Pairing: Jack Abbot x Mortician!Reader and hints of Robby x Mortician!Reader
Summary: Everyone knows Abbot has a staring problem. And he’s finally met his match, a worthy opponent in the senior attending mortician. Unstoppable object meets Immovable wall.
A/N: Divider provided by @pixopix. The idea made me laugh. And all those Hatosy posts acknowledging the staring gave me the idea. Stay mystified. Also sowing the seeds of Robby having a crush. Will go more into an angsty fic in the future on why they dont act on it first but for now I just wanted a funny fic
Jack Abbot had a staring problem. Everyone knew it. To him it wasn’t really a problem. If anything, it was everyone else’s problem. No one else up for the challenge of his intense hazel eyes. Until now…
No one was quite sure how it started. To the passing unsuspecting students it looked as though two senior attending were simply at the nurses station. Not even close enough to each other to be working on the same thing. Just barely on the edges of the other’s gravitational pull.
The residents knew better. There was an energy radiating from the station that was palpable from across the halls.
Jack was leaned against the countertop. Arms crossed in a signature stern fashion. Face completely stoic and still, a look that handfuls of students and residents alike feared, projecting all their insecurities onto what they thought the older man was thinking of them before they truly got got to know him. Before his true mentorship and warmth peaked through. In truth, he could be hard to read at times. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.
Bones, the senior attending mortician was sat on the furthest side away from him. Completely stagnant in a roller chair. While Jack’s body language was closed off, theirs was more open and relaxed. Eyes while not as piercing, were in itself unsettling with wide unyielding intensity.
Two sides of the strangest coin the Pitt had ever seen.
“How long has this been going on?” Robby was the one to finally ask as he finished with a patient and stepped back onto the floor. Immediately able to clock the exchange before he could see it in full.
“Far too long to be humanly possible.” Santos chimed as she was pretending (and failing) to make herself seem busy. Far more interested in the showdown taking place.
“Neither will budge. It’s like they’re frozen in time.” Whitaker added, still not quite sure what to make of the situation.
Bets were subtly being declared all the while not a peep was being made at the zone of interest.
Was it a fight? A lover’s quarrel? Were they lovers in the first place? People loved to speculate when there was something unknown before them.
“Alright.” Robby muttered as he took it upon himself to be the change that needed to happen before things got too much.
With a quick stride he knew what he had to do. All it took was an abrupt well placed smack a behind the shoulder and the tide was turned.
“You lose.” The statement was matter of fact and time once again seemed to move as Bones rolled their chair towards Jack in an “in your face” fashion.
“You cheated.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes at the whole affair. His body instinctively leaning closer as the distance between them was shortened.
“You blinked.” Was volleyed back as an end all be all emphasized with the batting of eyelashes in a mocking fashion. Their faces growing so dangerously close that if anyone new were to stumble in, surely they would think they had walked in on something.
“You had outside help.” His unwavering gaze now set upon Robby who raised his hands up in mock innocence.
“I always knew you liked me better.” Bones beamed cheekily at Robby who could only clear his throat and shrug off the accusation while their two sets of eyes focused on him. He would neither confirm nor deny the statement. Not in public. Robby would claim he had no favorites but everyone knew that was bullshit. Not when he would go out of his way to be on the receiving end of that sweet smile.
Summary: It started off as a kind gesture. A professional curtesy. His therapist had told him he needed to branch off more. Try new things. Meet new people. So that was how he ended up there, in the PTMC morgue having tea breaks with their attending mortician.
A/N: Divider provided by @pixopix. Also posting this at like 2:40 am with little to no proofreading due to my insomnia. So... Sorry if none of this makes sense.
Warnings: Medical inaccuracies (I can only google so much of what a hospital mortician does before I fill in the blanks and I apologies to the reader who actually are in the mortuary science field! I respect you all so much!) morbid humor and lots of references about death (hazard of the job) but nothing graphic.
The offer had always been present.
“If you ever need a moment to breathe, come to the morgue. Down there you can rest… in peace.”
The offer was morbid to say the least. Off putting to most who were not used to the somewhat socially awkward senior attending Mortician’s levity. Clearly a bad attempt at trying to use humor to bridge the gap between departments. But Jack Abbot had found his stone stern face quirking into a grin. The most he let himself loosen up while manning the floor on a busy night shift. Dark humor was one of the few ways he could cope with so much over the years. He appreciated it far more than anyone else there.
He doesn't know how he found himself on that floor. Truth be told he was going to go up, to the roof. He needed to get away from the Pitt for even just a moment. The night was fine. The floor still had Shen and Ellis. He just... needed air.
The office was smaller than most but there was a homey feel to it. A warmth despite the perpetual cold of the outside halls of the morgue. A sanctuary for the recently deceased’s loved ones before they once again had to tackle the harsh reality of their loss. To the untrained eye it was just like any other office in the building, but Jack could tell the little touches. The attention to details.
The two plush armchairs for the guests to comfort and hold them as they sat during one of the hardest days of their lives. The trinkets and handmade touches scattered on the side of the desk. Out of the way to not be impractical but still in eyesight to show personality. A small succulent garden thriving despite its underground inhabitance. A sign of life surrounded by death. A worn and weathered leather office chair at the head of the desk. Years of age and wear and tear to show how much of an institution it all was.
Any other office would be seen as too clinical in his eyes. But the “coffin” as some referred to it around there (whether that was affectionate or derogatory he wasn't quite sure of), he could see himself not minding staying in there for longer moments of time.
“Please sit. Feel free to make yourself comfortable while I make you something.”
Two mugs of hot liquid were placed on the desk.
The senior attending Mortician looked almost pained as they chose to sit beside Jack on the guest chair instead of across at the head. Their much deserved spot. Jack almost went into doctor mode before he was cut off.
“I’m sorry. I brought you hot water for tea. Force of habit.”
It was a simple gesture that showed such care and attentiveness. Jack wasn't much of a tea drinker, he had nothing against it, it just didn't quite do the job considering he worked overnight. It was almost counterintuitive to his whole purpose. But he found himself waving off the apology not out of politeness, but something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. Instead he reached for the assorted box of tea bag and joked,
“Pick your poison.”
He managed to earn a guffaw from beside him.
“And they said I had a grave sense of humor.” Was volleyed back at him with a matching grin.
What was that he just felt? Almost a sense of pride? Lightheartedness? Jack Abbot cracked a dark joke, and it was appreciated.
Lifting his mug out in almost a toast he mused,
“To the morgue. I can see why people are dying to go here.”
“Dr. Abbot!” He was reprimanded with no real animosity. Not when peels of laughter trailed behind his joke. He could get used to this. No looks of concern or questions about his headspace. No psychoanalyzing. Just a kindred spirit.
“Jack.” He corrected.
“Jack.” Was repeated with a smile and a raised mug, they clinked together delicately in a cheers.
It was different. For years Jack Abbot thrived on a delicate balance of the chaos of the Pitt and the routine of everything else in his life. Midnight tea breaks with the senior attending Mortician was something in the middle. Not quite predictable, but never too consistent given their work. But he took the opportunity whenever presented.
It was countless tea breaks later when the obvious had been pointed out to him.
“Jack. You know you arent obligated to have tea down here with me.”
Jack looked as if he were told the most ridiculous thing in the world. Almost insulted. Why would he do anything else BUT that?
“What I meant was, I can make you coffee. We do have a coffee machine in our break room and I KNOW you always end up having a cup when you get back to the Pitt. Lena told me.”
Jack grumbled that he had been caught and no less been ratted out by his own charge nurse. Was there no loyalty left in this world? Apparently not when it came to meddling in… whatever this was.
“No.” He actively refused as he maintained his “signature Jack stare” and dunked a teabag into his now unofficial assigned unassigned mug in defiance. He could truly be the most infuriating and stubborn man when he wanted to be. It was all a part of his charm.
Jack is slightly over protective of Mortician!Reader’s feelings. Jack is the type that knows what people say and think about him and doesnt care. Morty on the other hand is sensitive and cares too much about what people think about them and it hurts to know others think so negatively about them because of their job.
There had been an ongoing “joke” all through the various departments of PTMC that if a resident was misbehaving that they would get sent to the Morgue for rotation. That absolutely crushed Morty when that “joke” finally hit their ears. What was so wrong about working in the morgue?
“Is there something wrong with me?” They ask themselves in the quiet solitude of the PTMC morgue. What was once a cozy and comforting realm was now slowing chilling into something… unnatural.
Jack would shut that shit down immediately. While the regular night crew need no warning, they had the best working relationship with Morty, all cool heads and even tempers. Jokes passed between colleagues during slow periods of the early morning hours. Coffees sipped in camaraderie and personal lives being shared sparsely. But then a resident banished to the night shift makes an offhanded comment after another screw up about being transferred to the morgue and Jack lays into them. They would be so LUCKY to work under one of the most kind and compassionate attending in the building. Someone who knew how to do their job with as much grace and dignity than most departments combined. If he EVER heard another negative word about the morgue on his watch whoever said it was going to work the worst of the worst on their shifts.
Jack never mentions the incident to the Mortician. He doesnt have to. Word spreads fast from the Pitt no matter what. And if the Mortician has a bit more pep in their step, and a sweeter smile on their face in the rare moments the two get to spend with each other taking a break in the once again welcoming halls of the PTMC morgue, he pretends that he didn’t have a hand in it… for now.
Mortician!Reader having two completely different dynamics with the day and night shift crews.
The day shift is really weirded out and wary of them. After all they work in the MORGUE of all places! That’s the last place any of them want to end up or send any of their patients if they can help it. The Pittlings all fear the reader like some sort of superstitious grim reaper. Robby is respectful and tries to curb that sort of thinking because the Mortician!Reader is still a person at the end of the day and has to carry on so much more than anyone gives them credit for. He knows HE couldnt handle that kind of pressure.
The night shift is cool with them. Things happen. Sure they will work as hard as they ever could to prevent it, but things happen. And at least they know that at the very end when it’s all over the patient will be taken in by probably the most kind, caring, and respectful person in all of PTMC. Jack even has a more personal, as well as professional, dynamic with the Mortician!Reader. He’s seen a lot of death in his life from the war, his personal life, and work. Actively going to therapy has made him more stable when it comes to accepting those things and helps him have a healthy rapport with the Mortician!Reader.
Mortician!Reader who gets given the nickname "Bones" sometime between the midnight teatimes and occasional visits to the Pitt. They honestly can't remember who was the one who started it.
It was probably Trinity in passing, not in a mean way, it just came up naturally off the cuff and Victoria is at first horrified going "What did you just call the senior attending?!" But it gets shrugged off. No harm no foul. It was easier to say than their actual name or their official title.
It was like a badge of honor in a way and they were thankful for it. It was like a sign that slowly but surely more and more of the hospital was accepting them. No longer was it the stuffy and far too formal Senior Attending Mortician, but Bones. Lovable, socially awkward, creepy but in an endearing way: Bones.
Further down the line there must be some sort of reverse engineered crude joke about how Abbot and/or Robby wants to jump their Bones. But that's gossip for another day.
Jack and Robby are probably old enough to be confused about the nickname and thinks it's Star Trek related but Trinity is like "No... Bones like skeletons? Duh?"
The Pitt Mortician!Reader who understands how chaotic and demanding emergency medicine can be and as a sweet gesture offers the Mortuary ward as a neutral ground as a place to get away from it all and take a breather (and because they dont like the idea of people being on the roof for obvious reasons) and eventually someone snaps and freaks out at them because of how weird and creepy they think the reader is when in reality the reader is so comfortable with the cycle of life and death and they often forget that others arent as comfortable being around the recently deceased, especially if they had passed IN the Pitt and the reader has to realize that they are seen as off putting to the people they thought they were on good terms with and withdraws.
"Up to trouble Speedy?" The nickname burned her ears just as much as the harsh LA sun as the car meet up was getting underway.
"Well I'll be. That can't be. Is that my favorite detective?" The flirting always came naturally when it was directed at him, and Officer Sammy Bryant never ceased to flush from the attention of the notorious street racer. Interviews and interrogations in the past almost always resulted in friendly flirting on her end and endless flustering on his but never going over the line out of respect for his (failed) marriage.
"It's Officer now." He tried to correct weakly and ignore the looks that his partner was giving him. "Change of plans." He shrugged and really tried his hardest not to notice how a pair of eyes locked in on his now bare ring finger, trying even harder NOT to read into what that could possibly mean. No point in getting his hopes up, no matter how much he wanted to and was free to do so now. Enough time had passed.
"You haven't come around in a long time. Was starting to think you were avoiding me." A pretty pout was on her lips as she leaned back against her car, making a show of stretching out her body to full height before the two men. "Thought we had something special." She teased.
"Yeah well... Haven't had a reason to come by." Sammy awkwardly tried to explain before his eyes went wide and realized just how wrong his answer was and was kicking himself for putting his foot in his mouth.
"Not like that! I just meant there hasn't been any crime or car jacking rings to bust. Or races that would bring me out here. Not that I would only see you just to bust you for racing. Which I HOPE you don't do just for the record. That would make things really awkward if I have to bust you for that. Not that I'm accusing you of being a street racer-"
But before Sammy could dig himself into a deeper hole, she pushed herself from off her car and pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him. Being so unbearably close but not close enough for his liking. But they were in public and he was on the clock.
"No racing as far as you know. I've been a good girl... For now."
Sammy visibly gulped under her touch.
"You should call me when you're off. I can show you just how bad I can be even when I'm not on the road."
The Pitt Mortician!Reader where they hear a rumor that Robby doesnt wear a helmet on his motorcycle but they say nothing about it already feeling self conscious about how they are perceived by everyone in the Pitt and then one day they get a John Doe from a motorcycle crash in the morgue and they are so unidentifiable that is sends the reader into a spiral of worry and grief that they RUSH to try and find Robby on the floor even if they have no idea if he works that shift. They NEED to make sure that it isnt him.
