Welcome readers! My name is Zelda, and this is my Masterlist. As a forewarning, there will be a mixture of 18+ (MDNI) stories and stories for all ages. Iâll have the 18+ content labeled as such. Other than that, everything will be posted down below! If youâve got requests, suggestions, any kind of constructive criticism, donât hesitate to let me know!! Iâm excited to write for you guys :))
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So I was thinking for the next part of Surface Pressure to maybe have it be styled in an SMAU format? Itâll have a lot of texting in it but I wanna know what you guys think
Should the next part of Surface Pressure be styled as an SMAU?
Yeah
No
Hybrid? Part of itâs SMAU, part of itâs written
I donât care
Iâm only here for the results
If you have any ideas or suggestions, comment!!!
Voting ended on14h
The next part will have the build up to the official Jack and Robby confrontation - Iâd love to hear what you guys think!
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Authorâs Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I donât own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 3,235
Series Masterlist || Masterlist
Youâd taken the day off, which was strange in and of itself since you rarely took days off for anything.
For years, your bakery had come first. There was always something that needed your attentionâan order to fill, inventory to check, paperwork to finish, or a new recipe to test. Taking a day for yourself had always felt selfish somehow.
But then youâd met Jack.
Somewhere between late-night conversations, stolen mornings together, and his stubborn insistence that you deserved rest just as much as everyone else, youâd started learning how to slow down.
Or at least attempt to.
Jack was always reminding you to take care of yourself. To eat something other than leftover pastry scraps and coffee. To get enough sleep. To take a breath every now and then instead of carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.
And if you couldnât manage that yourself, he was more than willing to do it for you.
Jack loved taking care of you.
Youâd learned that very early in your relationship.
Whether it was wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when you fell asleep on the couch, bringing you coffee before your alarm went off, or quietly taking over dinner when he could tell youâd had a long day, caring for you came as naturally to him as breathing.
Sometimes you caught him looking at you with that soft expression he got when he thought you werenât paying attention, and it never failed to make your chest ache.
The ironic part, however, was that Jack never seemed interested in following his own advice.
He worked ungodly hours at the hospital. The Pitt always seemed to need him, and Jack had never been the type of man who could walk away from someone who needed help.
Then there was SWAT.
Every now and then, heâd still pick up shifts as their on-site medic.
Did that part worry you?
Absolutely.
Were you going to tell him to stop because every call-out took years off your life?
Youâd certainly considered it.
More than once.
But no.
Because despite everything, Jack genuinely enjoyed it.
Not the danger. Not the violence.
The helping people part.
The making-a-difference part.
Over time, heâd made an effort to go out less often with the team. These days, he only stepped in when they were short-handed or desperately needed someone with his experience.
Still, every time his phone rang at odd hours, your stomach twisted.
Whenever he left, youâd kiss him goodbye and tell him to be careful.
And every time, heâd cup your face in his hands, press a kiss to your forehead, and promise heâd come home.
âMilitary training,â heâd say whenever you worried aloud.
âBeing an ER doctor.â
âBeing cool under pressure.â
As if that explained everything.
As if those things somehow made him invincible.
Jack always claimed he functioned best when things were chaotic. That while everyone else was panicking, his brain slowed down enough to focus.
You werenât sure if that was a gift or something life had forced him to learn.
Probably both.
But regardless of where he went, regardless of whether he was heading into a packed trauma bay or responding alongside SWAT, there was one thing that never changed.
He always came home to you.
And if there was one thing Jack Abbot was good at, it was keeping his promises.
The thought made you smile as you curled deeper into the corner of the couch, enjoying the rare quiet of your day off.
For once, there were no customers waiting for pastries. No invoices sitting on your desk. No early morning alarms demanding you be at the bakery before sunrise.
Just a peaceful morning and the promise of Jack eventually walking through the front door.
Honestly, that was enough to make it your favorite kind of day.
Because even though you had no bakery orders to take care of today, you at least had one thing finished:
Jackâs birthday cake.
Youâd been planning it for weeks.
Not anything extravagant or over-the-top. Just something thoughtful. Something made with love. Something worthy of the man who had walked into your life and somehow managed to turn it completely upside down in the best possible way.
The man who made you laugh when you were stressed.
The man who never forgot to kiss you goodbye before a shift.
The man who somehow convinced you that you deserved to be cared for just as much as everyone else.
The man who loved you unconditionally.
A soft smile tugged at your lips as you glanced toward the kitchen.
The cake sat safely beneath a clear cover on the counter, hidden away until later.
Youâd had to be sneaky about it.
Jack wasnât exactly the easiest person to surprise. Between years in the military, working in emergency medicine, and simply being observant by nature, he seemed to notice everything.
So youâd enlisted help.
After a particularly embarrassing amount of subtle questioning and a few failed attempts at casually bringing up birthdays, youâd finally cornered Robby and Dana during a delivery to the Pitt.
Neither of them had been particularly subtle once they'd realized what you were doing.
Dana had immediately smiled.
Robby had grinned like he'd just been handed classified information.
âPlanning something for our favorite grumpy old doctor?â he'd asked.
Youâd rolled your eyes.
âHeâs not old.â
âSure,â Robby had said, completely unconvinced.
âArenât you five years older than him?â youâd teased.
Thankfully, theyâd eventually given you the information you needed.
From there, youâd spent nearly the entire morning in the bakery.
The familiar sounds of mixing bowls, timers, and whirring mixers had filled the quiet hours before sunrise. Flour had somehow ended up on your shirt, your cheek, and the tip of your nose despite your best efforts.
Not that Jack would have been surprised.
He often joked that you left a trail of flour behind you like breadcrumbs.
By the time youâd finished decorating, your feet hurt, your kitchen looked like a small baking-related disaster zone, and youâd never been happier with how a cake turned out.
It wasnât perfect.
But it was Jack.
Simple. Thoughtful. Comforting.
Exactly the kind of thing heâd appreciate.
Because Jack wasnât someone who cared about grand gestures.
Heâd made that very clear.
At his age, heâd told you more than once, he preferred things lowkey.
A quiet evening.
Good food.
The people he loved.
That was enough.
Honestly, you thought that was one of the reasons you loved him so much.
After everything heâd been through, after all the years heâd spent taking care of everyone around him, Jack never asked for much.
Which only made you want to spoil him more.
Today, though, you were determined to keep things exactly how heâd like them.
Just the two of you.
A homemade dinner after heâs rested some.
A birthday cake.
Maybe a movie curled up together on the couch if he wasnât completely exhausted from his shift.
Nothing fancy.
Just love.
And if you knew Jack at all, that would mean more to him than anything money could buy.
The thought warmed your chest.
A glance at the clock told you he still had a few hours left before heâd be home.
Plenty of time to finish setting everything up.
Though if you were being honest, the hardest part would probably be keeping the surprise a secret until then.
Jack had a frustrating habit of figuring things out before they happened.
Still, the image of his face when he saw the cake was enough motivation to keep trying.
Because if there was anyone worth celebrating, it was him.
When you heard the door unlock, you immediately sat up straighter on the couch.
Your stomach fluttered with nervous excitement as you glanced toward the front door.
Youâd spent the last several hours waiting for him to get home, checking the clock far more often than necessary and making sure everything was ready. The cake was hidden, dinner ingredients waiting in the kitchen, and the decorationsâminimal, just how heâd like themâwere set up.
Now all that was left was Jack.
The door opened.
Jack stepped inside with a tired huff, closing it quietly behind him.
His backpack landed beside the door with a soft thud before he straightened, rolling one shoulder as though trying to work out the stiffness from a long shift.
Then he spotted you.
Immediately, his brows furrowed.
A small frown tugged at his lips as he checked the time on the wall clock before looking back at you.
âSugar,â he rumbled, voice rough from hours of talking in a busy ER. âWhatâre you doinâ up?â
The concern in his voice made your heart squeeze.
You crossed the room before he could say anything else and wrapped your arms around him.
Jack barely had time to react before you buried your face against his neck.
âHappy birthday,â you murmured.
The effect was immediate.
Every ounce of tension seemed to drain from him.
The worried crease between his brows disappeared as his arms came around you, strong and familiar, pulling you firmly against his chest.
His nose brushed the top of your head as he held you.
Jack took a slow breath, then another, settling into the embrace as though heâd finally reached the safest place in the world.
You felt his shoulders loosen beneath your hands.
Felt him melt.
âOh, baby,â he huffed, pressing a kiss into your hair. âYou didnât have to stay up for this.â
You only hugged him tighter.
ââCourse I did.â
A quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest.
The sound made you smile.
Jack tipped his head down, resting his cheek against your hair for a moment. Neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in letting go.
After a long shift, this was always his favorite part of coming home.
You.
Not the apartment. Not his bed.
You.
Being able to hold you, hear your voice, feel your heartbeat against him and know that you were safe.
That he was home.
You tilted your head back slightly.
âYou want anything for breakfast?â
Jack hummed thoughtfully.
His eyes drifted shut.
Honestly, he wasnât even listening to the question anymore.
He was too busy enjoying the feeling of you in his arms.
The warmth of your body pressed against his.
The familiar scent of vanilla and sugar that always seemed to cling to you no matter how much time you'd spent away from the bakery.
The steady rise and fall of your breathing.
His Sugar.
God, he loved you.
More than he'd ever thought possible.
Especially on mornings like this.
Quiet mornings.
Simple mornings.
Mornings where he got to come home and find you waiting for him.
âIâm okay,â he mumbled eventually, his voice softer now.
One of his hands slid up your back.
He pressed another kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to look down at you.
The exhaustion in his eyes was still there, but it was softened by something warm.
Something undeniably fond.
âI love you.â
The words came easily.
Naturally.
As though saying them was as necessary as breathing.
His thumb brushed gently along your side.
âBest part of my birthdayâs already happened.â
A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
âI got to come home to you.â
You smiled and reached up, cradling Jackâs jaw in your hand.
The stubble along his cheek tickled your palm, familiar and comforting.
Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
âGo lay down,â you sighed against his mouth before pulling back slightly. âIâve got a surprise for you when you wake up.â
Jack immediately followed you.
His lips brushed yours again, unwilling to let you get very far.
A low hum rumbled in his chest as he chased another kiss, one hand settling against your waist.
âYou donât need to do that, baby.â
His mouth found the corner of your lips, lingering there as a small smile tugged at his own.
âI just need you.â
The sincerity in his voice made your heart melt.
It wasnât a line.
It never was with Jack.
After everything heâd been through, after all the years before youâd met him, heâd never been particularly interested in gifts or celebrations. What mattered to him was time. Presence. The people he loved.
And somehow, unbelievably, you had become one of those people.
His favorite person, if his coworkers were to be believed.
You laughed softly as he pressed another lingering kiss near the corner of your jaw.
âJack.â
His arms tightened around your waist.
âNope.â
âJack.â
A sleepy grin spread across his face.
You could practically see the exhaustion catching up to him now that he was home and no longer running on adrenaline.
âYou said breakfast.â
âI did. You said no.â
âYou said surprise.â
âI did.â
His grin widened.
âAnd now youâre trying to get rid of me.â
You laughed outright at that.
âIâm trying to get you to sleep.â
Jack rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his eyes drifting shut.
For someone who spent every night taking care of everyone around him, he was remarkably stubborn whenever someone tried to take care of him.
Especially when that someone was you.
âSleep sounds pretty good,â he admitted reluctantly.
âThatâs because youâve been awake for over twelve hours.â
âDetails.â
You rolled your eyes affectionately.
âGo.â
A dramatic sigh escaped him.
The man had faced trauma activations, military deployments, and SWAT callouts with less resistance.
Still smiling, you gave his chest a gentle push.
âBed. Now.â
Jack caught your hand before you could pull it away and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
âYes, maâam.â
You snorted.
âDonât start.â
âIâm serious.â
His tired eyes softened as he looked at you.
For a moment, all teasing disappeared.
The affection there was enough to make your chest ache.
âThank you, Sugar.â
The nickname came out quiet.
Warm.
Grateful.
Before you could respond, he leaned down and stole one last kiss.
Slow.
Gentle.
The kind that made you smile against his mouth.
Then, finally, he stepped back.
âYou better be here when I wake up.â
You laughed.
âWhere else would I go?â
Jack considered that for a second before nodding.
âGood.â
Satisfied with that answer, he squeezed your hand once more before heading toward the bedroom.
You watched him disappear down the hallway, your smile growing.
The cake was hidden.
The surprise was ready.
And for the first time all morning, keeping the secret felt worth it.
Because you couldnât wait to see the look on his face when he realized what youâd planned.
Jack wasnât sure how long heâd been asleep.
Long enough that the exhaustion dragging at his bones had eased, at least a little.
Long enough that heâd drifted into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that only seemed possible when you were nearby.
What finally pulled him awake wasnât an alarm.
It was the smell.
His eyes blinked open slowly.
For a moment, he simply lay there, breathing it in.
Cooking meat. Roasted vegetables. Herbs and spices.
Something warm. Comforting.
Homemade.
His stomach immediately growled in response.
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh and scrubbed a hand over his face.
âYeah, yeah,â he muttered.
Carefully, he pushed himself upright.
The house was quiet except for the faint sounds drifting from the kitchen. The clink of utensils. Cabinet doors opening and closing. The occasional hum that sounded suspiciously like you singing to yourself.
A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
Grabbing his crutches, he stood and steadied himself before making his way down the hallway.
The closer he got, the stronger the smell became.
And then he reached the doorway.
Jack stopped.
For a moment, he simply watched.
You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, completely at home in the space.
The afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows painted everything in soft gold, catching the loose strands of hair that had escaped whatever attempt youâd made to keep it back.
You were focused on whatever was simmering on the stove, occasionally checking another dish waiting on the counter.
Comfortable.
Happy.
Home.
A feeling settled heavily in Jackâs chest.
The two of you had officially moved in together a few months ago.
Even now, he sometimes caught himself marveling at it.
At the fact that you were here.
That he got to come home to you.
The transition had felt surprisingly natural.
Youâd already spent most nights at his apartment anyway. There had already been a drawer full of your clothes in his bedroom, your favorite mug in the cabinet, baking supplies slowly invading his kitchen.
Eventually heâd looked around one day and realized you were already part of every corner of his life.
Asking you to move in had simply made it official.
âYou know,â your voice called without turning around, âstaring is rude.â
Jack blinked.
A smile spread across his face.
âWhat is all this?â he asked, glancing around at the spread taking shape on the counters.
The answer came so casually that it caught him off guard.
âYour favorite.â
Jack looked at you.
You shrugged.
âRobby told me.â
His eyes wandered over the kitchen again, taking in details heâd been too distracted by you to notice at first.
The roasting pan in the oven.
The vegetables waiting to be finished.
The stack of plates youâd already set out.
Then his gaze landed on the cake sitting proudly in the center of the table.
Jack stopped.
It wasnât extravagant.
No towering layers or elaborate decorations.
Just a simple, beautiful cake that looked unmistakably homemade.
His cake.
He recognized the care in it immediately. The smooth frosting. The little details carefully added by hand. The kind of work that took time and patience.
Time that youâd spent on him.
âSugarâŚâ
The nickname came out quieter this time.
You followed his gaze and immediately smiled.
âOh.â
A hint of nervousness crept into your expression.
âI made that this morning.â
Jack stared at the cake for another moment before looking back at you.
âYou made me a cake.â
It sounded almost like he was trying to process the fact.
You laughed softly.
âThatâs usually what people do on birthdays.â
âNot like this.â
His voice was gentle.
Because this wasnât something picked up from a bakery shelf at the last minute.
You were the bakery.
Which meant every detail had been intentional.
Every ingredient chosen carefully.
Every decoration added by hand.
Every hour spent making it.
For him.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
Warm.
Overwhelming.
Dangerously close to emotional.
You noticed immediately.
âJack.â
He blinked and looked back at you.
The smile on your face softened.
âYou didnât need to get all sentimental on me yet. You havenât even seen the inside.â
A surprised laugh escaped him.
âThere are more surprises?â
âMaybe.â
âYouâre impossible.â
âYou love me.â
âI do.â
The answer came without hesitation.
Without thought.
As natural as breathing.
Jack looked at the cake once more before his gaze returned to you.
The food.
The decorations.
The cake.
The effort.
The obvious care that had gone into every detail.
All for him.
For his birthday.
For no reason other than the fact that you loved him.
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Pairing: Jack Abbot x F!Reader || Past!Michael âRobbyâ Robinovitch x F!Reader
Summary: Itâs all coming together. But some of those pieces just donât fit.
Series Warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Fears and anxieties. Panic attacks. Language. Unplanned pregnancy. Post-break up of situationship. Robby being Robby (disrespectfully). Reader internalizes a lot of their emotions. Tensions. Possible arguments. Guilt. Reader does not like asking for help. Insecurities. Jack being the man he is (respectfully). Jack wanting to take care of reader. Slow burn. Older man x younger woman trope (unspecified age gap). No use of Y/N. Unspecified race and physical descriptions. Mentions of loss of limb. Medical inaccuracies. Mentions of loss of spouse. Mental health. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Authorâs Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I donât own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
I know these chapters arenât the longest. I hope yâall are okay with that. Iâm trying to make them a smidge longer the more chapters I write, but itâs like my brain hits a block after a certain number đ either way, I hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 2,714
Series Masterlist || Masterlist
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You paused just outside the deliâs entrance.
The glass door reflected your hesitant expression back at you. Your stomach tightened.
You swallowed thickly, trying to gauge whether you could actually make it inside without embarrassing yourself a second time.
Beside you, Jack reached for the door before glancing over his shoulder. His brows knit together slightly when he realized you hadnât moved.
He didnât say anything.
He simply waited.
The gesture alone eased some of the knot in your chest.
You let out a slow, unsteady breath before giving him a small nod. A tight smile tugged at your lips. âI think Iâm okay,â you said.
Jack returned the nod and pulled the door open. Cool air drifted out to meet you. You took a tentative step inside. Immediately, the scent of food reached you.
Freshly sliced deli meat.
Sharp cheddar.
Warm bread.
Pickles soaking in brine.
Unlike the diner, there wasnât a wall of grease or sizzling bacon waiting to ambush you the moment you crossed the threshold.
The smell of meat hit first.
Your stomach gave an uncomfortable roll. You stopped instinctively, breathing carefully through your nose. The nausea stirred. Not as violently as before, just enough to make your pulse quicken.
You closed your eyes for the briefest moment.
Okay. I can handle this.
Another breath.
The scent of cheese lingered beneath everything else, followed by fresh vegetables and bread cooling on nearby racks.
Manageable.
Your shoulders loosened a fraction.
When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself taking in the room.
It wasnât crowded. A handful of customers stood near the counter, chatting with the employees as sandwiches were wrapped in crisp white paper. Someone laughed near the soda cooler.
The low hum of conversation felt oddly comforting.
Jack fell into step beside you without saying a word. Close enough that you knew he was there. Far enough away that you never felt like he was watching your every move. It struck you, not for the first time, how good he was at giving people space.
âYou okay?â he asked. His voice was quiet. Gentle. Not because he thought you were fragile, but because he genuinely wanted to know.
You nodded. âI think so.â
Jack studied you for a second, as though deciding whether to believe you. Eventually, he gave a small nod of his own.
âGood,â he said. He gestured toward the counter. âYou want to order together?â
You looked up at him.
There wasnât any expectation in his expression.
No impatience.
No hint that you were taking too long.
He wasnât trying to hurry you.
He was giving you the choice.
The realization settled warmly in your chest.
Youâd spent so much of the last few weeks feeling like your life was no longer yours to control. Every decision suddenly carried impossible weight. This, ridiculously small as it was, didnât.
You found yourself relaxing another fraction.
âYeah,â you said quietly. âIâd like that.â
As the two of you made your way toward the counter, you caught yourself glancing sideways at him.
Jack wasnât looking at you anymore. He was reading the menu board with the same concentration heâd probably give a patientâs chart. For reasons you couldnât quite explain, that made you smile.
By the time the two of you reached the register, the awkwardness from the grocery store had eased into somethingâŚcomfortable.
Not familiar.
Not quite.
But easier.
Jack ordered first, stepping aside while you stared at the menu longer than necessary. Nothing sounded particularly appetizing, but the turkey sandwich seemed the least offensive.
When the cashier totaled everything, you instinctively reached for your wallet.
Jack was faster.
âYou donât have toââ
âI asked.â
âJack.â
âYou said one meal.â
âI can still pay for mine.â
He looked at you with an expression that was almost amused. âYou really donât like people buying you things, do you?â he asked.
Heat crept into your face. âI donât like feeling like I owe people,â you emphasized.
âYou donât.â
He handed the cashier his card before you could protest again.
The conversation was clearly over.
You let out an exaggerated sigh. âIâll remember this.â
âIâm sure you will.â
âYouâve become my financial enemy.â
Jack chuckled. âIâll survive.â
By the time your sandwiches were wrapped, the two of you settled at one of the small outdoor tables just beyond the deliâs entrance.
The morning breeze was cool against your skin. It helped.
The fresh air made eating feel far less daunting than it wouldâve inside.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
You unwrapped your sandwich carefully, taking a tentative bite. It stayed down.
Relief washed over you.
Jack noticed the tiny exhale that escaped you afterward. He pretended not to. Instead, he focused on unwrapping his own lunch.
After another quiet minute, he spoke, âSoâŚâ You looked up. âYou and Robby.â
The words werenât accusatory.
JustâŚcareful.
Your appetite faded almost immediately.
âThere isnât a âme and Robby,ââ you stated. The flatness of your voice surprised even you.
Jack nodded slowly. âThatâs kind of what Dana implied.â
A humorless laugh escaped you. âNothing gets past her.â
âNo.â The corner of his mouth twitched. âSheâs basically everyoneâs unofficial mom.â
âWhether we ask for it or not.â
âEspecially when we donât.â
That earned the smallest smile. It disappeared almost as quickly as itâd come.
Jack rested his forearms against the table, his voice soft, âIf something happenedâŚâ He chose his words carefully. ââŚIâd hope youâd tell somebody.â
Your eyes stayed fixed on your sandwich. âIâm a big girl,â you stated.
âI know.â
âI donât need to make this mess any more complicated.â
Jack frowned slightly. âLooking out for yourself isnât making things complicated.â
You didnât answer.
He let the silence linger before speaking again.
âWe both know how Robby can be.â
Your jaw tightened. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, âYeah.â You picked absently at the edge of the sandwich wrapper. âIâve learned that the hard way.â
The words came out quieter than you intended.
Jackâs stomach sank.
He didnât know what Robby had done.
But whatever it was, it had hurt you.
Badly.
âI donât want to talk about him anymore.â You shook your head. âIâve spent enough time thinking about him.â
Your hand drifted unconsciously toward your abdomen before stopping halfway. You quickly folded both hands together in your lap instead.
âI haveâŚâ You searched for safer words. ââŚother things I need to focus on.â
Jack noticed the hesitation. He noticed the aborted movement, too. Not enough to understand it. Just enough to file it away.
âLike getting better?â he asked.
You looked down.
If only it were that simple.
If only a few days of sleep and decent meals could fix everything.
You nodded anyway. âSomething like that.â
Jack wasnât convinced.
But he also recognized the look on your face.
The conversation had reached a wall. Pushing harder wouldnât help either of you.
After another few bites, you carefully folded your sandwich wrapper closed.
âI should probably head home,â you announced.
âYou donât have to rush off on my account.â
"I know,â you said, offering him a tired smile. âBut you just worked twelve hours. Possibly longer.â Your eyes drifted toward the grocery bags resting beside his chair. âAnd you still have to carry all of that,â you added.
Jack looked down at the bags before giving a small, amused huff. âWhen you put it like thatâŚâ
âYou should get some sleep.â There was genuine concern in your voice now. âIâve seen what you look like after back-to-back shifts.â
He raised an eyebrow. âThat bad?â
âYou scared a med student once.â
âI did not.â
âYou absolutely did.â
âI was concentrating.â
âYou were glaring.â
âI have a focused face.â
You laughed. An actual laugh this time. It lasted only a second.
But it was enough to make Jack smile in return.
He found himself thinking, She should laugh more.
The realization caught him off guard. Because he couldnât remember the last time heâd seen you look this relaxed. Even if it was only for a moment.
âHowâd you get here?â Jack asked as the two of you gathered your trash.
âI took an Uber.â You pulled your phone from your pocket. âIâll just call another one.â
âIâll drive you.â
Your head snapped up.
âJack.â
âWhat?â
âYou just got off a twelve-hour shift.â
"So?"
âSo,â you repeated, âyou should be going home.â
âI will. After I drive you.â
You let out an exasperated sigh. âNo.â
Jack blinked. ââŚNo?â
âIâm not making you drive across the city after working all night.â
âIt isnât a big deal.â
âIt is to me.â You unlocked your phone, already opening the rideshare app. âI can wait,â you said offhandedly.
âI donât like the idea of you waiting out here by yourself.â
âIâll survive.â
Jack studied you. âYouâve got an answer for everything.â
âIâve had a lot of practice.â
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.
Jack wondered how many years youâd spent convincing yourself you had to handle everything alone. Too many, judging by the way you automatically rejected every offer of help.
He tried one last time.
âI really donât mind.â
âI know.â You looked up from your phone, offering him a small smile. âAnd thatâs exactly why Iâm saying no.â
He couldnât help the amused huff that escaped him.
âSo thatâs final?â he asked.
âIt is.â
Jack raised both hands in surrender.
âAlright. You win.â
You scoffed, âI usually do.â
âOh?â Jackâs brows rose nearly to his hairline. A teasing smile tugged at his mouth. âYouâre awfully confident.â
âI have to be.â
âYou know,â he said, settling back into his chair, âyouâre a lot more stubborn than I thought.â
You looked almost offended. âOnly when I need to be.â
He laughed quietly. âIâll remember that.â
âYou should.â
Your phone buzzed. You glanced down at the screen and stated, âTwenty minutes.â
You looked back up at him.
âYou donât have to stay,â you stressed.
âI know.â
âYouâve got groceries.â
âI know.â
âYou should probably get some sleep.â
âI know.â
Despite yourself, you smiled. âYouâre impossible.â
âIâve been called worse.â
Silence settled comfortably between you.
The kind of silence that didnât demand to be filled.
Jack picked idly at the label on his water bottle.
âSo.â He looked over at you. âAny big plans while youâre off?â
You hesitated.
The prenatal appointment flashed through your mind. Leni meeting you. Trying not to have a panic attack in the waiting room.
You forced your expression to stay neutral.
âNothing exciting.â
He watched you for a second. âYou sure?â he pressed.
You nodded. âIâll be fine.â
The answer came too quickly. Too automatically.
Jack recognized it for what it wasâa conversation ender. He chose not to push.
âI know you will,â he said.
You looked down at your phone again.
âMy driverâs about twenty minutes away,â you repeated. Another pause. âYou okay waiting that long?â
Jack gave a single nod. âI just want to make sure you get on alright.â
You smiled softly. âThanks. For staying.â
âItâs the least I can do.â
The two of you slipped back into silence. Jack found himself watching the morning traffic roll by instead of checking the time.
His mind, however, refused to settle.
He thought about Danaâs concern.
About the rooftop.
About the grocery store.
The diner.
The way youâd hardened when Robbyâs name came up.
The way youâd insisted you were fine while looking anything but.
Something wasnât adding up.
Heâd known Robby for years. Long enough to know his friend could be immature. Careless. Thoughtless, especially when it came to relationships.
But this? This felt bigger than a messy situationship ending badly. Whatever had happened between the two of you had left cracks that were impossible to ignore.
Jack frowned almost imperceptibly. He wasnât interested in prying into your personal life.
ButâŚ
The next time he saw Robby, he had a feeling they were going to have a conversation. Whether Robby appreciated it or not.
The twenty minutes passed quicker than either of you expected.
Conversation came in comfortable bursts, interrupted by long stretches where neither of you felt the need to fill the silence.
It wasâŚeasy.
Surprisingly so.
Jack glanced toward you.
âYou have my number?â
You looked up from your phone, confusion flickering across your face.
ââŚNo.â A beat passed. âWhy?â
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
âCome here.â
Your brows drew together. âWhat are you doing?â
âJust come here.â
You hesitated before leaning across the table.
Jack held out his hand. âYour phone.â
You looked down at it suspiciously.
ââŚShould I be concerned?â you murmured.
âOnly if you think Iâm about to order myself expensive gifts.â
A quiet laugh escaped you. âYou donât strike me as an online shopping kind of guy.â
âYouâd be correct.â
Still smiling faintly, you unlocked your phone and placed it in his outstretched hand.
Your fingertips brushed briefly against his palm.
His hands were warm. Rougher than youâd expected.
Calloused.
Years of life and medicine etched into skin that looked strong enough to hold far more than a cellphone.
You pulled your hand back a little too quickly.
Jack, thankfully, either didnât notice or pretended not to.
He opened your contacts and began typing.
âIn case you need anything.â
You frowned. ââŚJack.â
He didnât look up.
âIâm serious. What if I never text you?â
âThen you never text me.â
Simple.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You watched him save the contact before he finally spoke again.
âIâm not much of a therapist.â A small smile crossed his face. âI pay someone else to be good at that.â
You couldnât help the quiet chuckle.
âI do, howeverââ He handed your phone back. ââtalk to one every couple of weeks.â
You blinked.
He shrugged one shoulder. âHave been for a few years.â
There wasnât an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. Just honesty.
âIt helped afterâŚâ He paused. ââŚeverything.â
He continued before the brief silence could become uncomfortable. âI think people get the wrong idea about therapy.â
You looked down at your phone.
His name now sat among your contacts.
Jack Abbot.
âI donât think you have to be in the middle of a crisis.â He leaned back in his chair. âSometimes itâs just nice having someone whose entire job is listening.â
You traced your thumb absently over his contact.
âI appreciate it.â Your voice came out softer than you'd intended. âI havenât really needed a therapist in a long time.â
Jack nodded. âIâm glad.â
There wasnât any disappointment.
No attempt to convince you otherwise.
Just acceptance.
âBut if that ever changesââ He gestured toward your phone. âânow you know someone who can point you in the right direction.â
You smiled faintly.
âI appreciate the concern.â You glanced at his contact before looking back up.
He gave a hint of a smile.
Before you could say anything else, your phone buzzed loudly in your hand.
Your driver has arrived.
A silver sedan pulled up to the curb. The driverâs window rolled down.
âHey!â A woman leaned out, smiling. She called your name.
You stood, instinctively tightening your grip on your grocery bag. Jack stood with you.
âThatâs me.â You turned back toward Jack. âI shouldâŚâ Your voice trailed off.
He nodded before you could finish.
âI know.â
For a second, neither of you moved. You werenât sure why. Maybe because saying goodbye suddenly feltâŚawkward.
Not uncomfortable.
Just unfinished.
âThank you.â The words came quietly. âFor the food. AndâŚâ You gestured vaguely between the two of you. ââŚeverything.â
Jack offered one of those small, reassuring smiles that seemed to come so naturally to him.
âGet some rest.â
You nodded. âIâll try. AndâŚyou too.â
Jack gave a single nod.
He watched as you walked toward the waiting car.
Halfway there, you looked back.
Jack was still standing exactly where youâd left him, waiting until he knew you were safely inside.
Only after the car door shut behind you and the vehicle pulled away from the curb did he finally turn toward the grocery store, toward his own truck.
For reasons he couldnât quite explainâŚ
He found himself hoping youâd actually use his number someday. Not because something had gone wrong, but because you wouldnât have to face it alone.
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Overall Warnings: Thoughts and mentions of suicide. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Mental illness and mental health. Language. Crying. Ambiguous ending. Low self-esteem. Low self-worth. Established relationship (older man/younger woman trope; unspecified age gap). Ambiguous ending. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Authorâs Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I donât own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 2,551(ish)
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The world would keep turning.
It wouldnât stop simply because one person disappeared. It wouldnât hesitate, wouldnât mourn the slightest shift in its rhythm. The sun would still rise. Ambulances would still scream toward the emergency department. Patients would still come through the doors needing help, and doctors and nurses would still answer the call.
Life would go on.
It always did.
You stood at the nursesâ station, your hands resting against the cool countertop as your gaze drifted across the department. Families hurried through the waiting room with anxious expressions. A child laughed somewhere down the hall before being hushed by an exhausted parent. A patient was discharged with a relieved smile while another was wheeled toward imaging. Phones rang. Monitors chimed. Someone called for respiratory.
The emergency department never stopped moving.
You watched it all with distant eyes, as though you were standing behind glass instead of in the middle of it.
Your fingers absentmindedly traced the worn edge of the counter, picking at a nick in the laminate until your nail caught against it. You barely noticed.
This was what you did.
Assess the patient.
Order the labs.
Page the consult.
Call surgery.
Call medicine.
Repeat.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Youâd done it thousands of timesâso many that your body moved on instinct while your mind wandered somewhere far beyond the fluorescent lights and antiseptic air.
You couldnât remember the last time youâd looked forward to coming into work. Somewhere along the way, medicine had stopped feeling like a calling and started feeling like an obligation. One more thing you had to survive before dragging yourself home to an apartment that felt too quiet and a bed that never seemed to make you feel rested.
Wake up.
Get dressed.
Grab coffee.
Go to work.
Go home.
Sleep.
Then do it all over again.
The routine had become suffocating.
Sometimes you caught yourself wondering if anyone would notice if you simply...werenât there one morning. Not because you thought you were irreplaceableâGod, no. If anything, you were painfully aware of how replaceable you were.
Someone else would pick up your patients.
Another resident would take your shifts.
Your locker would be cleaned out eventually.
Your name would disappear from the schedule, and after a while, a new one would take its place.
The department would adapt.
It always adapted.
Youâd spent so much of your life trying to matterâto patients, to coworkers, to friendsâthat somewhere along the way youâd forgotten what it felt like to matter to yourself.
Lately, it felt as though you existed only in the spaces between everyone elseâs lives.
Useful.
Convenient.
Forgettable.
You swallowed against the tightness in your throat, forcing your expression into something neutral as another chart was placed in front of you.
Another patient.
Another room.
Another chance to pretend you were okay.
You reached for the chart anyway.
Because that was what you did.
Keep moving.
Even when it felt like the rest of the world had forgotten you were moving with it.
* * *
By the time the end of your shift rolled around, everything had blurred into one endless stretch of fluorescent lights and ringing monitors.
You couldnât remember half the conversations youâd had. Faces came and went, blending together until they were little more than passing shapes. Every movement felt automatic, every word rehearsed. Your body knew exactly what to do, even if your mind had checked out hours ago.
It was like watching yourself from somewhere just beyond your own skin.
You spoke.
You charted.
You smiled when it was expected.
You comforted frightened patients and reassured worried families with practiced ease, all while feeling strangely disconnected from the person saying the words.
Your voice sounded like yours.
It just didnât feel like it belonged to you anymore.
You blinked hard, trying to dispel the haze clouding your thoughts.
âYou doing okay?â
Trinity slid into the chair beside you, already logging into the computer. Her tone carried its usual dry humor, casual enough that most people wouldâve brushed the question aside.
You almost did.
âLong day,â you answered, offering a small smile.
It felt wrong on your face.
Too practiced.
Too effortless.
Like something youâd perfected after years of pretending.
She hummed knowingly. âJoys of the emergency department.â
A quiet breath escaped youâsomething that almost resembled a laugh before it disappeared altogether.
Silence settled between the two of you, broken only by the clacking of keyboards and distant overhead pages.
âYouâve got the next few days off, right?â
You nodded without looking away from the chart in front of you.
âMaybe,â you murmured. âNothing Jack planned.â Your throat suddenly felt tight. âItâs more of...a me thing.â
Trinity raised an eyebrow. âYou? Trouble in paradise?â
You managed another smile.
It hurt more than it should have.
You and Jack had been together for less than a year.
Less than a year of quiet mornings, exhausted smiles exchanged across the nursesâ station, coffee waiting for you after impossible shifts, and the gentle certainty of someone who never seemed to ask you to be anyone other than yourself.
He was everything youâd ever wanted.
Patient.
Steady.
Kind.
He listened more than he spoke. He never made you feel small. Never talked over you. Never laughed at your mistakes. Even on his worst days, he somehow found enough of himself to make sure everyone around him was okay.
Especially you.
So why couldnât you understand what he saw?
The question had become a constant hum in the back of your mind.
What did he see?
Why you?
Out of everyone he could have chosen...
Why you?
Jack was experienced in ways you couldnât imagine. Confident without arrogance. Compassionate without letting it consume him. He walked into impossible situations every day and somehow made people feel safe.
You still second-guessed yourself before every difficult conversation.
You still replayed every mistake long after everyone else had forgotten it.
You still lay awake wondering if everyone at work secretly regretted having you on their team.
Compared to Jack, you felt unfinished. Like you were constantly trying to catch up to a version of yourself that didnât exist.
You loved him.
God, you loved him.
That wasnât the problem.
The problem was that every morning you woke expecting to discover that heâd finally seen what you saw every time you looked in the mirror.
Someone forgettable.
Someone difficult to love.
Someone who was always almost enough, but never quite there.
You waited for the moment heâd realize heâd made a mistake. That heâd confused compassion for love. That eventually heâd look at you with clear eyes and wonder why heâd ever chosen you in the first place.
It hadnât happened.
Not once.
Jack never treated you like you were a burden. Never made you earn his affection. Never gave you a reason to doubt him.
The doubt came from somewhere much quieter. Somewhere that had long ago learned to turn every kindness into pity.
Every compliment into obligation.
Every âI love youâ into something that surely came with an expiration date.
You looked down at your hands resting on the keyboard.
For a fleeting moment, you couldnât remember the last time youâd believed you deserved the life youâd built. Or the people in it.
The thought settled heavily in your chest, familiar enough that it no longer surprised you.
You closed the chart, forcing another smile when Trinity glanced your way.
âIâm fine,â you heard yourself say. The words came as easily as breathing.
You werenât sure when theyâd stopped feeling like a lie and started feeling like part of the routine.
You hardly registered the look Trinity sent your way.
The slight furrow between her brows.
The faint downturn of her mouth.
She was studying you, you realized distantly, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
You couldnât bring yourself to care.
Your thoughts had already wandered somewhere else, pulling you under before you even realized you were slipping. The emergency department buzzed around you in its usual rhythmâphones ringing, stretchers rolling past, nurses calling out room numbersâbut it all sounded strangely muffled, as though you were hearing it from underwater.
Night shift would be coming in soon.
Which meant Jack would be here.
He always arrived early.
Heâd once told you he liked having a few quiet minutes before the department exploded into controlled chaos. Time to settle in. Check the board. Read through the charts. Finish his coffee before someone inevitably interrupted him.
Youâd teased him relentlessly for it.
âYouâre the only person I know who voluntarily comes to work early.â
âIâd rather be ahead of the chaos than chasing it.â
That was Jack.
Steady.
Prepared.
Always moving forward.
Even when life had given him every reason not to.
You admired that about him.
The way he always seemed to know where to stand in a room.
The way people naturally gravitated toward him, trusting him before heâd even spoken.
The quiet confidence that never tipped into arrogance.
He made impossible situations feel manageable.
He made frightened patients feel safe.
He made everyone around him feel seen.
You wondered what it was like to move through the world with that kind of certainty. To wake up without immediately questioning whether you belonged. To believe, even for a second, that you were enough exactly as you were.
Youâd spent so long trying to become someone worth keeping that you couldnât remember who youâd been before.
Every compliment felt borrowed.
Every achievement felt accidental.
Every good thing in your life carried the quiet, persistent fear that someone would eventually realize theyâd made a mistake.
Jack hadnât.
Not yet.
The thought didnât comfort you.
It terrified you.
Because if he still looked at you with that same softness after all this timeâŚthen eventually there would come a day when the illusion broke.
When heâd finally see what you saw.
Someone ordinary.
Someone exhausting.
Someone who needed far more than they could ever give back.
Your chest tightened.
You glanced toward the ambulance bay doors without thinking, almost expecting him to walk through them already.
A part of you always relaxed when you saw him.
Another part immediately wondered how long it would last.
How much longer before he grew tired of carrying someone who always seemed to be one bad day away from falling apart.
You dropped your gaze back to the computer screen before the thought could settle any deeper.
The cursor blinked patiently in an unfinished chart.
Waiting.
Just like everything else.
* * *
Jack liked to think he was perceptive.
Years in the Army had taught him to notice the things other people overlooked. A room that had gone too quiet. Someone whose smile didnât quite reach their eyes. The subtle shift in a personâs posture before they lashed out or shut down completely.
It wasnât foolproof.
God knew heâd missed things before.
But heâd gotten pretty good at reading people.
Which was exactly why you confused him. Something was different. Heâd noticed it weeks ago.
At first, heâd chalked it up to exhaustion. The emergency department had a way of grinding people down until they barely recognized themselves. Long shifts, impossible decisions, patients you couldnât save despite doing everything rightâit wore on everyone eventually.
He knew that better than most.
Still, this felt different.
It wasnât one big change.
It was a hundred little ones.
You smiled just as often.
You laughed when someone cracked a joke.
You still checked on your patients with the same gentle patience that had made him fall for you in the first place.
You still kissed him goodbye before leaving for work.
You still texted him to make sure heâd eaten.
Nothing had changed. And yet, everything had.
It was there in the spaces between moments.
The way your eyes lingered on nothing at all before someone called your name.
The way conversations seemed to take an extra second to reach you, as though you were swimming back to the surface every time someone spoke.
The way youâd apologize for things that didnât require an apology.
Asking him a question, âSorry.â
Taking too long to answer a question, âSorry.â
For existing in the same space as everyone else, âSorry.â
He wasnât even sure you realized you were doing it. The words slipped out so naturally they sounded rehearsed.
Like breathing.
Like something youâd been practicing long before heâd ever met you.
It made his chest hurt.
Because no matter how many times he told you that you had nothing to apologize for, you always smiled apologetically anyway, as if you didnât quite believe him.
Jack knew trauma.
He knew PTSD.
Hell, he lived with it every day.
There were nights when the weight of getting out of bed felt heavier than the prosthetic waiting beside it. Mornings when sleep refused to come because his mind insisted on replaying memories heâd spent years trying to bury. Days when he felt guilty for surviving people who hadnât.
Depression wasnât unfamiliar either.
He knew what it felt like to move through life carrying something invisible. To become so accustomed to the weight that you almost forgot it wasnât supposed to be there.
Which was why this unsettled him so much.
People thought depression always looked obvious. Sometimes it did.
Sometimes it looked like Robby.
The anger.
The sharp tongue.
The self-destructive streak hidden beneath sarcasm and misplaced confidence.
Robby wore his pain like armor. It wasnât hard to tell when he was struggling, even if he insisted he was fine.
You were different.
You woke up every morning.
You got dressed.
You showed up to work on time.
You took care of your patients.
You charted meticulously.
You smiled at coworkers.
You laughed at Trinityâs jokes.
You called your parents.
You remembered birthdays.
You kissed him hello.
You looked fine. So painfully, frustratingly fine.
If someone had asked Jack how you were doing, heâd probably have said you were just tired.
Burned out.
Maybe overworked.
Maybe in need of a vacation.
Reasonable explanations.
Comforting explanations.
The kind that let people sleep at night.
Except every instinct he had kept whispering that those explanations didnât fit. Not completely. There was something behind your eyes he couldnât explain. Not sadness. Not exactly. It was quieter than that. Like a light slowly dimming one degree at a time. So gradually that no one noticed it until they couldnât remember how bright it had been before.
Jack found himself watching you more than he meant to.
Waiting for the moment the pieces finally clicked together.
Waiting for somethingâanythingâthat would explain why the woman he loved suddenly felt just a little farther away every day.
He hated that he couldnât name it.
Hated that every instinct told him you were hurting while every piece of evidence insisted you were okay.
And somewhere deep in his chest, beneath years of training and experience and hard-earned survival, a familiar fear settled in.
The fear that by the time he figured out what was wrong, it would already be too late.
