I haven’t really been able to keep up, but is Ashley aware she fucked up and is going home?
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@thatonehumanbeing05
I haven’t really been able to keep up, but is Ashley aware she fucked up and is going home?
I had a preference for blockbuster but no real attachments so this is the first time my heart wasn’t bee racing while watching them compete lol
How many times have these losers said bro in this conversation
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, fluff, smut
word count: 8.7k
a/n: ahh it's the final chapter😭 honestly such a bittersweet feeling. i've loved writing this fic and finding that passion again, and i can't thank you guys enough for being here and encouraging me! it's been such a blessing to have you engage with this fic almost every week for months now (!) i appreciate you all lots!! i'm gonna take some time to write the other things i've been wanting to, while, of course, still checking in on these two here and there :D and who knows, maybe someday, i'll even write a sequel...😚 as always, i hope you enjoy!! <333
p.s. to anyone who cares, i might go back in the future and edit the chapters (stuff like minor grammar things and sentence structures that i don't like etc)
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
Previous part | The end
The early afternoon sun beats down on the backyard as you stand a few steps from the pavilion, one hand shielding your eyes while you squint up at the string lights.
Jack, balanced on top of a chair, glances over at you. "Higher?"
You nod. " A little."
He raises the strand another inch.
You tilt your head, taking another step as you study it. "That's perfect."
He climbs down, brushing his hands together as he steps beside you.
The pavilion stands in the corner of the yard, a couple of tables stashed under it along with some chairs. White tablecloths flutter gently in the breeze, little jars of wildflowers scattered across the tables between empty serving platters waiting to be filled.
Jack had spent most of yesterday putting it all together, with the help of Robby, refusing to sit down for more than a few minutes at a time until everything looked just right.
"One more thing to cross off the list," he says.
You sigh. "Only twenty thousand more to go."
"Hey," he murmurs. His fingers find your chin, gently turning your head toward him. "Breathe. We've got this."
You take a slow breath as you look into his calm eyes. His thumb brushes along your jaw before he releases his grip.
"We need to get the drinks outside—they're ready in coolers inside the garage—but I'm gonna wait to bring them out. Otherwise, they'll get warm." His hand finds yours. "We'll fire the grill after the guests have arrived. Everything needed for that is either by the grill or in the fridge." He glances around the yard as his thumb brushes your knuckles absentmindedly. "What else do we need to do, honey?"
You take another breath, collecting your thoughts. His fingers squeeze yours gently. "Uh… The welcome drinks still need to be made. More chairs. Oh, and the snacks need to be plated and brought outside." Your gaze sweeps over the yard before finally dropping to yourself. "I also need to get ready."
Jack nods. "I've got the chairs and snacks—" He waves away your concern. "Robby'll be here any minute to help me."
Your brows pinch together. A flutter of nerves runs through you.
He steps closer, his expression softening. "You go get the drinks and yourself ready, okay? No stressing. This is supposed to be a fun day."
"Yeah… You're right."
"I usually am." He smirks and pinches your side gently. Your startled yelp dissolves into laughter before he catches your lips with his. His kiss is warm and eager, and you happily let him drag you closer.
"Ahem." Olivia's voice cuts through the moment from the open patio doors.
You freeze in Jack's arms but still allow him to steal one more kiss. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch her standing in the doorway, hands planted firmly on her hips.
"When I agreed to come by and help," she says, "I didn't realise that meant you two making out and me doing all the work."
"We are working," you reply.
"Mm." She doesn't look convinced.
You slip out of Jack's arms and turn towards her, gesturing to the pavilion. "Look."
"Very pretty," she concedes, "But I've been watching from the window. No one did any work the last ten minutes."
"Creep," you mutter.
"Please," she waves you off. "Somebody had to make sure you two actually got something done."
You stick your tongue out at her.
She rolls her eyes but can't hide the smile that tugs at her lips. "Come help me before I start looking through your closet for my sweater. I know you have it."
"It's my sweater," you shout as she disappears inside again. You turn back to Jack. "I'd better go."
He grins. "I didn't know your thieving streak went that far back."
"I didn't steal her sweater."
He shrugs as he steps closer. "Well. You keep stealing my hoodies, so the evidence—"
"It's not the same," you argue but still step into his arms again.
His face nears yours again. "Is that so?"
"Mm," you hum. You press a quick kiss to his lips, then spin out of his grip before he manages to hold on. You point at him from a few feet away. "Snacks. Chairs."
"Yes, ma'am." He gives you a mock salute.
You grin, shaking your head as you slip away to the kitchen.
The kitchen counters are a mess by the time you walk in. Half a dozen bottles clutter the island alongside empty bowls, bunches of mints, straws and more glasses than you remember owning.
Olivia is standing in the middle of the chaos, wooden spoon in hand as she stirs a huge bowl of punch.
She looks up when she hears you come in. "Finally."
"I didn't take that long," you say.
She sends you a look.
You nudge her shoulder as you pass her to wash your hands. "Cut me some slack. It's a special day."
"I'll cut you some slack after we finish these drinks." She shoves a lemon into your hand, the second after you've dried your hands, then points to the mountain of citrus fruits lining the counter. "You'd better start cutting if we wanna be done before the guests arrive."
Your eyes widen, lips turning downwards. "Damn."
"Yeah," she laughs. "You were the one who wanted to decorate the drinks."
"I regret that now," you murmur.
A comfortable silence settles between you as you work through the pile of fruit. Olivia begins pouring the punch into glasses, carefully finishing each one with slices of citrus and fresh berries.
Having Olivia here since yesterday has been your saving grace. She's so in tune with you that she knows exactly when to tease you and when to go easy. She's kept track of everything your frazzled mind has forgotten, stepping in to organise Robby and Jack whenever they needed direction. You honestly don't know what you'd have done without her.
"So," she says after a moment as she begins cutting strawberries. "How are you holding up?"
You shrug, reaching over to grab a watermelon. "I think I'm okay."
"Yeah?" She looks over at you.
You nod. You're nervous, yes—but underneath it all, you're excited. "I just want everyone to have a good time."
"Oh, trust me. They will," she assures you. "I honestly can't wait to see their faces."
You grin at her before turning your attention back to the cutting board. You cut the watermelon into bite-sized pieces, placing them in a bowl that Olivia brings you.
She leans against the counter next to you. "You know, I'm really happy for you. I know I've said it before, but—"
You blink, caught off guard by the emotion in her voice.
"I've seen you in relationships before, and yes, you were happy," she says, "but this is different. You're different."
"I am?"
"Yeah. It's a good different," she says, popping a strawberry into her mouth.
"Phew," you say, laughing.
She pushes her foot against your leg. "You know what I mean. I'm just—I'm happy for you."
You send her a soft smile. You do know what she means.
Because it is different.
You still work ridiculous hours. There are days when you barely see Jack because day shift needs help, and all you get of each other is a few minutes during handoff. Some mornings are nothing more than sleepy kisses over coffee before you crash. Some evenings are takeout on the couch because neither of you has the energy to cook.
It's so different from what you shared with previous boyfriends. It's also so much better.
It's not just the easy days. It's knowing when he needs his wheelchair and getting it without him having to ask. It's him reminding you that you've earned your job—that you're good at it—on the nights you can't believe it yourself. It's showing up for each other when there's nothing glamorous about it all.
You wouldn't change a thing about it.
"I'm happy, too," you admit quietly.
Olivia smiles as she steals a bit of watermelon. "Good. You deserve to be."
The room falls quiet for a moment as she helps you scoop all the fruit into different bowls.
"I was also," she says as she sets a bowl down, "wondering if the two of you have talked about…" She looks at you, wiggling her eyebrows. "You know."
You narrow your eyes at her. "We're barely married."
She scoffs, glancing down at the stone that glints off your finger. "I don't know anyone who's getting married twice."
You make a face at her.
"Besides, with the two of you, you never know."
"Oh, so that's how it is, huh?" You point a spoon at her. "What about you and Robby, then? How was the drive from the airport yesterday? Did you talk?"
She glares at you before lifting both hands in surrender. "Okay. Truce. You fight dirty."
"That's what I thought," you say, grinning smugly. You clap your hands as you look over the counter of finished drinks. "All done."
Olivia nods. "Just missing you, now."
You glance at your strawberry-patterned pyjamas. "I don't know—I feel like this screams 'Summer Barbeque' attire."
She huffs and grabs your arm to pull you with her. "You and Jack need to work on your jokes. He's been making the same ones all morning. We get it. It's not just a barbecue."
Through the open bedroom window, a muffled burst of laughter drifts in from outside. You don't say anything, but you notice the way Olivia's mouth pulls into a tiny smile at the sound of Robby.
She stands beside the chair she'd ordered you into, a makeup brush tucked between her fingers and an open eyeshadow palette balanced in her hand. She's already worked her magic on your hair, rearranging loose strands until every piece sits exactly where she wants it.
She sweeps a shimmer across your eyelids, tilting your head gently with her fingertips whenever she needs a better angle. It feels strangely familiar.
For a moment, you're back in college—sitting on her dorm room floor while she helped you get ready for parties. It's the same teasing, the same steady hands, the same feeling that she's got your back no matter what.
Twenty minutes later, she twists the lid back onto your lipstick. "Done," she says.
"Can I look?"
"Not yet." She steps over to her bag and returns with a pair of small blue pearl earrings. "Your something blue."
"Oh." You hadn't expected that. Warmth spreads through your chest as she helps you put them in. You catch her hand. "Thank you."
She just nods at you, then takes a step back. For several seconds, she just looks at you.
"Liv?"
Her smile wavers, and she blinks rapidly. "You look stunning." Her voice comes out softer than usual.
You swallow around the sudden tightness that has climbed up from your chest. Before either of you can get too emotional, she reaches for the dress hanging in the closet.
"C'mon. Let's get you into that dress before you make me cry."
You laugh softly as you step out of your pyjamas and into the dress. It's a white, flowy dress that you found a couple of weeks ago. It's simple enough that nobody would think twice about seeing you wear it to a summer barbecue, yet beautiful enough that it feels perfect for today. Olivia's fingers work quickly, tying the delicate bows on top of each shoulder before smoothing the fabric across your back.
When you look into her eyes, they're glistening. She blinks and smooths a wrinkle that isn't there.
"Hey, don't. You'll make me cry," you say.
"Don't you dare," she warns you. "I just spent ages doing your makeup."
"Well, you stop then," you argue, but your voice comes out hoarser than intended.
Olivia clears her throat and nods toward the mirror. "Go look."
You walk over to the full-length mirror. For a second, you just… stare. The woman looking back at you looks completely at peace. No pretending. No forcing a smile. She's just… happy.
Beside you, Olivia leans against the dresser.
"I…" You laugh softly, smoothing your hands down the fabric. "I actually look nice. Thank you."
She snorts. "Nice? You're drop-dead gorgeous."
You huff but don't disagree, turning to wrap your arms around her. She hugs you back just as tightly.
She lets you go after a moment. "Right. I should probably make myself look presentable." She nudges you toward the door. "Go make sure everything's ready outside."
"You sure?"
She nods. "I'll be out in a minute."
You step into the living room, heels clacking against the hardwood floor. The patio doors stand halfway open, carrying in bursts of conversation from outside as well as the scraping of chairs.
Just as you're about to head outside, the door slides fully open.
Jack steps into the house, a clean dish towel in one hand. He's changed into the navy polo you'd once casually mentioned brought out his hazel eyes.
He looks so handsome.
He takes one step, then looks up. Then he stops.
Completely.
The towel slips from his fingers onto the floor.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. His eyes travel over you slowly, lingering as though he's trying to memorise every detail.
Your smile turns shy. "Hi."
He doesn't answer. His throat works around a swallow. For a moment, he just looks at you.
"Jack?"
He blinks once, dragging a hand across his jaw. "…Hi."
You laugh softly. "Are you okay?"
He lets out a shaky breath, finally meeting your eyes. "I don't…" He shakes his head, sneaking another glance across your body. "I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful as you."
Heat blooms across your cheeks at the awe written so plainly across his face.
"You.." He laughs quietly to himself, still looking completely overwhelmed. "Sweetheart…" He shifts his weight uncertainly.
You close the distance. As your arms wrap over his shoulders, his hands find your waist automatically. "You really are trouble."
You grin. The nickname has followed you through almost every version of yourselves—colleagues, friends, something complicated in between, and now this.
Now love.
You lift a hand, brushing your thumb gently beneath one of his eyes. "Are you crying?"
He catches your hand, but instead of pulling it away, he presses it closer to his face. For a moment, you can see him considering a lie, but then a tear slips free and lands on your skin.
He closes his eyes. "…Maybe."
"Oh, honey." You laugh.
He laughs, too, and the sound is lighter than it usually is. He cups your face carefully, looking you deeply in the eye. "I can't believe you're mine."
You tilt your cheek into his hand, nuzzling closer. "Well, you'd better believe it soon, because I'm not going anywhere."
"Good." He kisses you softly. "I wouldn't be able to take it if you were."
Your lips part to answer, but Robby's voice booms through the open doors before you can.
"Abbot! Where should I put the chairs?"
Jack closes his eyes briefly. "…Give me ten seconds," he shouts back.
"You've already had ten!"
You giggle.
Jack sighs dramatically, but the smile gives him away. He presses one lingering kiss to your lips before he steps back. "I should probably go make sure he doesn't leave them all in one pile."
When he reaches the doors, he glances back, still grinning. Still looking at you with that expression that makes you feel like he can't quite believe you're standing there.
By the time you step back outside with the final tray of welcome drinks, the backyard is buzzing. Music drifts softly from the speakers, mixing with the chatter of half a dozen conversations. Coolers are already open, bottles clinking as people help themselves. The snack bowls are half empty, and the fruit platters already have generous gaps in them.
It's rare for healthcare workers to have time to eat without being interrupted, and judging by the speed the food is disappearing, everyone's making up for lost time.
"Oh, wow." Parker sidles up beside you, looking you up and down with an appreciative grin. "You clean up pretty well."
You laugh as you do a spin for her.
"Honestly," Trinity cuts in, reaching for a piece of watermelon. "Abbot better watch out. If he ever fumbles this, you let me know."
"Girl, get in line," Parker says, throwing her a sideways look.
You shake your head, laughing at them. You hand them both a drink.
Parker smiles. "What? I can't remember the last time I saw you out of scrubs. I'm allowed to appreciate it."
You hum, shrugging lightly. "Not that many chances to get all dressed up."
"I invited you out last week?" Trinity says.
"Okay," you concede. "Not that many days where I'm off and can get dressed up. Better?"
She scrunches her nose, but nods. Her gaze then drops to your hand where your engagement ring glints in the afternoon sunlight. She blinks. "Damn. Abbot's loaded."
You roll your eyes, but before you can answer her, Shen appears with a drink in hand. "I'm letting you know as a courtesy that I expect this to be a yearly tradition."
You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He shrugs, taking a sip. "Yeah. Good food. Good company, and nobody's calling me about a patient. Only thing missing is—"
"Coffee," Parker finishes with a groan.
"That's not what I was gonna say," he says, turning to her with an affronted look.
"Uh huh."
You smile as you watch them get into their usual bickering.
Before you can linger, someone catches your arm, and the next twenty minutes disappear in a blur.
A hug from a nurse you worked with in your surgical rotation. A quick conversation with one of your old pediatric attendings. A resident from the ICU stopping you just long enough to compliment your dress before getting distracted by someone calling their name.
The backyard feels impossibly full. Nurses, residents, attendings, people from departments you only crossed paths with during rotations—somehow they're all here now, laughing together like they've known each other for ages.
Most importantly, your people are spread all over the garden. Mel sits nearby with Frank, Dennis, Perlah and Princess, all waiting their turn to hold Donnie's baby. Dana stands near the grill with Robby, Jack and Lena. Lily catches you as she passes by with her boyfriend, squeezing your arm with a smile, before heading to the corner where the other nurses sit and chat.
Jack's friends from SWAT start arriving not long after. Introductions are fleeting but still warm, and Jack's face lights up as more of his teammates arrive.
Someone compliments the decorations. Someone else asks where you found the flowers. Two of Jack's teammates stop you to properly introduce themselves, explaining that they've heard so much about you. They also try to convince you to get Jack back on tasks, which he hasn't done since that day. You tell them politely that it's up to Jack, secretly grateful that he hasn't been back.
Somewhere between the drinks and the laughter and people filling the backyard, you realise how much bigger your life has become. From being the disappointment at home, the daughter that never could be enough, to being and working with people who think you're enough as you are.
For a moment, you just take it all in.
You catch Jack's eye as your gaze sweeps over the yard. He tilts his head, asking a silent question, and you nod. You walk steadily through the crowd toward him as he mutters something into Robby's ear.
Just as you step up onto the patio, Jack clinks his bottle, the clear ringing note carrying across the space. Conversations slowly begin to fade, heads turning to you. Jack's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close.
He clears his throat, his fingers tightening around your side for the briefest moment before relaxing again. "Thanks for coming, everyone. We know getting this many healthcare workers together on the same day is basically impossible. So…thank you for making it happen."
He takes a slightly deeper breath than usual as he glances around the yard. "Now, I know we called this our end-of-summer barbeque—"
You feel your heartbeat start to pick up. Jack's thumb strokes absentmindedly along your side, grounding you like he knows exactly what your nerves are doing.
"—but there was another reason we wanted everyone here."
Confused looks pass through the crowd.
"We've all heard the complaints," you say. "So…" You take a slow breath, a twinkle beginning to shine in your eye. "We figured we'd do something about it."
You can see Shen's frown deepening.
"We thought…maybe you'd all like to come to our wedding?"
For a moment, nobody reacts. Samira stares at you. Parker looks from you to Jack, then over at Dana, who's already smiling, clearly trying to figure out if everyone else knew something she didn't.
Trinity is the first to find her voice. "You're kidding."
And then it starts to click. The dress. The decorations. The way you and Jack had been acting about this 'party'. The realisation moves through the yard like a wave—then chaos erupts. It's a loud jumble of disbelief, laughter and cursing.
Shen is still trying to process what just happened. You catch Parker shaking her head at you, grinning wider than you've ever seen. Off to the side, Olivia is already recording the moment with a wide smile.
Robby steps forward beside the two of you after people begin to quiet down. He grins. "Shall we get to it?"
He gestures for people to move closer, and waits until everyone has settled, then he turns to look at you and Jack.
"So, I was one of the people complaining I didn't get to be there for the first wedding. I guess my nagging paid off because you asked me to officiate this one."
You smile.
Robby's smile softens. "I'm really glad you asked. But frankly, I would have been offended if you didn't—I've aged at least ten years because of you two."
"Okay." You hold up your hands as Robby laughs.
"It was worth it." He turns back to the crowd. "Because you two were always meant for each other."
"I've known Jack for a long time." He glances at him. "When I first met him, I honestly wasn't convinced anyone would ever be able to put up with him."
Jack glares at him.
Robby continues, nonetheless. "He works too much. Forgets to eat if no one reminds him. Also keeps insisting he doesn't need help when he very obviously does. Like earlier when he tried to carry seven ch—" Robby's voice catches as Jack puffs his shoulder.
Dana laughs loudly.
"Never mind." Robby's gaze shifts to you. "And then you came along." The teasing leaves his voice. "I've never seen him happier."
You glance at Jack. He's already looking at you.
"I've also never seen him so thoroughly outmatched."
Jack laughs.
"You keep him honest. You remind him to slow down. And somehow…" He smiles at you both. "…your craziness matches. You make each other better."
He turns back to you. "You were a pain in my ass when you were a resident. Headstrong. Unafraid. Always getting into trouble." He lifts a finger when your mouth opens to argue. "So damn argumentative. But you were also one of my best residents. So smart and brave. Always able to see things from a different perspective. We were lucky to have you."
You swallow.
"Now, Jack's the lucky one."
"Damn right," Jack murmurs.
Robby takes a slow breath. "So. Speaking as someone who's had a front-row seat to every stupid thing these two have done…" He looks from Jack to you. "I can't think of two people better suited for each other."
He lets the silence linger for a moment before clapping his hands together. "Right. I am, apparently, supposed to say something official." He reaches into his pocket and unfolds a piece of paper. "We're here today to join two people in matrimony—well, for the second time. We're here because marriage isn't just one day. It isn't just paperwork. It isn't even the vows you're about to hear."
He looks up. "It's every ordinary day that comes afterwards. It's the early mornings, the late nights, the takeaway dinners because you're too tired to cook. It's choosing each other over and over again. On the easy days, and especially on the hard days. Today isn't about starting your marriage. It's about celebrating it."
He folds the paper in half and slips it back into his pocket. "Now, I think that was enough from me." He looks between the two of you. "I believe you have something you'd like to say."
You nod and feel every gaze settle on you. Jack smiles, his eyes warm with reassurance.
You unfold your paper. "When we met…" You start, already laughing softly as you admit, "I tried really hard to find a reason not to like you."
Laughter sounds across the yard.
"But you just kept being nice and being ridiculously good at your job. And..." You glance at Jack as a grin spreads across your face. "Well...being really fucking hot."
Jack laughs.
"You've always been the person I looked for first. The person I wanted to tell things to. The person I wanted beside me after a difficult shift."
Your eyes don't leave his.
"I used to think love was supposed to be the big moments. The ones people write stories about." You shake your head gently. "I was wrong. It's coffee waiting for me when I wake up after a night shift. It's the way you always know when I need a hug before I ask for one."
A smile tugs at your lips.
"It's you pretending not to notice when I steal your hoodies. It's arguing over what to order for dinner, knowing we'll end up sharing anyway. It's coming home and knowing you're there. It's laughing until we can't breathe because one of us said something stupid. It's every ordinary day somehow becoming extraordinary because you're in it."
You crinkle the paper between your fingers. "When everyone talks about soulmates..." You swallow. "I don't think they're talking about someone who completes you. I think they're talking about someone who makes you feel yourself completely."
You bite your lip. "That's what you've given me. Somewhere I never have to be anyone but myself. Somewhere that feels like home."
Jack's jaw tightens, blinking a bit more rapidly than usual.
"I know our story hasn't been... conventional." A few guests smile knowingly, assuming you're talking about the elopement they'd all heard about. Only Robby and Olivia nod with a truly knowing smile.
"But if I had the chance to do it all again...I'd do it. No hesitation."
You hear someone sniffle behind you. It sounds suspiciously much like Lena.
"I promise..." You reach for Jack's hand. "…to keep choosing you. When life is easy and when it isn't. I'll remind you to eat lunch."
Robby chuckles.
"I promise to tell you when you're being stubborn."
Jack raises an eyebrow. "When am I ever—"
You squeeze his hand, sending him a look, and he drops it. You laugh softly before continuing.
"I promise to celebrate every victory with you and help carry every burden. I promise to keep laughing with you. To keep dancing with you in the kitchen. To keep making this house our home."
"And lastly..." You smile through the tears gathering in your eyes. "I promise I'll never stop feeling lucky that somehow...after everything..." Your voice catches. "...I get to call you my husband. "
Jack lets out a shaky laugh, squeezing your hand tightly. Tears drip down his face, but he makes no effort to hide it.
"How am I meant to go after that?" he jokes, wiping his face.
He reaches into his jacket and slowly unfolds his own piece of paper. "Well..." He chuckles softly. "I should probably start by admitting I liked you straight away."
Everyone laughs as he takes a moment to gather himself.
"When people ask how we met, I usually give them the short version." He glances at you. "The real version is a lot messier and involves a surprising amount of paperwork."
You huff a quiet laugh.
"I don't think either of us expected any of this. I definitely didn't expect to fall in love." His voice softens. "But then you kept showing up. Every shift. Every conversation. Every bad day."
He shrugs lightly. "And somewhere along the way... you became the person I wanted beside me for all of it."
He folds the paper and slips it back inside his pocket, then reaches out and grabs your hands. "I like to pretend I have everything under control. I push away the things I don't want to think about. You've seen me at my worst… and yet, you stayed."
The words hit you harder than you expect.
"You love me despite it. Because of it." His voice catches. "And I don't think you realise what a gift that has been."
Now, it's your turn to cry.
"I've never met anyone who gives so much of themselves to other people. You worry about everyone. You carry everyone. You'll stay an hour after your shift ends because someone needs help. You'll pretend you're not exhausted because you don't want anyone else to worry."
He gives your hands a gentle squeeze. "I wish you could see yourself the way everyone else does." He pauses. "The way I do."
A tear drops down. Jack reaches up automatically, brushing it away with his thumb.
"You make every place feel like home." He smiles. "I don't care where we live. This house. A tiny apartment. Somewhere halfway across the country. As long as you're there... I'm home."
Robby sniffles, trying to be discreet but failing.
Jack smiles without looking away from you. "I promise..." He takes a steadying breath. "...to keep choosing us. Even when life gets busy. Especially when life gets busy. I promise to never stop flirting with you."
"Yeah, no kidding," Parker mutters.
Jack ignores her. "I promise to keep making coffee for you every day, because you still don't know how to use the machine."
You laugh.
He grins back. "I promise to hold your hand every chance I get. I promise to dance with you in the kitchen...Even though I can't dance."
"You really can't," you whisper.
"I promise to remind you that you don't have to carry the world on your own. You've got me now, too." His eyes search yours. "And I promise..." His voice breaks, and he laughs at himself. "...I promise I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you've made me."
You can barely see him through your tears.
Silence settles over the yard once more. No one speaks. No one moves. Looking around, you can't find a single dry eye.
Jack leans forward just enough for only you to hear. "I love you."
You smile. "I love you, too."
Robby quietly clears his throat, wiping discreetly at one eye. "I think..." He glances toward Olivia. "...it's time for the rings."
Olivia steps forward from where she'd been standing beside Bridget, carrying a small velvet box in both hands. She stops in front of the two of you with a warm smile. "I've been told these are important."
She opens the box. Nestled inside are two simple wedding bands. Nothing extravagant. Just the two rings you'd chosen together months ago, now engraved with two dates. Your fingers brush over the tiny inscription before you lift one from the box.
The date of the convention. And today.
Jack takes the second from her.
Olivia closes the empty box before looking between the two of you. "I love you both." The words are quiet enough that only the three of you really hear them.
You step forward and hug her. "Thank you."
She kisses your cheek, squeezes your hand once, and quietly rejoins the others. You barely hear Robby through the rush in your ears.
All you take in is the feeling as Jack reaches for your left hand. The gold catches the late afternoon sunlight as he holds it just above your fingertips.
He looks up, waiting, as though silently asking one last time.
You answer with a smile and a nod. Always. He slides the ring onto your finger smoothly.
You slide the ring onto his finger with slightly shaky hands. Jack's fingers fold into yours. He looks elated, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at you,
You're married again.
The words "You may now kiss the bride" barely leave Robby's mouth before Jack surges forward.
For the next twenty minutes, you're fairly certain neither you nor Jack actually touch the ground. Applause, whistles and laughter erupt across the yard after the kiss. People talking over one another as they surge toward the two of you.
Dana reaches you first. She's crying before she even wraps her arms around you. "Oh, sweetheart."
You laugh into the hug. "I know."
"You sneaky little thing."
"We've been planning it for weeks."
She sighs. "I should've noticed."
"You really should have. You're losing your touch. "
"It won't happen again." She pulls back just enough to cup your face. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you."
"And your vows—" She stops, pressing her lips together as her eyes fill all over again. "You've built such a beautiful life."
"Oh no," you laugh. "Don't. You'll make me cry again."
"I'm trying."
You hug her again, feeling her laugh through the tears.
Parker is next. She shakes Jack's hand firmly before immediately pulling him into a hug anyway. "I'm happy for you."
"Thanks."
She steps back, looking between the two of you. "You've done well."
Jack glances at you, unable to hide his smile. "I know."
She rolls her eyes, but it quickly softens into a grin. "The dress should've tipped me off."
You beam at her.
Shen steps up beside Parker. "I knew."
Parker raises an eyebrow. "You absolutely did not."
"I suspected it."
"Yeah, yeah." You laugh. "You can't take credit for this one, too."
After that, the congratulations blur together. Trinity nearly squeezes the air out of your lungs. Lily's eyes are already shining before she even reaches you, mumbling heartfelt congratulations. Perlah and Princess both admit they're impressed you managed to keep such a huge secret.
You just shrug. If only they knew.
Beside you, Jack is surrounded by his SWAT teammates. They clap him on the shoulders, pull him into hugs, and give him enough grief that his laugh carries all the way across the yard.
The conversations begin blending together after that. Someone starts arguing over who cried first. Trinity insists it was Robby. Robby loudly denies it, but video evidence is quickly produced, and he ends up conceding.
At some point, Dennis ends up standing on a chair, trying to organise everyone into something resembling a group photo while at least three people completely ignore him.
You don't move straight away. Instead, you watch.
Dana is already fussing over the food despite repeatedly being told to sit down. Parker has somehow accumulated a drink and three different appetisers. Lena is laughing so hard she has to wipe at her eyes while Vivi quietly shakes her head beside her. Across the yard, Jack catches your eye and smiles, then turns back to the grill.
Olivia quietly slips beside you while Dennis is still unsuccessfully trying to direct traffic. She doesn't say anything at first. She simply loops her arm through yours. You lean your head briefly against hers.
You laugh. "I don't think this is how weddings normally go."
Olivia follows your gaze. "No." She pauses. "I think yours is better."
Ten minutes later, as you're scanning the coolers to make sure there's still enough drinks, your hip gets nudged softly. Jack stands beside you with a plate in his hand.
"Eat."
You narrow your eyes. "Is that an order?"
"It's a request." He pushes the plate into your hands. "You've had approximately one strawberry and half a glass of spritz all afternoon."
"You've been monitoring my food intake?"
He shrugs. "I'm married to you."
"So?"
"So I know exactly how easy it is for you to forget."
You smile despite yourself. "Well, what about you?"
He lifts the plate he'd been hiding behind his back. His brow lifts. "Gotcha."
You scrunch your nose at him.
His smile softens. He turns your hand over, his thumb brushing slowly across your wedding band. For a long moment he simply looks at it. "This feels different."
It does.
"Everyone was here." You hadn't realised how much it would mean to share this part of your story with them. You lean over and kiss him. "I love you."
"I love you." His forehead rests against yours for a second. The hiss of the grill interrupts you.
"You should probably save dinner."
Jack sighs. He starts walking backwards. "I'll be back." He disappears into the crowd, greeting someone who immediately claps him on the shoulder. Still, he glances back one more time to send you a smile.
Jack has just finished rescuing a couple of burger patties from Robby's questionable supervision when the two of them find themselves alone by the grill. Well…as alone as either of them can be with fifty or so people scattered around the yard.
He puts the final patties on and closes the lid of the grill, resting the spatula on the plate next to it. "Almost done."
Your laughter carries across the yard, and Jack turns toward it without thinking. He finds you standing with Olivia, both of you laughing loudly. He smiles at the sight.
Robby crosses his arms next to him and follows his gaze. "They're something else when they're together."
"Tell me about it." Jack nods. Most of last night had been spent screaming in excitement about the following day, catching up on the latest gossip, and, of course, teasing Jack.
He loves it when Olivia is in town.
Tearing his eyes away from you, he flips the lid to turn the patties. "I don't think today's really sunk in yet."
"No?"
He turns back to look at you. "I never imagined…" He shakes his head, pulling Robby into a hug. "Thanks, man. For everything."
Robby nods, clapping his back twice. "Of course."
Jack clears his throat and moves to flip the final patties onto a plate. He closes the valve, waits for the lines to clear and then turns off the knobs. When he turns back, he finds that Robby is still looking across the yard.
You're laughing at something Parker says as you steal a sip of Olivia's drink. A second later, you splutter dramatically, and Olivia doubles over laughing at your expression.
The corner of Robby's mouth lifts before he seems to realise he's smiling.
Folding his arms across his chest, Jack nudges Robby's shoulder lightly with his own. "Careful."
"What?" Robby asks, still watching.
"She'll catch you staring."
Robby tears his gaze away a little too quickly. "I'm not staring." He reaches for the tongs, unaware that Jack has already turned off the grill.
Jack just raises an eyebrow. "If you say so."
It takes all of five seconds before Robby's eyes drift back again. The tongs hang between his fingers, forgotten again.
Jack chuckles.
Robby huffs. "You're no better."
"She's my wife," Jack says, unable to hide his grin. He slides the burger buns onto a platter before glancing sideways at Robby. "What are you two?"
Robby's jaw twitches. "Shut up."
The evening slips by almost without you noticing. As the sun sinks lower, the warm string lights begin to glow around the garden, casting everything in a softer light.
One conversation melts into the next as music drifts through the yard. The last of the burgers has disappeared, and most of the dessert has already been devoured.
You duck into the kitchen in search of more ice.
"So this is where you're hiding."
You look over your shoulder, finding Robby leaned against the doorframe. He's got an empty stack of bowls in his hands.
"Jack put you on clean-up duty?" You sit down to rummage through the fridge.
"Volunteered." He shrugs, stepping toward the kitchen.
"Who are you and what have you done with Michael Robinavitch?" you gasp.
"Ha. Ha." He sets the bowls down.
You laugh, pulling open another drawer. "I think we're officially out."
"Good."
You glance back at him. "Good?"
He nods. "Means people are having a good time."
You guess he's right. You close the fridge, standing up to lean against the counter. Neither of you moves to go back outside just yet.
From here you can still hear the party through the open patio doors—bursts of laughter, the clink of glasses, and soft music.
Robby leans against the island opposite you. His brown eyes trail over your face. "You belong here."
You blink. "What?"
"With us." He gestures toward the yard where most of the Pitt is having fun. "You're family."
Your throat tightens. This is everything you'd wanted for years without quite believing you'd ever have it. Before you can find the words, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.
Robby stiffens for only a heartbeat before hugging you just as tightly. He's never been particularly comfortable with emotions, but he's always shown how much he cares in quieter ways—in the hours he gives his patients, the way he looks after his staff, the loyalty he shows the people he loves.
When you step away, he clears his throat and moves for the patio door. Without looking back, he says quietly, a smile in his voice, "See you at work on Monday."
There are orange streaks in the sky when Jack finds you standing by yourself. People aren't gathered in one big group anymore. Instead, they're scattered wherever there's room—chairs pulled together, people leaning against tables, conversations stretching lazily into the evening. Some have left for work, others heading home to get some sleep before their day shifts. It's everything you hoped for.
Santos is halfway through a story that has Princess and Perlah laughing loudly. Mel sits next to Dennis, whispering follow-up questions that he tries to answer. Shen and Parker sit off to the side watching it all with an amused smile.
A little further away, you spot Olivia sitting with one of Jack's SWAT friends. She's laughing at something he says, while Robby pretends hard not to look in their direction. He keeps failing.
"What's so funny?" Jack asks. He holds out a glass of water for you.
You accept it gratefully, and nod your head to the right.
He follows your gaze. "Ah."
"Yeah."
"That's not the first time he's been staring at her."
"Oh?"
He nods. "He thinks he's being subtle."
You look back toward Robby. "He really isn't."
Jack laughs. He turns to face you fully as the song drifting through the speakers changes into something slower.
The last of the sunlight catches in his hazel eyes, making the green seem brighter than usual. He holds out his hand. "Dance with me."
"Here?"
"Why not?"
"There's no dance floor," you say, but step closer to him anyway.
He glances down at the grass beneath his feet. "Looks good enough to me."
You laugh, letting him take your drink and set it aside. He draws you closer until one hand settles naturally at your waist. The other stays wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. It isn't really dancing. Just the two of you swaying beneath the lights, more interested in being close than keeping time.
"Was it everything you wanted?" you ask.
"Even better," he says.
You look at him. His thumb traces slow circles against your back while the two of you sway.
"I love you." You've lost count of how many times you've said that tonight.
He presses his forehead against yours. "I love you, too, sweetheart."
Neither of you notice when another couple joins you. Then a second, and a third. At some point, Olivia stands, walking over to Robby and offering him her hand. He looks surprised for half a second, hesitant for another, but then smiles and takes it.
Little pockets of slow dancing appear all over the yard.
"I love this," you say. Your hands settle at the back of his neck, your fingers disappearing into the soft grey curls there.
"The dancing?"
"The people." You look around. "All of them."
Jack lifts his head to look around, then he quietly kisses the top of your head and continues swaying with you.
At last, when all the dessert is gone and most of the coolers have been emptied, guests gradually trickle out until only you, Jack, Robby, and Olivia remain.
You're collecting trays into neat piles while Jack stacks chairs nearby. To your left, Olivia stuffs paper plates into a rubbish bag as Robby makes his way around the garden, gathering empty bottles.
She catches your eye, and you raise an eyebrow, nodding subtly towards Robby. She shakes her head, eyes narrowing immediately.
You fight back a smile.
Looking around, there's still so much to be done. Cushions scattered across the lawn, empty glasses on every flat surface and enough washing up to keep you busy until morning. However, instead of tackling it now, you turn to Jack.
"Let's save this for tomorrow."
His eyes hone in on the mischievous twinkle in your eye, and he catches on quickly when he spots Olivia's glare. A slow smile appears on his face. "Yes. That sounds like a plan."
He turns toward Robby. "Couch's yours." He grins. "I hope it doesn't take out your back like it did last time."
Bait set. Now, it was up to Olivia to take it.
You laugh quietly, tugging him toward the door before either of you burns from the heat of their glares. You're almost at the threshold when he pulls you back.
"Wait. I've got one wedding tradition I'd quite like to keep." Without another word, he bends, slips one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, and lifts you clean off the ground.
You yelp, immediately laughing as your arms wrap around his neck. "Jack!"
"What?"
"I can walk."
His lips turn up at the corners. "Despite everything, so can I."
Jack ducks through the patio doors without so much as a stumble, and continues until he's inside the bedroom. Once inside, he lowers you carefully onto your feet.
He looks at you, his eyes soft. "Hi, wife."
You smile so widely your cheeks ache. "Hi, husband."
He steps closer. You're not sure who moves first, but your lips meet in a gentle kiss. You tug him with you toward the bed, your fingers reaching under his shirt to pull it up. He obeys without hesitation, lifting his arms to help.
"I need to take off my leg, honey." He reminds you when you try to push him down on the bed.
You kiss his cheek. "Let me."
He sits on the edge of the bed. You roll up his trouser leg before carefully unfastening his prosthetic. Pressing a kiss to the skin just above the scar, you set it beside the bedside table. He makes quick work of his pants, tossing them somewhere across the room.
Then he pulls you up. You climb onto his lap, your thighs settling on either side of his.
"God, this dress…" he murmurs as he begins sliding the straps down. He kisses your shoulder softly, trailing down to your collarbone. His fingers brush against heated skin, goosebumps fluttering in their path.
He presses another soft kiss to the skin just above your boob before the fabric slowly falls down, revealing your chest to him. With one hand, he guides the other side to join the pooling fabric at your waist.
You push your chest toward him, and he takes the hint without teasing. His mouth closes around one nipple, tongue swirling before he sucks lightly.
"Feels so…" you moan, holding onto his shoulders.
"Yeah?" he hums, lifting his head to look at you. Your lips find his neck, trailing kisses up and down, before nibbling lightly at his earlobe.
He pulls back. "I'm losing my mind, sweetheart. No more teasing. Are you ready or do I need to—"
You grab his fingers and pull them under your dress. He groans when he feels how soaked you are. "Christ. Where's your underwear?"
You gesture at the ground. "Took it off when you weren't looking." You grind down on his cock, and his hips lift at the sensation. "I'm ready."
"You sure?" He looks into your eyes. "I don't mind."
Tired of his talking, you reach down to free his cock. His head falls back down onto the mattress when you glide it against your folds. Then you sink down.
The dress pools around your thighs, hiding the spot where he disappears into you, but the slick that sounds around the room is unmistakable.
Jack's eyes grow darker. "Jesus. How'd I get so lucky?"
You grin.
"I mean it," he says, his hands tightening their grip on your waist. He punctuates the following words with separate thrusts. "Luckiest. Man. Alive."
A hand reaches up to cup your boob while the other trails down under the dress. His thumb finds your clit easily, putting just the correct amount of pressure on it that gets you gasping.
It doesn't take long to send you over the edge. Jack tries to stay steady through it, but the tightening grip around his cock proves too hard to resist. He comes with a long groan, thrusting himself deep into you.
You collapse against his chest. Both of you take a moment to regain normal breathing, his hands brushing soft patterns across your back.
"I'll go get you a washcloth," he murmurs into your hair.
"Just one more minute." You nestle closer, burrowing into his heat.
"One." He relents, pressing a soft and content kiss into your hair.
The first thing you notice when you wake is the smell of coffee. Its rich scent entangling with the clean scent of the duvet sheets. You don't open your eyes, but stay there, wrapped in warmth as memories of last night wash over you.
Lights. Drinks. Jack. Vows. The ring.
You twirl it around your finger, smiling into your pillow. You got married to Jack.
Again.
But this time it was even better than last time. This time you both meant to. This time he chose you.
Married on purpose sounds a lot better than accidentally.
You hear the quiet scrape of the bedroom door being pushed open. The familiar shuffle of Jack's slightly uneven gait. The thump as something gets set down on the bedside table and the clunk of something placed on the floor.
Then the mattress dips beside you. A warm hand brushes your hair away from your face before a soft kiss meets your forehead.
"Morning, wife."
You finally open your eyes. "Morning, husband."
Jack grins at you. Sleep has left his soft grey curls sticking up in every direction.
You grin back. "You made breakfast."
"I did," he says. He settles fully down beside you. "How are you feeling?"
"A little hungover…" You glance around the room. Sunlight spills through the half-open curtains. Your dress hangs over the chair, Jack's trousers lie abandoned in the corner, and the empty ring box still rests on the dresser. "But very happy."
His hand brushes your shoulder. "Good."
You sit up, taking the cup he holds out for you. "You?"
He looks down at his coffee, then at you. "I couldn't be better."
"Yeah?"
He nods and reaches for your hand. His thumb traces slowly over your wedding band. "I meant what I said last night."
"About making me coffee every day?"
He laughs softly. "That too. But also about being lucky."
"Well. I guess we're both pretty lucky." You hold your cup up. "To us."
He clinks his cup against yours. "To us."
"And to forever." You clink your cup against his again. "Oh, and to—"
He pinches your chin with his free hand. "How about we workshop it before we try again?"
You nudge his shoulder, huffing. He just grins, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into his chest.
Oh my god 😭😭😭 this was so lovely and beautiful! The wedding was so sweet, they’re just so sweet! I’ll miss seeing them almost every week but I’m glad to hear they’ll live on in blurbs! This has genuinely been one of my favorite longer fics in a while, so thank you for creating such a wonderful story!!!
Ok wait Rome looks like glen powell a bit to me
I didn’t get to watch any preseason interviews or anything and only had a quick scroll through the tag beforehand, so here are my quick first impressions :)
Am I crazy or does Kamu look (and act) like Mac from always sunny in Philadelphia
NOOO JASON IN FIRST
Oh my god I completely forgot about Mickey, that’s so awful
As someone who feels Salina was recently robbed in her bracket of drag race, I simply have no choice but to root for Jason
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, fluff, smut
word count: 3.6k
a/n: the penultimate chapter ahhh. it won't be the end for trouble and jack, don't worry—we'll keep seeing them in blurbs/one shots! thank you all for still being here! it's been so much fun!! i appreciate you lots and LOVE reading your comments <33 i hope you enjoy! <33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
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Morning comes fast.
By E.R. standards, it had been a relatively slow night. The most exciting case was a drunk college girl who'd managed to snap her leg spectacularly after stumbling off a curb in six-inch heels. Beyond that, it had been the usual parade of forgotten medications, minor lacerations, kitchen burns, coughs, fevers, and people convinced that symptoms they'd ignored for weeks suddenly constituted an emergency at three in the morning.
Now day shift trickles in, filling the department with the scent of fresh coffee and half-awake greetings.
Jack's at the hub finishing the final comments on his last chart when a shadow falls across the counter. He looks up to find Robby, who jerks his head toward the elevator and leaves without saying anything else.
"Better get it over with," you say, logging off your computer.
He chuckles and follows your lead. "I guess. You'll wait in the car?"
You straighten and nudge his shoulder. "Mm. I'll probably call Olivia."
"Good idea," he says, standing. He catches your hand before you can walk away. "Good luck." He wishes he could lean in and kiss you, but you agreed on no PDA. Past him was a fool.
You squeeze his hand. "You too."
Jack waits until you've disappeared around the corner to the lockers before heading for the elevators. Five minutes later, the rooftop door swings shut behind him.
Robby's leaning against the railing, staring out across the waking city. He turns once he hears Jack's familiar stride, and a grin spreads across his face.
Jack groans as he steps beside him. "Just get it over with."
"What?" Robby asks. "The fact that I was right from the beginning? Or the fact that you should've listened to me ages ago? Or maybe"—he tilts his head—"the fact that this conference was exactly what you needed?"
Jack looks over at him. "You finished?"
Robby hums thoughtfully. "I could keep going—"
"Please don't."
"—but I do have a shift I need to get back to, so yes."
"Good."
Robby laughs and turns back to look out again. For a moment, neither of them says anything.
"I'm happy for you," Robby says.
Jack lets out a lighter breath than he would've managed a few weeks ago.
"She's good for you," Robby continues.
A smile tugs at the corner of Jack's mouth, his fingers curling loosely around the railing. "She is."
"You're good for her, too." Jack opens his mouth, but Robby continues before he can say anything. "Believe it or not, everyone else can see it."
Jack rolls his eyes.
"And if we've learned anything from this whole disaster, it's that you should trust my judgement."
Jack huffs a laugh but doesn't disagree. "It's weird."
"What is?"
He shrugs. "Getting something you'd already convinced yourself wasn't going to happen."
The teasing fades from Robby's expression, and he bumps his shoulder against Jack's. They stand there for another moment before Robby claps his shoulder. "I'd better get downstairs before they manage to burn down the place. I expect an invitation to dinner one of these days."
"Yeah, yeah." Jack waves him away.
Robby is halfway to the door when he calls after him. "Hey."
Robby turns.
"Thanks."
For a moment, Robby just looks at him. Then he dips his chin once before disappearing through the door.
Jack stays there for another five minutes, just breathing and watching the city. The hospital hums beneath him. Traffic slowly fills the street below.
For the first time in a long while, he lets himself enjoy the view before heading back inside.
With both your bag and Jack's grabbed, you head toward the parking lot, moving slower than usual as you try to summon the courage to call Olivia before you get there.
You've been avoiding her—to some extent—and you already know she isn't going to be happy about it.
So, you take small steps, unlock the car, and place the bags in the back before shuffling into the passenger seat.
It rings twice before she answers. She's at her kitchen table, staring at you with narrowed eyes. "Nice of you to finally talk to me."
You wince. "I know."
"You know?" she repeats. "That's all I get?"
You offer her a tentative smile.
She takes a bite of her bread, chewing while continuing to glare at you. Then her mouth twitches. "So?"
A large smile spreads across your face, and you nod.
She lets out a triumphant squeal. "I knew it! I fucking knew it!"
You laugh at her enthusiasm.
"This is the best news ever!"
You roll your eyes. "Okay, calm down. It's not that big a deal."
"Oh, it is."
"No, it isn't."
"It absolutely is," she says. "I've spent months watching you idiots ruin things for yourselves. It's finally over!"
You shake your head, but her glee is infectious.
"Tell me everything," she demands.
You tell her about the awkward car ride, meeting Jeremy and Warren, the fight, and making up. By the time you're done, Olivia's been grinning so hard her breakfast has gone cold.
"And then we..." you shrug, biting back a grin.
Her eyes widen. "No way! How was it?"
"So good."
Her jaw drops. "Yeah?"
You nod.
She leans back in her chair, looking thoroughly pleased. "Good. You deserve nothing less."
"Hey, I'm sorry for being such a mess these past months. You've been there through everything, and I'm so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you."
She waves you off. "No need to be sappy. You'd do the same."
"How's it looking on your end?"
She groans.
"What about Robby?"
"That wasn't really anything—just a kiss." She shrugs. "And I mean, I'm here, and he's in Pittsburgh, so..."
You suck your teeth in disappointment.
Her face sours. "Damn it."
"What?"
"I just remembered that I owe him twenty bucks. I thought Jack was going to confess first," she groans. "Should've trusted that my meddling skills were better than Robby's."
You laugh. "With betting like that, you're practically part of the Pitt crew already. Maybe you should consider moving? It solves two problems."
"Two?"
"Robby, of course," you grin, "and I don't have to miss you."
"Hm," she huffs. "Not sure about the first one..."
Movement catches your eyes before you can argue further. Jack's making his way across the parking lot, and without thinking, you sit up a little straighter.
"Oh, gross."
"Hey, be nice!" you chuckle. "Jack's coming."
"I gathered," she says. "Have fun. I'm expecting to be the godmother." She winks exaggeratedly.
"Love you." You roll your eyes and hit the end button.
Weeks slip by in that sweet, honeymoon-like bliss.
Surprisingly little has changed since you started properly dating. Jack still brings you breakfast, watches your terrible shows without complaints, and washes your scrubs. The only thing that's really changed is that he's finally shown you just how affectionate he is.
You wake up wrapped in his arms most mornings. He always seems to need a hand on you somewhere: your waist while you're cooking, your fingers while you're out walking, your ankle draped across his lap while you read on the couch.
Right now, though, his hands are firmly around your thighs, keeping them spread apart.
"Jack," you plead softly.
"What?" he hums, his voice warm with amusement as he deliberately lingers just out of reach. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh.
You let out a frustrated whine, wriggling your hips. His hold tightens, keeping you firmly in place.
He chuckles. "What do you want, sweet girl?" He brushes another kiss along the inside of your thigh, just a little higher than the one before. Then another, until his nose brushes the soaked pink fabric. "This?"
You shake your head.
"No?" He kisses the edge of your underwear, close enough that it sends a shiver up your spine. "Maybe this?"
You squirm again. "Jack, please."
He clicks his tongue, his dark gaze finding yours. "I know you can do better than that, sweetheart."
Heat creeps into your cheeks, your chest rising fast. His thumb brushes the corner of your underwear, staring at the wet material with a scorched gaze.
You gasp when he presses his thumb directly against your clit. "Please touch me."
"I already am," he says, amusement flickering across his face. His thumb leaves you again, stroking lazily across your hip instead.
You huff in annoyance, finally relenting. "Please touch my pussy."
"Oh, why didn't you just say that?" He grins. "With my fingers or my mouth?"
Head hazy with lust and impatience, all you say is: "Please."
Thankfully, Jack takes pity on you. He pulls the fabric aside, then descends on you. He licks broad stripes, groaning in appreciation when he gets your sweet taste on his tongue.
"Fuck. I'll never get sick of doing this."
You moan loudly, your fingers gripping his hair.
"You taste so good," he murmurs. "Doing so good for me."
He alternates between soft kisses, slow licks, and gentle sucks until the sensation becomes almost unbearable. All you can do is try to hold on, fingers gripping his hair, shoulders, arms—whatever you can get hold of.
It takes an embarrassingly short time for you to crash over the edge.
When you finally manage to climb back to yourself, Jack is looking up at you, his chin glistening and a thoroughly smug smile on his face.
"Better?"
You roll your eyes and swat his shoulder. His hand finds your chin as he crowds over you, pressing you into the mattress.
"I asked you a question."
You suck in a breath, staring into his eyes. "Yes."
"Good." He lets go of your chin and smirks when you push at his chest. He follows, letting you shove him down onto the bed. You swing a leg over him, and his hands find your waist automatically, helping situate you on top of him.
"Fuck," he swears as you sink down on him. Your mouth crashes into his as you slowly begin moving. Jack lets you set the pace for a moment before his hips snap up, setting a faster pace.
"Jack," you moan into his ear. His fingers grip your waist as he captures your mouth again. He comes with a drawn-out sound that reverberates in your chest. You let yourself sink against him, forehead resting against his shoulder.
His hands remain on your waist long after the moment has passed, thumbs absentmindedly stroking slow circles against your skin as the two of you catch your breath.
Neither of you says anything for a while. His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath you. Eventually, one of his hands slips up your back, his fingers combing gently through your hair. "Hey."
You smile into his shoulder. "Hey."
"Better?" he asks again, quieter this time.
You nod against him before lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes. "Much."
He grins, satisfied.
You trace lazy circles across the side of his arm. "You were incredibly annoying, though."
A laugh rumbles through his chest. "You complaining?"
You pinch his skin lightly. He catches your wrist, turning your hand over to press a kiss into your palm.
"You'll survive."
"I don't know," you sigh dramatically. "I may never recover."
He bites your hand lightly. "I'll take excellent care of you."
"Hm," you huff.
"I was planning on starting with water."
That earns him a genuine laugh. You lean down to kiss him again, slow and unhurried. He hums softly into the kiss. When you finally pull away, neither of you moves very far.
"I love you," he says softly.
You smile, brushing your nose against his. "I love you, too."
His arms tighten around your waist just a fraction before he sighs. "Now..." His eyebrows lift. "Go pee. I'll get you some water. Then we can cuddle again."
"Doctor's orders?"
"Absolutely."
You roll your eyes fondly as you climb off him, stealing one last quick kiss before you do. "I suppose I'd better listen to the professional."
He watches you climb off the bed with an unmistakably pleased expression. "You usually don't."
You glance back over your shoulder. "I make exceptions if my doctor's handsome."
"I think I'm gonna throw up." Parker slumps against the counter, staring blankly into the distance.
Shen spins around in his chair. "Maggots guy?"
"God, no." Parker's seen her fair share of disgusting things. Maggots don't even register anymore. "Abbot and Trouble in the supply room."
Lena snorts from her right. "Weren't you the one begging them to make up?"
"I was." Parker sighs. "But there are some things I never needed to witness."
Shen's eyebrows shoot up. "Hold on. They weren't...?"
"No!" Parker cuts him off before he can finish. She might need to bleach her eyes, but she's not letting that rumour start. "They were just making out."
"Oh." Lena pushes her glasses onto her head. "Then what's the problem?"
Parker just stares at her. "…His hand was on her ass."
There's a beat of silence before Lily, who's been quietly working at her computer, looks up. "I think you've been single for too long."
"I'm not that single."
"Not by choice," Shen says between obnoxiously loud slurps of his iced coffee.
Parker glares at him. "And I suppose you're drowning in admirers?"
He grins. "I don't kiss and tell."
"You don't kiss, period."
"Ouch." He clutches a hand to his chest, then grins as he takes another sip.
"The point," Parker continues, rubbing her temples, "is that I have to work with them. I don't want every room I walk into to be a potential traumatic experience."
"You're so dramatic," Lily says with a grin. She stands and gives Parker's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Hit me up if you want to come on a double date sometime. My boyfriend has some cute friends."
Parker groans.
"Just be grateful," Lena says. "At least they're happy."
"They can be happy," Parker mutters. "Just... preferably behind a locked door."
"Good luck telling Abbot that," Shen says.
Parker drops her forehead onto the counter with a muffled groan.
"What are you doing?" Jack pauses in the doorway to the guest bedroom, still in his scrubs.
You peek out from the closet, sending him a smile. "Thought I'd clear out this room. Get rid of some old stuff and move the rest into our closet."
He looks around. Half the shelves are empty, and there are piles of clothes on the bed. Textbooks cover most of the desk alongside notebooks, loose papers, and other things you'd shoved in the drawers weeks ago.
"I keep forgetting I have things in here," you say. "And it isn't my room anymore, so I'm making space for your stuff, too."
"You don't have to," he says, pressing a kiss to your head. You shrug, grabbing another piece of clothing.
Jack wanders over to the desk, picking up one of the medical textbooks. "Are you keeping these or giving them away?"
"I'll give them away after my oral boards." You throw a dress onto the bed. "I figured some of the residents could use them. Med school's expensive enough."
"That's kind."
You shrug and toss another item onto the bed.
Jack continues sorting through the clutter, smiling at old photographs and forgotten receipts before unfolding a document. "What's this?"
He knows exactly what it is. The divorce papers that had haunted him for weeks with your signature sitting dry at the bottom of the page.
You look over. "Oh."
For a moment, Jack says nothing. "I can put them back if—"
You walk over, take the papers from his hand, and tear them cleanly down the middle. Then again. You drop the pieces into the nearby trash bin.
Jack blinks. "You sure?"
You glance at the bin, then back at him. "I thought I'd gotten rid of it already." A small smile tugs at your lips. "I don't need it anymore."
You lean up to kiss his cheek before returning to the closet. "So," you say over your shoulder, "should I donate this sweater or keep it?"
Jack doesn't answer immediately. His eyes drift to the trash bin.
"Jack?"
He looks up. You stand in the middle of the room that had once been yours with things that will find their place elsewhere in your shared bedroom.
He lets out a slow breath. "Keep."
During the next few weeks, Jack can't stop thinking about the divorce papers or how easily you had ripped them apart. It takes a situation at work for him to realise why.
Cyclist vs. vehicle. A pelvic fracture and a head wound that needed immediate attention. You had both snapped into action, dividing the work between you and taking control of the trauma room.
"Dr. Abbot, here—" a new nurse had called out, and Jack's head had snapped up. But it wasn't him she was talking to—it was you. He'd seen the nurse's face flush, but you'd answered before he'd even finished turning toward you. There'd been no indication that it had bothered you at all.
You had just responded like it was your name.
It hit him a couple of hours later. You had shown him just how much you wanted him. He had to make it clear to you that he wanted the same.
Things hadn't been done right the first time. A glitch. Rings bought out of necessity. And that was that. No romance at all.
You deserve a proper proposal—a real wedding. Something you can actually tell the others about in detail instead of repeating the same brief lie you'd been telling for months: that it had been a simple affair, that he'd proposed at home.
Jack wants to make the story real.
He buys a ring. A simple but flashy one. Then he spends days waiting for the right moment.
The opportunity comes when he's sitting on the couch waiting to pick you up from work. The entire drive is spent in a nervous haze, the box pressing insistently against his thigh.
He makes coffee as you head for the shower, so his hands have something to do. As it brews, he straightens the sugar bowl, then the coffee tin, then realises he's already done it twice.
You pad down the hallway, dripping water onto the floor from your still-wet hair. "What are you doing?" You watch him with narrowed eyes as you turn to the cabinet.
"Nothing?"
You huff, but decide to let it go, standing on your tiptoes to grab a mug. "Do you wanna go sit outside and eat—" your sentence cuts off when you spin back around.
Jack's on his knee, keeping it steady despite his prosthetic. He holds out the box.
Your mug slips from your fingers onto the counter with a soft click. "Jack?"
A shaky breath leaves him which almost turns into a laugh.
"What are you doing?"
"I think you know."
A watery laugh escapes you. "Is this—? Are you—?"
"Yeah," he chuckles breathily. "So do I get to say my speech," he teases gently, "or are you going to interrupt me the whole time?"
You press a hand over your mouth and nod.
His fingers tremble slightly against the box. "I've been thinking about us. About how we started."
Your hand tightens over your mouth.
"I wouldn't change it. Not really. If that stupid glitch hadn't happened... if Robby hadn't been stuck at work that day..." He shakes his head. "I would've never been lucky enough to have you to come home to every night."
You blink rapidly.
"The best thing that ever happened to me started as an accident." His voice grows quieter. "But I don't want our story to be that we got married by accident. I want it to be that somewhere along the way, after lots of dumb decisions—"
You laugh softly.
"Somewhere along the way, we fell in love. I want you to know that I choose to be with you. I choose you. Every day. And I want you to know that."
A tear trails down your cheek.
"So... Sweetheart. Trouble." He laughs softly, shaking the box lightly. "Will you marry me?"
You drop to your knees in front of him, laughing and crying all at once as you throw your arms around his neck. "Yes!" The word comes out broken by tears. "Yes, of course, I'll marry you. Again."
Jack buries his face against your shoulder, his whole body shaking with relieved laughter.
You pull back just enough to look at him, your cheeks damp with tears and your smile somehow brighter than anything he's ever seen.
"The ring," you remind him softly.
He lets out another breathless laugh. "Right."
The velvet box is still in his hand. You hold out your left hand without him asking. It trembles. A laugh escapes you when you notice his hand isn't any steadier.
"I've had a stressful morning," he murmurs. Carefully, he takes your hand. His thumb brushes once across your knuckles before he slides the ring free from its box. This time, there isn't a clerk handing it to him.
Just the two of you.
He guides the ring onto your finger slowly. It slides into place perfectly.
You stare down at your hand, tilting it to catch the light. He stares, too.
It sits just above the first ring that made you husband and wife. This one doesn't replace it—it gives it the beginning it always deserved.
He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss against your knuckles before looking back up at you. "I love you," he says.
"I love you, too."
He chooses you. You choose him.
a/n: did anyone catch the pink fabric reference?? :DDD
OMG OMG! I have loved every second of this, even when they were making themselves miserable lol you’ve done such a great job at capturing every emotion! They’re so cute and while I’m sad to see the full story end, at least they’re cute right down to the last sentence, and at least we’ll have the occasional oneshots and blurbs to look forward to 💕
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? ⚕ 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧
summary: it's halloween, and you and jack show up in matching costumes without intending to.
tags: fluff
word count: 900+
a/n: the main D:M? storyline is not finished yet, but i need a little time off to write other things and figure out how to end the story in a way i'm satisfied with, so here's a little blurb written in the D:M? universe instead. it's set in the past before the main storyline begins but can also be read as a separate piece. hope you like it! <33 thank you to everyone who sent in costume ideas—there were so many i liked, but this ultimately felt like it fit trouble's character best :DD
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
"So..." Princess grins, leaning against the bar beside you. Her pink dress swishes around her ankles as she flicks a blonde curl over her shoulder. Dressed as Princess Peach, she looks exactly the part, while Perlah, dressed as Mario, has disappeared somewhere into the crowd—Halloween at its very finest. "Hard launching, huh? I like it. Very fitting for you."
You take a sip of your drink, the sweet and fruity liquid going down easy. "Huh?"
Princess's gaze shifts toward the entrance, and you follow it just in time to see Abbot step through the door.
Shit.
He's dressed simply in a navy shirt and dark jeans, with a peaked cap and a pair of handcuffs hanging from his belt. It's a low-effort costume by most standards, but it's still very clear what he is.
A police officer.
Unfortunately, he's also the other half to your costume—a robber.
Your costume had required considerably more effort than his. You're in a black-and-white striped dress, thigh-high socks and heels that had already started to hurt. And to make it even clearer, a little black mask covers half your face, while a cute bag of "money" sits on the counter beside you.
You immediately look away, hoping Princess didn't notice your gaze trailing over his body. "We didn't plan it," you tell her, taking another sip.
Her eyebrows rise sceptically, and then she smirks at you. "If you say so."
"We didn't." The fact that you repeat yourself only makes her smile wider.
"Sure," she shrugs. "But you still look cute together."
Before you can protest, her attention catches on something—or someone—across the room. "Ooh. I see something I like." She wiggles her fingers in a wave and disappears into the crowd.
You sigh and prop your chin in your hand. Sure, Abbot is attractive. That isn't exactly breaking news. That navy shirt should have been boring, but with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms and muscle stretching the fabric across his shoulders, it is anything but.
But attractive didn't mean compatible. Attractive didn't mean cute together. Attractive definitely didn't mean—
"A beer, please." His familiar voice cuts straight through your thoughts.
You glance up.
Abbot is standing beside you. "Is it that boring here?"
"What?"
He gestures toward your slumped posture. "You look miserable."
A laugh escapes you. "I'm not miserable. Just had a long day." You finish the last of your drink and slide the empty glass toward the bartender, asking for another. Then you narrow your eyes at him. "So. You decided to steal my costume idea?"
His mouth twitches. "Your costume idea?"
"Yeah."
"This is one of the most classic Halloween costumes in existence."
"I don't know," you say with a shrug. "Feels like you copied me."
"Considering I got here after you, that's a difficult accusation to defend against."
"You know, that sounds like an admission of guilt."
He huffs a laugh. The bartender sets his beer down, and he takes a sip before replying. "You sure you didn't get the wrong costume? You'd make a fine policewoman with the way you're questioning me."
You grin. "I'm sure I would, but," you lift the bag teasingly, "this is so much more fun."
His eyes meet yours over the rim of the bottle. "Not that fun if I catch you immediately."
"I'm faster than you think."
His gaze drops briefly to your heels, then back to your face. "In those?" he hums.
"Yes," you lean forward. "I could outrun you in these."
A laugh rumbles low in his chest.
"I could. Or I could just hide."
"Sure, sweetheart." He lifts his beer. "But I spotted you the second I walked in."
"How?"
He leans in slightly. "I know a repeat offender when I see one, Trouble." His gaze flicks over your costume as he shrugs. "And there's the whole outfit, I guess."
You snort despite yourself.
For a second, neither of you looks away. Heat creeps up your neck. You break eye contact first, reaching for your drink.
"So... Why did you choose to go as a cop?" you ask, twirling the straw between your fingers.
He sets the bottle down. "I didn't. It's Robby's costume, but he got stuck at work. Threatened me that if I didn't wear it, he wouldn't cover any of my shifts ever again."
The mention of Robby makes you frown. He'd been nearby when you'd discussed costumes with Princess and Perlah, but there was no way he'd heard the conversation from across the hub. And even if he had, the matching costumes had to be a coincidence.
You are not willing to consider the thought that Robby is crushing on you.
You are even less willing to examine what Abbot means by Robby covering for him—cause it almost sounds like Robby did it, so Abbot could be here tonight, but that can't be right.
Abbot nudges you, once again interrupting your thoughts. "I think it's clear who would wear it better, though."
Your stomach does something irritating. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"You're so full of yourself." You swat his shoulder.
The gesture has absolutely no effect. His arm barely shifts beneath your hand. "Who said I was talking about me?"
"Robby, really?"
"Or Robby." He looks at you expectantly.
His intention lands a second later.
Your breath catches. "Oh."
A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "But I do look good, right?"
You roll your eyes and lean back against the bar, fighting a smile. Unfortunately, the smile wins.
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? ⚕ 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭
summary: It's been a long shift for Jack—luckily, he has you waiting for him at home.
tags: fluff
word count: 800+
a/n: a little blurb written in the D:M? universe. it can be read as a separate piece but there are references (nightly singing :D) that won't make much sense if you haven't read the series. hope you like it! <33
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
Jack's tired.
It's been a long twelve hours in the Pitt, barely a second to sit down with one trauma rolling in after another. His leg started aching around hour five, and a dull headache started thrumming behind his eyes by hour eight.
The only thing that kept him moving was the thought of you waiting for him at home.
Through every exhausting hour of the night, he'd carried the image of you with him—your sleepy smile, the way his t-shirt would hang off one shoulder when you shifted beneath the blankets to make room for him.
He could almost feel it already: the warmth of the bed, the familiar weight of your head settling into the space between his shoulder and neck as if it had been made for you. Even half-asleep, your hand would find its way to his chest, your fingers tracing absent, comforting patterns against his skin.
It's all he's thinking about when he leaves the Pitt. It's all he's thinking about when he takes the fast way home, weaving through familiar streets with a tiredness settled deep in his bones. By the time he finally reaches his door and turns the key in the lock, he can almost feel it already.
It takes him a second to realise something's different.
The house isn't quiet like usual.
Jack hangs up his jacket to the sound of blaring music echoing down the hallway as a sweet smell drifts towards him. He slows when a softer voice joins in as he makes his way into the house.
It's yours.
Jack rounds the corner and leans against the doorway. From there, he can see you standing at the stove. You flip a pancake, then lift the spatula to your lips like a microphone, belting along completely unabashed.
His lips spread into a wide smile. For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stands there and watches.
You're swaying slightly to the music, completely unaware he's there. One of his old t-shirts hangs off one shoulder, and there's a faint dusting of flour across your cheek.
God, he loves you.
The song ends, and he finally starts clapping. "That was a nice performance," he grins. "Almost better than the nightly ones."
You let out a startled yelp, nearly launching the spatula across the kitchen. "Jesus. What the fuck, Jack?"
His laugh comes out tired but genuine as he pushes away from the doorway and crosses the room. "Sorry."
You glare at him over your shoulder. "No, you're not."
"No," he agrees.
Your glare lasts all of three seconds before he reaches you. His hands settle automatically on your waist, thumbs brushing back and forth over your shirt. The ache in his leg is still there. The headache, too. But being close to you makes both seem a little quieter.
He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You try to stay annoyed, but your mouth twitches. "You're home early," you mumble.
"Thank god, I was." He wraps both arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder. "Would've missed the concert."
You groan.
"Encore?" he asks.
"I'm charging you for that."
"No husband discount?"
"No husband discount."
"Hm." His nose brushes your cheek, then your jaw, before he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I don't mind paying full price."
You finally turn in his arms, one hand settling against his chest. Now that you're standing face-to-face, there's no hiding how exhausted he is.
Your expression softens immediately. "Long day?"
"The longest." His forehead drops against yours. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The music continues quietly in the background while you smooth a hand through the hair at the back of his neck.
His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, and he lets more of his weight settle against you, holding you a little closer. Your hips sway gently together.
He closes his eyes. Home. This is home.
Then you gasp. "Oh, no." You twist around. "My pancake."
Smoke curls up from the pan. He watches as you rescue what is now essentially a hockey puck. You stare at it. He stares at it.
"It's a little crispy," he offers.
"It's charcoal."
"I like charcoal."
You snort. "You are such a liar." Jack grins as you point the spatula at him. "Go shower. I need to focus."
"Bossy."
"Jack."
He steals one last kiss anyway, quick and warm, then another because you smile halfway through the first one.
"Go."
"Going." His hand slides across your hip as he passes, giving you a gentle squeeze.
Behind him, he hears you start singing again before he's even reached the hallway. His smile follows him all the way to the bathroom. It isn't what he'd spent the last twelve hours imagining.
Somehow, it's even better.
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐗𝐈 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, fluff
word count: 4.4k
a/n: thank you all for still being here! we're nearly at the end :(( but it's been so much fun!! i appreciate you lots and LOVE reading your comments <33 i hope you enjoy! <33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
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You wake to the sensation of soft kisses brushed against your skin—your forehead, your cheek, and your chin. It's the best sleep you've had in months, muscles warm and at ease. The feeling grows with each kiss as you're reminded of the fact that last night was real.
Jack loves you.
It wasn't just a vivid dream; the tender kisses he places on your skin confirm that. You're tempted to pretend to stay asleep just to enjoy more of this, but you instinctively scrunch your nose as his lips land on it, his scruff tickling you gently.
"Morning," he murmurs warmly, his voice husky with sleep, as he breathes against your cheek. You can feel his smile before your eyes fully open as he presses another soft kiss to your face.
Jack rests on one elbow, his hair tousled, with the soft morning light catching the strands that are more white than grey. God, he's handsome.
Yesterday, you might have convinced yourself that this look of adoration he’s giving you is just a figment of your imagination, but today, you know it’s real. He’s actually gazing at you like this, as if nothing else matters—not your messy morning hair nor yesterday’s mascara remnants around your eyes. He simply looks like he’s glad you’re here with him.
"Morning," you grin back, stifling a yawn into your hand.
His smile broadens. "Hi."
You chuckle softly. "Hi."
He keeps staring at you with a smile on his face. His other hand finds your waist, and your cheeks flush in response as he drags you closer. Although his touch isn’t new, the familiarity feels different now—seeing as you now know the intent behind it means what you want it to.
"What?" you ask, a bit self-conscious, rubbing your eyes in hopes of wiping away the stubborn mascara stains.
"Nothing," he shrugs, yet the grin on his face suggests otherwise.
"Jack." You pout at him and watch as his gaze drops down to your lips.
"I just..." he laughs lightly and shakes his head. "I can’t believe this is real."
You know exactly how he feels, and you hope he's able to see it in your eyes. If he doesn't, then you hope he feels it as your hand brushes through his wild strands. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, and when he opens them again, you’re convinced he does.
You both lock eyes for a moment before he leans forward. At the last moment, you turn your head, and his kiss lands on your cheek instead. He makes a comically disgruntled noise.
"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you lament, though unable to suppress your laughter at his pouty face.
"I don't care," Jack says, placing a kiss against your jaw.
"Jack," you giggle louder. "I’m serious. My breath stinks."
"I've wanted to do this for months," he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "A little morning breath won’t stop me. Honestly, you could have rotten teeth, and I’d still kiss you."
"Ew," you grimace, but he just laughs and plants another kiss at the corner of your mouth.
You debate it for a second, then your cringe morphs into a grin as you lean in, stealing a quick kiss from his lips.
When you pull back, Jack stares at you with wide eyes. You can see when realisation hits him; his eyes darken, and he leans in quickly, giving you no chance to dodge him again. His mouth meets yours, soft yet persistent, each kiss lingering a bit longer than the last. He swallows your giggles with his lips, but he can't help but laugh, too.
Eventually, he presses his forehead against yours, and you stay there for a little while, wrapped up in each other, letting the reality of last night fully settle. The room is quiet except for your breathing, and for the first time since yesterday, the silence feels comfortable.
"I missed waking up next to you," Jack confesses, his voice low in your ear.
You press a kiss to his cheek before resting your head against his shoulder. "Me too."
You breathe in, nose buried deep in the crook of his throat, and his arms tighten around you when he realises what you're doing—breathing in the scent that's purely him. You've never been able to do this freely, and it feels surreal to be able to be this close with no excuses needed.
The moment's broken when your alarm rings softly. Jack shifts to turn it off while still holding you close, and makes no move to let you go or get up.
"We need to get up," you say after a minute, trying to pull back.
"Says who?" he answers cheekily, pulling you in even closer.
"Check-out, for one," you reply, pushing gently against his chest. "And I’d like to shower before we have to sit in an enclosed space for two hours."
"What if I like the way you smell?" he says, and usually, your stomach would be fluttering at a sentence like that, but you know him too well—
"—Fritos are my favourite chips," he continues. His chest bounces a bit as you playfully swat him.
"Rude," you grin, and this time he allows you to slip out of his grasp. "And you’re a liar. I know your favourite isn’t Fritos."
"Says who?" he repeats with a grin as he watches you sit up. You move to the edge of the bed, and he sits up to be able to see you better.
"Says the several bags of Doritos in your cabinets," you counter with a raised eyebrow. You move to slide off the bed, but he catches your arm, pulling you back over to him.
"Ja-ack," you laugh as you land against his chest.
"Those are for Robby," Jack says, and before you can argue, his mouth captures yours again. He keeps you there for another five minutes before your alarm blares again.
"Fine," he concedes when you pull back again. "Just leave me all alone here."
You shuffle forward, but pause at the doorway to the bathroom, meeting his eyes with a mischievous smile. "You could always join me."
Jack freezes, and you can see him process the offer—the way his eyes darken and the slight swallow as his gaze trails over you.
"Or not," you shrug, stifling a grin as you turn away.
He's got his crutches in his hands before your sentence finishes.
The checkout line is ridiculously long, and under normal circumstances, you’d complain about it—after all, how hard can it be to hand over a keycard and walk out? But with Jack’s arm wrapped around your waist and soft kisses peppered onto your hairline, you just can’t find the energy to care.
Even as Jack offers to give you his car keys, so you can wait in the car, you shake your head. You want to stay close to him despite the line barely moving. The lobby is crowded, and it really makes no sense for both of you to be standing here. Still, after spending weeks keeping your distance, torturing yourself, the thought of being apart now feels absurd.
Jack doesn’t push the issue; he simply nods and pulls you closer again. You're plastered to his side for the ten minutes it takes before you finally reach the desk.
"Hey," a warm voice greets you just as Jack hands over the keycard. Jeremy stands off to the side, a bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.
"Hi," you respond with a smile, stepping out of the queue to approach him.
He returns your smile. "I’m glad I caught you—you left before I could tell you how nice it was to see you again yesterday."
"Oh, sorry about that," you start, embarrassment flaring at the reminder of your jealous outburst. "I had—"
"We had some stuff to do," Jack interjects, slipping an arm around your waist again. He gives Jeremy a tight smile.
"Oh, don't worry about it," Jeremy responds. "Warren was asking about you, but honestly, I’m not sure she even remembers anything now." He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I had to extend her hotel room for her—she got pretty wasted after you left. The ushers had to escort her to her room after she threw up in the plants in the hallway."
"What? Really?" Laughter bubbles out of you. "Well, that's very professional."
Jack squeezes your waist admonishingly but still huffs an amused breath.
Jeremy grins. "Anyway, it was great to see you again. You’ve really done well for yourself, Sleepy." He nods at you, then glances at Jack, offering him a nod as well.
"You too," you say, and you mean it. Jeremy was a great guy in med school, even if he wasn't the best at relationships back then, but you're sure he's grown up more. You certainly have.
You're more certain of what you want, more certain of what you deserve, and somehow, that has landed you with Jack.
"Maybe we'll see you around," you finish. Presby isn't that far from PTMC after all.
"Yeah, I hope so," Jeremy replies, pulling his sunglasses down. He smiles at you one last time before he walks off. "Get home safe."
Jack grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'yeah, I hope so' as he steers you towards the exit. He keeps a neutral face until you're outside, where it turns sullen. A laugh escapes you the moment you’re near the car, and away from prying eyes.
Jack narrows his eyes at you as he pops open the trunk. "What’s so funny?"
Another laugh leaves you. "You're just a silly, jealous man."
"I'm not silly," he replies immediately as he places your bags inside the trunk before shutting it again.
"That's the part you focus on?"
"I'm not jealous," he insists, crossing his arms.
You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not."
"Hey," you say, stepping closer. His arms drop the moment you gently press down on them. You curl your fingers into the front of his t-shirt. "You have nothing to be jealous of."
Jack huffs, staring at your hands.
"Jack."
His eyes lift to yours.
"I love you." The words still feel new in your mouth, but no less right.
His eyes search yours, still checking after everything revealed yesterday that you mean it. The tight line of his mouth softens when he finds a satisfying answer.
You draw him in closer. "Okay?"
"Okay." His hand slides to your cheek and you meet him halfway, your lips pressing together in a tender kiss.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he pulls back. "Let's go home."
Coming home feels strange.
Not in a bad way, but it feels different than it did when you left. The air has shifted inside, the furniture moved without being an inch out of place, and the smell is different, and yet everything is exactly the same.
Jack's sweater still hangs over the back of the dining room chair. Your blanket is still draped across the couch, unfolded in that way Jack always grumbles over, but never does anything about.
Everything feels new and somehow the exact same. The only different thing is you and Jack. There's finally nothing unspoken between you, with all cards on the table. No uncertainty, no wondering, no pretending.
There's still the question of what this means for you, but it doesn't feel pressing. It's just there in the background, waiting until the moment feels right. There's no rush to speak.
You're free to enjoy this moment for what it is. The pleasantness from the drive, where Jack spent the entire trip with his hand firmly planted on your thigh, carries into the house.
The bags get unpacked together, clothes thrown into the washer by four hands rather than two. You follow Jack to the bedroom when he puts the bags away; he follows you into the bathroom when you put your toiletries back. You make lunch together, hips nudging, shoulders brushing—a task that normally takes ten stretches into thirty because neither of you can stop talking and laughing.
He keeps looking at you like he still can't believe it's real. You can keep leaning in close to prove to him that it is.
The day settles eventually as you both curl up on the couch with books. The laundry tumbles quietly in the background as warm sunlight spills in through the living room windows.
You're leaning against his chest, reading, but more focused on the hand that's trailing slowly up and down your arm. Every so often, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the scruff on his jaw that's slightly longer than usual, the way he scrunches his nose at passages in his book, and how his face is relaxed in a way you haven't seen before.
As if sensing you, he glances over at you. His mouth immediately curves into a smile when he catches you swiftly looking away. He huffs a little cute sound, squeezing your shoulder.
You grin into your book, nudging his leg with your hand. You try to refocus on the pages, but it doesn't take long before you're blinking heavily. Without even really thinking about it, you slide down until your head is resting on his lap instead.
Jack's hand follows soundly, petting your head softly and lulling you to sleep.
By evening, neither of you has spent more than a few minutes apart.
Dinner comes and goes. The dishes get washed. The laundry gets folded. Around you, the house gradually darkens, shadows stretching across familiar rooms. You try to stay awake as long as possible, hoping to drag your sleeping schedule back toward something resembling normal before your next shift. By the seventh yawn in under a minute, Jack gives you a look.
"Okay," he says with an amused huff. "Time for bed."
You grumble half-heartedly but still let him steer you toward the bedroom. Blearily, you grab at clothes in the closet. Jack doesn't comment on the fact that you grab one of his shirts, just glances at it with a pleased smile before he heads into the bathroom.
When he's done, you brush past him in just his shirt and underwear that he can't see, biting back a smile at when he swallows harshly. You don't fight the grin once you're alone in the bathroom, letting the giddy feeling take over.
Your phone vibrates against the counter, just as you've put your toothbrush into your mouth.
>> Hello??? Are you alive?!
It's Olivia. Fuck. She's already texted you three times earlier today, and you'd ignored her, unsure of what to say that won't reveal everything immediately.
<< Yes
>> That's it??
<< Yes, I'm fine <3
You add the heart, toothbrush hanging loosely from your mouth as you try to act normal.
>> Uh huh. How did it go?
You can picture her narrowed eyes when you read it. Your thumbs hover over the screen for a minute, thinking of what to say.
<< It was fine. Nothing worth mentioning.
You can see her typing, deleting, then typing again several times.
>> And what about Jack?
<< He's fine, too.
You pause before adding:
<< We're fine. Things are okay again.
>> What does that mean??
You take too long to answer her, but her following text shows that it doesn't really matter anyway—she knows you too well.
>> oh😏
When you reemerge, you've decided to keep this to yourself until the morning. No need to reveal to Jack that the plan has failed immediately. This can still be just yours tonight.
He sits against the headboard, prosthetic off, and duvet covering his lap. He looks nervous. "Are you gonna—?" He gestures vaguely toward the empty side of the bed before clearing his throat. "I mean..."
The uncertainty in his voice surprises you. You'd just spent the entire day together, and he's unsure if you want to share the bed. It's kinda cute.
"Yeah," you say softly. "If that's okay?"
His answer comes fast. "Of course it's okay." He pauses. "I just didn't know if—" he shrugs, trailing off.
You climb into bed, into the arm that was waiting for you. You both sink down until your head settles against his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat.
You guess this is as good a moment as any other to finally have the conversation.
"I...uh—" you start. "I have the divorce papers printed on my desk."
Jack goes very still.
"I also still have that apartment viewing on Thursday." You stare at a loose thread on his shirt. "I know we've done this in a weird order. Getting married, moving in together, and then confessing."
You force out a laugh. "If you want to do this properly, we can."
The room goes quiet. Jack's arm tightens around you. "Properly?"
"You know." You shrug. "Dating. Separate places. Normal people stuff."
For a moment, he doesn't say anything; then, he says: "Do you want that?"
The question catches you off guard. You hesitate but answer truthfully. "No."
Jack lets out a breath. Just a small exhale that sounds suspiciously like relief. "Oh."
You lift your head. "Oh?"
Jack's mouth twitches. "I don't either." He rubs the back of his neck. "But I don't want you staying because you think you have to."
Your chest squeezes. "Jack."
"You've spent months trying to make decisions based on what you thought I wanted." His fingers trace idle patterns against your arm. "I'd rather know what you want."
You stare at him for a second. "I want to stay. I want to stay here."
His eyes soften immediately. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We don't have to rush to figure things out. I like having you here. We can't figure the rest out later."
"Yeah?"
"Mm," he hums, his grip tightening around you. "I slept like shit when you weren't here. I'd prefer not to do that again."
You huff a breath. "Me too."
Even though the apartment had been nicer than the others you'd looked at, you really didn't want to move. You're happy he feels the same as you do. Maybe it doesn't matter if you do this in an order that doesn't make the most sense—as long as it makes sense to you, that's all that matters.
The room quiets again until Jack speaks again. "Can I ask you something?"
Your chest tightens, but you still nod.
"Why Lily?"
You knew he was going to ask eventually, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing. You sigh into his chest. "That day—" you don't have to specify which, he already knows. "The way you ran inside looking terrified—"
You swallow. "And how you yelled at me after..." The memory of it still stings now, even after his countless apologies. "It was the difference in how you treated me and her."
"I'm sorry," he says again.
"I know."
"No." His voice is quiet. "I need you to understand what happened."
You lift your head enough to look at him.
"I got there seconds after—" His jaw tightens. "I barely managed to pull you away. I was already petrified when I heard the code being called. I could only imagine you—" he stops, breathing heavily. "...I can't explain what that felt like."
He continues, "When I realised it wasn't you, I was relieved. And then I felt guilty for being relieved because someone had still gotten hurt, but all I could think about was how happy I was that it wasn't you."
The confession lands heavily between you.
"I was scared out of my mind. Angry at the patient. Relieved that you weren't hurt. Guilty that I was relieved. All at once. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."
You squeeze his hand.
His eyes find yours. "It was never about Lily."
You believe him. Now, you do. But back then? Back then, you'd been drowning in uncertainty.
You shrug helplessly, revealing more of how you felt. "After that, I started noticing every little thing. The way you talked to her. The way she made you laugh."
"You make me laugh," he says firmly.
You roll your eyes at him, a slight smile tugging on your lips. "I think I was trying to make peace with losing you. If I wasn't the one for you, then she could be. She could be better for you. Kinder than me. Easier than me."
Jack's face falls. "Sweetheart..."
Your mouth twitches sadly, looking down at his shirt again.
"You genuinely thought that?"
You nod.
His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, lifting your gaze back to his. "Do you have any idea how much time I spent wishing you'd look at me the way I looked at you?" His thumb brushes across your skin. "It was always you."
You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. You sigh. "We wasted so much time."
"Yeah."
Moments stolen by fear and assumptions and bad timing. You think about every dinner that could have been a date. Every movie night spent pretending not to notice how close he sat. Every almost-confession. Every chance that slipped away.
But now, everything's finally out in the open. The conversation drifts after that. You talk about everything. The first dinner. The first kiss. The kiss cam. The bar. Every misunderstanding. Every moment one of you had walked away convinced the other didn't feel the same.
Sometimes you laugh until your stomach hurts. Sometimes you bury your face in a pillow because neither of you can believe how oblivious you've been. Sometimes there's silence while you mourn all the things that could have been.
By the time the conversation finally slows, pale morning light is spilling through the curtains. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but your chest feels lighter than it has in months.
You don't know what happens next.
You don't know what being married and newly confessed and hopelessly in love is supposed to look like. But for the first time, that uncertainty doesn't scare you. You'll figure it out together.
Beside you, Jack shifts closer beneath the blankets until there's barely any space left between you.
His lips brush your hair. "I love you."
You smile immediately. The confession still feels unreal. "I love you too."
The smile you feel against your forehead is warm and content. And wrapped in his arms, with the future still unwritten and endless possibilities stretching ahead of you, sleep finally finds you both.
The next evening finds you faster than you'd like.
As you step in through the door to the hospital, side by side, it reminds you of the first time you walked in carrying a secret on your shoulders—only this time, your shoulders are light, and your stomach is fluttering with happy jitters.
Somehow, you manage to make your way to the lockers without meeting anyone. With your bags dropped, you sneak a brief kiss against the door before you reenter the Pitt. Jack's hand brushes yours, your pinky catching his for a second, before you take a step apart.
You try to bite back the smile that threatens to break through. If you want this work, you need to stop acting like a lovestruck teenager. It's incredibly hard, though.
Robby stands at the hub, tablet in hand and a frown on his face.
"Rough day?" Jack says, clapping his back. He leans against the counter as you trail closer.
"Yeah... Good luck." Robby rubs his face, dropping the tablet on the counter. When his eyes open, they narrow in on the space between you and Jack—or rather the lack of it.
You shift to the side, trying to act nonchalant, but Robby's a hound. His eyes follow the movement immediately, nose twitching as he tries to sniff out everything you're trying to keep quiet.
"How was the conference?"
"Fine," Jack replies, glancing up at the board. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the counter.
"It was?" Robby raises an eyebrow, staring at him. Jack nods at him, shifting his gaze away quickly. Robby watches him for a moment, then turns to you.
"Mm," you nod, offering a tight smile. "The usual."
Robby stays silent, shifting his gaze from Jack to you, and then he grins widely. He chuckles, "If you so."
"Yeah," Jack nods with an awkward smile.
"Well, that's good." Robby keeps grinning as he pats the counter twice. "I'll see you later." He salutes you, still smiling, then walks off without any further questions.
You stare at his disappearing figure with a sense of dread. With a hand around Jack's wrist, you pull him into a quiet corner, hissing: "He knows."
Jack frowns. "How could he? We were acting normal."
You stare at him. "Normal? If you call 'you not looking at him at all' normal, then yes. Very normal."
"I did look at him."
"For two seconds. Normally, you don't look away at all," you counter.
Jack crosses his arms. "Well...You gave it away to Olivia."
"I didn't—I told her nothing."
"Exactly!" Jack points out. "That's not normal for you."
You stare at him with pinched eyebrows and then sigh. "...Yeah, okay. Maybe I did."
Jack sighs, too. "I guess I did, too." He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips as he leans closer. "But to be fair, I think we forgot that they've spent months dealing with our sorry asses. Of course, they know. They knew we were in love before we did."
"—Abbot, there you are! Stop hiding in corners with your missus—trauma incoming," Lena interrupts with a wink. She doesn't even look back as she disappears down the hallway.
Jack squeezes your hand briefly on the way out, sending you a soft smile. "See you on the other side."
You watch him disappear around the corner before you head after him. The familiar knot of anxiety never comes. For weeks, every shift had felt like walking a tightrope. Every glance from Jack had meant something, and every action had been dissected. Now, the uncertainty is gone.
The Pitt is still loud. Still chaotic. The same as it always was. It's you who is different.
Across the department, Jack glances back. Just for a second, but long enough to catch your eye. Long enough to smile, and then he's gone into a trauma room.
And for the first time in a very long time, you're looking forward to the shift ahead.
Omg! This was posted right when I sat down for my lunch break, and I finished reading right when it ended! I had to take several breaks to gush, but whatever lol I’m just so glad they’re having all the right conversations and are finally happy and openly in love 🥹
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐗 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, angst, 18+ smut, fluff
word count: 7.6k
a/n: thank you for waiting so patiently!! i hope you enjoy! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas already<33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
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The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland takes just over two hours. Two hours trapped in a car with Jack in awkward silence. The radio had murmured softly in the background, but the tension between you was almost palpable, thick enough to cut.
Neither of you talked. Neither of you hummed along when a good song came on. You both just stayed silent—your body angled toward the passenger window, where you were still able to catch glimpses of Jack's fingers tightening periodically around the steering wheel.
The only words he managed to squeeze out during the entire ride were when you bent back to grab your bag from the backseat.
"Don't."
You'd frozen mid-motion.
"Sit up straight—you're gonna hurt yourself." His eyes had flickered to yours in the rearview mirror briefly, and you'd been so flustered that you hadn't even argued that your ribs barely hurt anymore. And when he'd stopped at the next red light and reached back for it himself, you'd only muttered a soft "thanks".
That marked the extent of your exchanges—practical concerns that felt so distant they barely registered.
But you're fine now—mostly. Enough to have moved back to your own room after Robby dropped this on you. Enough that you’ve decided it’s time to set Jack free. After this conference wraps up, you plan to present him with the divorce papers sitting neatly on your desk, just waiting for his signature.
One pen stroke and then he'd be free. Free to stop pretending. Free from this cage you've trapped him in.
The parking lot is already bustling with people when you pull in. Jack is out of the car before you can get your seatbelt off, popping open the trunk and grabbing both of your bags with ease.
"I can carry—" you start to say.
"I've got it," he cuts in, already walking toward the entrance.
You press your lips together, then follow him.
The conference is held at a hotel, the kind with huge glass doors, marble floors and chandeliers swinging above. Just another reminder of how the administration pours money into superficial perks rather than addressing the hospitals' actual needs.
Jack jerks his head toward a cosy seating area near the entrance, where plush couches surround coffee tables stacked with books. "Sit."
You don’t get the chance to protest or even offer to take the bags before he strides off to reception, both bags shifted comfortably into one hand. You can’t help but admire the flex of his forearm before shaking yourself back to reality.
With a quiet sigh, you sink into one of the cushions. You'd expected this weekend to hurt, but seeing just how annoyed he is that he has to be here with you hurts worse than you thought. Flicking through one of the coffee table books, you try to distract yourself while Olivia’s words echo in your mind: You’re reading this all wrong. I promise, just tell him how you feel.
Promises feel meaningless when faced with cold, hard facts.
"Let's go." Jack stops in front of you, watchful as you rise. You try to hide the slight wince when you do, but judging by the way his brows furrow, he notices. His hand reaches out, but he draws it back immediately.
He trails behind you to the elevators, and you step in with a few other people. He pushes the button for your floor, and then the silence continues. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of his tensed shoulders and the rigidity in his jaw.
It's the longest elevator ride of your life.
Jack sets off the second the doors open, leading you to a door where he swipes the key card hard. He steps inside, placing it in the power slot and the light flickers on.
You linger hesitantly by the door, confused as to why he hasn’t handed you your bag or the key card. "Is this mine or yours?" you ask.
Jack sighs, his back turned to you. "It's...ours."
"Oh." You're glad he isn't looking at you, or he would have seen your face fall. Yet another way you've made this weekend hell for him.
Robby had said to just show up to the reception and tell them your names—that the hospital had taken care of it—but something must have gone wrong. You know better than anyone how their systems can't be trusted.
Jack exhales sharply, dropping your bags onto the desk before turning to face you. "We're still married in the system, so they must've auto-booked us together," he explains, his voice tight.
"Oh." That’s all you manage to say again as you step fully into the room, closing the door behind you and taking in the surroundings: a desk, a closet, a bathroom, and a single bed. Great.
"I tried changing it," he says quickly, "but they're fully booked."
You nod, trying not to show him just how much that hurts to hear. Of course, he tried to change it. Of course, he doesn’t want to share a room with you.
Two more days and he's free.
Your gaze drifts helplessly back to the bed.
"I can sleep on the floor," he offers, clearing his throat.
"What?"
He shrugs stiffly.
"You don’t have to sleep on the floor." You frown. Were another few nights really that horrible that he'd prefer sleeping there? You bite your lip, stepping into the bathroom pretending to inspect it, but mostly to not see his face as you say, "It's fine. What's two more nights?"
Jack's silent for a moment, and you almost don't hear his "okay" over the sound of your heart cracking.
The first day at the conference passes by faster than Jack expects. A good thing, even if it does feel slightly bittersweet. Time alone with you is all he's wanted for months, but now that he has it, he doesn't know what to do with it.
Not when you've made it clear this past week that you want nothing to do with him. You've moved back to your own bed, and the hospital had forced you right back into sharing again—just like it had forced you into this whole thing in the first place.
Jack knows the end is near, and he's trying to give you space. But he can't help being pulled in by you—watching as you listen carefully to demonstrations, his hands hovering near you to keep the crowd from jostling your ribs.
Normally, he’s not a fan of this part of the conferences: the chaos, the noise, the sales reps tripping over each other to pitch their latest gadgets.
Today, he leans into it. He lets himself get trapped in twenty-minute demonstrations he doesn't care about. He asks unnecessary questions, picks up brochures he knows he won’t read, and lingers at displays his hospital would never consider—anything to keep his mind occupied and avoid fixating on you. Your sweet perfume still wraps around him, your accidental brushes against him still make his skin flush, and his heart still races whenever you glance his way.
And despite this distance between you, you're still looking out for him. You still notice how he subtly shifts to put more weight on his good leg, and even when he'd told you he was fine, intending to soldier on, it had only taken a stern glare from you for him to relent.
The foolish part of his heart can't help but hope that it means something more—that the way you look at him means more than it probably does. He's probably just seeing the reflection of his own hurt in your eyes because he knows you've been searching for a way out—bringing up getting a divorce, looking at apartments and distancing yourself again.
The way you'd reacted when he told you that you had to share a bed again only solidified it. So, even if it's the last thing he wants to do, he does his best to keep his distance like you want him to.
By dinner, though, the distance is harder to maintain when walking into the stupid hotel restaurant feels dangerously close to a date. The lighting is low and warm, reflections dancing off polished glasses as the waiter leads you to a four-person table.
He's trying not to stare at you or the lipstick you'd put on before leaving, but he's failing. His gaze keeps drifting to the soft curve of your cupid's bow and the way you nibble on your lower lip. When he forces himself to look away, it's only to trace the marks you left on your glass.
You both attempt awkward small talk about the conference, which feels like the safest topic, and his heart lifts a little when you laugh at his reminder of the sales rep who actually fell over in his eagerness to speak with you.
You twirl the stem of your glass, and he traces condensation around the rim of his glass when silence falls over the table again. Now and then, your eyes meet before darting away again.
It hurts that this is what it's come to. Jack still remembers the first time you went to dinner, back when this whole thing had just begun, and how gorgeous you had looked that night. The way you had smiled when he'd brought your flowers, how you had teased him all night—how much fun the two of you had had.
This couldn't be farther from that.
Just as he’s about to say something—anything—to reach out to you again, a shadow falls over the table.
"Excuse me, sir? Ma’am?" The waiter stands there looking at you both apologetically. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind sharing your table? We're fully booked, and I was told you know each other—"
Jack is prepared to say no, doesn't want people he supposedly knows to witness this, or to ruin his attempt at salvaging it, but before he can speak, a bright and jarring voice cuts in.
"Jack!"
His stomach drops as he recognises the voice, and he has to stop himself from grimacing. "Dr. Warren," he responds with a forced smile.
"Oh, Jack won’t mind," she chimes in cheerfully to the waiter before he can protest. Then her tone turns sugary sweet as she looks at him again. "Right?"
She's set him up perfectly, making it impossible to refuse her without causing a scene. He glances over at you, noticing how you're staring down at your plate, and with a resigned shake of his head, he replies, "Of course not."
Warren breezes past the waiter and pulls out the chair next to Jack. "Sit down, Turner."
Jack hadn’t even noticed the man until now. He’s tall with dark hair, young, and looking vaguely uncomfortable as he flashes Jack an apologetic smile before taking a seat next to you.
"Sorry to intrude on your dinner. I'm Jeremy," Turner says. Jack watches as you look up to greet him and sees both of your faces shift from confusion to recognition. "Wait—"
"Jeremy?"
"Is that you, Sleepy?" His face breaks into a stupid grin. Jack hates him instantly—mostly for the nickname but also for the way he manages to make you smile.
"Oh my god, don't call me that!" you groan, covering your face briefly.
Warren leans back into her chair, watching the exchange with curious eyes. Meanwhile, Jack feels a wave of nausea wash over him.
Turner leans in, bumping his shoulder against yours, and Jack has to grip his glass tighter to prevent himself from commenting on it. Why is he sitting that close? Why are you letting him?
"Wow, you look exactly the same! How long has it been—five, six years?"
"Something like that," you nod, then huff softly. "But I think my eye bags have definitely worsened since then."
"Ah," Turner chuckles. "Still living up to your nickname then, I see."
You glare at him, and he only smiles wider. And Jack—
He wants this man dead. Not literally—or well, not mostly. But when was the last time you'd laughed like that with him? When was the last time you looked at him like that? He'd thought Warren was going to be the worst part of this dinner, but Turner is quickly taking first place.
"So, how have you been—" Warren starts, turning her body toward Jack, attempting to start a conversation between just the two of them.
But Jack doesn't care. He cuts her off, "You two know each other?" He tries to sound casual as he looks at you, but he can feel his jaw tense up.
Warren frowns as Jack speaks over her, but all he sees is Turner, glowing at you.
"Yeah, we met in med school."
"Oh, how fun!" Warren chimes in. She turns to Jack again. "Jeremy just started at Presby—he's our newest attending."
Jack still isn't looking at her, only seeing the way you smile warmly at Turner as you congratulate him.
"Did you manage to keep that attending offer at PTMC?" Warren asks you with a pointed smile, and Jack notices your brow furrow slightly before you answer.
"I did."
"She's doing amazing," Jack offers, finally looking at Warren. "Still the best-performing doctor we have."
"Oh wow!" Turner says, and Jack can see you flush, tucking a hair behind your ear.
You deftly steer the conversation into general hospital topics, easily falling back into a rhythm with Turner. You share stories from med school and let inside jokes slip, leaving Jack to simmer quietly.
And while that's going on, Warren keeps shifting her chair closer to him. Her knee brushes against his, her hands keep squeezing his arm as she tries to sequester him into a separate conversation. He's pushed his chair as far away as he can to try and avoid her touch.
"I never thought I'd see you at one of these things again," she says lightly, taking a bite of her salad.
"No," he replies, taking a sip of his wine.
Warren's silent for a second, watching him. She's definitely clocked the weirdness between you. "You're more than welcome to come to Presby anytime you want," she says, then adds, "I’d love to show you around." The implication is clear as daylight, and Jack is stunned by her audacity.
Even if she feels the weirdness, the fact that she feels it appropriate to come onto him in front of you—his wife—is astonishing. He notices your shoulders tense slightly, but he convinces himself he’s imagining it because you’re still laughing with Turner.
"Oh, I've already been there."
Warren just shrugs, spearing another piece of salad with her fork, smiling at him with a knowing look. "Things might have changed."
Evidently satisfied with that, she turns to Turner and you. "So, how close were you two back in med school?"
Jack stills, his attention honing in on you and the way your eyes widen slightly.
"Uh—"
"We dated," Turner says.
Jack's vision blurs and the noise of the restaurant dulls as blood rushes in his ears.
"Briefly," you add immediately, glancing over at Jack before dropping your gaze again. "For like two weeks."
"Still broke my heart," Turner says dramatically.
You roll your eyes. "You dated Tiffany literally less than a week after."
Turner shrugs with a grin, and Jack can't decide which is worse—knowing he once dated you, that he didn’t value you enough to keep you, or that he so easily replaced you.
You laugh, and it doesn't look like you care that much about it, but Jack can't help the ugly feeling that curls in his stomach.
"You still out there breaking hearts?" Turner asks.
"She's my wife." Jack doesn't hesitate, wanting to lay his claim even if he doesn't have the right to.
Turner's expression shifts to one of surprise, followed by a wide smile. "Oh wow. Congrats!"
He sounds genuine, which somehow only makes Jack hate him even more.
"You must be real special if Sleepy decided to settle down."
You offer a tight smile, taking a long sip of your drink as Jack follows suit. Unable to stop himself, he asks, "So, what's up with the nickname?"
Turner bursts into laughter, while you groan and point a finger at him, "Don't."
"She fell asleep in a lecture once," he says, clearly enjoying the moment.
Warren laughs loudly and mutters with a smile, "That's not very professional."
Your expression tightens, but Turner either didn't hear or just chose to ignore it, as he continues, "Our professor actually stopped class to call her out."
"I was exhausted," you defend yourself.
"You also used to fall asleep during study sessions."
"It's not my fault that you guys insisted on studying until like three in the morning," you retort.
"Good thing that's over then," Jack comments.
You look over at him, surprised. "...Yeah," you say softly.
For the first time all night, it feels like it's just the two of you again.
Until Warren smiles cloyingly at you. "A good doctor never stops studying."
"Of course," you smile, letting your gaze drop down to your plate again.
Later, after awkward goodbyes and forced smiles, you and Jack retreat back to your hotel room. There's a sharp bitterness settling in your mouth, your stomach churning after having to watch Warren flirt—blatantly, in your eyes—with Jack, and him not doing anything about it.
He could at least have some decency to wait until you're not there. You're not even going to comment on her and how disrespectful she was. All you can focus on is the anger that simmers under your skin as you brush your teeth. The rush of frustration drowns out everything else as you wash your face, your breath uneven as you change into your pyjamas.
The only thing that had gotten you through that dinner was seeing Jeremy again—he'd been the perfect distraction, keeping your attention on him with tales from med school. But you'd still noticed how Warren kept touching Jack and how pointed her comments were when she did speak to you.
When you step out of the bathroom again, after taking a few deep breaths, you find Jack sitting on the edge of the bed in sweats and a t-shirt, glasses low on his nose as he scrolls through his phone.
You look away before it can stir something in your chest. "I'm done," you tell him as you slip under the covers, turning your back on him.
By the time he comes back, you've dimmed the lights except for the lamp on his side. You listen as he removes his prosthetic, the soft sound of cream squishing as he gently massages his leg. Part of you wants to help him, but you hesitate, unsure if he would welcome it.
You stay still as he slides under the covers and turns off the lamp. You wonder what he's thinking of—if he's relieved the first day is over or if he wishes he were here with Lily instead.
A minute passes, then another, only the sounds of your breathing filling the room. Out in the hallway, you can hear muted footsteps, quiet laughter and then—
A loud sound tears through the wall. A moan, to be more specific. Long, dramatic and almost definitely fake.
Your eyes widen as another sound permeates the wall, somehow even louder the second time. It continues in a flurry of noises.
"Oh my god," you whisper.
Jack lets out a short laugh through his nose. A smile tugs at your lips at that sound. You haven't heard him laugh in forever when it was just the two of you. Without thinking, you ask, "Do you think he knows?"
Another moan echoes, and Jack snorts. "No."
You laugh quietly into your pillow. "Poor man."
Jack huffs another soft laugh. "Poor woman, more like."
You glance at him, turning around without really meaning to. "What?"
He shifts, too, his body turning toward you. "If she feels the need to fake it like that," he nods toward the wall, "then she clearly hasn't been with men who know how to make a woman feel good."
"Oh, and you do?" Your voice is light, teasing him like these past weeks haven't happened. You freeze the second you register it.
Jack stills next to you.
Heat floods your face immediately. "Oh my god, forget I said that." You turn around quickly, pulling the blanket up to your chin as if it can cool the flush that's travelling upwards. It sounded like you were challenging him, like you were asking him to—
You squeeze your eyes shut.
The mattress shifts slightly behind you as Jack exhales softly. "You know," he says after a moment, "I'd like to think I'd figure it out."
"You do not have to answer that," you squeak. "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."
He chuckles quietly, and after a moment of silence, he replies, "Goodnight, Trouble."
He doesn't like you crossed a line or like you've annoyed him—he sounds...gentle. You pretend not to notice the way he puts pressure on your nickname.
"...Goodnight, Jack."
Nothing from the second day really sticks in your memory. You sit through lectures, take notes, nod at the appropriate moments, but your brain keeps snagging on the same thing—over and over again.
How you woke up wrapped in Jack's arms. How warm he was, the weight of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your neck, and—
God.
The feel of his cock against your ass. How, when you'd shifted, still half asleep, it had twitched against you.
You'd tried to ignore it all day. It wasn't on purpose—just biology—but your mind keeps trying to spin it. The cold shower you took was not enough to keep the flush away throughout the day.
Jack's acting like it didn't happen. Like he hadn't nearly jumped off the bed when he woke up and noticed it. That still hurts to think about.
The warm feeling immediately turns sour when you remember that—a feeling that only worsens when Warren and Jeremy run into you after the celebratory dinner is over and the room has been turned into a dance floor.
Warren barely even acknowledges you as she sidles up to Jack. You hate how she speaks to him, hate how you can't help noticing how she stands close to him, how she laughs when he jokes, how she keeps touching him.
Jack doesn't seem to mind, and it makes you wonder briefly if you've been wrong about Lily—that it wasn't necessarily her, it was just anyone but you.
Jeremy tries to keep a conversation going with you, but even he sees it. His eyes keep glancing from the way you glare down at your champagne flute to the way Warren is laughing. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile that asks if you're okay. You nod your head and force a smile back. You don’t need him to intervene; if Jack wanted to, he would.
He doesn't.
A sudden squeal from the microphone interrupts the chatter. "If there are any couples here tonight—or anyone hoping to be in one—head to the dance floor!"
Laughter ripples through the room as soft music begins playing.
You press your lips together, staring down at your drink. You plan to stay where you are.
"Wanna go—" Warren begins, and your chest aches. You can't stay here if he dances with her.
But Jack stays still, too, only to then reach his outstretched hand into your field of vision. "May I?"
You look up at him, surprised, but then realise it's just for show. Married couples dance. He can't exactly go off with Warren when there are people here whom you know. One last time pretending can't hurt, so you place your hand in his.
He leads you out onto the crowded dance floor and places a hand at your waist. The two of you step awkwardly, but somewhere between the music and the closeness, it stops. Your body remembers the shape of him, the rhythm, the ease of existing near him.
Your arms wrap around his neck, and the two of you sway gently. For the first time during this trip, you actually look at him. The lighting catches the green flecks in his eyes, his gaze locked on yours.
Your mouth goes dry, and you nervously bite your lip, almost willing to swear that his gaze drops down to it. Heat rushes up your neck.
You lean in closer, and he mirrors your movement.
"Can I—" he begins, and for a foolish second, you think he might kiss you. Then the room erupts into loud claps as the song ends, and your eyes snap open. You take a quick step back.
"I—I'll be right back," you stammer.
Jack frowns. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you nod quickly. "Just need to...pee!" You rush off before he can say anything else.
The bathroom is too bright and too quiet, though you're thankful no one is here to watch your spiral. You grip the sink tightly, exhaling harshly.
You need to get your shit together. Remember that this doesn't mean anything. It's a performance—he doesn't want you. No matter how much you can't help but keep hoping, even after the hallway, that he does.
You stay in there longer than you should. Splash water on your wrists, fix your lipstick, and try not to feel like you're sixteen years old again—stupid and foolish when it comes to love.
When you finally head back, you're not sure what you expected, but it wasn't seeing Jack and Warren laughing together. Her hand on his bicep, her head tilted backwards. You watch as she leans in, whispering something to him before heading over to the bar.
The hurt turns into anger as humiliation washes over you. He really doesn't care about your reputation or the fact that you'll forever be known for him straying.
You stride over to him.
"There you are—" he begins with a relieved smile.
You don't let him finish, leaning in to murmur to him. "I'm gonna go."
Jack blinks at you. "Why? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," you huff, but he seems unconvinced, searching your face for answers.
He sets his glass down. "Okay, let's go."
Your brows knit together. "No, you stay." Your gaze shifts to Warren. "It looks like you're doing just fine without me anyway."
"What—"
You step back, sending him a forced smile that hurts. "Have fun." You begin to turn around, but then remember— "Oh, just text me if you need the room."
Before he can ask anything else, before you can embarrass yourself further and before he can notice the angry tears glistening in your eyes, you turn and walk away.
Jack stands frozen for several seconds after you leave, staring at the spot you just occupied, trying—yet failing—to wrap his head around what just happened. He’d been trying to shake off Warren ever since you went to the bathroom, and just when she finally decided to head to the bar, you appeared with that piercing glare.
It looks like you're doing fine without me anyway.
Your words replay in his head.
Text me if you need the room.
Said as if you expected him not to come back, or like you expected him to—
His stomach sinks. He pushes through the crowd, ignoring Warren’s calls, impatiently tapping his fingers against his arms as he waits for the elevator. When it finally reaches your floor, he rushes out, swiping his key card haphazardly.
As the door swings open, he immediately sees you pacing, making sharp turns from the bed to the desk and back again. Your heels are thrown off to the side carelessly.
He closes the door behind him softly. "What's going on?"
You stop at the desk, your back turned to him, and he notices your shoulders rising and falling with quick breaths. "Nothing. You can go back," you dismiss him with a wave of your hand. There's an anger in your tone he’s never heard before.
"Go back?" He doesn't understand why you think he would—you're clearly upset.
"To Warren. Or whoever."
"Why on earth would I do that?"
You huff a laugh, bitter and low. "Don't play dumb."
Jack takes a cautious step closer. "Tell me what's going on."
"I told you. Nothing."
"Well, it's clearly not nothing," he says, frustration creeping into his voice. He doesn't understand why you won't look at him or why you're pushing him away like this—like you can't stand him.
"Jack—" you sigh, glancing back for barely a second. It's enough for him to spot the frustration carved deep in your features.
"Sweetheart," he says softly. You remain silent, but he feels like he’s making progress. "Why did you say that? About the room?"
Whatever hope he had quickly dissipates as you rip your earrings out and fling them onto the desk. "You know."
"No," he says. "I really don't."
You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, turning to face him, your eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, please." You cross your arms defiantly. "She was all over you. And you just let her."
Jack doesn't pretend not to know who you're talking about. It's clear that it's Warren. He wants to make it clear that he has no interest in her, but in his surprise, all he can manage to say is, "She knows we're married."
You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Well...you're not. Not really. Not in the way that matters." Taking a step closer, you add, "And she clearly doesn’t care anyway, but if it matters to you, you can just tell her we’re in an open relationship."
Jack stares at you. "Is that what you want?"
Your expression twists instantly. "What?"
"Is that what you want?" he repeats, slower, taking a step forward, too.
Your laugh this time sounds bitter. "Who cares what I want? If you want this, go for it," you say, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "Seriously. Have fun. I’ll leave."
Jack watches as you begin messily shoving things into your bag. Why is it that you keep saying things like this when you know what he feels for you? Are you just looking for a fight so you can leave?
Jack tightens his jaw. "And where exactly are you staying?"
You shrug.
"At Jeremy's?" he says, mocking the way you said it all evening. Soft and sweet and nauseating.
"Maybe...yeah," you snap, glaring at him. "He wouldn't flirt in front of the person he’s supposed to be married to."
Jack shakes his head in frustration. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why did you keep saying that?"
You throw a shirt down and spin toward him. "Because it's true and you know it." You step closer, and he mirrors your movement. "Just stop pretending."
You’re close enough now for him to see your hands shaking with anger.
"I know you regret this," you say, voice cracking as it rises in volume. "And it’s okay."
"What?"
"The least you can do," you continue, "is be honest about it."
"I don’t—" His pulse races, the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch up.
"Come on," you scoff. "You don’t have to pretend anymore."
"Pretend what?" He steps closer.
"That you didn't hate every second of this. That saying yes to me wasn’t the biggest mistake of your life."
"What are you talking about?"
"That you regret getting stuck in this marriage!"
"That's not true!"
You close your eyes briefly, looking utterly worn out. "Can we not do this? Please?"
There’s barely any space between you now. He can feel your uneven breaths, just as clearly as he can see them.
"I've got a viewing in a few days. If it looks good, then I'll be out of your hair soon." The words pummel into him, stealing his breath.
You continue like you haven't just broken his heart, "We can sign the divorce papers when we get back. It's been long enough now."
The pieces of his heart shatter into even finer shards. "What?"
You avoid his gaze. "You can finally be with the person you actually want to be with."
His brows pinch together. "Who?"
"Lily."
Jack stares at you, confused. "...Lily?"
You huff, anger bubbling back up. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't pretend you don’t know."
"I genuinely don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!"
"I've seen the way you talk about her," you tell him. "The way your face changes."
His brain feels like it’s malfunctioning. "You think I’m in love with Lily?"
"You seriously expect me to believe otherwise?"
"Yes, because that's insane."
"I’m not blind, Jack!" you snap, your voice cracking. "I love you, and you don't love me, and that's fine."
"You—" His voice comes out rough. "What?"
Your eyes widen, and you quickly look away. "...Let's just stop."
Jack's hand shoots out, grabbing hold of your wrist before you can turn away. "No." The word comes out fast. "That's not what I want."
His mind is spinning. You love him.
"Well, we can't always get what we want," you say quietly, sounding incredibly sad. You try to tug your wrist free, but he keeps his grip firm.
"Trouble—" Jack begins, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "You love me?" he asks quietly.
You love him.
"Jack," you interject.
He takes a step closer. "I don't understand why you’re still pulling away. Not when you know—“
"That’s exactly why!" you cut him off.
His laugh comes out strained. "Is it that horrible to be with me? To let me love you?"
You stare at him with wide eyes, but then you shake your head. "You don't love me."
"What?" he asks. But you knew? Didn't you?
"No, you’re upset," you say quickly. "Or you feel guilty, or—or you're trying to fix this because I said something embarrassing."
"You think this is pity? After everything?"
"I think you're a good person," you say quietly. "And I think you're trying not to hurt me."
"No."
"Jack—"
"You really think I'd do that?" he asks quietly.
You hesitate.
His laugh comes out sharp. He turns away for a moment, pressing both hands against his mouth, as if trying to hold it together. Because somehow this feels more devastating than everything else: worse than thinking you didn’t want him, worse than the apartment viewings, worse than the divorce papers.
You think he pitied you. That every moment between you had been an obligation.
"You think I stayed because I felt bad for you?" he asks.
"I...yeah," you murmur, and the words nearly take him out at the knees.
"Sweetheart," he says softly, and there’s something wrecked in the word now. "I don’t know how I fucked this up so badly."
"You think I wanted out?" he asks. "All this time?" He shakes his head hard before you can answer. "I have spent months trying not to love you."
Your breath hitches in your throat.
"I tried," he admits helplessly. "I tried so hard. And I failed."
Doubt still flickers across your face.
"Sweetheart. Please. I don't know how else to tell you."
You look down. "I just don't want you to say something you'll regret tomorrow."
"Regret?" he repeats quietly. That damn word haunts him.
You shrug helplessly, eyes glassy. "When this all settles," you say softly, "I don't want you to wake up and feel trapped again."
"Oh sweetheart," he murmurs, "I have done a lot of stupid shit that I regret, but loving you has never been one of them."
You still look doubtful.
Jack feels something hot and frantic curl in his chest. He doesn't know what to say to make you believe him, so he does the next best thing. He closes the gap between you, his hand cradling your jaw as he tilts your head back and kisses you. It isn't a soft or careful kiss like he'd imagined you'd share after he'd told you that—no, this is angry, frustration bleeding into every part of it.
You shove weakly at his chest, and he's ready to step back, but then your fingers close into a fist, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer.
His lips press against yours again, devouring you as he crowds you into the desk. He loses himself in the feeling, barely noticing how he's lifted you onto the desk, how your legs have parted around him or how he's grinding into you.
All he can focus on is the way you breathe his name softly, the sweet sounds you make as he trails kisses down your neck, and how your fingers claw at his hair, his shoulders, his arms, urging him to come closer.
You love him.
It's an euphoric feeling—he almost feels like he's floating outside his body. The thought keeps hitting him over and over again, dizzying and intoxicating.
Jack pulls back to look you in the eye. "I love you." His thumb brushes your jaw gently and across your kiss-swollen lips. You kiss it softly, leaning your face into his touch.
"Do you understand? Not Lily. Not anyone else." He searches your eyes, desperate for you to grasp the depth of his feelings. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered. "I love you."
Your eyes start glistening again, but you nod. Relief fills his chest. "I thought you didn't—" Before he can say anything to reassure you again, you move forward, capturing his lips in another heated kiss. The force of it nearly tilts him backwards, and the way you giggle against his lips sends his heart fluttering.
Your legs pull him closer, and he finally notices how your dress has bunched up around your waist. He curses at the sight of your underwear, the sweet little bow that starkly contradicts the naughty way you're moving against him and the wetness that's slowly soaking his slacks.
"Fuck me," he groans, his fingers gripping onto your waist, helping you move. He's never been this hard before. He moves slowly, trailing his fingers down to your thighs, watching you carefully.
His chest rumbles lowly when he finally feels just how wet you are. He can't count on one—or even two—hands how much he's thought about doing this and reality is so much better.
"You really love me?" he asks quietly, still not quite able to believe it.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I always have."
He leans his forehead against yours, pieces of his heart mending with each kiss. He pushes the fabric aside, brushes his fingers softly through your wetness, circling your clit and listening as you moan sweetly for him. He swears he could cum from just this.
You're so soft. So sweet. So tight around his fingers. "You're gorgeous," he breathes, and he feels you squeeze around him. He catches on to that quickly, leaning in close so he can whisper to you. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. You're so wet. So perfect." He pulls his fingers in and out, relishing in the sounds he manages to pull from both your cunt and your mouth.
"Ja-ack," you gasp, and he can tell you're close.
"Be a good girl and cum for me," he says, pressing his other hand against your clit. The combined stimulation and his words push you over the edge, your legs shaking against him, your nails pressing hard into his arms. He doesn't mind, welcoming it and staying close until you begin pulling back.
He's never seen anyone as stunning as you. He watches as the glazed look in your eyes slowly subsides, and you come back to earth.
He still can't believe this is real. His thumb brushes softly against your jaw. "Hi, sweetheart."
"Hi," you murmur, a shy smile on your face. "That was—that was incredible."
It's like you know he'll tease you because you pull his face close, kissing him again. He could do this all the time. He hopes you'll let him.
He's so caught up in your kisses and making you feel good that he's forgotten about himself. It's only when your hands travel down his chest to his slacks and begin to palm him that he remembers.
You grin into the kiss at the groans he makes.
"Stop teasing," he begs, but doesn't move to change anything. He stands still as you find the zipper and begin pulling his slacks and boxer briefs down. He lets you take the lead, won't force you to do anything you don't want to—even if he's aching to feel your heat around him.
You pull him out, and then you stare down at his cock with a wide-eyed look. He can't help but tease you. "Don't tell me you've never seen one of these before?"
"Ha," you huff, slapping his chest. "It's just...big."
"You flatter me," he says, pride rushing through him. He's about to make another silly comment, but it evaporates the second you twist your hand.
"Fuck," he gasps when you pull him close, letting the head swipe through your wetness.
"I don't—" It takes all his strength to think clearly. "I don't have a condom."
"It's okay." You continue grinding against him.
"You sure?"
"Yes," you confirm, looking him deeply in the eye. Then you position him against your entrance and pull at his hips. He pushes forward slowly. Fuck. You're so tight. So warm.
He watches you carefully, ready to stop at the slightest hint of discomfort.
"Move, Jack," you beg him once the full length of him is inside. "Please."
Who is he to deny you? His hips snap forward, setting a steady pace. "I won't last long," he warns you.
You kiss him again, pulling him closer. Your gasps and moans are more than enough to send him over the edge, but he gathers all the strength he has. He reaches a hand down and finds your clit and waits until your eyes begin to glaze over and your legs shake again.
Only then does he let go of all restraint. His hips snap into you in a furious pace before he pulls away with a loud groan, spilling onto your cunt. He watches it drip down your thighs, his chest rising unevenly as he comes down from his high.
"That was—" he breathes out, locking eyes with you again. You nod, equally speechless. The two of you share a moment of silence before Jack springs into action, grabbing a towel to wipe you down.
He sends you away to pee and slips out of his clothes, leaving only his underwear on. His prosthetic lands next to the bed as he crawls under the covers, a wave of nervousness washing over him.
What if you regretted it? What if you didn't feel like that anyway?
You emerge from the bathroom, barely meeting his gaze, and Jack's stomach drops at the sight. His t-shirt from yesterday hangs on the chair, and he watches breathlessly as you put it on along with a fresh pair of panties. Then you settle in beside him, leaning into the crook of his neck with a smile, and he finally feels himself relax.
You don't regret it.
"I'm sorry," he says softly after a moment of breathing in your calming scent.
"For what?"
"For not telling you sooner." He exhales, tracing gentle patterns on your skin with his fingers. "I thought you knew. I thought you were pulling away because of that."
You pause to process his words, your head shaking firmly. "I'm sorry, too. I should've asked you instead of just assuming." You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. "I overheard you saying you regretted this, and that sent me spiralling. It didn't help that I thought you loved Lily."
Jack frowns. "When did I say that?"
"In the hallway. With Robby..."
He thinks back and realises, "Oh, sweetheart. That's not what I meant—I said I regretted it because I fell in love with you during it, and I couldn't stop it from happening despite knowing you didn't want me like that."
"I do—"
"I know," he interrupts gently. "I know that now." He squeezes your fingers and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your head. "And just to be clear—if you need to hear it again—I don’t love Lily. I love you."
He can feel the smile spreading across your face. "I love you, too."
He's grateful you're not looking at him because he must look silly grinning this widely. You press a kiss to his neck and then sigh contentedly.
"Guess I should've trusted Olivia," you murmur after a moment.
He chuckles, making a mental note to send her a thank-you gift for having his back without him knowing. "Robby, too."
You groan. "They're gonna be insufferable once they find out they were right."
Jack hums, his fingers dancing along your back. "We don't have to tell them right away."
"No?" You lean back slightly to look at him.
"We can keep this between us for a little bit, don't you think?" he says, his gaze dropping down your lips.
"Yeah," you breathe, your eyes darkening as your fingers gently tug at the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him close. Jack kisses you again. And again. And again.
He isn't sure how long he kisses you for, not that it really matters. All he knows is that it won't ever get better than this. He finally has his girl.
a/n: aaahhhh!! they finally confessed!!! it's been a long (and painful) journey but we're finally here <33333
Oh. My. God. This is everything I could’ve hoped for and more!!!!!!! Even when we were deep in angst every new update was worth the wait but this was beyond worth it in every way, like I knew it would be! I can finally sleep at night knowing they finally confessed and all is well 🥹 also move over Paris, a new city of love just dropped (Cleveland)
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐈𝐗 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, angst, guns mentioned, injuries
word count: 7.8k
a/n: thank you all for still being here! i appreciate you lots. love reading your comments <33 i hope you enjoy! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas already<33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
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Olivia's never experienced a more painfully awkward breakfast in her life. And she's sat through her parents 'let's-tell-our-child-we're-divorcing-over-croissants' breakfast and survived. But this takes the prize. Because this time she's hungover, struggling for her life as she fights the nausea and throbbing in her head, while she has to watch as the two of you slowly torture yourselves over toast and coffee.
It's mostly quiet except for the occasional scrape of cutlery and chewing—something hungover her usually would appreciate, but today it's killing her. It's like you take turns to look at each other, just missing the other by seconds, and she can see both of you wanting to speak, but neither of you does. When she tries to force conversation, everything dies in short, flat answers.
Olivia had come ready for damage control after your phone call—the one where you'd sounded so heartbreakingly sure everything was over. But after seeing Jack at the party? The gifts, the speech, flying her out, the way he'd looked at you all night. The problem had never been feelings.
She had liked Jack the first time she met him because it had been obvious then, too. The man loved you. Desperately. The problem was that everyone seemed to see it except the two of you.
So, she was certain that things would be okay again. She only needed to give you slight pushes—saw it in the way you didn't deny her every time, how your eyes looked hopeful when she talked about him—and then that kiss happened, and somehow everything got worse.
Olivia still didn’t know what the hell had gone wrong. You hadn’t been in bed when she woke up, and she hadn’t had a chance to corner you yet. But something had shifted. Yes, you'd been upset when she found you afterwards, but not like this. She still thought it could be salvaged with a few encouraging words—the man had kissed you in private for fuck's sake! If that wasn’t a sign that it wasn’t just pretend, what was?
But you looked different now. Quieter. Defeated in a way that made Olivia’s stomach sink.
She sits and watches as you barely touch your food, keep your eyes fixed stubbornly on your plate—except every few minutes, when you’d glance toward Jack before catching yourself and looking away again.
And Jack—
Jesus Christ. He looked awful. Kept reaching for things that didn’t need reaching for to end up closer to you. Refilling your coffee before you asked. Sliding the jam toward you without a word. Every few minutes, Olivia also catches him looking. Quick little glances when he thinks you aren't paying attention. Checking if you’d eaten. Watching your face. Looking away the second you turned.
Two idiots. Clearly sad. Clearly in love. She's seconds away from grabbing both your heads and smashing them together.
"I’ll be right back," she announces suddenly, shoving her chair back.
Your head snaps up immediately, panic flickering across your face. Jack looks up, too, but neither of you says anything, which somehow makes it worse.
She shuts the bedroom door behind her with a long, suffering sigh and collapses onto the edge of the bed, grabbing her phone.
Robby picks up on the second ring. "You're alive," he teases, voice still gruff with sleep.
"Barely," she groans. "These two are gonna kill me."
He laughs softly. There's a rustling sound on the other end, and she imagines him sitting up in bed, sheets falling down on his lap, chest bare—she needs to focus.
"That bad?" he asks.
"You have no idea," she says, rubbing her temple. "We need to do something about it—it's even worse than I thought."
Robby's silent for a moment. "Hmm," he says, voice turning serious. "I think I might have an idea."
Olivia sits up immediately. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
"Oh?" Robby replies, sounding far too pleased with himself. "You like me?
Her ears flush. "Oh, shut up!" she snaps, shifting on the bed. "Tell me your plan!"
"Yes, ma'am," he laughs.
"Any progress?" Parker asks as she leans against the counter, coffee cup balanced in one hand as she watches Shen stare blankly at the computer.
"None," Shen answers after a moment, drumming restless fingers against the desk. "Absolutely none."
Parker sighs and turns her attention down the hall as Abbot rounds the corner, a tablet tucked under his arm. He moves more slowly than usual—quieter, with less of his usual bark and bite.
"He's miserable," Parker murmurs. "Honestly, I’d prefer him to chew me out than to see him like this."
Shen follows her gaze and exhales through his nose. "Yeah."
Abbot pauses near the board, scanning patient updates. His jaw shifts like he’s grinding his teeth.
"Did you see her at rounds?"
Parker nods. "I think she looked even worse than Abbot does." She frowns, contemplating. "Do you think something happened?"
Shen bites the end of his pen. "No way, right? They seemed fine at the party."
Parker watches Abbot again. "...Yeah."
Jack knows he shouldn't be doing this. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't go back. But it's been weeks since the surprise party, weeks since that kiss, and weeks since he’s had a proper conversation with you.
You're still stuck on day shift, too. Through no fault of Robby’s this time—Gloria had stepped in, and suddenly you were staying put 'temporarily'. Temporary, his ass. At this point, he hardly ever sees you. Just quick hallway glances, elevator rides, and once in a while, a brief hug—but those are growing rarer.
So when the text came—the one he’d ignored for months—he answered. He put on his uniform, convincing himself it would be simple. Routine. A warehouse break-in—nothing major. Just in and out. But then someone panicked. Shots were fired, and everything went sideways.
Luke—a tall guy Jack barely knew—went down hard, hit in the side, then the jaw. Training kicked in before his mind could even catch up. Jack moved instinctively, dragging him to cover while bullets cracked overhead, stabilising him and applying pressure where needed.
After that, things blurred. Sirens. Movement. Noise. The Pitt. He barely registered the burning in his shoulder by the time Luke had already been rushed upstairs. Even then, he’d ignored it. Because Luke was alive. Because it barely hurt. Because—
Because maybe part of him didn’t care all that much lately. That thought sat ugly in his chest.
In the midst of it all, he had instinctively searched for you. Even in the chaos, he hadn’t seen you. Now that things had settled, he still can't find you. No glimpse of you in the hub, no voice echoing down the hall, no familiar figure moving between rooms. You're probably in an exam room, likely avoiding him.
His shoulder throbs harder.
"Fuck," he mutters. He steps toward the first empty room he sees, closes the door and pulls the curtain shut behind him. He gathers supplies one-handed, jaw tightening as he starts peeling off his shirt. It catches on the edge of the wound, and he bites back a hiss of pain.
Just as he throws the shirt on the bed, the door slams open. The curtain is ripped to the side violently as the door bangs shut. You stand there, breathing hard like you sprinted through the entire hospital. Your eyes are wild and desperate as you frantically sweep your gaze over him—face, chest, arms, stomach.
"I thought you got shot," you breathe out when you don't see anything out of place.
"You heard about my dramatic entrance?" he remarked lightly. "I was hoping for flowers, at least." He sits down on the bed, beginning to tear off the tape for the dressing.
That gets nothing from you. No eye roll. Not even an annoyed huff. Your chest is still rising too fast.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" you snap, voice cracking halfway through. "Why were you out there?"
"I—"
"Since when do you do that?"
Jack rubs at the back of his neck. "I've done it for about a year."
Your expression changes from confusion to hurt. "What?" Your brows furrow. "Have you done it while we've—" you trail off, hands gesturing between you.
"No," he says quickly and firmly. "No."
Your shoulders relax a bit, your breathing slowing as you watch him squeeze out saline and reach for a cotton swab. You frown, only then realising that he's sitting shirtless in front of you with a tray of medical supplies in front of him. The way he's favouring one arm, the ugly scrape across his shoulder— "Oh my god."
You move instantly, snapping on a pair of gloves, gently slapping his hand away. "Let me."
"It’s fine," he says automatically, even though he knows he can't reach it.
You shoot him a look sharp enough to silence him.
The room falls quiet as you step closer, reaching for a cotton swab with shaking fingers. You don’t say anything as you start cleaning the scrape. Your fingertips brush briefly against his skin as you adjust your grip, and something in his chest twists painfully. You haven’t touched him in weeks—not properly. No absentminded shoulder bumps, no hand on his back, no leaning into him during rounds—none of those quiet little gestures that used to come so naturally.
And now here you are, jaw tight like you're holding yourself together by sheer will, dabbing at the wound gently, fingers holding onto his shoulder to keep him still.
"Why do you do this?" you ask quietly as you place a dressing over it.
He tilts his head instead of shrugging. "It's better than golf," he jokes. You don't laugh. He tries again, "Midlife crisis?"
Maybe you’ll call him old, maybe you’ll roll your eyes—anything that’ll show him that he hasn’t ruined everything with that kiss. Instead, he hears a sniffle behind him.
Jack stills, turning to look over his shoulder. You're staring down at his back, jaw still tight, but now your eyes are also glassy.
"Whoa, hey," he turns around as you tear off your gloves and throw them into the bin forcefully. "Hey."
"I'm fine," you mutter, not looking at him.
"You're crying."
"I'm not." Your voice cracks on the final word, and Jack hates himself for choosing to respond to that text.
"Sweetheart," he says quietly, the word slipping from his lips before he can stop it. He hasn’t called you that in weeks.
You wrap your arms around yourself and sniff once again. You're still not looking at him. "You really scared me. I thought you got shot."
"Hey," he encourages softly. "Come here."
You hesitate, but then take a step closer to him. He reaches for your hands—they're still shaking a little. He’s not sure if you’ll let him, but you do. Before he can think better of it, he pulls you in between his knees.
He tilts his head, waiting until your eyes meet his. "I'm okay. My vest caught it—it’s just a graze."
"This time, maybe," you stress. "What about next time? You can’t control what happens out there, Jack."
He fights the urge to look away.
"You could’ve gotten seriously hurt," you add quietly.
"I know."
"I just—" Your voice wobbles again. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You bite your lip hard and look away again.
He squeezes your hands gently, bringing your attention back to him. "I'm sorry," he says, and he means it. He wants to promise he won't do it again, but the words catch in his throat. You’ll be out of his life soon—not for good, but in a way that’ll tear the rest of his heart out, and he knows he won’t be able to fight it.
Then a tear drops down your cheek, and he can't stop himself. "If you hate this," he says softly, his thumbs brushing your knuckles subconsciously, "I won’t do it again."
You peer up at him, teardrops beading your waterline. He wipes your cheek gently. "What?"
"I won't go," he promises.
"Jack—"
"I mean it." The thought of seeing you cry breaks him. Not over him.
"Really?"
He can't say no when you look at him like that, like it means everything to you that he's safe. "Yeah," he says. "Really."
You stand there for a second, searching his face like you want to believe him, then something shifts in your face. You step back, drop his hands and wipe your face harshly.
You snap on a new pair of gloves and busy yourself with throwing out the supplies. "You don’t have to do that," you murmur. "I—I overreacted. You can do what you want."
Jack’s heart sinks, unsure what changed so suddenly. "You didn’t—"
"I did," you interrupt, a tiny laugh escaping you. "I just…" you trail off, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air. Whatever it is, you swallow it down.
"You should get some sleep," you say quietly instead. "You have to be back in a few hours."
Jack opens his mouth, but you’re already turning away.
"I didn’t mean to—" he starts. He isn't sure what he means, just that he wants you to look at him again.
"It’s fine," you cut in too quickly. You leave him sitting on the bed, staring at the closed door.
The next day, Jack comes in early, shifting awkwardly in front of you until you look up from the computer.
"Uh," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "You got a minute?"
You nod, instinctively looking at his shoulder. "Yeah?"
He gestures vaguely. "The dressing thing... It's kinda tricky one-handed."
You close the chart immediately. "Okay."
The exam room he leads you into seems to shrink, feeling even smaller with him standing there, his broad shoulders taking up space as he awkwardly settles onto the bed.
You stand in front of him with gloves on. "Take your shirt off," you say.
His mouth twitches. "You buying me dinner first?"
You raise an eyebrow at him.
He sighs. "Tough crowd." Slowly, he slips his shirt off.
You try not to stare and begin peeling back the dressing. The scrape looks better. You work in silence.
"How’s it look?" he asks eventually.
"Fine." You finish taping fresh gauze over the scrape. "You should still be careful," you say softly.
"I am careful."
You don't answer him.
He sighs. "…Careful-ish."
You almost smile. Almost.
"Thanks," he says quietly when you finish.
"No problem."
He lingers like he wants to say something. You do, too. Eventually, duty calls when rounds begin.
After that, you start looking at apartments like you'd promised. Stealing glances at listings between patients—careful not to let anyone else notice. Scrolling through options when sleep refuses to come. It gives your hands something to do when the house feels too quiet.
You try very hard not to think about how much you don't want to leave. You love this little house. You love sitting on the terrace, listening to the birds. You love curling up on the couch. You even love the coffee machine you can't figure out how to use.
For the first time, moving doesn’t feel impossible. Not with your new salary. It would be tight, sure. Painfully tight. Your student loans aren’t magically gone just because you graduated, but—
You could make it work.
A studio. A shitty kitchen. Questionable plumbing. Somewhere small. Somewhere yours. Somewhere that doesn’t make your chest ache. Jack would probably appreciate it if you left. Sooner rather than later. You wouldn’t blame him.
Ever since the shoulder thing, something had shifted again. Or maybe you had.
Because the embarrassment lingered. You’d panicked. Ran through the hospital like a crazy person because someone mentioned gunfire and Jack. Cried and acted like losing him would ruin you.
You’d scolded him like you were together. Like you had any claim over what he did with his life. And then he’d agreed too easily to stop. That somehow made it worse because obviously he’d just been trying to calm you down. Keep things easier and less awkward.
The sooner you could release him from his shackles, the better. Then he could live his life how he wanted.
One morning, you don’t hear him come home. You’re curled sideways on the couch, laptop balanced against your knees, rental listings spread across the screen. You barely register movement until a familiar hand sets a paper bag down beside you.
"Breakfast," Jack says.
You glance up too quickly and slam the laptop halfway shut, like you'd got caught doing something you shouldn't have been doing.
His eyes flick downward, catching the word lease. He stills, and something unreadable passes over his face. "Didn’t mean to interrupt," he says quietly, then he heads for the kitchen fast.
You stare after him, chest twisting.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," a familiar warm voice greets you as you round the corner.
You glance over, offering a tired smile. "Hi, Myrna. You doing okay?"
"Yeah," she says, raising her cuffed wrists slightly. "Better if you let me out of these."
"No can do," you say, already walking backwards toward the hub. "Sorry."
She lets out an exaggerated grumble that usually makes you laugh, but today, you simply rub the heels of your palms hard against your eyes. Sleep has been awful lately. Even worse than before. For weeks, the same haunting images replay in your mind: Jack bleeding, Jack unconscious, Jack upstairs, Jack—
You stop yourself before your brain can finish that thought. Because imagining what would’ve happened if he had been the one shot, if that shoulder graze had been just inches over—
"You okay, sweetie?" Dana asks, lifting her glasses to look at you more closely.
You immediately straighten and drop your hands. "Yeah, I'm fine," you say quickly. "Just tired."
Which isn’t technically a lie. You are tired. Exhausted, honestly. Still adjusting to attending life. Still trying to prove to the hospital that they didn't make a mistake when hiring you. Simultaneously cursing and praising them for keeping you on day shift a little bit longer.
"We’ll get through it," Dana says, mistaking your expression for stress about the overflowing waiting room and how you'd been running around all day, barely able to catch your breath.
You nod once. "Yeah."
But honestly? The day has been good—busy, but good. You caught a medication error that could have had serious consequences and handled a complex consult. You kept the board moving. The pace allowed you no time to think, and if you just pushed through another few hours, maybe you’d be tired enough not to dream tonight.
Suddenly, the ambulance bays swing open behind you. "Agitated on scene," Ziggler reports as they wheel a patient inside. "Had to give midazolam en route. Vitals stable, but he’s a big guy—took three of us to get him on the stretcher."
You step in beside them, nodding. "Any known head injury?"
"Not clear. Witnesses reported he fell before we got there. Could be alcohol involved."
You exhale slowly. "Okay." Turning, you catch Trinity's eye and nod for her to join you.
Ziggler adds, "No obvious trauma on primary survey," as you guide the stretcher into a room. The transfer goes smoothly—monitor hooked up, vitals steady, respirations normal.
As you step closer to the bedside, the patient stirs slightly. You watch Trinity adjust the pulse oximeter and check his pupils.
"His respiratory rate’s picking up," you note.
"The sedation should still hold," she states.
You don’t answer immediately. You’ve seen this before. "He’s coming up early," you say.
And then—
His eyes snap open. Not slowly or smoothly, but suddenly; confused and unfocused. His head turns slightly, and his breathing sharpens.
"Hey," Trinity says quickly, her voice calm. "You’re in the hospital. You’re safe."
The patient shifts too quickly, his upper body attempting to rise.
"Sir, don’t sit up yet," you say calmly.
Trinity moves in. "Hey—" she starts.
"Trinity, don’t—" you start to warn, but it’s too late. The patient surges forward, and you react without thinking, grabbing Trinity's arm and pulling her back.
This leaves you at an awkward angle, and his elbow strikes your side as he moves. A sharp, crushing pressure slams into your ribs, knocking the breath out of you mid-inhale.
You try to steady yourself with your hand on the railing, but your fingers slip, and your head catches the side of the bed. Everything dulls for half a second as you crumple to the ground, groaning.
Trinity’s voice slices through the chaos, calling out your name in concern. You can't respond. "Hola Hoop!" she screams. She moves back, trying not to further agitate the patient, keeping her eyes on him when all she wants to do is glance down at you.
Footsteps sound in the distance—fast, hurried. The room fills with more people, and you catch glimpses of arms securing the patient. You hear shouting, someone calling for more sedatives.
You attempt to sit up but instantly double over as pain flares in your side. Gentle hands reach down to assist you. It’s Dana. You blink hard, struggling to breathe.
"I'm okay," you manage to say, slowly standing. Dana keeps her hands on your arm the entire time, her brow furrowed with worry.
"I just got the wind knocked out of me," you say, lifting your head. Something drips down on your nose, and when you wipe it away, your fingers come back bloody.
"Mm," she mutters.
Robby appears beside her, panting. He scans you quickly, already assessing the situation, barely glancing at the chaos behind him. "What happened?" He grabs gauze and gives it to you. It stings when you press it against your forehead.
"She hit her side and her head," Trinity blurts out. "Hard." You shoot her a glare.
Robby shares a glance with Dana. "Okay," he says, replacing her touch on your elbow. "I've got you."
"I can walk," you say.
"Great," Robby says. "Walk to an exam room, then." He ignores your groan and guides you out the door into an empty room. "Sit."
"I'm fine," you mutter, taking in shallow breaths.
"Mm," he says while snapping on a pair of gloves. "Let me be the judge of that. Sit down." You listen this time.
He stops in front of you, his voice softening as he looks down at you. "What exactly happened?" He gently touches the edge of your wound, shifting your face around. The bleeding has slowed, and when he doesn't immediately do anything, it confirms that it's superficial.
"I'm fine."
He frowns, pulls out his flashlight, and begins checking your pupils.
"Patient woke up early," you sigh. "Too little sedation. He was confused." You shrug and regret it instantly. Pain flashes white-hot. You mask it.
"You get hit anywhere besides your ribs?"
You glare at him, knowing he already knows. Still, you indulge him. "My head."
"Did you black out?" He lifts his finger, and you follow it.
"No."
"Nausea? Dizziness?"
"No." You answer all of his questions and follow his orders, knowing it's the only way you can get out of this room.
He nods when he's satisfied with your neuro exam and then gestures at your scrub top. He pulls it up slowly. The bruise already blooming along your ribs looks ugly. Robby presses lightly on it, and you hiss despite yourself.
"That bad?"
"It’s not bad," you correct him, but he raises an eyebrow as if not buying it. He presses again, and when your breath catches painfully, you finally admit, "…It hurts."
He rolls his stool back. "Okay. I’m ordering you a CT and chest X-ray."
"Robby, no. I'm fine," you protest. "I just need a moment."
He doesn't answer you.
You try again. "Robby, we’re understaffed."
"You’re not going back on shift like this," he turns and types something into the computer. "Jack would kill me," he mumbles, mostly to himself, but you hear it all.
"Don't call him."
"What?"
"Don't call him. I'm fine," you say. "He doesn't need to worry."
"Too late," Robby says as he takes a seat again. "Dana already filled him in."
"What?" You close your eyes slowly. "Great."
Robby frowns as he begins preparing to clean the wound. "What's going on with you two?"
"Nothing," you retort sharply, then let out a sigh. "Really, nothing. I just don't want him to worry over nothing."
You don't want a lecture again. You don't want a reminder of what he thought of you the last time this happened.
You straighten again, looking at Robby hopefully, "Can I come back if things look fine?"
Robby exhales slowly. "Maybe."
The usual ten-minute drive to the hospital is cut to a reckless five when Jack receives the call from Dana.
You got hurt. That's all he needed to hear before he was up and out of the house. A patient hit you. You hurt your side and your head.
Dana hadn't sounded panicked, but head injuries could be serious. You could be bleeding internally while he was driving. While he wasn't there with you.
He parks haphazardly in front of the ambulance bay, not caring that he's blocking the entrance. He tosses the keys to Whitaker, who stands outside with his phone, then pushes through the door without waiting for a response—he ignores the dumb expression on Whitaker's face.
"Where is she?" he calls, the second he spots Dana.
"In there," she replies, pointing. She grabs his shoulder before he can take off. "Easy there, soldier; she’s okay."
Maybe so, but he needs to see it for himself before he’ll believe it. He flings the door open and finds you sitting on the edge of the bed. He quickly assesses you: one hand is bracing your side, your breathing is shallow, and you blink more slowly than usual. Your jaw is tight, brows furrowed, and there’s dried blood on your face.
His jaw tightens before he can stop it. He hears Robby start to explain—
"Possible rib injury, head strike, CT ordered—"
You cut him off. "I’m fine," you say, then look at Jack. "You can go home again."
His brows furrow. He knows what you're like when you're in pain—how you downplay it and try to hide it. He steps closer instead.
"I don’t need a CT," you insist, starting to rise.
Jack exhales. For some reason, you’re negotiating this like it’s optional. It isn’t. "Sit down." He keeps his voice steady. "No," he says as your mouth opens. "Sit down."
You scowl but sit after a second, your breath catching slightly. A flicker of pain crosses your face before you manage to mask it. It lasts barely a second, but he sees it.
His tone softens. "You’re going for a CT." He glances over at Robby. "I can take it from here."
"Jack—"
He doesn’t respond, just holds his gaze steady, and Robby steps back with a sigh. "The wound is superficial. Neuro exam is clear."
Jack nods, snaps on a pair of gloves and sits down. He’ll do his own assessment after cleaning you up.
"I'll come get you when it's your turn," Robby says, shutting the door softly behind him.
"So," Jack says, tilting your face to get a better look at the wound, "you come here often?"
You huff an annoyed breath, easing the tension in his chest. Annoyance is a good sign. "Very funny."
He continues to work in silence, cleaning the blood away, irrigating the wound, and closing the cut with a butterfly stitch. "This probably won’t leave a scar."
"Good. I was really worried about that," you mutter. "Don’t want my face to look like Scarface."
"Even if it did, you'll still be the prettiest woman in the E.D," he says with an exaggerated wink as he turns around to discard his gloves.
You huff another breath, but this time it's softer, less annoyed.
"Can I see?" he says softly, nodding at your side. You nod, and he pulls up the fabric slowly. His jaw tightens again, his fingers hovering just above the bruise before settling cautiously against your side.
"Jesus," he mutters quietly. He pulls the shirt down again after a moment.
You fiddle with the ends of it. "I didn’t do it on purpose," you say quietly.
"What?"
"I didn’t mean to get hit," you say, eyes fixed somewhere near his shoulder instead of at him.
"Hey." He waits until you look at him. "I know."
Your brows pinch together like you don’t believe him.
Jack exhales through his nose and drags the stool closer until he’s right in front of you. One hand settles carefully over your knee. "Sweetheart, I’m not angry at you. I'm—" scared. The word sits right there, lodged somewhere behind his teeth.
He looks away instead, jaw working once before he settles on, "I’m just glad you aren’t hurt badly."
You study him quietly.
"I just…" He glances down, shakes his head once. "Dana called and said you got hurt, and suddenly I’m thinking about head injuries and internal bleeding and all the shit that could be wrong before I even get here."
His voice stays steady, but only barely. "And then I walk in, and there’s blood on your face."
You look down at your hands. "I didn’t mean to scare you."
"I know, sweetheart." He waits until you glance back up. "I promise I'm not mad. Not at you."
You nod, looking like you accept his answer. He keeps your gaze for a moment, then stands and helps you settle more comfortably onto the bed.
As soon as Jack’s certain you’ll be fine alone, he storms out of the room to find Robby. Spotting him, Jack pulls him into the break room and struggles to steady his breathing.
"Jack—" Robby starts, already sensing where this conversation is headed.
Jack crosses his arms tightly, straining the fabric of his shirt. "She shouldn’t have been in there by herself."
"She wasn’t alone," Robby replies.
"You know what I mean." Jack's voice remains low but cutting, controlled in a way that shows he’s trying hard not to lose his cool. "She got hit hard enough that she needs a fucking CT scan."
Robby leans back against the counter, arms crossed. "Yeah," he says. "But she also pulled Santos out of the way before things turned worse."
Jack’s jaw clenches.
"Jack," Robby says softly now. "You’re scared."
"I'm pissed."
"No," Robby says simply. "You're scared, so you're pissed."
Jack looks away. Because yeah. Fine. Maybe.
Robby continues, "That doesn’t mean she stops being good at her job."
"I know she’s good at her job." That's not what this is about.
"Then trust her."
Jack doesn’t answer immediately. Because he does trust you. That’s the problem. You were good enough to run toward things that could hurt you. He knows you'll do it again.
Robby sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, if I thought she was being reckless, I’d speak up. If I thought she couldn’t handle herself, she wouldn’t be here right now." He pauses. "She made the right call. The patient surged. Santos froze. She did what you’d have done."
Something in his expression shifts despite himself. Jack exhales slowly, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "...I hate this job sometimes," he mutters.
Robby chuckles. "Join the club. We’ve got t-shirts if you’re interested."
That gets a faint laugh out of Jack.
Robby nudges his shoulder lightly. "Go check on her before she decides she’s medically cleared and sneaks back onto the shift."
Jack’s eyes narrow at the thought. It’s not a question; you would absolutely do that. He shakes his head and pushes away from the counter. "...Thanks," he mutters.
Jack stays with you through it all.
From the CT scan to the X-ray, and through the heavy silence in between, he never leaves your side. He positions himself just out of the technologists’ way but remains close enough to notice if you shift incorrectly. The only time he steps away is when he isn’t permitted to stay, and he’s quick to return the moment he can.
When you’re wheeled back into the ER bay, you insist on getting into the bed by yourself, but you can feel his hands hovering just behind you.
You shift wrong, and pain flashes through your side. "Fuck," you hiss quietly.
Jack’s there before you can even regain your balance. One hand rests on your waist, the other steadies your arm. "Easy."
You blink at him as he helps you settle in. His hand remains firm on your waist while the other supports your arm until you're fully seated. It’s only once you’re steady that he takes a small step back—still close enough to catch you if you sway.
And then there’s nothing to do but wait. That’s the worst part. Waiting gives you time to feel things you’ve been outrunning.
"I’m fine, Jack," you say again. "You can go home."
Jack doesn’t answer immediately. Just looks at you, not angry but also not convinced. Just… steady in a way that says he’s not participating in the argument.
Trinity appears at the edge of the curtain before either of you can speak again. She hesitates when she sees both of you. "I—I’m really sorry," she blurts out. "I didn’t think—he moved too fast and—"
You lift a hand slightly. "Hey, it’s fine," you say. "You couldn't have known."
Trinity still looks like she might combust from guilt. Her eyes flick to Jack, then back to you, unsure where to land. "I can—do you need anything? I can stay—"
"No," Jack interjects immediately.
Trinity blinks at him.
He continues, quieter but still firm: "You’ve done enough. She needs rest."
Trinity hesitates one second longer, then nods quickly. "Okay. Okay, yeah. Sorry again." She slips out, letting the curtain fall back into place.
"You didn't have to be that harsh," you murmur.
"You got hurt because of her. She needs to know that," he says.
You sigh. "It was an accident. She couldn't have known what would've happened."
"Maybe," he says, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. He sighs after a second, "These chairs suck."
You snort, wincing slightly. "Well, what did you expect? If the hospital can't afford more nurses, we're not getting the good chairs."
He huffs. "Still."
Jack calls out from his night shift. You tell him three separate times that he doesn’t have to. He ignores you all three times.
By the time you're discharged, he's there, clearly settled in for the long haul. And as you walk into the house, he keeps one hand on your elbow, as if afraid that if he lets go, you might just collapse.
"I can walk," you grunt for the fourth time.
"Congrats," he says flatly, still not dropping his hand.
You roll your eyes but don’t pull away. Mostly because your ribs feel like they’re trying to murder you. Also because—
Well. His hand is comforting.
Inside, he hovers like a worried shadow. He guides you to his room and then to the closet for a change of clothes. When you mention wanting to shower, he frowns. He glances at the door and then back at you.
"I won't lock the door," you assure him with a sigh.
He nods, exhaling reluctantly. "I'll be right outside. Just yell if you need anything."
You raise an eyebrow. "It's just a shower."
His expression remains serious. Before you can say anything else, he rummages through his closet and emerges with one of his button-up shirts. "You can’t lift your arms properly," he points out, awkwardly holding it out. "This is easier."
You look at the shirt, then back at him. You have your own shirts, but you take it anyway. "…Thanks."
He shrugs in response.
The shower sucks. Everything hurts. Washing your hair hurts. Breathing hurts. Existence hurts. By the time you’re done, your head is throbbing again. It's not a concussion. Robby had been annoyingly clear. You got lucky. No concussion, no fractures, no internal bleeding. Just bruised ribs and a nasty bump on the head. You don't feel particularly lucky.
Jack fusses the second you emerge. He follows you to the dining room table, makes you food, and then proceeds to stare until you eat it. After a few painful bites, he helps you stand, his hand finding your elbow again. You don’t mention that you’re perfectly capable of standing on your own this time.
He starts steering you down the hallway toward his room.
You stop. "What are you doing?"
"You can sleep in my bed."
"What?"
"It’s better for your ribs."
You frown. "My bed is fine, Jack."
"Mine is firmer," he says immediately.
You stare. He's right. Your mattress is softer, cheaper, but perfectly fine under normal circumstances. Less ideal when every breath feels like a knife.
Still, you hesitate. "That’s really not necessary."
Jack exhales slowly, visibly trying not to argue. "There’s also more space."
You blink.
"For pillows," he adds hastily. "You’ll probably need to stay propped up. Plus, you hit your head, and I need to keep an eye on you."
You narrow your eyes. "I don’t have a concussion."
"You still have a head injury."
"It’s minor," you say, crossing your arms, only to regret it as pain flares up. You uncross them gingerly. Jack notices but stays quiet.
"You shouldn’t be alone tonight," he says, quieter now.
You look away first. "…I’ll be okay."
"I know," he says softly. "I just wanna keep an eye on you."
Something in your chest aches worse than your ribs because he sounds so careful, so concerned. You shake your head and slowly turn toward your room, hoping he’ll let you go. "I’ll be fine."
Jack doesn’t argue, which somehow feels worse. You take three steps before hearing movement behind you. He returns from the dining room, carrying a chair.
"What are you doing?"
He shrugs. "If you’re sleeping in there, I’m staying in there."
"Jack," you protest.
"What?"
"Your back’s gonna hurt."
He shrugs again and pushes your door open with his shoulder. "I’ll survive. I've slept on worse things." He sets the chair down beside your bed and sits down, like that’s the end of the discussion.
You stare at him from the doorway. At the chair. At him sitting there with crossed arms waiting for you. He means it—he’ll stay there if necessary, on that hard chair rather than crossing any lines by sharing your smaller bed. It's gone too far echoes in your head, but the image of him sitting there all night for you is too much. You're too tired, too sore, to keep this going.
With a long, exhausted sigh, you finally relent. "…Fine."
Jack looks up.
Avoiding his gaze, you mumble, "Your room... I’ll sleep in your room."
His expression softens in an instant—too quickly, almost as if he had been trying hard not to hope you’d agree. "Okay," he says quietly. Then, gentler, "C’mon."
And when his hand brushes lightly against your back as he helps you toward his room, you don’t move away. He helps you get into bed, positioning the pillow so you hurt the least amount. There’s a glass of water and some painkillers on the bedside table. His fingers brush back your hair, and you lean into his touch before you can stop yourself. For a moment, both of you freeze.
He steps back first. "I'll be right back."
You can hear him rummage around, and then he enters with the chair in his arms again.
"…Jack."
He sets it beside the bed and angles it towards you. Then he sits again, arms crossed.
You stare at him. "What are you doing?"
He frowns like the answer should be obvious. "Looking after you."
"No," you say slowly. "Why are you sitting there?" The whole idea of sleeping here was so he wouldn't stay in that chair.
He shrugs. "You’re hurt," he adds. "It's better if I—." He nods down at the chair, like that explains everything.
You exhale slowly and pat the mattress beside you. "C’mon. I didn’t mean to take your bed from you."
He hesitates, which somehow stings more than the chair itself.
You try to hide your hurt with humour. "Okay, well, I guess this way, there’s more distance from your snoring."
Jack just shakes his head at you. He lasts maybe forty minutes in the chair before you wake in pain, attempting to turn and failing without hissing.
Before either of you thinks about it too hard, he's helping reposition the pillows, one hand braced carefully at your ribs. It's easier for his leg to crawl onto the other side of the bed, and he stays there waiting until you fall back to sleep. He doesn't even realise when he falls asleep half on top of the blankets.
Jack checks on you constantly during that first night. He’s alert every time you shift, every breath that seems off, and even the tiniest sounds. The moment you move, he’s awake.
You don't say anything when you see that he's moved to the bed, and he doesn't either. But he keeps his distance, lying rigidly on the far edge of the mattress like touching you might somehow make things worse. Somewhere during the night, still half-asleep and in pain, you inadvertently shift closer. When you awaken again, you find his hand loosely wrapped around yours. The second he realises you're awake, he instantly lets go.
"Sorry," he murmurs quietly.
You don't answer. You just close your eyes again, a different ache settling in your chest.
The second night, you're not sure why you wake up. There’s a blanket tucked around your shoulders. Jack’s still asleep with one arm stretched awkwardly toward your side of the bed like he’d fixed it without waking properly.
By the end of the first week, things have shifted. You stop waking every time you move wrong. Breathing no longer feels like punishment, and turning in bed has become more uncomfortable than impossible. Sometime during that first week, Jack quietly stopped pretending the chair was still an option.
Somewhere along the way, the physical distance between you also disappeared. Sometimes you'd wake to find yourself closer than you remembered falling asleep—your shoulder brushing his chest, one of his hands loosely curled near your waist like he'd reached for you in his sleep and stopped halfway.
For the first time in weeks, despite the pain, you sleep. No nightmares. No gunfire. No waking up imagining Jack bleeding out somewhere you can’t reach. Because with him there—warm, solid, and close—your brain finally quiets down.
You tell yourself it’s practical. His mattress really is better. Firmer. Easier to breathe on. Less painful to get up from. You tell yourself that staying another night makes sense. Then another. Then somehow—
Another week passes. And you’re still there. By then, you don’t technically need help anymore. Breathing feels almost normal, and the bump on your head is gone.
You could return to your room—probably should. But every night seems to end the same way: you drifting closer in your sleep, Jack pulling you in without thinking, one arm heavy around your waist, your face nestled against his chest.
You tell yourself it’s just because moving hurts. Because untangling yourself would disturb him. Because his room is colder. Because—
You stop examining it too closely. It’s easier that way because you know what you're doing is only gonna hurt you in the end. It almost starts feeling normal again, and with every little thing, you catch yourself hoping. Then you remember the hallway.
I should’ve never agreed to this.
The hope curdles again.
Going back to work takes another week.
Jack hates it, insisting that it's too early and that you should take another week off. Eventually, he relents since you'll be back on night shifts—with him. You assure him you’ll stick to light duty: no lifting, no trauma rooms unless absolutely necessary. You listen—mostly—trying to let your residents take charge whenever possible.
You're still hurting, and maybe you should’ve taken a few more days off, but that's not the worst part. That's how normal everything has started feeling again. The heating pad after shifts. Coffee waiting while you chart. Pain medication offered before you even remember it's time for it. Parker and Shen grinning whenever they see the two of you together.
It should’ve felt reassuring. Instead, some days it made you want to scream. Because none of it made sense anymore. Not after the kiss. Not after the hallway.
The longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to ignore that eventually something will have to give. You needed to move back to your own bed. Look at apartment listings again. Print out the divorce papers.
One morning after rounds, Robby lingers like he’s debating something. "Hey," he says. "You two got a second?"
"No," Jack says flatly.
Robby ignores him. He herds both of you toward a quieter corner near the supply room. You lean back against the wall automatically, careful of your ribs, relieving the dull ache after twelve hours of work. Jack's hand lifts like he wants to steady you, but he drops it again after a second.
Robby notices but says nothing. Just pinches his brows together and hopes that what he's doing won't backfire. "There’s a convention in Cleveland this weekend," he says carefully.
You groan immediately.
Jack blows out a frustrated breath. "Why do I feel like this is about to become my problem?"
"Because it is," Robby admits, wincing slightly.
"Seriously?" you sigh.
Jack exhales through his nose. "Fine. I’ll do it."
You turn toward him instantly. "What? No. You have the weekend off."
"You’re still recovering," he counters.
"I’m fine."
Jack shoots you an unimpressed look. "You’re leaning against a wall right now."
Before you can argue further, Robby clears his throat, looking surprisingly guilty. "Actually…"
Both of you turn to look at him.
"It’s a two-person thing."
Silence hangs in the air.
"…Oh," you say slowly.
Robby immediately starts retreating before either of you can object. "Thanks, guys," he says quickly. "I owe you one."
"Robby—" you start, but it’s too late. He steps around the corner fast.
You let out a sigh, and Jack follows suit.
"Well," he says after a second. "Looks like we’re going to Cleveland." He doesn't sound particularly happy about it.
You aren't exactly thrilled about it either. Hours trapped in a car. A convention neither of you cares about. He could have gotten a weekend to himself, but now, instead, he was stuck with you.
He sighs, then says, "I'll bring the car round."
You nod. "Okay."
There’s a beat where neither of you moves. Jack shifts his weight like he’s about to say something else, then doesn’t. Instead, he just gives a short nod and turns away.
a/n: ahhh almost there!! and we finally get trouble's injury scene that i have had planned since the start. a few of you have suggested it as well and i've just been waiting in excitement for it!! :DD
Literally the second I went to put my phone down and go to sleep last night, here comes the new chapter lol so obviously I had to read it immediately and then I finally went to bed, but the first thing I did upon waking up? Reread it 😂
Also my two favorite lines:
“She had liked Jack the first time she met him because it had been obvious then, too. The man loved you. Desperately. The problem was that everyone seemed to see it except the two of you.”
“Two idiots. Clearly sad. Clearly in love” (perfect alternate title!)
Anywayssss I’m so excited for this convention (if it’s even real? 👀) I’m going crazy at the thought of forced proximity and there being only one bed despite the fact they’ve been sharing lol but hopefully this will finally push them to have that conversation 😭
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, angst, exam, drinking, two people being dumbasses once again
word count: 6.7k
a/n: ahh here we are again :DD i hope you enjoy! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas already<33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist
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Your alarm goes off a little after the first rays of the sun streak through your curtains. You've already been awake for half an hour, staring at the ceiling as you flip through differential diagnoses that you probably won't see on the exam.
It still twists your stomach to think that after this, only the oral boards stand between you and becoming a board-certified physician. It's even hard to wrap your head around the fact that your residency is over, and in just a few days, you'll officially step into your role as an attending physician. The longest and most challenging years of your life are behind you, just like that.
Maybe you should have decided to do a fellowship instead of taking the offer PTMC gave you—are you even ready to have others depend on you to have the answers?
You have to be.
But first, you need to pass this exam—a condition made by the PTMC when they offered you the position, which only makes this day even more nerve-wracking.
You roll out of bed with a sigh, get dressed and then head to the kitchen. You sit at the island, staring blankly at the piece of toast on your plate. Your mouth feels dry.
"You really should eat something." Jack’s voice filters in from behind you, sounding a bit rougher than usual, probably strained from talking all night. He had convinced Robby to come in early so he could be there to drive you. You didn't even have to ask; he simply made the call, leaving no room for discussion. At this moment, with your hands trembling from nerves, you’re grateful you don’t have to deal with public transport.
You steal a glance at him as he leans against the counter, looking more careful than ever. It’s as if he’s making an effort to ease things between you, despite the unresolved tension that lingers. Ever since that conversation, everything has felt off—hesitant. But this morning, it’s like none of that matters. Or perhaps he’s just getting better at masking it.
He takes a few steps forward and nudges your plate closer. "Toast. Half a banana. Something."
You shake your head, eyeing it distrustfully. "I'm gonna throw up."
"You're not," he says.
"I might."
"Then you'll throw up with food in your system."
Despite your nerves, a weak laugh slips out of you. Jack's mouth twitches like he's relieved to hear it.
He turns to the fridge and places a few things inside a paper bag and then pushes it towards you.
"What's this?"
"Emergency provisions," he says. "A sandwich. Pretzels. Protein bar. Water bottle. Some candy."
Despite everything, despite how far away he feels now, he still does this for you. "Jack—"
"Go finish getting ready. I'll make you a smoothie for the car," he says, tilting his head toward your room.
You slide off the chair, murmuring, "Thanks."
He doesn't answer, just turns and grabs the ingredients. You can hear the blender as you throw the last things in your bag. Then you both head to the car.
The drive is quiet, with only the gentle hum of the radio and the rhythmic tapping of Jack's fingers on the steering wheel breaking the silence in the car. You take occasional sips of your smoothie, the liquid gliding down easier than a piece of toast would have. You sit curled in the passenger seat, rereading the testing confirmation email for the hundredth time, even though you already know every detail.
By the time Jack pulls into the testing centre parking lot, your pulse feels like it's vibrating under your skin. You feel nauseous and dizzy at the same time as you step out of the car. Too much hinges on today going well—what if you fuck it up?
"Hey," Jack says, catching your wrist gently.
You look at him, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. He stands closer than he has in days, near enough for you to notice the faint crease between his brows, a mark that's been appearing more often lately. You can’t help but wonder if your own brow mirrors his. Without even realising it, you find yourself following his slow, steady breaths.
Someone passes nearby, and your attention snaps back to the building. Your nerves start churning again.
"You've got this," Jack says.
"Mm," you respond absentmindedly, still not looking at him.
He drops your wrist and cradles your cheeks with both hands, bringing your attention back to him.
"You've got this," he repeats, head tilting to look you deeply in the eye. The way he's looking at you, the softness in his voice, settles painfully behind your ribs. But this is just Jack. He takes care of people. Caring isn't the same as loving.
You nod weakly. His thumbs brush your cheeks lightly, making sure he keeps your attention before it can wander again. He breathes slowly, and you follow his lead.
"Repeat it," he says.
You breathe out. "You've got it," you echo, smirking a little.
"Ha," he huffs, rolling his eyes fondly. His hands leave your cheeks but don't go far, landing on your shoulders instead. "Don’t overthink it. You know what you’re doing."
You don't answer right away, but nod after a moment.
Jack grins and squeezes your shoulders before letting his hands fall down. "Go get them, tiger. I'll see you after."
You hesitate for a second, but then you lean in for a hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, palms rubbing your back gently. You breathe in deeply, letting his scent wash over you, and then you step back.
When you look behind you just before the doors, Jack sends you a thumbs up and mouths another 'you've got this'. You give him a shaky smile, and then you head inside.
After signing in, locking away your phone, and being led to a grey cubicle, the day flattens into hours of clicking through cases—trauma, chest pain, aches—questions that seem straightforward until they aren't.
During breaks, you mechanically chew bites of the sandwich Jack made you.
By the time it’s over, your eyes are stinging, and your brain feels completely drained, running on nothing but adrenaline and sheer determination. Finally, you see it: Exam Complete. It’s a bit underwhelming, really, with no score to indicate how well you did—just an empty screen staring back at you.
As doubts begin to creep in, you step out into the afternoon light, squinting against the brightness.
"Hey, I could use an attending over here," a familiar voice calls. Jack leans against the wall, holding an absurdly large bouquet of flowers, grinning from ear to ear.
You shake your head at him, yet a smile spreads across your face. You're too worn out to put on a facade, and his smile is too contagious. As soon as you reach him, he pulls you into a warm embrace. "Congratulations, sweetheart!"
You pull back enough to look at him. "You don't know if I passed."
He gives you a pointed. "I know. I saw how hard you studied for this." His expression softens as he hands you the flowers. "There's no way you didn't pass."
He gently places a hand on your back, guiding you toward the car. "Now, let's celebrate. You want something to eat?"
"Yes, please!" As the adrenaline begins to fade, your hunger sets in. "Can we get fries?"
Jack chuckles warmly as he opens the passenger door for you. "Of course! We can get whatever you want, honey. It’s your special day."
Jack pulls into a nearby diner, which you pointed out had a sign proclaiming to have 'America's best fries'. The place looks frozen in time—shiny red booths, black-and-white tiled floors, chrome-edged tables, and neon signs glowing softly in the windows despite it still being bright outside. It's perfect.
A sweet older waitress named Ethel seats you in the corner booth and takes your orders. She eyes the presents that Jack has placed on the table with a curious smile—you'd been just as curious when he grabbed them from the back.
"Is it your birthday, sweetie?" she asks.
"Oh no," you shake your head.
"She's just finished her residency," Jack supplies with a proud smile.
"Oh wow," Ethel grins. "Congratulations!"
"Thank you," you say shyly.
Her eyes twinkle mischievously. "I'll be right back," Ethel says, spinning around to give your order to the kitchen.
Jack looks at you. "You wanna open your presents first or talk about the questions?"
Your eyes snap to his, unaware that he'd noticed how your mind was already spiralling.
"Go over them with me," he says. "I'm sure you did great."
He really is. And when he chooses the same answers as you did for all of the questions you remember, he knows you did great. With each confirmation, your shoulders go down minutely, until you're fully relaxed as the food arrives.
As you tear into your fries, Jack watches you across the table. Even tired and still slightly frazzled, you look gorgeous. He knows things have been weird, his fault really, but he hadn't expected you to bring up getting a divorce already. He thought he had more time. He clears his throat before the feeling can sit too long.
"Sorry to cut in," Ethel says as she walks by. In her hands, she holds a massive milkshake, whipped cream balancing precariously. "On the house. Congrats, sweetie."
"Oh wow," you exclaim. "Thank you so much." Your fingers curl around the glass, and you take a big sip.
"This is delicious," you say, lips still wrapped partly around the straw, words coming out jumbled. You push the glass toward him. "Wanna try?"
"Sure." He takes a sip and gives you an approving hum. He's not the biggest fan of milkshake, but when you offer it, it's his favourite drink in the world. "Now, I think it's time to open your presents."
You eye the boxes warily. "Does it matter which one I open first?"
He shakes his head and laughs when you go for the big one first. Exactly what he knew you would do.
You eagerly peel back the wrapping paper, and he can't help but grin when your eyes widen in disbelief. "No way." You rip off the rest of the paper, holding the box with your mouth slightly agape. "Jack—"
You turn it over, still in shock. It’s a Littmann stethoscope. Glancing back at him, you say, "This is way too much."
He shrugs, a smile spreading on his face. "You deserve the best," he replies, not at all concerned about the price when it comes to you.
"I can’t take this," you protest, still staring at the box.
"It would be rude not to," he teases gently. "It’s yours, honey. I doubt anyone else would want it with your initials on it."
"What?" You gulp, brows knitted as his words sink in. Your eyes begin to glisten. "Thank you."
He brushes it off, looking pleased. "Now, open the other one."
You carefully peel back the wrapping paper this time, revealing a velvet box tucked inside.
Jack suddenly regrets everything. Maybe it’s too much. Maybe Parker was wrong. Maybe getting something sentimental after weeks of distance was stupid.
As you gently open the box, the moon pendant on the necklace glimmers in the light of the diner.
"It’s the phase the moon was in when you switched to nights," Jack remarks, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. "I thought it was... kind of fitting, you know? With you being an attending on the night shift now."
For a moment, you’re silent, simply gazing at the pendant and then back at him. Your expression softens—vulnerable enough to tighten something in his chest painfully. "Jack…" you murmur softly.
Your fingers linger over the engraving of your nickname on the back as if you can’t help but keep touching it. Your mouth presses into something smaller, tighter. "You really didn’t have to do all this," you murmur, voice wavering around the edges.
He clears his throat. "I wanted to."
You nod a bit too quickly. "It’s really sweet," you say, already reaching for a smile that feels slightly too rehearsed. You look back down at the necklace again, thumb dragging over the pendant.
"I love it," you add quietly, almost to yourself. "Help me put it on?"
Jack swallows hard and nods.
You don’t mean to, but you nod off during the drive home, lulled into sleep by Jack’s soft humming. The adrenaline from earlier fizzled out during dinner, and now that you have food in your stomach, it’s harder to stay awake.
You stir awake as he pulls into the driveway, and with your eyes still half-closed, you stumble toward the front door. Jack unlocks it and motions for you to go in first. The house is dark and silent, the only noise coming from you as you hang up your jacket. Jack trails closely behind as you make your way to the living room. You don’t notice the tension radiating from him or how he’s practically holding his breath.
Just as you’re about to cross the threshold, the lights come on, and a loud chorus of voices erupts—
"SURPRISE!"
You yelp, stumbling backwards into Jack's chest. He catches you immediately, steadying you.
"Fuck," you gasp, one hand flying to your heart while laughter erupts around the room. Your eyes widen as you take in the scene: people crammed onto the couch, filling the kitchen and dining area—residents, nurses, and attendings, all grinning from ear to ear. Several phones point your way, capturing your shocked reaction.
Streamers hang askew from the ceiling, and a banner taped to the wall behind the couch reads, ‘CONGRATS!’
Parker cackles loudly at your face. "Told you she'd scream."
"You assholes," you breathe out. You turn to Jack with wide eyes. "Did you plan this?"
Suddenly, everything falls into place. The way he kept glancing at his watch and checking his phone before you left the diner.
He nods sheepishly. "Maybe."
Something warm spreads through you. He texted everyone, ensured your favourite people came, decorated, and made sure there’d be food and drinks so you wouldn’t spiral into anxiety alone. Your lip quivers slightly.
"Hey," Jack says softly. "Don't cry, sweetheart. You'll make everyone else cry, and then Shen'll start. Trust me, he’s an ugly crier."
"Hey!" Shen protests as people laugh.
You let out a laugh, blending the emotion bubbling inside you into something manageable. You grab Jack in a tight hug.
His arms wrap around you automatically.
"Thank you," you whisper into his shoulder.
His hand presses gently between your shoulder blades. "You deserve it," he murmurs into your hair.
You pull back to look at him, and you swear you see his eyes flicker down to your lips. The space between you feels charged, almost unbearable, but you turn away before you can dwell on it too long. You leap into the crowd, hugging and laughing your way through the congratulations.
Through it all, every conversation, every hug, every congratulation, you keep finding Jack.
He's mostly hanging back near the kitchen island, letting people have their moment with you. Directing gifts and cards to the foldable table he put up in the dining room. Occasionally, someone claps him on the shoulder, offering their congratulations.
After you've greeted everyone, it's been half an hour. Parker supplied you with a drink somewhere in the middle, and a light buzz has started to spread through you. You find your way back to Jack, bumping your shoulder against his.
"Tired?" he asks.
"A little."
"But happy?" he watches your face carefully, like he's ready to throw everyone out if you ask.
You glance around the room, taking in the lively residents engaged in playful banter, one nurse wrestling with Parker to keep her from popping open champagne indoors, and the precariously hanging banner. You turn to Jack, feeling the warmth radiating off him, and step a little closer.
"Yeah," you smile softly. "Really happy."
Jack beams in return, visibly relieved. "Good."
"Did I miss Robby, somehow?" you ask, taking a sip as you scan the room.
"He's not here yet," Jack replies, something almost boyishly excited in his tone.
Your eyebrows furrow, but before you can question him further, you’re swept into another wave of congratulations as more day shift staff arrive.
The front door opens after a little while. The sound barely carries over the music and chatter, but you’ve been wondering what Jack and Robby are up to since your conversation with Jack. Without hesitation, you step out into the hallway.
Robby steps in first, his tall frame ducking slightly as he walks through the doorway, even though it’s more than high enough for him. The moment he spots you, a grin spreads across his face.
"Robby!" you grin, swaying slightly as you step forward. "You made it!"
"Of course, I did," he replies, opening his arms just in time for you to collide into him. "My best resident's an attending now. And soon enough, board-certified, too. Wouldn't miss it for the world!"
"Best resident?" Trinity says as she passes by, squeezing your shoulder. "Rude."
"Talk to me when you stop falling asleep while charting," he shoots back.
"Make it more exciting then," she replies, leaving before he can answer.
There's a light tap on your shoulder. "Do I get a hug too, or are you too good for us ordinary folks now?"
Your body stills as you recognise the familiar cadence. "No way," you breathe, turning to face her.
Olivia grins at you when you nearly smack into her.
"Liv!" you squeal, wrapping your arms around her tightly. The two of you bounce in place, laughing together as Robby squeezes past with an amused chuckle.
"Oh my god," you gasp. "Oh my god, you're here!"
"I am," she laughs.
"How? What? When?" you pull back, but grab her hands immediately.
She laughs. "Jack called me. Paid for my ticket, too."
Your head snaps to the living room, where Jack stands with a beer bottle, watching the entire scene unfold with quiet amusement. "He did?" you ask, still looking at him.
Jack shrugs one shoulder, like flying your best friend into town isn't a big deal.
Olivia squeezes your hands. Because she knows better than you what's going through your head. You have nowhere to put the feeling, so you squeeze back hard.
"Oh no," she says playfully. "You’re not going to start crying, are you? Because then I’ll cry too."
"I'm not," you reassure her, sniffling a little.
"Mm," she huffs, smiling at you.
You laugh shakily and pull her into another hug. "I'm just so happy you're here."
"I’m really proud of you," she whispers in your ear. "Now, enough of the mushy stuff," she says, pulling back and quickly wiping her eyes. "Let’s get wasted!"
After introductions have been made and you've thanked Jack once again, Olivia pulls you out on the terrace. It's a little quieter outside, music humming faintly through the half-open door and laughter drifting out every few minutes.
Someone—likely Jack—has strung warm lights along the fence, casting a gentle glow around the edges of the yard. A few people linger in the far corner, drinks in hand, deeply engaged in conversation. They smile at you but don’t pay much attention otherwise.
As you sink into the lounger, it creaks softly beneath you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over you now that no one is tugging at your attention. The weight of the last few weeks—filled with the adrenaline and stress of the exam, along with all the emotions you’ve been avoiding—settles heavily in your bones.
Olivia sits down beside you, curling one leg beneath her. For a while, you both sit in silence, taking in the pink and gold sky above. You hadn't realised how badly you needed her here until she was.
She nudges your knee with hers. "You good?"
The automatic answer almost comes out. Yeah. Fine. Tired. But since it’s Liv asking, you look down at your drink instead and reply, "…Maybe."
Inside, silhouettes move through the house, and you catch a glimpse of Shen animatedly telling a story, Parker wearing a disbelieving frown nearby. And then there’s Jack—he’s half-listening to someone while refilling bowls and checking if the fridge is stocked. He laughs, his gaze drifting until he finally spots you outside. Something in his shoulders eases when he does.
As his gaze shifts back to whoever he’s talking to, Olivia watches you quietly. "Can I ask you something?"
You turn to her again. "That depends."
A tiny smile flickers across her face. "Are you actually sure," she asks carefully, "that the two of you are having the same conversation?"
You frown at her.
She shrugs. "I know what you said, but from where I'm standing…" Her eyes flick briefly to the window again. "…he doesn't exactly look emotionally detached."
You sigh, fingers tightening around your cup. "That's just Jack."
"He flew me across the country." She bumps her shoulder into yours as she leans back. "He called me, like… three? Maybe four weeks ago?"
"Really?"
"Mm," she hums. "Told me he was planning a surprise and that he wanted me there. He thought it wouldn’t feel right if I wasn’t."
Something warm and painful settles low in your chest.
"And," she adds, "he made Robby pick me up because he said if he left to get me, there was too high a chance that you'd notice something weird."
You blink.
"I'm just saying," she says, "that's a lot of effort."
"He likes taking care of people," you reply with a forced shrug.
"Sure. But this?" She gestures vaguely toward the house. "This feels a little above average."
You fall silent.
"You didn't hear the conversation," you say quietly instead. Heat creeps into your face. You hate it when she says things like that. Because you can't help but wonder if she's on to something.
Olivia’s expression softens. "Okay. But from where I’m sitting?" Her gaze drifts back to Jack, who’s already checking the window again. "That man doesn’t look like someone trying to leave."
Your chest tightens, and your head spins, caught at a crossroads. You want to believe her so badly. You really do. But hope is what led you here in the first place.
"Just..." she nudges your knee again. "Don't make permanent decisions based on assumptions."
The party grows louder as the night settles in. Music drifts through the house beneath the constant hum of overlapping conversations. Empty bottles and half-finished drinks crowd the coffee table and kitchen counters.
You’re standing near the kitchen island with Olivia, laughing at something Robby has just said, when the sharp clink of glass cuts through the chatter. Conversations begin to fade one by one.
Jack stands by the dining table, a beer bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other, looking somewhat embarrassed by the sudden focus on him.
"Oh no," you murmur immediately.
"Speech! Speech! Speech!" the crowd chants in unison.
"Don’t encourage him," you warn, shooting them all a firm look.
Jack rolls his eyes, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders as he glances around the room. Public speaking has never bothered him—he can run the Pitt without blinking—but this is different. This is personal.
His gaze finds yours and softens. The room quiets completely.
Jack clears his throat, "Okay. I wanna say a few words about my incredible wife."
Your breath catches a little at how easily he says those words.
The room collectively lets out an exaggerated chorus of 'awws'.
"Shut up, "Jack retorts flatly, though a smile breaks through. "She took her written boards today—which, for the record, I know she passed." He blinks at you, ignoring your head shake, and speaks directly to you. "You’re the hardest-working person I’ve ever met," he says quietly, "—and the most stubborn."
"You can't say that in a toast," you protest, laughing.
"I absolutely can," he replies confidently. "I’ve watched you spend years becoming the doctor people trust on their worst days." His mouth curves slightly. "I've also seen you survive residency fuelled by caffeine, spite and terrifying levels of determination."
Laughter erupts around the room.
"You care more than anyone I know,” Jack continues once it settles down. "About your patients. About your coworkers. About doing things right. The Pitt is better with you in it." He pauses, looking around the room. People eagerly lift their glasses, cheering their approval.
Jack shifts his weight, turning back to you. "And now it looks like I have to work with you as an attending."
"Don't say it like it's a burden," you call out.
"It is," he says dryly. "Because you're gonna show us all up."
"Damn right she is," Parker shouts, and the room cheers, prompting a soft laugh from Jack.
"I can’t wait for you to join nights again," he says, directing a pointed look at Robby, "—where you belong—"
You laugh at the grimace on Robby's face.
Jack continues, "—even if you're gonna steal all my favourite nurses."
"They already like me better," you say automatically, letting the alcohol drown any thoughts of Lily.
"See?" he tells the room, "Nightmare coworker."
Laughter fills the space again, but his eyes remain locked on yours. Then, speaking more softly, he says, "I’m really proud of you." He exhales quietly. "I know today was tough. I’m aware of the pressure you put on yourself. But I need you to understand," —his voice drops lower— "you earned this. You’re an amazing doctor."
The tears you had managed to hold back threaten to spill over. Liv subtly hands you a napkin. Your fingers find the moon pendant at your throat without thinking.
Jack's expression softens when he sees your face. And then he says the words he won't ever say in private. "I love you." His eyes don't leave yours. Something in his expression shifts—softer, almost wary.
The room melts around you. You wish, just for a second, that you could believe him. Maybe you would have—if this had been private. If he hadn’t said it with people watching. If it hadn’t come wrapped inside a toast and soft laughter, and the role you've trapped him inside.
He's your husband. Of course, he says I love you. What else is he supposed to say?
Jack looks at you for a second longer before clearing his throat roughly and turning back to everyone else. He lifts his bottle into the air. "To Trouble!"
The room echoes his sentiment. You manage a shaky smile through teary eyes, feeling Liv squeeze your hand.
"Okay, enough of the sappy stuff," he announces. "There’s cake in the kitchen and more drinks in the fridge. Have fun!"
He stops to add, "Oh—and if anybody starts discussing actual medicine tonight, I'm kicking you out!"
The room instantly bursts into noise and movement. You catch Jack’s arm as he walks past you.
"Thank you," you murmur, then step back, reaching for another drink. Jack catches your hand, like he wants to stop you from walking away.
Then he drops your hand again.
A little while later, you've been sent to the kitchen for more drinks by Parker and Trinity. Mel asked you more nicely.
Jack is already there, half inside the fridge, shifting bottles around. "What do you need?" he asks, without turning around.
"Two seltzers and two beers."
"All out of seltzers," he says without looking at you. "I'll go get some more." He shuts the fridge with his shoulder.
You don’t move right away. Neither does he. It stretches for a second too long before he nods toward the door. "You coming?"
You pretend to think about it, grinning slightly. "Do I have to?"
"No," he says, shrugging like it doesn't mean anything to him.
You follow him out anyway and pretend not to notice the smile on his face when you do.
Jack flips the garage light on and steps inside first. There are cases stacked against the wall, a half-open box of cups, and some random folding chairs shoved into the corner. It's cluttered in a lived-in way.
You reach for a case at the same time he does, your fingers brushing against each other.
"I’ve got it," he says, pulling away slowly. He adjusts his grip on the case, then shifts slightly so you can reach the cups.
"Thanks." You grab a sleeve, and when you straighten up, he’s already holding the door open for you. You pass him, close enough that your shoulder almost catches his chest.
Later in the evening, you find yourself sitting sideways on the couch, your head resting against the cushion as you half-listen to the radiologist whom Lily has been seeing. He'd brought a sweet card from her, giving you her apologies for having to work. Parker's vetted him earlier, and after about five minutes of questioning, you also deem him acceptable. He’s nice, sporting a bright smile that rivals Lily's in its brilliance, and he’s funny too—though maybe that’s just the alcohol coursing through your veins. As he recounts a story about misreading a scan, you chuckle into your cup.
"Hey, can I steal you for a second?" Jack’s voice cuts through your laughter, low and tense. His hand lands on your shoulder and slides down to grasp your hand, and before you can respond, he pulls you up and away. Your drink sloshes against your palm.
You glance back at the radiologist, whose name escapes you, offering an apologetic smile, but he waves you off with a smile.
As Jack pulls you through people toward his room, you twist your arm. "What's going on?"
He doesn't answer. He pushes the door open and pulls you inside, shutting it with more force than necessary. For a heartbeat, he stands there with his back to you, breathing heavily.
You wipe your hand on your pants and set the drink down on the dresser. "Jack?"
He turns around, his attempt at restraint already unravelling. His eyes are stormy, darker than usual. "You having fun?"
"Yeah?"
"It looked that way."
You frown at him.
"I know you've already decided how this ends—" he says, voice low and tense, "But don't do that in front of me."
Your brows shoot up. "Do what?"
"Least of all in my house," he continues, taking a step forward.
"What are you talking about?"
He exhales sharply, clearly struggling to rein in his emotions. "You know."
Irritation flares in your chest. "No? Because from where I was standing, I was having a normal conversation until you dragged me in here like I did something wrong."
His voice rises, filled with frustration. "You were all over him."
You step forward defiantly. "I was talking to him."
"You were laughing with him," Jack says, stepping closer. "For forty-five minutes."
"That's how conversations work, Jack. And it wasn’t even that long."
He scoffs, crossing his arms. "You could at least show some decency."
Your brows furrow, incredulous. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, "Decency? You're lecturing me about decency? That's rich."
His expression hardens. He’s close enough now that you can smell the beer and cake on his breath. "I don't understand what your problem is. You know what you're doing."
"My problem?" You take another step forward, refusing to back down. "My problem is you pulling me in here like I did something wrong while you’ve been flirting in front of me for weeks."
He blinks, his brows furrowing. "What? I haven't flirted with anyone."
You stare at him, crossing your arms. "Right. So, I've just been imagining things?"
He stares back at you, searching your face, then his nostrils flare. "Are you just trying to change the subject?"
"Are you?" you retort. You have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, mere inches apart now.
His breath hitches, and his eyes flicker down for a moment. "Jesus, what don't you get? You know I lo—"
Then the doorknob rattles
Your eyes widen as panic rushes across both your faces—the thought of someone walking in would be disastrous. Questions, rumours, explanations that neither of you can manage right now.
But beneath that panic lies something else: the way he stands too close, the jealousy lacing his voice, the realisation that for one fleeting moment, he sounded like he cared. Like he was hurt.
Without thinking, you react.
It's not gentle. Nothing about it is careful. It's frustration, anger, and heat colliding in a motion too fast to stop.
Jack freezes for half a heartbeat, maybe less, as if he can’t believe this is happening. Then something in him gives way. His hand wraps around your waist firmly, pulling you closer, while the other winds into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you deeply.
He turns you without breaking the kiss, and you feel your back hit the dresser. Woods digs into your hips, but you don't care. You try to swallow a moan as he licks into your mouth, but it still comes out broken.
Jack groans at the sound.
The door opens behind you—
"Oh shit—sorry!" a voice giggles, and then the door shuts again.
You move to pull back, but Jack simply follows. He crowds you closer, one hand gliding down your thigh and lifting you in one smooth move onto the edge of the dresser. You don't even register it properly—just the shift, the heat, the closeness of him. Your legs part to make room for him.
The kiss is still intense, angry, loaded with everything neither of you has said aloud for weeks. The anger burns hot at first. Weeks of hurt. Silences. Jealousy. Frustration.
It tastes sharp.
But somewhere between one breath and the next, it changes. Not softer. Like neither of you wants to stop long enough to remember why you should.
You let it go on longer than you should have, fingers gliding through the hair at the nape of his neck, brushing against the slight stubble on his cheeks, and then trailing down to his chest again. You soak in the sounds he makes, the softness of his lips, and the faint taste of beer lingering on him.
He mutters against your lips, "Please don’t make this harder—" but the rest fades away as reality crashes back in. You break the kiss, barely pulling away, your breath uneven, your foreheads nearly touching.
"Jack…" you murmur. "We…We shouldn't." You force yourself to resist the urge to lean in again, reminding yourself he’s drunk, and this isn’t what he truly wants.
Jack stills immediately. The air between you, once heated, cools instantly. He pulls back, looking at you with blown pupils, and whatever he sees there makes him falter.
He nods and retreats quickly, like he’s been burned. The sudden gap between you feels worse than if he had stayed angry. "No, you’re right."
"I—" you say as you watch the gap between you grow back again, heart pounding painfully behind your ribs. "Jack—"
"Hey, can I come in?" Olivia's voice floats through the door, slightly muffled and slurred. "I've got beer all over me—I need a shower before I start fermenting."
Jack watches you silently, like he's begging you not to answer.
You wet your lips, forcing your voice to work. "…Yeah."
The door swings open, and she halts mid-step, taking in the scene before her. Her eyes dart from you to Jack. "Should I—" she begins, stepping back.
"I'll go," Jack interrupts and brushes past her.
She stares down the hallway for a moment before closing the door behind her and locking it. "What was that about?"
You gaze at the floor, shrugging awkwardly. "…We kissed."
Her expression shifts immediately. "What?" she asks sharply.
Your stomach twists. "It—" you swallow, trying to push the ache down. "I don't know—" Your voice cracks at the end despite your best effort to remain steady.
"Oh, honey," she says, crossing the room to sit beside you on the dresser without hesitation, pulling you into her non-beer-soaked side. "Hey, hey—look at me."
At first, you can’t. She nudges you gently, then pinches your side until you meet her gaze.
"Everything's fucked," you tell her with a wet laugh.
She doesn’t respond, nor does she try to convince you otherwise. Instead, she pulls you closer, letting you cry it out.
Once your breathing slows, she leans her head against yours. "Did he kiss you back?"
You laugh wetly. "That’s not exactly the problem."
Olivia studies you. “Okay. We’re unpacking this tomorrow when you're not drunk."
For a while, neither of you says anything. Then Olivia heads into the bathroom. The shower runs softly while you shift to sit on the edge of the bed. Laughter and music drift faintly through the door.
Your chest aches in that dull, exhausted way heartbreak settles after it's done tearing through you. You don’t know what tonight meant, what the kiss signified, or what he meant by, “please don’t make it harder…”
You wipe at your face roughly, feeling humiliated.
Olivia peeks out from behind the shower curtain, her face partially visible through the cracked door.
"...Okay," she says cautiously. "I have gossip."
You blink. "What?"
Her mouth twitches. "Important gossip."
Despite yourself, a tired laugh escapes. "Liv, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," she says quickly. "Someone else did something."
"…Who?"
She's silent.
"No way."
She tries very hard to maintain her composure and fails immediately, breaking into a grin. "He spilt his beer on me and then—"
"You kissed Robby?" you gasp in disbelief.
Her grin only widens. "Don’t be mad."
You blink at her in disbelief, once, twice. "Oh my god," you laugh. "I can’t believe you."
"Are you mad?" she asks, biting her lip nervously.
"No!" you immediately reassure her. You're really not. "I just...didn't realise that was a thing."
"Well, to be fair," she laughs, stepping back under the water. "Neither did I until about half an hour ago."
The party thins out a little after midnight. Jack and you cross paths a few times, but he doesn't really look at you, no matter how hard you're trying to catch his eye. You didn't realise how much you'd depended on it before.
For the last few hours, you’ve been drifting through the evening, going through the motions without really being present. You smile through well-wishes, laugh at the appropriate moments without any real feeling, and hum along to the music without actually listening. Even through the blur of everything with Jack, you catch the few lingering looks from Robby in Olivia’s direction, like something has shifted slightly.
It's the only good thing you have to hold on to right now,
You guide a very drunk Olivia into your bed while Jack and Robby are busy clearing bottles off the terrace after saying goodbye to the last few guests. As you head to the kitchen for a glass of water, your steps slow when you hear their voices coming from the hallway. You find yourself pausing near the counter, unable to help it.
"You good?" Robby asks.
There’s a pause—a long one for such a simple question.
"Yeah," Jack finally answers. "I'm fine."
"That's not what it looks like," Robby says.
You hear Jack exhale. "It’s nothing," he says. "I just… I should’ve handled things differently."
You hear the jingle of keys. Robby doesn't respond right away, letting the silence prompt Jack to continue.
"I thought I had more control over it. That I could keep it contained."
"But you can’t," Robby states, not posing it as a question.
Jack emits a broken laugh. "No. I should’ve never agreed to this."
You bite your lip harshly.
"Brother," Robby says, shifting slightly, "That's not true—"
"It's gone too far now and I—"
You hold your breath. A chill spreads through your chest at his words. Gone too far. Deep down, you knew he regretted this. Now, you have it in plain words.
You don’t wait for him to finish. You step back before your body even catches up with the words, pulse roaring in your ears. Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, it feels like everything is about to break open.
But it doesn’t.
Whatever was building just… stalls out. You blink once, then again, waiting for the tears to catch up. They don’t. There's just a dull pressure behind your eyes that never quite turns into anything.
a/n: don't hate me too much! i know you're all gonna scream at me for this ending but the angst is almost over!! promise <333 and thank you everyone who sent in ideas for jack's gift to trouble! i already had the stethoscope idea planned and i'm very happy so many of you agreed!!
The way I had to keep stopping to take a breath and refrain from screaming 😭 like OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!! The downside to reading immediately after this was posted is I’ve now made my wait until the next update even longer than if I was a little more patient lol but holy shit it will be so worth it I just know it! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: that confession will hit like crack 🙂↕️