches June wrestle your hands off her wrists. She’s a riot, putting up a good fight for someone who’s barely four. If Donnie weren’t already a dad, he might be worried for his safety.
But June’s so exhausted that by the time Jack slips in and pulls a pair of gloves on, she’s barely making a dent in shoving you away.
“Okay, okay, let’s give her a break,” he says.
You look at him in this awful way. A way in which your lovely eyes threaten him with tears.
Donnie peels back with a flat expression. “You want to try?”
With a nod, Jack releases his soldier to go and help somebody else. He watches June come down from her hysterics, zero judgment for her snotty nose and wet hiccups. He turns to you. “I’m gonna give her a minute, okay? I’ll come back in a few and see what I can do.”
You mouth your thanks and pull poor June into your arms.
Jack wanders around the gift shop longer than he means to. He’s torn between a pink teddy and a blue bunny. But he finally makes his pick with the same precision he brings to the surgery table.
He comes back down to the pitt with the stuffed bunny choked under his arm, and he tries not to feel embarrassed when Caleb makes a comment about it.
“This is my assistant for today,” he tells June very seriously. But she’s not as amused as you are seeing Dr. Abbot marionette a stuffed animal. “My friend here has a tummy ache, too? Can you believe that?” he tuts. “I’ve gotta check him out first and make sure he’s okay. That okay with you?”
June gives him the slightest nod.
Jack aims a light in the bunny’s ear and hums. “Got some fluff building. Should be okay, though.” He presses each of its paws and pretends to listen to its heart. It gets the grade A treatment he always shows June.
But June mewls, uninterested, her hands tight over her tummy. “Can I go home now?”
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he sighs sadly. He pulls out the same supplies the nurse had to prep for her IV, and June can see as well as you can what’s going on. Your smart girl. She tenses up as he rips the wrapper off a swab.
You squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back harder.
“What’s that?” Jack brings the bunny up to his ear and looks to June. “Oh. He said you’re feeling a little scared. Is that right?”
June’s frown wobbles.
“He also told me that you’re the bravest girl he’s seen today. You want to hold him?”
Jack tucks the bear under her arm. He rolls her other one over so her palm is face up. But as soon as his swab hits her skin, the waterworks begin.
You lean down to kiss her crown, keeping a tight grip just in case she starts to thrash. “You’re so brave, Junebug.”
Jack is lightning quick. He’s collected a blood sample and shifted the IV into place before you’ve even finished telling June that it’s just a pinch.
“That’s it,” Jack coos, flattening a piece of gauze over her arm. “All done. All done. Promise.”
June’s gasping, clawing for you so hard you’re afraid she’ll rip the IV right out. But you hold her and kiss the tears away from her sunken eyes and pinky swear the worst part’s all over.
Jack slings his gloves in the trash and catches a look of utter betrayal from June. It breaks his heart a little, but he’s glad to know that June’s here and in good hands.
“She’s all set. She can rest while the IV works its magic. I’ll come back when the labs are done.” He stalls in the doorway. “Do you need anything?”
You offer a broken smile. “A nap.”
He laughs. “Take one. She’s not going anywhere.”
“You're the best.”
“Shout if you need anything,” he calls on the way out. On the way to the next person to care for, because that’s just how selfless he is.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works. 1.4k
[ one ] [ two ] [ three ] [ four ] [ five ] [ six ] [ seven ] [ eight ]
Unbuckling June was a lot easier with two hands. And with the way she’s buzzing in her carseat like a mason jar full of cicadas, it’s a feat that demands your full attention. Your lips are parted with the tip of your tongue as you hum at Jack, at his question you missed. The strap slips away from your finger as June squirms yet again.
“I said, I can do it,” he repeats.
He’s such a sweetheart, but— “It’s okay, I… got it.”
The buckle snaps free, and June rockets into your arms. She’s already a frenzy of smiles today. Her long legs wrap around your waist as you swing her to the side. She nearly throws herself onto the ground in her efforts to greet Jack.
“Dr. Rabbit!” she beams.
“Hi, little lady.” He picks her up from a squat and slings her around like a baby doll. “Missed you.
“I missed you!” she shouts. “We’re going to the zoo!”
“I know! I heard. Are you so excited?”
“Yes, I brought Bluey with me. Are there bunnies at the zoo?”
“Guess we’ll have to find out.” He hikes her up his chest as you gather all her things. “Does she need sunscreen?” he asks you, giving the side pocket in his cargo pants a pat.
“No. Thank you, though. I didn’t forget that today.” Your voice is muffled with your face in the footwell of the backseat.
Jack’s gaze falls to the backside of your legs, and it occurs to him that he’s only ever seen them through a pair of denim. But the shorts you’ve opted for complement your thighs well, and they shed light on the pretty shape of your calves. He wonders why you don’t wear them more often.
But he feels like a creep when June catches him staring. She pokes the stubble on his cheek, none the wiser, and shrieks like a hyena when he tips his forehead into the side of hers.
“Record heat today,” he says to you. “ER’s gonna be busy.”
You turn around with the brightest smile he’s ever seen. “Oh, you wish you were there, don’t you?” you tease.
“No,” he laughs, half at you, half at June’s ticklish fingers on his neck, “I’m very glad that I’m here.”
“Oh, good. Had me worried for a second.”
“You ready?”
“Ready,” June answers for you. She’s your clone, from the way she dresses to her lovely little voice.
Jack buys both his and your tickets despite your whining about it. But June gets in for free, at least. She takes a map from the ticket booth and calls dibs on the role of tour guide.
The elephants catch her eye first, since they’re so big and because they’re so— “very stinky!”
“Can you see?” Jack asks her.
June shifts her head from side to side to no avail. He slots his hands under her armpits and lifts her so he’s eye to eye with the back of her head.
“Whoa,” she hoots, “Look at that one. So big!”
“Aren’t they pretty?” you ask.
June's not so sure about that. They’re wrinkly and a boring shade of gray, but they are super-duper cool for using their trunks like they’re a set of hands. She’s never been to the zoo before, never seen anything like them.
She steers you toward the zebras next, completely fascinated by their stripes and the way they match her favorite purse. She insists that Jack read every informational plaque around.
“They all have a unique set of stripes,” he tells her. “And they have stripes to confuse their predators.”
“What’s a pred-er-der?””
“It’s an animal that eats another animal.”
“Oh.”
“Huh, look at that. This one says they sleep standing up.”
June shoots him a look of utter exasperation. “No way!”
“Yes way! That’s what it says.”
“That’s crazy. How would they sleep like that?”
“Special joints,” he says. He gives her fist a squeeze. “Let’s go look at the rhino over there.”
His free hand finds the lower half of your back as the crowd starts to thicken. Throughout the day, it drifts away and then returns. A gentle pressure that says, without a word, I’m here.
June stumbles into a sign that says Giraffe Feeding, and Jack reads it per her request, much to your dismay.
“Should I have lied?” he whispers to you. He’s thrilled.
“For your wallet's sake? Absolutely,” you snicker back.
You let him pay for it without putting up a fight, only to give June the experience of a lifetime. She loves every second of it, just until the giraffe’s teeth graze her tiny hand, and then it’s all waterworks over how it tried to bite her.
But Jack consoles her with a big jug of lemonade. One that’s in one of those tree frog cups they let you keep. June sips on it loudly from her twisty straw, while you tear off the crust from her burger bun (whatever that means).
June is not very interested in her lunch today, but you let it slide since she had such a big breakfast and lots of snacks on the way. She clings onto Jack as he finishes his own meal, counting the freckles on his arms and tracing the veins in his hands. She’d fit right in with the spider monkeys you saw.
You thumb away a bit of ketchup on her cheek and ask, “What’s your favorite animal you saw today?”
“Ummm, the black bears.” She slides her hands down the condensation on her cup until they're soaked.
Jack grins down at her, enamoured with her and her little ways. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I dunno. Just ‘cause.”
“Oh, well, my favorite was the hippopotamus,” he says.
June tips her chin to him, eyes catching the glint of the sun. “Why?”
“Just ‘cause,” he parrots.
She simpers while he asks for your favorite. And your favorite is just so funny, for whatever reason, it sends June into a fit of big-bellied laughter.
“Somebody’s got a case of the giggles,” Jack explains. He pokes at her side, which only makes them ten times worse.
He’s great. He’d make a great dad. He holds June’s hand when she’s stepping off a curb, and he carries her bag when she complains it's too heavy. And while June is underweight, she’s still heavy enough to hurt your back if you aren’t careful, but Jack lifts her onto his shoulders like she’s nothing but a sack of feathers.
You’ve had it with him when he pays to get June's face painted behind your back. You’re busy bringing your lunch trays back inside when they have the bright idea to visit the stand across the way. But you get him back and pay for dessert. A Neapolitan ice cream tower that the three of you share. And June gets turned into a very happy zebra, so it's hard to stay mad at the man. He’s too generous for his own good.
“One last thing,” he promises you at the register of the gift shop.
You’re glaring daggers at him now. Him and his open wallet and the stuffed giraffe on the counter. June has snuck back to his side, his little mastermind, fresh from distracting you with all the pretty jewelry on the spinning cart by the door.
“You two. I’m gonna have to separate you.”
“Noooo,” June whines
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, thank you, Mister Doctor.”
“Mister Doctor,” he laughs. “How about Jack?”
“How about Mister Rabbit Doctor?”
“Now you’re just saying stuff. I think you’re ready for a nap.”
He’s right. She’s setting into that stage of delirium that is scarily close to tantrum territory. Not that you want the day to end, but it's probably for the best that you leave then.
With June’s face pressed to Jack’s shoulder, he carries her through the zoo’s exit, like some kind of sun-drunk princess. He buckles her in her car seat with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times. And when she’s all neatly stowed with the rest of her things, you and Jack share a kiss at the trunk of your car where she cannot see.
It’s the perfect end to the perfect date. All you can think about on the ride home is the next one.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works. [ part one ] [ part two ] [ part three ]
TW mentions of eating disorders/vomit 1.1k
You watch from a few paces behind as Jack and June walk hand in hand. She’s half his size but twice as buoyant without the tube tethering her to a hospital bed. If it weren’t for his scrubs and her gown, they’d pass as dad and daughter.
“Santos, can you keep an eye on my patient in 3B?” Jack calls. “We’re going on a little field trip.”
“Sounds like fun.” She looks from Jack to June to you. “Take me with?”
“Maybe next time. But only if you behave today,” Jack says.
It’s too special of an occasion for company. June is free of her virus, and her appetite is rolling back in. Her tummy proved it with a big growl when Jack swung by to pull out her IV before the end of his shift. He promised to buy whatever she wanted from the cafeteria since she’d been such a brave patient all night.
“You adopting?” somebody shouts from behind the nurses' station as you pass.
“Paperwork’s pending,” Jack teases, head thrown back with a toothy smile just for you.
You laugh about it, but your heart sours at the insinuation. Jack’s been so kind to you— more kind than the dozens of other healthcare workers you’ve presented June’s case to. It’s becoming increasingly difficult not to read into moments like these.
Jack keeps June from crashing into a gurney rolling by, and he scoops up her stuffed bunny the second she drops it. You’re embarrassed to think that he’s a natural at this. He’s just her doctor after all.
He guides her to the display cases full of breakfast. They have it all— eggs and bacon and pancakes and cereal. June presses her nose to the glass until it’s smushed up like a pig's. Her breath fogs up a ring around a tasty-looking sandwich.
“You want that?” Jack asks her.
She hums indecisively for a long beat before deciding that she doesn’t actually want it. She always takes a long time to pick out what she wants. And you’d bet she’ll change her mind three or four times before she does. This is just how it goes with June.
She tugs him around the cafeteria, looking carefully over all of her options. There’s a strawberry donut he thinks she set on until she realizes all of the ones for sale have sprinkles on them. She’s the only kid you’ve ever met who hates the idea of sprinkles.
“Up, please?”
Jack waits for your permissive nod to pick her up. He holds her against his hip like a pro. She’s tiny for her age, but she’s still four, and heavy enough that you make her walk on her own two legs most of the time.
Jack swings her around her choices for a second and third time before June fixates on the all-day dessert case in the corner.
“Have to ask your mom if it’s okay,” he whispers to her.
June turns to you over his broad shoulder. “Can I get a cookie? Please?”
Your tone lilts teasingly. “Dessert for breakfast?”
She giggles like she knows it’s wrong. Except with June, with her eating disorder, you’ve learned there’s no wrong time for anything. If she eats, you’re more than happy.
“Go ahead. What do you say?”
“Thank you!”
“Not to me, silly. To Jack.”
She cups her hand to his ear and whispers it like it’s something to be shy about.
Jack’s cheeks pink, his grin wide. He’s almost as thrilled as she is to just deliver on his promise. He orders the cookie for her, and when the attendant comments on her great choice, she hides her face in Jack’s neck. It’s adorably photo-worthy, but you don't get your phone out in time.
“What do you want?” Jack asks you next.
“Oh, no. I’m fine.”
“I know you’re fine. What do you want?”
“Nothing, Jack, really. I’m okay.”
He orders a second cookie for you, and when you fight him on it, he lies that it’s actually for himself. He pays like he promised he would, and he grabs a handful of napkins like he knows June will make a mess.
You squeeze into a too-small booth in the corner of the cafeteria. You're warm not just from the ceiling vent or the kid on your lap. Jack rips into both cookie wrappers and slides each across the table.
For a heartbeat, you lock eyes and share smiles. He’s not big on the whole verbal gratitude thing you’ve learned, but the exchange is a thank you in itself.
June picks apart her cookie like a bird. There’s little green specks in it that she hadn't noticed before.
“Is it spicy?” she asks with a grimace. She snaps the cookie in half with her thumb.
“It’s not spicy,” you explain. “Want me to try first?”
When she nods, you nibble a bit of hers and hum exaggeratedly. “Mmm… delicious.” It’s pretty plain for a sugar cookie, but she likes plain.
She pecks at it some more before taking a microscopic bite. It's perfectly ordinary, she discovers, just as she’d hoped.
Jack observes, split between his growing affection for you and June, and his professional curiosity about ARFID playing out in real time. He's had several cases over the years, but never one as cute as June.
“Will you come to my party?” June asks him out of the blue, her mouth full, with crumbs spilling down her chin.
“What party?” you interject.
“My birthday.” She furrows her brows at you like you should already know.
“Your birthday’s not until next year,” you remind her with a chuckle.
“I know, but what if we don’t see Dr. Rabbit for a while?”
She has a point. You’d rather not spend another night in the ER.
“I’d be happy to,” he says. “Send me an invite when it comes around, okay?”
She beams.
“She’ll hold you to it. She’s got a great memory,” you tell him.
“Good. Keeps me honest.”
You chew on your next words for a long moment. “I’m sorry for keeping you past your shift. I’m sure you’re ready to go home.”
He reaches across the table to give your wrist a squeeze, his thumb swiping across your pulse point. “I’m right where I want to be.”
You can’t help the smile creeping up. You go shy, like June, all warm in the face. As much as you dread this place, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be right now, either.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works. [ part one ] [ part two ]
TW mentions of eating disorders/vomit 0.9k
June crashes minutes after the IV is set. All that fighting had to do her some good eventually.
But for you, sleep comes in thin waves— pulling you under, then spitting you back out. Even with the overhead lights turned off and the blinds flipped shut, the fluorescents in the hall stream bright bars of white across the room. And every half hour or so, something slams, or somebody shouts, all in typical emergency room fashion.
You slide a hand down June’s back. She’s warm under the thready hospital throw, faced away on her side. Poor girl. Her hospital bracelet swallows her tiny little wrist. And guilt starts to bubble in the pit of your stomach because of it. She keeps ending up in these hospital beds, and while it’s not your fault in any shape, it’s hard not to take some of the blame.
Jack clears his throat from the glass doorway.
You fix your face quickly. You must look like a wreck. “Hey,” you rasp.
“Coffee?” he asks gently, eyes falling on June.
You meet him where he idles in the threshold of light with the steamy cup in hand. He’s like your very own angel, wedging the door open with his shoe.
You sip on the coffee as you follow him out, and you thank him, “This is really good.”
“Let’s not oversell it. It’s still hospital coffee.” His lips break into a crooked smile that you try to replicate.
“Still. Thank you.”
He throws a hand toward the hall. “Walk with me?”
“I would but…” You twist from him to June. She’s curled up the same exact way you left her.
Jack flags down a woman named Lena who’s walking your way. She’s got hair like a sunset and glasses low on the ball of her nose. “Would you keep an eye on our patient in pedes while we take a little walk?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got her.” Her eyes narrow behind the rectangular frames. “Don’t you go and elope or anything.”
The joke goes way over your head. You’re too lost in a maze of what-if’s. What if she wakes up and you’re gone? What if she rips her IV out in her sleep? What if somebody steals her away? Lena’s probably very responsible given what she does, but she’s also probably very busy behind that desk.
Jack clocks your hesitation. “We won’t go far,” he assures. And he’s got a persuasive set of crinkles around his eyes that makes it very hard to refute him.
You round the bend in the atrium. The ED felt like a labyrinth at first, but after enough trips, you learned it’s just a big circle with a few branching halls.
“June's labs came back,” Jack tells you.
“The verdict?”
“Electrolytes are a little off. Nothing dangerous, just consistent with dehydration.”
You nod. He’d already told you to expect that.
“And she’s down about a pound and a half from her last visit, but I think you already knew that.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, much too big for his liking. Because you know all too well that she’s lost weight. She’s backtracked on three months of progress from this stupid bug. “All that work she’s been doing in therapy. She’s been doing so well, you know, eating more, trying new foods. And to think, she’ll have to start over. Sucks.”
“She’s not starting over. Just again.”
“What’s the difference?”
It’s rhetorical, but he has one. He always seems to have an answer. “Someone once told me progress isn’t a circle, it’s an upward spiral. You come back to the same place, the same problems, but each time you’ve learned a little more, and so you’re higher than before.”
“That sounds nice.” Hypothetically speaking.
“She’ll get better. We see cases like this all the time.”
“I just wish there was more that I could do for her, you know? I feel so helpless about it.”
“You’re doing more than enough. There’s a lot of parents out there who wouldn’t have even acknowledged something's wrong.”
Your eyes ache, and they’re filling fast. “It just feels like I’m failing her.” The words tumble out in a whisper. To say it aloud might make it true.
He shakes his head hard, almost angry that you’ve even thought such a thing. “You’re not failing her. Not even close.”
You swipe the last of your tears and suck in a big breath as he catches your arm. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice is always soft with you, careful, like you might break if he’s too loud. It’s sweet. And just as sweet that he keeps pace beside you, eyes flicking over every few seconds to make sure that you’re okay. “You eat today?”
“Don’t worry about me, Jack.”
“I do worry.”
“I can take care of myself.” You look at him, and he looks back twice as hard.
“I know you can.”
You reach a dead end, the elevator, when Jack stops you from turning around.
“There’s a vending machine up on four west with the best snacks. Wanna go check it out?”
Your mouth twitches upward. “I should really get back to June.”
“Come on,” he pleads, “My treat. You deserve it.”
You give in. You let him buy your favorite bag of candy and a soda for the caffeine, and you don’t examine too closely why. He returns to his patients and you to your Junebug. And for a moment, everything feels just a little bit better.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works.
TW mentions of eating disorders/vomit 0.9k
[ one ] [ two ] [ three ] [ four ]
“Can we go now?”
You force the zipper along the track of June’s bag. It’s jammed on the hospital socks she insisted on keeping. “Almost, babe.”
“How much longer?”
“Whenever the nurse comes back. Can you put your shoes on for me?”
June sighs like it’s the most awful thing in the world. But at least she listens. She takes her jelly sandal off the stack of paper on the end of the bed. It’s a mess of care instructions and discharge paperwork and—
“Wait, mommy!”
“What, baby?”
“I forgot to give this to Dr. Rabbit!” She waves a piece of paper in the air, one from her sketchbook, a drawing of you and her and Jack.
Your frown worsens. “I’m sorry, Junie, I think he left already.” He stayed an hour past his shift just to take you and June to the cafeteria. You said goodbye there half an hour ago.
“But mommyyyy. How will I give it to him?”
“We can leave it with the nurse. I’m sure she’ll give it to him tomorrow.”
“No,” she whines, her face crumpling like a wet tissue, “I want to.”
“Well, we might not see him for a while, so I think you should leave it here.”
She crosses her arms and huffs at you. While it’s difficult, you make the decision to let it go. You’re running on an empty tank already, and at this point, you’re just dying to get home.
June stomps over to the glass window— shoeless— to search for Jack in the atrium. You give her a minute to calm down while you situate all her things and wait for the last of the discharge forms. A minute turns into two, and two to three, and before you know it, June is slapping her palms against the glass pane.
“Dr. Rabbit! Dr. Rabbit!”
“June,” you bark.
But she doesn’t stop. She continues shouting his name until somebody taps the poor man on his shoulder and lets him know he has a very impatient little girl calling for him.
His grin goes full wattage when he sees her. He struts down the hall like some kind of hospital celebrity, intercepted twice before he reaches the room, but he waves them all off with a promise and keeps moving. June outranks them all.
“I thought I already said bye to you, superstar,” he says, the door propped open with his shoe.
“I forgot to give you this,” she yells, thrusting the paper toward him. “It’s for your office.”
He makes a loud noise of approval as he takes it. His smile triples in size. “June! You made this for me?”
She nods, growing sheepish.
He flips the drawing around for you to see. You nod because you’ve already seen it, but your impression hasn’t waned. She really is great at drawing for her age.
“What are you still doing here?” you ask, slightly befuddled.
“Oh, you know how it is. One more thing turns into six.” The irritation in his tone falls flat. He loves his work; that much is clear.
“Kind of you to assume I have an office. I don’t get that luxury. But you know what I do have?”
“What?”
“A good locker to hang this in. That’s where I keep the important stuff.”
“Can I see?”
He chuckles, a hand clawed promisngly across her shoulder. “I’ll show you another day, okay?”
She nods. “Can you help me put my shoes on?
“Well, of course I can.”
He dumps his things on the floor and lifts her onto the bed with ease. She’s a little princess, handing him her sandals one at a time so he can slip the rubber over her heel. He fastens the straps like it’s surgical, a tenderness about him that makes your heart squeeze. He really is great at this. It makes you wonder why he never had any of his own.
As he stands, she nearly throws herself off the bed trying to hug him. His grin spreads wide over her little shoulder. It’s contagious.
“You’re very sweet, you know that?” he murmurs in the shell of her ear. “I’m gonna miss your face in here.”
She peels back, her wrists still crossed over the back of his neck. “Can I come see you?”
“That’s up to your mom… but I think we can work something out.”
Their heads bob in synchronous agreement. It’s the cutest.
“I’ll see you around, kiddo.” He lets her go and points to you. “And you— keep me posted. And please call me if you end up back in that waiting room.”
Your cheeks ache with a smile. “Will do.”
“And while I’m here, who’s your nurse? You should’ve been outta here a long time ago.”
“Oh my gosh. Go home, Jack.” You can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry about it.” About us.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m gonna reprimand whoever it is before I leave. I’ll see you guys, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you promise.
He leaves, and it’s not easy watching him go, knowing you probably won’t have another reason to come back anytime soon. But you’ll see each other again, you’re sure of that much.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works. 1.2k
[ one ] [ two ] [ three ] [ four ] [ five ] [ six ] [ seven ]
The police department is only mildly helpful when it comes to tracking down where they towed your car. But after a half-hour of waiting and verifying and getting your information, they finally give you an answer to where exactly it ended up.
You hang up with a big-chested huff just as Jack walks in. You love to see his face, of course. He’s the only reason you’re in a room with four walls and a bed. And he’s been there through every scan, every X-ray, every needle. But he’s long overdue for a good nap. The exhaustion is written all over his poor face.
But you, on the other hand, are feeling a lot more with it. And only better now that he’s here.
“What are you still doing here?” you ask through your teeth. You can’t help all the smiles around him. He's just that perfect.
“What do you mean? I’m working.”
“Jack, I’m concussed, not an idiot. You don’t work the day shift.”
A smirk turns his lips. He can’t help it around you either. “I do today.
You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t afraid it would drag the headache right back with it.
“What did the station say?” he asks.
“Towed to a lot downtown.”
“Bummer. But I hear you’re checking out soon?” he says, like it’s casual. Like all of this with him has been casual.
“That’s what they’re telling me.”
“Well, I’m headed home soon... if you need a ride?”
“Wow. Five-star service.”
He hums, humored. “We do what we can.”
You shift on the bed, flipping open the discharge packet in your lap. “So, where do I rate my stay?”
Jack’s arms fold, and you try very, very hard not to notice what that does to his chest. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I’d like to leave a review.”
His smile doubles in size. “This I have to hear.”
You tip your head toward the ceiling. “Facilities? Bright. Pretty loud. A lot of beeping.”
“Accurate.”
“Nursing staff? Efficient. Mildly bossy.”
“They’ll love that.”
“And my doctor?” You pause thoughtfully.
His expression stays carefully neutral. “Yes?”
“Very attentive. Slightly overprotective. Kept telling me not to move my arm like I’m five.”
He digs at the stubble on his cheek. “Did he say that?”
“He did,” you tease. “But bedside manner? Impeccable.”
His chest shakes with a silent chuckle. “Impeccable?”
“Calm in a crisis. Nice voice. Very reassuring.”
“Nice voice?” he echoes.
“Very.” Your eyes linger for a beat. He looks away first, but just barely.
“Well,” he clears his throat, “we aim to please.”
“Five stars," you declare. "Would absolutely get into a car accident just to come back here again.”
“That’s not how we schedule follow-ups around here.”
“Fair enough.”
Jack doesn’t let you hold a single thing on the short trip to his truck. He’s got your paper bag of belongings under his arm, your booklet of care instructions in his fist, and his own bag on his shoulders. And when you try to take some of it, he threatens to put you in a wheelchair. How sweet.
“Sorry,” he starts, juggling open the passenger door. “Wasn’t expecting visitors.” He shoves a pair of sneakers in a duffel, zips it up, and chucks it in the backseat along with his backpack.
He puts your things on the dash and helps you climb in, one big hand in yours, the other at the small of your back. His truck is very him. There’s a first aid kit stowed in the footwell and a shock blanket folded neatly in the back. Not to mention the police scanner that crackles to life when he starts the engine. He turns it down quickly.
“How’s your head?”
“Better,” you answer truthfully. You draw your seatbelt across your chest but fail to find the buckle. Doing life with one arm is harder than you thought.
But Jack comes to your rescue. With his fingers steering yours, he clicks it into place, no problem.
You adjust your sling higher on your shoulder with a quiet, thanks.
“What time is June’s school open ‘til?”
“Six. Poor girl’s probably wondering why I’m so late, though.”
“We could get her on the way?”
“Unless you’re storing a carseat somewhere in this ambulance, I’d rather wait.”
“I can install one.”
“Yeah? I’d like to see you try.”
A notepad slides around on his dashboard as he makes a U-turn, and a couple of crumpled receipts fall onto the floor. He throws a protective arm across your chest when he brakes hard. He apologizes for it, but it rattles you, the car accident still fresh in your mind.
And he must clock it the way his eyes keep jumping off the road. The way his hand flexes on the center console— the portal between friends and something more.
You fall into a comfortable stretch of quiet as he drives on. And while the drive is quite long, it still feels much too short by the time you’re pulling into the tow yard’s parking lot.
“You sure you’re okay to drive?” he asks.
“I’m sure.” You’re not, but you’re busy looking all around for your car. You spot the beauty parked on the opposite side of the lot, with a cracked back windshield and an expensive-looking dent in the rear bumper.
“I know a guy who can fix it. Easy. I’ll text you his number,” Jack explains.
“Please,” you sigh. You’re heartbroken. You’ve kept her in good shape thus far. But Jack’s here, and his presence is like a magic balm. He can make you feel better with just one look.
“If you start feeling dizzy again, you pull over and call me,” he insists.
“I will,” you promise. And you mean it. The man is truer to his word than any other you’ve ever met. “So… what do I owe you? It’s not gonna cost me an arm and a leg, is it?”
“No, no,” he lets out an uneasy, breathy sort of laugh. “I was thinking maybe a date?— and not shitty hospital coffee— but a real one. Say, the zoo? This weekend? You could bring June.
You smile so hard it makes your face hurt. You never thought he would ask. “I think we could arrange that.”
“Then… it’s a date.”
His cheeks pinken as you bend over the center console. A quick peck to the apple of his right cheek. “Thank you for everything, Jack.”
His lips are pinched tight, but it only hides so much of his joy. “Tell June I said hi.”
You nod. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
Jack waits until you’ve checked out of the building with the set of keys to your car in hand. He returns the wave you give him, still giddy off the high of a big success. But there’s a tightening in his chest, too. That quiet, creeping sense that this is crossing into something real.
His thumb drifts to his left hand without thinking. The ring that isn’t there anymore. The ring that still feels like it should be.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works.
TW mentions of eating disorders/vomit 0.9k
[ one ] [ two ] [ three ] [ four ] [ five ]
It’s been a difficult day for you and June. She turned her nose up at all three breakfasts you tried, and you sent her off to school with nothing but an apology and a knot in your chest. Dinner was similarly catastrophic, and now June refuses to take her probiotic before bed.
But a difficult day brightens into a great one the second Jack's contact pops up on your homescreen. He’s saved as Dr. Rabbit, courtesy of June. His texts are becoming less scarce as the distance between June’s last ER visit grows. He just checks in from time to time. He’s always been sweet like that.
How’s my Junebug, he says.
Your eyes drift to hers. They’re swollen, carrying the weight of a long tantrum. She’s now pouting over her half-full plate.
Uncooperative, you answer.
Hard day?
To say the least. Refusing her meds now
The three little dots bounce and bounce and bounce, and then they disappear with no message to replace them. It’s late. He must be at work— flagged down by a resident or an ambulance or a patient needing his attention more than you.
But the silence is pierced by the incessant vibration of your cell. And a picture of Jack holding June’s hand fills the screen.
Your heart cartwheels. He’s never called you before. And it almost slips to voicemail if not for your shaky finger jamming against the accept button just in time.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you.” His voice is made of syrup. Always soft, and so, so sweet.
It has you fawning like a schoolgirl with a crush. Even June detects it, putting her pout on hold to watch you.
“Hi, hey,” you stumble. “How are you?”
“Oh, surviving. You?”
“Same.”
“You sound tired,” he notices. He notices everything about you.
“Long day,” you admit. “Better now, though.”
He gives a breathy chuckle. “Glad I could be of service. How’s my girl? She’s not eating?”
“A bit. You know how it is. She’s sulking at me because I told her she has to take her probiotic before leaving the table.”
“Oh my. Can I talk to her?”
“Yeah, yeah. Hang on.” You flip the call to speaker and inch the phone closer to June. “It’s Dr. Rabbit.”
“Hey, trouble,” he greets.
Her frown falters into a big grin. “Dr. Rabbit?”
“The one and only.”
Her voice lilts. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, you know, saving lives and what have you.”
She giggles, but it’s true.
“I hear you don't want to take your medicine. Is that right?”
Her eyes meet yours. Her cheeks a hot shade of embarrassment, and her mouth pinched shut in betrayal.
“June?”
“Yesss.”
“You promised me you’d get stronger by the next time I see you.
“But it’s yucky.”
“I know. I don’t like taking my medicine either, but we do hard things sometimes, remember?”
She doesn’t like what he says and says nothing back.
“Where’s Bluey?” he asks. Bluey is the stuffed Bunny he gifted her the last time she was in the ER.
“Umm. In my bed.”
“Can you go get him for me?”
She searches your face for the okay. You give it and steal the phone back for yourself.
“You’re the best, you know that?” you tell Jack.
You can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t thank me just yet.”
“You’re at work?”
“Yeah, it’s been pretty slow. Had a kid with ARFID earlier, actually. Dad kind of reminded me of you.”
“Stressed out of his mind?” you snort.
“A great parent,” he corrects. “With a whole lot of love for his kids.”
You hum. June trots back up to you with Bluey’s ear choked in her fist. “Here’s June.”
“Alright, Junebug. You remember when we had to put the little straw in your arm? You did that. This is easier than that.”
She nods like he can see her.
“Hold Bluey’s hand for me. Just like before. Want me to count you down?”
She hugs Bluey tight to her chest. “No.”
“Okay. Your call. Whenever you’re ready.”
You encourage the cup of medicine closer to her. She watches it like it might bite, then lifts it for a careful sniff.
“Don’t smell it. Just go, quick,” you tell her.
“You got this, kid,” Jack cheers.
She takes it like a shot of tequila— a scary glimpse fifteen years into the future.
“Good job!” you praise, shoving a glass of water into her eager hand.
“You did it?” Jack’s voice crackles through the speaker. “You’re so brave, June. I knew you could.”
She swallows several mouthfuls of water with a big huff. “I did it.”
You hear his name echo faintly over the line, but he continues talking to June. “You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, you know that, Junebug?”
She smiles with all her teeth. “I already know that.”
“Oh, you do,” he laughs loudly— but the sound is eaten by the rising wail of a siren.“Look, kiddo, I have to go and get back to work. Tell your mom bye for me.”
“Okay. Bye, Dr. Rabbit.”
“Bye, Jack,” you add.
“Text me if she tries to unionize again.”
“I will,” you chuckle. “Night.”
The call ends, and the room flattens into silence. You clear the table, rinse the dishes, tuck June into bed. But still, over an hour later, you’re standing in the quiet thinking about the sound of his voice with a warmth lingering in your cheeks like it never left.
