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wc: 4.8k
summary: The ED of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center could be a hazardous place. You learn that first hand when a violent encounter leaves you unable to work and needing help with everyday tasks. Thankfully, your attending, Dr. Abbot, takes it upon himself to ensure you get the safety and healing you so desperately need. It certainly doesn’t hurt that tension you’d thought was one sided seems to be pulling both of you closer and closer as your walls break down.
warnings: age gap (reader is a R4 in her late 20s, abbot is 50 because shawn hatosy is 50), power dynamics, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, tattooed reader but no specifics mentioned, blood, stab wounds, probably overly descriptive of pain, reader is crushing hard on abbot, im very sorry to Parker Ellis and Mateo Diaz, everyone is horny at bad times, abbot freaks out a bit, medical jargon I don't fully understand, I think that's it for now
an: chat this old man is making me feral. this was supposed to be a quick little one shot of jack nursing you back to health and then fucking your brains out and then the adderall took over and I went a little crazy. this is probably going to be the longest part, so sorry that I tried to kill fictional you
Dr. Abbot had been your attending for four tortuous years. From the first second you walked into the Pitt at 6:45 pm on a Wednesday in August, you’d been haunted by the man. He seemed to have some sick fascination with popping up over your shoulder, his front a perfectly socially acceptable distance from your back in the close quarters of the ED, but not far enough to stop your breath from catching in your chest when you caught a whiff of that cold, woodsy scent that clung to him. It wasn’t cologne, you knew that for a fact since it was forbidden in the handbook, but you didn’t care. It was addicting, and you felt like a bit of a freak for the way he smelled sending shivers down your spine and he complimented your work, his gruff voice telling you ‘very good’ as his eyes flicked over you appraisingly.
He was a phenomenal doctor, and you tried your hardest to learn from him. That didn’t stop you from tensing every time his hands brushed yours. He made you feel crazy, but you knew you weren’t the only one of you experiencing whatever fucked up magnetic… thing this was. You could feel his eyes tracking you, dropping to your lips when you presented a case to him, how his eyes kept darting to your heaving chest after you’d done chest compressions.
Not to mention the coffees that he would bring you every so often. Not regular enough to create a pattern, nor was it infrequent enough for you to convince yourself it was a one-off thing. He’d drop a perfectly made iced latte with oat milk and two pumps of butter pecan syrup off at your station first thing when he came in, two of his fingers tapping the desk once before he gave you a smile and disappeared into the locker room.
You’d found yourself in a limbo where that bastard gave you every single indirect sign he was interested, yet he still held you at arm's length. When you caught him staring at you, he’d give you that cocky raise of an eyebrow he was practically known for, and then he’d disappear, avoiding you for the next hour. When he caught you staring, he’d cock his head, give you a once over, and then run one of those big hands through his salt and pepper curls and then disappear again.
It had become noticeable enough that Lena, Ellis, and Shen started to give you shit about it.
Despite the distraction that Dr. Abbot proved to be, you still kept your wits about you, even in the last hour of your shift. Even his massive, freckled biceps couldn’t stop you from rushing towards the ambulance bay door when the EMT’s rolled in a patient.
“Male, mid 30s, found a few blocks away, conscious but non reactive,” the burly man on the gurney was rolling his head back and forth, muttering to himself as you joined them along with Ellis and Mateo. “Stable vitals, non violent, just won’t stay still. No response to narcan, if he’s on something, I don’t know what it is.”
They helped you, Mateo, and Ellis heave him onto the bed in Trauma 1 before she was nodding to them. “Ok, we got it from here.”
“Hey, sir,” you gloved up quickly, gently grabbing the man’s face, trying to get him to focus on you. Ellis had her back to you, at the standing computer, starting a chart. “Can you look at me? What’s your name?”
The man didn’t respond, just continued muttering slurred words and writhing slowly. Fishing the penlight out of your scrub pocket, you shined it in his eyes, causing his head to jerk and his movements to pick up the pace.
“Oooo-kay, pupils reactive,” you called out. “But he seems to be getting more reactive, we’ve got to either restrain or sedate.”
“We can’t sedate until we know what he’s taken,” Ellis answered back. She turned her head. “Mateo, can you get the restraints?”
“Yep!” He turned his back.
You continued to assess the man, taking your stethoscope out to try and get a listen to his lungs. Just as you were pressing the bell to the upper left side of his chest, you felt the tell tale burning pain of a fresh wound on your right forearm.
You jerked back, cursing, just in time to see the combat knife in the patient’s hand. His eyes were now wide open and his writhing had ceased. Instead, he was jumping up and at you. He bowled you over, knocking you onto your back on the floor as he straddled you, your head banging against the floor as you went down. Your left hand came up to protect your face, that same pain that was radiating through your arm jolted through all of the sensitive nerve endings in the palm of your hand.
“FUCK!” You weren’t sure if that was you shouting or Ellis as the man continued trying to stab and slash at you. In trying to get him off and away from you, you managed to keep his weapon away from anything vital, but that didn’t stop his knife from scraping against the flesh of your shoulder and your chest, slicing a little deeper against your left flank as you struggled to avoid it plunging into your stomach, a shallow cut on your cheek from a close call, and leaving more cuts on your palms as you tried to grapple for the knife. Your own blood flowing from your outstretched limbs to cover you.
Or the one to the side of your neck that had your heart feeling like it stopped.
It felt like you were there for hours, but in only 30 seconds, Ellis was jamming a syringe filled with a sedative into the man’s back and hauling him off of you. Mateo had already stuck his head out the door to shout for help before racing back inside, his hands hooking underneath your armpits to drag you farther away from the weakly twitching man.
You screamed as soon as he grabbed you, the open wounds across your upper body burning in protest. As soon as he let go of you a safe distance away, you dropped limp against the floor as you struggled to catch your breath. Mateo was still at your side, trying to take your vitals, his hand lightly tapping your cheek to keep your eyes open. Every movement kicked the throbbing that was starting to build in your head up a notch. He was speaking but everything sounded muffled and you couldn’t make out the words, but you did register the fear in his eyes as your head tilted to the side. His hand slapped over your neck, pushing hard into a spot of blinding pain that had you jerking and feebly trying to get away.
The doors were bursting open as more and more people flooded in. Doctors and nurses, a sea of black and gray scrubs all scrambling to get the situation under control.
Dr. Abbot was one of the first in, scrambling to his knees opposite Mateo as he called your name. His eyes were wide as he took in the blood starting to pool beneath you, his eyes tracking from the biggest pool leaking from the wound at your side to Mateo’s blood soaked hand on your neck. “Shit! Shit! Gloves, now! Get Trauma 2 ready!”
Everything felt heavy, your ears felt full of cotton, and you just wanted to sleep. You were jerked back to full wakefulness by the shocking pain of Abbot’s gloved hand applying pressure to your side.
“Fuck!” you tried to jerk away, back arching as the pressure sent stabbing pain through you, but Abbot’s other hand was already braced against the other side of your waist to stop you from twisting away.
“I know, I know, just hang in there,” his voice was tense. “Someone get me a fucking gurney!”
The gurney he had been shouting for rolled in as the words left his mouth.
“I’m coming!” there were so many voices, you weren’t sure who was speaking.
“Ellis, stay with your patient! I want him dealt with and handed over to the cops ASAP!” That voice you knew belonged to Abbot.
“Alright, let’s get her up. You got that side? Mateo don’t fucking let go!” He jerked his head at the nurse that appeared at Mateo’s side, waiting for his nod. Shen knelt to grab your leg. All of the jostling had you gritting your teeth and whimpering. “I know it hurts, but we’re gonna fix you up, ok?”
You didn’t respond. Your brain felt like scrambled eggs that only registered pain pain pain. But still, you gritted your teeth, trying not to scream as they lifted you up on the gurney. Your head and limbs dropped limp as they got you settled before moving faster than your sluggish thoughts could register. Your eyelids were dropping against the too bright lights and flurry of noise.
“Shen, take over the pressure here.” Abbot’s voice preceded another wave of pain as Shen’s hands pressed hard into your side.
They burst through the doors, quickly pivoting once they were in the central hub. Shouts flooded your senses as the rest of your colleagues realized it was you lying there covered in your own blood.
“Robby!” Abbot’s voice was loud, his voice coming from right by your head. You turned away, wincing at the volume. Your eyes fluttered open in time to see most of the day shift rolling in. Robby was just coming in through the doors, when he saw you. His bag dropped to the floor and he sprinted forwards as you were pushed through the doors of Trauma 2.
“What the fuck happened, Jack!?” Robby sounded panicked.
“Multiple lacerations, potential stab wounds, possible-” Abbot’s voice hitched for barely a second before he carried on. “Possible severed carotid.”
“Mateo, release pressure,” Robby’s voice was close and loud.
Mateo did as told, and the room full of seasoned, big city doctors and nurses held their breath. But nothing happened. There was blood flowing from the wound in your neck, but nothing like the pumping, raging flow from a severed artery.
Abbot leaned in, tilting your head to get a closer look. He breathed out hard as he realized it was too far back on your neck to pose any real risk to the artery. The blood from your other injuries had made it look much more life threatening.
“Carotid is clear,” the collective breath of relief that everyone in the room let out simultaneously was quickly forgotten as every person in the room sprang back into action.
You couldn’t handle the combination of the noise and the lights as the movement picked up again, and with your hands feeling like lead weights, you opted to close your eyes again.
“Hey,” he jostled you, earning a sharp gasp for the flash of pain that rattled through you. “If you’re gonna shut your eyes, you’ve gotta keep talking.”
“Fuck off,” you grumbled back. Trying to breathe deep.
“Mateo, what happened?” Abbot’s voice was strained as he took a pair of scissors to your scrub top and undershirt, cutting the fabric down the middle and across your sleeves to pull it off. He didn’t dare pause to allow his eyes to roam over the ink covering every newly exposed inch of skin.
“EMT’s didn’t check for weapons,” Mateo was getting an IV in your non-injured forearm as someone else clipped a pulse ox to one of your fingers. “Patient got agitated when she checked his breathing. I didn’t see it, I was getting restraints since he wouldn’t stop moving and then I looked back and he was just- just on her…”
“Ok, ok,” Robby was helping Dr. Abbot remove the scraps of what used to be your shirts when his gloved fingers brushed the cut across your shoulder.
You jerked away, gasping out in pain. “Shit, fuck, stop!”
Abbot’s hands landed, one on your sternum, one on your other shoulder. “Hold still, I know it hurts.”
You whimpered, clenching your eyes shut even tighter and biting into your cheek.
“Push 3mg morphine.”
“Jack that’s a low dose-”
“I know,” Abbot’s voice was gruff. “I want her awake and alert. Mateo, get some saline, flush that wound Shen is holding, it doesn’t look deep enough for surgery but it’s bleeding too much to see clearly,” Abbot was barking orders as everyone moved in a flurry. Saline and other instruments being passed around. “Amy, get more saline. I’ve got her neck. Robby, check on her shoulder. Shen, get over here and look at her arm.”
“BP is 70 over 50!” Someone called as you felt a wave of warmth wash over you. The morphine settled in your system, numbing the burning points of pain across your body.
“That’s low,” you muttered unhelpfully, earning yourself a few hollow chuckles from the men in the room.
“Yeah it is,” Abbot had taken his hands off you, rinsing off the cut on your neck, breathing easier when he once again confirmed it wasn’t life threatening.“We’re gonna fix that, though.” Looking up at Robby, he said: “Not deep enough for concern, no risk to any structures, maybe a few stitches, but it’s in an awkward spot.”
He got a nod in return, and moved to watch Mateo irrigate your side, the next biggest area of concern. Mateo stepped back, giving him room to crouch to take a closer look at the wound. He took a deep breath as he surveyed the wound. Once it was flushed, the bleeding had slowed to a trickle, the cut itself not very deep. Abbot guessed about 15cm. Deep enough to hurt and bleed like hell, but not enough to break through the abdominal wall and do any real damage.
“This just needs sutures,” he stood, looking appraisingly over your prone form. He'd really hoped the first time he’d seen you stripped down to your bra would have been under much happier, and hornier, circumstances.
“Same over here,” Robby spoke from his post at your shoulder. “Barely hit muscle, but it’s long.”
Abbot’s eyes flicked up, eyeing the cut that spanned from your fraying bra strap down to your bicep, about 6 inches long. The plastic rings holding the strap in adjustment must have stopped the knife from digging in too deep as it skidded down your arm. His eyes tracked the phantom movement, his jaw ticking as he imagined that man over you, swiping and slicing at the swirling patterns on your skin.
“Not here,” Shen’s voice was tight as he examined and irrigated the wound on your arm. “It went pretty deep in the muscle but not to the bone and there’s no joint involvement.”
Abbot tracked the movement of Shen’s hands as he palpated down the rest of your arm to your wrist, checking for breaks. His breath hitched when he rotated your wrist, however. “Shit.”
“What?” Abbot’s voice was sharp as he hurried over.
You felt Shen lift your limp hand, presenting the deep cuts and mess of blood to the two senior attendings.
“Fuck, hold on. Mateo, pass me the saline and some gauze,” Shen called out and the supplies changed hands, then your palm was wet. There was a tense beat of silence as all three of them waited a moment, then three simultaneous sighs filled the air. The saline had washed away the blood with gentle swipes of the gauze, revealing the crisscrossing slashes to your palm. “Defensive wounds. Not too bad, probably no stitches given it’s the palm. Most are relatively shallow, barely bleeding.”
Shen set your hand back on the bed, palm up.
Abbot’s hand landed on your thigh as he addressed you. “You still in pain?”
You shook your head, the morphine working miracles. Your eyes opened a fraction, only to slam shut when the harsh overhead lights burned them, a whine slipping out before you could stop it. The morphine eased the rest of your pain, but it could do nothing for your oversensitive eyes or the pounding pressure in your head. The pain itself was fading, but you could feel the throbbing where the ache should be, focused at the back of your skull and behind your eyes.
In an instant, Abbot was up next to your head, one hand sliding behind to cradle the back of your skull, feeling for a bump. “Mateo, did she hit her head?”
“I- I don’t know I didn’t see her fall,” his voice was nervous, his hands shaking as he tried to prepare suture kits.
Robby caught on, grabbing his wrist before he could get farther into unpacking. “Hey, go get Lena or Dana, and take a break. It’s not your fault.”
Mateo took a breath like he was about to argue, before faltering and nodding, head down as he left the room.
“Hey, doll, open your eyes,” Abbot’s voice was insistent, his eyes pointedly not looking at Robby’s quirked brow upon the use of the pet name. When you shook your head, he frowned. “Open your eyes or I’ll do it for you.”
With a groan you opened them, squinting against the harsh lights.
“Did you hit your head?” His face came into view. A smear of blood, your blood, was on his cheek and his eyes were worried, mouth turned down in a frown.
You were staring at him, caught up in his hazel eyes. They were so deep and you swore you could pick out the hints of green and gold. Your mind couldn’t help but conjure other scenarios where he might be bent over you and cradling your head. Although, in those fantasies, he wasn’t streaked with your blood, his face wasn’t scrunched up in anxiety, your body didn’t ache like you’d been hit by a bus. In those moments his face would be scrunched up for a very different reason and the ache would be a very, very welcome one-
You were jerked out of whatever trance he had put you in by both Lena and Dana entering the room.
“Good god,” Lena rushed to your side next to take Robby’s place checking vitals as he stepped aside to where Dana was prepping the suture kits that Mateo couldn’t finish. You could hear them talking to each other, but their volume was low and your rattled brain couldn’t focus enough to listen effectively.
“Hey,” Abbot drew your attention back to him. “Did you hit your head? I need to know.”
I, not we. He needed to know. He wanted to know. He was worried about you.
“Fuck,” He muttered, taking in the blank look on your face.
Lena called your name as her gloved hand landed briefly on your uninjured forearm and your barely open eyes flicked to her. Effortlessly, she took control from the doctors. She had you spell your name. The letters left your lips, a little slurred but you didn’t stumble, until she made you spell it backwards. Then you tripped a bit, brow furrowing, but her smile was encouraging.
She kept asking questions, the date, the current president (your lip curled in disgust at that question), your birthdate, your mothers maiden name. All the while she cleaned the cut on your cheek with antiseptic, giving affirmative nods as you answered correctly, albeit a bit slowly.
You could tell everyone else in the room was listening with bated breath, waiting to make sure your brain wasn’t as damaged as the rest of you.
Despite the fact that you answered every question, Abbot was still worried by the slow pace of your answers, the light sensitivity, and how out of it you seemed. He turned to Shen. “Go ask Ellis. I’m pretty sure she did hit hard, but the whole thing could just be catching up with her. And get her in here!” He called after the man’s retreating figure as Shen turned tail.
Abbot’s hand was still cradling the back of your head, and he used that grip to turn your face back to him. “Sorry, bright light. Just for a second.”
You braced yourself for the discomfort, fighting the urge to slam your eyelids shut as he checked your pupils with a light.
“Good job, there you go,” his voice was low as he lowered your head back to the bed, his hand slipping from his resting spot in your hair. Your eyes stayed cracked open as Lena applied a few steri-strips to your cheek.
“Hey,” Ellis burst through the doors, immediately rushing towards you as her face crumbled. Shen followed, separating to join Lena who had moved from the cut on your cheek to the one on your shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry, I had no idea he had a knife-”
“Ellis, did she hit her head?” Abbot’s voice snapped her back into doctor mode.
Lena and Shen were talking about how many stitches you’d need in your shoulder as he gloved up while she prepped the area.
All of the voices having different conversations combined with the steady beeping had a wave of dizziness sweeping over you as your eyes slipped shut again.
“Yeah, I heard it, she went down hard,” she swallowed hard. “She was fighting him off so I went for the Versed. He was only on her for maybe 15 to 30 seconds.”
With Lena assisting, Shen threw the first stitch into the gash marring your upper arm. You tried not to wince as the first twinge of pain you’d felt since the dose of morphine earlier. He was speaking to you in a low voice about how he'd do his best to line up the edges of the tattoos.
“Why the fuck didn’t you get him off her first?” Abbot’s voice was low and dangerous, his jaw clenched as his whole body tensed.
Shen and Lena froze as all eyes, including yours, moved to watch Abbot.
“You saw him,” Ellis looked like she was on the verge of tears, but her voice raised in outrage regardless.. “He was easily over 300lbs of muscle and over 6 '4! I’m strong but I’m not ‘fight off a man double my size’ strong!”
Abbot opened his mouth like he was going to escalate, spit some more venom, but Robby and Dana jumped in before he could.
“Ok, everyone calm down,” Robby appeared between them, one hand on Abbot’s chest as Dana pulled Ellis a step back. She was muttering to the younger doctor as she tried to comfort her. “Brother, you’ve got a patient to stitch up, who then needs to immediately go up to CT.”
“Fuck,” Abbot spit out as he turned away, just barely stopping himself before he ran a blood covered glove through his hair. “Sorry, Ellis.”
“It’s fine. I- I’m,” She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can-”
“Hey,” Shen had only gotten the one stitch done, but he was leaping up and shucking his gloves off into the bin. He grabbed Ellis by the arms, his eyes flicking between Robby and Abbot. “You guys got this?”
“Yeah,” Robby sighed, “We’ll patch her up, go get some air.” His eyes shifted to Ellis. “It’s not your fault. Go home, your shift is over, Ellis. She’ll be ok. Dana?”
There were tears running down her face now as she stared at you, lying there covered in your own blood, your eyes hazy as they watched her. You wished you could have reassured her, told her it really wasn’t her fault, but you could barely focus on what was happening at this moment, much less on making her feel better.
Ellis nodded, her eyes finally leaving you as she allowed Dana to guide her out of the room.
“Shen, can you go start the handover so night shift can get out of here? I think they all need some rest,” Shen nodded at Robby’s direction, sparing one more glance at you before he was gone, leaving you, Lena, Abbot, and Robby.
Your vision was starting to blur, the room tilting in a way though would have made you nauseous if you had any energy to spare.
“Get- together- resident- bleeding!”
“-know that! But- I feel-”
“-not- girlfriend! She’s- just- patient”
“She’s- patient, you fucking-”
Your eyes had slipped shut tight again and your pulse was starting to pick up. You couldn’t focus on the argument between Abbot and Robby happening right next to you, only picking up bits and pieces. You tried, but there were pinpricks of white hot sensation returning to your body and snatching your focus away from the man you’ve been incessantly thinking about and flooding your senses with hot sparks of pain.
The pull of your skin against the one stitch Shen had put in before he’d been pulled into the mess between your attendings. The points where the lacerations on your palm crossed. A particularly deep spot in the wound on your side where it felt like the frigid air of the ED was hitting your internal organs. The thinner edges of the cut that was already sealed on your cheek, twinging with that same disproportionate burning of a papercut. That incessant throbbing that made your head feel like an overfilled water balloon just about to pop.
The purposely low morphine Abbot had given was wearing off all too quickly, probably quicker than he had anticipated, losing the battle against the raging amount of pain you were in.
Your chest was rising and falling faster and faster as you tumbled back down into that all consuming sensation, trying to catch your breath as each stabbing sensation took the air out of your lungs. You vaguely felt a hand on your chest, a voice telling you to breathe, but it didn’t help.
The relative calm that the initial dose of medication had washed over you was gone as your hands tried to clutch at the mattress to give you something to anchor you through it, only for the fragile edges of separated skin on your palm to knock the wind out of you.
“Jack,” your voice was weak, a barely there whisper as you writhed.
There was some more yelling that your confused and addled brain couldn’t translate as your back arched and you curled your hand into your chest, gasping out a whimper. The monitor with your vitals was flashing red, pulse rising and your oxygen saturation fell.
And then, finally, more of that warmth washed through you, pushing the pain down as your body slowly relaxed against the sheets. Your gasping breaths slowed as the pain fell to a manageable level and then to none at all.
“Fuck,” you had definitely gotten a higher dose this time, because you could barely register Abbot’s hand on your cheek or the broken sounding curse he let loose.
“Let’s get her stitched up fast,” Robby’s voice was coming from your other side. “She needs a CT.”
The reality of what had happened was slowly seeping back into you. You heard them perk up when your pulse spiked. Abbot appeared in your field of vision as his hand settled on your uninjured shoulder.
“Feeling pain?” the lines on his face seemed deeper, his eyes exhausted and scared as they flicked over your face.
You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from him.
“Ok,” he settled back into his seat at your side, preparing his instruments. “Tell me if you are.”
You gave a curt nod, taking a deep breath.
They got to work, Lena assisting both of them as they sewed you back together. You had just enough wherewithal to realize that Abbot’s hands seemed a little shaky.
It was quick once they stopped speaking to each other. Your eyes were open but fixed on the ceiling, but you listened as they narrated to Lena, who documented everything, flitting back and forth between the computer and the men as the two of them worked. Robby taking your shoulder and abdomen as Abbot worked on your neck, forearm, and palm.
There really was no pain once they began, but you were braced for it, your mind racing. You focused on what you knew, you focused on the medicine. Counting every stitch as it went into you, listening to the clinical notes they narrated.
Three subcutaneous and ten surface stitches in your shoulder. Six subcutaneous and fifteen surface stitches in your wrist. Three surface stitches and five steri-strips on your palm. Eight subcutaneous and nineteen surface stitches on your flank. One surface stitch in your neck and two steri-strips.
They were done quickly, and then Dana was back, stroking her hand over your forehead to brush hair that had escaped from your braid out of your face. Both of you winced when it was stuck with some dried blood. She was saying something, but you didn’t hear her. You let your eyes slip closed, taking deep breaths as everything blurred together.
A blanket was pulled up to your chin, covering your modesty and wounds. A warm, wet cloth slid over your face, cleaning up the blood on your face.
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