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Diagnosis: Married? | Part 14

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, angst, tw: mass casualty

word count: 4.7k

a/n: thank you guys for waiting so patiently!! this chapter kicked my ass for some reason... but you've all been so sweet and kind <333 oh and there's a little reference to you guys in the chapter <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

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You wake up giddy.

Floating, weightless, over the moon—whatever it is that best describes the pure happiness coursing through your body. A feeling so strong that not even the dull throb in your head can put a dent in it.

Last night, something was cracked wide open, something you hadn't ever dared to dream of. Nothing about it felt fake—it felt solid, like confirmation that everything you felt was reciprocated.

A confirmation that Jack liked you, too. Likes you, too.

Even if he didn't kiss you again, the way his gaze kept dropping to your lips felt like undeniable proof that he wanted to. Add that to the way he had kept you glued to his side for the rest of the night, his fingers splayed possessively across your hip, and all doubt had slipped away. You hadn’t spent the night worrying about proving your relationship; your attention was all on Jack—Smith’s sour expression at the bar was just an added bonus.

By the time you and Jack stumbled home together, both more than a little inebriated, the question of where you'd sleep didn't even come up. You'd just drifted toward his room, still laughing about something stupid someone said, brushing your teeth together while bumping hips, and then climbing into bed together. His bed.

And no matter how charged the night was, no matter how much you wanted to let him know how sticky your underwear was, you didn't want your first time with him to be while you were drunk and exhausted. So you'd cuddled up to him instead, content with just going to sleep. There was always going to be time for it later.

Now, morning spills across the room, warm and gentle rays lighting up the space. Your head rises and falls with his breathing, your cheek pressed to his warm skin, your legs tangled with his. His arm rests low across your waist, holding you close even in sleep. Your fingertips idle along the ridges of his stomach, subconsciously tracing patterns that make his muscles twitch under your touch.

You’re replaying everything in loops—the eye contact, the whispers in your ear, the kiss—when his voice rumbles through his chest.

"What are you smiling about?"

"I'm not smiling," you protest, though your grin only grows wider.

"You are. I can feel it," he retorts, shifting slightly yet tightening his arm to pull you closer. He sounds happy, like he's smiling, too.

"Just happy I don't have a nasty hangover for once," you say lightly, resuming your gentle tracing.

He hums a low, sceptical sound, his fingers drawing slow circles on your hip. After a moment, he murmurs, "...Lily will."

You snort. "Oh, absolutely." Images flash through your mind of her drinking shot after shot, and then subsequently vomiting it all up. "Thank god, Parker took her home."

Jack’s chest rises under your cheek, his fingers stalling as he ponders. "Is there something between them?"

"Parker and Lily?" You think it over, shrugging. "I don’t think so. But they’d make a cute couple."

Jack hums in agreement, his hand resuming those soothing circles on your hip. Silence falls over the room again. Neither of you mentions the kiss, but it lingers in the air, settling softly into the space between you. It doesn't feel like something you're purposefully avoiding or tiptoeing around—it feels like something that doesn't need words, doesn't require explanations.

A rumble from your stomach breaks the quiet, and Jack laughs softly.

"Can we order something greasy?" You lift your head to look at him. "Please?" you add, pouting, before he can offer to make something healthy.

He watches you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your lips. "Fine," he concedes with a sigh. "Order whatever you want. Use my card."

Your brows furrow at that. Jack smooths away your frown with his thumb. "Compromise," he says gently.

You hesitate, then mutter, "Okay."

"Good girl."

Those words hit you like a spark on dry tinder, igniting a heat that rushes through you. You’re pretty sure he notices the way your breath catches because a corner of his mouth lifts.

"I’m gonna shower. Order something for me," he says, not waiting for you to respond before slipping out of bed.

You're left in the bed, staring at the closed door, your mouth still slightly agape. If this is how things are going to be from now on—Jack teasing you, flirting back, and actually meaning it—you’re in trouble.

Oh, Olivia is going to freak when she hears about all of this.

Most of the night shift is hungover when you clock in—steps heavy, eyes squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights, dreading the twelve hours still ahead.

Lily is at the nurses' station, a coffee cup in front of her, her fingers rubbing at her tired eyes. She looks surprisingly put together considering the rough night she had. Jack walks by, nodding at her with a slight grin, muttering something low that makes her laugh. You miss him by a few steps, your gaze flicking to his broad shoulders as he walks away.

You drag your attention back to Lily and nudge her shoulder with your hip before leaning against the desk. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

She tilts her head back in her chair dramatically, one hand covering her eyes, as she whines, "Embarrassed."

You snicker. "It wasn't that bad. You weren't even the worst one there."

"Yeah, I heard Shen had to send a couple of the interns home in Ubers," Parker chimes in as she walks over. "You only threw up twice. Well—four times, if we’re also counting my place."

Lily groans in response.

"I’m more upset I missed the hottest kiss of the year," Parker adds, smirking at you.

You roll your eyes at her, "Oh, shut up." You try to keep a neutral face, but you can't help it—your mouth curls before you can stop it. Parker sees it, her eyebrows waggling.

You change the subject swiftly. "Shen also won a hundred dollars from that frat-looking dude after you left."

"The guy with the terrible Jamaican accent?" Lily asks, grimacing when you nod. "Good for him." She massages her temples, taking a big sip of her coffee. "But honestly, I’m not going out with you night shift people ever again."

"Yeah, yeah," Parker waves her off. "We're definitely more fun than the day shift. Especially now that a certain someone isn't here anymore."

"Ugh, yes," you groan in relief. "I know she only has like two weeks left, but if I had to see Smith’s face every day? I’d probably end up getting escorted out for starting a fight. At least now I only have to fake it at shift change."

"Hey—just tell me when and where," Parker says with a grin. "I'm always ready for a good fight."

You let out a laugh. You don't doubt it.

"Not me," Lily raises her hands, but she’s smiling now. "But I can hold a camera."

It's a few hours later when Parker catches you by the board. "There’s a patient in West 14 asking for you by name," she says.

You blink in surprise. "For me?"

She nods. "Possible fracture in her left arm."

"Okay…" you say slowly. "Thanks." As you start the walk down the hallway, you skim the chart. It's not a name you recognise. It's only when you open the door and spot a woman perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, and a little girl sitting by her side, that the pieces slot together.

"Katherine?" you ask gently, stepping closer. She looks up, relief washing over her face. Lulu ducks her head into her side, blinking tiredly at you.

"Hi," Katherine murmurs, her voice trembling. "I… I’m sorry if I pulled you away from something. I know this is ridiculous. I just… I didn’t know who else to ask for. I thought maybe—since I met you—you’d, um… I don’t know." She winces at herself. "Sorry."

You pull a chair closer and settle down. "I’m really glad you asked for me," you say, offering both of them a warm smile. "What happened?"

"I was just emptying out some of the last boxes when I fell," she explains, laughing shakily. "I don’t even know. It was stupid. And I landed on my arm weirdly. It barely hurts unless I push on something. I’m sure I’m overreacting."

"Mama hurt her arm," Lulu adds, staring at you with wide and worried eyes.

Katherine winces, embarrassed. "She got scared. I didn’t mean to make a whole… thing out of it."

"Hey," you say gently, "you took a fall, and you’re hurt. That’s worth getting checked." You soften your voice, glancing at Lulu. "Can you give mom a little hug while I take a look?"

Lulu nods, leaning in and squeezing Katherine gently.

You slip on some gloves, lightly pressing on Katherine’s arm, moving it into various positions, taking note of the winces that cross her face. "Okay, you might have a small fracture, but I’m going to order an X-ray so we can get a clear picture of what’s going on. Once we have the images, we’ll see if you’ll need a cast."

You move to the computer, placing the order, then step back to her. "Is there anything I can get you while you wait?"

"No," Katherine replies softly. "I… I’m sorry."

You shake your head and tilt your head to meet her gaze. "Hey—don’t apologise. You haven’t done anything wrong. And—" you add with a gentle grin, lowering your voice a bit as you nod towards Lulu, "you’ve given me a chance to see my favourite neighbour again."

That earns you a tiny, wobbly laugh—exactly what you were aiming for. "Someone will come to escort you to the X-ray when it’s ready. Any questions?"

She shakes her head.

You lean down, ruffling Lulu’s hair lightly, and placing a soft hand on Katherine's shoulder. "Okay. We'll get you started on some pain meds in the meantime."

Several hours pass before you finally receive Katherine's X-ray images—multiple severe cases bumping hers to the end of the line. You push the door to her room open gently, half-expecting Lulu to be asleep by now.

She isn’t. Instead, she’s giggling, comfortably settled on Jack's lap. He’s in the chair, playing with her socks and making silly faces—puffing out his cheeks and sticking out his tongue. You stand frozen in the doorway, watching as she taps his arm and he obliges with another ridiculous face.

It's the sweetest thing you've seen—a feeling you can’t quite name tightening in your chest at the sight.

Katherine sits propped against the pillows, her eyes half-lidded as exhaustion finally catches up with her. "Hi, doc," she greets you.

You unfreeze, remembering why you came in. "Hi," you say softly, stepping closer.

Jack looks up at your voice, and his face lights up. "Hey," he nods toward Lulu. "I heard her crying in the hallway." Lulu smiles at you, cheeks still damp, her little hand fisted in Jack’s shirt.

"He's been a lifesaver," Katherine adds gratefully, rubbing her eyes. "She wouldn't stop crying until he came in."

You can't help but smile as Lulu snuggles into Jack's side. "Well, I’m glad someone’s been keeping an eye on our neighbours," you say. "Wouldn’t want them stirring up trouble while we’re not here."

Both of them blink at you, a little confused.

"Oh," you say, your brows knitting together. "I’m sorry, I thought you knew—this is our neighbour, Katherine," you introduce, gesturing toward her. "And this is my husband, Jack."

Jack’s face breaks into a warm smile. He doesn’t flinch at your introduction; nothing in his posture suggests he dislikes it. "Ah, I see. Nice to officially meet you," he replies, rising while still holding Lulu. He grins at Lulu, tickling her side lightly, "And you, little lady."

Katherine’s eyes widen for a moment before a grin spreads across her face. "Oh! I didn’t realise he was your Jack."

You clear your throat, trying not to let the warmth in your chest flare across your cheeks.

Taking a seat in the chair, you focus on the task at hand. "You’ve got a small fracture right here," you explain, showing Katherine the image. "We’ll start with a splint to protect your arm and manage any swelling. Tomorrow, you'll follow up with Orthopaedics for a proper cast to ensure the best chance of full healing."

Jack leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as he examines the images too. He nods in agreement.

"How does eight AM work for you? Is the earliest time—I'm hoping it'll mean less waiting time, but I can't promise anything."

Katherine is about to reply when the door swings open, and Lena pokes her head inside, catching Jack's eye. "MVC in five."

"Got it." Jack sets Lulu gently back beside Katherine, his fingers brushing your shoulder for a brief squeeze. His eyes meet yours before he gives a small nod to Katherine, "Next time we meet, I hope it’s under better circumstances."

You watch him go, a quiet smile tugging at your lips.

Katherine turns to you, her lips curving into a soft, tired smile. "He's really good with kids."

"He is." The image of him holding Lulu flickers through your mind. You shove it away—you're at work, and this is not the time to be ovulating. "So... how does eight sound?"

Aside from the one MVC, the rest of the night unfolds rather undramatically. You get home a little after seven-thirty, a time Jack considers pretty decent. He lets you take the first shower, stepping into the steam-filled room after you to the sweet scent of your shampoo.

As he sits on his shower chair, he breathes in deeply but not desperately. He's starting to believe that it won't be gone once this ruse ends—that there's hope of a future in which you don't leave.

He can still feel the imprint of your lips on his, see your darkened gaze in his mind, and feel the way you'd pressed yourself close to him. The significance of your falling silent after the kiss looms larger than anything else.

Because that meant that your flirting—every little thing you'd done while alone—was intentional. Genuine.

When he reenters the living room, he expects to find you curled up on the couch, sipping tea and scrolling through your phone. Instead, you’re there with company.

Lulu is nestled in your lap, clutching her teddy bear as a movie softly plays on the TV. Jack leans against the doorway, taking in the scene of you gently stroking her hair. You’re slumped against the corner of the couch, your eyes drooping as you gaze at the screen. His crutches squeak against the floor as he shifts, accidentally revealing his presence before he means to.

"Didn’t realise we were having company," he says, moving closer and sitting down on the couch. He ruffles Lulu's hair on the way over.

Lulu perks up and waves at him with a smile. He returns the gesture.

"Katherine called while you were in the shower. Her babysitter got a flat, and she had that Ortho appointment," you explain. The rest goes without saying. Even on a good day, the wait can drag on, and Lulu had already been restless most of the night—cranky toddlers and hospital waiting rooms are not a great combo. "I offered to babysit. Hope that’s alright. You can go sleep if you want."

"And miss out on Paddington?" Jack replies, nodding toward the TV. "Not a chance."

Lulu giggles, and you send him a soft smile, sinking deeper into the couch until you’re almost lying down. Lulu leans back on your chest, her fingers fiddling with yours.

He settles back, pulling your feet onto his lap and gently massaging your calves, occasionally glancing over. His chest tightens with desire as he watches you and Lulu drift off to sleep.

He wants this. A future with you. Real marriage, not a staged one. Children who are yours, not just borrowed for a few hours. A life where he gets to call you his without pretence.

But now that he knows it’s not as unattainable as he thought, he’s content to enjoy this moment for what it is.

Jack leans back, head dropping against the cushions. His eyes drift shut to the soft breathing of you and Lulu.

Katherine picks up Lulu a few hours later with a newly fitted cast on, and you and Jack manage to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep before his phone starts ringing loudly.

You hear him mumble into the phone, the conversation shifting from sleepy to serious as his body tenses up. You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, straining to catch bits of what’s being said on the other end. Dana's voice drifts through, barely audible.

"We'll be right there," Jack responds, ending the call, already looking at you. "There's an active shooter at Ross Park Mall." He doesn’t need to elaborate; you’re already up, shrugging off your sleepwear and pulling on scrubs. It doesn’t even occur to you that Jack is still in the room, but he isn't looking, too busy with his own scrubs.

Adrenaline surges through you. Ross Park Mall isn't far from PTMC, which means the Pitt is about to get the brunt of it.

In under five minutes, you’ve got your scrubs on, brushed your teeth quickly, and are in the car. Jack's hand had hesitated, but at your nod, he'd turned on his police scanner, both of you listening for updates. The police have surrounded the area, but the gunman is still at large, with an unknown number of victims.

It feels like Pittfest all over again.

When you enter the ER, Robby is addressing the Pitt, delivering a speech reminiscent of the last mass casualty incident. When he spots you, relief floods his features, his shoulders sagging. "I'm so fucking happy to see you two," he says, clapping a hand on each of your shoulders.

"Do you know how many we're expecting?" Jack asks, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

"Not yet. Maybe fifty," Robby replies. "Maybe more."

Jack clenches his jaw, giving him a stiff nod, already reaching for a vest. "I'll run primary ER."

Robby nods.

"Where do you want me, boss?" you ask.

"I want you here with Jack," Robby answers. He turns to find Samira. "Mohan, I need you here as well." She gives him a nod.

He continues, turning back to you, "I'll be running triage with Mel until Shen comes in. If anything comes up, check with Jack." He rests a hand briefly on your shoulder, locking eyes with you, no hesitation in his face. "You’ve got this."

Robby looks back at the ER, taking in the faces filled with fear but also determination. A willingness to brave through the storm that's about to hit. He delivers a pep talk, trying to rally the team to weather yet another horrific event.

As he speaks, Jack steps closer, intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing tightly. You don’t look at each other, focusing instead on putting on a brave face for the residents and interns looking to you for guidance. But that squeeze reassures you; you’re in this together. It's a brief reminder that we'll be okay. We'll get through it.

Ten minutes later, your gown is stained with blood, the metallic smell thick in the air. The first waves are adults—most hit in the limbs, one with a GSW to the shoulder, another with a sucking chest wound, and a third hit in the thigh.

You hear Jack’s voice somewhere behind you, and Lily's voice calling out numbers from beside him. Jesse's voice rises above it, calling out numbers to you as Samira places a chest tube. It's relentless, victim after victim pouring in.

But every time you look up, Jack meets your gaze—a quick glance but enough to steady your hands—enough to keep you going. He steps in a few times, when he has time, but he doesn't offer any advice, noting that you've got it covered.

More victims arrive. Most make it to the OR with a fighting chance.

Then the children start arriving.

A boy no older than eight, grey-skinned, gasping hard. Your hands move automatically—IV, fluids, FAST exam. It’s positive. Massive internal bleed. You call for the OR, but you already know the odds.

Across the room, Jack’s voice cuts through the chaos. You meet his eyes for half a heartbeat. The fear there mirrors yours, but neither of you has time to acknowledge it. Not when more children keep arriving.

A toddler with a chest wound, her breaths shallow and wet.

A girl, younger looking than her thirteen years, who'd stepped in front of her brother.

A pair of twins, cotton candy still stuck in the corners of their mouths.

A boy who'd clutched your fingers tightly as he fought with all he could.

Small bodies, battered with wounds too large for their tiny frames. Distended bellies. Pale skin. Rapid blood loss. You can’t save them all. No matter how hard you try.

In just forty minutes, you lose six children.

There’s no space to process it. No pause. No breath. Every time your heart threatens to crack, another stretcher barrels through the doors, and you give your everything again. You push it down, treat the next patient, even as the ache in your chest deepens.

By the time the last red-zone patient gets pushed into a room with Jack, your hands are trembling. You strip off your gown and gloves and duck into the nearest bathroom. You grip the sink tightly, trying to breathe past the heaviness in your chest. A couple of tears still manage to escape despite your efforts. You swipe them away quickly—angrily—like that might make it easier to keep going.

You tell yourself you’re okay. That you can keep going. That you can pretend the faces of those children aren’t burned into the backs of your eyelids. But every blink betrays you.

You can't let it break you just yet, so you inhale slowly, splash cold water on your face, and shove yourself back into the storm.

The second you step out, Santos flags you down. "Hey, can you come look at something? Abbot and Robby are tied up, and I can’t find Shen."

"Of course," you say, already moving.

The patient she leads you to is mid-twenties, maybe, with a yellow snapband around her wrist. Smith stands beside the bed, arms folded, brows pinched. Perlah watches with careful eyes.

"Daniella Highman," Santos reports. "Trampled in the stampede. Mild leg pain, some superficial bruising… but—I don't know—something's off."

"Patient's alert and oriented," Smith adds. "BP stable. I just think—maybe we should wait for an attending? Or—"

"They're busy right now," you interrupt, already scanning Daniella. You snap on gloves. She looks pale and clammy. "Hi Daniella. I’m just going to take another look at you."

"But—" Smith continues.

Your head snaps up. "I'm your senior resident—almost an attending—if you don't trust my opinion, take it up with Robby. Right now, we're in the middle of a mass casualty, and we don't have time for this."

Smith's mouth snaps shut. She doesn’t push further, but her jaw tightens, and there’s a subtle exhale, almost a hiss of frustration. You know she blames you for the move to day shift, but in all honesty, you couldn't care less. She should be grateful that was the only punishment she received, all things considered.

You continue questioning Daniella, palpating her hips. She winces sharply. Her breath is shallower than you like.

Perlah, monitoring vitals, says, "BP’s normal—120 over 60… wait, it's dropping—now 90 over 50."

"I don’t feel good," Daniella murmurs, her head lolling back.

"Daniella?" you call. "Wake up, Daniella!" Her pulse is weak and thready beneath your fingers, before slipping away. Santos presses her knuckles into Daniella's sternum, but there's no response.

"Shit. Move!" you bark. In one motion, you’re on the bed, starting compressions as the team pushes her toward a trauma room where Daniella is shifted onto the bed. "Santos, get the ultrasound ready—FAST on my mark." You pause for a heartbeat as she probes quickly; compressions resume immediately after.

"Fluid in Morrison’s pouch and LUQ."

"Okay," you say without missing a compression. "Perlah, page the OR and activate MTP. Santos, bag her. Prep for intubation if needed. Smith, get two large-bore IVs—or IO if needed."

You keep compressions steady as people flit around. "Smith, what’s the next step when there’s internal bleeding?"

"I… uh… fluids?" Smith stammers, her hands trembling as she fumbles with the lines.

"Correct, but what kind of fluids?" you press.

She blinks at you.

Santos answers instead. "Start rapid crystalloid, then blood products."

"Exactly," you nod without breaking compressions. "She’s crashing from internal bleeding—we need volume fast."

Smith fumbles with the IV again.

You look at her, at the panic in her eyes, the way her hands tremble. "Smith, step back. Breathe. Perlah—" you nod at her. Perlah steps in, pushing Smith back, and inserts it quickly.

Compressions continue. Slowly, a strong carotid pulse returns. BP returns to normal as Daniella's pulse steadies and her oxygen saturation rises. A quiet sigh leaves you all.

Walsh strolls in, minutes later, after things have quieted, glancing at the bed with a raised eyebrow. "OR's ready—thought we were done for the day."

"Well," you say, shrugging as you throw your gloves into the bin, "you know us—never a dull moment down here."

She smirks at you as she begins guiding the bed through the door. "Hope this isn't what it's like with you as an attending."

You grin back. "Trust me, I’ll try to make it a little less entertaining."

Things quiet down after that. No more critical patients. Twelve dead in total. Sixty-four saved. The numbers hang heavy, impossible to reconcile with the pounding in your chest.

Robby’s speech sounds over the hub, words meant to inspire, meant to honour—but all it does is push the ache forward, force it to the surface, raw and unrelenting. You can’t stay. You don’t want to stay. You need air. You need space to let it out before it consumes you.

The roof greets with cold air, the city lights a blur beneath you. The quiet is almost alien after the chaos. Jack is already there, leaning against the railing, hands tight around the cold metal, his jaw tense. He turns at the sound of the door.

You move toward him, unthinking, the last walls you’ve built between yourself and the ache crumbling. You collapse into him, body trembling, and he holds you upright, chest warm and solid under your cheek.

The first sob tears out of you before you can stop it. He presses his cheek to the top of your head, letting you collapse into him. The sound of your own crying is sharp and shocking in your ears, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t speak. He just holds you.

Your tears soak into his scrubs, dampening the fabric. He's quiet for a moment and then—he breaks too. You feel it first in his arms, the way they tremble. It’s not loud, not like yours, but you know he’s crying when a few drops land on you.

Finally, your sobs soften into ragged, trembling breaths. You don't move away, remaining pressed to his chest. Listening to his steady heartbeat as his hands rub your back slowly.

"We did what we could," he murmurs.

"Yeah," you breathe. Neither of you truly believes it. Not right now when the aftermath still clings to your skin.

"You should go home," he says. "We can do the night shift without you."

You shake your head against his chest. "I… I don’t want to be alone right now," you whisper, voice trembling. And you don't want to leave him alone here.

Though he suggests you leave, the tension in his body eases when you refuse, betraying that he really wants you here with him. "Okay," he says.

The two of you stay on the roof for five minutes more, breathing slowly and building up strength to go face the relentless Pitt again.

There are no words that could make up for what you'd experienced today. Nothing to be said to make it better. But knowing he's there with you, that he's weathering the same storm, makes it tolerable. Even if it's just a little.

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