𝐃𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞
featuring: jack abbot x vet!reader
After dealing with an abuse case that leads to a bite, you go to The Pitt to get it checked out. Thankfully you have a handsome doctor whos very good at distracting you
request: yes
wc: 5,138 [i apparently don't know how to write anything under 3k words]
content warnings: age gap (reader is 27), mentions of animal abuse/neglect, dog bite, medical inaccuracies, medical talk, injury
It was a well known truth that you adored your job. Becoming a vet was what you considered to be the best decision of your life. Helping and healing animals and getting some much needed serotonin with cuddles and play times in between. It was incredible but it was heavy.
And when you told people you were a vet, specifically an emergency vet, there were two camps. The first, who thought vets were the devil incarnate that pushed drugs and unnecessary tests just to make a quick buck (despite the fact that you don’t set the prices or make anything from the drugs and tests). And the second, who thought it was all sunshine and rainbows and you spent 90% of your time cuddling with your patients.
Neither were right of course and neither know the mental, and sometimes physical, weight of caring for their pets put on you. You had spent many nights crying in your car before you drove home because you couldn’t save someone's beloved cat or dog, or over the abuse cases that came into your office. Your shoulders constantly weighed down by heart-break and tiredness as abuse and neglect cases come through your door, some cases where euthanasia is the only humane option. Your senses are always on high alert with pet parents, watching their behaviour and words for fear that they’ll lash out of you. It was a lot to carry. Yet you did it with grace and kindness, even if the owner is screaming in your face about the cost of a procedure that will save their pet's life.
But you occasionally get a good owner, a person who laughs and jokes with you and makes the job feel a little lighter. That’s what you got when Jack Abbot first walked through the door, his german shepherd at his heels with his tail wagging so fast you thought the thing would take off. You wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong with him at first sight, but Jack (with a bashful look and eyes darting around the room so as not to make eye contact) explains that he ate something he shouldn’t have as you do your initial exam.
As you do the exam, conversation flows easily between the two of you work on Gunner, talking about how long you’d been in the job (at that point you were qualified for a year and at that location for six months), what he did and how emergency veterinary medicine seemed a lot more pleasant than human emergency medicine, no one talking back to your or fighting your medical knowledge.
When he said that you chuckled and rolled your eyes saying the patients might have been a bit more pleasant, but you still had to deal with pesky human owners, a smile on your face despite the seriousness of the situation - one you couldn't help. It was light. Almost joyful. You had felt some of the pressure ease from your shoulders as you talked, hands and fingers moving with less tension and more gentle precision. Almost like you were old friends reconnecting and not two strangers meeting for the first time.
After that day, Jack and Gunner became your favourite patient and owner. Gunner had been sweet, giving kisses and cuddles to all the nurses, techs and vets that worked on him, paw poking out of his cage as he came out of sedation as if to say pay attention to me. And Jack was, well, he was different. His dry wit and sarcastic (if sometimes macabre) humour the perfect mix to make you smile after a long day, the way he looked at you and saw the bone deep tiredness and made sure to ask if you were okay when he picked Gunner up later that afternoon. He cared about your wellbeing as well as Gunners. He saw the damaged parts of your soul that mirrored his own and decided it was still worth getting to know.
It was only two weeks later that you saw Jack and Gunner again, only this time without the imposing fluorescent lights and anti-sceptic smell of the exam room, instead there was a soft golden glow as the sun began to set over the mountain. The soft blue of the day changing to the brilliant hues of pink and purple of the evening. The scent of wildflowers and sycamore trees in the park make the world feel light and a thousand miles away from the city, despite existing in the same place. A bubble of peacefulness and serenity where the chaos melts away and you can simply be.
You’re sitting on a bench by the water, a small pond with water lilies and jewelweeds spread along the edges. You had brought a book to read, a romance book you could escape into. Instead find yourself distracted by the hummingbirds as they flit around the edge, a blur of colour and life, then there's a sudden weight on your chest. Two massive paws, pressed firmly against your shoulders and a long lolling tongue dragging against your cheek.
You laugh and pull your head back slightly, a voice letting out a low “Gunner” coming from nearby and almost missed by you as you reach your arms around the dog and scratch at his fur. There’s an exasperated sigh, a hand reaching for Gunner’s collar to pull him off you, but you glare at Jack for just half-a-second, a warning off dont you fucking dare. He sighs again, but he can’t help the small smile that twitches at the corner of his lips or the roll of his eyes as he instead sits down beside you.
You continue playing with Gunner for a bit. Hands running through his hair and pressing kisses against his snout and top of his head, not ignoring Jack but enjoying the playful energy of the dog. To his credit, Jack just watches. Eyes roaming over your face and body. The way your eyes are bright and full of life. Shoulders soft and slightly slouched, the tension he had seen coiled up in them a few weeks ago gone. The mask of professionalism long abandoned as you instead embraced playfulness and familiarity.
Eventually, Gunner removes himself from your chest and instead lies across both yours and Jack's feet. He’s relaxed, head lolling to the side as he pants from the exertion and excitement. Jack starts the conversation then, asking how you are and what you were doing in the park and while the initial questions are almost formal it quickly takes a friendly turn as you talk about what you like to do on your days off.
He tells you he got Gunner at the recommendation of his therapist, something to keep his mind and body busy so he’s not constantly obsessing over work and to actually get him outside of the house, you don’t ask him to elaborate. You tell him you like to come to the park, or go for hikes, just anything to get you into nature. It grounds you, reminds you of your humanity and how there is still beauty in the world. Your favourite thing to do is to find little unknown paths (making sure to mark your way for safety) and how you sometimes find the most beautiful places by mistake.
It's natural the way the conversation flows, the two of you bouncing off one another's stories and humour like it's second nature. You don’t have to fight to find the words. Don’t have to rake your brain to find a topic or an ice breaker. It’s all just there, at the tips of your tongues just waiting for the right moment. There’s a shared smile, a moment of stillness as the sun finally sets, lamps above you flickering to life and placing you both in a halo of white light. It's almost intimate, and neither of you notice it, but you’ve moved closer now. Shoulders and thighs pressed together, voices no longer carrying on the wind but instead shifting to hushed whispers, like children sharing secrets, as you finally say goodnight.
Jack never tells you, but he had only gone through the park as shortcut, it hadn’t been a part of his weekly regime. Until that day. When he saw you, face streaked by the last golden rays of light, he was compelled to approach you, some unseen force drawing him into your orbit. He had gone to greet you, only for Gunner to get there first and while he had acted annoyed at the dog for all of half a second he was grateful for the icebreaker. After talking to you, for what seemed like hours, it became his normal. He would walk through the park almost daily for the next two weeks with Gunner, hoping for a glimpse of you.
You did the same, conveniently going back to the same spot at the same time almost every week, hopeful to see both Jack and Gunner and you do. Almost every meeting follows the same pattern, Gunner greeting you with his tongue on your cheek and Jack sitting silently beside you before conversation starts. Sometimes, on the days where the sun sits higher in the sky and sets that little bit later, you walk with them through the park as you talk. It's comfortable, even in the quiet moments where you simply laugh and smile as Gunner plays with the other dogs in the park. Neither of you desperate for conversation, just closeness. Just each other’s steady presence.
There are a handful of times in the months after, where Jack goes from favourite patient to friend (potentially more but you don’t dare name that emotion just yet) that you see them at the clinic. Usually it's during the weeks where you're so exhausted that you can just about drag yourself home and get yourself cleaned, fed, and into bed.
Sometimes it’s for an emergency, Gunner once again getting into something he shouldn’t or that one time he got the zoomies and threw himself into the wall so hard by accident he was walking with a limp. Others, it was simply to deliver you a sweet treat and your favourite cup of coffee or a home cooked meal under the guise of Jack making too much and knowing it was one of your favourites - when in reality it was because he knew you were having a rough week and just wanted to make you smile. When this happened, the nurses and techs that witnessed it would tease you relentlessly about the tension and ask how your favourite owner was doing. You simply responded with a roll of your eyes and quick redirection to the next patient.
It all comes to a head a few weeks later. In the early hours of the morning where the sun is just starting to peak over the horizon and the darkness of the night sky gives way to hues of red and orange that promise a new day. A new beginning. You had been unexpectedly called into the clinic, the police and animal control intervening in a hoarder situation after a wellness check, where the night-shift team was simply overwhelmed with over a dozen dogs that were brought in and needed a few extra pairs of hands.
It had started off standard, going through and doing basic checks. Temperatures, heart rates, BPs, body conditions, all base lines as your colleagues give you the information of the case. You move through the dogs with ease, until you come to the last dog. A medium sized scruffy thing that was so matted you couldn’t tell which end was the face and which was the tail. It seemed calm, but with the heaviness of the coat you were sure the poor thing couldn’t move very well so you still approached with cautious gentle movements. As you went to try and place your stethoscope against where you assume the heart was, again the fur was so dense and matted it was the best you could do, the dog freaks out and snaps at you. Teeth burrowing in the palm of your hand and drawing blood.
It hurts. Blood starts trickling down your palm and across your wrist leaving a small pool on the exam table, but you remain calm. You don’t scream, don’t freak out. It won’t make the situation any better, it would just freak the dog out more. Just simply take a deep breath as the dog lets go, small whimpers leaving its mouth (you can only assume it has teeth and gum issues), and take a step back. The tech that's with you, quickly steps out and calls for another vet and a sedation kit while ushering you out of the room. You move with quiet, almost robotic steps, self-preservation kicking in, and keep your hand high against your chest. You haven’t even looked at the wound yet, don’t even think you can.
A nurse, Amanda, joins your side, arm wrapping around your shoulders to keep you steady (you hadn't even noticed you started to sway) as they set you down in an office chair. Gently, so as not to hurt or spook you, they remove your hand from your chest and start flushing it with saline. You look at their face instead of the wound, already knowing what was to come. There’s a grimace, a scrunching of the nose as they reach for a bandage and quickly wrap it.
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
Amanda’s voice is firm, matter of fact. There’s no room for argument. In the past, you may have stitched up a bite or two for yourself or your colleagues but this was different. This was an unknown dog with an unknown vaccination history (if they had any) and it was deep. Even if you didn’t see it, you felt it when the teeth punctured the skin. You let out a heavy sigh, resigned to your fate and simply nod.
“I can-”
“Nope.”
Another word that gave no room for argument. Amanda knew you were going to suggest driving yourself and immediately shot it down. Whether it was because she thought you might have just driven home and treated yourself or because she thought you weren’t in any condition to drive you didn’t know, but you assumed the former because it is something you had done before.
So with a resigned, and slightly rattled, breath and a small roll of your eyes, you nod. Amanda takes you to the hospital herself, most of the dogs now looked at and awaiting results from further tests so neither of you are urgently needed. As you head towards Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center, you try and tell her you're fine and to just take you home but she levels a glare at you and simply says, “Let someone take care of you for once.” That makes you shrink back into your seat with a small pout.
When you finally get to the ED, Amanda signs you in with the receptionist but you insist she go home. It’s nearing 6 am and you know her kids will be up for school soon and she should see them before then. She tries to argue, saying you shouldn’t be left alone and shock could still set in but you very gently tell her you won’t be alone. Jack works at this hospital and should be on shift, and you know he’ll take care of you. She doesn’t believe you, eyes narrowing in suspicion for a few seconds before she finally relents with a deep breath and a finger sternly pointed at you, “Fine, but if I find out you signed out AMA, so help me god the dog bite will be the least of your worries.”
“I promise I’ll stay as long as I need to.” Your voice is quiet, all fight leaving your body as the adrenaline drops and leaves exhaustion in its place. Amanda gives a single nod, a small smile on her face as she drops down and gives you a hug goodnight and then you're left alone.
The waiting room isn’t busy, a few people scattered around the room in various stages of sleep, all waiting to be seen. There’s a couple in the back corner, heads tilted towards one another as a hushed argument passes between them, you can only assume one of them doesn’t want to be here while the other insists they came. It’s quiet otherwise, just the ticking of the clock and the clacking of the receptionist's keys filling the air combining into a gentle metronome that has your eyelids fighting to stay open.
You drift off, for just a few minutes, and awake with a small groan as a gentle hand pushes on your shoulder. You're greeted with a red-headed nurse who has a smile on her face as she calls your name softly, “Yeah, sorry I didn’t mean to drift off like that.”
She steps back to let you stand, a small click coming from your knees as you do, “It’s okay, it's pretty early in the morning and from your intake form you had a busy last few hours.”
She leads you into the ED, pointing to an empty bed where you take a seat as she draws the curtain closed, “I’m Lena, I'm the charge nurse and I’ll be helping the doctors look after you this morning. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Her voice is quiet, calm. A soothing undertone that immediately puts you at ease and you find yourself opening up without any hesitation. Any embarrassment you may have felt melting from your body and being replaced with a scared vulnerability. “I’m an emergency vet, and got bit in the hand by an unknown dog breed with an unknown vaccine history.”
She nods along as you talk, taking notes on her tablet, “That explains how well wrapped your hand is then”, the lightness in her tone brings a smile to your face.
“Yeah, my colleague Amanda wrapped it for me. I haven’t even looked at it yet.” As you glance at the bandage around your hand, you can see redness starting to appear at the top, the bleeding still ongoing but contained by the pressure.
“Okay, why don’t you change into this gown? Then I’ll get you all set up on the heart monitor and pulse ox then I’ll get the doctor in here to have a look at the wound. We’ll most likely need a few blood samples as well to rule out things like tetanus and rabies, though I assume you’re up to date with those?”
You nod your head, clearing your throat a little as emotion suddenly wells up inside it, “Yeah, got them refreshed when I first started at the clinic a year ago.”
“Good, I’ll be back in a sec.”
Lena leaves you to change privately, curtain once again drawn closed. As you get changed and resettle back into the bed, Lena is across the room at the nurses station inputting your chart information when she’s approached by Jack.
Lena gives a small, teasing smile, having bullied the man into talking about the reason he seemed happier and lighter these days, she knew who you were, and was absolutely going to meddle now that she had the perfect opportunity to. Jack had, after all, denied any romantic attraction to you and brushed Lena off any time she asked him if he had asked you out on an actual date yet.
“What have you got for me Lena?”
She hands him over the tablet with your chart information, her eye brow lifting in contemplation as she watches his eyebrows shoot into his hairline and his face contorted into concern. It was unusual for the calm, controlled and sometimes overly stoic Jack Abbot to actually show this level of emotion while working. It was nice to see that underneath the bravado of the esteemed veteran and doctor, he was still human.
“Female, 27, dog bite from an unknown dog with an unknown vaccine history in bay 2.”
He nods his head, eyes still glued to the screen even as he turns to the bay, “Vitals?”
“Going to get them now, I wanted to give her privacy to change first.”
He nods again, slowly lowering the tablet down to his side as he takes a deep breath. He had to steel his nerves. He could already feel his heart rate picking up, adrenaline pumping through his veins as worst-case scenarios play through his head. He knew you were a fantastic vet, had seen it in action and through stories. You had been bitten before but none of them had led to a hospital visit (though he had previously scolded you when he noticed a stitched up wound on your arm about how you should have come in), which meant this was bad. He pictured pools of blood. A bite on your face, your neck, your arm. He saw exposed muscles and flesh and bone. Damage beyond repair that meant your career as a vet was over.
His head spun, each thought worse than the last. A haze of anxiety falling over his mind. But then there was a gentle voice, very similar to Lenas, in the back of his mind. It reminded him if it was as bad as he thinks, the trauma room would be in chaos right now. Lena wouldn’t have waited for vitals. He or Shen or Ellis would already be in there assessing the damage. Blood would be coming from the blood bank. Calls would be made to prep an OR. A deep breath, a stuttering heart beat, and the haze fades slightly. It's not as thick, not as debilitating. It's manageable and with one step at a time until he’s pulling back the curtain to see you there, with a bandaged hand and all fingers moving as they should.
You give him a small bashful smile, head dipped down slightly to avoid his case as a flush rises to your cheeks, as he steps into your space with Lena behind him. He pulls up a rolling chair beside you and places the tablet on the bed as he gently reaches for your hand, there's no words spoken. Not yet. But the silence isn’t heavy with tension. It's light with relief - that you’re okay, that Jack's going to look after you.
He’s gentle as he unwraps the bandage, touch featherlight to the point that you’re unsure if he's actually touching you, and his eyes keep wandering to yours. Concern written into his irises, you realise he’s watching to see if it hurts. To make sure you remain pain-free during the examination of the wound. You’re so distracted watching him, you don’t notice Lena at the other side, just feel the gentle pressure of the probes and the pulse-ox as she applies them. Then there’s a steady beep, your heart beat now echoing around the room. It's a little faster than usual, still in the range of normal, and you know it's because of Jack's proximity. Lena knows too, but doesn’t comment on it, instead letting you know she’ll be back once Jack’s done to do a blood draw.
As the bandage is fully unwrapped and disposed of, you try not to look at the wound, instead focusing on Jack's face as it scrunches up in concern. There's still some blood around it, most of it dried but there's still a small trickle out of it than you can feel. Gently, Jack prods around the wound and you wince slightly with an “ow.” It's a dull ache now, nothing like the piercing pain it had been at the time, but the small amount of pressure still hurts.
His eyes quickly snap up to yours, the concern in them having grown at your pain, “I’m sorry.”
You quickly shake your head, knowing it wasn’t his fault. He needs to check the wound and make sure there’s no nerve or tendon damage, “Don’t apologise,” there's a small laugh in your voice, one of disbelief that he’s apologising for doing his job, “I know you didn’t mean it.”
He gives a small nod of acknowledgement, concern never leaving his face as he turns back to your hand. “I need to clean the area with some irrigation and potentially do a debridement depending on how damaged the skin is…” He hesitates for a second, adams apple bobbing as he gulps down the knot that had built up in his throat, “It might hurt a little.”
You simply nod and watch his face, “That’s okay, I’ve got a pretty good distraction.”
You smile at him then, a true honest smile, and you can see him falter for a second. The way he has to clear his throat, his hands clenching and unclenching as the words register in his mind. Some of the tension he was carrying melting away just a little as his shoulders slump and he wipes his hand over his face to try and fight off the smile that was forming.
“Now is not the time for flirting.”
He tries to sound serious, as if he’s scolding you, but you can hear a little bit of lightness peaking through the concern. You shrug your shoulders as he turns to give you an exasperated look, one that doesn’t last very long as he sees the smile stretching your lips, “I don’t know. I think it’s the perfect time.”
He can’t help the smile now, a small one that is fleeting as Lena walks in with the irrigation kit, eyes moving between the two of you with a knowing look. She’s quick to exit the trauma bay, but not before sending a wink to Jack who just rolls his eyes and puts on a fresh pair of gloves after touching his face. You let out a small giggle at the interaction but quickly school your features as Jack glances at you with a small glare.
As he looks away to your hand again, you can’t help the smile that forms. You weren't lying when you said he was a good distraction, and as he starts cleaning the wound and getting rid of some of the dead tissue around it, you can’t help staring at him. Barely registering the pain, except for a small wince here and there. He’s objectively very handsome but that’s not why you’re looking.
You were so used to seeing him free, unguarded. Your time in the park usually filled with small smiles and relaxed shoulders. Here you can see tension rolled up inside of him. His shoulders tense and eyes, though filled with concern, are hard and concentrated. There's armour in place and you think you might be one of the few people who see him without it. It’s a warming feeling. Knowing he trusts you enough to be a person he lets his guard down around.
You know he’s been hurt in the past, the death of his wife and his deployment being loosely discussed in your time together. There’s deep lingering scars buried beneath his skin and he lets you see them, the same way you let him see yours. Neither of you tried to heal the other's broken parts, but instead existed in them together. Acknowledging that they made you who you were and they were not things to change, but integral parts of your soul. You didn’t need to be healed. You needed to be seen. And you both did that.
So lost in thought and your admiration for Jack, you don’t notice he’s finished. That there’s a fresh bandage wrapped around your hand, pure white and unblemished. You also don’t notice the way Jack is now also watching you.
The anxiety that had ratched through his body not even 30 minutes before now fizzled out and replaced with a steady thrum of affection and unspoken attraction. He had known months ago that the line between friends and something more had blurred when it came to you but he refused to acknowledge it. Shoved it down and pushed it into a corner of his heart that was meant for him alone. But as he watched you, your gaze almost reverent as it tracked the lines of his face, he realises he can’t push it down. That it was not something meant for just him to hold. It was something meant for the two of you, to discover and tend to together.
There's a few moments of silence, both you lost in your own thoughts, a powerful and mutual understanding of we want this echoing in your hearts but not yet spoken aloud. This wasn’t the place. This wasn’t the time. You wanted space, privacy. Somewhere the confession can plant itself and grow without being bothered.
Then there’s a disturbance, the pushing of the curtains and Jack moves away from you as Lena clears her throat and enters the room with the blood draw tray. There's a small grimace on her face, an understanding that she’s interrupted a pivotal moment as she sees the looks on your faces, but the ED has an ebb and a flow and it has to move on. Silence settles over the room again, a subtle growing tension lingering in the air.
As Lena finishes taking your blood, your bed rails go up. It will take a while for the results to come back and she insists you try and get some sleep while you wait and you smile at her gratefully before turning back to Jack.
“I’m going to prescribe you some broad spectrum antibiotics and you need to keep the wound clean and I want you to come back in a few weeks for a check-up to make sure its healing okay.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, a small smirk playing on your lips, “Orrr”, you drag the word out almost childishly and he rolls his eyes at the playfulness but still levels you a stern look because he’s seen how you’ve handled dog bites before, “you can pay a personal visit.”
There is a beat of stillness, your heart rate elevating and echoing around the room creating an even greater sense of tension, and Jack smiles. It's soft, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling just a little as he lets out a restrained breath and crosses his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow.
“That would be highly unethical of me.”
He uncrosses his arms then, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on the bed rail as he eyes you again. Mischief and affection now filling up the space where concern previously lived, his voice dips low, almost whispering so no one outside of the two of you can hear it.
“But it could certainly be arranged”
