#1 dilf enjoyer

When Jack Abbot met you for the first time, you were wearing a pretty pink lingerie set. 

Your nipples were hardened under the lace of your bra, leaving little to the imagination. Your matching pink thong served more as a decoration than  to lend any practical coverage, and the garter on your thigh certainly did nothing more than compliment your pretty legs. 

He was wearing that black tee shirt. 

Years passed, and he’s seen you in more lingerie sets than he can count. He’s seen you naked more times than he can count. 

But he’s also seen you in modest scrub sets, the uniform black making your figure stand out in a way that only you could manage. It’s the only outfit he’s seen you wear since you first arrived at PTMC two weeks ago. 

Until tonight. You send him a photo of your outfit. 

You: Which shoes? Right or left?

You: Attachment: 1 photo

It’s a photo of you in the mirror. You don a sophisticated, floor-length black dress that shimmers beautifully. His mouth drops open so dramatically that he felt it nearly unhinge. 

You look incredible. 

So incredible, in fact, that it puts a sour taste in his mouth. Because he wouldn’t be the one unzipping it for you tonight. No, that would be Robby.

---

Yesterday when Robby clocked in, he came to find you immediately. 

“Hey, kid. Are you on tomorrow?” He leans his elbows on the counter next to where you’re charting. 

“No, I’m off.” You meet his eyes with that sweet smile. “Why? Do you need someone to cover?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come to dinner with me. The day shift is meeting at a restaraunt down the block for dinner and drinks, and I’m sure everyone would love to see you there.” His face is bright red, though you blame it on the warm weather. 

For a moment, you contemplate it. Really, you should stay home and unpack. You’ve only had four days off in two weeks and barely made a dent in the boxes that still line every wall of your apartment. 

But you haven't made many friends here, either. 

“Sure!” You grin. “Will anyone else from nights be there?”

Will Jack be there? Is what you want to ask, but you’re aware of how strange that would come off.

“Just you,” he says softly, like he’s unsure of your reaction to that information. “I’ll send you the invite later. I’m glad you said yes.”

“Sounds good, see you then!” You wait until he walks away before continuing your charts.

---

At the bottom of the photo-- the point of your message-- you’re wearing a different shoe on each foot. On your left, a modest, close-toed nude heel. On your right, a strappy, taller black heel. 

Both look incredible. He imagines you asking him in person, complimenting your shoe color to the color of his kerchief. He imagines your dress leaving black sparkles in the fabric seats of his truck and your lipstick staining his cheek. 

God, he hasn’t even taken you on a proper date and he’s already dreaming of your life together. How did Robby manage to ask you out first?

Jack: You look fucking amazing, sweetheart. Either looks great. 

You: Are the black ones too much for a work event?

At least you got to be his sweetheart. Jack knows you like him. He’ll make sure Robby knows, too.

Ellis calls him away before he can respond to you and assure you that no, they look perfect. Unfortunately, it’s the nature of the job, but he hates not being able to say goodbye to you before he has to leave. 

“Incoming MVA,” Lena says as he passes her. “Two victims, no more info.”

Jack nods, following Ellis to the ambulance bay.

“You alright?” She asks, brows drawn together as she ties her sterile gown. “You seem a little… distracted.”

“M’fine. I’m trying to remember if I closed my garage door before I left,” he lies easily. 

She chuckles, shaking her head. 

“My mom always forgets. I had to install one of those sensors that you can control on your phone so she’d get the notification reminders when it was left open. I can install it for you too, grandpa.” She claps him on the shoulder before gloving up. “No shame in getting older.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, and then the first stretcher rolls in. 

---

An hour later, both patients are stabilized and transferred to surgery. Jack rounds on his existing patients, checking in on a teen girl who burnt her face with a curling iron, an older gentleman with chest pains, and a father whose son hooked him in the face while they were fishing. 

The whole time, he’s wondering what you’re up to. He wonders if you’re drinking. He wonders if you’re dancing. He wonders who is showering you with compliments because he knows you’re the best-looking one there. 

And then Lena calls him over. 

“Abbot! Trampling at a concert, at least four coming to us. ETA is ten.” She hangs up the red phone. “Think we need to call in any reinforcements?”

And your name slips past his lips before he can think about it. 

“I’ll call her.” He turns away before he can see the look that he knows is on her face. His attraction to you is desperately obvious to anyone around. 

Pulling his cell out, he dials your number from his favorites section. You’re the only one in it. You’ve been the only one in it for the last three years. 

“Jack, hi,” you answer after two rings. “One second, it’s a little loud in here.”

He hears it all. The commotion of his colleagues around you. Then it quiets, and all he hears is a gentle breeze and the sound of your heels on the sidewalk. 

“Better?” He asks, grinning into the reciever like an idiot. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair although he can’t see it. “What’s up, aren’t you working?”

He inhales deeply, letting himself enjoy a moment of talking with you like this. You haven’t called him since you met in person, and though this isn’t the same, it brings back a strange familiarity from the beginning of your relationship. 

“I am. We’ve got multiple traumas coming in and I thought I’d see if you could stop by and come help out. I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner.” You’d only been there an hour at most. If he were a better person, he’d feel guilty. All he feels is a small light of relief in his chest.

“‘Course I can.” You sound like you're smiling, at least. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Alright, be safe.” He’s about to hang up when he hears you. 

“This is nice, by the way. Um-- calling, I mean. I’ve missed it.” You inhale deeply, and he’s too stunned to speak. “Be there in a few.”

The restaurant where you all were meeting is only a block from the hospital, so you’re there before the ambulance is. 

When you walk through the door, Jack feels the oxygen leave the room. 

Your heels click against the linoleum quickly as you hurry toward the locker room. You’re wearing the strappy sandals, and he knows they were the right choice. They’re more dramatic in person than they were in the picture, and he thinks you might even be taller than him with them on. 

As you nudge past him, you whisper a quick greeting. Definitely taller. His heart stutters in his chest.

“Hi! I’m gonna throw my scrubs on and I’ll meet you in the trauma room.” You squeeze his elbow gently. 

He still feels like he can’t breathe. The sight of your ass in that dress is fucking with his head. You look edible. 

Part of him wants to call for you to get over here and work, not to bother with changing before a trauma arrives. He’s done that with Shen before, called him in and made him wear a button-up during a trauma. But the reality is that if you stay in that dress, he won’t get any work done. 

You’re in and out of the locker room in under a minute, reemerging in scrub pants and a hoodie that he knows you keep around in case it gets cold. You’ve got tennis shoes on now, too, thank goodness. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if something happened to those pretty heels.

“Did we interrupt date night?” Ellis teases as you join them. Jack ties your sterile gown behind your neck and waist. There’s a simmering bitterness in his mouth because nobody else should’ve seen you in that outfit. 

“Even better, day shift dinner party,” you answer. “I was looking for an out anyway.”

So you didn’t think it was a date, and you weren’t having a good time. This might just be the best night of his life.

“Who got too drunk this time?” He asks. The sirens are getting closer now. 

“Genuinely everybody. I think Javadi and I were the only sober ones, and I’m pretty sure she’s not even old enough to drink.” You snort. “Nice people, just, uh, not my scene.”

They both laugh, nodding in understanding. Apparently, the day shift’s rowdy outings are nothing new. Briefly, Jack lets himself wonder if anyone did anything inappropriate. There’s a sort of tension he notices now in your shoulders that he finds hard to ignore. 

“So the entire day shift is free, but you called in an intern to assist?” Ellis eyes Jack, but he’s too busy staring at you to notice

“Sounds like she was the only sober one anyway, P.”

The first ambulance arrives before there’s any time for you to think about it. Two stretchers are unloaded from the cab, each carrying a young man. 

“With me, let’s go.” Jack urges you forward with a hand on the middle of your back, and the both of you grab the stretcher to wheel it into the trauma room.

“25 year old male trampled at a concert. Crush injuries to the lower body. No LOC. 3 of morphine given en route,” the medic rattles off as she helps you push him into the room. 

“Alright, on my count.” You grip the edge of the sheet under him. “One, two, three.”

You all work to transfer him from the stretcher to the cot. 

“Sir, what’s your name?”

“Collin. Where am I?”

“Hi, Collin. You’re at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Do you remember what happened?” You’re talking sweetly while examining his pupils with your penlight. “Pupils equal and reactive.”

He winces when Jack probes at his abdomen. 

“Sorry, bud. Tell me when it starts to hurt,” he instructs, and as soon as his fingers touch the skin, the patient is shouting through gritted teeth. “Let’s get 3 more of morphine loaded.”

While Bridget pushes the medicine through his IV, Jack nods for you to come next to him. You do, standing beside him at the patient’s abdomen. 

“What’s our next step?” He questions you. 

“I’d do an eFAST.”

“Where?” He tilts his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. He’s trying to test you. He knows you’ll pass.

“The whole abdomen since the injury isn’t localized,” you answer, “it’s hard to tell whether the pain is bruising from being stepped on or something internal. I’d rather be safe and do a full abdominal ultrasound.”

“Atta girl.” He smiles wider now. “Go ahead, I’ll observe while you do it.”

And he does. He stands over your shoulder and guides you through the motions, praising you when you follow his directions to a t. If he notices your shaky hands after his praises, he doesn’t say anything.

After it’s all over, your patient is sent to ortho with a broken pelvis, and then Jack is in the other room helping Ellis stabilize a spine injury. Shen has already handled the third and fourth patients. 

Since you’re here already, you figure you’ll stay the rest of your shift, so you work up a patient from chairs-- a baby with a productive cough. 

---

Jack finds you with a little less than an hour left in the shift. 

“You didn’t have to stay all night, you know,” he says softly as he comes to stand next to you. “I’d apologize for calling you in, but I’m too busy thinking about you in that dress.”

You turn to face him, finding his face closer to yours than you’d anticipated. Each freckle on his face is so perfectly placed, like whatever absolute being created him took their time to find the right balance and placements to perfectly suit him. 

“I’m glad I got called in,” you answer honestly, still too shy to reply to his flirting. “The dinner was… weird. I think I accidentally agreed to go on a date with Dr. Robby.”

Jack furrows his brows, revealing handsome lines next to his eyes as he narrows them. They hold an emotion you can’t quite place, something between anger and fear. 

“You what?” His voice is low, almost threatening. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Wait, Sarg- Jack,” you correct yourself quickly, heat rising to your face. That’s the first time you’ve slipped up since learning his real name. “I didn’t mean to. When he asked me to come to the work dinner, I thought he was inviting me as a colleague, but I think he thought it was a date.”

His eyes are only angry now, a sliver of humor behind them as you scramble to reassure him. You think that this is probably what he looked like behind the screen all those times that he ordered you around: Pent-up and pleased all at once.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispers so quietly that you barely hear it. “What did he do to make you think that?”

“He was really… touchy. Always had a hand on my back or around my waist. I tried to break away, but he always wound up right back at my side.” You swallow hard. “He called me sugar, too, and I-I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

Jack nods and pushes a piece of your hair out of your face. His jaw is clamped shut.

“I’ll make sure nobody has the wrong idea,” he assures you. 

Your pulse quickens as he tucks the hair behind your ear, then lets his finger trail down the skin behind it, tracing all the way down your neck. It’s slow and sexy. Without thinking, you crank your neck to the side to give him more access. 

“Do you have a patient?” He asks, cupping your jaw now. You nod dumbly. “Are they waiting on you?”

“No. A chest x-ray. The tech doesn’t come in until 7,” you explain, leaning your head into his touch. “I can pick up another patient if-”

“No. No, I need to show you something. C’mon.” He takes his hand away and starts walking. Blinking hard, you snap out of your daze enough to trail after him. He stops at the nurse’s station and faces Lena. “Grabbing some air. Tell Robby to come find me when he gets here.”

She acknowledges him with a flippant hand, and just like that, you’re back to following him through the department and into an elevator you’ve never even noticed before. He says nothing, so neither do you. When it dings, he guides you out onto what must be the roof of the hospital. 

It’s hot today, but there’s still a light breeze blowing this high up. And it’s high. You’re ten stories from the ground with nothing to anchor to. 

Still, being here with Jack feels safe somehow. Like nothing can touch you as long as you’re here with him.

“Have you been up here?” He asks, taking your hand as he leads you to the railing at the edge. 

“No,” you breathe out, taking in the Pittsburgh skyline from this high up. “Jack, I- this is amazing.”

You turn to find him already staring at you. His eyes look happy and tired at once, like this is what is keeping him on his feet. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. And that dress tonight,” he gives a low whistle. “I almost had an MI when you sent me that picture. Then when you came through that door, I mean Jesus. I was about to follow you into that locker room and take it off for you.”

The sound of your responding giggle is music to his ears. You’ve still got makeup on from your dinner earlier, and he can’t help but admire how pretty it looks in the early morning sun. He wonders if there’s anything you can’t do. 

“Thank you, Jack.” You look at him, a nervous giggle falling from your pretty lips. “I was kind of hoping you’d like the picture. Actually, if I’m being honest, I knew what shoes I was gonna wear. I just wanted an excuse to show you my dress.”

“You never need an excuse.” He turns his body to face you, grabbing your waist tightly with two hands. “I love seeing you. Always have. It’s nice to see you in some new outfits.”

“Not all new,” you tease, hooking a thumb in the waistband of your scrubs and tugging them down just enough to reveal a strap of the lacey black thong that Sarge bought you just a few weeks ago. “Look familiar?”

He groans, sinking to his knees in front of you. With his hands still on your hips, he kisses the elastic of your panties before taking them between his teeth and snapping it against your skin. 

A hot breath leaves your mouth, and you drop to your knees to join him. His hands come to your face, holding your head so that you’re forced to look at him. 

“I don’t know how to describe the way I feel about you without sounding insane,” he starts, “but I need you to know that I am desperate to have a leg in this race. You were mine first and I’m not going to give you up. Definitely not to Robby.”

You grin, leaning forward slowly to press your mouth to his. 

His lips are soft and wet. You pull away after one chaste kiss. 

“There’s no race, Jack.” You kiss him again. “I’ve been yours for the last three years.”

Instantly, he’s on you. His strong arms wrap tightly around you, one hand between your shoulders while the other grips your ass tightly. 

As soon as your lips part with a moan, his tongue fills your mouth. He tastes like black coffee: strong and all-consuming. It’s exactly what you should have expected. You whine into the kiss, throwing your arms around his neck, desperately needing more. 

“So pretty,” he breathes out between kisses. “So good.”

“Jack,” you whine. His mouth is hot against yours, breathing you in like a lifeline. “Need you.”

He hums and readjusts himself so that he’s sitting down, back propped against the railing. The whole time, his hands stay on you, bringing you with him and guiding you all the way onto his lap. 

You place a leg on either side of him, straddling his lap. His hands descend underneath your clothing, one dipping below your scrubs to grab your ass while the other travels up your hoodie to grip your hip roughly. 

His hands are big and calloused, but feel good on your skin. 

From where you’re perched on top of him, you feel his hard-on through his cargos. He’s sporting a semi with more girth than you even knew was possible. He uses his grip on your waist to push you down onto it, making you gasp. 

“Jack.” You blink up at him in a daze, parting from the kiss. “You’re huge.”

He laughs darkly into the skin of your neck, pressing hot, sloppy kisses up your jaw and behind your ear. You don’t even realize that you’re grinding back and forth on his cock until a jolt of pleasure washes over you as you find the perfect spot. 

“That’s it baby, good job,” he praises, kissing your chin. “You look even prettier in person. So perfect.”

“Seeing you helps,” you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So handsome. Wish I could’ve seen you earlier.”

He groans, rolling his hips up into you. 

“Not handsome enough for a pretty girl like you.”

You stop your motions, blinking hard as you try to come back to reality. It’s hard when you feel so good, but his words bring you down quickly. Both your hands come to his jaw, holding him steady. 

“What?” You’re breathless. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively, leaning in for another taste.

You kiss him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You’re so handsome.” You lean in again, letting him explore your mouth with his tongue slowly now. You pull away just slightly, twisting one of his curls with your finger and smiling. “Perfect for me, ok? I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He nods and presses his mouth back to yours, keeping the pace slow and sensual. It’s better than before-- sweeter, sexier.

Here you are, on the rooftop of your dream job, kissing your dream man. The same man who has been a steady support for you the last three years is under you, pressing you into him like he can’t get you close enough. It’s a fucking dream come true. 

His hands slide further up your shirt, cold fingertips teasing your nipples through your thin bra. It was the best option to wear under your dress earlier, and you certainly aren’t regretting the easy access that it’s granting him right now. 

You gasp, rutting further into him. In one fluid motion, he’s pulling your hoodie over your head. As soon as it’s on the ground, he’s got his hands all over you. One is kneading your breast softly. His grip slots your nipple right between his fore and middle fingers, and he scissors them back and forth, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. The mesh of the bra lining on your peak only heightens the experience, creating a nice friction. 

His other hand is on your ass, holding you down as you move you back and forth over his crotch. The head of his dick is angled perfectly, nudging your clit with each forward motion. 

You groan, dropping your head into his shoulder as you ride him. He smells like sweat and antiseptic. It’s the sexiest thing you can imagine right now. A doctor stepping away from saving people to play with your tits. 

God, this is the life.

“Good job, sweetheart,” he whispers softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“J-Jack,” you gasp sharply, legs beginning to shake with pleasure. 

“I know, I know,” he coos. “You’ve got it, baby.”

His grip on your waist tightens as he speeds up your pace just slightly, earning a squeal from you as you try to keep up. 

You’re too busy living out your fantasy to process the sound of footsteps that signals another person has joined the two of you. Actually, you don’t realize it at all until they clear their throat. 

“Am I interrupting something?” It’s Dr. Robby. 

You squeak, pulling away and quickly scrambling to your feet, brushing the gravel from your scrubs and actively avoiding eye contact with the daytime attending. Your clit is throbbing, and there’s undoubtedly a wet spot between your legs.

As you stare at your feet, you notice your hoodie next to your sneaker and realize your tits are covered by nothing but a mesh bra in front of the chief of your department. You turn around quickly, one arm over your chest while the other reaches behind you to grab it from the floor. 

It feels like a small win when you manage to put it on correctly despite your frazzled state. 

“Whoops.” Jack sounds almost bored. When you meet his eyes, you see a glint of fucking pride in them. He stays seated with his back against the railing and your lip gloss on his lips. “Sorry, boss. Is it 7 already?”

“7:05.” He’s unimpressed. “What the fuck is going on here? Are you screwing my interns on the clock now?”

You would genuinely rather take your chances trying to scale the side of this building than have to stick around to listen to this conversation. You realize how stupid you were to come up here with Jack. 

This is what you’ve spent the last eight years trying to achieve. This job is your everything. You shouldn’t have risked it by coming up here and messing around with your attending. 

Your personal life is one thing. You don’t regret being interested in Jack, and you have no plans to quit pursuing him. 

Truthfully, you weren’t sure you could leave him alone even if you tried. 

But humping him on the rooftop at work? That’s a new low.

Well, besides the time you let him fuck you in the hospital chapel…

Fuck, you have reached unprecedented levels of idiocy.  

“Not like you haven’t done the same thing, brother,” Jack retorts, reaching out a hand for Robby to help him up. Much to your surprise, he does so without protest. “I didn’t report you and Collins. You don’t get a say in this, either.”

Robby and Collins? You need to remember to ask Jack about that later. You also need to remember to ask about his leg, because you’re pretty sure you’ve seen him massage his calf at least a dozen times in half as many hours. Did he hurt himself?

“Don’t let me see it again,” Robby says pointedly, gaze shifting to you now. “I’d hate for you to lose your residency because of something this silly, kid. Be careful, this isn’t med school anymore.”

You nod, staring at your shoelaces. There’s a lump in your throat and unshed tears stinging at your eyes. You feel like such a fool. Not only did he just see you half-naked, but he just sounds so… disappointed in you. 

You should’ve left when you realized Jack was SgtMD. Should’ve packed your things and flown to any other residency program and spared yourself the humiliation that comes with working alongside a man that you apparently can’t help but strip for on the clock. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Robby demands. Your head snaps up, eyes fixing on his face. You expect him to look angry, maybe disappointed, but hurt is the only readable emotion. 

“Watch it.” Jack bites. He’s taking a step in front of you. “It’s not her fault.”

Robby shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips as a tired hand scrubs his jaw. You wonder how he managed to sober up in the time that’s passed. He looks beat. 

A moment goes by, and wordlessly they both start for the elevator. You follow, head tilted up to keep tears from rolling down your cheeks. They’re arguing quietly under their breaths, and Jack even jabs Robby in the side, though you think you hear him laugh. You’re purposely hanging behind to give them space.

The doors open and both men let you enter first, aparently not forgetting their manners in the midst of what’s turned into a brotherly spit. You go, eyes fixed on the ground, and tuck yourself against the back wall, leaving a wide berth for them to stand. 

Jack ignores it and stands next to you anyway. His hand finds yours and holds it for only a moment, squeezing tightly. Robby stands at your other side, and you swallow hard at being sandwiched between the two of them. 

“When did this start?” Is how he chooses to break the silence. 

“The day we met,” you answer. It’s truthful, to some extent. Your physical relationship started the other day in the chapel, but you’ve been enamored with Jack since he was bossing you around over a computer screen. 

“You didn’t tell me?” He’s directing it over you to Jack, now. 

That must be why he looked so pained. His best friend is keeping secrets. You hadn’t realized they were so close, you’ve never seen them interact outside of hand-offs, but then again, you’ve never seen them outside the walls of this hospital. 

“Right. I should’ve told you earlier, seeing as you handled it so well.” Jack grunts. “Everyone else knows, anyway. I’m not exactly subtle.”

Robby chuckles as the elevator doors open. 

“How would I know? Never seen you with anybody before.” He rolls his shoulders. “You two just… be responsible. Do your work. No more of that on the clock.”

“Heard.” Jack nods. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Gotta do hand-offs. Don’t leave without saying bye.”

You rush toward the locker room as Robby lays a heavy hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

“Careful. She’s a little young, don’t you think?” His eyes are narrow, but Jack’s are wider than ever. There’s a fire burning behind his irises.

“Don’t ever ask her out again. No talking outside of work. And if I ever hear that you called her sugar again, I-”

Robby lifts both hands in the air and takes a step back. 

“Loud and clear, brother.”

masterlist 𓊔 request 𓊔 tag list

^^(please use this link rather than commenting asking to be tagged! I want to make sure everyone who wants to be included can be, and tag requests get lost in comments so easily!)

You bow with your dancers, watching confetti fall while you wave to the audience, blowing kisses to the front row, before turning to walk up the stairs on your prop "home" on stage to exit. The lights begin to dim and as you reach the last step, your platform boot slips, sending you tumbling upwards and onto your hip where the edge of the stair ends.

The "ooh" from the crowd that can still see you fall was more than enough to knock your ego down a few pegs. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your manager hurridly approaching.

Nothing else is circulating in your brain except for the fact that your hip hurts. Almost numbingly.

"Shit!" You exclaim as you attempt to move your right leg.

"Are you alright?" Your manager finally comes to your aid, urging someone in her headset to call 911.

You try and move up again, "Ah!— no I can't even put weight on my side."

A crew member approaches, letting you both know an ambulance is 3 minutes away. He looks pale, watching with wide eyes as you groan from the floor. He scurries when he sees the state your leg is in. Which is never a good sign.

"That doesn't look good." Looking down, you see your right leg at a very awkward angle,"Did I already break my hip in my 20s?" A bead of sweat trails across your forehead from both performing and the pain.

"We'll figure it out when we get to the hospital," your manager soothes. She gets the EMT's attention when they finally arrive, stretcher ready for you. You can already sense the excitement from them, one EMT checking for his phone.

"Sophie?" you ask turning towards your manager, "try and make it discreet please." The last thing you need is a tabloid cover of you in the back of an ambulance with the title ESPRESSO STAR TAKES A FALL.

She's holding her headset close to her ear, grimace on her face, "… About that."

The one thing you're grateful for is that you didn't need lights and sirens for the ride to the E.R.

However that doesn't really stop paparazzi from causing a scene wherever you go. You're only able to see where you are after the paramedics wheel you past the frenzy of flashing lights and into the hospital.

It looks fairly busy, doctors and nurses looking down at their charts as they breeze from room to room. It makes you feel silly, you're sure someone in the waiting room is having a heart attack meanwhile you tripped on some stairs. The rhinestoned two-piece you're wearing adds salt to the wound, too. You stick out like a sore thumb in the colorless room.

The paramedic in charge starts listing your name and age to a nearby nurse, "…she fell on some stairs while on stage, BP is 117/78, pulse 92, unable to move her right hip at all."

The redhead nods then looks at the mob outside the ambulance bay doors, raising an eyebrow at the EMT, "What's with the frenzy outside?"

"Holy shit."

You turn to look at a new face, a doctor with an almost empty dunkin' coffee in his hand, as he freezes from where he was dropping off his ipad. He fumbles with his drink, looking for a way to not look like a fish out of water.

"Shen, c'mon let's go," the nurse claps, ushering him to take your case out of the med bay.

"Right—okay trauma 2 is open, let's get her situated now," Dr. Shen states, directing the group into the secluded room. "And Lena?," he motions to the commotion blocking the very crucial ambulance bay, "call for securiy. A lot of them."

In a moment, there's a lot of talking happening around you that you can't even begin to comprehend. You're being lifted off the stretcher and onto an actual bed, and the pain hits you tenfold. "Fuck ow," you cry out.

Dr. Shen lets out a nervous breath before saying your name, "Did you hit your head at all during the fall? Any nausea or dizziness?" He opens up your eyelids gently with his fingers, flashing a pen light between both. "Equal and reactive," he calls out.

"No, I just fell onto my side. Can't move my leg without wanting to die," you moan.

"Push 4 of morphine," He orders.

You nod tiredly, "Mhm, yeah push that." The relief is almost immediate, the pain in your hip slowly easing as the morhphine hits your IV.

Two more people rush into the room, blue gloves snapped on before you could say hello. You're only able to see a woman as she steps in front of where your head is lolled to the side. "What's going on here—woah," the woman says. She stops herself for a second, surveying the room to see if anyone else is seeing the most talked about pop star at the moment in the trauma bed,"You're-that's—"

"Yep. I know. We'll talk about it in the break room after, Dr.Ellis," Dr. Shen chirps, this is the most exciting thing to walk through the doors since a Brad Pitt look alike got hit by an e-bike.

"The only thing we should be discussing is our patient," a new voice adds, although he does let out a low hum at the sight of you. "How'd you take a tumble tonight?"

You know an attractive voice when you hear one.

You lift your head up as much as the morphine will let you, lazily eyeing the room until you spot him. He's older, emanating authority as he takes note of your vitals. Dark grey curls, rough stubble, biceps so large that you want to eat sushi off of them. Fuck.

"Um, leaving the stage, it was dark and I slipped," you point towards your sparkly boots, "thanks to—um, these bad boys." It comes out more sluggish than you hoped.

He chuckles, his hands coming to survey any external damage on your leg, "Yeah that'll do it." He looks up at Shen, "No CT, her leg is internally rotated, pain when. Posterior hip dislocation." His fingers travel up to where your skirt is bunched up around your hip.

You think you hear the heart monitor start speeding up. You groan again.

"Is the morphine not helping?" Dr. Shen asks as he checks the monitors, ready to order for the nurse to push more.

You blink lazily, murmuring out a "No, I just look like a mess in front of this hot ass doctor." What you said doesn't register until a few seconds later, but you're too tired to care. The room is silent for a moment, nothing but beeping and the faint chatter outside keeping the room from being completely quiet.

Dr. Ellis chortles before sliding off her gloves, "I think you got this one, Abbot. Come find me after miss espresso is done, Shen."

Dr. Abbot clears his throat, "Okay, let's get ready to do the Captain Morgan technique for hip reduction." Maybe it's the morphine, but his cheeks look like they have a pink hue to them.

Dr. Shen places a stool by the bed next to his colleague, "This is gonna be uncomfortable, but you'll feel better in no time." He grasps onto you firmly, giving Dr. Abbot a nod, "Stabilizing her pelvis."

You snort, pointing at your new crush as he places his foot to get better leverage on the bed. "He can stabilize my pelvis anytime," you whisper.

"What was that?" Dr. Abbot asks, watching as Dr. Shen turns nearly purple from trying to hold in his laughter. This was so going in the group chat.

Damn, that was supposed to be an inside thought.

You don't respond as every nerve in your body is electrified when he places his hands firmly on your leg, lifting it up and nearly bending it over his shoulder. You let out a shaky exhale because it's not everyday that a hot doctor is spreading your legs to relocate your hip.

"Ready?" He asks, mainly towards Dr. Shen, but you don't miss the way his eyes meet yours as he takes a deep breath in, hands kneading at your thigh.

Dr. Shen was right, this is uncomfortable, but more so the fact that now you're incredibly more turned on than in pain at the moment. You want to laugh realizing how ridiculous this would look to anyone walking by the transparent doors. Rhinestone boot thrown over the shoulder of the rugged attending doctor in the PTMC.

"Ready, Abbot."

He nods, pressing his weight down into the side of your hip, waiting for it to click back into place. At the satisfying POP! of your hip, he releases his grip, allowing your leg to finally move freely. He watches you flop your leg into a normal position, satisfied grin taking over.

You sigh at the instant release, no longer immobilzed by the joint. "I will say," wiggling your hips to regain feeling, "I've never tried that one before."

At that, Dr. Shen can no longer hold in his laughter as practically cries out. He's leaning down on the edge of the computer, full hysterics consuming him. When he's semi-done, he wipes stray tears from his eyes, "This is why you're my favorite artist."

Before you can thank him for the much needed flattery, the trauma doors swing open again, but this time it's Sophie who rushes in. She looks exhausted, L.L Bean tote about to fall off her shoulders as she reaches to grab your hand.

"Oh thank god, are you okay?" She looks to both doctors for any sort of confirmation that you are perfectly in tact, "Is she alright now?" Sophie turns back to you, hands coming onto your face to examine you up close. You feel like a rag doll with everyone throwing you around.

Dr. Abbot stands with his hands behind his back next to Dr.Shen, eyes tracing your figure as subtle as he can. Which isn't subtle at all. "Dislocated hip, did a quick manuever to put it back into place so she should be okay to go home after we give you the discharge papers," he nods at you before adding, "… She's also a little high off of some morphine we gave her for her pain."

"Soph don't worry, I'm fine," you smile. You try throwing her a low-key wink, but it ends up coming out very cartoonish, "I was in great hands."

Her eyes glance over to Dr. Abbot,who is having a hard time not getting flustered at your comments, and then back to you. By the one comment she has witnessed, she knows she's going to have you at her hotel door in the morning ready to knock back a few mimosas to forget what happened in the E.R tonight.

"Wait! Sophie before we go we haveee to give them tickets to my next show," you point at Shen, "…he's a huge fan and he basically helped save the tour."

Dr. Shen looks like he could faint. Or vomit. One of them will happen sooner or later.

You look at Dr. Abbot, mouth opening before you can stop, "…Make sure the sexy doctor gets one, too."

Sophie looks embarrassed for you, one hand rubbing at her temple because she hopes this man doesn't have a wife. Or at the very least a daughter that listens to you. She's about to dismiss you, blame your words on the drugs or that you're running off of 4 hours of sleep when Abbot smiles.

He throws his non-sterile gloves in the trash, opening the door with his back as he steps out and nods,"See you at the show."

“— and it’s not even like she means to do it, you know? Like she calls and it starts normal, totally normal, we’re talking about groceries or whatever, and then BAM, like clockwork, it’s ‘so how are your evaluations going’ and ‘have you thought about residency yet’ and I’m just sitting there like… yeah, mom, funny you mention it, I think about it all the time, constantly, obsessively, in a way that is probably not healthy for my long-term psychological stability.”

You cast a sidelong glance at Dr. Abbot, brows arched expectantly, silently imploring him to jump in and extinguish the slow, smoldering anxiety that has spontaneously combusted in your mind and body and soul.

He doesn’t bite.

Instead, he offers you his trademark stoic gaze, effectively deflating your balloon of expectation on impact.

“Your evaluations will be fine,” he says shortly. “You’ll match. Now type, please.”

“Sorry, charting, right. Doing that now,” you mumble, snapping dutifully back to the glowing screen like a golden retriever who briefly forgot what sit meant.

Your fingers move with genuine, industrious purpose for approximately three whole seconds before inevitably, you’re speaking again.

“But, then she mentions marriage and having children, multiple children, as if one isn’t intimidating enough, because why wouldn’t she? Perfect natural segue. And now all I can think about is this random fertility rabbit hole I fell into afterward. Which, by the way, was a lot. That was a lot of information. Like I’m literally sitting here as we speak, losing eggs by the second, practically fossilizing before your very eyes.”

You hear him release a short huff of air. Can picture him pressing his forefinger into the space between his browsz

“Kid, you’re — what, all of twenty-something?”

You wave a dismissive hand, not looking up. “Twenty-something with eggs dropping like New Year’s confetti at midnight. Tick tock.”

“You’re not even close to egg depletion,” he says dryly, nudging your chair slightly with his foot. “Trust your attending on this.” 

You roll your eyes, immensely grateful he can’t see your face.

“Easy for you to say. Your biology lets you remain fertile until, like, the heat death of the universe.”

“Wasn’t aware you’d taken such a keen interest in my reproductive potential.”

You swivel around in your chair without warning, knees knocking lightly into the desk as you tip your chin up at him.

“Well, listen, I was actually thinking that if I hit a certain age and still have no romantic prospects, we could make a pact,” you muse. “You generously contribute your objectively excellent genetic blueprint, I carry the resulting small human. Voila, instant legacy preserved. It's a win-win.”

The words have barely left your lips when Abbot nearly sputters coffee all over his pressed white coat. His hand shoots up swiftly, coughing discreetly as his gaze flicks sharply, incredulously, up at you.

“Jesus — at least give me a heads-up before you proposition me for genetic samples,” he mutters under his breath, eyeing you cautiously now, like you’re a lab specimen who’s suddenly started speaking fluent Latin.

You gasp, pulling a hand to your chest. “Dr. Abbot, please — I was referring exclusively to a very professional sperm donation arrangement. Entirely above board, paperwork involved, sterile conditions, the whole thing.”

“Of course,” he drawls, skepticism coloring his voice. “Nothing questionable about that.”

“It’s all part of my incredibly thorough contingency plan. That I created last night,” you assure him, nodding fervently. “Proactive and forward-thinking, exactly the qualities you’re always nagging me to develop. See? I listen.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, fixing you with a stern, pensive look. “Face the screen.”

You obediently face the screen, fingers tapping out a half-hearted sentence once again, before your curiosity inevitably gets the best of you again, eyes flicking over your should to peer at him through lowered lashes.

“Not hearing a hard no,” you hum.

“It is a hard no,” he starts, leaning in to talk against your ear, “because If I decide to help you out with that particular problem, it’s going to be the old-fashioned way.”

He straightens smoothly, unbothered as he walks away, leaving your heart stumbling over itself in dizzy little circles.

Instead, your pager’s buzzing incessantly in your pocket asking for a consult. You look around the room at the rest of the surgery team with furrowed brows. Two of the interns are laughing at something at the desks. You gather that their pager isn’t buzzing, and neither is Garcia’s, from the serious look on her face as she passes you. It isn't often you’re paged alone. Garcia is often the first one to jump on the opportunity to see a new patient (and Santos), sometimes before anyone else gets the chance to process it.

You sigh heavily as you head over to the elevator. Looking down quickly at your watch, you worry your lip between your teeth at the crack-ass of dawn hour flashing back at you. Dr. Abbot’s probably still on the floor, you think. Just what you needed this morning — to run into him. You press the floor number and close your eyes and count to ten as the elevator jolts and you feel a sense of weightlessness as it goes down.

You wait with baited breath for the ‘ding’ and let out a heavy, relieved sigh once it does, quickly crossing the threshold to the already incredibly busy ER.

Your eyes search for the charge nurse, Dana, and smile when you find her already looking your way. She must have just come in, her raincoat’s still on and her hair isn’t up in its signature claw clip yet. She gives you a small wave and you quickly hurry over to her side.

“Now don’t hate me,” she says and your smile quickly morphs into a confused frown. “But it’s about Jack.”

“Goodbye, Dana.” You turn to leave.

“Wait,” she calls out, quickly following behind you. She reaches out and gently grabs your arm. You spin around to look at her and she releases her hold. “He needs someone. Please. It’s… been a bad night.”

You pinch your nose bridge between your fingers. “Why… can’t someone else talk to him? Someone, preferably, who hasn’t had sex with him?”

“Robby’s with a trauma in room one,” Dana says, disregarding that last sentence coolly, “Dr. Shen and Dr. Ellis are already catching up on sleep… and we’re already stretched thin as it is.”

“And I’m not?” you say, exasperated.

Her eyes stare back at you like the eyes of those shivering dogs in the ASPCA commercials. You can hear Sarah McGlauclin’s singing from here.

“Fine,” you say with a groan. When Dana immediately grins, you give her a stare that quickly puts an end to it. “He’s on the roof, I assume?”

Dana nods and you turn to leave.

“Thank you!” she calls as you hit the elevator button.

As the doors slide open with a pleasant ‘ding!’, you shout back to her, “if I get pushed off the roof, I’m holding you personally responsible!”

The doors slide shut before she can respond. The elevator begins to glide upward, past several floors, and you pinch the skin of your arms between your fingers. 

The elevator doors reach their destination and slide open. You quickly turn off of pediatrics before you can start to hear the wails of tiny humans and into the stairwell leading to the roof.

You stop right before opening the door. You stare out the slender window at his broad back and your heart skips a beat. Rain pours through his scrubs, drenching his grey hair to the scalp. Was he insane? Standing in the rain on top of a building? 

You open the door and cautiously step forward across the roof. The rain isn't a cute sprinkle, it's a near-torrential downpour.

“Are you cosplaying Batman?” you call out once you realize your footfalls are not being heard over the rainfall and rumbling thunder.

What were the chances of being struck by lightning on top of a building? Had to be somewhat high, right?

Jack slowly angles his head toward you. The lights from below make his skin glow a deep amber that highlights his strong cheekbones and parted lips. His eyelashes are dripping in wetness and you trace one drop in particular as it slides from his hair down his cheek to his neck before it disappears from view. He looks away from you again. You bite your lip and take a few steps forward until you are just a few feet away from him.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, not turning back around. “Dana send you?”

“I heard you had a rough night,” you tell him in lieu of a reply, “want to talk about it? Inside, preferably?”

He looks over at you finally. “If I wanted to talk about it,” he says, his light eyes roving over your face, “I probably wouldn’t be on the roof.” He averts his eyes back down at the twinkling lights of the buildings below and you feel a sympathetic pang in your chest. 

You shake off the feeling and let out a heaving sigh. “C’mon, Jack, it’s freezing out here.”

He doesn’t budge.

“Well,” you say, raising your leg over the rail and lifting your hips so the rest of your body can follow suit, “if you aren’t leaving, then I’m not either.”

Even if you are freezing your ass off, and soaking wet, and tired, and slightly panicking at the thought of falling to your death–it’s about making a statement, not about your discomfort.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he tells you. You just shrug. “Really?” he says, his voice gritty and annoyed, “you’re going to be this immature?”

At that word–that stupid, 3 syllable word–you freeze. Your blood runs cold, somehow colder than it was a few seconds ago. 

“Wow,” you scoff. He looks over at you as if only just then sensing the weight of his words. You pinch the skin of your arms with your fingers and turn your back from him, going back over the rail. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Jack follows you in one swift movement, lifting his body over the rail. He goes to grab your arm in a similar move to Dana’s from earlier, but your skin is slick from rain and his hand just slides right off. “I’m sorry,” he says, following you as you head to the door, “I didn’t realize what I was saying, it just slipped out.”

You let out a quivering sigh. It isn’t anything new. Not a jab you should be exactly surprised by. It still hurts just as the first time he’d said it in your last argument as a couple. Your hand falls from the doorknob. “Jack… I was just trying to help,” you tell him. “I’m sorry, genuinely sorry, that you’ve had such a bad night. I won’t bother you any more.” 

You push open the door and slip inside, half-expecting him to go back to his sulking when an arm weaves through the crack and stops the door short. You take careful steps down the linoleum stairs as puddles form beneath your shoes (because the very last thing you need in this moment is to bust your head open) and you can hear Jack’s slightly heavier footfalls right behind yours. 

“You’re right,” he says to you, “I’ve had a bad night. But all nights are bad nights here. I shouldn’t have said that, especially when it isn’t true.”

You look over your shoulder at him as you reach the end of the stairwell. You have half the mind to ask where the confrontational Dr. Jack Abbot had gone, but then you bite your tongue and force yourself to look away.

You exit the stairwell, shooting an apologetic smile to a passing cleaning lady who gives a scornful look to the water you’re tracking in, and press the elevator button. Jack stands right next to you. You notice him cross his arms and your eyes narrow in on the muscles that flex beneath his dark scrubs. 

You remind yourself of what he said just a few moments before and the feelings you’re mulling in disappear. 

The elevator doors let out a ‘ding’ and slide open. Jack steps forward to put his arm over the sensor to prevent it from closing. You roll your eyes at the unnecessarily chivalrous behavior and step inside. He follows right after and you watch the doors slide close with your heart pounding in your ears.

You close your eyes. “Hit my button, too, please,” you tell him.

You don’t have to be looking at him to know he’s watching you. You can feel his gaze from across any room, no matter how busy or how strained the relationship is, because that’s just how he is. How you are, together.

“Still afraid of elevators?” he asks quietly. It isn’t asked in a joking or insulting manner, but the hairs on the back of your neck still prickle with unease.

“It’s called cleithrophobia,” you reply, “it’s the fear of being trapped.” The elevator begins to move and you can feel the weightless feeling overtaking you again.

You begin to count, but you don’t even reach number 2 before the elevator jolts and your eyes shoot open because suddenly the entire metal death trap is swathed in darkness except for a tiny battery-powered safety light at the top of the buttons. 

“Oh god,” you gasp out.

You are immediately hit with an overwhelming nausea. You reach forward to press the call button but nothing happens. You continue to press it in vain.

“Why isn’t it working?” you say, your breaths sharp and panicked in your own ears, “why wouldn’t it work? Isn’t it always supposed to work?”

“The power must have gone out,” Jack says, “shit, I bet it is chaos outside.”

“Doesn’t every hospital have back-up generators?!” you shout desperately.

“Yeah,” he replies, “and I bet the power’s already back on, but sometimes the elevators have to be manually restarted even when they get power again.”

You look over at him with wide eyes. He’s typing something in his pager. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, panicked, “shouldn’t we be doing something?”

“I’m alerting everyone on the outside,” he replies. “The more the better. Luckily, unlike our phones, pagers don’t need cell service, so it should go through,” he looks up at you and stares at your frazzled face and sopping wet scrubs and gestures to the floor. “Why don’t you sit down?”

You follow his instructions without argument, because your head felt light and you could swear the entire elevator was swaying even though Jack seemed fine standing on his two feet. You place your hands on your wrist and count your pulse to calm down. 

You stop when you hear Jack’s pager beep. 

“Robby said technicians are on the way. 10 minutes out.”

You let out a huge sigh of relief and watch Jack sit down on the floor across from you criss-cross applesauce. You pull your knees to your chest and close your eyes.

It’s silent for a few seconds before a burst of laughter escapes from your lips. Jack’s eyes shoot open from where you assumed he’d been meditating, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you say between giggles, “just… the irony. The worst possible situation that could happen with…” you trail off, not realizing where your sentence could be leading.

“With the worst person it could happen with?” Jack surmises.

You frown. “You know that’s not what I was going to say,” you tell him. He doesn’t immediately reply. “Right?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he says, “I mean, our situation”--as he says this, he gestures between the two of you with his hand–”is not exactly… ideal.”

“Jack,” you say quietly, “you’re, like, the only person I’d want here. Anyone else would probably be just as panicked as me. I think you’re the only reason I’m not having a complete mental breakdown.”

You pause, looking over at your ex-boyfriend with saddened eyes. “But yeah it would have been nice not to tip-toe around our… history.”

Jack cocks a very pointed brow. “Our history,” he grins, “is that what we’re calling it now?”

You roll your eyes and an affectionate smile pulls at your lips. 

He begins to tap his foot against the floor like a nervous tic. You watch him silently, eyebrows furrowed.

“How…” you pause when his eyes dart to yours, “how bad was it?”

“My shift or our relationship?”

You ponder the question for a moment, biting your lip. Which did you mean? “Both.”

He stares at you for a moment, seemingly deciding how he wanted to reply. 

“The shift was as bad as it always is,” he says quietly, “just… a young woman came in at 2 or 3a.m. She was complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. She’d apparently been coughing for weeks. I immediately thought it was something viral, Covid or the Flu maybe?” He ducks his head, eyes tracing the lines in the tile of the elevator floor. “It was massive heart failure. She got asystole within seconds and we couldn’t revive her.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s awful, what happened to her, but I… I couldn’t stop thinking”—his eyes meet yours then with frightening intensity—“about you. I mean, she was your age, looked like you. That… if something like that happened to you? I’d be broken.”

You swallow thickly, staring at the puddle forming underneath your legs..

“The reason we broke up,” Jack says softly, “the truth is, it was never about you being too young for me or too immature or me not being ready for commitment.”

“It was me being too afraid of losing you,” he whispers, “I realize that now.”

“Jack…”

“I know, I know,” he says with a sigh, “we’ve been broken up for two months. You’ve probably long since moved on, I just… had to get that off my chest.”

You nod. You can feel yourself about to say something you’d probably live to regret.

“The reason I switched to the day shift two weeks ago,” you start, “do you know why that is?”

“I had an inkling it was because of me.”

“Well, it was, but probably not in the way you’re thinking,” you tell him. You stare at him earnestly, compassionately. “I got tired of seeing you do so well,” you tell him, “every time I’d come down and see you working perfectly and you’d look at me and smile professionally and I’d have to pretend we didn’t used to be together… it was killing me.”

His throat bobs, his eyes deadly serious. 

Suddenly, you hear a loud banging noise from above you. You flinch and suddenly you are reminded you’re currently in a hanging death trap.

“Pittsburgh Fire and Rescue, are you two alright in there?”

“All good!” Jack answers for you, thankfully, you aren’t sure your vocal chores would let you otherwise.

“Okay, well, hang tight for a little bit longer. You two are between two floors so we’re going to have to open up the ceiling, drop a ladder in and you’ll have to come up out the top.”

“Oh god,” you groan, feeling nauseous. Was now a bad time to mention your fear of heights?

Jack scoots to your side of the elevator and takes your hand. It’s warm and lightly calloused and perfectly fit to yours. 

“Take a deep breath,” he tells you softly, “we’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The firefighter on top of the elevator begins to pound at the top of the elevator and you close your eyes as every time he moves the elevator gives a shudder. Your mind can’t help but go back to all those movies you’d seen of elevator cords snapping or bouncing like a bungee cord.

“I’m never getting in one of these death traps again,” you say, trying to calm your breathing. “If I have to climb three flights of stairs a day, then so be it.”

“Stairs are actually a lot more dangerous than elevators,” Jack says, “you should see some of the head lacs and broken vertebrae I’ve treated from people falling down them.”

“I’m good, thanks.” you tell him, “I’ve had my fair share in the OR. Actually I had one just the other day…” as you begin telling Jack about the surgery you’d done to this 70-year-old woman who’d fallen down her apartment’s stairwell and broken her left hip and tibia and the impressive surgical maneuvers you’d had to complete—you fail to notice the shaking of the elevator or the pounding from above when finally the ceiling screen is removed and a young firefighter jumps down.

Jack quickly stands and outstretches his hand for you to take. You gratefully grab it and pull yourself to your feet.

“You two okay?” the firefighter asks. He turns to you in particular. “You alright, ma’am? Look a bit pale.”

“I’m okay,” you reply shakily. “Just a deadly fear of getting trapped in elevators. Oh, and I’ve been in these soaking wet scrubs for twenty minutes, courtesy of Dr. Abbot here.”

Jack holds onto your arm in a tight grip, trying to keep you upright in case you suddenly decide to keel over.

Another firefighter on top of the elevator drops a ladder down and the one inside the elevator locks it into place.

“Okay,” he says, turning to you expectantly, “who wants to go first?”

You look over at Jack who nods toward the ladder. “You go first. I’ll be right here in case you slip.”

You hit his shoulder and he lets out an overly dramatic groan. “Really? Slip? Do you want me to have a panic attack?”

The firefighter continues to smile at your interaction as he holds the ladder steady. You take a deep breath and put your foot on the first rung. 

Your fear of falling is so bad you already feel nervous just a few inches off the ground, but you persevere. At your back, you feel Jack’s hand on your tailbone, helping keep you steady. When you make it to the top of the ladder, you carefully crane your head back and see three other firefighters there. You can’t help but look above you at at the huge, endless abyss and the tiny cord holding the entire elevator and you feel your head swim.

“Okay, just put your foot on this little strip here,” the firefighter standing on top of the elevator says, “and then your other right here,” she points to the other side, “and I’ll help you out.”

Easier said than done, you think. You clumsily begin to lift your right foot but put it back down when you feel an immediate bout of motion sickness. You take a deep breath and try again, trying your best to do it as quickly as possible so you don’t think too hard and sike yourself out.

Once you get your first foot into place, the other comes easy. You grab the outstretched hand of one of the firefighters and you land on the top of the elevator.

“Watch your feet now,” one of them says, “lots of cords there.”

You’re mostly trying not to look behind the elevator down the shaft as you follow their instructions. 

 You step from the top of the elevator onto the solid ground and you feel like you could drop to your knees and kiss the linoleum tile (if you weren’t uncomfortably aware of how many bodily fluids had been spilled on them).

You hear cheers and look up to see Dana, two of the surgery interns, and a couple of nurses. You look to the right and realize you are on the OR floor, and think that they must have all come quickly to make sure you were okay.

“Don’t act too happy,” you say to Dana, “I might still sue for emotional damages.”

Behind you, you hear footsteps and turn to see Jack.

“You can’t blame Dana,” he says with a grin, “if it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have had that lovely heart-to-heart moment in there.”

You look at the charge nurse who gives you a big grin and a thumbs-up before she tells the rest of the stragglers to get back to work. The crowd disperses and you are left with Jack.

“Did you really have to say that?” you say, “she’s going to hold that over my head for weeks now.”

Jack chuckles.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline or the way Jack’s looking at you with those pretty blue eyes like you hold the entire world in your hands, but you can’t help but blurt out: “want to get a coffee? After my shift, I mean?”

You think for a moment he’s going to say no. Had the words been performative? Did he really care about you or was it all some manipulative way to keep you from losing your head? Then, his face shifts and a small, affectionate smile curls on his lips.

“Sure. Usual place?” he asks.

“Yep, 7p.m. sharp. Be there or be square.”

Just as you finish talking, your pager starts to go off. You sigh. “Duty calls. God, I still need to change my scrubs and get dry.”

He nods and begins to head toward the stairwell. Before he is completely gone from your sight, he turns back around, walking backward as he says: “knock ‘em dead today!”

You roll your eyes and flush when you catch Dana’s knowing look from across the room. From the expression on her face, you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d cut some wires and it had all been a setup.

That said, it’s also true that you loved giving Jack a hard time about his age. Whether it was when his back ached (even if you always ended up giving him a massage), when he didn't quite grasp something on the internet, or the fine lines that crinkled around his eyes… nothing was off-limits. 

To be fair, even though he’d play along and act annoyed, Jack actually found it hilarious when you poked fun at him. Especially when he’d fire back that no one your age had the "experience" required to treat you the way you truly deserved, a line that never failed to make you blush and leave you completely speechless.

But Jack had never really found the perfect moment to get you back for the age gap. Until today.

The entire hospital system had been shut down due to a cyber-attack threat, and an old-school fax machine had been hauled out to send paperwork to the upper floors. 

Jack looked way too pleased when he saw the machine, and he certainly didn't miss the chance to smirk when he caught your bewildered expression.

"Something wrong, gorgeous?" he asked with a little grin, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Nothing’s wrong..."

"Then why are you looking at that machine like it personally offended you?" he chuckled, laughing quietly when you rolled your eyes and reached for a patient file. "Let me know if you need a hand. You know, since people my age know these machines better than you youngsters who’ve probably never even seen one before."

With that, Jack planted a kiss on your cheek and walked away with a victorious smile. He knew damn well that at some point today, you’d end up asking for his help… though he also knew you’d try every possible way to avoid proving him right first.

You really hoped Jack would leave soon. He was supposed to get some sleep before his night shift, but for some reason, he’d stuck around, helping out wherever he could.

An hour had passed since chaos erupted in the ER, and to your ultimate misfortune, you needed to send some files to Cardiology upstairs. Which meant using the fax machine.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Whitaker asked, walking up to where you stood in front of the machine.

"No... do you?"

"Nope. Maybe someone here can help us?" he said, looking around. Everyone was slammed with their own tasks, until his eyes landed on Jack, who was outside one of the rooms talking to a nurse. "Can't you just ask Dr. Abbot?"

"Absolutely not" you snapped, scanning the room for literally anyone else.

If you asked Jack how to use that machine, he’d never let you live it down.

"Dana! Can you…" you tried to flag her down as she hurried past, but she cut you off.

"Sorry, honey, I'm swamped. Find someone else," she said, dropping one file and grabbing another at the nurses' station before vanishing.

"You've got to be kidding me..." you muttered, rubbing your face with both hands. Finally, you grabbed the papers and started trudging toward Jack.

He caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye, a small smile playing on his lips, but he waited for you to come to him.

"Dr. Abbot, do you have a second?" you asked as you reached him.

"Of course," he replied. The nurse said her goodbyes and headed off. "Is something up?"

"I need to send these," you said, holding the papers out to him.

"Oookay... then go ahead," he answered, his grin widening as he looked at the papers and then back at you.

"I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because I don't know how..." you muttered under your breath, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

"You really don't know? I thought you 'tech-savvy' youths knew everything about technology," he teased, clearly savoring your misery.

"Jack, are you going to help me or not?" you complained, giving him an irritated look.

"It sounds like we might need to brush up on your manners, too, young lady," he shot back. You rolled your eyes, which only made him laugh as he took the papers from your hands. "Alright, alright... come on."

Jack led you to the fax machine where Whitaker was still trying to crack the code. In no time, Abbot had sent both your papers and the other doctor’s.

"See? Not that hard, was it?" he said with a smirk, turning back to you as Whitaker walked away.

"I seriously hate you."

"No 'thank you' for the help?"

"What, are you expecting a kiss?"

"Hmm... wouldn't be a bad start," Jack said, making you roll your eyes again. "Well, now that I’ve seen what I came to see, I’m headed out."

"Wait, are you serious?! Were you literally just waiting for me to ask for help with that stupid thing?" you asked, genuinely offended.

"I couldn't pass up such a beautiful opportunity. See you later," he said with a wink. He rested a hand on your hip to pull you close and kiss your cheek before breezing past you with a triumphant grin.