Warnings: emotional injury, medical trauma, concussion mention, mild blood, found family, kissing, emotions = high
Summary: Firefighter Jack Gibson keeps finding excuses to end up in your trauma bay—flirting, teasing, bringing you coffee, slowly becoming your person long before either of you say it out loud. When an injury nearly takes him from you, everything spills over: fear, love, and a kiss neither of you can walk away from.
Word Count: 2.7k
They wheeled Jack Gibson into the trauma bay like he was just another critical patient. He wasn’t. Not to you.
You heard “Firefighter down!” and your heart dropped before your brain even registered his name. You pushed through bodies, scrubs brushing scrubs, adrenaline slicing through your veins like electricity.
And then you saw him. Blood down the side of his face. Left arm swollen at an angle that made your stomach pitch. Soot smeared across his jaw, lashes clumped together, blinking slow. Your knees nearly gave out.
“Doctor Y/L/N.” Bailey’s tone cut through the fog. “You cannot treat him.”
Your head snapped up. “I am not stepping back.”
“You are,” Amelia said softly. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Bailey, forming a wall. “You’re too close.”
“I’m fine.” Your voice cracked. It betrayed you instantly.
Amelia reached out, steadying your arm. “You love him.”
You froze. She didn’t take it back.
And then Link and Nico slid the gurney into Trauma One and Jack groaned — really groaned — and your body moved without thought.
You followed him in. Bailey didn’t stop you this time. She knew better. You just weren’t allowed to touch him.
You grabbed the chair beside his head and sat down so quickly you barely felt the metal under you.
You bit down a sob so hard your teeth hurt. “Hi, Jack.”
“You’re here,” he slurred.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
He relaxed instantly, like your voice was morphine.
Link worked on resetting his forearm. “Displaced radial fracture,” he muttered. “We need to reduce it.”
Jack hissed, head tilting toward you like he was looking for a place to put his pain.
You reached out — then stopped short, hand suspended in midair, because you weren’t allowed to touch him.
He noticed. Even concussed, he noticed. “Doc…” he whispered. “S’alright. I’m okay.”
You shook your head fiercely, eyes filling, throat closing. Amelia swiped at the blood on his forehead, checking pupils. “Jack, follow my finger.”
His gaze drifted. “But she’s crying.” Your breath shuddered out of you. “Hey,” he murmured, slurring around the vowels. “Don’t cry. ’M fine. Just a scratch.”
It was not a scratch. His arm cracked loudly when Link set it, and Jack’s whole body jerked off the bed. You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.
You weren’t supposed to feel this much. Not for a patient. Not for a friend.
But Jack wasn’t just that. He’d become your person. Slowly. Quietly. All at once. And you hadn’t realized it until the moment you thought you might lose him.
A tear fell onto your scrubs. Jack saw it.
Even dazed, his face tightened with something like heartbreak. “Doc… don’t. Please.”
Amelia glanced at you — seeing everything. “I’ve got him. Just be here.”
So you stayed by his head, hands clenched in your lap so you didn’t reach for him. You watched every wince, every groan, every flicker of fear across his face.
And the memories hit you like aftershocks.
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Flashback 1 — Hot Doctor Incident
Jack walked into the bay with a firefighter’s confidence and a toddler’s sense of invincibility.
He had a mild burn on his palm — nothing serious — and was joking loudly with Maya and Vic. They didn’t notice you walk up behind them.
“Dude,” Jack said, examining his hand dramatically, “if this gets me treated by the hot doctor with the nice laugh? Totally worth it.”
Travis snorted. “Jack, every doctor here is hot.”
“No,” he corrected, shaking his head like a golden retriever with Very Strong Opinions. “Not the hot doctor. The one with the scrubs that fit right and the voice that could probably talk me out of a burning building.”
“Gibson,” Maya deadpanned. “That’s poetic. And embarrassing.”
He shrugged. “Look, I know what my heart wants.”
You cleared your throat. Jack turned. And froze.
You raised a single eyebrow. “Hot doctor, huh?”
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—I didn’t—uh—I meant—uh—”
Maya clapped him on the back. “Good luck, buddy.”
You crossed your arms and waited. He swallowed. Hard. “You… heard that?”
“Oh, absolutely.” You inspected his hand like it wasn’t already the best moment of your week. “And for the record? Your laugh isn’t terrible, either.”
His eyes went wide. “Are you… flirting with me?”
You scoffed. “You can barely form a sentence. That’s not flirting material.” He flushed so red Travis had to look away to keep from laughing.
But later — much later — he overheard you talking to Amelia at the coffee cart.
“Who was your patient earlier?” Amelia asked. “The one Bishop said was hopelessly in love with you?”
You rolled your eyes. “Just the hot firefighter again.”
Jack, halfway down the hall, nearly choked. Amelia grinned like a gremlin. “Hot firefighter?”
“It slipped,” you said quickly. “Don’t start.”
He pressed himself against the wall like hiding would make you unhearable. But he didn’t call you on it. He held onto that moment like a secret.
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Flashback 2 — Favorite Complication
He wasn’t injured. Not really. A scrape on his forearm. Barely bleeding. A wound that a toddler Band-Aid could’ve handled.
But Jack Gibson was perched on your gurney like it was his throne, swinging his legs and smiling at you like you’d just walked into his favorite bar.
You narrowed your eyes as you stepped inside. “Explain.”
Jack brightened. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you repeated, unimpressed. “Why are you here?”
He held up his arm dramatically. “Sustained a traumatic injury.”
You inspected the scrape. “This is a paper cut with ambition.”
“It hurts,” he insisted, pout exaggerated.
“It doesn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that,” you countered, pulling on gloves. “I went to med school.”
He leaned back on his elbows, watching you with way too much interest. “Do you use that line on all your patients?”
You shot him a flat stare. “Only the ones wasting my time.”
Jack gasped, hand to his chest. “Wasting your time? Doc, I’m offended. Deeply. Emotionally. Spiritually.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you almost lost balance. “Jack.”
He perked. “You said my name again. I love when you say my name.”
Your stomach did a stupid flutter. You refused to let him see it, but you felt your cheeks warming.
Focus. Just do the stupid bandaid. Do not banter with the handsome firefighter.
You cleaned the scrape quickly. “There. You’re fine.”
“Great,” he said, hopping off the gurney. “So now that my life-threatening injury is resolved—”
“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath.
“—I can tell you why I really came.”
You stopped. “Please don’t say something stupid.”
Jack’s grin was slow and wicked. “Wanted to see you.”
Your breath caught. You hated that it caught.
“That’s not how hospitals work,” you said briskly.
“That’s how I work,” he said casually, hands sliding into his pockets.
“You can’t just walk in here because you feel like flirting.”
He stepped closer. “Should I schedule an appointment?” Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. Jack laughed softly, eyes crinkling. “Doc… you’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“Shut up.”
He held up both hands. “Not shutting up. I’m enjoying this.”
You grabbed a bandaid and slapped it onto his arm with unnecessary force.
“OW—okay. Yes. Deserved that.”
You crossed your arms. “Go back to your station.”
“Do you want me to?”
The question hit lower than expected.
You swallowed.
“Yes,” you said, sounding unconvincing even to yourself.
Jack smirked. “Liar.”
“Goodbye, Lieutenant.”
He backed toward the door. “Goodnight, Doc.”
“Jack.”
He paused. “Yeah?”
You exhaled once, shaky. “Don’t make a habit of this.”
He winked. “Too late.”
Then he left. You stared after him for a full thirty seconds. That was the night he became your favorite complication.
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Flashback 3 — Coffee and Flowers
You’d had a morning.Not just a “long shift,” not just a “three traumas before 10 a.m.” morning — No. A Grey Sloan soul-crushing morning.
You were running labs, reading scans, consulting on a bowel perf, and trying not to fall asleep standing up when you heard:
“Hey, Doc.”
Jack. You didn’t turn at first because if you looked at him while this exhausted, you might actually sit in his lap just for warmth—Not ideal.
But then you smelled caramel. You turned.
He stood there in uniform pants and a fitted shirt that was absolutely illegal, holding an iced mocha with caramel drizzle and a bouquet of mixed flowers — sunflowers, daisies, and one single white rose in the middle.
Your breath stilled. “What… is that?” you asked softly.
Jack smiled, warm and crooked. “This? Just a peace offering.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“I know,” he said. “But you looked tired earlier. Thought this might help.”
You blinked rapidly. “You… noticed?”
His expression softened. “I always notice you.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Your heart did the thing.
You stepped toward him, fingers brushing the cold cup before you took it from his hand. “Jack…”
“Try it,” he said, suddenly shy.
You did. And it was perfect. Exactly how you take it. Exactly how you never told him you take it. You looked up at him, lips wrapped around the straw, and he looked like a man seeing the sun for the first time.
“How did you know?” you whispered.
“Paid attention,” he murmured. “You make this face when your coffee’s too bitter.”
He mimicked you — a tiny annoyed scrunch of your nose — and you laughed so unexpectedly you almost choked.
He brightened instantly. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That smile,” he said simply. “Haven’t seen it today.”
Your throat went tight.
You shifted the flowers to your other hand, tracing one petal. “These are beautiful.”
“You like them?”
“I love them.”
And before you knew what you were doing —
Before you could talk yourself out of it —
You leaned forward and kissed him.
Light. Barely there. Just a whisper of a kiss, soft and warm and over too fast. Jack froze.
Then his eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth — maybe to say your name, maybe to confess everything he’d been holding — but you panicked, went bright red, and stepped back.
“I—I have to go—there’s a consult—I’ll see you later—maybe—okay bye!”
You spun and rushed toward the pit, face fully aflame, iced mocha sloshing dangerously.
Jack stood there like someone had unplugged his brain.
And then—“Wow,” Amelia’s voice said from behind him. “She KISSED you.”
Jack jumped. “Jesus, Shepherd!”
Amelia leaned on the counter, smirking. “That was adorable. Awkward as hell, but adorable.”
“She—she kissed me,” Jack repeated, still stunned, touching his lips lightly.
“She did,” Amelia confirmed. “And if you keep pulling moves like that”—she pointed at the flowers—“you’re gonna have to marry her.”
Jack huffed out a breath, smiling down at the flowers like a man in love with no intention of recovering.
“Bold of you to assume I haven’t already planned that.”
Amelia blinked. “You what?”
Jack shrugged, dreamy and unbothered. “Just… you know. Thought about it.”
“You’ve known her four months.”
“Five,” Jack corrected softly. “And I’ve liked her for five months and one day.”
Amelia stared.
Then grinned the slow, feral grin of a woman who had just realized her best friend’s love life was about to become excellent television.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.”
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Present day
You entered the room after getting yourself water, his chart in hand, heartbeat in your throat. Jack looked up at you with eyes that had discovered fire. You stepped forward, checking his dressings, pretending everything was fine.
Then—because you couldn’t stop yourself—you reached out and brushed a bit of soot-mussed hair off his forehead.
Gentle. Instinctive. Too tender to hide. Jack didn’t speak. He didn’t think. He leaned up and kissed you.
Just a soft, startled kiss—his lips barely grazing yours, warm and hesitant and wanting.
You froze. He froze. The world froze. Then you stepped back, breath shaking. “Jack.”
“That,” he said, voice low and certain, “is why you can’t treat me.”
Your chest cracked open. “Yeah.”
He smiled, slow and devastating. “So… can I do it again?”
“No,” you said. He kissed you again anyways. “Jack!”
“I had to confirm,” he murmured, leaning in for a third.
You shoved his shoulder—gently—because his ankle was still set. “Jack—someone will see—”
“Yeah,” he breathed against your lips. “I really don’t care.”
You were about to push him away again when—
a voice cleared behind you.
You both jerked apart. Bailey stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, her judgment palpable. Ben hovered behind her, looking like a man who wanted popcorn.
You opened your mouth, panicked. “Chief—Mom—Link already fixed it—so technically —“ You winced. “I’m… under stress.”
She looked at Jack’s freshly splinted ankle. “If this turns into another mess like Stevens—”
“It won’t!” you insisted. “I’m not that stupid!”
Jack nodded enthusiastically. “It won’t!”
Bailey glared. “My ducks. All stupid. Every last one.”
You gasped. “MOM—she called me a duck!”
Bailey pinched the bridge of her nose. “If you’re going to make bad decisions, make them off my clock.”
She spun and marched off toward the nurses’ station. You pointed helplessly. “Ben—she called me a DUCK.”
Ben gave you the soft, long-suffering dad look. “Yeah… she calls all her kids ducks.”
Your heart squeezed. Found family hit you like a freight train. And because you were absolutely incapable of letting Bailey’s commentary go, you shouted after her:
“MOM—HEY—MOM DON’T WALK AWAY—TAKE BACK THE DUCK THING—” And you ran — actually ran — after your boss/mom, waving your hands dramatically while the entire pit watched like it was primetime television.
Once you were out of earshot, Ben turned slowly toward Jack. Jack was sitting on the gurney, hair mussed from your hands, lips a little swollen, eyes insanely starry. He looked like a man who’d been kissed hard and was already planning the next ten years.
Ben crossed his arms. Dad stance activated. “She’s not biologically mine,” he said quietly, “but she’s still mine. One of my kids. Miranda’s kid.” Jack’s expression sobered instantly. Ben continued, “Don’t mess this up.”
Jack swallowed. “I would never.”
“You sure?”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “Not with her.”
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Two days later
You ended your shift exhausted, half-angry, half-relieved, heart still raw.
He shouldn’t be back at the hospital. He shouldn’t be standing outside waiting for you.
He shouldn’t look that good leaning against his truck at dusk, arms crossed, jaw softening when he saw you.
“Don’t start,” you warned, marching toward him. “I swear to God, Jack, if you ever pull something like that again—”
He didn’t let you finish.
Jack stepped forward, cupped your face in both hands, and kissed you before your next breath formed.
Your hands flew to his wrists, holding on tight as he lowered himself to you, chest brushing yours, height towering over you in a way that felt protective, not intimidating.
The kiss wasn’t desperate this time. It was steady. Intentional. A confession. A promise.
He kissed you like he’d been waiting months and finally stopped pretending.
You broke only when air demanded it. His forehead rested against yours, breath warm against your lips.
“You can yell at me later,” he whispered. “But I needed this first.”
Your voice trembled. “You had no right.”
“You gave up your right to tell me no the moment you started worrying about me like that.”
You shoved his chest lightly. He didn’t move. Not an inch.
“You lovable idiot,” you whispered.
His smile spread slow and sure. “Your lovable idiot.”
“Jack…”
“I love you,” he said plainly. Like he’d been carrying it around for months and finally set it down. “Fell for you the first time you threatened to staple my mouth shut.”
Your breath hitched.
“Your turn,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with his thumbs.
You closed your eyes.
“I’m scared,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“I’ve lost people.”
“I know.”
“You… you can’t be another one.”
His voice softened, deepened, grounded you like warm hands on cold skin. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. Not unless you tell me to.”
You opened your eyes. And for the first time — you let yourself fall.
“Okay,” you said softly. “Okay, Jack.”
He kissed you again, smiling into it. Because he’d known all along.
