Summary: a car accident. an er bay. and the moment you realize loving someone means letting them worry.
Warnings: Mentions of injuries related to a car accident (nothing too graphic).
Notes: established relationship.
word count: 1,343
a/n: Inspired by my recent very real car accident (how fun) however, instead of Frank I had my lovely roommate to put me back together 😭
You laid in the hospital bed in the ER bay, staring up at the ceiling and cursing yourself for the entire situation. It wasn’t your fault, at least that’s what the police told you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that if you had been a tad more attentive, you wouldn’t be here.
You prayed that Frank wouldn’t find out. Not yet. You loved that man dearly, but you knew when it came to any issues involving you, he tended to panic. He had taught you every safety precaution in the book, especially when it came to driving. He always talked about how many car accident injuries came through the ER every day. And here you were, one of them.
Your collarbone ached like hell, and the blood on your forehead began to seep through the gauze a nurse had applied earlier. The accident happened so quickly, you hadn’t even been able to wrap your ahead around what happened before someone pulled you out of the car and you were suddenly on your way to PTMC.
Please, please let it be any other doctor. He’ll worry too much. He always does. I don’t want to be a distraction.
A couple minutes later, the curtain was pulled open and thank God.
“Whitaker!” you forced brightness into your voice, though it came out thin, a little shaky.
Dennis spoke your name cautiously before clearing his throat.
“Car accident, huh?” he said calmly.
“Yeah, someone ran a red,” you affirmed.
He nodded.
“Sorry to hear that, we’ll get you fixed up,” he raised his brow, “do you want me to get Langdon?”
Your eyes widened, “no!- no, sorry, I just…he’ll freak out.”
Whitaker understood. You knew he would, he worked with Frank everyday, he knew his character. However, it seemed that neither your wishes nor his would matter, because as Whitaker began to slip on gloves to start the exam, Langdon snuck in behind him. He was quiet at first. You didn’t even notice him as your eyes flicked back to the ceiling and your thoughts began to swirl.
Then you heard his voice. Frank saying your name in the most devastating tone.
Your eyes immediately found his.
For a second, you didn’t move.
The room felt smaller. Too quiet.
Your breathing hadn’t felt like too much of an issue until this moment.
“Frank, I—” The words died in your throat.
“Whitaker, you can go,” Frank asserted, his tone low and commanding.
Whitaker looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes silently asking for your approval. You gave him a nod, and he turned to leave.
This left you alone with your handsome boyfriend, who stood rigid at the foot of the bed, dark eyes frantic as they traced every visible injury, his expression torn between wanting to strangle you and wrap you in bubble wrap for the rest of your life.
“Hi,” you greeted. Your voice was weaker than you had hoped.
“You didn’t call me,” he breathed, clearly upset.
“You were busy and I’m okay.”
He shook his head immediately.
“No, you’re not. And this is important,” his voice cracked with frustration. “Things like this are fucking important.”
You saw the mix of emotions wash over his face. His brow scrunched as he lifted his hand to his forehead, trying to find the words, his voice low when he finally spoke again.
“You’re hurt…and I’m a doctor”
You ignored his statement. Though technically as your boyfriend he shouldn’t be treating you at all, you knew emotions and technicality weren’t always the best combination.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you muttered, jaw tightening.
“That’s the problem,” he snapped, “You never let me!”
You flinched slightly when he yelled which in turn made your chest ache and eyes squint.
You watched the immediate regret wash over his face.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he muttered moving closer to the hospital bed.
He paused for a moment, eyes on yours again but this time appearing softer. You tried to analyze his expression as he collected his thoughts.
He reached out a placed his hand around your wrist.
“God, I’m not mad. I just can’t stand to see you hurt.” His expression was unbearably defeated.
Frank got to work shortly after that, changing the gauze on your forehead, apologizing and whispering endearments every time you winced. The way your heart swelled from every soft you’re doing great and good girl made the pain in your body feel like an afterthought.
He listened to your breathing intently and, with a sigh, said, “seems like a slight pneumothorax.”
Then came your chest, where he palpated carefully until he reached one spot on your collarbone and you yelped.
“Holy fuck.”
He removed his hands immediately.
“May have a fracture. Can you lift your right arm above your head?”
You tried. You really did, but pain shot through you, white hot and unforgiving, and your arm dropped back to the mattress.
“My poor girl,” he sighed, placing a soft kiss to your temple.
“Okay. You’re going to need some X-rays and I’ll order a chest CT just to be safe.”
You nodded, unsure of what to say. You didn’t think anything you could add would be the right thing. All that came out was, “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he shook his head, “shit, no, don’t be.”
“I’m sorry I snapped, I was scared, when I saw your name on our charts earlier, I fucking lost it.”
His gaze lingered on the bruising from the seatbelt that began to creep across your chest and up your neck. He stared at the bruising like it was evidence of a crime he hadn’t been there to stop and you realized then that this was what scared him most. Not the injuries. The minutes he hadn’t been able to protect you.
A couple seconds later he shifted reaching to grab some pain killers.
“Here take these, they will take the edge off,” he spoke placing the pills in your hand.
You took them and exhaled, “my car is pretty fucked”
“Well I don’t care about the car,” he admitted, “I care that you’re breathing.”
Before you could respond, a nurse peeked in, letting you know radiology was ready. Frank squeezed your hand once more before stepping back, slipping effortlessly into doctor mode.
“I’ll be right here when you’re done,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”
As they wheeled you down the hall, pain meds beginning to dull the sharp edges, you realized something important. That all along it had been your fear of imposing on to other people that kept you swallowing your pain on your own. However, watching Frank unravel to show that you mattered demonstrated that by keeping others in the dark you were only hurting them.
You hadn’t imposed on him by getting hurt.
You hadn’t burdened him by needing care.
You had simply been loved.
And when Frank met you outside radiology, eyes tired but unwavering, you knew he wasn’t angry. He was just grateful he hadn’t lost you.
So it turned out you weren’t as invincible as you had hoped and your collarbone was in fact fractured. You were quick to be fitted with a sling to stabilize the break.
“Non-displaced fracture,” he said. “Which is good. Painful as hell, but good.”
You huffed weakly. “Love that for me.”
He smirked lightly, “listen to me, okay?”
You nodded meeting his gaze. “Sling stays on all the time, six to eight weeks. You can take it off briefly if you’re seated and stable, but no lifting, no reaching, no trying to be brave.”
Your jaw was on the floor.
“This sounds like a nightmare”
“You’ll get through it” he affirmed with steady eye contact, his hand resting against your jaw.
He continued, “but this means you will need help, meaning you will be staying with me. It’s about time you lived with me anyway”
You didn’t think your jaw could drop any further but it did.
You cleared your throat, “so this is a medical recommendation?”
“Wait. What is happening?” You’re confused on why Dr. Robby followed you to a supply closet and turned you around to face him.
“We don’t have much time and you’ll need to be quiet.” Robby unties your scrub pants and slides his hand down them as his other hand brings your face closer to his.
“I …. What? … Dr. Robby?” You’re trying to figure out what is going on, but his hands are finding places on you that is making it difficult to form a complete thought.
Robby realizes that you’re not really participating in this as much as he thought you would. He opens his eyes and sees the confusion in yours. He immediately drops his hands and steps back.
“Jesus fucking Christ! Did I just assault you?!” Robby paces the floor of the supply closet, wiping his hand down his face.
“No! Well, maybe a little but it’s not a bad thing. I just wasn’t expecting you to um…” You’re at a loss of words so you just kinda vaguely wave you hand around making Robby remember just a short moment ago he had his hand down your scrubs.
Robby huffs out a breathe. “Didn’t expect your attending to corner you in a supply closet and shove his hand down your pants as he kissed you?! I thought you were giving me signals and wanted this.”
“Oh.” You desperately try to remember your interactions with Robby today and are coming up short. “What signals?”
“What do you mean what signals? Baby, you’ve been driving me nuts the last few shifts with all your signals.” He looks at your face and can tell that you’re at a loss for words at the moment. Maybe all the moments he thought meant something were really you just being nice.
“Fuck me. I can’t believe I just did that.” He turns around and faces the door.
You walk up beside him and place a hand on his shoulder. “Robby.” He turns around to face you. “I was just a little shocked. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to continue.”
You feel his eyes roaming over your face to make sure you’re sincere. He steps a little closer. “I’m going to need you to start this Baby. I don’t want any confusion on where you stand and what you want to do.” His face is just inches from yours now. “You want my hand down your pants again, you need to put it there. You want my lips on yours, you lean in first.”
You grab on to his shirt and pull him closer, kissing him. “I want this.” After a moment you take his hand and bring it towards the edge of your pants and underwear. “More of this too, please.”
“So polite.” He kisses you and leads you towards the wall. His hand rests at your waist pulling you closer to him. “You should know, before this goes farther that I don’t want to see you in here with anybody else. Got it? Once we do this, I’m the only one who’s touching you at work.”
“Yes.” You nod your head quickly, wanting him to continue what he started.
“Now that that’s settled, be a good girl and place your hands on the wall and tilt those hips.”
He turns you around so that you’re facing the wall. He slides your pants and underwear down to the ground and kicks your legs apart. “I’ll go slow next time, baby. Promise.”
You hear his pants fall to the ground and he takes a moment to adjust your stance. “Remember to be quiet.” He says in your ear as he lines himself up to your entrance. He doesn’t give much of a warning before he plunges himself into you. The pace that he sets is rough. At one point he puts his hand over your mouth when you get too loud.
“That’s it baby.” He pants in your ear. “God you’re so fucking tight.”
It’s not long after that when he finds the right angle and you’re seeing spots in your vision. A couple of his fingers find your clit and start to rub tight circles. “Let go, babygirl” You cum a moment later, with Robby following right behind you.
A moment passes, as you both catch your breath. You’re a bit squished between the wall and Robby. He gives your neck a kiss before peeling away from you. He quickly pulls his pants up before helping you with yours. He smoothes down your hair and fixes your I’d badge. As he guides you to the door, he bends a bit to whisper in your ear. “Remember what I said. No one else touches you but me. Got it?”
After everything that just took place, all you can do is nod, which he accepts as your answer. He gives your ass a quick pat and walks out of the supply closet with you.
Okay my pittlings. This is the first fanfic I’ve written, but I am well read. I don’t have an AO3 account yet so I’m testing the waters on my writing skills and posting chapter one here. Please tell me if I should continue or throw it in the trash. Or just how I can improve. I’m just a nurse obsessed with the PITT and Whitaker, don’t worry my husband already knows he’s my new obsession. I also don’t actually work in the ER, (yet! I have applied, not because of the show though. Don’t get it twisted.) but I do work in Orthopedic Trauma and float to the ER occasionally. Anyways enjoy my story more characters will come along in the shift if you like it. Much love *mauh*. This is also a Whitaker x OC, but more people may get thrown into the mix, *cough* Jackie Poo.
Masterlist <---- Next Chapters Here :)
Chapter 1: Right Place, Right Time
Kristina Larsen a 26 year old ER nurse with 3 years of experience from a small town in South Dakota moves to Pittsburgh to start a new life. Little did she know that when she entered Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center’s ER there would be more chaos than shes used to in the emergency room. She may be finding herself breaking the rule she engrained into herself since graduating nursing school again. Never date the four P’s as a nurse: Police, Paramedics, Physicians, and (P)firefighters.
0600 May 5th, 2026
My alarm goes off blaring into my skull. I shoot up and confused by my surroundings. As the sleepy haze evaporates I come to a realization. I’m in my new apartment, boxes scattered around not fully unpacked and if I don’t get up now I am going to be late to my shift. I slowly rise out of bed yawning. I grab my scrubs from the box they’re packed in and walk to the bathroom. I stare at my face in the mirror for a few seconds. My light brown eyes staring back at me taking in my messy golden brown hair, freckles, dark circles under my eyes and somewhat thin lips. I sigh looking at the plain reflection staring back at me and begin to brush my teeth. After throwing my hair in a low but messy bun, I apply some concealer and mascara in attempts to make myself seem more awake but ultimately failing.
I walk into my kitchen making myself a cup of coffee and throwing a Red Bull in my bag. I look at my phone 0630. I grab a jacket, my badge, my bag and my coffee and I am running out the door to my car. Thankfully the drive is only 15 minutes to the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center and I pull into the assigned parking lot at 0645. I stare a head at the hospital and pray that I do not make a fool of myself as the newbie. I grab my things and walk through the ER doors taking note of how many people are already sitting in the waiting room impatiently. A woman named Lupe looks at me through the glass window and smiles. “Ah newbie, we always need more nurses around here. I let you in, go find Dana she’ll help get you settled.” The door opens I tell her thank you and walk through the doors. I take a minute to take in my surroundings, the beeping of heart monitors, stretcher carts, and small talk around the nurses station directly in the middle of the unit.
It’s 0655 I walk up to the nurses station a women with blonde hair and glasses looks up at me. She slides her glasses down and looks me over, “Fresh meat, perfect we were running out. The names Dana. I’m the charge nurse, this place doesn’t run without me. I’m guessing you’re Kristina huh.” “Yes ma’am” I say still looking around. “Well follow me, I’ll show you around.” Dana says. Dana gives me tour showing me the tramua rooms, pediatric rooms, supply rooms, the Pyxis and lastly the break room. “Your badge should get you in about anywhere but if there’s a code it's 5, 9 and 4. Welcome to the Pitt. Handoff should be taking place soon.” I shrug off my bag, throw my red bull into the fridge and follow Dana out to the nurses station. Dana introduces the other nurses. “Alright people this is Kristina the fresh meat, Kristina this is Mateo, Jesse, Princess, Perlah, and Donnie. Donnie ditched his nursing license to become a NP.” Everyone says hello and the chaos starts. Since I have experience as an ER nurse I’m just kind of thrown into the mix.
I check my watch, 0800.
I have seen 4 patients so far; chest pain (turns out it was just heartburn), hypotension from mistaking their beta blockers, a kid needing stitches and a wrist fracture that was splinted and sent on their way. I have mostly worked with Dr. Cassie McKay at this point since we’ve been assigned to the same room. I have efficiently completed the orders Dr. McKay gives. I am quiet and efficient, trying not to get into anyone’s way. Dr. McKay finally says, “You know you’re allowed to talk right?” I laugh and say, “Sorry I am more focused on trying not to make a fool of myself on my first day. I’m Kristina the new nurse.” Dr. McKay smiles.
Dana yells over head “Trauma 10 minutes out. Motor vehicle accident, ejected from car.” The entire emergency department shifts instantly into motion. Nurses grabbing supplies, respiratory wheeling equipment into the trauma bay, a resident flipping through a quick checklist.
I hurry down the hallway toward the ambulance entrance, already pulling the isolation gown around my shoulder while walking. The plastic crinkles as I try and tie the strings behind my back, balancing a pair of gloves and my stethoscope in one hand. “Why do they make these things impossible to tie-“ I mutter under my breath.
The bay doors swing open again and a gust of cool spring air rushes in from outside. The wail of an ambulance siren grows louder as it backs towards the doors. I step forward quickly, still wrestling with the gown strings. And promptly trip over the edge of the trauma mat, balance tilts forward. For a split second I think, This is it, I’m about to face plant in front of the entire trauma team.
But suddenly two hands grab my arms firmly, steadying me before I fall. Strong. Fast. I collide lightly into someone’s chest instead. “Woah, easy there.” The voice is calm, slightly amused. I look up at the person the voice came from. Messy brown hair, tired but sharp blue eyes, and the faintest hint of a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So sorry,” I say quickly, pushing myself upright. “These gowns are basically an OSHA violation.” “I mean, you did try to tie it while sprinting,” he says. I huff a quiet laugh, turning around and attempting to tie the strings again.
A second later I feel fingers tug the ties neatly together at my back. “There,” he says as I turn back around to face him, “I’m Dennis Whitaker. First year resident. Who are you?” I look up at him smiling, “Kristina. I’m a nurse, first day at the PITT. Thank you from saving me from impending doom.” “Part the job,” he replies casually. He’s really cute in a sort of dorky kind of way, I think.
The ambulance doors slam outside. Paramedics are already shouting report. “ Twenty-six year old male, high speed MVC, ejected from vehicle due to seat belt malfunction. GCS 6, intubated in the field, possible internal injury, hypotensive in route. 100 mcg of fentanly and 500ml bolus of NS.” The moment between Whitaker and I snaps away as the team rushes forward. Whitaker steps beside me, pulling on gloves. “Try not to fall during the trauma,” he murmurs quietly. I shoot him a sideways look. “No promises” The gurney bursts through the doors and the room explodes into organized chaos. But for a brief moment as we both move towards the patient, Whitaker glances at me again. And there’s definitely a hint of a smile.
Jesse yells “BP 82/50, HR 138.” A doctor I haven’t met yet yells, “Pupil reactive but sluggish, would somebody cut those fucking clothes off him.” I run up cutting of the patient’s clothes with my surgical shears and do an exam of his abdomen. “Abdominal tenderness, patient is increasingly pale, tachycardia increasing to 160, BP now 74/45.” Dr. Whitaker runs the FAST ultrasound, “free fluid in the abdomen, start the massive transfusion protocol, start albumin and a liter bolus of NS.” I slip in another 18 gauge in the patient’s forearm before he’s even done with his sentence. “18 gauge right forearm, drawing a rainbow set and type and screen send those down STAT,” I yell right as Whitaker finished talking. “Someone get surgery down here to book an OR, he’s stable for now,” says an older doctor with a beard. He is giving off attending vibes, that must be Dr. Rabinovich, I think which glancing up from where I was setting up the IV tubing for the bolus.
The trauma bay is finally quiet again. The chaos from the MVC has faded, leaving behind the familiar aftermath- wrappers from IV kits, empty saline bags hanging from poles, and the faint metallic smell of blood is in the air. Jessie and I stand at the counter finishing the last of the cleaning. “Alright,” Jesse says, scrolling through the chart. “Massive transfusion protocol is done. Let’s verify this last unit.” I nod, grabbing the blood bag from the cooler and holding it up under the fluorescent lights.
“Unit number W47291,” I read. Jesse checks the number on the chart. “Matches” We both go through the process automatically, like it’s muscle memory. “Name?” I read it back to him. “DOB?” I confirm it. “Blood type?” Jesse asks. “O neg,” I reply. “Expiration Date?” “May 5th, 2026 2359.” I tell him. “Ordering provider?” “Dr. Whitaker,” I say while reading the label on the bag. Jesse nods and co-signs on computer before heading to the door. “I’m going to run this to the lab and grab more tubing,” he says. “Don’t disappear on me.” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply dryly wiping the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. He snorts and disappears down the hallway.
The trauma bay goes quiet again. I start organizing the counter, stacking syringes, and tossing wrappers in the trash. I don’t even notice someone has stepped back into the room until I feel the shift of the air behind me. Then a voice. Low. Close. “Pretty impressive back there.” I turn slightly, startled to find Dennis Whitaker standing just behind me. I hadn’t even heard him come back in. He leans casually beside me, arms crossed and gloves shoved into pocket. I shrug lightly, trying to play it off.
“Just doing my job.” Whitaker studies me for a moment. “You caught the pressure drop before anyone else did,” he says. “And you were already pulling labs before I could even ask for them. It’s only your first day in the PITT and you’re already anticipating the next move.” He notices me busying my hand with the supply drawer. “Lucky guess.” He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh. “ Yeah, sure.” I reach up to adjust the collar of my gown and feel the plastic crinkle under my fingers.
Then Whitaker steps a little closer. Close enough I can feel his presence beside me. His voice drops, softer now, near my ear. “Good thing you’re better at catching a change in patient status…” I pause staring at my hands. “… than catching yourself when you fall.” His breath brushes lightly against my ear when he says it. I immediately feel my cheeks warm. I turn my head slightly to glare at him, but the corner of his mouth is already tugging into a crooked smile. “Oh my god,” I huff. “You’re never going to let that go are you.” Whitaker pushes up off the counter. “Absolutely not.” He starts towards the door, then glances back. “And for the record,” he adds casually throwing his arms up, “I glad I caught you. Can’t have the pretty nurse getting a concussion now can we?” Then he disappears down the hallway before I can even come up with a response.
I have been here 2 hours, only officially met two doctors and I already have been embarrassed by a cute resident. I let out a dramatic sigh, continuing to clean up the room. I wonder how the rest of the shift will go.
as reader and jack fall into the new routine of being roommates, reader struggles with the unexpected toll their coworker's opinions and speculation are placing on her.
burnt out, emotionally exhausted, and struggling daily to ignore/grapple with/confront/hide/completely deny her ever growing feelings for jack abbot, reader searches for an easier way to go about this whole living with your boss that you're low-key in love with thing.
contains: no use of y/n (etc), (f)reader is a fourth year resident, Jack Abbot is !downbad but also equally !repressingallemotion because of his !deadwife and !oldmaninsecurity, reader is oblivious and constantly denying her fat crush on Jack, reader is tired and stressed and overall needs a BREAK, angst stress tension comfort loveylove etc.
The first month of living in Jack’s house had flown by much quicker than you’d thought possible. Your opposing schedules and the fact that you hadn’t had corresponding days off over the past four weeks led to very little interaction in the house itself.
The hospital, on the other hand…yeah, the hospital had been a bit of a different story.
The shift change passing greetings that you had shared regularly had turned into something different all together.
Whispers from Princess and Perlah from behind the desk as you passed your roommate in the hub. Trinity smacking Dennis across the back repeatedly in what she thought was a covert attempt to draw attention to the completely casual conversation you were having with Jack as you walked out of the ED. Even Dana, who you were most disappointed in, kept throwing sly smirks over her glasses at any mention of your life outside of work.
So while you had been able to handle the actual living with part of this whole living with Abbot thing, it was starting to feel like every single external input being given on your situation was grating on you a bit more than you’d care to admit.
It came to a head at the start of the fifth week. A Tuesday night; you’d reached the end of your shift and wanted nothing more than to get home, eat dinner on the couch, and fall asleep cuddling with Roxie (who had taken to sleeping with you every night that Jack was working). You pulled on your coat, hoping it would be enough to war off the biting cold that had been setting in more each night as Pittsburgh entered October, and slipped through the growing crowd of nightshifters in the center of the ED.
Abbot and Dr. Robby were standing outside of trauma one with a few residents surrounding them, getting ready to start rounds. You were worn out from a week of warring off the rest of the Pitt staff’s demand to know every detail about your living arrangement, and didn’t feel inclined to add any fuel to the fire.
It seemed a bit dramatic, to let silly gossip bother you so much. But honestly, you’d been struggling. Long before the whole debacle with your apartment. You were so burnt out, often making it through each day feeling like you were at the frazzled end of a quickly burning rope. Your student loans, your residency, the every day toll of the Pitt… you had signed up for all of it, but it was piling on more heavily than you’d ever expected it to. You wanted to find more security, something to assure you that you were where you were meant to be. That your hard work was paying off toward something. When every day felt like an ongoing struggle, it seemed impossible to ever reach that stability. So- yes, you felt a bit sensitive to the extra annoyance of your coworker’s insinuating your living in Abbot’s guest room was anything more than just that.
As grateful as you were, and you were very, very grateful to Jack, it was getting a bit hard to navigate feeling like you were in an emergency department fish tank every morning and night. The rare moments that the two of you were both home at the same time were still much more than you’d been interacting with Jack Abbot a month ago. And it was doing nothing to quell the growing feelings that you could no longer even try to deny being a full blown crush.
The universe’s plans did not seem to align with your own that night. As you slipped past the group of doctors and reached the doors, a voice called your name and you stopped.
Abbot strode over to where you stood at the door and came to a stop.
“Hey. Just wanted to tell you I meal prepped today and put some leftovers in a container for you, if you want to heat them up for dinner. They’re in the fridge.” His eyes flickered over you a bit as he spoke and you wondered if he thought you looked as haggard as you felt. You wished that it didn’t send a soft rush of self consciousness through your chest.
“Oh. Thank you.” You reply quietly. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get you to take food, but every time it just made you feel too guilty to accept knowing you were already staying with him for free. When you trailed off into silence, you realized his gaze was a bit concerned as it leveled on your face. Did you really look that shitty? You knew your hair needed a wash, but you’d just gotten off a twelve hour shift after all.
Your thoughts are cut off quickly by another voice, a quick passing comment as Langdon passed you on his own way out.
“Wish I was getting the special Abbot treatment, save some dinner for me next time man!”
The words clatter around your head much more dramatically than they should, you knew Frank was just joking. It didn’t matter. You were exhausted, and annoyed, and felt a burning flush creeping across your neck and cheeks. Special treatment.
As if dumping invisible salt in the wound, Robby’s loud voice then carried from across the room.
“We’re ready to round if you two could wrap up the sweet nothings, please!”
You choke on air, your shallow embarrassment welling up into hot tears pressing at the back of your eyes as a few residents turned to look at you and Abbot and Robby gestured a bit impatiently for his fellow attending to get back to work.
You turn on your heel and shove harshly against the door before Jack can even look back at you, all but fleeing into the waiting room and out the doors into the cold evening air.
You were embarrassed, embarrassed that everyone felt the need to examine your completely professional relationship with Dr. Abbot and embarrassed that you had just been publicly called out on the supposed special treatment people seemed to believe you were receiving and embarrassed that stupid Robby and snippy attitude had really driven the humiliation home.
A few tears slipped down your cheeks as you made the quick walk home, and you told yourself they were just from exhaustion. Only when you’d locked the door behind you and kicked off your shoes next to the rack in the entryway did you stop for a moment to breathe.
It didn’t matter, it shouldn't matter so much to you what others had to say or think. In fact, you knew that the reality was people just wanted something to gossip about. No one you worked with truly cared that you were living with Abbot, at least no one who’s opinion you cared about. It wasn’t even the gossip that bothered you. It was feeling like you’d been under a magnifying glass, every crack and chip on display.
You were so burnt out it was starting to wear on you in ways that couldn’t be hidden. You rarely had more than a protein bar and way too much caffeine until you got off shift each night, and even then you’d been falling asleep before mustering the energy to fix dinner some nights. Just today you’d gone in and done the same patient’s intake twice, it had taken you nearly five minutes to even notice.
Now, trying with every passing touch and soft check in and offer to eat his food in his house that he paid for to pretend that you weren’t falling into something dangerously close to love with Jack Abbot was another stone on the pile of things stressing you the fuck out.
Roxie came bounding down the hall and circled you a few times, tail wagging. You simply collapsed to sit on the floor, petting her affectionately as she showered you with excited kisses.
“Hey pretty girl.” You whispered, sniffing your slightly stuffy nose and wiping a last stray tear from the corner of your eye.
Roxie knocked your bag as she plopped down in your lap and a few things spilled out, including your phone. When you retrieved it, other hand still scratching her ears, it lit up to display an array of messages you’d received on your commute.
A missed call from Jack, followed by three messages.
You okay?I’m sorry about Robby. He’s a dick. I’ll talk to him.
Pls eat the chicken at least ok
You dropped your head back and let out a long sigh.
You wake the next morning when Roxie jumps suddenly out of bed, where she’d been curled over your feet, and bounded down the stairs at the sound of Jack entering.
You sleepily registered the jingle of his keys as he dropped them on the table, his whispered greetings to his dog, his footsteps fading down the hall toward the kitchen.
You bask for a moment in the knowledge that you have the day off and can fall back asleep, and do just that.
About two hours later, you wake naturally and roll over to grab your phone.
You’d never replied to Jack’s messages last night, half forgetting after you’d showered and gotten straight into bed, and half refusing to acknowledge the situation altogether. You were immediately reminded of this when a new message from him shows in your notification bar, and you open it. 7:32 am.
Choosing to believe you ate something else less delicious and nutritious than my chicken for dinner and you don’t hate me and my cooking
A quiet snort escapes you in the silence of your room. Jack still sometimes caught you off guard with how silly he could be, a side of the man you’d only seen glimpses of in the hospital.
Your amusement, against your will, quickly fades to a warm feeling in your stomach at the realization that he noticed you hadn’t eaten his food, cared enough to text you about it when he got home.
You slammed your face into your pillow and let out a muffled groan of frustration at your own stupid heart and how easily it fluttered for Jack Abbot.
You’re pulling a loaf and muffin pan of banana bread out of the oven when Jack emerges from his room that afternoon. The man rarely adhered to what you would call a stable sleep schedule, so when he did come home and get some rest after his shifts you were pleased. Not that it was any of your business. You were just a caring roommate was all.
“Something smells delicious.”
Your hands stutter at the sound of Jack’s gruff, still sleepy voice, and the muffin pan bangs a bit too harshly against the counter as you set it down.
“Yay.” You reply as you whirl toward him, then gesture behind you. “Banana bread. And muffins. I bought a lot of bananas last week and didn’t eat any of them. So.” You explain.
Jack is getting closer and closer as he enters the kitchen and you wonder what the least obvious method of fleeing would be. Thankfully, he stops at the fridge and begins filling a glass of water, giving you the chance to put the hot pads back in their drawer and circle around to the opposite side of his kitchen island. A healthy distance. For normal healthy coworker roommate friend acquaintances.
“Are you okay?”
Cutting right to the chase then.
“Yeah, fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” You nod, voice breathy.
“Because you looked like shit last night and everyone was being rude to you.” Jack replies, blunt and matter of fact. You decided that the candor you’d always admired in him was now your least favorite quality. “And you didn’t reply to any of my texts.” He adds, that part added with a bit less conviction and confidence, and you notice. It makes you smile a bit inside, that he cares.
“I’m fine.” You repeat, wishing the conversation down any other path but this one. You pick at the sleeve of your sweatshirt and avoid Jack’s gaze, but you know he’s staring you down in that steady, studying way of his. Like he’s trying to figure something out about you that you don’t even know yet.
“Hmm.” He hums eventually. You wonder what exactly that means, but more so hope he’s moving on. He doesn’t speak again for a few more moments, but you meet his gaze when he does at last. “Did you eat last night?” You see it in his eyes, he already knows the answer. There’s something else there, something searching as he watches you.
“No, I fell asleep right away. It wasn’t a personal slight against your chicken.” You joke, hoping to lighten the odd tension you’re feeling with reference to his more humorous text.
“Hmm.” Again. “Okay. Well, I made plenty, have it this week.” He turns now, reaching for a mug from the cabinet.
“Oh no, it’s okay. Thank you so much though. That’s really nice.” You wave a hand in dismissal, as you have every time Jack has tried to get you to eat food he’s made. You notice him still a bit, hand bringing the coffee mug down and bracing against the counter momentarily before turning to you. That steady gaze again, it makes you want to put up some sort of shield to keep him from crawling into your mind and seeing everything you’ve been trying to keep from him.
“Okay.” He says softly. You smile in return, he doesn’t. You rub a nervous hand against your leg and decide that you really need to do laundry, right now. Before exiting the kitchen, you gesture to the stove where the banana bread is cooling.
“Help yourself to the banana bread, okay!” You muster a smile much brighter than you’re feeling. “The muffins have chocolate chips.”
With that, you slip out of the room and upstairs to busy yourself with the pile of dirty clothes in your hamper. You don’t see the frown that deepens on Jack’s face as his eyes dart from the place you were just standing to the baked goods on his stove.
You continue on in successful denial that you are quickly fraying at the seams for the next week. Talk, as expected, dies down surrounding you and Abbot and it quickly fades into just another norm of your dysfunctional workplace.
You wake up, you make it through your shifts, you are the best doctor you can possibly be. You pass Jack at shift change like a well adjusted adult and pretend your stomach doesn’t do somersaults every time you briefly touch or he leans in to talk softly to you. You come and go from the house and you continue insisting he doesn’t need to feed you or do anything else for that matter, because he’s already done more than enough. He continues trying.
You both continue falling into lives that become more and more normal routine, quick texts about feeding Roxie and if you should take the trash bin out or not and hearing the jingle of Jack’s keys when he gets home early in the morning.
You both continue acting like this is completely normal.
“Come on, please! Please please please please plea-”
“Wow, please stop right now.” You cut Trinity off with a sigh, spinning in your chair to face her.
“It’s Halloween. We have to do something fun.” She whines, and you let out a defeated sigh as Victoria comes up beside her.
“Wait, you’re coming out with us? Yay!” The girl grins, looking between you and Trinity.
You huff again, and spin back to finish up your last chart for the night. Trinity had been trying to get you to agree to going out to the karaoke bar with them all shift. It wasn’t even actually Halloween, which was actually on Monday, but it was a Friday night and a handful of the younger Pitt staff had managed to get the next day off. You were not one of those lucky few, and you certainly weren’t in any rush to go out to a karaoke bar.
“Okay. It’s not Halloween, and I did not agree to that. My going out and having fun after work days are behind me. I’m an old woman now.”
Both girls groan and boo in response, and to their credit they are being very pushy and persuasive.
“BOO!” Trinity nearly shouts. “I see you’ve been spending too much time with Dr. Geriatric.”
It’s an offhanded comment, one that doesn’t even hint at anything untoward between you and Jack, certainly one of the most tame comments about you and your roommate that you'd heard over the past two months- but it rubs you just the wrong way.
You had been spending all of your time either working or at home, you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d done something social. And... and Jack had tonight off, an anxious thought that had been gnawing at the back of your mind all day. Every time you two actually shared extended time in the house together, it was as if you could physically feel your control slipping under his drawn out gazes and caring questions and innocently brushing past you in the hall.
It certainly would be a bit of a relief to not have to play the role of totally normal girl who doesn't have a raging crush on her boss and roommate for an evening.
“Fine.” You hear yourself saying as you stand from the computer. “I’ll go.”
You retreat from the nurses’ station to subdued cheers from Trinity and Victoria trailing after you.
This was exactly what you needed. A fun night out. You let out a shaky breath and repeat the thought like a mantra that you need to convince yourself of.
a/n: HEYYY :) can you guys tell that i barely even attempt to edit these be honest (JK DO NOT BE HONEST. LIE AND SAY IT'S PERFECT)
a bit shortie because the next part will be a double wammie of both reader's and...that's right...u guessed it...JACK'S POV AYYYYY can you tell i'm excited
anyway thank you as always to everyone who takes the time to read and comment etc etc it truly makes my day everyday. love u all and let me know what u think :))
I’ve been lowkey obsessed with The Pitt recently, so I decided to try my hand at some fanfic. Loosely inspired by the scene in Titanic where Rose and Jack first meet and the Gilmore Girls episode of this same title. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Mentions of suicide and self-harm
The Fourth of July shift had been brutal. Holiday shifts always were, but today felt even heavier than usual. An abandoned baby, a man who drank himself to death trying to outrun sorrow, a mom dying of cancer, a coworker dragged out in cuffs for trying to keep a patient safe. But truthfully, none of those things bothered you more than the look on your attending’s face as Dr. Al-Hashimi questioned the mother of the pediatric heatstroke.
“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?”
It was a standard question for the situation, but Robby’s eyes belied something far more personal. It was enough to make bile rise in your throat. You’d watched him all day: the short temper, the clipped words, the way he’d disappear for a few minutes only to come back looking like he’d aged another year.
You knew the others were concerned too. You’d heard Ahmad comment on his lack of helmet when he arrived that morning. More than once, Dana had pulled him aside with that tight, frustrated look on her face. Abbott had spoken to him quietly, serious in the way only he could be. Even Whitaker explained the housesitting situation to Santos in an uneasy tone. They all saw it. They circled the drain of worry, offering careful words about the upcoming trip, about resting, about checking in. No one ever came right out and named the fear sitting in their chest.
You couldn’t keep dancing around it anymore.
You’d spent years keeping your feelings locked down, strictly professional. Robby was the attending who’d guided you through the worst cases, who remembered the little things that got you through impossible days. Whatever else you might have felt for him—you’d buried it. He was your superior. He carried enough already. You told yourself he wouldn’t want anything more from you anyway. It was easier that way.
But, tonight, you feared easy might lead to something you couldn’t live with.
You found him in the rarely used on-call room at the end of the east hall. The door was cracked. You pushed it open without knocking.
Robby sat on the edge of the sagging bunk, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His scrub top was untucked, stethoscope still looped around his neck like he’d forgotten it was there. The buzzing overhead light cast harsh shadows across his face.
He didn’t look up. “Shift’s over. Go home.”
You stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The click sounded too final in the small space.
“I’m not here as a coworker,” you said, voice low but steady even as your heart hammered. “I’m here because I’ve been watching you. Everyone’s worried, Robby. Dana, Abbott, Whitaker — they’re all concerned.”
He let out a tired breath and finally lifted his head. The hollow exhaustion in his eyes twisted something deep in your chest.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ve heard them.”
You moved closer, stopping right in front of him so he had to tilt his head back to meet your gaze.
“Robby.” You swallowed once, then said it plain and unsoftened: “Are you thinking about killing yourself?”
The question dropped into the quiet like a stone.
His face went utterly still. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
“I— what?” The words came out rough, almost strangled. “You can’t just… ask me that.”
He moved like he was trying to stand, but his legs didn’t quite hold. He sank back onto the bunk, one hand gripping the thin mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
His breathing hitched. Those steady eyes that had walked you through countless traumas now shimmered with unshed tears. He blinked hard, but one slipped free anyway, tracing down his cheek.
“You’re serious,” he whispered, voice cracking.
You held his gaze, refusing to look away. “Someone had to be.”
Robby pressed the heel of his hands hard against his eyes, like he could physically keep himself from falling apart. A choked sound escaped anyway, half laugh, half sob.
“Jesus Christ.” His shoulders curled inward as the first real crack showed. “Nobody… nobody just says it.”
He looked up at you again, something painfully close to relief warring across his face. Another tear slipped free. He didn’t wipe it away.
“I keep thinking how easy it would be to just… not come back,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Not a plan. Not like that. Just riding until it ends quiet. No more shifts. No more families screaming in the waiting room. No more carrying everything.” He shook his head, voice fracturing. “I’m not— I don’t know if I’m— fuck.”
You didn’t answer with words. You simply moved forward and sank to your knees on the cold linoleum so you were eye-level with him. Gently, you placed your hands over his where they now rested on his knees.
That was all it took.
He broke fully then—a raw, shuddering sob tearing from his chest as he fell forward into you. You caught him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he buried his face against your neck. His whole body trembled with the force of it, years of carrying the weight finally spilling out in the dim, buzzing room. You held him there on the floor, one hand stroking the back of his head, the other pressed firmly between his shoulder blades.
You stayed like that for a long time before his uneven breaths began to slowly even out against your skin.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red-rimmed and raw. His voice was hoarse and when he spoke, the words kept catching between hiccups. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” you said softly, your hands still resting on his arms.
You let the silence settle. Waiting for him to make the next move.
He swallowed hard, searching your face. “Well… where do we go from here?”
You hesitated. The protocol was clear. Call a 302, monitor for 72 hours, admit for in-patient treatment if needed, and wait for a bed in psych. In other words, alert the entire department that their respected leader was slipping. He’d be stuck in his own ED, with people he trained and worked with asking him the questions he had taught them how to ask. They’d all be worried. They’d all wish him well and mean it. But there would be no coming back from that. Not really. You sighed as you considered it all.
“Against every professional standard we have, I’m not calling in a psych hold. I don’t want this turning into a spectacle for the whole department.”
Robby let out a dejected sort of laugh that cracked at the edges. “I think I’ve already been making a spectacle all day with the outbursts anyway.”
A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. “Tell you what, I have the next three days off. You can come to my place or we can go to yours, doesn’t matter. But I’ll stay with you. You can get some real rest, and then we can come up with a plan. If you want, I can even come in with you to talk to Caleb again. We’ll sort through it, and you won’t be alone.”
He considered it for a minute before letting out a weak agreement. Then he hesitated, glancing toward the door. “I don’t really wanna face anyone right now.”
“I’ll handle it,” you said without missing a beat. “Wait here, and I’ll go get your stuff. We can head out the back.”
You slipped out of the on-call room, moving quickly and quietly through the halls to gather both your things and his—jackets, bags, keys, the helmet he didn’t use—without drawing attention. The distant sounds of the department filtered through: monitors beeping, voices calling for labs, the low hum of another night that wouldn’t slow down.
When you returned, he was still sitting there, looking smaller than you’d ever seen him. You handed him his jacket and bag, and together you moved through the back corridors, toward a side exit. You’re almost there when he slows with realization.
“My bike…” he says. You understand. Leaving the bike would be kind of a dead giveaway that something was wrong.
“We can sneak back around the front and get it if you feel comfortable,” you reassured him. “I’ll just leave my car here. Driving through all the Fourth stuff would probably be a bitch anyway. ”
He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You’re trusting me to drive to after…” He didn’t have to finish.
You met his eyes steadily. “You may be reckless with your own life right now, Robinavitch, but I know you wouldn’t risk anyone else’s, including mine.”
Robby just looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe this was all real—his expression raw, disbelieving, almost fragile. “That’s… a lot of faith in me.”
“It’s well-placed faith,” you said quietly but surely.
The walk around to the front was short and silent. His motorcycle waited under the lights. Robby held out the helmet to you.
You shook your head. “No. You wear it.”
He gave you an incredulous look, the kind that said ‘are you kidding me right now?’
You offered a small smile in return. “Surely you aren’t going to try and sell me on the importance of motorcycle safety given the situation.”
He actually laughed at that—the first real one you’d heard from him in what felt like forever. It was rough around the edges, a little cracked, but genuine. Had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have dared joke about any of this. But this was Robby. Your Robby (even if he didn’t know it yet). And, after the raw, heavy confrontation in that room, you knew a sliver of levity was exactly what he needed.
You took it and clipped it onto your backpack. As Robby kickstarted the Triumph.
“You ever seen Titanic?” You ask as you slide your arms around his middle.
“Yeah…” He glanced over his shoulder at you, clearly trying to figure out where you were going with that question.
“You jump, I jump, Jack.”
Robby went still for a beat, the words washing over him like a quiet anchor in the chaos. Then he revved the bike, and together you pulled away from PTMC, the warm summer night blurring past as fireworks flickered in the distant sky.
Reading a fic and I didn't know I needed Robby taking Dennis by the neck and mandhandling him to light his ciggarette with dennis'. Someone with talent pls draw this, I'm begging
Chapters: 1/?
Category: M/M
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch/Dennis Whitaker, Jack Abbot/Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Jack Abbot/Michael "Robby" Robinavitch/Dennis Whitaker
Characters: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Jack Abbot, Dennis Whitaker, Dana Evans
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Slow Burn, Jewish Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Christian Dennis Whitaker, Period Typical Attitudes, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Period Typical There Was Only One Bed, Historical Accuracy, Past Abusive Parents (Dennis), Farm Boy Dennis Whitaker, Medieval Doctor and Dropout Tosafist Michael Robinavitch, Midwife Dana Evans, Knight Jack Abbot
Summary: Dennis of Wheat Acre is an English country groom accompanying his uncle on pilgrimage to Rome. When his uncle suddenly dies, Dennis finds himself stranded in a country where no one speaks English—except a handsome Jewish doctor with gentle hands and sad eyes. As Dennis spends night after night recovering from an injury in the doctor's bed, he begins to hope that his hopeless affections might be returned. The more he knows the man, the more Dennis sees the wounds in his soul, and the more Dennis wants to be the one to heal them.
──────⊱⁜⊰──────
“Come sit you down, doctor,” Dennis said softly, holding his hand out, palm upwards, unthreatening. “You look worn to the bone.”
“Pardon me, but I have the distinct impression that you just decided I’m one of your horses.”
“Is there any harm in it, if I’m speaking good sense?” Dennis asked, risking a smile.
“No,” Doctor Michael said. “No, I suppose not.” Slowly, he returned the smile. It was small, almost shy.
The sound of the Angelus bells might have been the sound of Dennis’ own heart, beating high as he looked into Doctor Michael’s deep brown eyes.
