Timebomb - Jack Abbot
(III) Ticking Down
Hey :) Here is part 3 of the series that I decided to roll out tonight before bed. I hope you guys enjoy! Reblogs and comments are very appreciated ♥
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 4,250
Chapter warnings: Dark humour, talks of mental struggles, talk of grief, Robby and Dana being protective of reader, Robby making promises he has no intention of keeping, Robby and Reader in the same room are a menace to society and to Dana's peace of mind specifically, Jack is mentioned (it's his show after all) but not in there physically.
Chapter Summary: You adjust (or try to adjust) living on your own for the first time in a decade. Dana and Robby can't help but notice you're far from okay.
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It was like he had a sixth sense, feeling when you were approaching with food, because never once did he not happen to walk past the Ambulance bay doors when you walked in with something for him.
Not once.
“Robby, catch!”
As if it was an innate instinct, Robby's arm shot up to catch the sandwich flying his way as he briskly moved around his ER, turning around and walking backward once the package was securely in his hands.
He pointed at you, the pesto turkey sandwich firmly in his grasp. “I love you Sweets”
You grinned as you watched him disappear towards his new emergency. “Waterfront or Garden for the wedding?"
He gave you a face like you've asked him the dumbest, most obvious question in the entire world. “Waterfront!” He shouted back before he went out of view.
You chuckled and shook your head as Dana came to stand before you, eyes drawn towards where Robby disappeared.
“Honey, if you keep suggesting marriage, one day the fool's gonna take you up on it”
You laughed. “Eh, wouldn't be so bad now would it?”
She raised an eyebrow.
You made an excited face as you crossed your arms against your chest. “I could be his trophy wife”
Now that elicited a proper reaction from her as she scoffed a laugh. “No you couldn't”
You gasped. “What? You don't think I could make a good Mrs. Dr. Robby?”
“Aside from the fact that you two'd drive each other to clinical insanity,” She gave you a pointed stare, then grinned. “You still need two things to be a trophy wife— sitting still and being pretty. Now, you’re pretty enough sweetheart, but it's the sitting still part I'm not convinced about”
“Ugh, you're right” You sighed dramatically, letting your hands drop to your side. “Besides, if I became a miserable trophy wife, who'd get you sandwiches huh?”
Her eyes lit up in realization as you passed the second sandwich you had acquired today to her. A Caprese on rosemary focaccia from one of her favourite shops. The advantage of being a long practising EMT in the city was that the people you helped often treated you well in return, offering you all kinds of compensation for your troubles. It happened that half an hour ago, you were given a bunch of sandwiches after helping the owner after he fainted due to having not eaten a damn thing that day yet.
You had taken a habit to smuggle some of your loot back to PTMC to feed your two favourite people whenever you could.
“Kid, you're godsend” She sighed as she unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Judging by her facial expression, it hit the spot.
“Did I hear something about Dr. Robby getting married?”
You turned around in surprise as a new voice entered the conversation.
“No, he's not” Dana replied for you, mouthful of sandwich.
“Not yet” You corrected with a smirk, and she slapped your shoulder. It didn't help the young woman's confusion. “I'm just joking. No wedding. Just a dumb bit to make Dana's life harder”
She nodded slowly, not convinced, as Dana glared daggers at you.
“Sweets, you've met Dr. Santos right?”
Your eyes went to Dana as she changed the subject with a clipped tone. They then widened and returned to the young woman as you snapped your fingers. “Santos! I know that name. Nice to meet you when I'm not bleeding out”
“Likewise” She extended her hand, which you shook. “Paramedic?”
“EMT”
“Nice” She nodded. “Hey, how do I get one of those?”
Your eyes followed hers to Dana's sandwich, which she protectively pulled back closer. Your gaze returned to Santos again, extremely serious.
“You gotta save my life to get sandwich privileges”
Without even missing a beat, she replied, “I kinda already did”
You paused.
“Kid's got a point” Dana glanced at you, amused.
“Fair enough” You conceded. “Well now that's awkward. I'm all out of sandwiches. Talk about talking big and not delivering, am I right?”
Dana laughed as she shook her head.
“Dr. Santos!”
She looked up at being called from the other side of the ER, then quickly excused herself and jogged toward whatever required her attention. You watched her run across the room as you crossed your arms against your chest, then turned back to Dana, who already was staring through you.
“How are you doing kid?”
The mask slipped at the question just long enough for her to notice.
“And don't bullshit me. You look exhausted”
You nodded. “Yeah, I've been picking up longer shifts, doing a lot of 18 hours lately”
She sighed disapprovingly.
“It's been tough” You confided. You didn't need to mention what you were referring to, she already knew about the catastrophic way your… partnership with Jack ended a few months ago. Still, you carefully pivoted the conversation to avoid delving too much into emotional vulnerability stuff. “I need to save money to buy an actual bed and those things are crazy expensive. I hadn't slept consistently on a pull out couch since I was 24, my back is destroyed”
Most of your nights since those days had been spend in Jack's second bedroom on an actual bed. The return to springs and metal pipes digging in your back had been particularly difficult and your sleep quality had taken a major hit.
“And groceries, fuck me those are expensive” You added.
“You're not running on ramen and frozen pizza are ya?” She frowned.
You paused. “Noooo” You trailed off, unconvincingly. You weren't, per se—not in the way she imagined it. “There's canned beans in the mix. For fiber n' stuff”
That seemed to appease her for now. “You better not be wheeled in here for colon cancer, you hear me?” She ordered. “And your shift is over. Go back home and sleep”
You gave her a two fingers salute as you began backing away. “Yes ma'am”
She shook her head she she watched you go, knowing you'd find your way in her ER sooner than later anyway.
•••••••••••••
8 pm at Marty's?
You stared at your phone with wide eyes, not having expected Robby to text you out of the blue for a meetup half an hour later. Despite having known each other for more than a decade, only on a very few rare instances did you have one on one hangouts that hadn't started as a group thing that slowly thinned out, and even less initiated by him without any prior indicator of his intention to do so.
You had an idea of why, however.
You sighed, then texted back.
Sure
meet you there
You changed from your house clothes and slipped on black jeans and the first clean shirt you could find—fuck, you were so behind on your laundry. Quick fix of your hair so it didn't reflect as much how messy your life was, then grabbed your leather jacket, your helmet and your keys.
You found in the parking garage your sport bike, an old thing your husband had bought you with his first army paycheck. Each year that passed brought more tear and wear on the thing, but you couldn't find it in you get rid of it. Instead, you kept repatching it and pretending it was fine.
The was an irony in there you willingly ignored.
You clipped your helmet on and climbed on, then turned on the engine and left. Marty's was on the other side of the city—much closer to PTMC than your place was—but you didn't mind, the drive there wasn't too bad outside of rush hours. You took your time, taking the scenic road and enjoying the sunset, knowing Robby's 8 pm were really at least 8:30.
You were proven correct when Robby appeared around the corner as you finished paying the street parking on the machine at 8:35.
“Sorry for being late” He said in lieu of a greeting. “Something I had to fix before clocking out”
You smiled sympathetically. “All good Robby. Just came in myself”
You shared a quick hug and walked in the almost deserted bar. You supposed Tuesday nights weren't exactly a popular time to be hanging out in a semi respectable dive bar.
“I've got it” Robby stopped you from going to order, which made you raise an eyebrow. You two weren't the type to just buy the other a drink outside of special occasions. “Still drinking your usual?”
You nodded slowly, suspiciously. He played innocent, smiling at you and making a beeline for the bar. You grumbled under your breath and grabbed a booth out of the way, setting your helmet and jacket on the bench beside you. A few minutes later, he rejoined you at the table with two glasses, one which he pushed to you.
“Thanks”
“My pleasure” He nodded like any of this was normal, then took a sip. “Yeah sorry for the delay, just a bit of a mess with the computers that made the handoff hell”
You chuckled, relaxing a bit in your seat and finally bringing your drink to your lips. “I swear you can never catch a break”
He scoffed. “Just another Tuesday in the Pitt”
You took another sip in sync with him. “How's your fresh batch of residents? Still full of life and hope?”
You had heard of their first shift on the job—hell, you had been yourself part of the teaching experience as practice dummy without even knowing it. You had been quite impressed with their composure when you had learned it was their first day on the job.
His eyebrows raised as he stared into nothing, then he nodded slowly. “They're doing better that I would have expected. They're tough”
“I've only met Santos, I like her” You said. “She's got spirit”
A small smile stretched on his lips. “She reminds me of you”
You gave him an exaggerated wince. “For her sake I hope she doesn't turn out like me”
His stare alone called out your bullshit. “Like someone strong and competent who saves lives?”
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the glazing. “You know what I mean”
Of course he knew what you meant, because he was the exact same. Burying himself into his work until he dropped, so that his mind was either too preoccupied or too exhausted to face the fact that everything else around him was unraveling fast. Projecting to the world the illusion that you had it together, when in fact, you were scrambling for the pieces of yourself scattered on the floor.
He shook his head, looking at the wall then back down to the table. He took a long, long sip of his drink then sighed.
“You doing okay?”
There it is.
You tensed up again, squinting your eyes. “Robby”
“Just answer the question Sweets”
“Oh okay” You nodded. “Yeah, this is an intervention, alright”
It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Don't be difficult. I'm concerned”
“Dana told you, didn't she?”
“Don't blame her” He warned.
Fucking Dana.
“I'm fine” You brushed off.
He laughed at the ridiculousness of your statement, it sounded strained. “Isn't that the biggest fucking lie in the world” He shook his head, going for another sip. “Spare me the pretending. None of us are fine, you and I the least”
You gripped your glass tighter, the let go and deflated in the booth. You dragged a hand over your face, and suddenly looked much more tired than a few seconds ago. That was Robby's tough love, his own weird way to try and help. He'd never be the therapist friend, holding your hand and nodding sympathetically to everything you let out. No, that wasn't his way. He called you out over and over again until he cracked the mask, purification in fire. And hell, if he wasn't the one person who could understand it all.
It was like antiseptic on an open wound, painful but ultimately necessary.
As if sensing you wordlessly conceding grounds, he met you halfway.
“Dana mentioned money was tight” He held out the first branch. “Are you able to make ends meet? If not, I can help—”
You sighed and shook your head. “I'm f—” You paused at his deadpan stare and reconsidered your choice of words. “I'll make it work, I need to make it work by myself” You took a deep breath, then added in a whisper as you avoided his eyes. “I hadn't realized how dependent I had become on… him”
His gaze softened a bit.
“And not just financially” You kept rambling. Thankfully, Robby had become an expert in listening, truly listening. “I… fuck—”
You hesitated, knowing the next words would be hard to breathe life into. Hard to make real. But the realization that keeping it in any longer would drive you insane hit you like a freight train.
Breathe in, breathe out.
“That day…” You didn't need to mention which day you were talking about. “I lost my entire support system in what, 15 minutes? It was gone, just like that. It felt like falling from the sky without a parachute. And it was fucking scary, Robby. It still is. I'm terrified”
The feeling hit home in him too. He knew all too well the freefall, the terror it elicited.
“I'm sorry” He finally spoke. “If I hadn't told you to go for it…” He swallowed hard.
You shook your head. “Not your fault. No” You denied. “The bubble would have burst one day or another”
Only a few weeks after the shock passed did you realized you had been on a collision course bound for the wall. Whatever you had with Jack might very well have been quietly toxic, gone unnoticed in blissful domesticity that hadn't been disturbed since Sienna died.
All of the grief of the last 12 years that you had pushed back had been covered neatly by an Abbot shaped blanket, left to fester and spread with you willfully ignoring it. It was easy to pretend you were fine when Jack also did it, when he provided comfort in the idea you weren't running away from your feelings alone. Alas, it was neither healthy, nor sustainable.
It didn't mean you weren't hating every second of it though. He had hurt you, and maybe you weren't ready just yet to forgive him for it. But damn, you missed the comfort of him, but you also missed the friend, the human connection that came with him.
“Still” He mumbled, swirling the liquid in his glass around. “It doesn't hurt any less”
“Feels like a hot iron in my throat every day” You mumbled, shooting back the rest of your drink.
“Amen to that” He mimicked you. “Another?”
You groaned and shuffled to reach for your wallet. “I got it”
He stood up before you could split in your of your back pocket. “Nope”
“Sit your ass down” You warned. “It's my turn to buy”
“Can't make me” He ignored your last statement, already halfway to the bar.
You welcomed his smug face back with an unimpressed, annoyed one. With an innocent smile that was really anything but, he slowly, deliberately pushed the drink in your direction. You eyed it down, then raised an eyebrow at him.
He kept his annoying little smile as he drank from his own.
“Do you think I don't see what you're doing, Robinavitch?”
“I don't know?” He feigned confusion. “What am I doing?”
“I can pay for my own drinks”
“Never said you couldn't”
“You are impossible”
“Eh” He shrugged, unbothered by the revelation. “Not the worst thing I've been called today”
You finally cracked, letting out a small laugh of disbelief. If you had been looking at him, you'd have caught the flash of relief passing through his eyes as he confirmed that you'd be okay, eventually.
It was tearing him apart that you, someone he had grown incredibly protective of over the years of you bringing him banged up but alive patients through the bay doors, had such a devastating fallout with Jack, whom he considered his brother, his best friend—titles he did not give out lightly.
He knew Jack loved you, was in love with you, otherwise he'd never have suggested you confess your feelings to him. The two of you made sense; you had shared experiences, shared grief, and a reverent respect for the ones you lost along the way. Stars rarely aligned like that, and he couldn't bear to watch it all reach stalemate.
If Robby was too damaged to have his happy ending, he'd make damn sure Jack and you at least had a shot at it.
“Has he… contacted you since that day?”
You remained silent for a moment, then shook your head. Jack hadn’t texted or called, and you had gone out of your way to avoid PTMC during the night shift or its adjacent hours Jack may be lurking around.
He swallowed, knowing his next suggestion would be threading in meddling territory. “Want me to talk to him?”
“Fuck no” Your reply came instantly, and he raised his hands in surrender.
“I'm just sayin', I could knock some sense into him—”
“Robby” You wanted to mean it as a warning, but it came much whinier than you had intended.
“—I'm sure he'd listen—”
“Robby, I said no” You repeated, firm this time. It was enough to stop his talking. “Jack made it abundantly clear he does not want me, so please let's leave it at that. I'm not gonna lose my dignity along with everything else”
Something sad overtook his features, and you did not like it one bit. He looked at you like you were a wounded puppy, overflowing with pity and heartbreak.
“Sweets” He sighed, passing a hand down his face. “You know that's not true”
You looked down at your drink, fidgeting with your fingers around the glass. A heavy melancholy loomed in your soul, like he reopened a wound that had just started to heal.
“Yeah well, you weren't there that day” You mumbled, shaking your head. “He didn't say those words to you”
He just kept his eyes on you and you couldn't stand it. You furiously rubbed at your eyes to make sure no tears would come, then shook your head again
“We need to talk about something else” You spoke before he could pursue this further. “Anything. Work, not work, your sad dating life—”
He scoffed in offense, immediately reading the room and moving on like he had already forgotten the previous conversation.
“—literally anything else”
“Well I'll have you know,” He began, exaggerating his words in a pointed way that told you he was laying it thick on purpose. He spoke slow, leaving you enough time to recompose yourself. You wouldn't mention this kindness again, and neither would he. “I had a date last week”
You raised an eyebrow as your mind latched on this new topic. “Oh?”
“Lovely woman” He nodded. “Smart, beautiful, easygoing. We had a lot of fun”
You hummed, poorly hiding the semblance of a grin. “I didn't know you knew how to have fun. But hey good for you for learning new stuff at your age”
He gave you a playful eye roll. “Ha ha, you're hilarious. But you should keep in mind you'll get there sooner than later Sweets” Then, his eyes found yours with an insistent, challenging stare as he pointed at your head. “Yeah that's right, I've seen those gray hairs come out— And you already can't keep up with the kid's lingo anymore. You're practically one of us already”
You couldn't help but bark a laugh loud enough to echo around the bar. You covered your mouth, reducing the noise to a giggle or two. The sudden image of you and Robby in a grumpy old people's club was somehow the funniest thing you've imagined all week.
What a nightmare you two would be in a retirement home.
“Do I get exclusive club membership discounts?” You finally asked, then took a sip.
“Two for one on coffins and they give you the shovel to dig your grave with”
You choked on your drink. He only raised his drink in a toast and finished it, entirely too smug about his joke.
“Well—” You coughed, then cleared your throat as you tried to stifle your laughter. “That took a dark turn”
He looked like the was holding back from doubling down with, if you had to guess, a comment about it not being as dark as the inside of one of those coffins. And by the mischievous glint suddenly lightning up his eyes, he must have known you had finished the punchline by yourself anyway.
To be fair, you were almost tempted to speak it out loud before he could. Dark humour was often an outlet that both you and him used entirely too leisurely, and that one's comedic timing was impeccable as it could get. Yet, there was something about it now that made you pause.
“Hey Robby” You began, frowning. “How are you doing?”
He looked like a deer caught in the headlights at your curve ball for a whole second before he switched to the defensive, pointing an accusing finger to you.
“Oh hell no. Don't you dare turn the tables on me”
You leaned in to hiss, “Oh not so fun when it's you in the spotlight right?”
“Shut up Sweets”
You softened your features a bit too quickly. “Don't be difficult, I'm concerned”
He made a displeased face. “That's low”
“That's never stopped me before”
He held the staring match for a moment, refusing to let you win. It had been your check-in hangout, he hadn't come prepare to open up. How he let you have the upper hand so easily, without even noticing it was beyond him.
He let out a long, tired breath, dropping his gaze down to his his empty drink. It was like he had a whole conversation going on in his head that he was badly losing. He didn't think he was even ready to understand what was even going on with him.
He was just not ready.
And then, he spoke in a very timid, vulnerable even, voice that was extremely uncharacteristic of him.
“Raincheck?”
Even you knew not to push your luck.
You reached out to his folded hand in front of him and gave them a little squeeze. “Alright. But I'm here for you ok? I want to be there for you, whatever's going on”
A small smile that didn't reach his eyes grew on his mouth. “I know Sweets”
“I might let you off the hook now,” You began, staring him down. “But only if you promise me you'll reach out if you hit a critical point. Ideally even before”
You could see the argument forming on his tongue before he even worded it. I'm the one who needs to look out for you, I don't need you to be concerned for me, I don't want to unload my burdens on you- you have enough— You could hear it all already. Yet, you didn't back down.
“You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”
You gave him a blinding yet slightly threatening smile. “Learned from the best”
He groaned. “Fine, fine. I promise. God damn, woman”
You could be gloating about this, winning one on Dr. Robby was not an easy feat. But you decided not to, considering him just considering it enough to make that promise was enough relief to let it go.
(Whether or not he'd actually follow up on it remained to be seen, but it was a good start).
Like he was desperately looking for an escape, his eyes suddenly scanned around the empty bar, and stopped on the dusty pool tables in the back. “Hey, wanna play pool?”
You blinked a couple of time. “Neither of us know how to properly play”
You recalled last time you were around a pool table, you had been paired with him to play against a couple of his then residents, who had baited the group with betting tables and rankings.
To say you had been obliterated was an understatement, as clearly both you and him had learned a very different set of rules, apparently, neither of which was the actual right way to play. You had spent your game arguing both among yourselves and with people around the table and getting on everyone's nerves in an impressively concerted way for how disorganized you actually were, until you unavoidably lost the match and retreated to a table far away to grumble about it.
He would never admit it, but seeing his name at the very bottom of the ranking that was left pinned up in the break room for weeks after drove him completely mad. Neither of you had failed either to remind the other of this defeat the whole time.
You believed this was when the crew decided to never, ever pair you up again for any group activity.
He was already standing up, then finished his drink. “C'mon, it'll be fun”
“Famous last words” You rolled your eyes, but your amusement was still obvious.
You finished your drink too, then followed him to the old table.
“Alright Robinavitch, game on”
•••••••••••••
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