I can tell my evil advisor has been feeling down lately so I've been pretending to take big sips from his cursed chalice and then roaming the palace grounds groaning and clutching my abdomen. Lowkey I know it's deceptive but I can tell it's really cheering him up. I heard him evilly cackle for the first time in weeks. WIBTA if I keep doing this
Brendon Park + daughter! Reader. The fic where Park was a teen dad.
āThis is Y/N, early 20s, female, coworker called 911 because she was in extreme abdominal pain. In Presbys catch but wanted to come here.ā
All the words are kinda tunnel vision to you as the really nice paramedic, you think his name was Jason, wheels you in. Two doctors and a nurse come to your side, taking you out of the ambulances gurney and onto theirs.
One of the doctors, young and pretty pressed a stethoscope to your chest. āHi Y/N Iām Dr Santos. Can you tell me a little bit about this belly pain?ā She asked. You winced. āItās bad. Itās in the bottom. Uh. Lower right quadrant.ā
The nurse, an older blonde lady raised her eyebrows. āLower right quadrant? You a nurse or something, honey?ā
You groaned from the pain. āNo my dad is- I want my dad. Can you call him?ā You begged.
You watched her think for a second. āYou asked to be here because your dadās a doctor here? Whoās your dad honey Iāll get right on that.ā
āBrendon Park. Ortho.ā You gritted out.
You watched the two doctors exchange an expression of shock. āIāll be right back.ā The nurse promised, walking out to, hopefully, call your dad.
Dr Santos got right back to work.
āIām gonna feel around your belly, okay? Can you tell me when the pain started?ā
āUh- about, like 2 hours ago?ā You explained.
She nodded, continuing to feel around. Ask the normal questions. Pregnancy chances, medicinal history. Then she pressed down on your lower right side and you whimpered.
āOkay. Iāll be honest with you. Not the best spot, can be alot of things over there. Could be appendix, could be your ovary. Could be an intestinal block in the area. Iām gonna get you on line for a CAT scan and a sonogram of the area so we can take a look inside, alright? Until then Iām gonna have a nurse come draw some blood and weāll go from there.ā She explained.
You nodded through the pain.
She waved down a nurse walking past and in, ordering a long list of tests on blood.
And then she hesitated. āAnd uh. Danaās probably trying to get a hold on your dad so weāll send Dr Park right in when he gets here.ā She promised.
You watched the nurses eyebrows climb.
You tanked her as she told you to feel free to use the call button any time, and left you with Perlah, as she introduced, to draw your blood.
You were left alone in head dizzying agony for about 3 minutes when your dad barreled past the curtain like a hurricane.
āDaddyā you whimpered, every dam breaking at the sight of your father, shrinking down into a little girl from the pain and the fear.
His face was riddled with anxiety as he rushed to your bedside, scooping you into his arms.
āIām here peanut, daddyās here.ā He swore, pulling your torso into his arms where he sat himself behind you.
He let you cry, in pain and fear, let you cuddle and cling.
Just a little girl who needed her dad real bad.
āIve got you. Youāre safe. Youāre gonna be okay princess.ā He promised.
You tried to believe him.
āTell me whatās going onā he asked, ever so softly.
āMy stomach hurts. Down by my appendixā you explained. Never allowed to give your dad a lazy answer with a belly ache.
Worry flickered in his eyes. Could be a lot of things. Which he knew you knew.
āThey do any tests yet?ā
āBlood. Iām waiting for CT and then a sonoā you explained painfully and he nodded. āI know to hurts. Save your energy. Iām gonna go break some heads-ā he began to threaten before someone knocked on the door.
Someone who looked at your dad in full shock.
āHi Iām Anton Iām gonna take you down to your CAT scanā he introduced awkwardly.
You nodded as you tried to stand painfully.
Your dad wasnāt having it as he scooped you up.
āI got you honey. I got you. Itās okay.ā
He deposited you in the waiting wheelchair carefully.
And then he fallowed you down to CT.
He was met with surprised looks at every turn, but he didnāt care. Not when his babyās health was on the line.
He waited with crossed arms and a grumpy face in the CT booth as your test ran, wishing so deeply he could hold your hand through the shitty feeling of the contrast.
Watching your results with a keen eye.
Now he had a better Idea.
He didnāt say anything about it as they wheeled you back to your room, as he settled you back in bed.
He waited for Santos- to his dismay never the less by the way- to come in.
āHey Y/N- oh. Hi Dr Park.ā She froze at your dadās presence.
He nodded for her to continue. She cleared her throat.
āSo. Based on your CT it looks like you ruptured an ovarian cyst.ā She explained.
Brendon knew that from the CT. Was deeply relieved that was all this was. A painful nuisance, but a routine surgery. And it didnāt look like any permanent damage was done to the organ itself, thank fucking god.
Which Santos explained as well.
āIt does though look like itāll need surgery to control the bleeding and repairā which Brendon had a feeling about, too. āIām gonna put in a page to general surgery- Dr Park I assume youād want me to name drop to put a flame under their asses.ā
Brendon agreed. But shook his head.
āI already called in a favor, Emerson should be here soonā
āChief of OBGYN Surgery Emersonā Dr Santos noted in surprise. āThat would be the one. She owes me from her momās hipā Brendon chuckled.
āOnly the best for my little girl.ā Brendon insisted softly, kissing your head. āGonna be just fine, Angel.ā He swore.
ļæ¼
Waiting for your surgery to end was torture for Brendon.
He never realized how horrible it was to be on the other side. Be the patients waiting family.
He was hell.
He was surely going to break something going crazy sitting like this. How long can it take? Itās laparoscopic.
After a while, someone sat down next to him.
In an empty fucking waiting room.
He was about to tell them off when he registered the presence handing him a large black coffee. āHow you doing man?ā
Robby.
āCould be fucking betterā he bit. āScared out of my fucking mind.ā
Robby chuckled fondly. āKids do that to you.ā
Brendon could drink to that.
ā23 years Iāve been going crazy with it. Sheās all I fucking think about.ā He wasnāt so much as complaining, just releasing.
Fatherhood.
āI didnāt know you had kids.ā Robby offered.
āJust her.ā Brendon corrected. āJust us.ā
Robby nodded in understanding. No mom no siblings. Just you two.
āSheās a bit older than Iād have expectedā Robby tested carefully.
āI was 17ā Brendon supplied.
Robby whistled.
āShit.ā
Brendon nodded.
āShit indeed. I fucked up. Her mom wanted nothing to do with it after she was born- canāt blame Carly she was a 16 year old girl herself- but uh, just us since day one. Thatās a lie. My parents were fucking saints. Wouldnāt have gotten this far without years worth of babysitting. But sheās- she has been everything since the day I met her.ā Brendon summarized.
āFatherhood fulfills me in a way I never could have expected.ā Brendon explained. Unprompted. āIām okay being single. I never needed bars or parties in college. I got out of class and just wanted to go home and play with my daughter.ā Brendon admitted.
He couldnāt remember what it had been like to not be a dad at this point. He was fucking 17, he was a kid himself when he had you. Heād been a dad now longer than he hadnāt been. It was the only adulthood he knew, being your dad. Itās always been him and you. He didnāt need anything else. Just his daughter. You were a product of a massive fuck up. And you were the best thing that ever happened to him.
He was shockingly tender when it came to the little girl no one knew he had.
College had been unique for him.
That last year and change of highschool was actually easier.
His mom, a retired nursery school teacher now, was saintly levels of helpful. Took you to work with her, and you fit right in. You were always such a grandmas girl, Brendon remembered fondly. Always picking flowers to bring home when you lived with his parents. Still saw her almost daily, spoke to her daily for sure.
When he went to college- commuting from home and working at his dadās store part time- you were toddling around. Sometimes it was easier to just bring you to class. Started explaining his classes to you in ways your little mind understood. His young father soft side was endlessly charming to professors, and probably got him far. Fuck, it sure as hell got him scholarships.
And then med school.
Oh, fuck. Med school was tough.
But he knew, he knew you deserved a good life- a great life. He wanted to give you that. Even if it was gonna come a little late. By the time you were in higschool heād be able to take you on fancy vacations and by the grace of god put you through college.
So he busted his ass. Studied hard. Became the best. Made him self stand out.
Kept his cards close to his chest. And that meant you. No one got to- needed to- know about the best part of his life. They could only use it against him.
So for your first few years of elementary school he proved though med school, and worked like a dog to make sure he could get a residency in Pittsburgh so you wouldnāt have to leave his family.
And by the time you were in middle school, he bought his own damn house.
You were just a baby. You didnāt really get it. Why it was so important. So huge. But it meant the world to him. An R3 buying a nice house for his daughter to call home.
And by your first year of highschool he was an attending. He made it. He was stable. He was set. You were set.
And you could go to college anywhere you wanted.
And of corse you fucking stayed at home anyway.
Kids.
Robby chuckled at the sentiment.
āShe sounds like a great kid.ā
Brendon nodded. āI donāt deserve her. No one deserves her. Sheās the best kid anyone could ask for. Sheās everything, man. Everything.ā Brendon admitted.
Voice right and tears in his eyes.
āNothing like this has ever happened to her before. No stitches. Never broke a bone. No allergic reactions. Sheās just coasted and-ā
He choked. āIāve never had to worry about her before. Not more than waiting up for her to get home from a party or a concert or- Iāve never been scared for her.ā Brendon explained, breathing heavy.
āHey- hey.ā Robby whispered. āHey. Sheās gonna be fine and you know that. This is nothing. Sheās be fine.ā Robby swore.
Brendon nodded wetly.
He felt Robbyās hand on his shoulder.
āHey, Iām gonna stay here with you, okay? Youāre not in this alone man.ā
But wait this is actually freaking me out though, it raises so many questions about the otherwise incomprehensible meaning of life as a collective whole versus personal sustenance and longevity
Imagine if one day you were given a choice: Become immortal and indestructible for eternity, unable to be harmed by anything ever again, and get to live forever.
However, in order to achieve that you must give up whatever your purpose in life is. Whatever it is that you were always meant to do, what you were supposed to contribute to the overall scheme and future of the life of the universe, your purposeā¦ the whole reason you were even created, even born in the first place. You must give that up. You donāt know what that is. Youāll never know; But, regardless, you say yes.
Perhaps you assume you wouldnāt have made any sort of significant difference anyway. That butterfly effect theory or whatever they call it? Nah, you call bullshit. It doesnāt matter - you donāt matter, at least not to anything outside of your immediate connections - and itāll all be fine, and youāll just live forever with minimal (or maybe even no) consequences.
So, yay! Youāre now immortal. Youāll never die or get hurt ever again. Wee!
But then, centuries and centuries later (not to mention that by this point youāve gone through horrible heartbreak and misery and despair because every loved one you ever had, every friend you ever made, ever person you barely got to know, has passed away, died as you lived on long without them, helpless to do anything for them as you watched them perish, unable to ever go with them or ever see them again. But I digress), now, you learn you actually were important in the grand scheme of things. You were supposed to be a key factor in the worldās survival, long ago; but, because of the choice you made (immortality over individual purpose), you were never given the knowledge or awareness or resources or ability to save the world that you were always supposed to obtain, before you unknowingly made the wrongest choice to ever wrong.
Needless to say, youāve fucked up big time.
The entire universe as we know it is destroyed soon after this horrifying revelation. It implodes, collapses in on itself, essentially forming a massive black hole or something. Stars, nebulae, galaxies, solar systems and planets, worlds and worlds of living people and things, and light-years of time and space and life, all sucked up into absolute, indefinite nothingness.
But you remain.
Just you. Floating amongst, spiraling around, rocketing through, suspended inā¦ nothing. With a feeling of such unbelievable loneliness that your feeble brain can hardly perceive, canāt possibly hope to comprehend. Not only are you the only living thing left, you donāt even have one inanimate object to keep you company. You have literally. Nothing. And you are literally nowhere. I mean, technically, you are now the universe - if it would bring you petty comfort to think about it that way. You. Only you. With nothing, no one, nowhere. Forever. And ever. And ever.
All because you thought you didnāt matter. That you had no real, meaningful purpose. That you could never possibly make a difference.
But you did. And now look what youāve gotten yourself into, you silly nugget. Youāre gonna be pretty bored and lonely for that eternity, huh?
Or maybe it was out of selfishness. Maybe this wasnāt because you felt useless, but because you simply only cared about prolonging your own life and nothing else. Hm.
The moral here? Be selfless, and always know and remember that you matter.
Or else, one day, you might destroy the universe. And be left to suffer, and be tortured horribly and endlessly by the void of nothingness that has consumed you. With no way to escape. Ever.
Other moral because I got sidetracked from my initial point - all things considered, would you choose longevity over purpose? Immortality over meaning?Ā
OR, IDK, MAYBE SOME IDIOT JUST LAMINATED A STUPID PIECE OF PAPER TOWEL FOR NO GOOD REASON
AND MAYBE I SHOULDNT BE LOOKING FOR THE ANSWERS TO THE MEANING OF OUR SHORT, FRAGILE LIVES IN
summary: you saved jack abbot's life once, and now he insists on returning the favor. (6k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, michael robinavitch, trinity santos
contents: army medic!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, canon divergence, not proofread cw for medical inaccuracies, heavy mentions of ptsd and grief, mentions of blood and gore, and allusions to smut 18+ (MDNI)
FIC #7 / 20 FOR 20
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You find Jack Abbot the same way you left him ā covered in bright red blood ā though it doesnāt seem to be his this time. Ā
Youāre a few hours on your first shift as interim attending when the man rushes in from the ambulance bay. The camo tactical gear sitting heavily over his muscular form is strikingly familiar to you, along with the sweat matting his curls to his forehead. The wild strands are a lot more grey than you remember, and the smile lines that werenāt there before have since etched themselves into the corners of his eyes. The years have been endlessly kind to him, by the looks of it.
āIntubated neck wound. Sats not great. We were diverted hereā Is there a trauma room open?ā the man rambles all at once, before heās even glanced up from the plastic mask he squeezes in a gloved hand. He jogs alongside the rolling gurney with a faint limp from his prosthetic. His stride stutters slightly when his eyes finally lift to find you, rushing to the stretcher with Robby at your side.
Thereās a faint twitch of uncertainty in his light eyes, like heās trying to gauge whether or not heās seen a ghost. You miss the look of flickering amusement entirely as you snap on a pair of blue latex gloves, gaze zeroed in on the blood gushing around the intubation tube in the unconscious manās throat.
āWhatās the story?ā Robby asks, following in the manās hurried stride.
āMy buddy, Officer Hiro,ā Jack answers immediately, through a series of panted breaths. āHigh-velocity GSW, warehouse robbery gone sideways. Heās getting harder to bag.ā
The windowless trauma room swallows you whole as you wheel the gurney inside. The four walls swell suddenly with the scent of coppery blood and bitter chlorhexidine. Nurses rush to wake the surrounding monitors with a set of electronic chirps, while Jack escorts the officers he came with out of the room. āWeāll take care of him, I promise,ā you hear the man say as you slide your stethoscope into your ears.
You press the chestpiece to the manās bloodied sternum, bare from where his uniform had already been cut down to his waist and sticky with fresh blood. His heartbeat is weak and rapid in your ears, barely maintaining enough pressure to reach his brain.
āPulse is thready,ā you murmur and slide the diaphragm half an inch higher. āDiminished breath sounds on the rightā¦āĀ
Jack appears across from you, mouth curling into a familiar crooked grin. āWe have got to stop meeting like this, Doc,ā he jokes in a gritty deadpan.
āThatās crazyā I was thinking the exact same thing,ā you quip and slip the stethoscope back around your neck. āDr. Santos, letās make sure these lungs are up.ā
āYou two know each other?ā Robby wonders aloud. He glances between you and Jack with a pair of suspiciously narrowed eyes as he plucks a pair of scissors from the metal tray beside him.
āYeah, you could say thatā¦ā Jack huffs with his eyes on the blade, which slices mechanically through the end of the endotracheal tube protruding from Hiroās throat.āPulling out,ā the man announces before sliding the thing out through his mouth. āBag.ā
A silver-haired nurse, whom youāve yet to come acquainted with, squeezes at the valve mask at Jackās instruction. Air bubbles at the wound.
āHeās not moving any air,ā you call to the crowded room. āGet me a neonatal mask.ā
āNeonatal?ā Santos echoes with furrowed brows.
āYeah, weāre gonna put it over the wound to keep his airflow up while Dr. Abbot cuts a full-length tube and Dr. Robby shifts his trachea back into place,ā you explain with a firm nod, smiling softly as you turn back to the attendings across from you. āSound like a plan?ā
Robby glances up at you from where heās hunched over Hiroās body, with two gloved fingers searching for his vocal cords. A faint smile lifts the corner of his mouth. āDo you always explain procedures like youāre assigning homework?ā he laughs.
āIf youāre asking if sheās always been this bossy, yes, she has,ā Jack quips with a crooked grin that widens at the edges when you roll your eyes, turning away to accept the neonatal mask a nurse passes from behind you. āAnd yes, it saved my lifeā Santos, cut me down a 6-0 ET tube, will you?āĀ
āOh, do tellā¦ā Robby hums.
āThereās nothing to tell,ā you huff and set the mask of the neonatal tube over the bubbling wound, helping the air move in and out of the unconscious manās lungs. āItās just the kinda stuff that happens when youāre an army medicā you win some, you lose some.ā
āOh, sheās just being modest,ā Jack croons drily as he irrigates the wound with saline, washing away clotted blood until the displaced trachea emerges beneath the crimson. His gloved fingers move alongside yours as he rambles. āShe had orders to leave me after I got hit by that IEDā¦ The rest of āem were pulling backā didnāt have much of a choice but to, really, butā¦ She didnātā¦ She dragged me aboutā¦ What was it? Two-hundred meters?āĀ
Jackās eyes lift and find yours have gone strangely distant. Your gaze zeroes in on the neck wound below; your mind wanders against your will.
The freezing A.C. of the emergency department grows sweltering in an instant, burning like the familiar desert heat that feels like dry fire in your lungs. Black smoke threatens to fog your vision all at once. The antiseptic smell turns suddenly to burning fuel. And the blood on your hands becomes darker, fresher, running over your fingers like an open faucet.Ā
Your hands start to tremble the same way they did when you tied the tourniquet around Jackās wounded limb, made of nothing more than exposed nerves and tendons from the knee down. You feel your legs weaken the same way they did when you dragged Jackās weight across unforgiving ground beneath earth-shaking explosions and whizzing bullets.Ā
Jack apologized through his guttural screams ā because, even now, he swears the pain from the tourniquet hurt more than losing his leg ā as you sat him up behind an unmanned tank.
āShut. Up,ā you commanded, covering his mouth with your bloodied hand. āOr I swear to god, I will kill you if we make it out of hereā Do you understand?ā
You made it out. And it became a funny story everyone told back at the VA ā that time you threatened the life of the man you were saving ā though you still struggle to laugh about it even still.
āā¦Right, Doc?ā Jack presses, head ducking in an attempt to catch your eye.
Your hands remain firm over the small mask pressed to the wound in Hiroās neck, but your face has emptied into an expressionless sort of look. It takes a long moment for your brain to will your eyes to blink, and only then does the sun-bleached desert in your mind return to the hospital where you plant your feet ā buzzing fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, blinding white walls. You list everything you can see until your brain recalculates its surroundings.
Your wide eyes flit across the unblinking stares looking back at you, each of them waiting for a response. Your heart lurches in your chest. Your mouth opens and closes as you struggle to recall the last thing youād heard.Ā
āUh, n-not quite two-hundred,ā you stammer with a trembling smile. āWe had a team find us before then, Iām pretty sure.ā
āSee what I mean?ā Jack hums with a surer smile, though it doesnāt quite reach his eyes. His softened gaze remains fixed on you, studying you despite all your attempts to hide. āModest.ā
The automatic doors of the ambulance bay sigh open and shut every few seconds behind you. Each mechanical breath exhales waves of freezing air into the thick July evening, which smells overwhelmingly of hot asphalt, cigarette smoke, and gunpowder from far-off fireworks.Ā
You stand next to Jack beneath the overhang, with summer wind whipping through the thin fabric of your tied isolation gowns as you wait for the incoming trauma together ā roughly five minutes out, Dana had said. Ā
āSoā¦ā you start slowly, wringing the loose pair of gloves in your anxious hands as your eyes fall to the man beside you. Heās still wearing the baggy camo pants heād arrived in, though heās since traded his heavy plate carrier for the fitted black t-shirt underneath it, which clings ardently to his muscular torso. āā¦SWAT, huh?ā
āMy therapist said I needed a hobby,ā he jokes with a lazy shrug. āAnd, turns out, I suck at golf, soā¦ I chose the next best thing.ā
You shake your head and turn away, exhaling a quiet laugh in response ā perhaps your first real one since the unforgiving shift started. The corner of Jackās mouth lifts into a grin, proud of himself for having heard the pretty sound. He hadnāt thought to miss it until now.
āā¦How long has it been, you think?ā he wonders suddenly, with a pair of squinted eyes.
You draw a deep breath through your nose. Your eyes scale the milky pink and orange skyline beyond the ambulance bay, where a molten gold sunset streaks across the sky. āA whileā¦ā you settle on after a few long moments.
āAnything new with you I should know about?ā he asks, rocking gently to ease the weight on his prosthetic.Ā
You scoff like itās funny ā maybe because you canāt remember the last time anyone other than your therapist was asking after you. āNopeā¦ā you sigh. āUnfortunately, I am still the exact same person you knew back thenā¦ā
āDoesnāt seem so unfortunate to me,ā he insists, brows furrowed, like heās half-offended by your own self-degradation.
āWell, youād think afterā I donāt knowā a decade of pretty intensive therapy that I might be a little different,ā you quip with an awkward laugh. The humor dissolves a second later when you realize how pathetic you sound. āBut, uhā¦ Iām still working through it, I guess...ā
āArenāt we allā¦ā Jack trails off with a slow nod.
āI donāt know,ā you lilt, eyes drifting unconsciously towards his hand, where a black wedding ring sits around his fourth finger. The sight of it makes your chest ache more than youād like to admit ā as if a not-so-distant part of you had expected him to be as single and miserably lonely as you, even after all this time.Ā
Of course, someone loves him, you think to yourself, how could they not?
āYou seem to be doing pretty alright for yourself, Iād say.ā
Jack follows your gaze and, almost instinctively, clasps his hands behind his back as if to hide them. His anxious grip tightens on the blue latex he holds between them. āYeah, uhāā He clears his throat, eyes fixed on the street beyond the overhang. āMy wife, sheā¦ She passed. A few years ago.ā
The humid summer air becomes harder to breathe in an instant. Your mouth parts with shock, though it takes a long moment before any words of apology fall out. āOhā Shit, Jack, Iā Iām sorry. Iāā
āItās okay. You didnāt know,ā he assures with a gentle smile, rubbing absentmindedly at the ring with his thumb from where it hides behind his back. āItās my fault for still wearing the damn thing. I justā feel weird taking it off, I guessā¦āĀ
You nod slowly to yourself and glance away. Youāve gotten well acquainted with grief and its tricky rituals over the years.
āWhat about you?ā Jack wonders aloud, smiling a little wider when you turn back to face him with a pair of raised brows. āYou seeing anyone?ā
Your first instinct is to laugh. āNo. God, no.ā
āOh, cāmonā¦ā he croons. āIt canāt be that bad.ā
You flash him a cynical look and a sad sort of smile. āYeah, wellā¦ I donāt think most people are looking for a girl like me, to be fair.ā
āYeah?ā Jack hums, crossing his arms over his chest. āWhatās that?ā
āI donāt know,ā you scoff. āA girl whoā¦ works all the time. Who barely sleeps. Who canāt sleep if someoneās breathing wrong in the next room. Whoā¦ goes to therapy twice a weekā three times if things are real badā I meanā¦ā A laugh sputters from your lips. āIām a total nutcase.ā
āHey,ā Jack argues, weathered face screwed in a playful offense. āSome guys are into nutcases, Iāll have you know.ā
āOh, really?ā you hum drily.
āMe chief among them,ā he nods.
āWhat?ā you laugh. āIs that supposed to flatter me or somethingā?ā
Boom! An explosion crackles across the evening sky. Your body reacts before your mind, going into panic mode in a flicker. Your shoulders jerk violently, your heart leaps into your throat, your eyes snap instinctively for cover. A red-hot spark rushes down your legs as though your body was telling you to run.Ā
Your brain catches up a second later.
Itās a fireworkā¦ Itās just a firework, you think to soothe yourself, and to ease your suddenly pounding pulse. But as the fear fizzles slowly away, the self-hatred comes next ā the undeniable fact that your body will always belong to a war that ended years ago.
You force your shoulders to relax once more and pray that Jack hasnāt noticed any of it. But you can see his expression softening in the corner of your eye ā first with concern, which flickers thereafter into a softer sort of pity.Ā
At the very least, however, he gives you the dignity of pretending he hadnāt seen it at all as sirens rage in the distance ā growing nearer and nearer until the red-yellow lights of the ambulance whip around the corner. The two of you snap your gloves on in tandem.
Jack steps off the curb first when it squeals to a park just in front of you. āYou picked a hell of a day to come in, Docā¦ā he huffs and rushes towards the back doors.Ā
āIād rather be here than working,ā you scoff and follow behind him. āItās less depressing that way, I think.ā
āIs it?ā Jack quips with narrowed eyes.
You laugh through your nose. āYeah, juryās still out on the one, I guessā¦ā
Fourth of July rages across the city. You pretend not to notice.Ā
You stand in the muffled quiet of the breakroom, tucked away from the chaos of the emergency department, and watch the coffee machine in front of you sputter as it coughs up steam that smells like burnt grounds and vanilla creamer. You let the bitter stench singe your nostrils as the firework show begins in the heart of the city.
Boom!
A firework sounds off in the distance, closer than all the ones from earlier in the evening. You wrap both hands around the paper cup of coffee, letting the scalding warmth seep into your palms. The heat nearly burns you, but itās half-grounding nonetheless.
Boom!
You swear itās shaking the ground beneath your feet, and trembling the thick, concrete walls on either side of you. Though, with the way your day is going now, itās impossible to tell whatās real and what lives only inside your head.
Boom!
Your fingers tighten around the cup to the point of trembling. You close your eyes and attempt to count your breaths ā in for seven, hold for four, out for eight. Your brain tries to trick you ā tries to convince you that the freezing cold of the emergency department smells like desert heat and metallic blood and burning gunpowder. It works.
āCounterā¦ā you mutter aloud to yourself, despite how strange it seems, flattening your hand along the white laminate below, even as your shoulders jerk from another explosion in the city. You place your hand on the smooth curve of the cold sink next, and then on the rough cloth draped just behind it. āFaucetā¦ Dishragā¦ā
Your attempts to anchor yourself to reality only halfway work. You opt to abandon your coffee on the counter altogether as your pulse continues to climb. Youāre grateful to find the E.R. still waiting for you on the other side of the door, instead of a memory you canāt seem to leave.Ā
āOh, heyā I was just looking for you.ā
Your head whips over your shoulder to find Jack strolling down the half-empty corridor with a tablet in his hands, now dressed in his dark black scrubs instead of the tactical gear he arrived in.Ā
His shift has probably started now, or is about to, at least ā which means you should be leaving with the rest of the day shift. But you fear what waits for you outside these walls and those automatic doors; the crushing certainty of solitude that always seemed to be waiting for you back home, to be more specific.
You exhale a trembling breath, falling into step with Jack when he walks by. āWhere is everyone?ā you wonder aloud.
āDay shift went up to the roof, I think,ā he answers with most of his attention on the tablet as he scrolls absentmindedly through it. āWatching the fireworks and drinking beer, Iām sureā¦ Lucky bastards.ā
āSantos did invite me to karaoke today,ā you tell him.
āA karaoke invite on your first day, huh? Impressive,ā Jack croons, laughing softly through his nose when you lean to knock your shoulder against his broader one. He gets a faint whiff of the perfume still lingering on your clothes, beneath layers of antiseptic and hospital soap. He misses your warmth the second youāre gone. āYou gonna go?ā
Your shoulders sag with a sigh. āI donāt knowā¦ Iām kinda liking this adrenaline rush, to be honest. Might try and ride it ātil the wheels fall off.ā
āWell, that always ends well, in my experience,ā Jack quips with a lopsided smile as he slows to a stop in front of you, tucking the tablet under his bicep. He towers a few inches over you, close enough to make you lift your chin to properly meet his eyes. āBut I do have something you could help me with, if you have a few minutes to spareā¦ā
āOf course.ā
āI, uhā¦ā he trails off, turning to glance awkwardly at his left shoulder. āI took a hitā¦ You know, in the field earlierā¦ Iām pretty sure the vest caught most of it butāā
āYou wereāā You catch yourself before your voice can carry down the hallway. You take a step closer, lowering your voice into a harsh whisper as you scold him. āYou were shot?ā
āShot at,ā he corrects, with his brows raised to his hairline. āAnd itās not as bad as youāre thinking. I tried to clean it up myself, but itās prettyā¦ inconveniently locatedā¦ā
He rolls his shoulder in an attempt to ease the discomfort building there from his scrubs rubbing against the wound. His scruffy jaw tightens with a faint grimace, enough for you to notice the pain in his weathered features that heād been pretending wasnāt there before now.
Concern flares white-hot in your chest. āLet me see it.ā
The tone leaves little room for argument. Itās the same one youād used on him all that time ago, when you ordered him to shut up and quit apologizing for bleeding out before the people trying to kill you could find you.
āYes, maāam,ā he nods.
Jack leads you to the nearest empty exam room and slips inside while you gather the supplies you suspect youāll need from the cart outside the door. You hold them to your chest when you return to the room, where you find Jack undressing, tugging his scrub top off by the collar.Ā
The pale tendons in his back flex unevenly when he pulls the fabric off completely. The milky white canvas of his back is exposed to you then, along with the raging scrape glowing a bright scarlet along his left shoulder.
The door clicks shut behind you and garners the manās attention. Jack turns to face you. You find heās grown strangely broader with age. His stomach is full but toned, and his chest is filled out with a similar strength. Both are dusted with faint freckles and light colored hair that trails down from his sternum and disappears beneath his scrub pants. Ā
He seems to mistake the subtle shock on your face for concern.
āIāve had worse,ā he assures you.
āI know, Abbot,ā you deadpan, reaching for the glove dispenser on the wall with your free hand. āI was there.ā
Jack settles on the edge of the exam table while you arrange the supplies on the metal tray before you ā gauze, saline, antibiotic ointment, steri-strips. Your hands remember the motions before your mind has to. It comes to you as easily as muscle memory. You work with an effortlessness that only comes with years of experience; and Jack weathers the pain with an effortlessness that only comes with years of aching.
āYou wanna know something funny?ā he announces suddenly. The muscles in his back tense slightly when he twists to glance at you over his bare shoulder.Ā
āYou getting shot at and not telling anyone for half a shift?ā you answer in a monotone.
He exhales a quiet laugh and turns back around.
āI hadā¦ the biggest crush on you,ā Jack confesses in an achingly gentle voice, and pretends not to notice when your hands still suddenly behind him. He inhales slowly through his nose, as if heād been sitting on those words for some time, and crosses his arms over his bare chest as if to shield himself from them in some way. āI was, uhā¦ I was gonna ask you out, actually. You know, when we got back home, butā¦ You disappeared before I could.ā
His quiet laugh sounds much louder in the silence that settles heavily between you.
āI, uhāĀ Iām pretty sure I still have the letter I wrote you, actually, when I figured out your addressā in a box somewhere in the attic probably, butā¦ It felt a little too stalkerish to send it, andā¦ Then I met my wife, and I figured you moved on, too, andā¦ā he trails off, struggling to find the right words. āI guess it doesnāt matter anyway. Youāre here now.ā
āIt was probably for the best,ā you tell him, and clear your throat when your voice shakes. You pretend not to notice your fingers trembling when you smooth down the edge of the bandage you press over his wound. āI wasnāt exactlyā¦ the best company back then.ā
āYou were always good company,ā Jack scoffs. āEven when I thought I was gonna die, I was glad I was with you. I mean, I hated that you were gonna have to witness it obviously, butā¦ I was still glad it was youā Even when you were threatening to kill me.āĀ
Youāre pierced almost physically by his words. You blink rapidly to clear the haze of them when your vision starts to blur, another memory threatening to drag you under. Memories youād spent years and a shit ton of money working through in therapy, that are now eating away at you from the inside out.
His shoulder beneath your fingertips is covered suddenly in shredded camouflage. The bandage on his freckled skin stains red until it gushes once more with warm blood. His laughter turns to screams. The air turns to smoke. The fluorescent lights turn to a white-hot sun.
Jack frowns to himself when he feels your hands freezing once more behind him. He glances over his shoulder and finds that your eyes have gone empty again, fixed somewhere far away ā the same way they had earlier that day. His chest pinches with an instant worry.Ā
āYou okay?āĀ
His words sound like theyāre muffled by water or light-years of space. You canāt hear them over the heartbeat whoosh, whoosh, whooshing in your ears, pounding harder against your pulse with every second that passes that you canāt catch your breath.Ā
Another firework explodes outside like distant thunder. Your body jolts in response, and reality slams back into you a second later.
āI, uhā¦ā You swallow hard, eyes flitting wildly around the room, like youāre struggling to place yourself inside it. āI-Iām all done here, I think.ā
āHeyā¦ā Jack coos and turns around to face you completely. āWhatās wrong? What happened?ā
You step back from him and rip off your gloves with two dull pops. You chuck them hurriedly into the bin, feeling overwhelmingly like the walls are closing in on either side of you.Ā
āI, uh... I just needā¦ Iāll, umā¦ā You shake your head when the words donāt come out right. The next ones leave in a whimper when you try and fail to catch your breath. āIām sorry.ā
You rush out of the room, gone before Jack can gather his shirt.
āNoā¦ā Thatās the only thing you can seem to make out as you hide yourself in the breakroom. The word scrapes against your throat, still too narrow to properly let air flow through. You wedge your pointer fingers painfully in your ears when the far-off fireworks become unrelenting gunshots in your skull. Your vision tunnels, the room blurs, every breath seems to catch somewhere in your chest. āNo, no, noāā
The words dissolve into a half-strangled whimper in the back of your throat. You crouch slowly down in the center of the room and curl inward on yourself, forehead nearly touching your knees. Every muscle draws tight enough to ache. Your body makes itself smaller on instinct, as if it still believed that smaller targets survived the longest.
You vaguely hear the sound of your name coming from behind you ā far away at first, like a voice carried underwater ā and then much closer, when a pair of warm, calloused hands curl gently around your forearms. Despite the inherent softness of the touch, you flinch violently in the sudden hold.
āHeyā¦ Itās just me,ā Jack coos.Ā
His voice cuts through the buzzing panic with a remarkable steadiness. Your head snaps in his direction. You find him looming just beside you, bent over at the waist. His face is slow to flood into focus. For a gutwrenching flicker of a second, heās the same dark-haired, bloodied, and crying man that nearly died in your arms.
Reality settles in a moment later.
The silver threaded in his curls catches the buzzing fluroscents overhead. His light eyes, still so soft despite the carnage theyāve witnessed, dart over your features with a silent concern.
āItās just me,ā he continues. āYouāre okay. Just keep looking at me.ā
You try to untilā Boom! Another firework crackles in the distance. Your eyes squeeze shut despite yourself. Your entire body recoils. āI canātāā you whimper through a ragged breath that catches in your throat. Your chest sears white-hot accordingly.
āOkay. Thatās okay,ā he nods. āJust breathe with me. Donāt fight it, okay? Just breathe.ā
Jack inhales slowly, drawing in one exaggerated breath until his chest rises beneath his scrubs. You try to mimic it, but it stutters painfully halfway through. Your lungs seize despite yourself. Your face twists into a pained sort of look.
āThatās okay. There you go,ā he praises. The corner of his mouth lifts into the faintest hint of a smile. His thumbs rub softly along the buzzing skin of your arm. āI know it doesnāt feel good. Just keep trying for me.ā
It takes several long moments for your breaths to finally even out. Jack holds you through every single one of them. Only when your hands slip from your ears and your shoulders stop trembling does Jack carefully guide you to your feet, with a pair of warm hands clasped gently around the outside of your elbows.Ā
He keeps you stable on unsteady limbs as he guides you the short distance to the plastic chairs gathered around the breakroom table. You collapse into one. He pulls up another to be nearer to you ā close enough for your knees to slot between each otherās and for his fingers to thread with yours when he reaches for you again. His palm is warm and gently calloused; a little like velvet as it glides against yours.
You rest your other arm on the table beside you, hiding your face behind the palm of your free hand. When you regain your breath, the first thing you think to do is laugh ā a wet, brittle, exhausted sort of sound.
āWhat the hell am I doing here?ā you ask within a weak chuckle, shaking your head at yourself. āThe VA recommended me because I was supposed to be good at this, butā¦ Iāve been here for one shiftā¦ And all Iāve done is make everything worseāā
āCāmon,ā Jack hums. āYou know thatās not true.ā
āLook at me!ā you laugh, gesturing helplessly towards yourself when you lift your head to meet his eyes. Tears glisten in your gaze, clumping your bottom lashes together. āIām supposed to be taking care of people, Jack! Iām not helping anyone like this!āĀ
The man studies you for a long moment. His eyes narrow with a careful curiosity. āDoes this happen a lot?ā he wonders gently. āTheseā¦ spells?āĀ
You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut. āNo. Not inā years. I thought they were gone. I mean, I certainly pay my therapist enough; they should be gone by now, butā¦ā You end your ramble with a heavy sigh. āI donāt knowā¦ I thinkā¦ Seeing you, you know, for the first time sinceā¦ Since we came back home, it justā¦ Opened somethingā¦ā
Jackās thumb swipes across your knuckles. You expect him to be half-offended at your confession. He smiles instead.
āWell, you know how we fix that?ā he asks, with something short of amusement on the edge of his voice. āWe go get a beer tomorrow night. Or whenever youāre up for it. And we talk about all this shit. All of ourā trauma or whatever. We justā¦ We have it out.ā
Something like sunshine threatens to swell in your chest. It burns out quickly, though.
āBut what about everything else?ā you wonder in a small voice, wet eyes drifting towards the closed break room door. āI canāt go back out there. Not like this. What ifā¦ What if I freeze again? Three seconds is enough toā¦ to kill someone if theyāre in critical condition.ā
āWeāll make sure you have dual coverageā if you freeze again, youāll have another attending to step in for you,ā Jack answers with a firm nod and unwavering gaze, confident enough to soothe you. āBut, for now, we take you upstairs to neuro. Maybe do an EEG since youāre having new symptoms, just to rule out anything structural. And then tomorrow, you book an appointment with your doctor, and Iāll drive youā I donāt care when it is. Just call me, alright? Iāll give you my number.āĀ
You crumple under the weight of his tenderness, of his thumb running soothingly across the ridges of your knuckles. You shake your head, brows knitting softly together. āWhyā?ā you go to ask, but the words get caught halfway through.Ā
Why are you doing this? you want to say. Why are you doing this for me?
āWell, you pretty much carried me through hell, in case you forgot,ā Jack answers with a tired laugh. āAnd I spent a long, long time wishing I couldāve helped you the same way you helped me.ā
Silence settles comfortably between you once more. Your wet eyes fall to your joined hands, where his larger one engulfs your own. His are warmer, slightly rough around the knuckles, and calloused at the palms. Itās hard to imagine, you realize, that the hands that once clawed desperately at the sun-hot desert when you tended to his leg are now reaching so gently out for you.
A series of voices race down the hall all at once, yelling over the buzzing wheels of a gurney. āāWhat do you mean he lit it in his mouth?āĀ
āHe thought itād shoot out the opposite wayāā
āSir, please, stop trying to pull the bottle rocket out yourselfāā
āThere it isā¦ā Jack huffs. āThe annual reminder that fireworks are natureās way of thinning out humanity.ā
You exhale a quiet laugh through your nose, too weak for anything else, and follow Jack when he stands to full height. The distance between you is barely a step. You feel yourself closing it before your mind can catch up, sliding your arms experimentally around his shoulders and pressing your chest against his.
For the faintest fraction of a second, Jack goes still. His breath leaves him in a quiet rush at the feeling of having you so close. His arms raise slowly, wrapping around your waist with a tenderness that threatens to undo you all over again. One broad hand settles warmly between your shoulder blades, while the other spreads carefully along the small of your back.
You havenāt been this close to him since the day he almost died. In fact, the last time you held him, your hands had been slick with his blood ā so much of it, that the dirt turned to sticky paste on your palms. But now, he no longer smells of the metallic blood and burning gunpowder and death that haunts your dreams. Instead, he smells of fresh laundry, expensive cedar cologne, and hospital soap. Like home. Like life.
You breathe in through your nose, inhaling him deep into your lungs.Ā
āThank youā¦ā you hear yourself say, chin bobbing on his shoulder, words brushing over the fabric of his scrubs.
āDonāt thank me,ā Jack scoffs humorously, though his hands drift up and down your spine with an unyielding tenderness. āIām still paying off a debt.ā
āWhat debt?ā
āYouāre the one who refused to leave me behind, remember?ā he asks. āWell, now itās my turn to make sure nobody leaves you.āĀ
Outside, another firework climbs high into the starry summer sky and bursts into a thousand brilliant stars with another far-away explosion. Only this time, you hear it without hearing the war.Ā
Summer softens slowly into autumn.
The relentless early-July heat gives way to crisp mornings and cool evenings. Dusk arrives a little earlier every day, spilling through the closed bedroom curtains in silvers of honey-colored rays. Outside, a late afternoon breeze stirs the trees until the copper-colored branches brush the window ā tires buzz across the worn pavement while the streets fill with the comforting chorus of the early evening.
Life always has a way of finding its rhythm, you find.
You continued working at the PTMC even after Robby returned from his sabbatical, settling into permanent dual coverage on the night shift with Jack. Your symptoms subsided after that first shift ā no more blank spots since you switched medications; no more nightmares since you started spending the majority of your nights in Jackās bed. Your mind feels like home again.
You lay there, tangled in the rumpled gray comforter, the majority of which you had unconsciously stolen during the night, and listen to the manās even breaths as he sleeps soundly just beside you.
Jack lies on his stomach with his strong arms folded beneath the thin pillow under his head, facing away from you. You watch the gentle rise and fall of his back from where the dark sheet has slipped around his waist, exposing the freckled canvas of his back ā and the healed scrape along his shoulder, now a thin scratch of marred, pink skin.
Your hand wanders slowly beneath the blankets ā finding his clothed hip first, then crawling up the familiar landscape of his spine, before settling in the strands of silver curled at the nape of his neck.
The man wakes with a sharp inhale and turns his wild head slowly to face you, still not quite awake.
āJackā¦ā you whisper to him, fingers still twisting in his curls. āJack.ā
āMm?ā he grunts without opening his eyes, brows pinching in protest.
āWe gotta start getting ready.ā
Your hand parts from his neck to reach for the phone charging on the other side of you. You donāt make it far before a large, warm hand catches your wrist.
āNo,ā Jack grumbles halfway into his pillow, voice still gruff with sleep. He tugs your hand back to the back of his neck. āKeep goingā¦ā
You exhale a quiet laugh but oblige him anyway. His shoulders deflate with a contented sigh when your fingers return to his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. āWhy is it you make me do this every morning, but when I ask you to scratch my back before bed, youāre asleep in two minutes?ā
āI have a medical condition,ā he slurs into his pillow, with his eyes still shut.
āOh, yeah? Whatās that?ā
āMmā¦ Pretty sure thatās a HIPAA violation, honey.ā
A laugh escapes you before you can help it. āYouāre so annoying.ā
āHereā Weāll do it at the same time,ā Jack mumbles.
He grunts quietly as he twists on his left shoulder until his facing you properly. His right hand slithers around your waist, urging you closer until your knees bump beneath the blankets. His hand is warm and gently calloused when it slips beneath the hem of your oversized shirt. His dull nails scratch lazily up and down the length of your spine. Still without opening his eyes.
āSee?ā he hums. āTeamwork.ā
You exhale a satisfied sigh, then joke drily despite yourself. āYour breath smells, by the way.ā
He peeks a tired eye open at that. āOh, yeah? And what do you think yours smells like, huh? Sunshine and rainbows?ā
He leans in to kiss you anyway ā a mere brushing of your lips for no longer than a second. But then the second lingers, and so does his mouth against yours. The kiss turns sleepy and slow, mouths gliding and tongues brushing.
Jack lifts himself onto the elbow of his free hand and urges you onto your back until half of his heavy weight is resting on top of you. The stiffness tucked in his boxers rubs against your thigh. A smile curls slowly on your mouth.
āWe only have anā an hour to get readyāā You just barely manage to protest between his kisses. āYou know that right?ā
His mouth slides down to your neck to smear wet-hot kisses along your pulse. His hips flatten further against yours, pressing his hardening length more ardently against you. āI only need five minutes, honey. I promise.ā
āOh, trust me,ā you scoff drily. āIām well aware.ā
Jack pulls off of you with the quiet smack of his mouth parting from your jaw. His sleep-swollen features twist in a feigned offense. Slumber clings stubbornly to every inch of him ā curls flat on one side and wild on the other; stubble a shade darker on his jaw; pillow creases stamped along his cheek.
āOh, you are just asking for it, arenāt you?ā he squints.
āClockās ticking, Dr. Abbot,ā you tease with a lazy smile, fingers dancing through his silver curls. āIām gonna be in that shower in five minutesā With or without you.ā
A flicker of amusement flashes across his face, right before he ducks back down to swallow you whole in a searing kiss. āDonāt threaten me with a good time.ā
When you pick up a sword for the first time you will be slow and awkward. This is frustrating, but refuse the temptation to try and become aĀ āfasterā fencer. Chasing after speed is like trying to catch smoke. If you try and pursue speed, all you will accomplish is haste. Haste is the enemy of 1st class fencing.
Speed is a lie the untrained mind tells itself when it sees an action it cannot follow. The truth is a combination of timing, control, and fluidity. Fluid motion, even done slowly, will always arrive before a hasty strike. Control will allow you to move without wasteful motion that will slow you down. Timing will eliminate the need to move fast almost entirely. There is no need to get somewhere fast so long as you get there at the right time. Ā
This is true for plenty of other things too!! When youāre learning anything that involves moving your body, donāt forget that quality of movement is more important than speed!
BJ has a very clear understanding of Objectives unfortunately he lacks that level of comprehension when it comes to tactics methods procedures etc. Thus: his Behaviors.
SUMMARY: One of the worst days you have ever experienced in the ER happens to fall on your birthday. Nothing goes your way, and seconds after you finish your shift, you are sobbing in the passenger seat of Jack Abbotās car. Luckily, Jack knows how best to remind you that you are so important and so, so loved.
NOTES: Hurt/comfort, forgotten birthday, Robby being an asshole, aggressive patients, unintentional meal-skipping, stress-induced breakdown, lots of crying, established relationship, Jack is the lover ever.
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
A/N: Did I have a lovely birthday today? Yes! Is that going to stop me from writing angsty birthday fanfic? Certainly not, so enjoy!
The clinical smell of the Pitt always seemed to cling to your skin like a second coat. It was a sterile mix of rubbing alcohol, sharp floor bleach, and the distinct, heavy scent of human misery. By the time your feet hit the pavement outside the double automatic doors, the chilly evening air felt less like a relief and more like another slap to your already raw senses.
Your shoulders were hitched up to your ears, your scrub top felt restrictive, and your eyes burned with a dry, gritty fatigue. It had been twelve hours of relentless, unyielding chaos. All you wanted to do was disappear.
Through the dim light of the hospital car park, you spotted the familiar, reassuring silhouette of Jackās car idling near the edge of the drop-off zone. The soft glow of his headlights cut through the gloom, a tiny beacon of safety in a day that had felt entirely hostile.
You dragged your feet across the tarmac, your trainers scraping lightly, every step requiring a monumental effort of will. When you pulled the passenger door open, the sudden rush of warmth and the familiar, grounding scent of his cologne, woody, clean, and entirely safe, hit you so hard that your throat instantly tightened.
You tumbled into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut to lock the harsh world outside. You hadn't even buckled your seatbelt before the first sob ripped its way out of your chest. It was a violent, involuntary sound that seemed to come from the very bottom of your lungs.
"Oh, sweetheart," Jack murmured immediately, his voice a low, worried rumble.
You dropped your head into your hands, your fingers digging into your temples as the dam broke entirely. The sheer weight of the last twelve hours collapsed on top of you, crushing whatever fragile composure you had managed to maintain for the sake of the patients.
Jack shifted the car into park, switched off the ignition, and unbuckled his own belt so he could turn fully toward you. He reached out, his strong, warm hand gently cupping the back of your neck. His thumb began soothingly rubbing the tense muscle right at the base of your skull.
"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart," he pleaded softly, his other hand finding yours and squeezing it tightly. "I've got you. You're safe. Let it out, honey, just breathe for me, okay?ā
But the comfort only seemed to unlock more of the misery, the tears flowing freely now, hot and fast down your cheeks. "Robby has been on my fucking ass all day, Jack," you choked out, the words tumbling out in a breathless, frantic rush between heavy, shuddering gasps.
"What did he do, honey?" Jack asked, his jaw clenching as his thumb continued its rhythmic, calming strokes against your neck.
"Every single thing I did was wrong," you sobbed, pulling your knees up toward your chest as much as the small space allowed. "If I was five minutes late with a chart, he was there, breathing down my neck. I think heās stressed because Trin is falling behind, but that isnāt my fucking problem. He practically fucking yelled at me in front of the nurses' station because a lab result hadn't come back yet."
"He did what?" Jackās voice darkened, a flash of protective anger crossing his features even at the expense of his friend. "In front of everyone? He's an absolute ass sometimes."
"He acted as if I have any control over what the pathology lab does," you wept, pressing your face into Jack's palm as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. "I felt so small, so completely useless, and he just wouldn't stop pushing me."
"I love him but Robby can be a miserable bastard who wouldn't know good stress management if it hit him in the face," Jack said softly, his tone shifting back to pure gentleness for your sake. "You are brilliant at your job, and he has no right to take his own incompetence out on you. Don't let him take your peace, love."
You shook your head, cheeks damp with tears. "It wasn't just him, Jack. The patients were just so mean today. I had a man throw a plastic cup of water at me because his pain meds were ten minutes delayed."
"Jesus Christ," Jack muttered, his hand sliding down to rub your arm comfortingly. "Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No, it was just plastic, but itās the principle," you cried, your voice cracking with a deep, exhausting sadness. "And another woman spent twenty minutes just shouting at me, calling me incompetent because the wait times were long. I was running between cubicles, trying my absolute hardest, and everyone just looked at me like I was the enemy."
"Shit. You're not the enemy, sweetheart. You're the one saving them," he whispered, leaning across the console to press a soft kiss against your temple.
"I didn't get to sit down once, Jack," you whispered, sniffing heavily as he pulled a clean handkerchief from his jacket and gently began wiping your face. "I didn't even get to eat my lunch because I left it sitting on the kitchen counter this morning, and the cafeteria was closed by the time I had a spare five minutes."
"Oh, my poor girl," Jackās voice softened even further, filled with a profound, aching sympathy. "You haven't eaten a single thing since this morning? You shouldāve called me, sweetheart. No wonder you're absolutely spent. You've been running on empty in hell all day."
"And on top of everything..." You paused, a fresh wave of grief washing over you, making you feel incredibly small and desperately lonely. Your breath came in jagged, uneven hitches as the absolute worst part of the day finally forced its way to the surface.
"What is it, sweetheart? Tell me," Jack urged, his fingers gently tangling in your hair, tilting your face up so he could look into your eyes.
"It's my birthday, Jack," you whispered, the admission sounding incredibly pathetic to your own ears, your voice dropping to a miserable, fragile whimper. "It's my birthday, and not a single person at work even noticed. No one said a word. My own team didn't care."
You hid your face in your hands again, your shoulders shaking. "I spent the whole day being shouted at and degraded, and itās supposed to be my special day, and I just... I felt completely invisible. Like I don't matter to anyone at all."
Jack let out a low, pained breath. Before you could spiral any deeper into that dark thought, he shifted closer, pulling you completely across the center console and tucking you firmly against his chest.
He wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you so tightly that the cold, cruel reality of the hospital seemed to melt away entirely against his warmth. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
"Look at me," Jack commanded gently, pulling back just enough to frame your face with his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the fresh moisture on your cheeks. "You listen to me very carefully, alright?"
You blinked through your tears, looking into his warm, fiercely sincere eyes.
"You are not invisible, and you matter more than anyone else in my world," Jack said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "I am so deeply sorry that today was a nightmare, and I am sorry that the day shift made you feel small on the day you should be celebrated. But you are done with them now."
He pressed a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead, keeping his hands warm against your cheeks. "The shift is over, Iām going to tear Robby a new one another day, and you are coming home with me. I've got you, okay?"
You rested your forehead against his collarbone, the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart beneath his shirt serving as a perfect contrast to the chaotic franticness of your own head. "I'm just so tired, Jack," you whispered into the fabric of his coat. "I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to be strong."
"You don't have to be strong," he promised, his hands sliding down to rub your back in long, soothing strokes. "You've done enough fighting for one day. From this exact moment, I am taking care of everything."
"What are we going to do?" you asked quietly, your voice muffled against his chest, though you were already feeling the heavy cloud of tension begin to lift.
"We are going straight back to my apartment," he said, his lips brushing your hair as he spoke. "First, you are going to have a proper, long hot bath to wash all of that hospital filth off your skin.ā
"And food?" you murmured, your stomach letting out a timely, traitorous rumble that made Jack chuckle softly.
"Yes, lots of food, sweetheart," Jack smiled, kissing the crown of your head. "I'm going to order a ridiculously expensive takeout that you love. We'll get everything you want and a little extra for later. You won't have to lift a finger."
He pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a soft, adoring expression. "And then we are going to pile every single blanket we own onto the couch, and we are going to watch whatever mindless crap you want until you fall asleep in my arms. How does that sound, birthday girl?"
A small, watery breath that was almost a laugh escaped your lips. You nodded against his chest, your muscles finally beginning to unlock, the tension draining out of you now that you had surrendered the burden of your day to him.
"That sounds like heaven," you mumbled, your eyes fluttering shut as the safety of his presence completely enveloped you.
"Then to heaven it is," Jack smiled softly. He kissed your temple one last time before gently guiding you back into your own seat, reaching across you to pull the seatbelt over your shoulder and clicking it securely into place.
He treated you with the kind of delicate, fragile care that you hadn't realised you desperately needed. "Letās go," he said softly, restarting the engine, the familiar, low purr of the car filling the silence as he pulled out of the hospital car park, leaving the misery of the ER far behind.
The drive back to Jackās apartment was a quiet, soothing blur. Jack kept one hand firmly on the steering wheel and the other stretched across the center console, his fingers securely entwined with yours. Every time you let out a small, residual sigh, he would gently squeeze your hand, a silent reminder that the hospital was growing further away with every passing mile.
By the time he pulled into the familiar driveway of his building, the sky had turned into a deep, velvety black. Jack rushed around to the passenger side, opening your door and unbuckling your belt before you could even reach for it. He scooped your heavy canvas work bag over his shoulder and wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, practically dragging you up the stairs to his apartment.
The moment the front door clicked shut behind you, the familiar warmth of Jackās home wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Jack immediately kicked off his shoes and helped you slide your tired feet out of your stiff trainers.
"Gonna head to the bathroom, honey," Jack murmured softly, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck as he unzipped your heavy winter coat and slid it off your shoulders. "Don't worry about a thing. I'm going to go run the water."
After pouring a glass of water, you walked into the bathroom, the tiles warm beneath your socks. Jack was there, sat on his shower chair by the side of the tub. He turned the brass taps, and the soothing, roaring sound of rushing water instantly began to drown out the echoes of the chaotic hospital alarms that had been ringing in your ears all day.
He reached for an expensive-looking jar of lavender and amber bath salts, pouring a generous handful under the running water. The bathroom instantly filled with a thick, fragrant steam that made your chest loosen.
"There we go," Jack said, standing and wiping his hands on a fluffy towel. He stepped over to you, his hands gently finding your waist again. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes dark with pure devotion. "Strip out of those clothes, sweetheart. Put them right in the laundry basket. I don't want you thinking about that place for the rest of the night."
"Thank you, Jack," you whispered, your voice still a bit raspy from crying.
"You don't ever have to thank me for taking care of you, beautiful," he replied softly, cupping your chin and kissing your lips with a slow, lingering sweetness that tasted like safety. "I'm going to order food now. Take your time in here."
Sinking into the hot water felt like an out-of-body experience. You lowered yourself down until the fragrant, bubbly water reached your chin, letting out a long, shaky breath. For the first twenty minutes, you just closed your eyes, letting the heat sink deep into your aching muscles, washing away the phantom feeling of Robby's critical gaze and the harsh words of the patients. You felt the tight knot in your chest finally begin to dissolve entirely.
By the time you finally stepped out of the bath, your skin was comfortably warm and completely relaxed. Jack had left your thickest, softest pyjamas warming on the radiator, along with a pair of fresh fluffy socks. Slipping into them felt like a massive relief, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the stiff scrubs you had been wearing for twelve hours.
When you walked back into the living room, the flat was dimly lit, illuminated only by the warm, flickering glow of a few scented candles and the soft amber light of the television. The heavy coffee table had been pushed closer to the sofa, and a massive mound of your favourite duvets and pillows covered the cushions.
"Perfect timing," Jack said, walking out of the kitchen carrying a large paper bag that was radiating a heavenly, rich scent. "The food literally just arrived. Come here."
He set the bag down and immediately pulled you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the fresh scent of the bath salts. "You smell wonderful. Much better than bleach and stress."
"I feel human again," you admitted, a genuine smile finally touching your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close.
"Good. Because you deserve to feel human, especially today," Jack said, kissing your cheek before guiding you onto the sofa.
He didn't just let you sit. He practically buried you in the blankets, propping pillows behind your back until you were perfectly comfortable. Only after that did Jack adjust himself, taking off his prosthetic with ease and leaning it against the side of the couch. He opened one of the cardboard containers, revealing a massive, steaming portion of your favourite takeout meal.
"Eat up, sweetheart," Jack urged, handing you a fork and settling down right next to you, his thigh pressing firmly against yours. "You need to make up for that lost lunch."
You didn't need to be told twice. The first bite of the rich, comforting food was so good it made you close your eyes in pure bliss. Jack watched you with a soft, satisfied grin, occasionally reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face or to feed you a bite of his own dish from his fork. He kept one hand resting on your knee under the blanket, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles.
"Is it good, sweetheart?" he asked quietly, his eyes warm as he watched the stress finally wash away from your face.
"It's amazing," you sighed, taking a sip of the ice-cold water he had placed next to you. "I didn't realise how hungry I actually was."
"I know, my poor girl," he murmured, leaning over to kiss your temple. "But I've got you now. No more skipping meals, and no more bastards like fucking Michael Robinavitch ruining your day."
Once the containers were cleared away, Jack shoved them onto the table and immediately pulled you back into his space. He lay back against the corner of the sofa, dragging you with him so that you were lying completely on top of him, your head resting securely on his chest and your legs tangled beneath the heavy duvet.
He grabbed the remote, clicking on a familiar, light-hearted comedy movie you had seen a hundred times before, something that required absolutely zero brainpower to follow.
"Comfortable, love?" Jack whispered, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you so close that you could feel the vibration of his voice against your cheek.
"Perfect," you mumbled, completely content.
His large hands began a slow, mesmerising pattern across your back, tracing smooth circles up and down your spine, occasionally slipping beneath the hem of your pyjama top to press his warm palms directly against your bare skin. The soothing friction combined with the heavy meal and the warm bath made your eyelids feel incredibly heavy.
"Happy birthday, my beautiful girl," Jack whispered into the darkness, his voice thick with an undeniable, fierce affection. He reached over to the side table, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a small, beautifully wrapped velvet box, sliding it into your view. "I know the day was shit, but I hope this helps a little bit."
You blinked, opening the box to find a delicate, sparkling bracelet, simple enough to wear even during your shifts. Tears pricked your eyes again, but this time, they weren't from sadness.
"Jack... it's beautiful," you choked out, looking up at him through thick lashes. "You didn't have to."
"Of course I did," he said, taking your wrist and gently fastening the clasp, before kissing the inside of your wrist right over your pulse point. "You matter to me. Every single day, but especially today. Don't ever forget that."
You buried your face back into his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as a profound sense of peace finally settled over you. The mean patients, the unread charts, and the horrible manager didn't matter anymore. Right here, wrapped in Jack's arms, you were completely safe, deeply loved, and exactly where you were supposed to be.
"I love you, Jack," you murmured, your voice growing faint as sleep finally began to pull you under.
"I love you more, sweetheart," Jack whispered back, his chin resting on the top of your head, his hands never stopping their soothing rhythm against your back as he held you tight against his chest, keeping the rest of the world completely at bay.
[ID. a blue toned digital comic featuring carl from project hail mary. he looks down at a photo of grace and says, "i miss my dead wife" with tears in his eyes. a hand then appears on his shoulder and stratt says, "our dead wife", a tear in her eye as carl solemnly nods. end ID.]
Keepin My Eyelids Up @wellswishing - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
