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I told you so.

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

13.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: car accident that’s DUI related; mildly graphic but within (and lesser than) season one canon level of graphic; blood; broken bones; compound fracture (no real description); internal bleeding and injuries; medically induced coma; severe lung injuries; CPR; coding; being intubated and on a vent; inaccurate medical descriptions and realities; panic attacks; pain killers; lorazepam; extreme grief; extreme anxiety; crying; self-hate; self-blame; regret; compartmentalization; denial; reference to PIV sex; no use of y/n.

Summary: Jack gets a premonition about you at work, but there's no way that feeling can be true, right?

AN: I don't have much to say other than I know this is probably too close to other things I’ve written or at the very least is in my heavily written for, go to genre. It’s just so good I can’t help myself, my brain is wired this way I'm sorry 🫠🥲. I think it’s different enough (idk about good though lmao) and it was asked for and based on this request so!! Might be the last fic I write for this kind of situation/trope unless we're okay with more? Or maybe only for someone other than Jack? I don't know. I promise there is much less angsty hurt/comfort and fluff on the horizon and that I'm still working through requests before I get into new series. So, I hope this is enjoyable and thank you for reading if you decide to! ♥️

Jack is standing at the hub with Robby, Dana and Lena when he first starts feeling it.

He can't explain it, but he gets a premonition, a feeling like something bad is about to happen. Something bad involving you. A cold chill passes through him and he shivers, his stomach sinking even further and heart rate picking up. Something's wrong. Something related to you. He can just feel it.

But that's absurd.

You're fine. You texted him just before he got to work about thirty minutes ago that you were finally leaving the office and heading home. You mentioned it had been a long day and you wanted to slip into a hot bath since him slipping into you wasn't an option given that he was working.

Jack tells himself it's not that odd for you not to have texted him that you made it home, especially with you saying it had been a long day. It just slipped your mind, he's sure.

Still, he sends you a text. A single, simple text to reassure himself.

J - How's your night going sweetheart? Did you end up taking a bath?

He slides his phone into his pocket and tunes back into the conversation somewhat, but Jack really can't shake the fucking feeling. Once they've finished hand off Jack goes to check on a patient. Thirty or so minutes have passed since he sent you a text when he steps out of a patient room and checks his phone. You haven't responded to his message.

That would make sense if you were in the bath, right? Jack tries to get himself to believe it but he can't because it wouldn't really make sense. Normally you have your phone next to the tub somewhere for a podcast or music or whatever. Maybe you didn't hear your phone go off. Or maybe it's still on silent from work.

Jack calls you. The phone rings and rings and rings and rings until it clicks over to your voicemail. He doesn't leave a message, his chest growing a little tighter with worry as he hangs up. He shoots you another text.

J - I know you probably are, but can you just shoot me a text to let me know that you're okay as soon as you can? Thanks baby. I love you

He forces himself into another patient's room. Still nothing from you when he walks out of the room ten minutes later. Jack calls you again. You don't answer. He's nauseous now, trying to tell himself he can't just feel things like that and that it's just anxiety because he misses you.

When he heads back to the hub he's surprised to see Dana and Robby still there.

"Don't ask," Robby sighs as Jack starts to ask why they're both still here.

Before Jack can ignore Robby and ask anyway Lena interrupts the three and lets them know they've got two MVC patients five minutes out courtesy of a drunk driver, one stable enough and one barely holding on who they almost called at the scene before they were able to get a weak pulse back.

"Can you stay?" Jack looks at Robby. He's sure his anxiety and distress must be on his face because Robby looks at him and doesn’t give him any shit about staying, just nods in agreement. "Thanks."

Jack turns and walks out to the ambulance bay. He knows it's a waste of five minutes but he just needs to pace. Pace and keep calling you.

And so he does. Jack walks up and down the ambulance bay alternating holding his phone to his ear and staring at it willing you to call or text him back apologizing and saying you're fine, you accidentally left your phone in the other room, or you let yourself sit on the bed when you got home and fell asleep and your phone was still on silent from work or something, anything.

But his phone never rings. A text never comes through. Jack's anxiety just continues to build and he promises himself if he's still like this after these two traumas he'll beg Robby to cover for him just long enough so that he can run home and check on you and then come back.

"Jack." He's vaguely aware of Robby's voice calling his name behind him as he paces away from the doors. "Jack." Robby calls again.

"Jack!" Robby finally gets his attention when he paces his way back to the doors. "Hey, man, what is going on? Did something happen? You look like you're about to have a panic attack."

"I can't get in touch with her." Jack doesn't give Robby any further specifics. He knows Robby will know who he's talking about.

"Okay," Robby draws the word out. "Do you have a reason to think something happened?"

"No, I… I don't, I just. I don't know," Jack mutters distractedly. "I just feel like something bad has happened… like something's wrong with her. I feel it. Like a premonition."

"Maybe this is just going to be a shit show and that's what you're feeling." Robby nods his head in the direction of the sirens that have just become audible. "Or maybe this is the start of a long night of traumas and you won't get out on time tomorrow and will miss seeing her before she goes to work."

Jack nods slowly. "Yeah, maybe." He tries to force his brain to accept the options but it won't. His thumb hits your photo on his favorites and he calls you again. Still nothing. He's going to be sick, has to walk away from Robby and choke back a couple of dry heaves because the feeling that something is wrong with you has gotten so strong that Robby's right. He's getting panicky.

"You okay, Hon?" Dana asks Jack as she walks by him, resting her hand on his back and rubbing it as she pauses next to him.

"Can I ask you a favor you're going to hate me for?" Jack can barely recognize the sound of his own voice with how strained and raw it is. He feels and watches Dana stiffen at it, can feel Robby's eyes on him.

"I'm not gonna hate you for anything," Dana reassures him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "What do you need?"

Jack takes a deep breath. This is fucking insane. He needs to get a goddamn grip. He shakes his head as he goes to tell Dana to forget it, but that's not even close to what comes out. "Can you just stay for a couple of minutes and keep calling her until she picks up?" Jack holds his phone out to her with your contact brought up. "Your phone, my phone, both. I don't, it doesn't matter. Maybe yours, maybe she doesn't want to talk to me."

"Of course." She takes his phone and steps in front of him to look at him. "Is everything okay Jack?"

"I just," he swallows hard, "it's so stupid but I just have this feeling that something's wrong or happened to her and I can't shake it." As Jack thinks more about it his mind at least supplies something concrete, something that he's now so worried about his breathing picks up. "She said she might take a bath so I don't know. I'm worried she hit her head and fell in and drowned or something."

"You ready, Jack?" Robby calls to him.

"Go," Dana nods. "I'll call and let you know the second I hear from her."

"Thank you," Jack nods. The appearance of the first ambulance clears Jack's mind for now. He has to focus on this, on his patient. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath and stretches his neck, forces the compartmentalization he needs right now. When he opens his eyes back up he's in fully focused trauma mode, walls built so high he's not feeling anything other than what he needs to in order to do his job. "First or second rig Robby?" he asks as he walks back over to Robby. "You can pick since you're staying to help with this."

Robby hesitates as the first ambulance pulls in. "Second."

"Got it." Jack pulls his gloves on as he walks up to the back of the ambulance as the doors burst open.

"Unrestrained driver, stable most of the way here, but his pulse started getting thready a couple of minutes ago," the paramedic tells Jack as they unload the gurney and start moving toward the trauma room quickly.

"Fuck," Robby mutters just loud enough for Jack to hear. Jack knows Robby must have decided to bet on them getting the most seriously injured patient here first so he chose second in hopes of getting out quickly.

Robby steps up as the next ambulance arrives. "Restrained driver. If it can be broken or fucked up, assume that it is," the paramedic tells Robby with an eerie seriousness as they get the gurney out. The paramedic runs through vitals as they walk into the Pitt and bad would be an understatement.

"What the fuck happened?" Robby asks as they get into the trauma room. "This is the worst MVC vic I've seen in a long time."

"The drunk driver with Dr. Abbot ran a red going at least 60 in a 25. T-boned her car on the driver's side which made it flip and roll into the other lane where she got hit head on favoring the driver's side by a semi going over the limit but at least not fucking 60." The paramedic pauses while they transfer the patient. "You should see the car. I can't believe we got her back and she's still alive. I thought we'd lose her again on the drive over."

"I fucking hate drunk drivers," Robby swears under his breath as the paramedics leave and the Pitt team takes over.

"That was a nice save," Jack tells the team as surgery wheels the patient out of the trauma room and up to surgery. That was almost not a save at all. Jack wasn't sure they were going to get the guy back once he coded but they had managed to, it hadn't even taken that long to get him stabilized and handed off to surgery, only ten or so minutes. The guy wasn't as injured as he looked despite the code.

As he takes off his gloves and gown and comes out of his full trauma focus Jack realizes the bad feeling he had about something happening to you has dwindled significantly, almost completely gone. There's some part of that fact that seems to give him its own anxiety but he's able to ignore it as he steps through the vestibule between the trauma rooms and into Robby's trauma.

Jack steps a bit closer to the bed and looks at Robby's patient, closest to her right side. He obviously can't say for sure since he doesn't know the woman but Jack would bet a lot of money on her being unrecognizable, her face already swollen and darkly bruised, covered in blood from a scalp laceration and her nose. There's dried blood at the corners of her lips and trailing down telling Jack she was coughing up blood or maybe throwing it up at some point. Maybe both. The remnants of dried blood he can just see in her ET tube confirm at least some was coming from her lungs.

He's only looked at her face and it feels wrong to think about right now but Jack can't help but do so. It's patients like this, accidents like this that make him so fucking glad you don't drive to work.

Jack looks up at the monitor. Not a single number is good.

"Those are good comparatively," Robby tells Jack as he continues to work on the woman, tossing out orders and confirming ones given by Parker and Mel.

"Yeah?" Jack moves his eyes to start to take in the rest of the woman, most of her visible skin covered in some amount of blood. She has a visible deformity to her shoulder and wrist on the right, chest tubes on both sides, her abdomen covered in dark bruises, seatbelt sign already visible.

"She desperately needs the OR but we can't get her stable enough for transport." Robby shakes his head as he glances back up at the monitor to see slipping vitals. "Fuck," he mutters. "It would be easier to tell you what's not wrong," Robby tells Jack before Jack can ask.

His eyes continue to move down the woman and he finds a pelvic binder, they must think she broke or dislocated something there, eyes looping back up to check on this side's chest tube output. Jack catches Bridget's eye. "Set up to auto-transfuse her." He's careful not to step too far into Robby's trauma, knows Robby might have a plan, but looking at the number of discarded blood bags and her vitals, it's obvious they're headed there.

"She was removed from the car barely alive, coded at the scene but they got her back. They nearly called her there," Robby explains.

"What happened?"

"Drunk driver t-boned the driver's side at 60 in a 25. Flipped and rolled the car into the other lane, hit head on by a semi over the limit but not 60," Parker explains. She was there when Robby asked.

Jack cringes and clicks his tongue. "She might not ever stabilize, Robby. She might not make it to the OR." He knows Robby knows, but also knows that sometimes it can be helpful to hear it from someone else.

"I know." Robby's tone is a little clipped so Jack backs off.

"Can I do anything?" Jack walks back up towards the patient's head to walk around to her other side, staying as out of the way as possible while still evaluating the patient like Robby will do with his sometimes, just an extra, fresh set of eyes. Her vitals continue to slip. She'll code soon probably, Jack thinks to himself.

The woman has another obvious deformity to her left tibia and fibula about half way up her calf. It's easy to tell with the compound fracture that both bones are involved. Her ankle on that same leg lays against the bed at an unnatural angle that makes Jack wince. He hopes for her sake she was unconscious for most of this.

"What are you thinking neurologically?" he calls to Robby before Robby can answer his first question.

Robby almost huffs a laugh as he steps up to check her pupils again. "Pupils are equal and reactive. All the telling reflexes are normal, no posturing. Portable x-ray shows T-8 to 12 are broken, 11 and 12 look shattered, but she has normal reflexes there too so it looks like no cord damage, knock on wood for her." Robby turns back to Jack and shakes his head. "It's like she's incredibly lucky but also," he gestures to her, "clearly not. She was damn near DOA. She's a fighter though, I thought we were going to lose her within a couple of minutes."

"Yeah," Jack nods slowly. There's something off here but he can't figure out what. Something they're missing. He focuses as he tries to figure out what it is, standing on the patient's left side now and as close to the wall as he can get to let everyone work. He can still hear everything going on and see them working on her but it doesn't really process fully as he tries to figure out what his feeling is.

It hits him just as Ellis moves and the left hand of the patient comes into Jack's view. You drove to work today because you had to run an errand across the city at lunch. So you drove home tonight. You drove.

Time slows and sound fades as Jack steps closer to the patient, takes in the engagement ring the patient's wearing. Even bloodied it's beautiful and bespoke. And Jack knows it's bespoke. Because he's the one that designed it. Because that's your engagement ring.

Which means Robby's patient, Robby's patient who he just said was damn near DOA, who Jack said might not ever stabilize or make it to the OR, that patient is you.

Maybe it's not. Maybe the ring just looks similar or, or maybe someone stole it from you, or maybe, maybe something, anything to make this not true.

Jack moves down to the end of the bed and looks at the patient's right ankle. There's a slightly jagged scar starting just above the medial malleolus that continues about five inches up her inner calf. It's a scar Jack is intimately familiar with, he must have kissed the length of it at least a hundred times while kissing his way from your ankles up to your inner thighs. It's your scar.

All of the air leaves his lungs in some strangled, choked sound he can't hear that gets everyone's attention.

"Jack?" Robby glances over at him.

The bad feeling he had went away because you're here, you're near him. Not because nothing bad happened to you and not because you were okay. Because you're here.

"Michael." It's raw and broken, unrecognizable and absolutely soaked in pain.

"What?" Robby's eyes flash to him. "Jack? What is it?"

It takes Jack a second because he can't pull his eyes from your scar, can't stop thinking about every time he's kissed it, all the sounds from moans to giggles you'd make for him when he did.

"The ring," Jack finally forces out, slowly looking up at Robby, completely helpless and paralyzed. "Her ring, the ring, look at…" he glances at your left hand. He knows Robby will recognize it, he made Robby look at it a million times as he designed it and once he got it. "It's, it's," Jack's already working his way toward hyperventilation as panic starts to course through him because he was and is pretty sure this patient is going to fucking die and this patient is you, "it's, I…"

Robby furrows his brows and steps to look at the ring closely. "Oh my fucking god," he mumbles, face dropping and blood draining from it. He looks up at whoever is standing closest to him. "Go get Dana. Now."

Everyone in the room is confused as things still just a touch for a second while Robby clearly pulls himself back together. "It's Jack's fiancée. We are not fucking losing her," he almost snaps at everyone. “We are not fucking losing her. This is one of our own, this is family.”

There's a small collective gasp or harsh intake of air and then everyone is moving even faster.

"Michael, I can't," Jack pleads with him, voice strained and full of tears he's fighting for some reason.

Dana walks in looking confused. "What's up?" Dana nods at Robby as her attention turns over to Jack.

"It's her." Robby glances at Jack and it's all she needs to know.

"Oh my god," Dana whispers.

Jack's brain is spinning so fast he's close to physically dizzy and almost can't understand any of the emotions he's feeling. But somewhere through it another realization breaks through that has him doubling over in pain, mental and physical, fighting back the urge to be sick and resting his hands on his knees for a few seconds before he straightens back up.

The drunk driver. He must’ve had the drunk driver.

"Somebody please, please," his voice cracks and breaks over the word heartbreakingly as tears finally start to stream down his face, "tell me I didn't just save the guy who might've killed my fiancée Tell me I didn't just fucking save him!"

Jack looks to Robby who looks back at him and Jack knows from Robby's face. He did. He treated the drunk driver. He treated the man who did this to you. Who very likely killed you.

"No. No. I'm going to fucking kill him." Jack spins, hellbent on getting to that OR and undoing everything he already did.

Dana's right there to stop him with her hands slightly raised. She shakes her head gently at him. "Let's go." She nods over at the vestibule between the trauma rooms and Jack loses his anger for now, the panic and sorrow and devastation finally overwhelming him as he lets Dana lead him toward the doors.

"Please, Michael," Jack pleads, knees buckling a little because he's ready to get on them at his best friend’s feet to beg. "Please, please save her. Please don't let her die, please don't, please-"

"Get him out Dana!" Robby yells.

"Come on Jack, let them work," Dana says softly.

"Please," Jack begs, unable to say anything else. "Please, please please please. I'll do anything, I'll give anything, whatever you want." It's no longer clear who Jack's pleading with, Robby or a god he doesn't believe in.

"Jack." Dana steps in front of him and grabs his upper arms, gently pushes him so that he walks backward into the vestibule.

"I can't, I c-can't Dana," Jack whimpers between heavy breaths. He can't lose you. He can't fucking lose you.

Jack is barely aware of someone bringing in a chair and Dana pushing him down into it, leaving it pointed toward the trauma room so he can see through the window. Or could if the tears still streaming down his face silently weren't so heavy that his vision is so blurred he can't see his legs as he looks down at them.

He starts to rock himself in the chair a little, feels like he's going out of his mind and needs to crawl out of his fucking skin. Jack curls in on himself and digs his hands into the opposite forearms, squeezing so hard it'll bruise and digging his nails into his skin for the pain, hoping in vain it'll ground him even a little bit.

But you're the only thing that could ground him right now. Your voice. Your touch. Your smell. Your taste. Your soft skin under his hand. He can't have that though because you're bleeding out internally on Robby's table, body so likely broken beyond repair.

Jack doesn't have hope. He can't let himself have hope. It's too cruel. The kindest and best thing the world ever did for him, ever gave him, it's about to take away from him.

That's confirmed for him when three words break through Jack's panic enough to have him flying out of the chair and through the doors back into your trauma room. He doesn’t know who said them and it doesn’t fucking matter. "Asystole, start CPR!"

"No no no," Jack nearly screams. The panic he'd been fighting breaks over him completely, vicious and consuming in its intensity. "No please, does, does she need blood?" he chokes out through sobs.

"You can just, j-just hook me up, I'm, I'm O neg, I can donate directly." Jack can feel himself getting lightheaded from his hyperventilated breathing in between his sobs but he doesn't care. Part of him almost wants to pass out because then he won't have to do this, but he also can't stomach the thought of you dying without him holding your hand.

"Just, hook me up, hook me up to her, and and sh-she can have whatever she needs!" Jack sobs. He knows it doesn't work like that, knows that's not an option and he's sure there's something so sad for everyone watching him to see this medical doctor reduced to begging for something like this but he doesn't fucking care. "She can have all of it, all, I don't need, don't need it without her. I don't want it without her." His voice is high pitched and as raw as ever at the end as he watches his best friend give his fiancée CPR, hears him break one of her ribs.

Dana follows Jack just through the doors and grabs his arm, squeezes gently. "Jack, come back and sit down, we don't need you falling, okay?"

"No!" He moves his arm away so it slips from Dana's hand. "She's going to d-die! She's fucking dying! I have to be with her, I have to." Even in this state Jack knows it's a good idea, knows it's what needs to happen, knows there's no good place for him to sit near you in this room while they work on you. Knows that he's hyperventilating now and the lightheadedness taking over is just going to intensify. But it doesn't matter. He can't stop, can't try to control himself. He can only panic about you dying right in front of him and what is he going to do and this can't be real and he needs you.

"I need a PRN lorazepam order for him," Dana calls to the room as she starts walking toward the doors so she can go get it.

Every person in the room who can prescribe it calls out the order and Dana disappears to run and get it. She's quick, comes back through the other trauma room and Jack is so far gone and leaning into the doorframe to keep himself upright when she comes back that he doesn't even fight it when she puts the chair right behind him and pulls him down into it. He has no reaction to Dana cleaning his arm and then sticking him and injecting the lorazepam. He's not even really aware it's happening until it starts forcing him to calm down.

"If we get her back you're taking her up however she is," Robby orders Walsh. Jack hadn't even realized she was here.

"Already my plan, I don't care how weak her pulse is, family's different," she nods at him. "And when. Not if."

Robby holds compressions, everyone's eyes glued to the monitor. "V-fib." Bridget's the first to call it out.

"Fuck yes," Robby mutters. "We can work with that."

Jack watches them shock you three times before they get you back as the meds calm him down at least physically more and more, his sobs reduced to wracking breaths and hiccuped whimpers. He's almost physically numb by the time they're almost running as they wheel you out to get you up and to an OR. But his mind hasn't really shut off much. He's still dying inside.

He forces himself out of the chair and walks into the room, Robby stepping in front of him to block him from leaving and trying to follow you up. "Let them work. Then we can go up, okay?"

"I need to be with her Robby," Jack mumbles, trying to step around Robby.

"Jack, no." Robby steps with Jack and grabs one of his arms without thinking, smearing your blood from the glove Robby hadn't yet removed over Jack's arm.

It works. Not for the reason Robby thought it would. But it gets Jack to stop. It gets Jack to freeze.

Jack brings his opposite hand up and touches it, enough of your blood there to transfer onto the pads of his fingers. The room is silent, or as silent as possible with the Pitt just beyond the doors, as Robby and Dana watch Jack look at the tile floor of the room, watch him fixate on the streaks of your blood and the couple of small pools that had poured from you before they could stop it.

He walks over to one and kneels next to it. It's fresh. Fresh enough that it hasn't started to fully coagulate or dry yet. He leans over it a little and almost scares himself when he watches a drop of something hit it but then he realizes he's crying again and it's one of his tears hitting your blood.

Jack knows it's macabre and unsanitary and probably gross and over-dramatic but he doesn't care, presses his palm of his hand into the small pool of your blood because it's all he's fucking got of you right now. He lifts it up and looks down at his hand, shaking his head and sucking in a strangled breath through his teeth.

"What if this is all I have left of her?" He looks up at Robby and Dana shaking his head, a wave of tears soaking his face as they all finally fall at once. "I have to go. I have to go be with her." Jack is unsteady on his feet as he gets up, Robby and Dana rushing forward to help steady him. "What OR is she?"

"You can't go in Jack," Robby says quietly.

Jack sniffles deeply. "Observation then."

"Don't do that to yourself Jack," Dana whispers.

"I have to be with her. I have to know what's happening so that I can, can go say goodbye before they call it." Jack presses his bloody hand over his heart and holds it there trying to remember how to take a step so that he can start getting to you.

"They will come get you before they call it, I promise." Robby squeezes his best friend's shoulder and cuts Jack off before there can be any arguing. "I spoke with Emery about it. Someone will come."

"Still, I… I should watch, I should, should know what's happening, what she’s going through," Jack mumbles.

"She wouldn't want you to torture yourself by watching and seeing her like that." Dana moves so that she's in Jack's line of sight and can get his eye contact. "She would not want you seeing her like that Jack and I know you know that. She would much rather you be in one of the quiet family rooms up there."

"Maybe if I… Maybe if I go into observation it'll give her something to yell at me about when she wakes up and so, so it'll make her wake up, it'll mean she'll wake up." All of them know that's bullshit but nobody says it. "I just, I want to be on the same floor as her."

Jack's finally able to get himself moving and starts walking toward the doors, Dana and Robby staying next to them and exchanging worried glances. He can feel the eyes of all the Pitt staff on him as he walks to the elevator, Shen long since called in to take care of the night shift. He thinks vaguely that maybe he should be embarrassed, that they have lots of people who don't react to something like this the way he did. But that would require caring and Jack simply doesn't.

He lets Robby and Dana lead him upstairs and into one of the quiet family rooms Dana had said you'd want him in. He knows she's right. He knows he doesn't want his last memories of you to be images of you in surgery. He knows he probably couldn't stomach it.

The three sit in silence for a few minutes, Jack lost in thought as he stares at a spot on the wall across from him. His brain conjures up some of his favorite memories of the two of you just to be a fucking dick and make him remember what he's so sure he's going to lose.

Jack has no idea how long it's been when he stands and starts to pace. His brain is so tired he can't even articulate what he's feeling other than sadness and anger and anxiety and grief. He opens and closes the hand covered in your dried blood. He should rinse it off but he can't, can't bring himself to do more than have the thought that he should. And he's quiet at first. Until he's not.

"They almost called her at the scene," he mutters to himself. He looks up at Robby and Dana as he walks back and forth. "They almost fucking called her at the fucking scene!" It's louder than he wanted but neither Dana nor Robby react.

Jack runs his clean hand through his hair and pulls at it. "And then what do I do? What do I fucking do?" He releases his hair and grinds his jaw so hard that it hurts. "I fucking save the guy that killed her!" Jack stops pacing at one end of the room, chest heaving as he lets it all slam into him again, gives into the panic and lets it take him over because he doesn't fucking care. He deserves to suffer. He bends at the waist and lets himself hang there for a second because it just feels like what he needs to do before he straightens up and looks at Robby and Dana. "I saved him while she's, while she is," he has to force the word out, broken and cracked, "dying in the next room! If I'd have, have…"

"Jack there is nothing you could've done. You know that," Robby says firmly.

"No I don't." Jack almost huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. "No I fucking don't! I could've done so many things! I could've driven her. I, I could've asked her not to go, or to take a different route, or, or… I could've gone to the scene, maybe I could've stabilized her better there. Something! Anything!"

"You had no way of knowing, Hon," Dana tells him. "This shit happens, as awful as it is. We know it happens."

"It's not supposed to happen to her!" Jack snaps, gives back into the urge to hyperventilate as he starts imagining his life without you again. "It's not," he breathes hard but short, "not supposed to happen," another breath, "to her." He continues to hyperventilate. "She," his hyperventilation is even harder and faster than last time, almost like a subconscious attempt to make himself pass out, "she doesn't-"

"Okay, Jack, sit down." Robby walks over to him and grabs his shoulders, directs him toward a chair.

"No, I…" Jack shoves at Robby weakly, "I have to go." Despite his words he slumps into the chair Robby gently pushes him into. "I have to go be with her." He looks up at Robby and shakes his head and it makes everything worse, makes the tunnels invading his vision worse as he starts to shake with the panic. "Need to be."

Dana sits wordlessly in the chair next to Jack and pulls another dose of lorazepam for him, quickly runs an alcohol wipe over his skin and sticks him in his other arm. "Jack breathe," she tells him, takes his hand and puts it on her chest and takes big breaths to show him.

He shakes his head again. "No, I can't." But the lorazepam starts to kick in and forces his breathing to slow. Jack fights it though, he fights the drug hard, tries to keep himself worked up and panicking because he deserves it, he fucking deserves it. It's a losing battle though, the drug easily overpowering him.

"Jack, do you want us to fully sedate you so you can get some sleep?" Robby asks gently.

"No," he mumbles, rubbing his clean hand over his face. "I want my fucking girl. I want to be at home in bed with her." Jack huffs and shakes his head, fights back more tears. "And I need to be awake for when Walsh or whoever comes to get me and take me into that OR. When I have to go figure out how to say goodbye to her." The use of when is deliberate. Because Jack is convinced you're not surviving this and it's going to happen any moment now.

And so Jack returns to sitting and staring at a spot on the wall across from him. He can hear Robby talking to him but he doesn't tune in enough to know what he's saying because as he disassociates this time his brain alternates between his favorite memories of you and playing out imagined scenes of what his life will look like without you in it.

He sees himself having to walk into your shared place alone, having to get into bed without you and just stare at your pillow knowing you'll never be there looking back at him with that small smile again. He watches himself having to pack your clothes away and not being able to do it, sinking to the floor instead and holding one of his favorite shirts of yours to his chest and sobbing into it. He sees himself staring at your shampoo and conditioner every time he's in the shower because he can't bring himself to get rid of it, opens the bottles just to smell them to try and remember how you smelled but it's never the same because they didn't mix with your natural scent.

He watches himself cry silently in bed when he realizes your pillow and the sheets have stopped smelling like you. He sees himself keeping the half eaten pint of your favorite ice cream in the freezer, letting it taunt him every time he opens the door. He sees himself planning a funeral instead of a wedding, having to pick out the outfit you'll be buried in, never being able to cook your favorite dish, never being able to move because he can't live somewhere you haven't been. He watches himself grow old without you, sees the spark and light never return to his eyes.

Time passes. Jack isn't fully aware of it, it's like his brain can't recognize it. It's probably the only reason he hasn't asked for an update yet. He doesn't realize Robby and Dana have been in and out of the room, always leaving one of them with him. Because it's been hours now. He's aware of them asking him if he wants something to eat, trying to get him to have some water at least, does he need to go pee, is he sure he doesn't want them to help him sleep.

"Jack." He barely responds to Robby saying his name, raising his chin just slightly.

"Jack."

Jack had prepared for this. He told himself it was going to happen so that when it did he would be ready. But he was fucking kidding himself because it's happening and he is not fucking ready. His entire world has already been pulled out from under him so Jack doesn't understand how he feels it happening again when Emery says his name.

"No," he whispers, refuses to look up at her and shakes his head. "No."

"Jack-"

"No!" he interrupts her. "No! You go back and fix her! Don't come in here and make me, make, don't ask me to come with you to say goodbye!" Jack stands and takes a few steps but then turns around, unable to face any of them, unable to face reality. “Go fix her, please. Please Emery, please go fix her and save her.”

"I need you to come with me Jack, I need you to trust me. I'm not taking you to the OR to say goodbye. I'm taking you to her-"

"I don't believe you," he shakes his head and cuts her off, "I don't believe you. You, you, you just want me to go with you, you’ll take me there once you have me walking."

"Jack," Robby steps in, puts his hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezes. Jack flinches at it because now he's got Robby comforting him for what he's about to have to go do. "Emery is telling the truth. Let's go to her room."

"Why? So you can tell me she's going to die when we're there?" Jack finally turns and looks between Robby and Emery. "Why don't you tell me right here, tell me what's wrong and what happened and what you did? It hasn't even been that long!"

"It's been over eight hours, Jack," Robby tells him.

"I’m not telling you here because I want to take you to her so that you can be with her as soon as possible. I thought you'd prefer to get to her right away and be next to her when I go through everything with you," Emery explains. "She's stable, Jack. It's still touch and go, yes, but right now she's stable."

Jack stands there for a moment with his chest heaving. He has to be with you regardless, as scared as he is. Even if they're lying and they're going to take him to an OR or take him to see you and tell him you're eventually going to die, he has to be with you.

"Okay," he whispers, starts walking toward Emery and the door. He follows her silently, the tiniest bit of relief washing over him when they walk in the opposite direction of the ORs that's quickly nullified by his anxiety and sheer terror about what he's going to be told, about whether you'll recover.

They step into the elevator and head up to the floor the ICU is on, walk for what feels like forever until Emery turns and opens the door to your room. Jack follows her in, head spinning so much he's surprised he's able to walk and stay upright with how dizzy it makes him.

His heart and mind shatter once again when he takes you in, laying so still in a hospital bed. "Oh," he whimpers, shaking his head as tears start to fall, his face breaking. "My girl." His voice shakes as he walks closer to you, goes to stand next to your bed on your left, takes in all of you, every bruised and cut inch, every tube he knows is sticking out of your body under your gown, your ET tube and your PICC line and your casted wrist in a sling because of your shoulder, what he knows to be an external fixators covered by the blanket keeping your broken leg and ankle together. "My love." He looks up at your vitals and sure enough they're all stable. They're good all things considered, all of them except your pulse ox.

Robby brings a chair up behind Jack. "Why don't you sit next to her, Jack?"

"I, I, I…" Jack trails off shaking his head as he sits, takes your uninjured hand in his clean one so, so carefully.

"Her lungs are the biggest problem right now. The contusions are bad. I'm not going to lie Jack, they're some of the worst I've ever seen. And she has some pretty severe pulmonary edema because of how much fluid we had to give her. We're going to keep her medically induced and on the vent and monitor closely." Emery says ‘we’ even though everyone knows she won't technically be involved, isn't really your doctor anymore because that's just not her job. But they all know she'll be involved anyway, that Robby will too. "Like I said, it's still touch and go, she's having some minor events from time to time but we're able to stabilize her. She's not at all out of the woods but she's stable Jack."

Emery continues, outlining everything they did during surgery for your internal bleeding, all the wounds they found, what they found on scans once they were able to get them. She reports what Ortho did for you, who's taking over your care here in the ICU, that Neuro and Ortho are working together on your spine but it's going to have to wait until you're healed enough to handle being prone for surgery. Jack takes it all in and processes it but it's unconscious in a way because he's fixated on you, staring at you and thinking about you and how much pain you'll be in if and when you wake up.

Eventually Emery finishes, asks Jack if he has any questions. He shakes his head, runs his thumb over your knuckles, clearly spaced out and not entirely there. "Emery." Jack pulls his eyes from you to turn and find her when he realizes she's walking out. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for being a dick. Thank you."

"Of course." She gives him a small smile as she nods once and walks out, leaving Jack, Dana and Robby alone in your room.

"Do you want us to stay?" Robby asks.

"No, I…" Jack turns his head back and lets his eyes find you again, stomach churning as this new reality settles over him. "I think I'd like to be alone with her now."

"Alright. But call if you need anything or anything changes," Dana says as she walks over and squeezes Jack's arm. "We'll be back to check on you both."

"Thank you." He makes himself look over at them. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, brother. See you soon." Robby gives him a small smile and then walks out with Dana, shuts the door behind them.

Jack is quiet for a moment as he just watches you, studies your swollen and bruised and cut up face. He clicks his tongue behind his teeth, and lets tears fall. "Oh Baby," he sighs lowly, the words shaking. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He sniffles hard. "I should've, I should've done more. I should've driven you and just not slept. I should've… I'm sorry." Jack doesn't know what else to say, just has the overwhelming urge to apologize to you. "I'm so sorry."

He takes in a loud wracked breath as he says it again. "I'm sorry."

Jack stands, keeps your hand in his and leans in and kisses your forehead, the lightest press of his lips against your skin, almost a ghosting more than anything because he's terrified to hurt you, but he just needed to do that. He sits back down and moves the chair closer, looks at you helplessly, as helpless as he feels. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't protect you, I'm sorry I can't fix you, can't make you, make you better. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." Jack rests his forehead on his arm right below his wrist of the hand holding yours so carefully. "Please come back to me. Please. I'm sorry." He starts to weep in earnest. "I'm so sorry."

Ten days or so pass. Jack's not keeping track of time at this point. That's what he tells himself. He doesn't want to know, prefers to live as unaware as possible of how much time has passed without you. With you in a medically induced coma on a vent. They’d just been able to stop the sedation and take you off the vent. It's a lie though, one designed to make himself feel better. Jack is painfully aware of how much time has passed.

Jack and Robby have been sitting in silence in your room for a few minutes once their general conversation trailed off.

"She's going to wake up Jack."

Jack pushes his lips together and up a touch, shrugs shallowly, doesn’t look over. "You don't know that, Robby."

Robby lets out a deep breath. "True, yeah. But she's only just off sedation and the vent, nobody expected her to wake up immediately. She's a fighter and tenacious and will keep fighting to be with you."

Jack pulls his hand from yours and stands up to pace. "She might hate me if she does."

Robby clicks his tongue. "She's not going to hate you."

"Well guess what Robby, you don't know that either." Jack snaps as he paces. He knows that was shitty of him, knows that Robby is just trying to help in a situation where there's very little to be done. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Robby says softly. "I know you're right Jack, but I really believe I'm right too."

Jack nods in acknowledgment. He doesn't know what to say to that because he still isn't letting himself have hope. Or at least not much of it. "You see her car?"

"I think I saw a photo a few days ago, yeah," Robby nods.

Jack walks over to Robby silently and pulls his phone out, brings up the photos and hands his phone to Robby. "Scroll."

Robby looks at Jack for a moment before taking his phone and looking down at it. "Jesus fucking christ," Robby breathes out as he scrolls through the photos of your car.

"I saved him, Robby." Jack starts pacing again to burn off the anger at himself that boils his blood and makes him want to shatter the window and jump. "I saved the piece of shit that did that," he points at his phone, "I saved the man that did this to her." Jack moves his arm to flourish in the direction of your hospital bed.

"He got released a couple of days ago. Got to just walk the fuck out of here, hardly worse for wear." Jack knows Robby already knows this because they've talked about it at least five times but he still needs to say it all again. "I fucking saved him. And it wasn't fucking easy, it wasn't just treating and stabilizing and getting him off to surgery. It was a fucking save. He was fucking dead and I brought him back to life!" His voice breaks over the last word.

Jack stops pacing and walks back over to the edge of your bed, stands between it and his chair. "How is she ever supposed to forgive me for that if she wakes up? How am I ever supposed to forgive myself?"

"You did your job, Jack. She would never hold that against you or be mad at you for that. We both know she'd be upset if you hadn't treated him." Robby pauses. "And, as for how you forgive yourself, I don't know, honestly. Maybe as she gets better and you see that she's not mad at you for it you'll be able to start forgiving yourself."

Jack shakes his head but doesn't verbally argue. He won't forgive himself. Ever. He knows he won't. Maybe, maybe, if you asked him to he could, or at least could some. "I don't know how to do this, Michael."

Robby doesn't say anything, leaves the silence for Jack to fill.

He carefully settles on the edge of your bed, overly cautious to make sure he isn't pressing against you and potentially causing you pain. "I don't know if it's fair to ask her to fight. Her body is so broken, Michael. It's everything. It's fucking everything. My whole girl." Jack sniffles hard as he tries to keep the tears back. He's so fucking tired of crying. "I'm afraid to touch her most of the time. I swear to god every single inch of her is bruised. And so I don't know if it's fair to ask her to be in all this pain and to fight to come back to me and be exhausted. I know she must be tired." His voice cracks.

Jack brings a hand up to your head and strokes your hair so, so gently, puts no pressure on your head, is almost hovering just above your hair more than anything. "I don't know whether to tell her it's okay to let go. That I know she's tired and in pain and that it's okay for her to rest and let go. Because it's not. Not to me. But I don't want her to suffer and what if she's just exhausted and suffering Michael? What if she's feeling all the pain and unable to do anything about it? What if she's fighting for me, hanging on for me, to be here with me and she's in agony and it’s for no reason because she’s going to die anyway?"

"We would know if she was in pain, her heart rate would be elevated and it's not. It's perfectly normal. And Jack." Robby lets out a breath. "Even if she is exhausted and in pain, even if she's in agony, I know that she would be perfectly okay and even happy with that if it's what's going to get her back to you."

Jack lets out a small sob at that and leans in, presses a delicate kiss to your forehead with trembling lips and then pulls back a little and gives you a trembly smile as tears soak his face and shirt even though you can't see it, talks to you even though he doesn't know if you can hear him. "I love you, Sweetheart. I love you so fucking much."

Another couple of days pass. Jack loses more and more of the small shard of hope he let himself have as they do. He's barely sleeping or eating or drinking. He's only shaved because the facial hair starts to annoy him at a certain length and Robby brought him some stuff from home including a razor.

If someone asked him what he does all day and night he wouldn't know what to say other than he sits by your side, drags the cot they brought him over and lays by your side sometimes. He's always so far in his head and dissociated that time passes without him really realizing it or needing to do something to keep himself entertained.

He hasn't cried since that time with Robby. Maybe he finally settled into a numbness, maybe he ran out of tears. Maybe he doesn't think he deserves the catharsis and that he should have to deal with it all building up inside of him.

Jack scoffs at himself when he hears you say his name just above a whisper. Great, he thinks, now he's adding auditory hallucinations into the mix. But then he swears he feels your hand move in his and his head snaps from the wall he'd been staring at to you. To your eyes. To your beautiful, beautiful eyes that are open and looking at him. "Oh my god," he mumbles.

"Jack," you repeat his name again, just slightly louder. Your throat and mouth feel like sandpaper, have never been dryer.

"Holy shit," Jack breathes. "You, you, you're awake." He laughs in disbelief. "You're awake!" He's on his feet in seconds, looking down at you with glassy eyes. "Hi Sweetheart. Oh, I love you."

Every inch of you hurts. You can tell you're already on pain meds though with the way it's all a dull throbbing ache. And because you look down your body and see all the evidence of injuries, feel the sling, and know that Jack would never let them not have you on strong pain meds.

"Water?" You want to say that you love him too but you're not sure you could get that many words out with how dry your mouth and throat are.

"Of course, yeah." Jack grabs the pitcher your nurse has filled up every day and set on your tray and pours some into the cup next to it. He unwraps and sticks the straw into it as he brings it closer to you. "Small sips, yeah?"

You nod, barely though because as soon as you start to try it fucking hurts. You take a few sips and the relief feels so good you're pretty sure it eclipses the pain for a second. "Thanks," you whisper when you've had enough.

"Better?" Jack asks as he sets the cup back down. "And let me know if you want more."

"Much." You force yourself to say the word at a normal level and make a face at the sound of your own voice. You don't recognize it. Jack laughs softly because it was adorable, because you're adorable and you're awake and you can talk and you recognize him and maybe, just maybe things will be okay. "And I love you too, so much."

He beams at you as you tell him the words he's been dying to hear. "Your voice will get back to normal."

You hum in acknowledgment and are quiet for a few seconds. "Jack, everything hurts."

His smile fades so quickly into a frown that it's like a knife to your heart. You hadn't meant to make him feel bad. It's not his fault. You don't really remember what happened but you remember your car getting hit.

Jack swallows hard. "I know Baby. I'm so sorry," he murmurs. He gently lets go of your hand and reaches behind you and grabs something, brings it down near your hand and rests his nearby. "Do you want a boost of pain meds? Pushing that button gives you one. And if you can't press it just let me know, okay?"

You'd love a boost of pain meds if you're honest. But you'd love time with Jack more because you can tell he's not okay. Can tell he's so, so not okay. He looks gaunt, almost haunted in a way. He looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping. It makes you realize it might not be the same day or even the day after you got hit. You can worry about that later. "Won't that make me sleepier?"

"Yeah," he nods. "But that's a good thing, you need to rest Sweetheart." Jack smiles at you softly but internally he's starting to lose it. He feels so selfish because he doesn't want you to sleep. He doesn't want you to close your eyes. He wants to keep talking to you, wants that proof that, at least for now, you're okay.

"In a bit, it's not that bad, honestly." You return his smile, though it's smaller than usual. "I wanna talk to you. I, I don't know how to explain it but I feel like I've missed you. Been missing you." You watch the glass return to Jack's eyes, watch the tears accumulate at his lower lash line but refuse to fall. Your smile fades. "Jack, what happened?"

"I missed you too," he murmurs, pausing for a moment because he has no idea what to say. Where to begin or how to explain or how to tell you he saved the guy that came a nanometer away from killing you. He forces himself to just start. "You were t-boned on the driver's by a drunk driver going 60 in a 25. It rolled your car and then you got hit by a semi head on. And I…" It feels wrong and selfish to get this out now instead of telling you more about your injuries but Jack is stuck. He can't move past it without acknowledging it. "I fucking saved him. You were both brought here and I got his ambulance and I fucking saved him. You coded, your heart stopped multiple times, and I, I saved the man who did this to you." A few tears slide down his cheeks the next time he blinks.

"I saved the man who almost killed you. His heart stopped and I brought him back to life." Jack sucks a ragged breath in through his teeth, eyes reflecting a kind of terror as he makes himself hold your eye contact because it's the very fucking least he can do during this. "And if you can never forgive me for that I understand and can go. Because I'll never fucking forgive myself. I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry, I’m so sorry."

"Hey," you say gently, inch your fingers as close to his as possible and brush against them so that he'll take your hand back, which he does even though you know he feels like he doesn't deserve it. "You did your job Jack. How could I ever be mad or upset about that or hold it against you? I'm not and I don't, Sweetheart. I'm glad you did your job. I'm proud of you for doing your job." Jack shakes his head at you to tell you that you shouldn't be. "I am. If you need my forgiveness then I forgive you, but know that I don't think I have anything to forgive you for. And I hope one day we can get you to a place where you can forgive yourself."

Jack wants to believe you, and deep down he does, but at surface level he's still terrified that as you go through recovery and are in pain and having to work so hard that you'll come to hate him. Come to be mad about it and upset and resent him. "Maybe, yeah," he whispers. He knows it's not fair to keep the story here, no matter how hard he's struggling. You asked what happened and you deserve to know what happened to you.

Jack's eyes leave yours for the first time since you woke up except for when he was helping you drink and you watch them glaze over a little. "Jack?" He looks back up at you. "Can I have a kiss?"

He lets out a little breath. How could he have gotten so caught up in everything else that he forgot he can kiss you now. That your lips will actually move back against his. "Always." He leans over you carefully and tilts his head, brings his lips to yours in the softest, most achingly sweet and tender and loving kiss. You sigh contentedly into it and so Jack kisses you again. And again and again. He can feel a little piece of him healing with each kiss. "Thank you," he whispers against your lips before pulling away. You raise your eyebrows slightly. "For helping me when I should be the one helping you."

"You are helping me Jack." You can see your reassurance only goes so far but decide to leave it for now, know him well enough to know that it's not the time to push it.

"We um, we didn't know it was you, when you came in. Robby took your ambulance. Even after I came in and looked at your face we didn't know it was you. You were unrecognizable, your face was so swollen and bruised and…" Jack closes his eyes for a second, squeezes them shut hard, trying to get that image out of his mind. You know it.

"Look at me, Sweetheart. Look at me now, Jack." You squeeze his hand lightly.

His eyes slowly flutter back open and flit around your face as Jack lets the image of your face when you first came in fade. "I saw your engagement ring. That's how we realized it was you." Jack starts to tell you all about it then. He knows he should get your nurse and your doctor but he doesn't want to. Doesn't want to share you.

Jack tells you that it's been almost two weeks which is what ends up throwing you the most, not your injuries or Jack saving the guy who hit you, but the loss of time. He promises that he's been here by your side every day, has been sleeping here and showering here, hasn't left your side for a single second. He tells you about the feeling he had, about you coding at the scene and how they almost called you there, how you coded in the trauma room. He explains all of your injuries and what happened during surgery, how your lungs were really bad but have healed well, are still healing, what they think recovery and recovery times are going to look like.

"Well," you breathe a soft laugh once he finishes. Somehow you remember the conversation you and Jack had over text before the accident as you were leaving for work. "Damn. I guess it's going to be a hot minute before I can have you slip inside me or I can slip into a hot bath."

Jack can't help but laugh, it just comes out because it's the most fucking you thing to say in reaction to everything he just told you. He laughs properly for the first time since the morning he spent with you on the day of the accident as you got ready for work, sits back down in the chair and kisses the back of your hand that he's holding as he laughs.

His laughter only lasts so long though. That kind of catharsis triggers another one and Jack slips from laughing properly to sobbing. To sobbing harder than you've ever heard him cry before, harder than he thinks he's ever cried before. Jack lets go completely, every emotion he's been holding onto since he realized it was you in that trauma room pouring out of him through tears and wracked breaths.

He keeps holding your hand, is so careful not to squeeze it tightly, and brings his head down to rest near your thigh where your hands lay intertwined and sobs into the blanket. Jack cries loud and shamelessly, without abandon because it's all his body and mind know how to do right now. That and try to apologize to you as he does so, choking on his words and sobs.

"I'm, I'm, I'm sorry I save-saved him." The words are strained, like he can barely get them out, can barely control his breathing long enough to choke them out. "I'm so-sorry, you, you don't deserve th-this, I, I, I…"

Jack hates this. He fucking hates it and himself for doing this to you, putting you through this when you just woke up. He hates that he's not taking care of you, that you're having to take care of him right now, having to try and calm him down when he should be there for you.

Seeing him like this breaks your heart, is made all the worse by the fact that you can't do anything to comfort him. You can't tell him to get in bed with you or rub his back or kiss him or wipe away his tears because you can't fucking move really. When you pull your hand from his he cries a little harder for a second until he feels your hand in his hair, weaving through his curls to scratch at his scalp how you know calms him.

You start to feel bad yourself because it feels like this is your fault, like Jack is feeling this way because of you. It's obvious how much he's been through, how he's been living here and hasn't been taking care of himself because he's too worried and depressed over you. And that's your fault. If you hadn't driven to work that day, if you had just done that errand another day. Tears start to slide down your face, for the way you start to feel responsible, yes, but also at watching Jack hurt like this, watching him be consumed by it.

"Jack, Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for my love." You say it just loud enough for it to be heard over his sobs. "None of this is your fault and I'm not mad at you for doing your job, Baby."

"S-still!" He's crying so hard now that he's shaking and choking, almost gagging and dry heaving at moments because he's so completely unregulated. "I, I'm sorry for not protect-protecting you, and for being like this." The last word is ragged, he chokes on it, starts coughing.

"Okay Jack, shhh," you soothe him, continuing to run your fingers through his hair and scratch at his scalp. "Don't try to talk, Baby, just let it all out and we can talk later, I promise."

You're relieved when Jack seems to follow your advice and lets himself cry without trying to say anything to you. His anger at himself makes it all worse. This isn't how he wants to be spending this time with you. He knows you're going to get really tired here soon, that you probably already are and are fighting it, and will fall back asleep and he doesn't want to waste moments with you. He can't help it though. Jack cries until he physically can't anymore and is just sniffling and taking in wracked hiccuped breaths as he tries to come down.

He moves his face so that one side is pressed against the mattress, the back of his head to you, in part because he grabs a tissue off the tray and in part because he doesn't want you to see him like this. You keep your hand in his hair as you give him a chance to collect himself, let him blow his nose and wipe away his tears and get his breathing back to normal before you speak.

"Jack?"

"Yeah Sweetheart?" He still can't bring himself to turn and look at you. He feels ashamed and he knows he must look like a mess, he can feel how swollen his eyes and lips are, and he knows it's going to hurt you, be hard for you to see and make you sad.

"Can I have a kiss?" Your ask has the desired effect, you can see some of the tension melt off him at the thought of kissing you, can see him perk up if only a little.

Jack sniffles hard one last time and then lifts his head, grabs your hand as you let it fall from his hair and kisses your palm. You have to work to keep the frown off your face when you see him, see how totally and completely destroyed he looks. You hate that you can feel yourself growing even more tired and everything getting more painful because you don't want to fall asleep on him. You can only hope that crying like he did for as long as he did combined with the clear lack of sleep he's had recently will exhaust him and finally let him get some good sleep now.

He furrows his brows when he sees the dried tear stains on your cheeks. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean to make you cry too."

"You didn't," you whisper back. "The situation did."

Jack grabs a tissue and gently wipes away the salty marks left on your skin by your tears. He shrugs. You know he doesn't believe you and that's okay. You didn't expect him to. That's something that's going to take time and healing.

"I love you," Jack murmurs as he leans in and gives you the kiss you asked for, still so gentle with you but letting this one escalate when you run your tongue over his lip. He doesn't let it last very long though, still concerned about your breathing and lungs even though they're looking much better. You manage to pull the smallest laugh from him when you make a little noise of discontent as he pulls away. "Gotta make sure you can breathe, Sweetheart."

You give a slight teasing grumble but know he's right, could feel yourself getting breathless far quicker than normal. Than before the accident.

"I love you too." You tilt your head at him just a little and smile. It's soft and not that big but it's genuine, it meets your eyes and it is the most beautiful sight to Jack, makes his heart skip a couple of beats and some of the heaviness lift. "We're gonna be okay, Jack. I know you can't believe that right now and I understand why and that's perfectly okay, Baby. But we have each other. You have me and I have you. So I know we're gonna get through this and we're gonna be okay."

A year passes. To say your recovery was difficult would be an understatement. You're not sure whether you even consider yourself fully recovered at this point. You suppose you are. You're back to work and can do pretty much everything you could do before the accident, including Jack. You still have a lot of pain at times which irritates you more than anything but you know it could be much, much worse. You're down to only seeing your physical therapist once a month but you still have exercises and stretches you have to do every day.

Psychologically… things were rough for both you and Jack. Maybe even worse than your physical recovery some days. You didn't have much memory of the actual crash itself until you got in a car for the first time after it and it all came flying back. You'd absolutely fucking lost it in the backseat with Jack, panicking harder than you ever have before, beyond grateful that Robby was driving and Jack was there next to you.

Today is the one year anniversary of the accident. You and Jack have been enjoying each other and the peace and quiet that comes with the extremely remote and unbelievably nice lake house he found to rent for a week. It's your second day here. Jack needed to be way the fuck out of the city on the anniversary, needed to be somewhere he didn't have to see or hear a car or an ambulance. You were more than okay with that, felt the same exact way and told him you wanted to spend the actual day wrapped up in him in bed in a little cocoon of safety.

You and Jack are in the obscenely big tub in the master bathroom. It has built in seats and everything and almost feels more like a hot tub they just put inside than a bathtub. Despite the fact that there's two seats you are, of course, resting on top of Jack with your back to his chest.

He's been treating you like glass all day. It's something he still falls into from time to time and you get it, you truly do. You're not at all surprised it popped back up today, nor do you really care. It means that the sex today has been so incredibly soft and slow and loving. You spent a fair amount of the day just cockwarming in bed, laying on your sides tangled together with Jack inside you as you chatted or made out.

The two of you have been in the bath a while now. It's a post sex bath and it's perfect. You're pretty sure you could fall asleep on Jack if you let yourself. You don't though, want to be present in the moment with him. You play with his wedding ring under the water and occasionally he'll move his hand quickly so that he can get his hand on top of yours and play with your wedding and engagement rings.

You haven't been married long, only two-ish months. After what happened you and Jack were talking one day while you were still in the hospital and you both expressed not wanting to wait. The only reason you waited as long as you did was because you didn't want to get married in the hospital and you wanted to be out of all casts and braces so that they weren't in photos.

It was a small, intimate self-uniting ceremony, the two of you surrounded by your closest friends and family. Instead of a big reception you'd rented a party room at a local restaurant for good food and drinks and a little dancing. It was perfect. It was you and Jack.

Jack breathes a little laugh to himself.

"What are you laughing at Dr. Abbot?" you hum.

"I know it's not the first time this has happened since the accident but I couldn't help thinking to myself right now that you got me slipping inside of you and to slip into a hot bath." He turns his head and kisses your temple, laughs again a bit louder this time. "I can't believe that's how you reacted to me telling you everything that happened and all your injuries."

"Yes you can." He can hear the smirk in your voice.

"Yes I can," he's quick to agree, wraps his arms around your torso and pulls you closer to him. "I don't think I realized it at the time but I think subconsciously that was the moment where I realized you were going to be okay because you'd just woken up after this horrific accident and been told all this awful shit that happened to you and that was your response, that incredibly you answer." He kisses your temple again and lets it linger. "It was just so you and I had missed you," he whispers, trying not to get emotional about it. "I had missed you so fucking much."

"I had missed you too, Baby," you murmur. "I love you Jack. More than you'll ever know."

"I love you more, pretty girl," Jack hums.

You shake your head against him. "That is simply not possible."

"It is indeed possible and true." This time you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You lean up off his chest and move off his lap and Jack whines, pulling a chuckle from you. But you don't go far, just turn yourself over and sit back on his lap perpendicular to him with your back against the tub wall so that you can see him. You shake your head but before you can argue Jack presses one of his thumbs to your lips. "Yes."

You press a kiss to the back of his thumb. "No," you murmur against it. You give it another kiss before quickly taking it into your mouth and nibbling at it gently.

Jack gasps in fake surprise. "Don't bite my thumb!" You smirk around his thumb and then release it, give it another quick kiss. "I think we're going to have to agree to disagree on this one, Sweetheart."

"That's fine," you shrug. "I know I'm right."

Jack rolls his eyes at you affectionately and then wraps his arms around you and pulls you close as you move to get closer to him. Your lips meet in a searing kiss that never quite seems to stop as you start making out. It's sloppy and hot and messy teenager shit almost but that's what makes it so fucking good right now.

It doesn't long for hands to start roaming, for you to get wet and Jack to grow hard again. "Let me take you to bed again. Let me have you again," Jack mumbles against your lips. "Please."

You answer the same way he asked. "Please." You kiss him one more time because his lips are right there and you can't resist. "Please Jack."

Jack nods, looks at you with blown, lust heavy eyes. He gets you out of the tub and both of you dried off, takes you back to bed and finally lets himself kiss every single one of your scars from the accident before he shows you how much he loves you and what you mean to him, the two of you nuzzling noses and breathing against each other’s lips before kissing slowly and swallowing down each other's moans as you climax at nearly the same time.

As you bask in the afterglow together, Jack laying on top of you and you running your hands through his curls and over his shoulders and up and down his back, a thought hits Jack.

"You can say it, you know," he says quietly. "I told you so. You can say it."

"I don't like doing that, it always ends up feeling mean, even when it's teasing." You pause for a couple of seconds. "I also have no idea what I would be saying it about."

"Us being okay and getting through what happened." He can't quite bring himself to say 'the crash' today. "You told me that we were going to be okay and you knew we'd get through it and at the time, I didn't believe you, I couldn't let myself believe you." He lets out a long breath and shrugs. "But you were right."

"Jack," you say softly, "I don't need to say-"

"Please," he cuts you off. "Please say it. I want you to say it. I need you to say it." Jack has no idea why he suddenly needs this now but he does. He knows it's his brain’s way of trying to get himself to accept that when something bad happens and you tell him that you guys will be okay he should believe you. He can believe you in that moment.

Because while Jack hopes that something as bad as the crash never happens again, he knows that some bad things will happen, that there will be hard times because that's life. And you told him you guys would be okay and you were right. So he just needs to hear it as silly and stupid and dumb as that might be or at the very least feel.

"Do you want me to be like… sassy? Or serious?" you ask, trying to infuse some lightness back into the situation for him.

Jack laughs, kisses your chest. He loves you so much he doesn't know what to do with himself half the time. "Surprise me."

You take a moment to consider and then tug on his hair gently so he'll look up at you and he does. "I told you so." You try so hard to say it with sass and a smirk but it doesn't quite hit because you can't keep the brightest smile off your face because you love him and you guys were and are okay and he's your husband and you have the rest of your lives together. Jack adores that smile, loves it so much and finds it so adorable and beautiful he could bite you with how hard the cuteness aggression hits him. But he doesn't, laughs softly instead.

"Yeah," Jack nods, smiles back at you just as brightly and brings his face closer to yours so he can kiss you once he’s finished his sentence, "you did."

I just love exploring the range of ways I think Jack would react to reader being critically injured and I think it would depend so much on who else was there. I think with Robby he knows that he doesn’t have to do it or keep it together, he can lose it because he trusts Robby so implicitly and there’s nobody else he’d rather have treating reader, not even himself. (Not that he doesn’t trust or think the other Pitt doctors are good doctors, just, you know.). But I can also see it a million other ways where it still feels true to him.

Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read and your support! ♥️ As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments, they mean so much to me!

Want more Jack and the Pitt content? Check out my masterlist here. I also write for Pope from Animal Kingdom!

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