Summary: During a much-needed beach holiday, Jason Todd forgets sunscreen and ends up with a brutal sunburn. His girlfriend (reader) spends the rest of the trip babying him with over-the-top care, turning his misery into a hilarious, loving comedy of errors.
For my DC summer event ◞ DC masterlist
The beach was supposed to be paradise.
White sand, turquoise water, palm trees swaying in the breeze, and a private villa Jason had rented for the two of you after months of back-to-back missions. He’d been insistent on it — “We need a break, babe. Real one. No patrols, no Bats, no nothing.” You’d agreed immediately. The idea of Jason relaxed, shirtless, and happy under the sun sounded perfect.
What you hadn’t counted on was how stubborn he could be about sunscreen.
The first morning, you’d slathered yourself in SPF 50, the kind that smelled like coconut and left a white cast. You’d offered the bottle to Jason, shaking it playfully.
“Come on, big guy. You’re pale as a ghost. You’ll burn.”
He’d waved you off with that cocky smirk, already pulling on his swim trunks. “I’m fine. I don’t burn. I tan. I’m basically a Greek god, remember?”
You’d rolled your eyes but let it go. He was a grown man. If he wanted to be stubborn, that was his problem.
By noon, you knew it was going to be a problem.
Jason had spent the morning in the water, showing off with lazy laps and dramatic dives, then stretched out on a lounge chair like he owned the beach. You’d been reading under an umbrella, occasionally glancing over to admire the way the sun glinted off his wet skin and the white streak in his hair. He looked good — too good. Broad shoulders, toned arms, that dangerous edge even in swim trunks.
But by the time you suggested lunch, his shoulders were already turning pink. By mid-afternoon, they were bright red. By the time the sun started to dip, he looked like a boiled lobster.
“Jason,” you said, trying not to laugh as you poked his shoulder gently. He hissed, jerking away. “You’re burned. Badly.”
He grunted, sitting up with a wince. “It’s fine. Just a little sun. I’ve had worse.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Your back looks like a stop sign. Come on. Let’s get you inside before you peel like a snake.”
He grumbled the whole way back to the villa, but he let you steer him. Inside, the air conditioning was a blessing. You guided him to the bedroom, making him lie face-down on the bed while you rummaged through the bathroom for aloe vera.
When you came back, he was already complaining. “This is stupid. I don’t need babying. I’ve survived worse than a sunburn.”
You sat on the edge of the bed, squeezing a generous amount of aloe onto your hands. “You’re right. You’re a big, tough Red Hood. But right now, you’re my big, tough, very red boyfriend, and I’m going to take care of you. So shut up and let me.”
He huffed but didn’t argue when your cool hands touched his back. The second the aloe hit his burned skin, he hissed, muscles tensing.
“Cold,” he muttered.
“Necessary,” you replied, spreading it gently across his shoulders. “You’re going to peel so bad tomorrow. I’m going to have to wrap you in gauze like a mummy.”
He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “This is humiliating. The Red Hood, taken down by sunscreen.”
You laughed softly, working the gel down his back in slow, careful strokes. “It’s kind of cute, actually. Big bad Jason Todd, forgetting the basics. Makes me feel useful.”
He peeked at you over his shoulder, one green eye narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.” You leaned down, kissing the unburned part of his neck. “But I also hate seeing you in pain. So let me fix it.”
He sighed, relaxing under your hands. “Fine. But only because it’s you.”
You spent the next twenty minutes massaging the aloe into every burned inch — his back, shoulders, the back of his neck, even the tops of his ears. He made the most pathetic little sounds when you hit a particularly sensitive spot, half-grumble, half-whimper, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
When you finally finished, you wiped your hands and crawled onto the bed beside him, pulling him carefully into your arms. He curled against you immediately, head on your chest, one arm slung over your waist like he needed the contact.
“You’re going to be miserable tomorrow,” you said, stroking his hair.
“Worth it,” he muttered. “Got to see you in that bikini all day.”
You laughed, kissing the top of his head. “Flatterer. Even burned to a crisp, you’re still thinking about my bikini.”
“Can’t help it,” he said, voice already sleepy. “You look good in everything. Even when you’re laughing at my pain.”
You stayed like that for a while, holding him gently, listening to his breathing even out. The sunburn was going to be hell tomorrow — peeling, itching, the works — but right now, he was soft and warm and yours.
The next morning was exactly as predicted.
Jason woke up groaning, rolling over with a wince as the sheets brushed his burned skin. “Fuck. This is worse than getting shot.”
You were already up, mixing a concoction of aloe, cooling lotion, and a little bit of your fancy face cream. “Come here, drama king. Let me fix you.”
He grumbled but let you help him sit up, shirtless and flushed. The burn was angry red across his shoulders, back, and the bridge of his nose. You worked the lotion in carefully, smiling when he made those little hissing sounds.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered.
“I’m enjoying taking care of you,” you corrected, kissing his shoulder. “Even when you’re a big baby about it.”
He huffed but leaned into your touch. “I’m not a baby. I’m a grown man who forgot sunscreen. There’s a difference.”
You laughed, moving to his chest. “Sure. A grown man who whimpers when I touch his sunburn.”
He glared, but there was no heat in it. “Keep that up and I’ll show you how grown I can be.”
You raised an eyebrow, fingers trailing lower. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
He caught your hand, pulling you into his lap despite the wince. “Both. But not until I’m not on fire.”
You kissed him softly, careful of his burned nose. “Deal. But I’m still babying you today. No arguments.”
He sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “Fine. But only because it’s you.”
The rest of the day was spent in full caretaker mode.
You made him stay in bed with the AC blasting, brought him cold water with lemon, and slathered him in more aloe every few hours. He complained the whole time — “This is ridiculous,” “I’m not completely useless,” “Stop laughing at me” — but he let you do it. Every time you kissed his forehead or stroked his hair, he’d soften, pulling you closer despite the burn.
By evening, he was a little less grumpy. You’d gone into the town and bought his favourite food, set up a movie on the laptop, and were carefully applying lotion to his back again when he caught your hand.
“You don’t have to do all this,” he said quietly. “I’m a big boy. I can handle a sunburn.”
You smiled, kissing his shoulder. “I know. But I want to. You take care of me all the time. Let me take care of you for once.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled you into his lap, careful of his back, and buried his face in your neck.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you’re babying me like I’m five.”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. “I love you too. My big, strong, sunburned boyfriend.”
He held you tighter, the TV flickering in the background. The vacation wasn’t perfect — he was going to peel for days — but it was theirs. And in the quiet moments, with Jason’s arms around you and his grumpy complaints turning into soft sighs, you wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
Jason Todd might be the Red Hood.
But on this beach vacation, he was just your boyfriend — sunburned, stubborn, and completely loved.
And you? You were happy to be taking care of him, the way he takes care of you.
a/n: this was so freaking cute to write I’m so freaking AAAA. I can’t find AC, sorry ☹️
taglist: (comment to be added) @batwngs @naymysweetangel @pinklyred @theamazkngskye @the-shape-of-water @sillygayfreak @nightwingsbaddie @starrydustedwinter @imgoinglococrazy
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synopsis you and Jack have always been two pees in a pod, working the ER together, on the field together, no wonder you started to search for those dark eyes and damning smirk. and you thought for a second, just for a second, he might be searching for you too, until you hear the man you're crushing on airing out everything he hates about you
warningstypical medical drama stuff, in-accurate medical terms. miscommunication. angst. insecure reader. language, jack says things he doesn't mean about reader. angry love confession in the rain. this is not proof-read
authornotei really really really loved this idea and tried so hard to do it justice, I hope you like anon. I tried to stay close to the SWAT idea but I'll be honest I know nothing about American army stuff (i'm british) so I sort of set it as much in the Pitt as I could. I also couldn't find ANYTHING for Jack's military background so I made up some SWAT guys
pitt masterlist. another Jack fic!
Just when you thought the rest of your day was going to be boring, Jack Abbot and his crew of SWAT pushed through the ambulance bay doors, yelling off stats, applying pressure where needed and clearing the way around them.
Which was a welcome change from trying to sell Robby your hypothetical first born child in exchange for a lunch break.
“Intubated neck wound, stats are going down. Got a room?” said Jack.
You were at the gurney in an instance, Robby joining the herd in the pushing of the bed. It took you less than a second to see through the bag in the neck and the blood and the uniform to recognise the one on the gurney. “Hiro? What happened?”
“Warehouse robbery gone wrong,” said Jack with almost absent of mind. He said the words and promptly seemed to realise who he was talking to and looked up- at you- again. “You're working today?”
“Oh no, I just hang around in hopes of seeing you in unfiorm.”
Next to you, Robby chuckled and beyond Jack you gave quick greeting to your laughing buddies, clad in SWAT uniform.
You were what could be called, a floater.
By all educational means you were a doctor and a damn good one too. You had every certificate you needed and all the flying colours you could get. You just didn't have a permanent job. You were a sub. You worked mainly at PTMC and on the field but had been known to go to the dark side, a.k.a, Presby.
“Okay, on my count,” you begin. “One, two, three-”
You helped lift him over to the bed.
“Did you intubate him?” you asked,
“Yeah, under active fire,” said Jack.
You looked at Jack. Sweat on his forehead, flecks of grey hair sticking to him and the shirt under his army vest hung lose. He was dishevelled in away romance characters presented on books covers. To lure you in. “You were shot?”
“Shot at.”
“You need to be looked at?”
“No. I'm fine.” His lips were pursed, focus on Hiro.
“Did you see the chords when you intubated?” asked Robby, floating around the two of you as Jack refused to leave Hiro's side and you stayed by Abbot. He'd seen it a dozen times before. A disaster where there was one, there was the other.
There was the occasions he'd hand over to Jack, go home, sleep and come back to find Jack had called in you. You who was always ready to go at the first buzz of your pager. Wherever it was, whatever you had to do. And Robby would look through the patients that night, check the board and understand they hadn't really needed your help all that much.
Jack had.
Now, Robby saw the way you looked at Jack and had seen the gap that existed between the two of you.
“Yeah, I did but it was hard to miss when I cleared them.”
Jack reached and you watched as he stretched, wincing at the pull in his shoulder.
“You should get that looked at,” you told him.
“I'm fine.”
“No, you're not.”
There was a small roll of the eyes as Jack's gaze rose to meet yours through his goggles. There was almost a tiny hint of a smirk- your favourite kind but it disappeared as soon as it appeared.
“Yeah, c'mon Abbot!” said Charlie, calling from the back of his room where he stood with Diaz, two of the SWAT officers you were most frequent with. “Let doc work you up.”
You chuckled low to yourself, trying to catch Jack's eyes to share the joke but he looked away, his jaw clenching.
So, he wasn't in the joking mood.
“Alright, fellas, out!” leaving the wounded's side you ushered them out in spite of their protests and their giddy, hopeful optimism that Officer Hiro would pull through. “We'll let you know any changes, out!”
You pulled on a gown and cleared a way over.
“Demanding,” said Robby.
“You should hear me in the bedroom,” you teased with a wink.
Over on the other side you caught a small click from Jack's tongue. A disapproval voiced loud enough for others to hear.
You grasped the ultrasound wand from the nurse, circling it around the wound at Hiro's neck while Jack pulled away the gauze he'd packed, carefully minding you. “Good lung sliding, no pneumo-”
The last gauze peeled away in a bloody mess and a rope of blood shot out directly at you for vengeance.
“Geez- woah!”
“Pumper!” you announced, clamping your hand over the wound.
The streak of red cut through the skin on your neck, your gown and the doctors coat you liked to wear just like they did in tv shows. You had a draw full of them at home for instances like that.
“Hey, hey,” Jack was at your side quick as you loomed over the body. “Move back, get yourself cleaned up.”
“I can handle a little blood, Abbot.”
“I know that but-”
“- this is a transected trachea now-”
There was little else time to worry about blood on your gown and coat when the intubation was pulled out, the hole in his throat open.
There was a lot people said about you, with words and looks alike but none of which passed you or bothered you. You knew some thought you abrash and loud, you were, you knew it true. On the field the teams you worked with always thought you as one of them, 'one of the guys' but damn it- you were a good doctor.
You ordered everything correctly, you took them and worked them without so much as a blink and Robby stood behind you approving of everything you did.
It was one of the reasons he always called you in.
“Well done, good breaths sounds, stats are up: in the nineties,” approved Robby.
Jack hummed, pulling off his gloves as you all backed away. “Not bad.”
Your carried your smirk with you and over to him. “Is that the great Jack Abbot stamp of approval?”
“You know I think you're good at you're job,” he said, plainly.
You did know that. You knew that Jack admired your skills. He was one of the only ones who'd seen your skills on the field when sometimes all you had left in your kit was the dregs from other procedures or in the hospital when everything was pristine. He'd worked closest to you, probably out of everyone in either one of your jobs.
But there was always something about Jack that kept him far away. He was always a man that was so calm, which in the the face of conflict wasn't a bad call. Yet, it was the quiet moments in between- the way his footfall would slow to match yours, or the glances he'd steal at you half way across the ward, or the extra snacks he'd pack that had you searching rooms for him, checking shifts to see if you'd be around him.
Then when you were, Jack pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, acted like he wanted to be anywhere else sometimes than at your side.
He was a complicated man. Annoyingly that's what added to your attraction- and everyone knew it.
Once the two of you told Officer Charlie and Diaz that Hiro was stable enough to be taken to surgery you followed after Jack.
“You sure you don't want me to look at that shoulder for you?”
“Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine,” he excused.
“Don't want the paperwork?”
“Something like that,” said Jack, still shifting around in pain as he tried to roll his shoulder out.
“Okay, okay, but get it looked at!” you called off, ready to shed your coat or at least try and rub off some of Hiro's blood.
There was a mutter from Jack before he went another way.
You looked back to him once, watching as he walked off with a small limp that probably wasn't detectable to anyone that didn't analyse him like you did. It was a brutal sort of thing, SWAT, and with Abbot's sleep schedule you knew it was only worse. Eight- maybe ten hour shifts for so little sleep to get thrown back into the fire- literally. You wondered how he did it.
And, why.
Jack flexed out his shoulder at the press of the q-tip to his back.
He meant it, the wound really wasn't that bad. It had grazed through his clothes and vest but still hit just enough to leave an angry welt and bruising. He was content to hide away and sort it himself if it weren't for the fact he couldn't reach.
Then Samira Mohan walked by and offered her help. He was already tired, annoyed that those punks had thought it a good idea to rob a warehouse in the middle of the day, already worried about Hiro and his recovery. Then- there was you, with your snarky comments while saving his life, not batting a lash at the blood that got splattered on you in the mean time and still having time to flirt with Robby.
And prancing around in this scrub pants that were surely just a bit too tight.
Jack was wound up, which was why he admitted surrender and allowed Mohan to clean out his wound.
“Why do you do this?” she'd asked.
Jack had folded his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware he was shirtless in front of her. “My therapist says I need a hobby. I suck at golf.”
She hummed. “Funny.”
“Thank you.”
He made conversation to be polite, asking about the fellowships he knew others were already applying for. Crus had been telling him about them and he knew Mohan was searching to.
They were chatting was all when Robby walked by, looking in to check.
He frowned when he saw Mohan and Abbot, pausing in his fly by with a hand in the door way.
Jack watched as Robby looked around again at the ward, undoubtedly searching for you.
“We're almost finished up here,” said Mohan.
Robby held up his hands. “I didn't say anything,” he said, leaning in the doorway. He passed Jack a nod. “You good?”
“Getting there, thanks to Doctor Mohan's capable hands.” Jack kept his eyes averted from Robby as if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd told you the wound didn't need looking at because he was going to handle it.
Robby looked at him the sort of way he looked at patients when he knew they were lying about their scale of pain. “Can you give us a second?”
Just as Jack was about to push himself up Samira moved behind him.
“Er, yeah, sure. No problem,” she said, pulling off her gloves and listing off post-care instructions from instinct. “Keep it clean and the dressing fresh.”
“Can do, Doctor Mohan. Thank you.”
Robby stepped out of the way for Mohan before walking in, staring at Jack with his hands in his pockets.
Jack found his shirt discarded on the floor and pulled it over him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Clearly,” said Jack.
“Are you avoiding her, now?”
Jack didn't need to ask who he was talking about and Robby didn't need to specify. “Course not.”
“Did she do something?”
“No.”
“So what was all that? Back in trauma?” asked Robby. His eyes were beady, waiting to pick up on any shift in Jack or anything that might betray him. But Robby wore his heart on his sleeve. He might think he doesn't or thinks he's good at hiding such emotions away but Jack and everyone else sees them anyhow.
Jack had his heart buried deep down. “I dunno, man,” he huffed, ignoring the burning sensation as he pulled his shirt back over him. “Maybe I just didn't feel like joking around when my buddy was bleeding out on the table.”
Robby shook his head, eyes creasing. “People bleed out all the time.”
Jacks lips pursed as he worked on tucking his shirt back into his pants. Anything to keep him occupied and averted from Robby’s knowing gaze.
“I haven’t seen you this worked up since you first met her,” he teased.
“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbot grumbled.
Robby chuckled low in his throat, leaning back on the wall comfortable like he was watching his favourite show. “When two consenting adults like each other very much-”
“I don’t,” said Jack, abrupt. “I don’t… like her.”
“Jack, c’mon-”
Jack turned to Robby. He considered his confusion. Sure, you were a great doctor and even better on the field. Something about the chaos seemed to focus you, bringing out your best self. You were funny, even at the worse times.
“She’s not it for me,” he said, trying to mean those words.
Your smile first thing in the morning didn’t warm him. The fact you knew his coffee order after only two days of working together didn’t make him feel special. You were incredibly intelligent. Beautiful.
Jack twisted and turned around his wedding band.
Robby watched, heaving a sigh. “Brother…”
Jack couldn’t keep you in his heart when his dead wife still held a place there. It wasn’t fair to you.
“She’s not it, Robby.”
“And why not?” He asked, pushing and prodding against his bag of lies like he knew he was carrying it.
“She’s different- we’re two different. You know with my- with my wife we worked. She wasn’t a doctor, she didn’t throw her life away on field missions. She wasn’t… she wasn’t ruthless, she was soft. Perfect for me.”
He pressed down against the metal band branding him.
“You’re not gonna give yourself a chance to be happy because she’s not like your wife?” Asked Robby.
Jack glanced back at him. “I know what works for me. I can’t be with someone as loud or… bash. She’s-she’s brutal, you know.”
Robby nodded but there was a furrow between his brows. “We all have our own ways of dealing with things.”
“Her way is drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there’s no healthy habits there,” argued Jack. Why he was arguing about you with Robby he didn’t know. Why he was defending himself with words that fell like led on his tongue he had no idea.
“Okay,” said Robby in a way that marked defeat.
But Jack didn’t believe what he was saying. He heard himself and frowned. “And I don’t even think she’s a person who could settle down. Hmm, I mean look at her job? She’s constantly in between them.”
“She’s a sub, that’s what she does-”
“- scared of commitment,” corrected Jack.
Robby scoffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you’re in a mood or something.” He pushed himself from the wall.
“No, I’m not,” he argued a little too quick and a little too harsh to be okay with what he was saying. “She’s a good person she’s just not my person. You know she-she doesn’t even like flowers, who doesn’t like flowers?”
“She’s more than a good person, Jack,” said Robby with an air of defeat about him. With one last look back to Jack he left, closing the door gently behind him.
In the seconds the door was open Jack sort a peek out. You were at the nurses desk, leaning over a tablet, the blue glow illuminating you. There was a troubled look to your face, scrunching your brows and marring your usual unflappable gaze. Jack almost wanted to see the chart himself and ask what was bothering you, but he knew you never told him, only ever let it be yourself that saw your problems.
Another thing he couldn’t stand. You’d never ask for help.
Even if, Jack couldn’t admit it out loud, he’d help without an invitation too.
You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet doctors ran on hope. Without hope trauma rooms became morgues and body’s became empty vessels. You’d built hope into your system, kept somewhere between your heart and stomach.
That’s why you felt it plummet.
She’s not it for me.
There was no intention to listen in on a conversation that clearly you weren’t supposed to know about. You'd just been passing by when you heard your name from Jacks mouth. That was enough to stop you in place. If your feet weren't frozen you would have moved, made yourself busy or call up to surgery to check on Hiro.
But as Jack went on your heart plummeted.
She's brutal.
It wasn't until you heard Robby defend you that you moved away, hiding with your back to the exam room and hunching over a tablet that held no chart.
You'd always assumed Jack was just harder to crack then some of the other SWAT guys. You could read most of them within days, know their moods from a glance. You'd never been able to read Jack and maybe it was because he didn't want to be known by you.
You thought seeing Hiro with a hole in his neck would be the worst thing of the day but you caught your reflection in the black screen of the tablet and resented the way things blurred around you.
She's not it for me.
“Hey-” Robby was behind you and you tucked your head into your chest. His hand squeezed your shoulder. “Central twelve when you have a chance.”
“You got it, boss.” Luckily your voice remained steady despite the waver in your throat.
Robby gave a nod and left you to it.
Had Jack had hatred for you since you knew him and just never said a word? Did you do something for him to harbour these feelings?
Besides from not being his wife.
The door closed again and on instinct you looked over your shoulder, catching Jack adjusting his belt. He looked up and found your gaze, offering you a pulled smile.
It was like every other smile he'd ever given you.
You'd been so blind with affection to not see it. What a fool.
You couldn't even pull your lips back up, you just walked away.
Weeks went by in flashes of sleepless nights and lonely days.
The sick and injured didn't wait for you to get over yourself, instead they helped.
You offered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter in Presby and even Westbridge. You pulled doubles, catching small naps in any empty exam room or on-call room you could find. You started to learn staff names when you'd never cared before.
A group of nurses at Westbridge even invited you out for drinks.
“Drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there's no healthy habits there” you remembered Jack's voice and declined their invitation.
When SWAT called you had an excuse. A plumber was coming around... you were re-modelling; suddenly your apartment was going through half a dozen makeovers and all your childhood friends were visiting.
“You know you're not a very good liar,” Diaz had said when he called you for a drink and you declined. That day you were taking your mom's dog to the vet (your mom was a cat person and in another state)
Your apartment became a cave and you became a shell of yourself, un-ironically listening to the high school musical soundtrack and crying.
And still you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at Jack. Of course he wouldn't want you- he had a wife. And a memory of that wife to keep him walm. What could he do with you? If you weren't his type, you weren't his type. If it was just that maybe you could have moved on.
But he didn't like you as a person and that stung more.
You didn't know how long it had been since you were last at PTMC, only long enough that you started to scramble corridors in your mind and forget what some of the nurses sounded like.
“We have a mass casualty event,” said Robby on the phone one Sunday morning. His voice sounded different, but you supposed time played tricks on your memory. “School bus incident. You in?”
You were in pyjamas at home, some crappy tv on low. “I'll have to check, Presby might need me.”
Robby scoffed down the line. “Have they called yet?”
“Well, no-”
“Then get your ass over here.”
“Robby-”
“Please, please get your ass over here,” he said down the line, sighing heavily. “I.... I could really use another set of hands.”
Robby didn't say please. Ever. So how could you say no.
Within the hour you were dressed an,d thrown into the anarchy.
You got through the ambulance doors, was thrown a gown and got to work. You didn't even see Robby to let him know you were there, you just found Langdon and worked beside him.
“I need some help over here!” yelled out a paramedic.
At once you and Langdon were at her side, pushing along the gurney.
“Kid, fracted tib-fib, pupils mid range and sluggish- couldn't get a line we had to intubate.”
“Dana what's open?” called out Langdon.
“Room in trauma one!”
Mass casualty meant trauma rooms doubled up, pushed up against either wall. Mass casualty meant extra hands called in- like you. Still, when you pushed through the door and found Jack's eyes look up you spared half a second in apprehension.
“You're here,” was all he said.
You didn't know what to say. There was some snarky comment on the tip of your tongue as you settled the boy in the corner but you remembered you weren't supposed to be that person.
Jack didn't like that person.
“Yeah, in the flesh,” replied Frank instead.
“Chest trauma on the right!” you assessed. “We need an X-ray in here.”
“X-ray's backed up,” Jack called from where he hovered over another patient.
“Then get me an ultrasound!” you called out. “Push five migs of epi down the tube and hang a unit of O-neg on the rapid infuser.”
“BP'S eighty over fifty, pulse is at one-twelve!” called out Princess.
You felt someone bump in your shoulder and knew by inhale it was Jack. He was close at your side, pulling off and on another pair of gloves.
“What have you got?” he asked.
It wasn't instinct to move away from him. It was practised control that had you swapping sides with Frank, practically pushing him into Jack.
“Chest trauma to the right, he's tacky,” he explained quickly.
You pulled out your stethoscope, listening closely. “His breathing's stridor, I need a thoracotomy tray!”
“A thoracotomy?” asked Jack, voice oddly quiet in the trauma as if it was whispered just next to you. “You sure you can handle that?”
“I'm a good doctor, if I'm nothing else,” you bit out, swinging your stethoscope back around your neck. You weren't going to allow yourself to fall back into old habits, of questioning what Jack didn't like so much about you. You focused on the un-conscious boy under the mercy of your hands. You ordered the right tools, made the cut neat and precise, pushing more pain relief.
“Any tamponade?” asked Jack.
You checked the boys blood pressure. “No, pericardium's dry.”
“Okay, start an-”
“- start an internal massage-”
You and Jack said at the same time.
Frank seemed stuck in headlights before he reached through the incision in the boys chest and slowly started to work the heart.
“Pulse?”
“Barely.”
Jack frowned, looking over at your work. “Cross clamp the aorta, and push another mig of antropine.”
“I need suction!”
“Got anything for surgery?” asked a new voice, Doctor Walsh checking between the patients in the room.
“Oh no, we've brought the OR down to us,” said Jack.
Doctor Walsh rounded, catching the suction and the message of the heart. “Are you doing a thoracotomy right now?”
“Don't look at me,” said Jack, surrendering.
Before anyone could argue with you, question your capability you snapped out. “I know what I'm doing!”
Jack was silent, Frank smirked and Walsh rose a brow.
“Clamped,” said Princess.
“Someone push in another of antropine and get another unit of blood in,” you ordered.
There was a sudden buzzing as all eyes averted to the monitor.
“He's going into V-fib!”
You wiped your bloody and gloved hands down your gown. “Okay, I need internal panels!”
They were handed to you and Jack rushed to your side.
“You want me to-” he started but you already had the panels in hand and were ordering their charge.
“Charge to thirty! Clear!”
Like you were cupping the heart with your own hands you nudged the panels on either side and shocked. There were little miracles sometimes in the ED and with a bus full of school children you needed miracles.
“There! He's stable!” said Princess.
“We've got a girl coming in, needs stabalising and an ortho consult!” said Lena, throwing the door open. It seemed everyone had been called in.
“I'll take this guy, don't want you getting all the credit,” smirked Walsh as she and the team wheeled out the boy. She looked back at you, almost waiting for you to say more- some funny joke or flirtatious tease.
You only waved past her to get the young girl into the room.
Everyone in the room looked at you as you honed in on the next casualty, ignoring the pang in your heart at Jack's gaze.
When the girl for ortho came in you could only work on stabilising her before Park the Shark descended and took her up, assuring the bag was on ice. He gave you a less ten friendly look. Seemingly Jack wasn't the only one who couldn't stand you.
The hours ticked by in bodies of different kids, in shades of blood and traumas. By the time you got outside for some fresh air it was night and one lonely ambulance sat with you.
You were catching your breath when you heard the doors slide open and shut again. You imagined it was someone else wanting some peace and air, or a paramedic heading back out on the road.
“You were impressive in there,” said Jack, coming to stand next to you. There was a large enough gap that another body could have fit there.
“Thank you.”
He gave one short nod. “Robby call you in?”
“Yeah.”
“Same here,” he said, not that you'd asked. “You know, Hiro's doing well.”
You paled in the night. Lost in your own self-loathing you hadn't even asked about Hiro, or gone to see him. You'd heard he was okay when he dropped a message from the ICU but that was as far as it got. “Oh yeah, I know, I heard.”
“What, from the guys?”
You nodded, lips pursing as you crossed your arms over your chest in the light chill.
“You know they told me you haven't been around much,” said Abbot. “I've noticed it too. We all went to Larry's the other night, your invitation get lost?”
Was it a test? Was it a joke to him?
“No, I just didn't want to drink. Trying to cut down, it's not so healthy,” you said, kicking one foot in front of the other.
“One or two's not bad,” he said. “Couple of us are gonna grab a beer once this is all over. You joining us? Usual spot.”
She's brutal, you know.
You looked to him first. He was already looking at you, eyes creased like he was trying to see through you. It was real and earnest and making his words from weeks ago hurt even more.
“No thanks, Jack.” You almost reached to his shoulder but thought better of it.
Heading back in seemed the safer option.
Jack turned when you did. “Noody's seen you for weeks-”
“- I've been busy-”
“- except those nurses in Presby, they see you all the time apparently-”
“- they've been busy, they've called me in-”
“- I called you three times last week, you didn't answer-”
“- I didn't think you'd want me.” It was about the only honest thing you'd said in weeks. Your trainers squeaked on the ground just before the hospital, the automatic doors ready to welcome you back.
Jack was at your side, close enough you could see the lines of confusion in his face. “Why would you think that?”
You tried to think of a quick excuse but every word died prematurely in your throat. You chocked on them.
“Hey-hey-” Jacks hand fell to your back, soothing it in calming rubs.
You allowed yourself to bask in one circular motion of his hand and your back before you stepped away, backing up from the doors that slid shut again on instant.
“What’s going on?” Asked Jack, following in your steps.
“Nothing, nothing.”
Jack made a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, talk to me.”
He let you think about what to say, stewing in silence where your mind became alive with everything he’d said, with every terrible thing you’d already thought about yourself. You imagined every time you’d cracked a joke that was maybe too perverse. You tried to picture Jacks face but came out blank. Was it loathing? Contempt?
Your voice betrayed you with a shake as you spoke again. “I do like flowers.”
“Huh?”
You wiped at your eyes and turned to him. “I like flowers,” you said, stronger. “Nobody’s ever brought me flowers but I- I like them.”
For anyone else it would’ve took time to click. They’d have stood there, looking at you like you’d gone mad, spewing out words that out of context meant nothing.
But Jack was not just any other clueless guy. He was the guy who always packed left overs and left them in the fridge, he always cooked enough to make sure he’d have left overs. He was the sort that always checked in on pedes patients and made sure they had enough colourful bandages for them.
Jack knew what you were saying immediately. His jaw tensed. “I- I shouldn't have said that.”
“You said a lot of things,” you said, holding yourself tighter. “Sounded like you meant them.”
He gulped. “I didn't mean-”
“-what, for me to hear it?”
“No, I didn't mean for what I said to come out as- as bad,” he said.
“Well it didn't come out as shining praise either.” You turned from him, looking out to the building and lights. Somewhere n the distance a siren wailed.
“Robby- Robby was saying things, teasing, I just waned to shut him up.”
You chuckled with loathing. “No you didn't. It's okay, Jack, you don't have to like me, I just wish you didn't make it seem like you did.”
“Hey!” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He was without a scrub top and his t-shirt clad to his biceps, his muscles flexing as his jaw worked. “I do like you.”
You rolled your eyes. “No you don't.”
“I do-I do-” Jack grabbed the top of your arms, stopping you from walking away. His grip was tight, not enough to bruise but enough to beg you not to leave. “I do like you.”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It does, it does.” Jack crouched enough in his knees to get a look at your face that you kept trying to turn away from him.
“You know the worst thing is? It's that I know,” you uttered, voice quiet. You didn't trust yourself to shout- even if you really wanted to- in fear your voice cracked, humiliatingly.
Jack's eyes softened, his thumb drawing up and down in comfort. “Know what?”
“I know that I can be a lot. I go out with the guys, I drink, I make jokes when things get bad because what else am I supposed to do? Cry? Let the grief of the job swallow me up?”
“No. No, of course not,” he said, lips pulled down.
You hated that you still wanted to make him smile. “I could keep a job if I wanted to but I like meeting the people-”
“- I know, I know you do-”
“- and now I'm here defending myself to a guy who probably doesn't even want to hear it!” Trying to turn in Jack's hold was feeble, his grip was strong and he moved with you.
“You don't have to defend yourself, you have nothing to defend!”
“You know what the worst part is?”
Jack shook his head, waiting.
“It's the guy you liked and admired the most seeing everything you hate about yourself and hating you for it too.”
Jack flinched as of you'd slapped him. The chill in the air grew colder around you and all the light from the dim glow of the lamps shrunk away, leaving you and Jack in a self-made darkness. You felt his grip weaken and savoured the feel of him a moment longer.
It was only when you couldn't stomach it anymore that you retreated back into work.
Jack had fucked up.
There was no easy way of putting it. There was no clinical way of looking at it, no diagnosis to give other than he had fucked up.
He'd never heard himself speak and hated the sound of his own voice. Never caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with tired eyes and a pale expression and loath to see the sight. When he looked at himself, all he saw was your own face heart-broken. When he heard himself talking he remembered everything he'd said.
He could have blamed it on the pain in his shoulder, the worry over Hiro, the lack of sleep he'd been struggling with for days but he had a therapist for all that. You didn't deserve that burden.
He was un-focused the following week in work. Patient satisfaction was at an all time low with him. He'd opened up to his SWAT buddies over a self-pitying pint and had been shunned.
“What's your problem?” Charlie had said, two beers deep and a haze over his eyes. “She's a fucking saint. She'd lay down her life for any one of us- what the fuck man?”
“She won't return my calls,” Jack told them. “Can you just... just call her?”
They'd refused, with good reason.
He'd tried texting his apology. He'd tried calling you in but he found from a contact at Westbridge you'd been covering nights while their attending was on holiday.
It was a brash decision to call in to PTMC and tell them he'd be late, he was running an errand. Nobody questioned him.
Westbridge was darker than the hospital he was used t, built up on top of each other but they were no less busy than himself. Patients were lined up in corridors and there was hardly a seat left in chairs when he walked through.
“Can I help you?” asked the nurse at reception, eyeing Jack and the bouquet of flowers he held.
He said he was looking for you.
“She's in a trauma right now, can I take a message?”
“Can you tell her Ja-Jack's here.” For a moment he debated lying, saying it was Robby wanting to see you, or maybe you didn't want to see Robby either. Deceit wasn't going to be his friend.
Jack waited and tried not to look around, tried not to let himself get caught in the heavy bustle of another hospital as he waited for you. He ignored the coughing from the waiting room that definitely sounded like it would require a chest CT.
There was a crash of doors and he caught sight of you rushing out, protective goggles over your eyes and bloodied gown clad to you.
“Jack, what is it? Are you okay?” your eyes were frantic, searching him.
Ah. Of course you'd think something had happened. When you hear someone's in the hospital it's very rarely to just say hi. “I realise I should've specified,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his brow. “I just- I wanted to see you. And give you these.”
Sensing this was a conversation she definitely wanted to be around for yet probably wouldn't be allowed to, the nurse at reception left the two of you to it and Jack sat the flowers down on the counter in-between you.
You eyed the shades of red roses, of yellow tulips, the violet of the iris and the pink of the peony.
“I didn't know what you liked so, I kind of got one of everything,” he said, sighing to himself. He should have got two of every flower the florist had on hand. “I didn't get Lilies, the lady at the shop said it's a show of death and sunflowers aren't in season, apparently.”
“They're very nice, thank you,” you said.
“They come with an I'm sorry:” said Jack. “I'm sorry.”
You wet your lips and pursed them, nodding slowly. “Okay.”
Jack looked down to his boots. “It's not, I know it's not, nothing I said is okay and I didn't mean it.”
You didn't say anything at that, only taking in a quivering breath.
He ignored the irritation in his prosthetic as he crouched to catch your gaze. Jack wasn't used to having to search for your gaze, usually he always found it already on him. He only realised how much he valued finding you in the middle of the storm when you wouldn't look at him.
“I didn't mean it,” he enunciated every word, begging you to hear them.
Your gaze studied around Westbridge, hoping for a distraction.
“I messed up, it's on me. It's not you.”
“The classic it's not you, it's me?” you dismissed.
Jack winced. It was cliché, damn him. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He watched as your fingers brushed over a flower petal, picking it off like plucking a string on a guitar. He felt his heart pound in his chest.
“Can I get back to work now?” you asked, gently.
What was he thinking? Turning up to where you were tying to do some good. Where you were doing good- it was what you did. Did he expect the flowers to fix everything? No. Only he could. But he'd grovel, he'd beg, he'd crawl after you for the rest of his miserable life and do it all while building you a rose garden.
He'd do all of that for one minute of your eyes on his.
“Just promise you'll come back. To the Pitt. Whole place is going to crap without you.” He tried to joke but it was a pathetic thing.
“Okay. Yeah.” Your shoulders lifted in in-difference.
“And don't ignore the guys. They're going out for drinks tomorrow night. I won't be there. They all pretty much think I'm a dick anyway.”
There was a glimpse of a smile.
Jack played on. “I'm a total, total dick, a jerk!”
An elderly lady being escorted by with a nurse and an IV trailing her paused and glanced his way.
“Sorry,” he uttered.
You hid your chuckled behind your mouth but he caught a second of it.
It was enough for now.
Your name was called down the corridor.
“He's in V-tach!” a nurse announced before disappearing again.
“Go,” said Jack, taking himself out of the equation. “Just, please. Don't be a stranger.”
Jack wasn't lying when he said the place was going to crap without you. How they managed on shifts without your charm to work fretting family and friends down, or your terrible singing in between exams he didn't know.
Walking through the ambulance doors for his shift there was already paramedics pushing an empty and slightly blood stained gurney back into their rig. There was a crowd of elderly patients in beds and gowns left at the side and phones were ringing, drilling into his eardrums.
“Where the hell is she?” barked Robby, spotting Jack and no you.
Jack dumped his bag at the counter. “What happened here?”
“Nursing home caught fire, now where is she? We're swamped her, I thought you were going to get her and bring her back?”
Jack grumbled, frowning at the counter. “She's busy at West.”
“West? God-” Robby groaned, looking around the place and cursing. “Listen, I don't care what you have to do to make it up to her, buy her a florist, give her a ring, get down on your knees, I don't fucking care- I need her here.”
“You think I don't?” Jack snapped.
Robby eyed him, hand clenched on the counter. “Tell her the truth-”
“-Robby-”
“-no, you tell her you didn't mean a damn thing you said. That you were scared loving someone that isn't your wife.”
Glass. Jack was made of glass. If Robby could see through him so clearly why couldn't you? Why couldn't you see the truth? That Jack liked you, liked you more than he'd liked anyone. That loving you meant leaving the life he lived with his wife behind, yet carrying a part of her with him always. He didn't want to do that to you. He didn't want to make you live with a ghost or carry his grief. There were days where it was too hard for him to handle.
Robby sighed. “You think she'd want you to be happy?”
A muscle in Jack's neck tensed as he went to nod but was held back by himself.
“Talk to her,” said Robby clamping him on the shoulder quickly before disappearing.
Hiding away wasn't going to solve anything. That's what Robby said to you in a desperate plea to get you back to helping him out with shifts.
Truth was you weren't hiding away... as much.
Drinks with the guys had been hours of them telling you Jack was wrong, after Jack had exposed himself to them, laying the situation on the table. As promised, he wasn't there but every conversation revolved around him so much so it felt like he was at your side. You defended Jack when they argued against him. You told them you knew you were loud at times, maybe you shouldn't joke around as much as you did.
They'd laughed, thinking it was a joke itself.
They told you not to change.
It was hard not to. Every time you heard yourself get loud or get a look from people at the other table your instinct was to shrink. When Diaz tripped on the curb out the bar you laughed instead of helping him and was left with your own guilt when you got home.
Un-learning habits was hard. Learning to live with them was harder.
You started with baby steps. A day shift here, a day shift there, by hand-offs you were always gone. Yet, in the staff lounge there sat a fresh bouquet of flowers every morning. As soon as they started to wilt another fresh bunch was placed over night.
Nothing was said. Nothing ever had to be.
“Shen's out, food poisoning,” said Robby over the phone another day. “You know I wouldn't ask if there was no otherway.”
Which was how you ended up working a night shift. The first in months.
Jack's eyes lit up as you walked in, it was impossible not to notice. The only eyes to rival his sparkle was Lena's when she saw you.
It was the sort of night that held your attention. That roped you in and demanded you listened. Not overly busy but not quiet enough to cause you and Jack to be held captive in the same room. Only seconds passed in hallways when he looked like he was going to say something before being called away, taunt in the neck and gripping his stethoscope for the life of him.
“Am I going to need surgery?” asked the young boy in five who you were examining. A nasty accident in his dad's garage ended up with a laceration to the foot.
“Not surgery but a couple stitches to bring the skin back together, and you're gonna have to stay off your feet for a while,” you said.
The boys eyes grew wide in joy. “So, no school?”
You chuckled as his mom pinched his shoulder playfully. “Well, I can't be the deciding factor on that, I'm afraid.”
You put in the orders for stitches.
“Is it gonna hurt?” asked the boy, shrinking back in his bed.
“We're gonna numb you up so you don't feel anything,” you assured. “Tell you what, I have a secret stash of candy that I only share with my favourite patients, how's that sound, you want something?”
The boy tried not to be too eager in his nodding but it took less than two second for him to grin.
You didn't expect anyone in the lounge when you went in search for candy usually lying around.
Jack was hunched over the table, pulling out the dying flowers and arranging fresh ones. He stopped when you walked in, the door closing gently behind you. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“I was just... maintenance,” he mumbled.
You nodded along, a thick awkwardness engulfing the two of you. “Maintenance... yeah... sure...”
You moved around him, keeping a good distance around the space of him like he was a poisonous snake. The cabinet was high up, the tin an old sewing one where you hid your most precious protein bars and sugar packed candy.
“Here, I can-”
His body was sturdy against the back of you as he reached up for the tin. Few select people were allowed to know about its contents and Jack was on of the first ones you trusted. He raised his arm and you watched the freckles along his arm move and ripple. Upon inhale you took a deep breath of lingering cologne, mixed with the hearty sterile hand wash of the ED.
Jack's own head tilted down and your heard him inhale, deeply.
The tin fell into your hand.
Jack stared down. “Oh- er, there.”
“Thanks.”
It was about all the conversation you got with Jack your shift was over. The morning was just breaking through the clouds at six, bringing with it a down pour. You'd already punched out, handed off your patients to McKay and was left standing under the small awning of the ambulance bay, trying to out wait the rain.
It took ten minutes for Jack to follow you out.
“You heading out?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Yeah. I'm just waiting for my uber.”
Jack frowned. “What happened to your car?”
“It's in the garage.”
“Well... I can give you a lift,” he suggested.
The rain hammered down harder above you, steady streams falling from the awning to at your feet. As discreet as possible you checked the location on you uber. Just around the corner. In the rain it had taken longer.
“No, it's okay, you don't have to.”
“I'd like to,” said Jack, stepping closer. “I'd like a chance to talk to you. To tell you everything that I meant by my words.”
You'd almost hoped you could carry on as you were: extremely avoidant.
“You don't have to, Jack.”
“I do- I do!” he insisted, hands out in front of him as if desperate to grasp you. He held himself back. “Please let me.”
Stomaching more of his words, whether it be excuses as to what he meant to say or just doubling down and insisting what he said was true. You didn't think you were strong enough for either.
Your phone buzzed in hand as a slick back black car pulled up, window rolling down and calling your name.
“No, wait-wait!” said Jack, holding a hand up to you with all the authority of an attending still on duty.
“Jack, what are you-” You were struck in place, watching him lean through the window, rain dampening his shirt as he un-folded a few bills and handed them to the driver.
“We don't need you know, sorry man,” Jack mumbled.
Your jaw hung open as you stepped out into the rain, bottom of your scrub pants dampening at once. “What?”
The driver tutted. “I still want me five star review!” He drove off quickly, splashing the two of you as he went.
“Oh- serious?” Jack gritted. “Now I wish I hadn't given him such a tip.”
The puddles of rain were seeping into your trainers as you walked off, out of the way of ambulances and cars, pulling your jacket tighter around you.
“Wait! Wait!” Jack called after you, boots slapping in the water. He all but jumped in front of you, stumbling lightly at the shift in his bad leg. “Wait.”
“I don't know what else you want to say to me, Jack?”
“Nothing I say can excuse what I said-”
“-so why try?”
“Because it's killing me being like this!” he snapped. The rain was pouring down, falling down his cheeks and nose. “It's killing me to look for your smile and not see it. It's killing me to hear a joke and you not laugh. Everything I said, it-it re-plays in my head and I'm sorry.”
“I know you are, Jack, I just need time!”
“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'll give you anything you need. But just let me say one thing. You owe me nothing, I'm begging you.”
To prove a point Jack crouched, starting to get down on his knees, hands already clenched together. To spare you the embarrassment and him the ache in his leg you tugged him back up.
He stared at you, breathless. He was as drenched as you, the both of your scrubs stuck to you.
“I haven't loved anyone since my wife,” said Jack. “I haven't tried, I didn't want to try. I was... not happy, but content to just carry on with her here-” he curled a fist at his chest. “And then you... and I couldn't not feel anything for you. I tried- I really tried.”
“Okay. You tried. I get it,” you mumbled.
“But I started to love you and I hated myself for it. It felt like I was betraying her by wanting someone else. By wanting you. And I did- I do want you. Every terrible joke you made, Jesus, I couldn't laugh in front of patients and their families. When you go out drinking with us and the guys in our team and you sing karaoke badly-”
“Excuse me?”
Jack winced. “I mean great, great karaoke.”
You chuckled.
“I can't take back the fact you're different from my wife, you are, but I don't think that's a bad thing- it's not. Because I still love you. I love that you're loud, I love that you draw attention to yourself as soon as you walk into a room, my attention is always on you anyway,” he smiled, sadly. It was the kind of smile a lover would give as they watched the love of their life leave them. “I shouldn't have made my grief your problem. I shouldn't have hated myself for feeling love again and I shouldn't have tried to convince myself hating you. I mean, that was just- just impossible.”
You looked down to your trainers, seeing the darkening colour where the water soaked in. “I've loved you for so long now, Jack.”
He waited, catching his breath, for more.
You looked up at him. “I'm sorry. About your wife. I can't imagine how hard it is for you. But I don't want to fall in love with a man who constantly advertises me next to his wife.”
Jack nodded, looking down.
The rain was probably helpful, hiding any tears you'd give away.
“I love you, separate to how I love my wife. And I loved her, I did. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life dead inside. Be on my death bed when I'm eighty looking back at all the times I should've kissed you.”
His words pulled at your heart, your feelings that you'd been burying deep inside clashing together inside of you.
“By the time you're eighty, I'll be like, in my sixties?” you said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And looking to settle down.”
Jack laughed, and you laughed and for a second that was almost enough. The rain had made the grey in his hair darker, almost making him look younger. “I'm not saying I won't fuck up, I probably will, I have a therapist for a reason.”
“Therapy is good,” you said.
Jack's eyes were lighting up slowly with every teasing comment you made. Something akin to hope flickered between the two of you. “But I will never draw comparison to you and my wife. I'll never make you feel like second choice. I'll never dump my grief onto you. If you just give me one chance, just one chance at making this right.”
As sorry's went... as love confessions went.
“I'm scared what it means to love you, Jack,” you said, slowly, feeling the words around your mouth.
“I know, I know,” Jack reached over, clumsily brushing back your damp hair from your cheeks. In spite of the rain, his skin was still soft and hot on you. “I am too.”
You searched his eyes before whispering. “Can I kiss you?”
He smirked a little. “No.”
Your heart dropped.
Jack's hands tilted your head back before you could tuck yourself away. “Can I kiss you?”
His lips were slick and wet from rain but no less sort after from you. He didn't push or prod for more, he just laid his lips against yours with enough pressure for you to know he was there. For you to always remember he was there.
You could have stayed like that for hours, practically standing on each others toes as your own hands came up to clutch his biceps, fingertips digging into his freckles.
You pulled away only when you needed to catch your breath.
Jack's lips chased yours, body tumbling into you slightly as his eyes took seconds to open like coming out from a dream.
You ran your hands up his shoulders. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes and soaked in the words.
“Will you let me?” you asked.
“Always,” he promised.
thank you to anon for requesting, and thank you to @oldbaddies and @mafercita101 who wanted to be tagged :)
authors notes: i love me a good age gap fic, HOWEVER, what if he had an equal aged and equally as stubborn girlfriend? guess we're about to find out. i loved writing this, i love writing for the pitt (even if it pushes me out of my comfort zone.)
warnings: reader has the nickname dr sunshine even though she's the opposite, reader gets assaulted by a patient, talk of healthcare workers getting assualted, they're both as stubborn as each other. i think that's it, but let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 1.8k
summary:
jack loves you, he does, but when you take a hit out in the ambulance bay by a less than satisfied patient and try to brush it off, you test every inch of his patience.
masterlist!
you were fine. totally fine.
if you told yourself that enough times then you were hoping it would come true.
the cold concrete underneath your back and the blood in your mouth told you otherwise. you hadn't seen him coming, maybe that was made the whole thing worse. even if you had of seen him, he was way too big for you to do anything about. you recognised him vaguely, some disgruntled guy who'd come into chairs during day shift and was still there when you clocked in tonight—and looked like he wanted to take it out on someone.
that someone was you.
you groaned as you pushed yourself up onto your knees, blood splattering from your nose onto the pavement. this could be worse, you thought to yourself. not because the injuries could have been worse, but because there could have been witnesses. "okay, atta girl. you're strong, you got this." you murmured in a pathetic attempt to hype yourself up. it worked in some twisted kinda way as you got back up to your feet, leaning against the wall as the first wave of dizziness hit.
the er was still buzzing as you stepped back through the ambulance doors, the wall of noise hitting you like a freight train. "hey, can you—woah, alright." ellis rested her hand on your shoulder as she guided you toward the nurses station before she pulled a chair around from the other side, pushing you down gently before you had chance to complain. "sit. someone grab abbot, and tell security to get off their asses! " she knew what you were like, shen knew what you were like—anyone who worked a shift with you knew what you were like.
but even you couldn't brush off an assault.
jack was just stepping out of central one as he clocked it. well, he clocked someone saying his name first and then his head lifted, eyes locking with yours. you looked like you'd been steam rollered, let alone punched. right eye darker than his usual cup of coffee, blood trickling down from your nose, it wasn't good. he crossed the er with the efficiency of a predator chasing it's prey, dodging everything that had potential to distract him.
"the hell happened?" he asked as he dropped to a knee in front of you, already pulling on the gloves that ellis was holding out. "real bad time to propose, abbot. i know i'm not that classy, but i at least expect dinner first. maybe a glass of wine." you teased as you let him tilt your head back, letting your eyes flicker up to the ceiling so you didn't have to watch worry spread across his face.
sometimes he couldn't say a whole lot with his words, but he couldn't quite keep his expressions in check. "no loss of consciousness, mild dizziness when i got back up, probably a broken nose and some bruising at best." you reeled off like you were handing off a patient instead of being one. "it was that guy from chairs, the one who kept hassling mateo every time he went out there. probably scarpered by now." because only an idiot would stick around after assaulting a healthcare worker.
you couldn't remember exactly when it became the norm—maybe that was more fucked up than the fact you were used to it.
"don't worry, we'll get him. and if they don't then i'll sort it out myself." his words carried enough weight that you weren't sure he was joking anymore. you'd seen him glare combative patients down like it was a walk in the park, adding you into the mix felt like a dangerous combination. "easy, easy. you're okay, just let me feel." he murmured as he felt around under your eyes, thumbs prodding a particularly tender spot. a strangled noise left the back of your throat akin to the kind an injured animal would make—followed by a whole load of expletives. "jackass! swear to fuckin' god, you do that again and—"
"easy, sailor. you know the drill, gotta check it out. you can plot my murder once i've sent you up for a ct. now, are you gonna play ball or do i have to sedate you and stick you in a chair?" he asked as he peeled his gloves off, tossing them in the trash. he knew that you could handle yourself but he also knew that came with a stubborn streak a mile long—and an unhealthy habit of not admitting that you needed help. "you put me in a chair and i'll end you. not just your career, you. all of you." you glared at him as much as your bruised eyes would allow, pushing yourself up out of the chair. "don't make it a big deal."
he scoffed as he gave mateo the nod to follow after you, not because he didn't trust you, he just didn't trust the world with you again so soon. it was a big deal, even if you just wanted to brush it under the carpet and forget it ever happened.
"ct results are back on dr. sunhine." shen gave him a nod as he slid the tablet towards him. "dr sunshine?" jack questioned, eyebrow raised as he pulled up the scans. "yeah, because she at least pretends to smile when she wants to tell people where to shove it. so, sunshine."
it made sense, in a weird wacky way that only made sense in the land of the nightshift. "okay, what do we got here?" the scans looked clean, no haemorrhage, no immediate life threatening issues—he could work with that. he let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "broken nose and cheekbone. nose is gonna need resetting."
"yeah, she's one step ahead of you."
"tell me she didn't."
"she did. all yours, you're the only one who's head she won't bite clean off. good luck." he nodded towards the room they'd parked you in, disappearing back into the er. of course you'd set your own nose, because god forbid you accepted the fact you needed help. sometimes it was like looking in a mirror. he knocked on the door frame out of habit more than anything else before he stepped inside.
"alright, we gotta talk. you know i'm supposed to chew you out for this, right? back in my day, they used to sit us down in med school and tell you that performing medical procedures on yourself was a big no." he was supposed to scold you, to tell you that it was okay to let someone else take the reins—to let him take them—but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't mildly impressive, especially without anything for the pain.
"we're the same age, in case you forgot. so back in your day was back in my day too, so we probably sat through the same lecture. they find this asshole yet?" you grumbled as you lifted the ice pack from your face for a second. "they pulled the security footage, found the guy. you were right, it was the guy from chairs. cops got his details from his intake form, they're gonna pay him a visit."
"lucky me. they actually felt like doing something today. gimme." a poor intern had been hovering by the door for the entirety of that back and forth, what you could only assume was the lab reports for central three on her hand. "he's not gonna bite. there's scarier chihuahuas than him." you reassured her as she skirted past jack like he would bite. it was funny—every year the new interns would roll in and at least one of them would be terrified of him.
you wondered if they'd be the same level of scared if they knew he let you rope him into coming to the farmers market with you every other weekend, or the fact after the first twice he came along willingly and stopped to pet the golden retriever who belonged to the woman on the flower stall. "you're working. you're in a hospital bed, and you're working." he huffed in disbelief, even though he really should have known better.
"technically, i'm on the bed and not in it. and yeah, my guy in three needs repeat labs. full workup." you nodded as you handed the tablet back and pressed the ice pack back to your face. "and add this guy onto my caseload, dr sunshine over here is out of comission for the rest of the night." jack added as the intern scrambled like a rabbit that had broke free from the headlights. "no more working, or i'll tie you down to that thing." he warned, pointing a finger at you. "c'mon, not fair. i thought that was supposed to be robby's thing anyway, kinky bastard."
he didn't dignify that with an actual response, just an exasperated eye roll as he closed the gap between the two of you, climbing onto the bed next to you.
"what are you—"
"y'know, it's sorta big deal when you get hurt. especially by a patient." he said seriously this time, snaking an arm around your shoulders. the sarcasm and sharp exterior had faded away until the only thing left was something real.
worry.
"you don't have to power through it because you think it makes you weak to need help. that makes you sound like me, and that's not good."
you made a non committal noise as you slumped over, resting the good side of your head against his shoulder. "it's not that. it's not because i think it makes me weak, it's because what's the point? this isn't gonna stop it happening again. dana got her nose broke, perlah and princess have been through the wars more times than i can count—this is gonna mean nothing." the er would keep running, more disgruntled people would come through and claim you were useless even when you were doing your best—it was never ending.
"you think i care about the er right now? that place could cease to exist for all i care. i care about you and about the fact you've got one hell of a shiner and a broken nose that you reset without any pain meds. so—" he broke his words to press a kiss to your temple before he carried on. "i'm gonna get you something for the pain, and you're gonna sit here where i can keep an eye on you. and then i'm taking you home."
you didn't complain this time, just nodded once before you shifted to let him up to put the order in.
"for the record, you call me dr. sunshine again, i'm kicking your ass to the kirb and moving out."
he laughed at that, shaking his head—he'd lost count of the amount of times you'd threatened that at this point, and magically it never came to fruition.
"no you're not, you love me too much for that."
"debatable, chances might improve once you get me those meds."
the sunshine of the night shift, all cookies and lavender, loves to make the grumpy, sassy, silver fox attending smile through attempts at flirting and baked goods. but what happens when he asks a certain replacement attending for drinks and the sunshine dims?
—angst. yearning. fluff ending. reader can be described as plus size but no specified race. age gap (reader is in her late 20s, early 30s, our grumpy man in his late 40s, early 50s). medical inaccuracy.
part one here !
thank you to @cafekitsune for the lovely divider !
There was a sudden lack of confections and savouries in the pitt.
Everybody noticed that it was not a coincidence.
The first time, you faked a gasp and everyone brushed it off as just a slip of your mind. A habit that just slipped past your brain. A reason that didn't need a calculated thought process. Genuinity was believed like it wasn't a calculated gamble and everything moved on normally.
The second time, you yawned and complained about your lack of sleep. The drain of energy due to hellish shifts and mental exhaustion was no new notion to the people of the pitt. Everyone had experienced this personally so no one questioned the lack of sweet treats. You were given empathetic side hugs and understanding nods. However, the treats were still missed.
The third time was when everyone staggered. You didn't even mention or acknowledge the absence of filled boxes of beloved delicacies and moved on with your shift as if this was the normalcy stitched onto every day of the pitt. You received side eyes, casual check ins on your health and suspicion from two mama nurses.
Worst of all, you received something you were too blind for. Something you never expected. Jack Abbot's concern.
After the day you heard Dr. Al and Jack, no Dr. Abbot, you felt as if someone had drained the soul out of you. Their words, his laugh and grin constantly replayed in your mind—finding new angles and new thorns to prick you. That night you cried. You weeped. You sobbed. But you realised that you needed to back off.
Jack was not yours. He didn't owe you anything.
He was a free man, allowed to ask other women out and that he did. Just because your heart was torn due to illusions created by your mind, the feelings that you held for him didn't mean that he was held responsible. He never ever even smiled at you. Wasn't that the whole premise of this? How were you so humiliatingly blind?
The mornings you would wait just for him, so that you could tease him one last time before going home. The smirk that would catch you off guard, the huffs and eye rolls you held dear—why? They were mere reactions, a crumb of what he could have actually given. The afternoons you would spent baking, imagining his face, when he tried it.
If he tried it.
Would he finally smile?
Would he gaze at you with his twinkling eyes?
God, you wanted to dig up a hole and die.
Why did you create this world by yourself? Where he would reciprocate your feelings? Why would he like you?
You with your chubby stomach, your endless rolls down your back, the way your scrubs stuck to them and and tightened around your thick thighs. Your visible pouch and overbearing love handles which poured out that your scrubs tugged at every single day.
He must be entertained by it, you thought.
The way he would be amused by your one liners, your silly attempts which he must've seen as desperation. You know he loved the attention, sensing every time he heard your a little too enthusiastic pitter patter growing as you got near him, he would immediately expect some flirty dig.
How much ever you tried, he never gave in.
It was a reminder—he was your attending. You were his nurse. And he would never go for you. He would never break that professional barrier with you.
But what about that moment on the roof? Samira asked you when you were telling her everything and almost flinched when you scoffed.
Tears almost brimmed your eyes at the thought of that sunrise, his words, that smile. The hope you built in your heart, the sliver of belief that had grown into something wildly inappropriately out of proportion which had been shattered.
"He probably felt responsible. I am a nurse under his authority and he noticed how I was on the verge of fucking losing it. Can't lose another nurse when there's a statewide insufficiency of nurses." You laughed humorlessly, sipping the wine in your hand. She had just stared at you, reading you meticulously, but that's when you realised one thing. This was your workplace. These were the people you worked with.
And you had let yourself get too personal.
The sunshine of the night shift.
Where had you gone wrong?
Like why could Samira read you so well?
"You know, you don't have to make yourself feel dumb over something that wasn't in your hands."
"But wasn't it Mira? I should've stopped myself from...whatever that was."
"What? Stopped yourself from what exactly, hon? Being yourself?" She questioned. You let out a huff. "You don't understand, Mira. It wasn't just that—I–I got way too involved in this whole...thing. Flirting with my attending to make him smile?" You retorted. Samira just rolled her eyes and smiled softly.
"That's who you are, bub. Making others smile and laugh. Spreading joy!"
"Don't make me sound like a Disney character." You had playfully rolled your eyes.
However, she couldn't convince you and after that you had decided that you had to refrain. Refrain yourself from getting too involved, too personal. You mentally reprimanded yourself for sharing that little story with Abbot. You had to pull back. So you did.
You decided no baking. Not for someone who doesn't even have a bite. No flirty comments or digs for someone who doesn't even give a smile. No bonding over past trauma or tragedies. Professional boundaries must be set. For your own sanity.
Now the thing is Jack Abbot doesn't believe in coincidences, so the first time you called him Dr. Abbot in a flat and weirdly un–you way, it bugged him. His mind said its been a hard shift. But instinct said that he knew you, and that this wasn't normal.
He can tolerate the lack of attention and then he'll get used it, you figured. Besides, he has Al Hashimi now. Your chest tightened.
He probably didn't even care about you that much, did he?
So, you pulled back.
Little did you know, Jack Abbot noticed everything immediately.
—
"Hey, sunny,"
Your back tensed. Your attention on the chart in front of you wavered, but you didn't want to show him that. Not him. You had to back off. You had to push the stupid giddy feeling you get at that nickname. Your eyes hardened on the chart.
You hummed in acknowledgement. Jack's eyes furrowed. "You know, while I appreciate you not bringing in treats to distract our pittlings, they are complaining to me about it."
Everyone. Not you, you figured.
You gulped. It was hard to figure out what to say in a way that didn't seem rude or too standoffish. Or too obvious to the fact that you were trying to avoid him.
"Sorry, Dr. Abbot. I didn't realize that, do you want me to tell them to back off?"
You didn't notice the way he flinched. Or maybe you chose not to. Because even if you chose to not let your eyes drift off to the attending, your body didn't stop understanding him. It didn't stop feeling him.
Jack swallowed in the feeling of his heart squeezing. His jaw tightened for a small second, before returning his focus on you. His mouth opened to give a reply before someone called your name. His heart's pace quickened, almost in panic, but all he knew that something was wrong with you. You started moving, didn't even wait for his reply, like you were afraid of what he was going to say. How he was going to react. Your heart was on the line.
But before you could slip past him, he stopped you, his hand on your elbow. Your eyes widened at his touch. His grasp around your elbow, firm yet not harsh, soft and almost careful. His calloused fingers' touch was almost feather-light, yet it burned through your body. Your mind flashed to the roof, to the way he took care of you on the other side of the railing. You let out a shaky exhale.
"Sunny, are you okay? You know if there's anything—"
"Three traumas incoming! Car collison, two adults, females, and a 7 year old boy! ETA is 4 minutes!" Lena yelled over the nurses' station and you immediately snatched your hand from his hand as if it scorched you. You couldn’t even look in his eyes anymore.
But his didn't leave you. "Sunny, are you fine?"
"I'm okay." Jack furrowed his eyebrows at your short tone.
You gulped. "I have to get the...carts ready." You mumbled and sprinted off.
—
You put up a verbal guard, a professional mask, something other people, who didn't know you wouldn't question at all. But Jack wasn't "other" people. He knew you, atleast that's what he thought.
So, he approached you more.
It was like the world was cruel, you thought. Why is he coming after me, now?
You were just trying to protect yourself from the hurt. The pain. The ache of seeing him every time and the reminder, pricking you like needles, that he chose someone else. Maybe you were being unreasonable. Afterall, none of it was his fault. But wasn't this what he wanted? Professional boundaries. So you boarded up walls that you wished he wouldn't break through with his saccharine tone and honey dipped kindness.
But you had to be strong.
So when he came up to you with his concerned yet hopeful eyes, searching your soul for something you didn't want to name, you closed off. He was just a man who was searching for the sunlight which blessed these insufferable nights. "Hey,"
But before he could even say something, he could see the walls go up, your guards that weren't up before. His throat tightened. He didn't understand what was happening.
"Dr. Abbot, do you need something?"
He stared at you for a bit too long. His stare burned on your body, as if it was consuming your entire being, luring you to look at him, give him something. The gaze seemed too critical to you, like he was trying to figure you out, a secret. It was stripping you bare.
"Are you sick?"
You pursed your lips and pretended that your body wasn't begging to just lean into him. "No, not at all." You said, nonchalantly.
"Are you sure? I can check you out—"
The warmth inside your sternum flared up, threatening to redden your whole face. You had to get out of there. "Really, I am good. I appreciate your concern, Dr. Abbot. But its not required."
You walked away.
Jack's throat went dry. Usually, you would throw in a retort at him, a flirty dig or some insinuation he would be too flustered to acknowledge. He imagined it, your wicked grin, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes and he would expect the comment—"You can check me out at dinner, Abbot." or "A little eager are we, Mr. Grumpus."—and now, nothing.
He watched you walk away as if you had burned him with your absence of words.
Why was this affecting him so much?
But he was in denial and he knew that. If he wasn't so obvious, maybe Lena wouldn't have started teasing him about how his gaze lingered on you. The way you smiled, they way your hips would sway in that playful way of yours after getting the slightest of reactions out of him, the way the room would light up due to your laugh.
He gulped and walked away.
But Jack Abbot knew one thing—something was wrong with you. And he couldn't let his the night shift's sunshine dim out.
—
You groaned and hit your head against the locker. This was too difficult. Had you actually fallen for this man so hard that you saw him everywhere now?
Every where you went, he was there. His scent, his gravelly voice, his eyes followed you literally everywhere. Every single patient, you were partnered with him. You had to give your best fake smiles, swallow in every instinct to make him smile and focus on the patient in front of you.
"Hey, I am Nurse—" you introduced yourself, "and this is Dr. Abbot," and him, stopping yourself from glancing at him in his glory. "He will be inspecting your wound, is that okay?"
The 72 year old woman in front of you just nodded, a reassured smile forming on her face as she looked up at the man you tried so hard not to adore. He glanced at you and gave the woman a gentle smile, making your heart skip a beat. Can he not?—
"Sunny, can you please hand me the gloves?" He asks you and you just nod, trying to hide your face from him. Your ears had turned cherry red and the way his fingers brushed against yours was not helping you. He gazed at you for a moment and you had to remind yourself that you had a patient in front of you. Who was noticing everything.
"Now, can you tell me how this happened, Mrs Lowery?"
The woman told her dilemma. How she was trying to make a dish her husband used to love. She was out of practice unfortunately, as her husband died four years ago, but today was their wedding anniversary and she refused to sulk. Rather wanted to celebrate him. While cutting something the knife slipped and cut her.
He listened to her intently, his care burrowing deep into his veins. Ignoring the way his delicate touch or gentle eyes made absurd butterflies erupt deep in your stomach, you handed him everything he needed to clean her wounds and prevent any infections.
"Sunny, can you hand me the—"
"Have you always called her Sunny? That's such a cute nickname!" She gushed at the both of you. Heat crawled up your neck, making your whole face go crimson as she looked expectantly between the two of you.
"You both make such a cute couple!" She beamed.
You couldn't look at Jack, not when everything was making your eyes water.
"I—um, no—we aren't—" You stammered frantically. Your brain was going in a frenzy. Were you still being obvious? How could she insinuate that—
Jack cleared his throat, and you side glanced him. He looked dejected. God, he must've been so embarrassed by this. You felt a sharp sting inside your ribs.
"Ma'am, your wound is clean, I will come back to do some tests though. So, just stay right here, alright? Do you need anything else, like water or some food?"
"No, sweetheart, you're such a doll. You just keep that sweet smile on that face, don't you agree, Dr. Abbot?"
"Um—yeah—" He rasped, the tip of his ears turning pink. "Her smile is," He swallowed, "sweet, makes everything easier." He turned his head towards you, your eyes meeting his, his hazel meeting yours. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears because it was too intense. The way he was looking at you, gazing at you, as if you were worth something in his life, someone he cared so intently about. The soft green specks in his eyes sparkled at you and you had to force yourself to look away. There was a lodge in your throat.
You had to get away.
"Thank you," You mumbled to him or the lovely lady, you didn't particularly know but you had to escape. Escape before your heart decided that he was in love with you, too. Increased your hope by a ridiculous amount which would ultimately crash and you would have to consume an insane amount of ice cream while weeping.
Not happening.
Not over the man who couldn't even smile at you.
So, you almost ran out of there.
"Hey, hon! Can you get some gauze from the supply room for me?" Lena asked Kelly. But you saw your opportunity, and ran before her, "I got it, Lena!" You chimed in, a fake smile creasing your face weirdly. "Listen Kelly, could you take South Eight? She needs some tests done. Don't worry, Dr. Abbot is there, he'll tell you what to do," You pleaded.
"But—"
"Thanks, Kels, I love you—"
__
"So, why did our honeybee just dump her case with you to nurse Kelly just to get some gauze for me?"
"I—I don't know. God, does she seem weird to you lately?" He ran a hand over his face. His forehead held exhausted creases, his muscles sore and he felt like something had been tugging at his chest. Your sudden absence in his life was confusing him to no ends. Why were you acting like—like—
"Oh, you mean the fact that she doesn't try to make you smile anymore?"
He blinked. And again. His eyebrows furrowed. "Can you read minds or something?"
She raised her eyebrows at him and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, suspiciously. "So, you were thinking the same thing?"
"What? No. That's not—Oh, no."
"Uh huh," She stared at him, "Listen, nobody here knows what's going on with her, but you should at least try to cheer her up."
"Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. Thanks, Mama nurse. I swear this place would go to shit if it wasn't for you." He boasted.
"Don't I know it," She grunted.
—
The next shift, Jack walked towards you with the confidence of a man who knew the secret to the most infuriating woman. As if he knew how to break down all your guards successfully with having to move a muscle. And Sunny, he thought pridefully, he can't wait to see the look on your face.
He strutted in, ignoring inconsequential, judgemental looks by Ellis and Shen, with a coquette brown bag in his hand. It had the label of The Moonlight Bakery, written in a sweet font, with bows tied on its handles. Inside it held your most favourite pastry, the one you were yapping about a few weeks ago. Its aroma floated towards you before Jack reached you. You could taste the sweetness of the blueberry compote topped on the sweet tres leches cake that you love so much.
Your eyes drifted from the board in front of you to everyone near you. Why can you smell that? Where is that coming from? Before you could figure out the person who was gatekeeping your favourite pastry, the last man, the last person you would expect such a menial thing about you, stopped beside you.
His fresh cologne hit you, threatening to lure you in a dreamy state. Anxiety coursed through your veins and you frantically looked around, finding a way to avoid conversing with him. But before you could move away, he plopped down a bag next to you. Your eyes widened at the label and the pastry inside.
You cursed.
"For you. Your favourite pastry from that bakery you couldn't stop talking about last week. Gotta admit your taste is not half bad, Sunny." He grinned smugly. What?
He remembered.
Why does he remember?
Why did he even pay attention?
You swallowed, glancing at his satisfied expression and to other peering eyes near you, too eager for your reaction. "Um...Thanks Dr. Abbot."
His grin immediately faltered. "What?"
"Thank you for this, you didn't have to." You said mildly. His face fell. Almost crumpled. Your heart pace increased as you witnessed his eyebrows furrow, his lips form a discouraged pout and his hazel eyes dimmed. Something tugged at his chest. Yours ached.
"Why are you being weird?" He muttered, with a gruff voice but it was disheartened, as if he was taken aback. But you had to pretend there wasn't anything wrong. That this was normal. This is normalcy. That the very weave of every moment you spend with Jack now didn't change the way your heart pumped deep inside your sternum. How all of it isn't inherently unnatural. That it didn't unsettle your bones. Every time you had to create a formal boundary or throw a polite word at him to protect yourself, you felt as if your soul was losing itself, the very sparkle that held you and him. Because as every detached conversation widened this distance between you and the man you loved brilliantly, an ache spread through every muscle, to an extent where your lungs couldn't process the oxygen it inhaled. Or maybe it wasn’t the oxygen that your body needed desperately.
You swallowed that desperation.
"I'm not being weird?" You blinked, cluelessly.
He pursed his lips, his frustration boiling, like a 5 year old who was refused his favourite candy, something he expected so cockily but he didn't show that, no. His face was unreadable.
You almost rolled your eyes. Shocker. No reaction by Jack Abbot.
"Don't do that."
"What do you mean, Dr. Abbot?"
Every instinct in your bone was screaming at you to lean into his body, touch his forearm, give him your sweetest smile or a kiss on his cheek as a thank you.
He looked like his frustration was about to boil over, force him to say it outright. He stopped himself in his own irritating, out–righteous way because half the hospital was shamelessly spying on you. He glanced at the pastry in front of him, untouched. Then at you, whose eyes had returned back to the chart, as if he was unimportant. Disposable.
"Nothing," He muttered.
He walked away.
The next shifts, you didn't come back. Didn't go back to being the Sunny he knew. You had stopped leaning into his space. You stopped calling him old man, stopped haphazardly and inappropriately complimenting his looks, stopped your dramatic winks, your warm waves and soft smiles when his day was going unexceptionally difficult.
It was becoming impossible to ignore. Not by just Jack but by your fellow, lovingly nosy, coworkers.
"Do you think we should do something?" Javadi asked Ellis, who, along with Crus were observing the very entertaining scene in front of them.
You were assisting Jack on a cardiac patient. Your movements were mechanical and detached and your eyes were focused on the patient but they were still vacant. His kept drifting back to you, your face, as if he was seeking something in the way your features expressed, as if they held the answer to all his questions. Yet Jack's eyes had this look in them, something akin to melancholic, because the answers he sought weren't what he was searching for.
Shen—who was also there with you—and the patient were looking between you and the attending back and forth as if this was the best and worst entertainment they had gotten since Sophie's Choice.
Shen side eyed Ellis across the room. "O—kayyy, this is so much worse."
"What even happened between them?"
"Whatever it is, they refuse to talk about it which has amped up the tension."
"Which is simultaneously slaughtering employee morale. Seriously, I will write a formal complaint to Robby." Crus chimed in at which Javadi snickered.
"So, do we get it involved?"
"Nahhh, let them figure this out themselves." Ellis declared as Crus groaned next to her.
"Care to make this interesting?" Princess smirked. Javadi jumped out of her place and Ellis flinched. "Jesus, where did you come from?"
"40$ on 4 more shifts after which they have a huge fight and makeout in the supply room."
Javadi scoffed but Ellis raised her eyebrow. "50$ on 3 shifts, and makeout on the roof."
"You really think they will last that long? Abbot looks like a volcano about to reach its bursting point. 30$ on 2 shifts—"
"Abbot can last longer, the most patient man I've ever seen." Javadi stated, mindlessly playing with her pen while gazing at the two of you.
Crus gave her a deadpan look. "Not for the girl he's so crazy in love with."
Ellis leaned back on the counter.
"Does he even know that?"
—
He still didn't stop his tries, his kindness and compassion pouring its way into every shift as he brought you your lattes he once complained about—how they are not even coffee, just random flavours mixed in milk—he helped you with your charts and made sure that Shen didn't finish that absurdly spicy ramen you like from the vending machine.
But you had stopped seeing it as hope, in order to save your heart and feelings from any more damage, but only seeing it as your attending looking out for you. As he must be with everyone else.
It was only that. Professionalism.
It could be only that.
But you didn't know how hard misery had hit Jack. Every time he looked at you, something made his chest stutter. He tried to deny it, the way he felt at peace whenever you were near him, always smiling. The way he would feel like the universe blessed him with you, the way you would be determined to make him happy. Denying the way he would gladly surrender to your shenanigans, your attempts, your exclusive sparkle if it wasn't for his stubbornness.
It almost scared him.
He didn't expect to care so much for someone, yet find someone who cared so much for him after his wife's death.
He lost someone he loved and then fell to the crutches of loneliness and emotional numbness. He didn't find happiness, scratch that, he didn't believe that he deserved happiness nor care. It was Robby and Dana who took him out, reminded him that there is so much to live for and that there are still people who care about him.
But love? He forgot that. Forgot what it feels to be in love. Forgot what it feels to be loved by someone. He carried his wife deep inside his heart, but the thought of finding another person to love, our rather another person feeling him worthy enough to love was unthinkable.
Then came you.
A blast in his life, you entered with a box full of chocolate chip cookies, the most annoyingly sweet smile on your face, and the biggest heart on your sleeve. It took him less than a second for his brain to decide you were trouble and his heart comprehend you were significant.
And beautiful.
So simply beautiful.
Your wide eyes, to your curvy hips to your thick thighs. Everything had him unnecessarily malfunctioning. The way your scrubs stuck to your back rolls, and your cute pouch which poured out in the front and how the neckline couldn't hold your cleavage, knowing his large hands could hold your body just they way you liked, sent him spiraling. He would've done anything to see you out of the scrubs. He didn't know why he was suddenly acting a 16 year old boy who had discovered women for the first time.
Then there was your pretty smile. It used to send heat waves through his body, a giddiness along with it which he thought he would never experience again. The way you would look at all the patients with kind eyes, always chirpy for the kids who were scared, compassionate with the parents. He didn't know what to do with himself and what he was feeling when you sent him your warm waves every time you saw him and all he could do was purse his lips and nod.
The danger in his mind and heart would grow whenever you brought some of your delicious food to try. Always making sure the kids (doctors in the their mid 20's) were fed, along with everyone else who overworked themselves. This was just a step towards—imminent doom?—he didn't know. But he knew that the way his heart raced with the urge to just be near you and your kindness all the time, make you smile, make you blush and fluster you wasn't exactly normal.
Yet, his body never stopped your ridiculous attempts, his smile and feelings coming slowly to the surface. But he had to put up a wall. Because this sudden lack of inhibitions when it came towards you was dangerous, wasn't it? No, it was scary. Not exactly dangerous. This lack of control was, in a way, good. But he could never admit that. So, he put up a wall and never smiled. Never gave you a reaction.
But never stopped you either.
So, when all of it had stopped all of a sudden, his heart malfunctioned. His brain couldn't process this change. Rather refused to adapt to it.
Denial is a river in Egypt, Ellis had said.
He didn't understand what it meant. Or rather, he didn't want to.
It was when Robby cornered him that he knew he wasn't just being ludicrously unsubtle but he was being moronic as well.
"You know, you're being stupid, right?"
"Excuse me?"
"Sunny."
Jack's eyes hardened.
"That's my nickname for her. Find your own." He scowled at Robby.
But Robby laughed outright, boisterously. "Do you hear yourself? God, do you even understand what you're doing?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." He claimed.
"You know she made that Afghan food you like. The one you used to yap about in your letters."
"Wait, what?" Jack breathed out. He gulped and reminisced the sunrise on the roof with you. The way you looked in the sun, how your eyes lit up when he smiled for you, the kindness in your eyes when he told you about his times in Afghanistan—his heart lodging in his throat. You actually listened. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Look at you, man. You're flushed." Robby gasped out, his eyes unbelieving. Jack's gave was pink, a dreamy look in his eyes, his pulse quickened at an alarming rate. "You're down bad for her, aren't you?"
Jack just let out a shaky breath. His eyes were glassy.
"Listen, I don't know what happened between you both, man. But you gotta get your shit together, Jack. You've met a woman so kind and so loving, someone that you won't find in a million lifetimes. She likes you. You know that? Who spends half their time trying to make you laugh?"
He took a soft pause as Jack let's out a soft, unbelievable chuckle. "She is amazing."
Robby nodded, "The universe is giving you another chance, man. Ridiculously easy one because she's right there. You just gotta do right by her, Jack. I swear to god, if you fuck this up, the whole E.D is not going to forgive you. She might be your Sunny. But she's everyone's sunshine here. No one wants to lose that."
Jack breathed in, trying to process every word Robby just said. He sighed and shook his head. "I'm so fucked."
"That's right."
—
The end of the shift Jack felt like he couldn't breathe. Not with you still looking at him like you didn't know him. You still ignored every single opening he gave you. By this time, you had gotten better at hiding your pain behind a mask of smiles and propriety. The civility you had structured masterfully between you and Jack was meant to be protecting you. You tried to convince yourself shift over shift, yet you knew it was killing you from the inside.
What you didn't know was that it was killing him too.
His own decorum was slipping. It was frustration that was seeking through the crevices of his well maintained reputation as a composed doctor. Not anger though. Never anger.
He felt like he was losing you.
His Sunny was slipping away from his fingers.
"Dr. Abbot? Dr. Park is here for the ortho consult?"
He merely nodded, his head not in the right state. But it worsened when he got to North Four. You were there. Not alone. With Park.
He entered, his footsteps heavy with the storm his heart had been enduring. The fluorescent lights pierced through him, not like they did before, when you were there to warm him up. When your smile would warm the whole place up. You would always look at him first. But as he entered this room, a coldness spread through his veins, because this time he realised you didn't look at him first.
Instead, as his sight settled, he saw you.
Laughing.
With Dr. Park. Your gaze set on him.
A wrenching pain shot across his chest.
No. No. No.
He glanced between you and Park.
Jack's eyes narrowed. You had your hand loosely covering your pretty mouth as you giggled to yourself, but he was not the cause. Dr. Park stood there in all his glory telling the young teenager some hilarious tale of an injury he went through while playing football in his high school years. The teenager seemed more relaxed and comfortable now. You stood there beside him with a suture kit in your hand, your eyes never leaving the ortho attending, with a sparkle in your eyes that Jack never saw.
You didn't notice him.
At least that's what he thought.
You had sensed him entering as you always did. Your body had an instinct when it came to him, as if seeking him out or leaning into him was more of a nature to you. Something you had grown comfortable to. You recognized his presence immediately and somehow, even if you had tried to get in the habit of forgetting him, your body hadn't forgotten him at all. After all, muscle memory is muscle memory.
So, your shoulders had relaxed but your heart raced. You had difficulty focusing on what Dr. Park was saying so you just kept your eyes on him.
"Dr. Park. Took you long enough." A rough voice came from behind. Your eyebrows immediately furrowed. Jack's voice was tight, as if he was holding something back. Some kind of pain or discomfort. You had seen him get shot at, yet his voice had never been like this before. It was new for you.
He saw you turn away from him, almost an inch closer to the other attending. His breathing had become shallow, teeth grinding one another as if he was trying to control himself. The distance between you and him had never been more suffocating. He couldn't breathe in your lavender and vanilla scent, couldn't feel your warmth, hear your silky, cheery and kind voice.
But he thought he witnessed it, an ease in your body, the way it hasn't been with him in past few nights. The laugh he hadn't earned in ages. Something that, apparently, Dr. Park had earned.
His heart was starving. Lungs felt hollow.
But something about the proximity between you and Dr. Park made irritation gnaw at his chest.
"Why? Did the ED miss me, Abbot?"
He let out a huff that sounded much like a scoff, like he couldn't believe the audacity of the man. "Oh, don't worry, ED is doing just fine." He gruffly said. Dr. Park's mouth twitched slightly.
You stood between them, a tension attaching you to him. Yet you felt like there was something going on in his mind, something that was making the veins in his neck pop. The intensity with which he was glancing at you was magnetic, a force you wished you weren't so pulled towards. You resisted and resisted. A string between you both losing its elasticity moment by moment as you not only avoided him but refused to name it.
So, you did what you thought was best.
You deflected. You deflected and turned your attention on Dr. Park in front of you.
"Well, don't worry, Ortho is perfect for me. I was just convincing this lovely nurse to join me up there. I swear—"
"Excuse me?"
Your breath hitched.
Something beneath him, inside his lungs, set on fire. A cold fire. It knocked the air out of him. His brain stuttered. Stopped functioning thoughts except for a tangible reality of you actually going away. A warmth he couldn't hold onto first.
"Sunny? You call her that, right?" He smugly added, unknowing of the fire he was adding fuel to. "Sunny, can you pass me the chart?"
Jack's irritation whitened into something else. Hot anger. Frustration. Panic.
Absolutely fucking not.
"You don't call her that." His eyes had darkened, jaw clenched to an impossible extent. The room had fallen to a deadly silence. The air had escaped, a cold settled around which had nothing to do with the weather. Your throat had gone dry. Face flushed. Heat spread through your body.
You hadn't ever seen Jack with such a dark expression.
He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowed—hazel covered with an envious green—and whatever burned inside him was creeping out, ugly and unseen. "Only I call her Sunny."
"Dr. Abbot—"
He ignored your gasp of voice, unbelieving of his claim. It was scalding and irrational, he knew, but he couldn't stop it.
He could only see what his brain flashed in front of his eyes, undesired. An image of you moving away, another person making you laugh, flustering you the way he used to. You looking at someone else with the same caring eyes. Because he did, now. He looked for you first. He didn't want to lose being the first person you looked for, forever.
He felt something coil and tighten under his sternum.
Especially not because of fucking Dr. Park.
"So what should I call her, Abbot—sweetheart, darling, honey? She looks like a honey." He teased on.
"You call her nothing, Park. She's not your anything."
Park's eyebrows raised in amusement, finally getting a hang of what exactly was going on. He moved his gaze back and forth Jack and you, a tension he didn't know he had stepped into.
"I see, Abbot. Of course. She's yours—"
"I'm not!" You cried, a desperation in your voice that pierced through the tensed air set in the room. "I am nowhere near his. Dr. Park, please continue with the consult." You whispered with a frustration lodging in your throat.
You moved to leave, glaring at Jack before storming out.
—
Jack didn't go after you. Not this time.
Because at this point, he felt like he didn't understand you anymore.
Or rather he felt like he was losing you.
The worst part was that he knew your laugh. It rung in his ears every time he felt like the darkness was going to absorb him again. He knew every version of it, every version that you gave him—with your heart open. It was the way the room used to light up every time your eyes brightened with it, a loud laugh, one that bounced off of every single surface just to get to him and wrap him in its velvety warmth. Then there was the sly giggle or the snort you couldn't help but let out. They gave him a kind of delight that would linger.
Yet when he heard this one, something lurched behind his ribs. Because he didn't expect this. Didn't expect to hear a new one which he hadn't catalogued himself yet. A swirl of ugliness and breathlessness tightened under his sternum because it was not him that was the cause of it.
White frustration surged through the man as he thundered across the ED. A type of storm people had not seen before.
"What happened?" Lena asked, fearlessly. His gaze sharpened as he remembered the foreign sound again. "Fucking Dr. Park. And Sunny."
She raised her eyebrows. "What?
"This man thinks he can just swoop in and try to poach her. Fucking called her Sunny," He ranted. "Everybody here knows I call her that. And then when I told him that, Park had the fucking audacity to ask me whether he should call her 'honey' then."
Lena pursed her lips at him, amusement visible across her face. "Right."
"I mean, can you fucking believe that?"
"I can't fucking believe you, Dr. Abbot." Samira muttered to herself, resentment laced in her words. Her eyes had sharpened as if to cut Jack, but they were still focused on the chart in front of her.
"Excuse me?"
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "If you seriously don't know what you've done, I can't help you." And tried to walk off. Before she could, Jack caught her. "Mohan, what are you talking about?"
She huffed and crossed her arms. "Dr. Abbot, I have patients to catch up with."
"Seriously? Listen, I care about her. A lot. And I have no idea why she is acting like this and its killing me. If you know something—please tell me." He pleaded.
"You have no right to act all jealous and possessive of her when you asked out Al Hashimi."
"Wait, what?"
"She's been trying to make you smile for months and she bakes for you goddammit! You give her nothing, never! And then the poor girl walks in on you and Dr. Al—"
"I never asked her out."
"Excuse me?"
Jack's heart dropped down in the pit of his stomach. "I never asked out Dr. Hashimi."
"But she—"
"Never. I did ask her to get beer together but that was just because Robby wanted me to get a a clear image on her. It was never meant—Fuck."
Samira pursed her lips and blinked at the man as he went through a plethora of emotions. He swallowed and raised his gaze at her to find her eyebrows shot up, expectantly, as if to say you need to fix this now.
"I need to find Sunny."
—
You needed a breather.
And what better place than the roof?
You breathed in the air, a calm that you wished would stop the storm inside you. The whirlwind of emotions and stupid feelings. All for that one man. One man you couldn't seem to let go of. It was almost humiliating how much you wanted to hold on, hold on to the brittle dream of him loving you back like you did him.
The look you saw on his face. God, did you imagine it? Did he also miss you? No. No. You stopped yourself. You just needed some more time. Away from him. Away from the chaos which was a few floors down. A bit of silence—
The door creaked open, destroyer of your attempts at peace up here. You wished it was Lena or Ellis but you knew who it was.
"What are you doing here?" You asked weakly.
"Sunny—"
"What do you want from me, Jack?" Your voice broke.
"I need to know why out of nowhere you've been acting like you don't fucking know me, Sunny." He confessed, his frustration laced in the words. "I need to know what the hell your problem is, cause'—"
"Jack, please—"
"No, I need to hear it from your mouth, okay? What is it? You hate me all of a sudden—" He kept pacing towards you, as if without the close proximity he won't survive.
"No, you fucking dumbass! I love you! I've been in love with you and you don't—" You hiccuped, turning around, tears finally rolling down your cheeks. "You don't a–and if I stay any longer with you, I'll break my own heart because I will keep falling a–and you won't."
"You're in love with me?" Jack gasped out, disbelief in his breath. You pulled yourself together, your hands wrapping around your cold body, shoulders hunching, trying to hide yourself. Humiliation made your tears well up again, your brain was hurting and you embraced your body, bracing yourself for the inevitable rejection. "Are you serious?"
You nodded slightly before your gaze flickered back to the sky. "Listen, I–I know this is bad, especially since you like Dr. Al Hashimi and you asked her out. I am going to give in my request for a shift to days, or even out of the ED—"
"Like hell you will. Like hell I will let you."
"What?" You whispered.
"I never asked out Al."
There was a heavy pause between, as your heart stopped itself, almost as if because it couldn't hear Jack's words perfectly.
"Excuse me?"
"I never asked her out. Whatever you heard was me doing a favour for Robby."
His gaze pierced through your soul, begging you to understand what his words couldn't convery but you deflected. You didn't let yourself believe. "Still. It doesn't mean you don't want her—She's perfect. She's mature, beautiful, absolutely brilliant—"
"She's not you."
You couldn't have heard the words right. "Excuse me?" You breathed out.
He stepped closer to you, your heart threatening to pump out of your chest. You could see him clearly now, through all of your tears. His perfectly freckled face, gorgeous salt and pepper curls, his eyes filled with so much tenderness and pain it caught your breath.
"She's not you."
He titled his head slightly, gazing at you with so much adoration. He reached out, his hand so careful, feather light touch as he tucked a strand away, as an unfortunate whimper escapes your mouth. Not a moment of weakness. An indication of the longing. Longing for the same touch.
"She's not Sunny. Yes, she is intelligent, mature, brave and pretty too. But she's not you." He let out a shaky exhale before continuing.
"She's not the person who is so determined to make me laugh. She's not the one who makes the room brightened up by just being in it. She's not the one...the one who made me feel worthy of being loved again."
Your gaze flickered up at his eyes again.
"But Jack—you never," you gulped again, stopping the tears to blur up your vision again, "you never even reciprocated it. Never..." You trailed off, mindlessly flashing back to the times you put yourself down while wondering why he never flirted back. "But when—when I saw you with Dr. Al, you smiled—so freely, it hurt. W–Why did you never—"
"I was afraid." Hs cut you off. "Afraid that after I smiled for you, you w–would move on. Stop doing what you're doing. I didn't want you to stop. You were the best part of my day."
There was a pregnant pause before he added.
"Besides you made my brain malfunction."
A chortle left your mouth, a remark of disbelief. "Excuse me?"
A sly lopsided grin touched his face. "I never could give you any reaction because you stopped my brain from giving out any coherent orders to my body. My throat would become concerningly dry and I couldn't even give a reaction without making myself look like a dumbass."
You let out an unwarranted giggle. You shook your head, but behind your eyes, there was still the blinding cover of uncertainty. A cloud of doubt still stopped you. Your body was not letting yourself lean into him completely, but not pushing him back either. Reluctancy had settled over your bones.
"Jack. This is not making sense—"
"You're the first person I look for in a room." Your breath hitched. "And when you stopped looking for me...I felt empty. I was losing my mind and Robby had to knock some sense into me—and I—I was too afraid to lose you, Sunny."
He grabbed the rails around you, his arms framing around your body, his figure radiating a kind of restlessness. His fingers had gripped the metal so hard, his knuckles were turning white in frustration, as if he was holding himself back from...well, you.
A heated flush spread across your cheeks. Your eyes met his, a soul found another, the love and yearning that had been hidden behind fear finally blown out in the open.
"Why did you never tell me?" You whispered.
"I was afraid." There was a pause before he moved his body close to you, the proximity both of your hearts had been starving for. "But I realised the fear of losing you is far more than the fear of...accepting love."
Your hand slowly reached out to his face, cradling it, his stubble grazing your hands, your eyes boring into his. A shy smile broke out on your face, something eternally beautiful, he realised as his heart skipped a beat. You both leaned in, his forehead leaning against yours, as you let yourself finally be pulled into his warmth. Falling into his soul. Never leaving his heart.
"Say it for me. Please."
His gaze flickered to yours, a vulnerability shone in them as he searched your face before realisation dawned on him.
"I'm falling for you, hard."
He took a deep breathe.
"I love you, Sunny."
You opened your eyes and sighed, as if you were holding a breath for the longest time.
"One more time."
Jack's eyes never left you. Instead, they flickered to your lips. The ones he dreamed about. The ones he wanted to—
He tilted his head and went in, a brush of his lips against yours, as if asking for permission, but only a whimper came out. Soft and delicate, something that gave him the courage he needed.
You gasped as his hand grabbed at your waist, gently squeezing your pretty love handles before pulling you into him as he smashed his lips against yours. He swiftly molded his lips against yours, getting drunk on your taste. While you just melted into him, holding onto him like he was your lifeline.
Your hands travelled up from his torso to his chest to his collar, your fingers grabbing them and passionately pulling him impossibly closer. His explored your body in the way it didn't even daydream about. They hoisted you with their bulging strength, sliding from your back to your mane and back to your hips. He groaned in your mouth and you whined softly before he sucked on your lower lips.
The kiss wasn't aggressive nor was it too shy. It was the perfect amount for two lost people finding themselves again. For the two people who had been too afraid to grab the love right in front of them. Two people who were stunningly starved for each other's touch. Two souls who had finally found each other.
You slowly whined as both of you pulled back for air and he smiled against your lips.
"Look, who's smiling now." You teased gently. You played with his curls, reveling in this feeling, the giddiness consumed your body, and the anxious buzz in your muscles had disappeared because he was here. Holding you. Loving you.
He chuckled wholeheartedly. He softly pecked your lips. "Only because of you, Sunny."
—
The elevator dinged open.
The sight could heal all longing hearts. And it did.
"Oh my god." Santos whispered.
Everybody at the nurse station looked at her, puzzled at her widened eyes. That was until they followed her eye sight.
There you were.
Not alone.
Jack and you appeared, fingers intertwined, shy smiles on both faces, but the satisfaction and love glowed on both of you, unsubtly. Plus, your lips were chapped.
Crus crossed his arms over his chest, "Fucking finally."
Robby cheered with Shen. Dana and Lena said something on the lines of 'took you long enough', as Princess and Perlah looked kind of disappointed, but for a different reason.
"I fucking won!" Ellis beamed.
Everyone groaned.
You both just grinned at each other. Jack, finally happy, because he faced his fears, and finally reached for the warmth and love that was always there. Because he got his girl. His Sunny.
And you? Well because you finally realised that the man you loved also looked for you before even entering a room.
That was love.
In a room full of people, I look for you.
—sombr.
AHHHH FINALLY DONE WITH THIS.
I love you guys so much for the love you gave me and sunny <3
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the sunshine of the night shift, all cookies and lavender, loves to make the grumpy, sassy, silver fox attending smile through attempts at flirting and baked goods. but what happens when he asks a certain replacement attending for drinks and the sunshine dims?
—angst. hurt/comfort. fluff ending. reader can be described as plus size but no specified race. age gap (reader is in her late 20s, early 30s, our grumpy man in his late 40s, early 50s). medical inaccuracy.
part two
thank you to @cafekitsune for the lovely divider!
"Are those croissants?"
"Better yet, they are vanilla cream stuffed croissants."
The unsubtle smell of your new croissants wafted through the air, alerting almost everyone of your presence that came with new baked goods like a package deal. All the pittlings, as you so dearly called them, looked up as Dana playfully scoffed at the obscenely mouthwatering croissants which you brought in.
"Trin, wait—"
"Nope!"
"No, no, no! You stole all of the cookies last week!" Matteo came running, hands already up to defend the desserts as Trinity opened up the lid of your container before you could even reach the nurses' station.
"What about me—I'm literally her favourite—"
Dennis almost tripped trying to catch up as you gave custody of your beloved croissants to one of the hands trying to poach them away. You walked up to the nurses station handing a secret stash to dana and lena, your mama nurses, before grinning at the scene in front of you.
"You're spoiling them." Dana scolded, without any bite. She also knew how much they deserved it, and how you were too sweet to actually stop treating the youngest of the pitt.
You gave her a side hug. "They deserve something after busting their asses here, especially under Robby. God knows what's up his ass these days. How many times did he yell at Samira today?"
Dana and Lena scoffed, "Almost told her she didn't belong here again."
You rolled your eyes. This wasn't new at all. You made a mental note to check up on the girl yourself.
You looked at them in front of you. Matteo, Trinity and Dennis were already battling against each other and somehow Langdon had already gotten away with two pieces—one for Mel, obviously—and then Shen's invading hands also won the match.
Your heart warmed at all of them.
"You done distracting my staff, nurse?"
A buzz of electricity shot through your spine at the deep, gravelly voice. You turned around on your heels, a sly grin adorning your face, cheeks bumped up to meet his almost smirk and beautiful hazel eyes.
Dr. Jack Abbot. Your grumpy, sassy, hot attending. Your personal mission.
"So you agree that I'm distracting?"
Javadi made a choked noise that sounded almost like chortle while covering her mouth.
He huffed at you, crossing his arms on his chest. You had to keep your eyes from drifting to the muscles on his big arms taut against his broad chest.
"Bribing my students with baked goods? That's distracting."
"You know, its crazy—all I keep hearing is that you find me a.k.a my cooking is distracting, doc."
"Yeah? Well that's medically compromising—you should get your ears checked."
You rolled your eyes, your grin unwavering by his dry quips. "Well, what's medically compromising is your appetite, Abbot. Say, when was the last time you tried any of my distracting goods?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Why? You want me distracted too, nurse?" His voice dropped a decibel, as if the whisper was a secret meant to only rile you up. Your cheeks immediately turned pink, dusting the tips of your ears as well.
Your grin faltered. His almost came into view.
"Very subtle—" Shen coughed up, very unsubtly as your intimate moment with the attending came crashing. Jack took a quick look at your face; pink cheeks and ears and the confidence of the sunshine he managed to falter. A prideful feeling almost bloomed in his chest—only he could affect you like this. Fluster you like this. A small smile was about to make to his face, but was he about to let you win?
"Okay, back to work everyone! Santos, you still have to finish those charts!"
He moved away from your space, the warmth lingering in your heart. But you saw it—he almost gave in.
"Well, sunshine—you almost made it. take the win, will ya?" Dana's voice rang out in the back. but you shook your head, your lower lip getting caught between your teeth, leaning back onto the counter, watching your grumpy attending order around. "Never giving up on this, Dana. Not until he actually smiles, or even laughs."
"God, when will you both stop?"
—
It all started during a particularly, mercifully uneventful night at the pitt.
You, including almost everyone at the pitt, had their eyes glued on the screen with dollars on stake. Will the stupid teenagers who stole their professor's car, with a brake fail, be caught by the unwitting police? Or will they crash? In who's vicinity? Presby or will they have to save lives in the pitt, yet again?
You had put 40$ on presby and he had snorted. "You're optimistic."
"You should try it sometimes—might just make your grumpy face prettier, old man."
Whittaker's eyes widened, Trinity side eyed Perlah and Princess who were looking like they just found gold, Jesse and Donnie stopped incessantly organising the crash cart in case the car did crash in the pitt's vicinity and Dana and Robby smirked at each other.
Amusement etched onto the attending's face and it was a thrill you never stopped chasing. "C'mon, even the grumpy dwarf in snow white smiled, doc—what's stopping you?"
He just shook his head at you, huffing at the comment and walked off. You watched him walk away with his back towards you and accepted the challenge. "One day or the other, I'm gonna make you smile, Abbot—maybe even laugh—you'll see!"
He raised his eyebrows at you and leaned back onto a wall with his arms crossed on his chest, making something thunder inside your body. "We'll see about that, nurse. But first, you might want to look at the screen."
The police had caught them.
—
After that day, you brought in your best food and your best lines. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about seeing him smile. I mean, obviously you wanted to see him smile, almost concerned it would make your heart stop, but Jack Abbot started to mean something more.
Seeing him everyday, looking into his soulful eyes, his stupid soft voice while talking to patients and the almost smile he gives you during your shenanigans bloomed a deep, warm, ridiculously fuzzy feeling which had set itself somewhere behind your sternum.
Even if it got a huff out of him, a scoff, a smirk that burned its way through the small space in between you both to between your legs or just raised eyebrows.
So, you never stopped flirting. Never stopped baking. Never stopped chasing his smile. It became your dream. Because you knew it would be breathtaking to see it, feel it and know that you were the cause of it.
So, you were here, with a hop in your step, making your way towards the man.
"And I thought these dull hospital lights could never make anyone look good, but here you are, proving me wrong, Mr. Grouch."
He didn't even look up from the chart he was assessing. "Don't you have patients to check up on?"
"Don't you have some smiling to do?"
He turned to look at you and the warm feeling started to spread through your body, unwarranted. He was about to quip back, his mouth opening slightly when—
"19 year old, GSW to the chest, head trauma, pulse is thready—"
Jack's shoulders and jaw set itself tight, as if bracing for whatever was about to come next. he kept the chart back with a thud, going around you, hand brushing on your lower back. "You're with me. Smiling later." He said, lowly, breath fanning your ear.
"Promise?" Your voice had gone heavy.
You gulped as you both walked towards the gurney, his hand still on your lower back, a small comfort before heading into the storm. He glanced back at you, before getting to the boy after you gave him a nod of readiness.
"Trauma 2 is open!" You heard princess yell.
You took a deep breath before going in, hoping this one will turn around. Everyone is here. Jack is here.
It was going to be okay.
—
Your hands trembled.
Your breath was stoic. It didn't dare to move the air between you or the resident still doing cpr.
Jack glanced at his watch. "Stop."
His voice had lost its sharpness but it still held authority. It honeyed through the trauma room, reaching you. But it didn't warm you up like it usually did. His concerned face was focused at the year 2 resident who was starting to hyperventilate. She still kept going.
He glanced at you. You understood what he needed. You moved forward, your body numb. "Sweetheart, you need to let go. Its okay, its going to be alright—"
"No!" She shrieked. You heard Jack calling her name. "He was younger than me—" She whispered.
Jack stepped forward and gripped her shoulders. "Its okay, doctor. Let go. Look at me—I need you to breathe."
Her hands went slack. The machine beeped mercilessly. "Time of death, 5.57 am."
You circled your arms around her as she fell, weeping into your chest.
"shh, I know. C'mon let's get you out." You whispered, your voice sweet as sugar, your soul numbing as the machine beeped.
Jack looked at you but you avoided his gaze. Your hands were trembling, your vision was blurring and your heart was trying to punch its way through your body. Your brain couldn't take it. But you still took care of the people around you. You squeezed donnie's hand on the way out because you knew his kid was also a teenager. You promised princess a treat because you knew she was not going to eat after this. You took care of the resident in your arms because you knew she wont be able to sleep after this.
His gaze burned on your back as it followed your figure through the overbearing walls of the pitt.
After, you got the resident settled, you were about go off to take a breather when Ellis called your name. "Hey! The kid in trauma 2, do you mind calling his parents and informing them?" Your heart ached and flashbacks of another trauma, another death, another set of parents losing their whole world burned in your mind. But you nodded.
"Hello? am I speaking to Mrs Shah?" You introduced yourself, "I'm speaking from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center—"
Immediately the questions started, the panic, the desperation, the devastation. You sighed, your exhaustion and anguish slipping out. You tried to explain the urgency, that they needed to come immediately. Your hands shook as you hung up and closed your eyes.
You tried to busy yourself, checking up on other patients, but your mind still wandered away to the boy. The sorrow of another soul departing, another young life you couldn't save, another injustice was too heavy. The grief set in your bones.
It was a reminder of how this job got harder. These walls sometimes seemed too hollow, too empty, with the losses all of the doctors had faced. This department wrung people out with its cruelty. You were expected to move on with no time to process everything.
That's where Jack came.
Being with him, bantering, flirting, joking—it gave you joy—something that the E.D could never steal. He made working and just being there easier, as if the air got much more breathable around him. You were almost addicted to the giddiness you felt around him. his salt and pepper curls, his teasing voice with you, his dry sarcasm, the way his black tee stretched around the muscles on his back and biceps—
"Excuse me? We were called in urgently? We are looking for our son? Neil Shah?"
The grief crashed down on you. Your eyes turned glassy again and tried to look for any other nurse or even Jack so that you wouldn't be in this position. Not again. Not where you have to inform the parents that their beloved child has passed away. Not where you have to hear the wails of the mother and denial of the father.
You sighed in defeat and led them to an empty room. Slowly, you explained what had happened. How their son had passed away. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs Shah. Truly."
They had started crying, asking you questions, Demanding answers to truths you didn't know. Until one question. "How did he get shot?"
"He—" Your voice broke, but that's when you felt a warm, steady hand on your shoulder. Your beacon of comfort. You immediately recognized it. "I'm Doctor Abbot—I performed the surgery on your son. Nurse, could you please assist Dr. Kwan with a consult in south eight?"
Your heart filled with gratitude. He gave you an out. And you took it. You nodded but not before mouthing a thank you to the man in front of you. He squeezed your shoulder before holding the door open for you and your heart squeezed. Why did he have to be so kind?
You took a quick glance towards him before getting out. You felt you could breathe.
That did not long last.
"Can you believe he did that? I mean, if I was in his place, I would never put my life on the line—for a girl i just met? That was so stupid—"
You took a sharp inhale and jerked your head to the voice. "How dare you? Just because you don't even have an ounce of the bravery, the courage and the empathy that he had, doesn't mean you get to call it stupid, you—"
Before you could go up to him and slap him, strong hands grabbed you, wrapping around your torso, with no harshness but just comfort coursing through.
"Ogilvie, if you don't have even 1% basic empathy or haven't heard the phrase 'dont talk ill of the dead' I suggest you drop out of medical school and go back to 3rd grade."
You shoulders visibly relax at the voice and at his fingers which softly caressed your chubby love handles—this man was not helping you keep cool. Heat travelled up your neck when you felt his chest rumble with some instructions he gave to the resident in front of him.
Jack called your name and his hands travelled to your shoulders. "Come on, let's go—"
"What? what about the consult—"
"That was a lie—"
"You dog—"
"Come on, you nuisance. Let's get you a breather."
—
"The roof?"
"You'll see."
The door busted open and strong gust of wind hit you in the face. And there it was.
You gasped and your hands went to Jack's forearm. "Oh my god."
"Oh my god."
"Come on, you wanna see the sunrise?"
"Well, at least ask me for a cup of coffee first, old man. You losing your touch already?" He gave you a deadpan look. "But of course, if you insist."
He took you to the railing. "I've heard you go even beyond the railing..."
Jack gave you a side eye. "Oh come on, you really believe anything really stays in the box at this hole?" He still did not entertain you. "Please, Jack?" You gazed up at him, with your best puppy eyes.
"Alright. But only this time."
He ducked and got across first, holding out his hand for you, fingers gently taking your palm and helping you cross the railing. "Thank you," You softly murmured, the touch growing the warmth in your chest. the sunrise had only taken its footing—the soft blue of the sky was slowly lighting up. "So," You took a deep breath, "why did you bring me to your sacred space?"
"Sacred space? Really?" Jack scoffed.
"Everybody knows its where you and Robby come to make heart eyes at each other—" He grunted and you let out a soft laugh. "Come on, tell me." You whined.
"I saw you." He spoke. "After–after you realized he was gone, after we declared the time of death. your hands were trembling," Your breath hitched. "Your breaths were small, your voice was—" You looked away. His gaze bore deep into your eyes, trying to probe out the vulnerability gently, and his voice was too tender, too warm, almost wrapping you up in their saccharine like blanket. "The point is, you still took care of everyone. Donnie, Princess, the resident—"
"Someone has to. I just choose to. Nobody forces me to, Jack." Your voice gets small.
"And when will you let yourself take care? When will you take a breath?" Your breath hitched. "You're the sunshine of the dark side, sweetheart. We don't want you fading out while you take care of others." He syruped.
You hoped it would stay dark so that he couldn't see the red on your cheeks, the heat crawling up your neck and how you couldn't trust your own voice anymore. But you braved on.
"um, I dont know if you know this, doc, but I shifted to nights for a reason other than one grumpy teddy bear," You let out a giggle when jack let out an annoyed huff, "there was a girl, 19, just like today's kid. She was abducted and tried escaping, but the abductor shot her. She was brought in, I was a part of the surgery and despite everything, despite Robby busting his ass—she–" Your voice broke and you gripped the railing. "She almost escaped it, but...her parents were angry more than heartbroken. Her mother threw things at the father, he yelled back and I tried to calm them down, but h-he pulled me in, threw me in the wall and said I was too incompetent, I couldn’t save his daughter's life."
You inhaled sharply. "He killed himself 2 months later."
"Look at me."
"Jack—"
He pleaded your name. "That was not your fault. It will never get easy, I know that...too well. But you learn to live around it, but I need you to understand that it was not your fault."
You nodded. "How do you live with it?"
"Before returning to Pittsburgh, before my...leg, in Afghanistan—we used to get this street food. It used to be sold at nights and we used to switch routes and trade fucking mattresses and anything just to have a chance to get it. Its called kolcha. It used to be heaven in the hell we were put in.
I used to see my brothers get blown up, losing their lives, civilians losing a sense of humanity after the way everyone treated them. But there are soft joys that help the grief. that helped me live. Stopped me from..." He trailed off, a pensive look forming on his face.
Your hand clasped around his on the railing. He gazed up at you, your eyes already on him, so honeyed, filled with care and admiration, with so much compassion, he didn't know what to do with it.
You both just gaped at each other. Your hearts filled to the brim. Getting lost in time.
Suddenly, a ray of sunlight reflected in Jack's hazel eyes and you broke your contact, a gasp forming on your lips as you tore your eyes away to marvel at the jawdropping sunrise.
The sun was officially peeking up. Its rays bounced off skyscrapers made of glass, lighting up the small alleys of the street. The orange and yellow shades painted the horizon and you almost died right there. "Its so beautiful..."
The sunlight was colouring your skin, your giddiness coming out with the sun.
"Will you take care of yourself, sunny?"
You let out a sweet giggle. "Sunny?"
"The sun clearly loves you." He murmured softly before tucking in a strand of hair fallen haphazardly on your eyes, blocking him from the view.
"Hmm, you're going soft on me, old man. Or are you just manipulating me so that I won't tell anyone that your grumpy attitude is a hoax and you're just a big ol' teddy bear?"
He snorted and let out a soft smile.
Your heart jumped.
"Oh my god!" you gasped and pointed. "Oh my god! You smiled!"
"Come on, sunny. Let's get you inside before you tragically die due to slipping while celebrating something that never happened—"
"Excuse me—" You scoffed but let him lead you onto the safer side of the railing, his hands on your shoulders, sliding down to your hands to steady you as you come over.
"Try convincing Robby that you did it—"
"Oh fuck off, you are just a big, fuzzy, loving teddy bear inside—"
His smile burned through you, in your heart.
And as you predicted, you could never forget it.
—
The next day, there was a new skip to your walk as you entered the pitt. You had spent your day trying to calm down your heart every time you reminisced what happened on the roof. Your skin would jump with goosebumps and your cheeks would immediately redden. So you distracted yourself in the best way.
You walked in with a box in your hand. The aroma of the newly tried recipe made everyone turn their heads. But this time you refrained from giving in to your beloved pittlings' puppy eyes.
Lena and Dana raised their eyebrows. "What's got our sunshine happier than before?"
"Nothing." You squealed softly.
"Mhm." Lena hummed. But mama nurse knew you too well. She knew all of you too well. "You know, you spent an awful lotta time on the roof yesterday. And what's that in the box you're tryin' so hard to keep away?"
"Its for Jack." You murmured. "He mentioned this food he had when he was in Afghanistan—"
"Didn't Dr. Abbot take you up on the roof yesterday?" Joy chimed in.
"What!?" Trinity yelped.
"Excuse me?" Dana took her glasses off and left them on the counter with a thud.
"Are you serious?" Matteo asked you, with her eyes wide open as Princess squealed to Perlah. "i knew it! may utang ka sa akin ng 50 bucks!"
Donnie gave you a pat on the back, like he was proud of you. "W–wait—guys—"
"What's going on here?"
You closed your eyes and sighed in defeat. The voice, the man, the mchottie who had you in trouble. Ellis leaned up on the counter with a dangerously smug look on her face. "Well, we were just talking about sunshine here and yo—"
Your eyes widened and embarrassment crawled up your veins in your neck, swirling anxiety in your brain with all the ways this could go wrong. "Okay! Everybody go back to work, now! Trinity, go home. Ellis, your labs for the 33 year old lady in north five are here and Matteo—"
She peered at Matteo with her glasses slid down till her nose, staring at his phone dreamily, who straightened up, as if he was caught with a scandal. "—do us all a favour, keep the yearning for Dr. Javadi aside and get. back. to. work!"
Everyone scrambled off. You gaped at her with a grateful look in your eyes. "You are amazing."
You turned around to look at the man you've been—shamefully or shamelessly you didn't know—thinking about the whole night and your jaw almost dropped. The sight was marvelous.
Jack abbot in gear.
Camouflage pants and a tight black tee.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He dryly quipped at you.
Before you could reply, a gurney came bursting through the bay. "55 year old man, cardiac arrest—"
You felt his whole body reset and bracing like it always did. "Sunny, you're with me—"
"Sunny?" Shen asked, a knowing, smug look adorned his face as his eyes jumped from him to you. Your whole body flushed. He was going to be your ruin. Jack ignored Shen's absolutely valid inquiry with the excuse of the patient in front of him. But you're frozen.
He still remembered your conversation.
Did he think about it again and again and again like you did?
Your heart did not stop pumping blood but your brain stopped producing logic it seems.
"Sunny? You still with me?" Hus rough yet gentle voice coaxed you out of your thoughts and reminded you of the situation at hand. You cleared your throat and just nodded wordlessly, hoping no one would notice the red on you face.
How will you survive this man?
After sending him off to surgery, Crus looked between the both of you, as if he could sense the electricity between you, the tension, the undying sense of something happened here and just these two are in denial. "That was smooth."
Jack raised one eyebrow at him, amusement etched onto his face. "What was?"
Crus cleared his throat. You stilled. You knew what was coming. Crus did not stop. "You two make a good team."
You shot him a glare that seemed somewhere between 'i will kill you' and 'please don't make my life hell'. He saw it, noted it, considered it.
And threw it in the trash apparently. "Just saying. Everyone saw it inside. Its like you both were in sync. Unstoppable. Inevitable—"
Don't say it.
"—made for each other."
Shen made a choked sound and Ellis pursed her lips, trying to contain her giggle. Beside you, Jack stilled.
"Sunny makes it easier. Made for the night shift." He grunted out.
"Don't make it sound dramatic." He signed on some discharge papers and handed them to Lena. His hand brushed against yours. "Bye, sunny." he murmured softly against your cheek and left you. All by yourself. To process what just happened.
"So, sunny?"
"Shut up, guys."
You turned around and walked towards the supply closet, nothing but an excuse to ditch the conversation that you are about to face.
They followed you like little ducklings.
"What happened to you guys on the roof?" Crus asked.
"Nothing happened—and how do you know?"
Ellis scoffed as if the notion of anything staying a secret in this hospital was absurdly ridiculous. "Come on! tell us—"
"Nothing happened guys and shush!" You glared at them. They peered on you with curiosity as your body shook with embarrassment? Humiliation? Adrenaline? The mere thought of Jack abbot and you on the roof?
Shen slurped on his stupid watered down coffee. "You should go for it."
"I will stab you—"
"No, he's right! At least then your sexual tension in between emergency traumas will not traumatise us."
"Excuse me?"
"Please—even the unconscious patient can sense it!"
You huffed and crossed your arms as if it could save you from this conversation and put on a mask of denial. "That's not even remotely true. besides—I don't like him!"
The three of them stared at you. "Yes, and Shen doesn't live on caffeine." Ellis deadpanned. "You cant deny something we see literally everyday. You banter, flirt, tease and even cook for him! Didn't you make something specially for him today?"
Crus gasped dramatically. "Whaaaat?"
You rolled your eyes. "Its not that big of a deal."
"Yes, it is." The three of them chimed in unison. Your eyes fell on their faces, their relentless questions and sighed in defeat. You scrunched your face, closing your eyes for just a second and then squinting at them. "Am I that obvious?"
"Yes—"
"No—"
You pursed your lips and raised your eyebrows at them. "Seriously?"
They gave you wordless looks almost meant to serve with pity, empathy, hope. You don't know. "Listen, you just made this afghan food for him which I know you've never even heard of before. You try to make him smile everyday and there is this embarrassingly obvious sexual tension in between you. Don't think that the ED is half blind to miss the looks you give him."
You sharply inhaled.
"Hey, there's no harm in going for it—he will say yes. If he doesn't, that's his loss. some other person will get your perfectly baked goods." Ellis assured you.
That's when your brain imagined it—wildly. Not in the unsaid, shy and restrained ways it has been doing for the past months. The vivid image of you and the attending you made smile, together, in each other's arms, happy. Holding hands, requited secret glances, soft kisses, stolen touches, his eyes with a gentleness and passion just saved for you and a love that's not a secret—its known, its seen and understood—but its just for both of you.
Your heart skipped a beat.
Your cheeks blushed furiously.
The three of them smirked, knowingly.
"I—" You gulped and stammered on your words. "I need to be somewhere." Your hands shook and your brain didn't comprehend what you needed, nor did your body and it all was about to go crashing when—
"What are you all doing there? Don't you have jobs?"
Jack.
You didn't whether to sigh in relief or wring your hair out in frustration. This man was going to end you. "You know, sunny also has patients to attend to, rather than hearing you guys bicker or gossip about whatever it is."
You felt heat and humiliation hiking up your neck as you notice the smug looks they give each other before wandering off. "Yes boss."
But not before Ellis winked at you, Crus gave you a smug salute, and Shen slurped away loudly, obnoxiously, knowingly, looking back and forth between you and Jack.
Speaking of the man, he just leaned against a counter, gazing at you, with an unpredictable and unreadable look on his face. "Well, since you're done organising that supply closet for the 4th time, some patients are getting starved of your sunshine. Unless, of course, the supply room is in dire need of your attention, sunny."
Sudden confidence flared in your chest. "Well, cap'n grumps, you could just say you are in dire need of attention. No need to shame my perfect supply room."
Your mouth spoke before your brain you could stop it. His mouth twitched, just slightly, his amusement not hiding under a curtain and a glimmer in his pretty eyes which made you weak in the knees. "Get back to work, sunny." He murmured, head shaking and his shoulders lighter than before.
You almost giggled. "Of course, boss."
You walked away. every sense in your body was tingling, goosebumps on your skin and a fire somewhere in the pit of your stomach and a familiar fuzzy feeling growing stronger beneath your chest.
You didn't know if you were going to survive this man. You didn't know if you wanted to.
—
The next hours of the shift were determined to drain the soul out of you.
There were 4 traumas at the same time and a statewide insufficiency of nurses. So that meant you had to jump back and forth. Chairs was filled and actually overflowing while you had a scarcity of beds so all the nurses were charged with scheduling, organising and moving beds according to the level of emergency and pain patients were facing. Plus, you had multiple patients and a family who had declared that dr. google was more knowledgeable than a nurse.
Amazing.
And you hadn't gotten a chance to even eat.
When you finally got a chance to eat in the breakroom, that's when you saw it. The kolcha. Untouched. Because you wanted him to have the first bite. First taste. Just to see that Heartwarming smile again.
You bit your lip and took a peek outside. Everything had slowed down. Just for bit, you were sure, before another trauma, another emergency, another goddamn patient too obnoxious and blind to only believe what google says pulls you in.
This was the time, you decided.
So, you picked up the box, an extra hop to your walk, as you looked for him.
Jack abbot.
Ellis' words rang in your ears and your heartbeat sped up. Should I do it?
Take the chance, the risk?
"Hey, Lena, do you know where Jack is?" You asked softly, almost bashfully, as she narrowed her eyes at you but then flashed you a knowing look before pointing at a room.
The buzz in your heart and brain intensified as you walked towards him. You were so giddy, it hurt. Your soft smile had turn into a beam. The anticipation had turned to you nervous and exhilarated. You wanted to see his smile, the one he'll give after you give him a kolcha. Will it be a soft and dedicated one, reserved just for you? Will it be a joyous and unwithdrawn one, not shying away from showing his beautiful wrinkles?
Everything made your heart soar.
Your feet slowed down as you got there and you heard voices. His and... Dr. Al-hashimi. She was laughing before Jack spoke.
"So, you want get that beer we talked about?"
You heard Jack chuckle. A vibration that rumbled through his lungs in his chest to the ground that you apparently walked on. You felt as if it had just been pulled underneath you. It was lighthearted, casual—directed at someone else.
The ringing of elation in your ears stopped. Replaced with a haunting stillness.
"Yeah, of course. I would love to."
Your breath stopped in your lungs.
It was casual without any audible or visible awkwardness. You glanced inside only to see Jack smiling, a sly and playful grin, lighting up his whole face. Directed towards her. Not you.
Never you.
You wondered if she made it easy for him. Like you probably never did. His whole body was turned towards her, a casual openness to him that was never reciprocated with you. Your chest tightened. Throat strained. Something in your temples felt like it was being pulled.
Jack asking Dr. Al Hashimi out for beers. Your breathing felt shallow. Why wouldn't he? She was brilliant, kind almost dazzling with every step she took. She carried herself with maturity that only comes with facing warzones and fighting injustice. She never had to take constant efforts to make someone smile. He did it instantly for her.
Your hold on the box full of kolchas loosened.
Your legs moved before your brain processed everything. Your eyes looked into the distance, your thoughts melding, twisting your heart, a suffocating hurt settling deep in your bones.
You just kept walking.
"Hey, hon—you okay?" You heard someone say, but your mouth didn't move, your voice had gone numb. So, you just gave tight smile and gave a wordless nod and moved ahead.
Get back to work. You have patients.
Your body moved, on instinct, but without any soul in it.
He didn't owe you anything, you realized. He never reciprocated your efforts, nor did he respond. He just grunted, shook his head, raised his eyebrows, scoffed. It was meaningless. Fruitless. It was just amusement to him. You felt your heart hitting the pit of your stomach. He probably never even considered it. You were his nurse. He was your attending. You tried too hard it was almost entertaining. The sunshine of the night shift. Overbearing. aAways shining. Never needed anything back.
You were nothing like her.
She was everything he could want.
You never even understood where you left the box of kolchas meant for him. It was discarded somewhere like it never included unconditional efforts, hope and love. Like you didn't just stay up the hours you were supposed to put in for sleep to make something you had never made from scratch, just for him. It was not like he ever tried anything you made.
You just walked to a patient, and gave them a smile.
But it felt foreign on your face.
You asked them what was wrong, checked their pulse, gave necessary meds and equipment to the resident in front of you. It felt mechanical. Your eyes were vacant. Too preoccupied with trying to see the things your heart missed. the hope that you harboured over time, the anticipation and giddiness on seeing him, the fuzzy feeling inside your sternum.
Now replaced with a sudden anxiety. A hollowness.
"There she is." You almost jumped, startled by the intrusion of the voice you were now dreading to listen to. "I was looking for you."
Flashes of his soft smile, the wonderful sound of his chuckle, the casual openness—never meant for you—shattered you. You stood there still, unresponsive.
"Sunny?" Jack asked, oh-so-gently, but it just pricked your skin like needles. Even his soft words had become a sign of betrayal. Was he just dragging you along?
A shaky exhale escaped you but your face remained stoic. Your movements were calculated.
"Lena wants you to talk to this patient, he doesn't agree with any of the nurses, says he wants a 'real, qualified doctor'."
"Okay—"
"—and ortho has your results ready for north five, just sign on those." You said in a clipped tone. Tou couldn’t even look at him anymore. You had to get out of there.
But you could still feel him. His furrowed eyebrows, tensed shoulders, concerned eyes—searching for answers, searching for you. All confused. But you didn't have answers. Not anymore.
So, you left, wordlessly, with your broken heart.
Him, with confusion etched onto his features.
Because you realized that while you looked for him in every room before even entering it, he probably never did.
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With your request open, what about Jack’s niece or daughter having a shift from hell, maybe some comfort in the end from Jack, other than that I leave it up to you to go whatever direction you want if you decide to write this 🫶🏻
Call your dad
tags: jack abbot x daughter!reader, burnt out reader, inferred suicidal tendencies (like father like daughter), best friend trinity santos, stress, angsty, all the comfort to follow tho, comforting ending, possible ooc characters (but they're my barbies to play with), one use of y/n, title is taken from "Call Your Mom" by Noah Kahan, 18+ MDNI
notes: thank you @panic-in-the-multiverse for your request! sorry it's taken me so long to get to it. I hope it hits you in the feels in the best of ways! like always if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment here! enjoy!
When Jack’s phone rang two hours before your shift was supposed to be over, he thought the worst.
Robby wasn’t one to call him in asking for a favor of an extra shift, always strict with keeping the day shift and night shift separated for the benefit of everyone’s sleep schedule. In all his years in working at the Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center, Jack had only been called in on his day off fewer times than he had fingers. If a mass casualty—like Pittfest—happened, he probably would have already known about it through the small police scanner he kept on his kitchen counter.
So the fact that no blaring alarm had gone through and his phone was ringing, there were really two worst case scenarios he could think of: something had happened to Robby, or something had happened to you.
You, his daughter, and Robby, his best (and probably only) friend, were the only two people Jack knew of who had him down as their emergency contact.
The number flashing across his screen wasn’t one he recognized, the sight adding to the tumultuous worry that was currently racing through his chest. He barely reached the device before it went straight to voicemail and brought it up to his ear.
“Abbot speaking,” he spoke into the phone, desperately trying to keep his voice steady.
“Dr. Abbot? This is Trinity Santos,” the feminine voice responded.
Jack’s shoulders hunched a bit as he turned to lean his back against the marble of his kitchen counter. Even through the layer of his shirt, panicked goosebumps littered his skin from the intrusion of the chill.
“H-Hey, Santos,” he stuttered, mentally cursing himself. “Sorry, I didn’t have your number saved.”
The apology was weak, and really, he should have been asking what was wrong instead of making small talk with a resident he barely knew outside of handoffs and the couple times you brought her over for a movie night where he chose to retreat back to his room instead of joining on the couch.
“I didn’t expect you to.”
Jack closed his eyes, and his body braced for impact. “What’s up?”
Was that the best he could do? “What’s up” when there might be an emergency involving the two people that kept him tied to the earth instead of joining his wife in the sky?
For a moment, it was only Trinity’s breathing that crackled through his phone, almost like she was also preparing for something unseen.
“It’s Y/n,” she finally said.
Medically speaking, hearts only ever stop when a person is having a heart attack. And when that happens, medical intervention is needed to get it pumping again before that person dies. But where Jack was standing, arm bent enough for him to grasp onto the counter with white knuckles, he swore his heart stopped completely before resuming beneath his sternum.
“Is she—” He couldn’t even say the words. “Is she okay?”
“If I said she was okay, I’d probably be lying,” Trinity confessed. “But today has just been really . . . bad.”
A flood of relief slightly overwhelmed the panic enough for Jack to take a full breath. Trinity wasn’t talking like you were dead; that had to count for something.
“Did something happen?” he pressed while abandoning his post by the counter in favor of heading towards his bedroom.
“Her chronic-illness patient died this morning.”
Jack paused, the sight of the small girl you’d been trying to help, the one who’d been to the Pitt off and on for months, flashing across his eyes. This time, his heart didn’t stop, but it did clench painfully at the thought of you going through that so early this morning.
“And she’s had to change her scrubs twice. You know the set she’d been excited about for months?”
He hummed; he knew what set she was talking about. You’d been so excited to the point you had talked his ears off for days before you finally were able to buy the limited color when it released on whatever website offered the items.
“She was helping a domestic violence case, blood got all over it. Police had to take both the top and pants for evidence.”
“What happened to her back up pair?”
“One of the med students bumped into her when she was holding her coffee. The cup splashed all over her.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Trinity clicked her tongue.
“Anything else?”
She paused. “Park yelled at her.”
Jack’s hand tightened around the phone. “For what?”
“Paramedics hadn’t packed a guy’s foot correctly on the way over; so, she tried to reset it correctly, but—”
“He thought she did it.”
“Dr. Abbot, I’ve never seen her cry during a shift before today. And it’s not like Park’s never an asshole, but he didn’t have basically rip her a new one in front of everyone when it wasn’t even her fault in the first place.”
Jack was already reaching for a sweatshirt from his closet, stuffing it down into his bag with one hand while the other remained holding his phone to his ear. His prosthesis had already been put on as a just in case incident, and Jack was thanking whoever was listening for that gut feeling. Limbering back into the kitchen, he grabbed the keys to his truck from the bowl on the edge of the counter, something you’d wanted to get after seeing one of those TikTok videos about a purse bowl—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
“Where is she now?” Jack questioned after getting the call connected to the Bluetooth.
“That’s what I was calling you about,” Trinity muttered. “We can’t find her. Dr. Robby checked all the rooms; Dana’s been trying to call her cell. I thought maybe she’d be in one of the supply closets or in the bathrooms, but . . .”
His heart clenched again.
He knew you. Whenever you’d hurt, whenever you’d cry, whenever you’d need to just get away from the world, Jack knew you’d find a place away from prying eyes, a small coping mechanism you’d picked up on whenever he himself would flee the room the moment his eyes stung. Abbots weren’t known to publicly show emotions, especially after the loss of his wife and your mother. It was always I’m fine and I’m not crying and Could you excuse me for just a moment.
Trinity—he could tell—was close to panicking by the way her breathing changed, and the way her next few sentences came out shaky.
“I’m worried. I’ve seen her with bad days before, but today’s been different. It’s like she’s close to giving up.”
Jack’s foot pressed the gas a bit more, engine straining and pushing the truck to move the tiniest bit faster, like getting to the Pitt could at least ease the tightness he had in his chest. As the city passed by in waves of blurred lights and buildings, a moment of clarity washed over Jack thought he couldn’t tell if it was closer to relief or dread.
“The roof. Have you checked the roof?”
_______________________
You hadn’t meant to stand there for so long, but every time you thought about going back down, going back to that trapped feeling, you’d stayed, feet glued to the concrete and eyes unwavering from the building tops.
Being on the roof felt the most freeing you’d felt since walking through the doors to begin your shift almost twelve hours ago.
You’d thought today would have been a good day. Dad had made breakfast before you left, your playlist shuffle on the way over felt perfectly curated, and the first few hours of patients walking out the doors with gratefulness dripping from their lips convinced you that nothing could go wrong.
That had been your first mistake, because in emergency medicine, good days never went by without a little grief—or in your case, a lot of it.
Kassy, the 9-year-old who’d seen more hospital than her own bedroom, had been brought in during the third hour of your shift and wasn’t even able to leave the building. You could still feel her failing chest and cracked sternum under your hands if you thought about it for more than a second. Her parents had been understanding; you’d been devastated, believing you could have done more.
But duty called, and you knew you had to leave every ounce of regret at the threshold of the door to her room. Easier said than done, because the next case, a younger woman, who came in with a stab wound, panicked so much about the anger of her partner that she rolled off the gurney, right into your arms, her blood instantly soaking through your scrub top and pants.
The stain should have been manageable, a little cold water and vinegar always seemed to do the trick, if it weren’t for the officers following and asking for the contaminated matching set as pieces of evidence against her attacker. You watched in a disappointed fog as they stuffed your clothes into a plastic bag that you probably would never get back.
A coffee, you had settled your mind on, was always a good choice to make your day a smidge better. Nothing sounded as good as the warm liquid mixed in with enough cream and sugar to be cavity inducing. You’d made the concoction after changing into your spare set of scrubs, albeit they weren’t the ones you’d wanted to wear, but they would work just fine.
Well, that was until a meandering med student walked right into you, their eyes more focused on the tablet in hand than where they were walking.
Scrub change number two came soon after, but unlike your personal scrubs, the hospital provided ones always sad wrong. They were itchy, tight around your neck, arms, and thighs but way too loose in the torso and waistline.
Now, you weren’t superstitious, so granted, you thought the worst of the day had passed. The morning could be filled with sorrows, but you still had the afternoon to make up for it.
An incoming leg trauma straight from a construction site was just the push of adrenaline you needed. The paramedics had rolled him right through, Robby had grabbed you to assist, and the two of you (plus the nurses) were well on your way to get this guy approved for an orthopedics consult before surgery. You held onto those hopes until halfway through the observation when you noticed his foot was tilting a few degrees too far inward. Mentally cursing whoever set the foot wrong, you had gingerly reached out for the foot to set it correctly, however, the moment your hands were on the appendage, Park decided that was the moment to walk through the door.
His eyes narrowed, mouth already opening and throwing insults your way when all you wanted to do was help.
Normally, you would have pushed back, would have stood your ground and defended yourself. But already drowning in the emotional weight of the day, you stood there, eyes cast downward as he went on and on about how you should have known better, should have done better.
Pretty much the entire floor was witness to the public execution and the tears that ran down your cheeks.
When he finished, you had simply nodded, promised to do better the next time, and silently slipped through the doors.
Trinity had caught you by the arm, and her eyes widened at the red of your own that just wouldn’t stop welling up no matter how hard you were trying to keep them dry. Softly, she had asked if you were okay, like any normal concerned friend would ask.
You wondered, while standing on the roof, body shivering at the chill wing, if that had been your breaking point, because you hadn’t been truly okay in years.
Would someone who was okay throw their life into emergency medicine?
Would someone who was okay deal with their grief in a mature and emotional way and not run from the dark feelings each time they grew too painful to deal with?
Would someone who was okay be standing at the edge of a roof after a seemingly impossible shift?
Answering any of those questions would decide if you were okay, and you ran instead facing the feelings that had been churning since you walked through the Pitt’s doors.
“You’re in my spot.”
You’d know that voice anywhere, but instead of answering, you uselessly wiped a hand under your eyes. Nothing in that moment seemed more humiliating than letting your dad see you cry after a hard shift.
Jack stayed still a couple feet away. He had been assuming that he’d find you on the other side of the railing like he had with Robby a few months ago, ready to take one too many steps forward, stethoscope hanging like an unwritten goodbye letter. But when he quietly opened the door, he breathed a bit easier when he noticed that you’d chosen to stay behind the metal.
“Heard you had a pretty bad shift, kid. Wanna talk about it?” he asked, taking another step closer. He pursed his lips when you failed to answer again. “Santos called me. Said she was worried for you.”
“She shouldn’t have,” you finally muttered, passing another unsuccessful wipe across your face. “I’m fine.”
“You know, you keep using fine, but I don’t think it means what you think it means,” he replied.
A ghost of a smile tugged on your lips at his attempt to quote from Princess Bride, a movie he had actually stayed for and enjoyed more than he would ever realize.
“It’s okay to not be fine, kid. You know that,” he said, voice a little louder in your ears now that he was standing beside you.
You didn’t flinch when his arm draped across your shoulders, muscles tensing as he drew you into his side. The smell of his cologne, all warm and comforting in the way only your dad could make you feel, brought more tears to your eyes. However, this time, you let them fall freely. Jack couldn’t help the coo that pushed through his lips when you tried harder to tuck yourself into his chest.
“I know today was hard,” he whispered into your hair. “And I’m so sorry. Hell, I had half a mind to rip Park a new one on my way up.”
“I would have paid money to see that,” you said. “I think anyone would to see him get knocked down a few pegs.”
“I bet they would.”
You stayed quiet for a few moments after, letting your body soak in the peace and calm that Jack always seemed to carry extra of. Nothing would ever be better than a hug from your dad, the one big constant in your life that you could always count on. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand rested against the back of your head.
“I need to get back down and get my patients discharged,” you said, breaking the silence of the roof once more.
Jack let you slowly back away, but he still kept you within reach. “Next time you have a shift from hell, please let someone know where you’re going before you sneak off. Santos nearly gave me a heart attack when she said Robby and Dana also didn’t know where you’d gone.” He pushed a stray hair away from your face. “I can’t lose you too, kid.”
You nodded, understanding the heaviness of his words. “I will. Promise.”
“Good.” He held eye contact and gestured with his head back toward the door. “Let’s go finish discharge so we can get out of here.”
Your eyes widened. “Don’t you have work in like—what—a hour?”
He shook his head. “I called off. Can’t have my girl feeling down when I can do something about it.”
For the first time that day, hope rushed through your body, and you found yourself bringing him back into an unexpected hug. However, Jack was quick to squeeze you against his front again.
“Thank you,” you whispered, voice watery.
Jack rested his cheek against the top of your head. “Any time, kid. Any time.”
cw: fluff!!! I use Celsius to describe the temperature
a/n: writing for dick without laughing is a genuine challenge for me (I have the humor of a middle school boy)
Dick Grayson was never one to get super nervous, but today he was sweating through the dress shirt he was wearing.
his hand tapped continuously on the steering wheel as he drove the two of you to “a secret location”, or at least that’s what he told you.
he didn’t give you any information about the date, he just told you to look nice. Steph had convinced you to go get her nails done with her and that had made you suspicious. Especially when she told you to do something classy.
the only noises in the car were Dicks tapping, the faint music playing out of the radio, and Dick muttering “don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up, dont mess this up”
“Babe, are you okay?” You asked. Honestly, you were actually worried about him.
He broke his gaze away from the road, just for a second, to look at you. “Why are you asking? I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
you almost laughed at his anxious tone.
“you are literally Nightwing, don’t mess this up,” you heard him mumble.
“what’s your middle name again?” He asked out of the blue.
when you told him he nodded very seriously. “Right, I knew that.”
you eventually made it to a nice scenic walking area and you realized this wasn’t just anywhere. This was where the two of you met.
“oh my god, dick is this where we met?” You asked as you stepped out of the car.
he nodded stiffly but didn’t say a word. He grabbed your hand and when he did, you realized he was even sweatier than you had thought.
“do you have a fever? You’re sweating a lot… you know we can just go home to let you rest,” you told him.
“no!” He exclaimed. Then he cleared his throat and tried to act nonchalant. “I mean, today’s the best day and I feel fine. It’s just really hot today.”
“babe, it’s literally only ten degrees today,” you deadpanned.
He cleared his throat again and lead you farther along the path.
When he found a bench he sat down and you did as well.
“I just want to say—” he let out a long sigh, “it’s just been nice knowing you. And I don’t want anything I say today to change how you feel about me.”
your eyes widened with horror and you stood up from the bench. “Dick Grayson! Did you drive me all the way up here to break up with me?!”
his eyes widened even more than yours. “No! God no! I’m just— fuck.”
he sank to the ground on both knees and pulled out a box from his pocket.
“Will you please marry me… please?” He asked as he opened the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring.
you stared at the ring, then at him, then back at the ring. The longer you stared, the more sweaty Dick got. Finally you looked at him and he saw all the tears welled up in your eyes.
naturally, he assumed the worst. But just as he was about to apologize, you out the ring on and hugged him.
“oh my god, yes! Yes!! Of course I’ll marry you!” You cried.
he laughed and got back on his feet to spin you around.
“I had a whole speech prepared but completely blanked,” he told you.
“it’s okay, your proposal was still perfect,” you said as you kissed him.
—
“you got on both knees to propose?” Jason asked as dick showed everyone your engagement photos.
“I bet you the bucks he said please,” Steph added.
“I blanked!” Dick exclaimed. He was not ready to be the family’s laughing stock of the month. But you said yes, so it was all worth it.
a/n: if u like this, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging, and checking out my other works!!
Could I potentially please get Wolf plushie in a sleeper onesie, smelling like black cherry, with a dog leash and bow tie? Thank you 🫶🏻
park the shark//idiots in love//"why didn't you answer your phone"//omegaverse//forced proximity
wc: 1.7k
“Code Silver. All omega staff members should report to their closest pheromone shelters. All omega patients press the silver button on your bedside remote.”
Park’s head snaps up from his patient. Instinctively, his eyes scan for you even though he knows you won’t be there. You’d been paged down to the Pitt because the consult was for a basic broken tibia. Surgical vs. non-surgical approach, perfect decision for a junior doctor. But now there’s a feral alpha on the loose somewhere in the hospital and Park has never wished he took the simple consult more. He avoids simple and easy like the plague, especially when it comes to dealing with Robinavitch’s idiot students who can’t even cleanly splint a break without daddy looking over their shoulders.
But now you’re down there.
And he’s up here.
At the sound of the ortho omega shelter sliding shut down the hall, its high-security biometric locks automatically engaging with his two omega nurses inside complaining about the inconvenience of the code, Park gives his beta patient a tight smile and says, “I need to secure my omega patients until the code is over. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
It’s a lie and a hell of a lazy one. Everyone at the hospital knows it’s the job of security, not doctors, to make sure all omegas are safe during a Code Silver. But he doesn’t care about that. The only thing he can focus on is finding you, nostrils flaring to try to catch your lingering scent that always calms him down.
Trying to calm the embers flaring in his gut, Park dials your pager. No response. He calls your phone. No answer. Text. Call. Text. No answers. The silence makes his ears ring. He doesn’t bother with the elevator; the stairs will be faster with the adrenaline already pulsing through his veins. It’s been a long time since he’s felt so possessed outside of a rut, launching down each set of steps like it’s nothing. It’s business as-goddamn-usual in the emergency department and he rolls his shoulders in annoyance as he storms up to the hub.
Grabbing the first scrawny doctor he sees by the scruff just above his scrubs, treating a beta like a pup, Park demands, “Where the fuck is she?”
The poor kid’s eyes go wide. “What? Who?”
“My fucking omega,” he barks back. Loud, imposing. That gets the attention of Robinavitch and Dana, both collaborating with a security guard nearby. It’s common knowledge that Park’s an unmated alpha because, fuck, does he act like one, all gnashing teeth and peacocking. With a deep breath, he lets go of the doctor with a small shove to the center of his chest and corrects himself, “The ortho resident. R4. About yea high-” he holds one large hand to the center of his chest, the place where you fit so well when you greet him with a hug after a weekend away from each other “-and smells like birthday cake. Sour when she’s upset. She came down here for a consult a few minutes ago. Before the code.”
With hesitant terror in his eyes, the kid response, “I- I have no idea if she-”
“Park,” Robinavitch shouts to save his student, “I saw her when they called it. She said she was going to the heat wing to wait it out. Stay down here; it’ll be over soon.”
“Stay here?” Park scoffs and shakes his head, turning on his heels toward the most highly regulated part of the hospital where omegas in heat receive treatment. “No chance.”
Robinavitch puts his hand at the center of Park’s chest. “You know it’s not safe for an alpha to go to the heat wing without protection.”
“I won’t hurt her.”
“How do you know that?”
Park wraps his hands around the other man’s wrist, bruising hard, and shoves him away. He repeats, dark and intense, “I won’t hurt her.”
Robinavitch reaches into his pocket for something. “At least put on a scent blocking patch. Here, I’ve got a few extras that you can-”
But Park’s already gone, the only sign of him the ashy traces of his scent. The charge nurse cuts Robinavitch a look and asks, “Should we call security on him?”
“They’ve got enough to deal with.” He explains, “Those two have been head over heels for each other since her residency started. He won’t hurt her.”
“So why did you try to stop him?”
Robinavich shrugs. “It’s an alpha respect thing. Once they figure their shit out, he’ll know I was looking out for his omega. That’ll be good for the department’s relationship with ortho.”
She shakes her head and mutters, “Fucking weird-ass alphas.”
The first sign that you’re not alone anymore is the soft beep of the card reader outside the door. Only a select number of approved doctors can gain access to the heat wing. Your whole body stiffens with nerves because you can’t smell who it is until they’re in the room with you – and, by then, it won’t matter anymore.
Park’s familiar voice pushes through the door and his scent floods the space, pungent and burning. As he crests through the double-sealed entry, he demands, “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been killing myself trying to find you while there’s a goddamn-”
His voice drops into silence when he sees you curled up in the corner of the room with wide dark eyes, your breaths heavy and your skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. You didn’t come into this room because it happened to be the closest safe space. Your heat is starting.
And it’s good.
That mild, sweet scent of your slick mingles with the desserty smell you always carry, invading Park’s nostrils until his pupils are dilating and he’s drawing closer to you, all instinct. He tucks his nose into his elbow, looking around for a mask as every hair on his body stands on end, and tells you hoarsely, “You’re supposed to report starting and stopping suppressants.”
“I did,” you reply weakly, teeth chattering, voice unsure, “to Gloria. She- she advised me not to tell any alphas.”
“But it’s me. I’m- I’m not just your boss. I care about you.” He shakes his head and punches his eyes shut to try to focus. “I could- I can help. Make sure you-” His cock starts to swell as your scent strengthens in response to his presence. “Make sure you’re comfortable. Get you the time off you need. Keep you safe.”
“I didn’t want you to have to deal with me like this,” you reply quickly, soft and ashamed, as his scent flares like smoke and salt. It’s protective and delicious. You want to crawl inside of him and live there in his warmth and his strength and his safety. Embarrassment heats your whole being; you shouldn’t want him as badly as you do. “Please, Park, just- just go back up to ortho and make sure the nurses are alright and forget you ever saw me like this, okay?”
He growls, “Like hell. I could smell you down the hall; you’re not staying here by yourself.”
“I’m okay, Brendon, I don’t need-”
Park shakes his head and rushes forward. He drops to his knees in front of you, takes your face between his large hands, and makes blistering eye contact. Your scent is all-consuming so close to him but he can’t focus on anything but your emotions. On making sure you feel how much he cares. On assuring you and keeping you safe and being there for you however you’ll let him. “Do you have any fucking idea how much it hurt me thinking about you hiding out all alone somewhere? It was agony. I’ve never felt anything like it. I can’t- I can’t be away from you right now. I have to be here. Let me be here.”
You gaze up into his eyes, too baby blue for someone so harsh, and whimper. It takes you a minute to find the words you need and he’s patient through the long moments like he only ever is with you. Sounding so small and vulnerable, you admit, “I don’t want you to stay if you aren’t staying for good.”
One of Park’s hands slides to the back of your head while the other goes to your waist, drawing you closer. Gently – you’ve never known him to touch so carefully and it steals your breath – he tilts your head to the side and exposes your most sensitive scent gland. Then he presses a precious, tender kiss to the overly sensitive flesh. He grazes his teeth there ever so softly, just enough to make you shiver and whine in his grasp. Against the shell of your ear, he vows in a gravelly voice, “I’m staying. And I’m never going anywhere.”
Then he kisses you. You’ve dreamed about kissing him a thousand times, but you never imagined it would be so soft. You imaged him taking, demanding, devouring, not tentatively exploring and holding you like a baby bird. It’s the kind of kiss that promises so much more.
“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ve got you now.”
Before you can come up with a meaningful response (not that you’re very capable of one with your heat about to bowl through you like a truck), the overhead speaker crackles to life. “Code Silver has ended. The hospital campus is secure. Omegas may resume their regular duties. PTMC thanks you for complying with safety procedures ”
Park doesn’t even let you stand. Like it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world, he scoops you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his hip and nestle into the crook of his neck. He orders, “We’re going back to your place. Home. Got it?” He kisses you again, this one more urgent, and adds, “You need to nest and you need to eat and you need to be fucked within an inch of your life. We’re not coming back to this hospital until you’re so full of my pups everyone in Pittsburgh knows you belong to me.”
You giggle as he tightens his hold around you. “I’m still on birth control, Brendon; my doctor only took me off the heat suppressants because I was having side effects.”
He brushes your cheek with a laugh. “That’s a damn shame.”
Summary: You're the person who has to deal with the consequences of Brendon Park's actions, which means you're the only one willing to bite his head off. You want to strangle him; he wants to kiss your feet.
A/N: nobody needs a woman to yell at him like park the shark
Word Count: 6.2k
There is exactly one sound on earth known to make Emergency Department attending physicians with decades of experience under their belt run for the hills and cower under cover – and that’s high heels.
Your high heels, specifically.
It’s not a common sound in the emergency room or the hospital as a whole; most healthcare employees are in sneakers, clogs, or boots the entire time they’re clocked in. But not you. Always dressed pristinely – today it’s high-waisted tailored slacks and a mock-neck sleeveless blouse, effortless and simple with legs that go on for miles and miles – you stalk through the hospital with a mission.
Robby spots you first, strolling in from the offices with eyeliner sharp enough to slice. As his eyes widen, he flips around, briefly touches Abbot and Park on their backs, and hisses, “Find cover, gentlemen. It’s the Viper.”
Abbot breaks into a near run toward the closest open patient room he can find. While Robby scans the area for his hiding place, Park asks, “What the hell’s going on?”
Robby hustles in the opposite direction with a shrug. “Every man for himself, Shark.”
Then a bright, clear, loud woman’s voice bowls down the ED like an oncoming storm. “Dr. Park, just the man I’ve been looking for.”
Even Al-Hashimi claps him on the back and runs off with a whispered, “Good luck.”
You join him in the next second. In your heels, which aren’t even that tall, you’re looking him square in the eyes. Smiling through lips coated in a deep maroon, you ask him, “How’s the transfer to the ED treating you, doctor?”
Arms crossed over his chest, Brendon eyes you suspiciously. “Ah, good, so far. I prefer trauma to ortho. The stakes are higher. Feels good at the end of the day. Accomplished.”
“Glad to hear it. I just need a couple minutes; I know you’re busy. Can we talk here or would you like to go to my office?”
Not noticing the way every single doctor and nurse is nervously glancing in your direction, Brendon mutters, “Here’s fine if it’s quick.”
“Great!” You unlock your briefcase on the nurse’s station and remove a binder as thick as a textbook. Voice still sweet and teasing, you tut at him, “You’ve made yourself very difficult for me to find, Brendon Park.”
“I’m usually in surgery,” he replies, confused and suspicious. He vaguely recognizes you from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. Probably just flitting around the ED when he’s been here for consults, but it’s entirely possible you’re the hot woman on PTMC’s billboard over I-376. “What’s this about?”
You introduce yourself, shaking his massive hand with yours (blood red stiletto manicure and all), and explain, “I’m the Emergency Department’s Patient Advocate Supervisor.”
“Ah,” Park sighs, eyes raking up and down your accentuated curves, “you’re my new Kevin. He was a huge pain in my ass; I hope our relationship will be better.”
“No, Kevin is a patient advocate and a damn good one, considering he had to deal with your mountain of issues; ortho’s equivalent of me is an idiot who lets the monkeys run the circus,” you correct with harsh eyes. All pretense of pleasantness gone. Brendon looks at you like you’re speaking Klingon, so you slow down your words like he’s a child and explain, “The patient advocates give their evaluations to me. I analyze them and write reports on each and every doctor in the department.”
His brows furrow. “I thought that was Gloria’s-”
“I don’t work for the hospital,” you say, offended by the very idea. “Hospital employees are beholden to the board and the bottom line. I’m a medical malpractice lawyer that the hospital contracts from a private firm to whip their doctors into shape. I don’t care about anything but how patients get treated while they’re here in the ED. I’m more than happy to testify against you in court, recommend probations and suspensions, advocate for salary cuts, or whatever else you might need to be a little more motivated to do your fucking job.”
He lets out a defensive half-chuckle sound, not quite believing the way you’re speaking to him when he’s used to nothing but deference from his coworkers. “I do my job just fine.”
You tap the thick binder and say, “This is your disciplinary folder, Dr. Park. You cut up patients just fine – and that’s an apt description, considering your outcomes aren’t any better than the other surgeons you treat like imbeciles despite doing identical work to yours.” He scoffs and goes to argue, but you barrel ahead, “Don’t ever interrupt me and don’t ever try to correct me; I don’t say things unless I’m completely certain they’re backed up by the data.”
With wide eyes, Brendon confirms, “That’s my file?”
“Yes. You have more patient complaints than any other surgeon in the hospital. I had to switch it from a folder because it has so many entries your previous PAS didn’t go through, so now I have to deal with a two-year backlog. She didn’t do her job of keeping you in line and I won’t be repeating her mistake. Your luck has run out; I expect you in my office at five this Friday for a comprehensive review of your existing file and every Friday after that until your performance improves.”
With his mind reeling, all Brendon can get out is, “Ah, I usually head out early on Fridays. Do a long surgery in the morning and get home by three or four.”
“I know that; I have your schedule history.” With a pat to his shoulder, you smile and tell him, “I want you to spend every weekend from now on thinking about how fucking annoying it is that some bitch from legal won’t let you leave the hospital until seven – and remember that it’s your own fault for being an asshole to patients and it’ll end as soon as you try to be nice and smile for once.”
Slack-jawed, Brendon just watches as you turn on your red-soled heels and head toward your next victim. After a couple of steps, though, you turn back toward him and add, “Oh, and welcome to the Emergency Department. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”
And all that’s left of you is a waft of warm, citrusy perfume. Park leans against the nurse’s station and breathes out slowly as the other attendings gradually reappear. Baffled, he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “What the fuck?”
Robby slaps him on the back. “A good public reaming by the Viper is a rite of passage in the Pitt; you were bound to get your first one sometime. You’re one of us now.”
Feeling dizzy and breathless, Brendon says softly but confidently, “I’m gonna marry that woman.”
Robby shakes his head and snorts out a laugh, “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”
“No, no, I can see it,” Jack cuts in, chuckling too. “You’d have the tallest, smartest, meanest children around.”
“I’m serious,” Park insists. A smile threatens his lips. “Give me six months, boys, and I’ll have a ring on that finger.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Robby replies simply. “I heard she dumped her last boyfriend because he polished her shoes with the wrong rag. She doesn’t want a man; she wants a whipping boy.”
Brendon looks between them both and sighs almost wistfully. “A girl like that? I’d let her whip me any time she wanted to, especially if I ruined her $1,000 heels.”
It’s Jack’s turn to laugh. Shaking his head as he grabs a new chart, he mutters, “Something is deeply wrong with you, man.”
That evening, Park waits around your office for you to leave, hustling behind you when you stroll past in your stylish knee-length coat, ready to brave the autumn air. You see him in the corner of your eye and hold up a hand. “Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”
“No, no, I don’t need anything,” he assures, quickening his pace to match step with your relentless one. “I think we got off on the wrong foot back there, Ms. Viper.”
You cut him a smirk. “Based on your file, I have a sneaking suspicion that’s how things usually go for you.”
“Well, I’d like to apologize for making your life so difficult over dinner and expensive wine.”
You stop in your tracks and turn around; he nearly barrels into you as he stops short. “Are you seriously asking me out on a date right now?”
“Yeah, I absolutely am. Are you saying yes?”
“Wow, you really do have all the social grace of a baboon.” With your hand on his chest, you give him the cruelest and most effortlessly dismissive laugh he’s ever heard, like he’s a snail by your foot and not an attractive, successful doctor. It makes him shiver. “You’re punching above your weight class, Dr. Park.”
But he just gives you a hunky grin, undeterred. “I can bench almost twice what I weigh; how much bigger do I need to get to take you out?”
You chuckle and reply, “Lift a thousand pounds with one hand.”
“No problem; give me two days.”
Trying to push down how charming he is, you turn at the entrance to the parking garage and tell him simply, “I’ll see you on Friday for your review.”
“Perfect.” He nods and, like it’s an assignment, confirms, “I’ll be done by then for sure.”
Friday afternoon, right on time, Brendon knocks on your office door. He pushes it open when you call for him to and slips inside with the air of a child who knows he’s in trouble.
“Sit,” you order, nodding to the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. He does so right away, clearly waiting to hear what you have to say instead of jumping into something himself. You set the contents of his disciplinary file on the desk and gesture to the piles. “Well, your reputation certainly precedes you, Dr. Park.”
He tries out a smirk to keep some semblance of confidence. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
You tilt your head and narrow your eyes. “Been a bully your whole life, then?”
“I meant more that-”
“Yeah, I’m not stupid.” You show him each of the three piles of paperwork and explain, “Since you started in the ED, I’ve been sorting through the complaints against you. This tallest stack is complaints I can handle myself without your help or where your help would only make things worse.”
“What does that mean?”
You level him with a gaze so stern it makes him squirm. “Ones where the problem was your personality, basically.”
“Brutal.”
“Like you.” When he hears himself in your words, Brendon doesn’t like it. For maybe the first time in his life, he questions his own behavior. So it sounds like an opportunity when you go on, “This one is complaints that I’ll have to pass on to the review board if you refuse to help me resolve the problems.”
After pinching the bridge of his nose, he taps the smallest stack of two thick documents held together by binder clips. “And this one?”
You sigh and tell him, “These two are going to the review board no matter what.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, turns out that-” you show him the cover page of each complaint “-pressuring parents into high-risk surgeries for their child isn’t very nice.”
“Well,” he bites back, still pushing up against his over-groomed ego, “being a good doctor isn’t about being nice.”
“You’re right.” You match his intensity. “It’s about effective patient care, which is impossible if your patients don’t trust you.”
Gesturing like he’s trying to find the right words to grab, he argues, “The kid would’ve died without the surgery.”
You let out a harsh laugh. “And when you gave a blood transfusion to a Jehovah’s Witness?”
“They came in unconscious and had no identification of their religious status.” He throws his hands up defensively. “Could not possibly be construed as misconduct.”
“Clearly the complainant disagrees.” You sigh and lean back in your chair, fuse burning short at his constant belligerence. “Look, Brendon. Your surgical work is fine – good, even – but your bedside manner is nothing short of atrocious. You don’t spend enough time getting informed consent, you don’t listen to concerns, and you regularly exhibit disrespect to patients and other doctors. Now, I understand that surgeons receive more complaints than other specialties – less face time with patients, uncertainty about post-op results, all that. But you, doctor, are a true outlier among outliers. And if you want to keep your job at this hospital, then you need to cooperate with me in resolving these complaints.”
Your words hang heavy in the air for a minute. Brendon hates that you know exactly how to deliver a monologue that makes him feel like he’s in the time-out corner and absolutely deserves it. There’s never been a coworker – or a woman, frankly – who’s put him in his place like this. Finally sounding on the border of humble, he asks, “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Whatever I say.”
“In practical terms, please.”
You can’t help but let out a laugh at his pouty tone. “You’re going to take mornings off surgery for the next two weeks to meet with aggrieved former patients. You will listen, you will sincerely apologize, and you will agree with every single thing I say to convince them not to escalate.”
His eyes widen and he balks, “You seriously expect me to not do surgery?”
“My proposal has already been cleared by hospital administration and the meetings are scheduled. I’ll add them to your calendar.”
Reaching for anything to get out of what he imagines would be the worst thing on earth – trapped with a gorgeous, cruel woman who hates him and a jilted patient – Brendon mutters pathetically, “I thought we weren’t supposed to apologize to patients for fuckups.”
“That’s a myth and one that makes my life way more annoying on a regular basis.” You rifle through some papers on the cabinet behind your desk and hand him a pamphlet on malpractice, explaining, “Physician apologies cannot be used to demonstrate guilt in a court of law and they’re actually the number one reason patients agree to mediation and ultimately drop complaints.”
Brendon absently flips through the pamphlet, trying to resign himself to his fate. “What do I do, then?”
“Come to my office first thing in the morning,” you start, giving him a ‘don’t you dare’ look when he opens his mouth to crack a joke about that. “Wear a light-colored button-down and your white coat. Mousse your hair instead of gelling it so it’s soft. Practice looking like a human being in the mirror.”
Once again, his expression turns to a mix of offense and dread, scoffing, “What, like I’m a murderer trying to convince a jury I’m not a psycho? The damn Menendez brothers in their pastel fucking sweaters?”
You can’t help laughing at the irony. “Brendon, listen to yourself.”
He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his end-of-day-loose hair. “Christ, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”
“Acceptance is the first step in recovery,” you lilt. Then you pick up a few of the files and say, “Now, let’s go over the meetings I have lined up for Monday morning. The more prepared you are for what they’re going to say, the better we can handle it.” Watching him tentatively take the first file and read over it with furrowed brows, you go on, much softer, “I know everyone at the hospital thinks I’m a bitch – and, to be fair, I am – but it’s only because I want your patients to have a good experience with you. When your patients view you as competent and trustworthy, they’ll return to you for care, they’ll follow instructions better, and ultimately your outcomes will improve. So just work with me here and we’ll get this figured out.”
He nods slowly, guilt trickling into his veins as he actually reads over the details of the complaints for the first time. Patients who felt dismissed, who didn’t understand his decisions, who ended up with post-op complications they didn’t feel comfortable bringing up. After what feels like forever, his voice lowers and you see a flicker of humility in his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I trust you. I don’t-” He swallows hard, averts his eyes, and manages to admit, “I don’t want to be the kind of doctor people avoid. I want to be better.”
You reach across the desk and give his forearm and small, affirming squeeze. When you smile at him earnestly for the first time, it makes his heart flutter a little too embarrassingly for him to acknowledge. “That’s all I need to hear for us to work together.”
The two of you make it through reviewing the first week’s-worth of low-level complaints by seven, going back and forth to understand his perspective, the patient’s, and the advocate’s. You hate to admit it, but when Brendon actually accepts that there’s a problem and gets determined to fix it, he’s…good. He cares. He has the work ethic of an ox and you can tell he’s the kind of man who needs to right his wrongs.
It doesn’t hurt that most of the complaints against him have to do with him being hard-headed, not incompetent or malicious, usually bulldozing patients because he’s right and wants to do the best he can. Not like some of the ED doctors who have fewer complaints that are much more serious. You know he just needs to find the balance of that skill and confidence with communication and understanding. He’ll be the best of the hospital if he can do that.
Your watch beeps at seven, interrupting the flow of your conversation. You stand up first to make it clear that Brendon’s officially free, saying, “Thank you for coming in and for your understanding. You can do this.”
As you collect your things and he does the same, he ensures, “So we’re done for now?”
“Yeah, we are. You can head out.”
“Great.” He opens up your office door to let you walk through and says seriously, “Let’s circle back on that conversation we had earlier this week now that we’re off the clock. Would you like to go on a date with me?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Your biceps aren’t looking any stronger since we last went over this; sure you’re ready to lift that thousand pounds for me?”
All cocky again, he whistles and muses, “So you have noticed how big my arms are.”
You nudge him in the arm with your elbow as he falls into step next to you. “I’ve noticed your scrub tops are a size too small, yes.”
“God, you are far and away the most brutal, beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I can tell you’d sucker punch a bear if it didn’t mind its manners,” he absolutely swoons. While you try not to smile, he goes on, looking for all the world like he’s about to break into song, “I’m smitten over here. I’ll take you somewhere nice, dress up like a gentleman, the whole damn thing. What do you say?”
“I only date doctors with a patient satisfaction score in the double digits, Brendon.”
“God, my name sounds so good in your mouth it’s like this is the first time I’m hearing it. You can make the meanest insult sound like a song. What a gift.” While you laugh and push out of the hospital’s front door toward the parking garages, he follows behind you like a puppy and goes on, “Plus, I know for a fact my patient satisfaction score is 51 because Robby was thrilled to have a doctor who scored lower than his 65. I’m proud of that.”
With an eye roll, you remind him, “You really shouldn’t be.”
“And you really should go on a date with me. I’d treat you so well; you have no idea,” he insists as you walk through the parking garage toward your reserved spot halfway down the first row. “I’d lick this garage floor right now if you’d let me open your car door for you.”
You stop next to a sexy little silver Miata and snicker, “I’ll let you do that today, but only because I have my hands full.” Brendon immediately drops to his knees and bends toward the ground with his tongue out, making you shriek out a laugh and smack him with your purse. You cover your smile with your hand and chastise, “You’re horrifying.”
“And you’re just a few more interactions from falling in love with me.” He stands up with a satisfied, goofy grin that’s far too boyishly charming for his features and opens your car door, stepping back and gesturing with a flourish. “Get home safe, beautiful.”
You slide into the front seat, settle your belongings, and tell him, “If you smile like that at your patients, you might actually have a chance with me, big guy.”
He salutes and promises, “I’ll spend the whole weekend practicing for you.”
The whole ride home, you have to keep forcibly wiping the school-girl smile from your face. You’re totally aware that Brendon Park can 1000% wear you down. Definitely not your usual type with his wolfish smile and domineering attitude, but gorgeous, broad, and just cocky enough to turn you on without intimidating you.
The problem is that his very existence is an annoyance to you. If you were going to date a doctor in the ED, it would be Abbot, who seems to actually give a shit about making your job easier and treating his patients like people and not puzzles. Shen is by far too happy and Al Hashimi is too sweet. Robby repulses you on a visceral level for more reasons than you can name.
But Brendon Park? He’s a big question mark for you. All you know about him is from his file, which doesn’t paint a particularly flattering picture. When he talks and smiles, though, you can sense a sweetness in him that he doesn’t show often. Maybe that means he can open up and be better – but you doubt it.
That flicker of hope in your gut? You aren’t sure whether to stoke it or blow it out.
You fully expect Brendon to drop his crusade to go out with you after a couple of rejections. He could have any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, you’re sure, so there’s no way he’d keep going for someone as off-putting and crass as you. Especially after two full weeks of morning meetings that essentially consist of you bending him over and letting patients spank him red, you’d guessed that his interest would fizzle out into something more akin to begrudging tolerance.
But no.
Brendon Park is not a man easily dissuaded.
Every time you spend two hours on Friday afternoon verbally beating the shit out of him so he’ll become a better doctor, he inevitably goes through the same routine.
“Go out with me, gorgeous, I’m begging you,” he tries again. His latest addition to the song and dance is insisting on carrying your file box and briefcase out to your car because, quote, ‘your manicure is too sexy to risk chipping.’ Sticking right by your side, he swears, “I’ll get on my knees right now if you just say yes.”
You meet his too-pretty blue eyes and insist, knowing it’s only about 40% true now, “Not in a million years.”
“No problem,” he beams, “I’ll wait a million and one just to sweep the floor in front of you so you don’t get any scuffs on those designer shoes.”
“Cute, but how about you start working on that list of calls for me instead? Give me an update the next time you see me.”
“Oh, I’m already on it,” he assures like a dog showing off a new trick and hoping for a cookie, “but if it gets me another single solitary second breathing in that perfume of yours, I’ll go double time.”
You roll your eyes and ignore it – but you’re smiling, and that’s enough for Brendon.
By the time you and Brendon are on the last week of his patient apology tour, your resolve is about as strong as a toothpick. He’s bringing you coffee and pastries every single morning, just setting them on your desk without a word while the two of you prep. He always compliments not only what you’re wearing but the little details alongside it – your perfume’s top notes, the shade of your lipstick, the way your earrings catch the light. With every ounce of his earnest affection, he can tell your resolve is wearing very, very thin, but it’s definitely still there. He can smell the blood in the water even if he isn’t quite sure when or how to make the final strike.
Brendon figures out his plan of attack because of the wisdom of one Dana Evans.
You’re working on the floor of the ED today because a nasty bug has taken out two of your patient advocates. In picking up their workload, you end up floating through Brendon’s peripheral vision all day. For everyone else, you’re the viper who might bite their neck at any turn. But, for Brendon, it’s like, well, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen is just there for him to gaze at in between surgeries.
While going over plans with him and a few nurses, Garcia turns to him and offers, “One of my friends wants me to set her up with a doctor and I said I’d try. Park, you’re single, right? She’s funny, pretty, successful. Maybe a little nice for you, but you never know.”
Brendon smirks, glancing in your direction, and answers, “I’m single, but I’m not available.”
Princess rolls her eyes and cuts in for the sake of the gossip: “What the hell does that mean, Shark?”
“I’ve got a girl in mind,” he replies easily, voice smooth and cool as a saxophone. “Got a feeling she’s finally gonna give me a shot soon.”
Garcia faux-gasps. “You’re groveling for a girl? You know you’re, like, eight feet tall, buff, and rich, right?”
“And that means there’s nothing sexier than a woman who needs to be courted.”
“Ew.”
Absently listening to the exchange, Dana glances up at him over the rims of her glasses. “You’re cock-blocking yourself with her, Park, you know that, right?”
Princess looks between Park and Dana, beyond nose, and presses, “With who, exactly? This girl works at the hospital?”
“The Viper,” Dana explains like that’s not some top-shelf, high-value chisme. “He’s been trying to get her to go out with him for weeks now. It’s obvious.”
Garcia’s mouth falls open in horror. “You like her?!”
“Shut up,” Brendon hisses, nervous about the potential of you overhearing just a few feet over. He narrows in on Dana and demands, “What do you mean? I’ve never put more effort into trying to convince a girl to date me.”
“Kid, she likes you already. She laughs at your bad jokes and she squeezes your arm like it’s a prize tenderloin she’s thinking about buying. She wants to go out with you.” Staring him down from over her glasses, Dana explains, “But you know what’s not attractive? Being the reason she had to work overtime almost every day this month. You wanna go on a date with someone after you spend four hours defending them to angry patients and lawyers?
This isn’t some playground back in the ‘90s when we tried to convince girls it was cute for a boy to pull her pigtails or tease her. A lady like that expects better for herself. You’re clearing all these complaints for her, but, in the meantime, you’re collecting plenty of new ones. Bring her all the coffees and donuts you want, but until you’re a guy she can actually rely on to make her life better instead of worse, it’s a lost cause.”
“Damn, Evans.” Brendon lets out a long, slow breath, watching you talk with a patient using those soft eyes you don’t give to anyone else. God, you’re so beautiful it aches. The harshness of you and the softness, too. With a sharp nod, plan solidifying in his mind, Brendon claps Dana on the shoulder and says, “Heard.”
After the very last patient from the backlog of Brendon’s complaint file leaves your office, you stretch your arms above your head, down the last of your coffee, and tell him, “Congratulations, Dr. Park. You’re officially rid of me until you get a brand new complaint – so, I’m guessing I’ll see you this afternoon?”
With a shit-eating grin, he muses, “Oh, you haven’t heard?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Heard what?”
Shrugging like it’s easy and obvious, he explains, “I’m not gonna get a single complaint this month.”
You bark out a sharp laugh and start preparing for your next meeting. “For the first time in your career? Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he vows, almost somber in his conviction. “I’ve got a brand new wave of motivation.”
You lean forward and balance your chin in your hands like you’re tuning in for a gossip session. “Do tell.”
“Turns out my bad behavior has a direct negative effect on the girl I like, so I’ve gotta shape up if I want to make her mine.”
Your heart flutters and you unintentionally bite your lower lip before catching yourself and admonishing your brain for responding to something so…so…charming. As he leans in your doorway, lingering instead of leaving, you ask, “And what do you think the odds are on that?”
“Oh, they’re astronomical.” Sounding positively wistful, he gazes at you affectionately and continues, “She never gives me the time of day and she scares the shit out of me; it’s the most amazing thing that she still absolutely knocks my socks off. I’ve got no idea what the hell’s wrong with me when it comes to her.”
“Yeah, me neither,” you giggle. Fuck, you didn’t mean for it to come out as a giggle. Shaking your head and averting your eyes to your computer because the embarrassment of being caught feeling all flirty and cute is too much, you say, “Get back to the ED, Brendon; I’ve got my next meathead doctor in a few minutes.”
“No problem, gorgeous, but I’ve gotta tell you one more thing, though.”
You look back at him, careful to keep your face together and not too wooed. “What’s that?”
He steps forward and leans over your desk, hands planted on the tabletop. His eyes bore into yours. “My odds may not be good, but they’re not zero. And that minuscule chance? That keeps me going. You’ve just gotta give me a single second and you’ll fall in love for the rest of your life, I promise you that.”
A little breathless, you meet his baby blues. “Do you?”
“I’m gonna treat you so well and make your life so much easier; it’ll be impossible not to fall for me.” Then, so confident it steals whatever’s left of your breath, he cups your cheek and says, “I’m gonna fix this whole department’s patient satisfaction scores starting with my own and then I’m gonna learn how to shine your shoes just how you like. I’d do nothing but sit in your closet with a dehumidifier to make sure the humidity for your leather heels is just right if that’s what you wanted.”
You swallow hard as his touch stays on your face long after he withdraws his hand. “Sounds a little scary.”
Brendon shrugs, smiles, and backs toward the door once more, always reluctant to leave you. “Then you’ll just have to give me something else to do to make you happy. Let me change your oil; you don’t even have to be there while I do it. Or I can mow your lawn, bring over my own push mower and everything to make sure I get the stripes just right how you want them. I’ll hand wash your floors with my toothbrush. Anything.”
You shake your head and sigh tenderly, “What am I gonna do with you, Brendon?”
“Whatever you want, whenever you want. Have I not made that clear enough?” Brendon’s eyes rake over you once more like he’s memorizing the sight of you to savor for the rest of the day. “Man, even when you’re rejecting me, you’re just about the loveliest thing I’ve ever set my eyes on. The things I would do for you if you’d even brush a hair off my shoulder.”
“That would be the most action a man’s gotten from me in a very long time.”
“Yeah? How long?”
“I’ll see you later, Dr. Park.”
“See you soon, Viper.”
Brendon makes absolutely zero attempts to ask you out for the next 30 days straight. You’re honestly starting to believe he may have lost interest until he waltzes into your office at 5PM on a Friday, the last day of the month. He knocks dramatically on the door frame even though it’s propped open.
In the middle of collecting your things, you shrug on your jacket and sigh, “Can I help you with something, Dr. Park.”
Standing with his hands suspiciously bashfully behind his back, Brendon steps into the office and informs you seriously, “You should sit down for this, gorgeous.”
You lean against your desk and nudge, “Why’s that?”
“Because,” he announces, voice grand like he’s about to call an auction, “you, the Viper of the Emergency Department, are about to agree to go out with me, your humble subject, and, after your many rejections, I have to imagine that’ll be so shocking for you that you might pass out.”
With your stomach full of butterflies you can’t deny, you hop up on your desk dramatically and gesture broadly like a queen for her jester. “Alright, Sharkie, go ahead.”
Brendon’s smile only grows at your teasing. He takes a deep breath and explains, “Dana told me this morning that I had to check my mailbox because it had gotten too full. The whole time I worked in ortho, I think I checked my box maybe once. When you get served, they put the notice right in your hand, so why bother? But I go to the mailroom and she’s right; my cubby’s got a million fucking envelopes in it.” From behind his back, he hands you a stack of cards. “They’re from patients. My patients.”
He lets it hang as you inspect the papers he’s handed over. Like he said, they’re all cards and they’re all from patients. There are hand-drawn ones from kids with pictures of sharks, sentimental ones from old ladies, ones with shitty jokes from the convenience store. There have to be twenty of them here, each one telling a story of a doctor who truly made them feel seen and cared for.
The last of your resolve crumbles into dust.
Brendon steps forward, studying your expression carefully, and says softly, “Turns out that while I’ve just been trying to impress you, I actually became a better doctor for my patients. And a better man, I hope. So, first and foremost, I wanted to thank you for that.”
When he doesn’t launch into another attempt to ask you out immediately, you let the silence linger for a moment. Thumbing through the cards, you make your mind up once and for all. You meet his baby blue eyes, let a small smile part your lips, and reply, “Okay.”
His eyebrows go up. “Okay?”
You nod and sigh out, “I’ll go on a date with you.”
He fist pumps the air in a way so dorky and adorable you almost back out and lets out a dramatic whoop, “Fuck, yes! Jesus, I really didn’t think that would work.”
You roll your eyes at him even though it’s become physically impossible to suppress your delighted smile that matches his. “Alright, slugger, calm down. I’m just a woman.”
Brendon shakes his head and scoffs, “Au contraire. You aren’t ‘just’ anything.”
“Well, regardless, you win.” You take a Post-It from your desk, scribble your phone numbers on it, and hand it over to him. “Text me your address. Make me dinner tomorrow night.”
“Make you dinner? You know I could get us a table at any restaurant you wanted.”
You cross your arms over your chest and challenge, “And I want you to cook for me. It’s the perfect test for a man.”
Staring down at your phone number in your swoopy handwriting like it’s made of diamonds, Brendon absently asks, “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“It means one of the three things.” You explain seriously, “He can already cook, which is a green flag. He can follow a recipe, which means he’s teachable, or he utterly fails and that means he can handle being humbled, which is sexy.”
“It’s sexy when a man gets humbled?”
“What exactly do you think has been going on between us?”
“Honestly, I haven’t heard a single word since you agreed to date me.”
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
tags: jack abbot x reader, younger reader (late 20s), resident reader, fangirldotcom's full pope cody debut, jack thinks pope wants that cookie (reader), jealous jack abbot, reader tries not to explode with basically jack-squared in one room, pope is just there for the ride
notes: okay funny thing is I had this almost completed before I changed gears to write doppelbangers (which if you want to read click here) but I at least wanted to get this published because I love Pope, and I cannot wait to start writing for him! so please enjoy, and if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment on this post!
word count: 6.8k
The chairs had always felt vaguely cursed to you, even on good days.
On bad days—days where the waiting room smelled too strongly of antiseptic and drying blood, where somebody’s kid was crying near the vending machines, where a grown man was acting like a child as he yelled about missing insurance—it felt like corporal punishment in its purest form. You’d been down there for nearly two hours already, bouncing between triage and lacerations and flu symptoms and a man who had somehow managed to staple his own thumb at work only fifteen minutes into his shift.
By the third anti-vax mom, your patience had worn thin. And being exiled to chairs now felt less like staffing necessity and more like karmic retaliation. How were you supposed to know Robby was right behind you, listening in on very important Pitt gossip, and that he believed in the whole “if you had time to talk, you had time to work.”
Thus, you’d been sent off to chairs until Robby deemed you cleansed of your sins.
Because, unfortunately, chairs happened to be the closest thing the Pitt had to purgatory: the perfect place for hellfire and fractures and a waiting room from hell. People were packed shoulder to shoulder while irritated family members grumbled and complained about the temperature. The television in the corner played daytime reruns at an offensively loud volume, and every few minutes somebody new approached the desk asking how much longer the wait would be for something as simple (or ridiculous) as a cut hangnail. Their questions made you believe they thought you personally controlled time itself.
Which, if you did, you would have made your shift go by a lot faster.
But no. You did not control time. Time and a chief attending named Michael Robinavitch controlled you, and you hated every second of it.
By the time you pushed back through the waiting room doors with another chart in your hand, a mechanical smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes plastered across your face. Your eyes glued to the tablet in front of you with the name Mrs. Hill stuck between your teeth.
However, the name died in your throat after you glanced up.
There, in the corner, near the far wall, sat Jack Abbot, all hunched over in one of the molded plastic chairs with his elbows on his knees, body stiff as a board almost as to not touch the chair at all, and hood pulled over his head despite the warmth of the waiting room. Your brows pinched, confusion plastered all over your face. For a second, Jack sitting there genuinely made no fucking sense.
He was the night shift attending. He could walk through the ambulance bays whenever he needed. He’d be prioritized because the Pitt didn’t just look over one of their own and ban him to the chairs off all places to sit and wait with the rest of the common people.
Jack also never sat still enough to like a garden statue. Even through exhaustion, even post-shift, you noticed that he carried this restless energy about him, like if he stopped moving for too long, he might actually wither away.
You stared at him for another beat before walking over, Mrs. Hill be damned.
“What the fuck, Dr. Abbot,” you hissed, stopping in front of him. “What happened to you, and why didn’t you walk through the back?”
Jack slowly lifted his head, and a small something snagged uncomfortably in your chest. The feeling wasn’t alarming, and it wasn’t that guy from TikTok running back and forth across a field with an overly large flag yelling Red Flag! Red Flag! either. The cause of this feeling was the small curls peaking below the hood.
Jack’s hair had always been salt-and-pepper for as long as you’d known him in the Pitt, causing the very serious nickname of a true “silver fox” to be tossed around when he wasn’t listening. But right now, Jack’s hair was dark, richer, and auburn almost. Near his temples, the deep, reddish-brown curls were flat under the fabric.
But even with the recent hair dye, his face was Jack’s, your brain filling in the gaps automatically to the point you didn’t notice the way he was missing his sun spots and wrinkles that Jack normally dawned in the sexiest ways.
“Hit my head,” he finally replied quietly.
Even his voice sounded the tiniest bit off, however, your concern for him outweighed the missing features your Jack normally had.
You frowned, couching slightly so you could get a better look at him, Robby’s “words of wisdom” about getting on the patient’s level ringing in your head.
“Okay, that explains why you look like you got dragged behind an ambulance,” you said before reaching up to gently cup his face.
This time, you didn’t miss the way he flinched under your palms before settling as you tilted his head to find the injury.
“Did you pass out? Throw up? How long ago did it happen” You didn’t really wait for his answers before continuing, already slipping deep into assessment mode. “Actually, hold on, no, don’t answer all that because your pupils are clearly telling me you’re very concussed, and if you start slurring your words, you and I won’t get anywhere with delayed responses.”
Jack’s eyes fluttered shut as you talked to him, and the weird feeling bloomed under your skin again. When his hazel met yours again, you let his face go and stood to full height.
“C’mon, Dr. Abbot,” you sighed, motioning for him to stand. “You’re not sitting out here looking like a murder suspect all afternoon. Let me get you into a room before Robby sees you and starts berating me as to why you’re still out here.”
His eyes lifted to yours fully, and the intensity almost stopped you cold. Jack looked at people all the time—quick glances, assessing looks, sharp little observations hidden behind sarcasm—but the way he was looking at you now was different. This Jack, looking at least fifteen years younger, looked directly as you with a heavy kind of focus that should’ve felt unsettling, like he was trying to learn your family’s history with once glance. Unlike your Jack (which you were still convinced was sitting right in front of you), he felt almost dangerous in how still he was and how carefully he watched.
When he didn’t stand up to follow, you asked, “You gonna pass out if I make you walk?
“No.”
“Is your leg bothering you? I can get you a wheelchair if you need.”
“I can walk.”
“Great. Love your confidence.”
He stood slowly, hands never touching the handles, body towering over you once he straightened fully. Again, another disjointed feeling washed over you. Jack was tall, yes, but he was now carrying himself so opposite of how he normally did. Here, he seemed disconnected from the room, like feeling the air was inconveniencing him. Now standing, you caught another glimpse of bruising near the edge of his jaw as you guided him through toward an empty room down the hall.
His silence was starting to get uncomfortable, so you found yourself talking just to fill the unusual quiet between you, even if talking had gotten you banished to chairs in the first place.
“You know, Dr. Abbot, most people with concussions demand to be sent through immediately even if they aren’t an attending. Please tell me this isn’t you trying to not look weak in front of everyone? I bet they would rather you come through walking and talking than someone giving you a wellness check and finding you dead because you didn’t follow concussion protocol.”
Behind you, he stayed silent.
You busied yourself by pulling gloves on, still talking as he sat on the very edge of the exam bed, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists on his thighs.
“Seriously though, Dr. Abbot, you scared me for a second out there. You looked half-dead sitting in that chair, which, honestly, kind of impressive for you because you usually can’t keep still. I guess that’s why you do SWAT and stuff, huh? One of these days you’re going to find out you’re not actually immortal even though people talk like you are. But what would I know, I’m just a nurse while you spend your free time getting shot at.”
Finally, like broken pottery, the smallest smile cracked through his face. You blinked at him while his eyes refused to move anywhere but your face.
“Okay,” you said slowly. “You are being deeply weird today. Are you okay?”
His gaze dropped briefly before returning to your face. “Head hurts.”
“That would be your concussion talking.”
You stepped closer, gently tilting his head toward the light to examine the molted bruise near his temple. Unlike in the chairs, he didn’t flinch under your fingers this time. Up close like this, Jack’s differences stood out more. The lighting in the waiting room made everything seem worse under shadows, but the direct light washed away the wrinkles and lines around his eyes.
And still, he kept staring at you with an unwavering intensity that made your knees go weak and made a warmth creep up your neck.
“You’re very stare-y today,” you murmured distractedly while checking his pupils.
“Sorry.”
Your hands paused for a half a second at his promptness for an apology.
As far as you knew, Jack never apologized that fast.
However, the though slipped through your mind before you could stop it, but again, the concussion explained enough that you ignored every strange feeling creeping higher in your chest. Head injuries changed behavior sometimes. Personalities softened, reactions slowed, and people became emotional, subdued, clingy, and disoriented. You’d seen it first-hand countless times.
Still.
You moved back slightly to jot something onto the chart. “Any nausea?”
“A little.”
“Blurred vision?”
“Yeah.”
“Memory issues?”
His eyes stayed on you. “Maybe?”
“Can you tell me where you are?”
“Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital.”
You snorted softly. “Using the full government name. I see you Dr. Abbot. I’ll give you a gold star for incredible patient participation.”
He didn’t laugh or smile at that this time. You continued to fill out his chart: name, birthdate, allergies. Thankfully, most of it was already in the system. Your eyes rose back to his when you finished up, chart getting tucked under your arm as you pulled the gloves off.
“Okay, let me go get Robby since I highly doubt you’d want anyone else in here—”
“Can you not tell anyone I’m here?”
You cocked your head. “What?”
His jaw tightened slightly, gaze flickering briefly toward the closed door before returning to you. “Don’t want people knowing.”
Concern replaced every single weird feeling. Embarrassment after injuring wasn’t uncommon, especially with doctors, and even so more with attendings who weren’t used to being the ones under care. God knew Jack hated appearing vulnerable in front of his coworkers.
“You do know they’re not going to make fun of you for getting a concussion. Robby might poke fun, but you are like his best friend.” Your eyes glanced toward the door. “Okay, maybe his only friend,” you added on with a mutter.
He didn’t answer right away.
You leaned against the counter, studying him for moment. The intensity was still there in the way he watched you, but his eyes held a sadness you’d never seen before. The hazel hues dripped with a scarcity that made your heart clench.
After a moment, you conceded. “Okay. Fine. Your secret is safe with me, Dr. Abbot.” You pointed at him with your pen. “But only because you’re looking at me like that. Special privileges are frowned upon here.”
The faintly cracked almost-smile appeared again.
And God help you, it looked surprisingly pretty on him, making you want more of it.
_______________________
Purgatory had ended the moment you stepped out of the room and went diving head-first into the incoming trauma after Robby grabbed you by the shoulders and physically steered you into Trauma Room One. The entire department had gone from irritatingly busy to borderline catastrophic after a minor highway pileup flooded intake with a dozen patients and emergencies that clogged up the CT scan because their necks felt “a little weird.”
Softened and concussed Jack Abbot fleed from your mind as you called out BP’s and administered correct dosages. You’d spent most of the last hour speed-walking between rooms with granola bar shoved into the pocket of your scrub jacket, half-finished notes beneath your arm, and a headache steadily building behind your eyes by the sterile light that never gave up buzzing for even a second.
At one point, Dana moved you toward the break room and ordered you to eat something before you passed out in front of a patient.
At another, Whitaker had nearly stepped into a pile of vomit while reading a chart, which honestly might have been the funniest thing you’d seen all week.
Through it all though, you kept thinking about softened and concussed Jack. Every time you passed through the hallway leading toward his room, your eyes drifted toward the closed door, checking without meaning to whether he was still there. And honestly, you were surprised Robby hadn’t yelled at anyone—you—for taking up a room and not having a resident check in.
When you finally nudged the exam room door open again with your shoulder, two awful vending machine coffees balanced carefully in your hands, the room was dimmer than before. He must have lowered the lights while you were gone, and you silently cured yourself for not doing that on your way out.
To your surprise (or horror) he was sitting exactly where you’d left him on the exam bed, shoulders straight, back even straighter, hands still glued to his thighs like he didn’t know he was allowed to touch the bed beneath him.
His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, hitting you with that look before you could even mentally prepare for it.
Most people only half paid attention after hours in an ER room. Patients looked tired, distracted, and uncomfortable; doctors were worse. Jack especially had always operated at a hundred miles an hour, his attention split between six different thoughts at once even when he focused on you. Here in the exam room, he looked at you completely like he was tracking every little expression crossing your face the second you walked into the room.
The familiar warmth climbed embarrassingly fast into your chest and sat there.
“Oh, good,” you said quickly, mostly because the silence suddenly made you self-conscious. “You’re still alive. I was starting to think you’d turn into a statue or died sitting up in here. That would really make my paperwork worse, so I’m very glad you’re still breathing.”
His gaze dropped to the coffee cups in your hands before dragging up back to your face.
“You brought me one.”
The way he said it almost made it sound like he couldn’t quite believe why the hell you’d go out of your way to get one for him.
You shrugged, cross the room toward him before holding one out carefully. “I use the word coffee loosely here, because I’m pretty sure the machine actually dispenses motor oil, but you looked miserable earlier, and caffeine fixes at least eighty percent of human suffering.”
His fingers brushed yours when he took the cup. The contact lasted maybe a heartbeat, but it sent chills ripping up your arms. You turned away before he could possibly notice, pretending on the monitor beside him while taking a sip of your own coffee and instantly regretting it.
“Damn,” you muttered. “That’s genuinely horrific. I change my mind; this only fixes about 30 percent of human suffering and adds to the other percentage.”
A faint hint of amusement crossed his face, and the sight made you beam.
“You look handsome when you smile,” you blurted before you could even stop it. Your hands clapped over your mouth to the point it hurt. “I don’t know why I just said that.”
Jack cocked his head, eyes still burning into your face. “Do I not normally?”
Your heart clenched as you lowered your hands. “Um, I mean you do? But normally it’s when you’re about to say something so sarcastic it makes me want to pull my hair out.”
His brows pulled together slightly at that, like he was trying to remember through the lingering fog of his concussion.
You kept talking before he could say anything, words spilling naturally into the quiet space. “Actually, let me rephrase that. Usually you do smile, and it’s very nice, but it’s not normally after something I say. Also, is your head still hurting? You’re still staring at me like I’m a dessert you just want to eat, and that’s so unfair because I normally look at you like that and—”
Another hand slap to your mouth.
“Please ignore everything I’ve said in the past fifteen seconds. Or better, I’ll just stand here and wait for the floor to swallow me up. I’m talking way too much.”
You found yourself fidgeting under his stare before stepping closer, coffee cup placed gently on the counter. “Is your head any better? Or still hurting?”
“Hurting a little.”
“Have you gotten dizzy?”
“Yeah.”
“Still feeling nauseated?”
He nodded once instead of answering, and you wondered if he had hit his word limit for the hour. You sighed sympathetically while typing notes onto the chart.
“If I had to spend hours in a chair listening to daytime TV and screaming children, I’d probably feel that way too. Your concussion doesn’t help either.”
Another tiny smile quirked his lip even though he didn’t say anything else. You “allowed” him to stare at you while you finished updating the chart, his silent presence settling under your skin as you worked. The way he looked at you should have made you reach out for Robby the minute Jack started acting this way, but the intimidating way his droopy eyes never left your figure felt strangely calming.
Which probably said concerning things about your taste in men, but the whole ER was pretty much putty in Jack Abbot’s hand. You were the white sheep in the flock, and you’d follow Shepherd Abbot anywhere.
You turned away from the chart and leaned against the counter. “You know, Dr. Abbot, you’re allowed to talk in here. I know I tend to carry the entire social interactions, but this is kinda exhausting for me. Usually, I can barely get a sentence in around you.”
His mouth twitched faintly. “Why’s that?”
Your cheeks burned. “Well, um, medically that’s not important.”
His eyes lingered on your face and the small area around your mouth longer than necessary, and once again you felt like melting and dramatically draping yourself across a Victorian fainting couch to blubber about your feelings for the concussed attending.
To compensate for these feelings and the sterile quiet, you started talking more.
“So chairs officially became a nightmare while you were hiding her, by the way,” you told him. “Some guy tried convincing triage he needed immediate treatment for a paper cut, which would’ve been annoying enough on its own except he kept trying to squeeze blood out of it like he was in a Victorian tuberculosis ward. Then Dana yelled at me for skipping lunch again, which, in my defense, I fully intended to eat until somebody—probably Ogilvie, that fucker—stole my yogurt from the fridge. Again. At this point I think he’s specifically targeting me.”
The entire time you rambled, Jack listened without interrupting. He watched you pace while talking, energy buzzing unpleasantly beneath your skin from the nonstop pace outside.
“And then this woman asked if I was old enough to be a nurse, which somehow turned into her husband asking if I were single while she was standing right here! Emergency medicine should qualify as psychological warfare.”
The last tidbit made a quiet laugh escape, and the sound pulled your attention back toward him.
“At least you think I’m funny,” you said, pointing at him with exaggerated triumph. “Robby never thinks my jokes are funny. Don’t tell him I told you, but I think someone’s swapped him with a robot or AI engine that’s trying to convince everyone he’s a functioning person under all that brooding trauma.”
His face softened, and for some reason that affected you more than the laugh had. The warm in your chest spread outward before you realized you’d been talking almost nonstop for several minutes.
“Oh fuck,” you groaned, dropping your head briefly into your hands. “I’m doing it again.”
Jack sat up a bit straighter if somehow possible. “Doing what?”
“Talking too much.” You laughed awkwardly. “You’d think after enough years in medicine I’d learn when to stop speaking, but apparently not.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly embarrassed by how much space you’d filled with your own voice. “Sorry. You probably have a splitting headache and want to nap, but I’m over here narrating my entire day.”
When you finally looked back up, his gaze was still resting on you with steady attentiveness.
“I don’t mind it,” he admitted, tone close to a whisper.
You blinked rapidly.
“Your talking.”
Something about the way he said it in the sincerest and honest way made your chest tighten. He glanced down at the coffee cup in his hands before looking back into your eyes.
“Room’s less quiet when you’re here.”
A bright smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you for listening then.”
_______________________
The night shift always arrived like a storm rolling through the Pitt.
While the ER was the ground, and the day shift staff floated around with enough caffeine to possible kill a small animal, the night shift trickled in like the rain, refreshing and very much welcomed to take over the atmosphere. The residents, including you, handed over your charts with sluggish movements, desperate to go home and sleep the day and loss of patients away.
Normally, somewhere in the middle of all that transition, you and Jack inevitably found each other. Sometimes it was purely by accident; others it absolutely wasn’t. He’d appear beside you while you were finishing your charts just to bother you. You’d steal his coffee when he stopped paying attention. Always, there was some running commentary between the two of you, whether it be playful arguing or just an update on how social life outside the Pitt was going.
Tonight, though, you barely noticed the shift change happening around you since you’d ended up back in his room again almost without realizing. Through the last few hours, checking on him had stopped feeling entirely professional. You still used plenty of legitimate excuses, of course; his concussion needed monitoring in case his symptoms changed. You were also technically responsible for him until discharge, but if you were being honest with yourself, looking after him had become dangerously easy.
While the rest of the Pitt felt loud in comparison, his room felt quiet.
You’d sit perched sideways on the rolling stool near the exam bed, updating charts while absentmindedly talking through how your shift was going. He listened quietly from where he sat on the raised bed, legs swishing back and forth now, his hoodie abandoned sometime during the last hour.
Still, every now and then, your brain caught onto his staring and stumbled.
“You know,” you said while typing notes, “Dana threatened to physically drag me into the break room earlier because apparently surviving on caffeine and spite isn’t medically advisable. Which honestly is very hypocritical considering more than half the staff here are one inconvenience away from cardiac arrest.”
You looked up from the chart in time to catch a small smile.
“I’m glad you still think I’m funny even with brain damage. The cryptic staring can only last for so long.”
His eyes stayed steady on you. “Maybe.”
You giggled. “Still terrible at conversations, though. Truly tragic.”
While you were keeping him company, across the department, Jack Abbot had just walked into the Pitt, dressed in his scrubs and already talking.
“Tell me somebody restocked trauma two, because if I have to hunt down another chest tube tonight, I’m filing a formal complaint against humanity.” His voice carried easily across the department.
He shrugged out of his jacket while walking, salt and pepper curls slightly windblown from outside, already grinning at something Dana said near the nurses’ station.
“Four minutes late, by the way,” Dana informed him when he got closer.
“Still counts as on time in emergency medicine.”
“For an attending, you sure are incredibly wrong some of the time.”
“Key word being some and not all the time.”
Robby looked up from a chart with visible exhaustion. “I need you both to come down from a level eight to a level zero.”
Jack chose to ignore him, eyes already scanning around the room. When he didn’t find who he was looking for, he frowned slightly. “Where’s she at?”
Dana smirked before Robby could respond. “Interesting that you looked for her before your patients.”
“She’s less mean to me,” he replied without thinking, tossing his bag onto the counter.
“She’s been in one room half the afternoon,” Dana responded casually. “Concussed male.”
The minute her words ended, something subtle shifted in Jack’s chest. It probably wasn’t noticeable to people who didn’t know how Jack Abbot ticked, but Dana noticed, and her smirk turned downright evil.
“Aww,” she drawled. “Somebody jealous?”
Jack scoffed a tad too quickly to sound convincing. “I’m not jealous; I’m concerned.”
“Sure you are.”
Jack rolled his eyes hard enough to qualify as a medical even before pushing away from the counter. “I’m going to make sure she hasn’t adopted another emotionally damaged patient.”
Even as he said it, irritation had already begun creeping unpleasantly under his ribs.
One room all afternoon.
He knew how you got with certain patients; you were too soft-hearted for your own good sometimes, despite how hard you tried to pretend otherwise. But something about imagining you tucked away somewhere for hours giving another man the kind of attention you usually guarded carefully made something territorial and irrational bubble under his skin.
Back inside the room, you were still smiling down at your chart when you finally pushed yourself upright from the stool.
“All right,” you sighed. “I should probably go check whether the Pitt has fully descended into anarchy without me.”
His eyes followed you as you moved toward the door. “You’ll come back?”
You stopped for half a second, turning lightly and fully surprised enough by the quietness of his question that warmth spread through your being.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’ll come back.”
Your stomach flipped when his expression changed from a tight, worriedness to a soft, placated expression. Needing to escape before you could embarrass yourself further, you swung the door open and stepped into the hallway, holding the chart to your chest while talking over your shoulder toward him.
“Seriously, though, if you try sneaking out before I get back, I’ll actually—”
You voice cut off when your eyes landed Jack standing halfway down the hallway staring directly at you. It was almost like your brain hit the power mode and shut down completely, because Jack Abbot—your Jack Abbot was standing right in front of you.
Alive.
Healthy.
Definitely not concussed unlike the Jack—now not-Jack—you had spent hours sitting beside.
Your pulse dropped so hard it almost hurt.
Behind him, Robby slowed slightly, noticing the way all color drained from your face. Jack’s teasing grin faded into confusion as he took in the way you stared at him like you’d just seen a ghost.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said slowly, concern beginning to edge beneath the nickname. “You okay?”
You couldn’t answer as your eyes darted toward the closed room behind you, then back to Jack, then back again, then back to Jack one more time. Him standing there was impossible, so entirely impossible. Your heartbeat climbed into your throat.
Jack took another small step closer when you failed to answer. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
You blinked once before bolting back into the room.
“What the hell—” Jack muttered, following after you without hesitation while Robby moved right behind him.
He was the first through the doorway and stopped right as he went in. The air dropped almost noticeably. The man sitting on the exam bed had lifted his head slowly at the sound of the door opening, and for one disorienting second, it genuinely looked like Jack was staring at another, younger version of himself.
The man’s auburn hair caught warmly in the lighting while bruising shadowed one side of his face. He sat completely still on the bed, one hand loose around a cup Jack knew you had brought him at some point, his expression unreadable as he stared back at Jack.
Jack didn’t move, and you stood frozen near the corner, chest rising too fast while your brain desperately tried to recover from the fact that somehow—somehow—you had spent nearly an entire shift accidentally flirting with a completely stranger wearing Jack Abbot’s face.
Silence stretched painfully.
Behind Jack, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely not,” he muttered under his breath. “Secret twins are above my pay grade. My sabbatical cannot come sooner enough.”
And before any of you could stop him, he turned around and walked directly back out of the room, letting the door click shit behind him, leaving only you, Jack, and the stranger sitting on the exam bed staring at one another in stunned silence.
_______________________
Nobody moved.
You still stood frozen near the corner clutching the chart so tightly your knuckles were white, while across the room Jack remained rooted just inside the doorway staring at the man like he genuinely could not process what he was seeing.
The resemblance was worse with both of them in the same room. They weren’t identical, but close enough that your brain kept trying to overlap them anyway with their same eyes, same mouth, same build. The now-stranger looked like someone had taken Jack and stripped ten years off him, softened the gray from his hair, and carved away some of the sharpness age and multiple years as an ER attending had left behind.
And suddenly you felt violently aware of every single thing you’d said over the last several hours. Heat flooded your face so quickly you thought you might actually die from humiliation right then and there.
To break the cursed silence, Jack finally spoke first. “What . . . the hell . . . is this?”
The stranger’s gaze shifted toward him calmly. Unlike you, he didn’t seem particularly unsettled by the situation. If anything, he looked mildly tired. The concussion probably wasn’t helping matters, but even beyond that there was still the same strange unwavering presence about him. You found yourself staring at him helplessly.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you blurted, voice climbing in disbelief as you looked at him. “I spent like almost twelve hours calling you Jack.”
He looked back at you for a moment before answering. “My name’s Andrew.”
Jack let out a sharp disbelieving laugh. “Andrew?”
You shook your head. “Okay, no. You had so many opportunities to correct me, and you’re just now telling me your name?”
Andrew’s expression shifted slightly into something more apologetic. “Tried to.”
“You absolutely did not!”
“A little.”
“You said maybe four words all day!”
“You talked fast.”
You dropped your face into one hand, mortification crashing over you in waves now that the shock had worn off enough for your brain to start replaying the day in horrifying detail. “I told you that you were handsome.”
Jack’s head snapped toward you so fast it was almost comical. “You what?”
“Not talking to you Jack,” you shot back.
He stared at you in open betrayal. “I walk in here and find out you’ve been flirty with my concussed doppelganger all day?”
“I DIDN’T KNOW HE WASN’T YOU! HE’S LITERALLY WEARING YOUR FACE! WHAT WAS I SUPPOED TO DO?”
“Um, I don’t know, sweetheart, check first that it was actually me?
Andrew watched the entire exchange quietly, and to your absolute horror, there was the faintest hint of delight on his face.
You looked between the two men. “This is actually my worst nightmare.”
“Mine too,” Jack muttered before his eyes narrowed slightly when he looked back toward Andrew. “Hold on. You seriously never corrected her?”
Andrew was quiet as he kept looking at you. “I liked listening to her.”
Something fluttered in your chest. His words weren’t necessarily romantic, but he said it with such earnest that you couldn’t help but melt a bit. Jack clearly felt something too because his mouth pinched in irritation. You recognized it as the look he got whenever another one of the radiologists flirted with you for too long at the nurses’ station.
Jack Abbot was reeking with actual jealousy.
He looked away first, jaw tightening slightly before he exhaled through his nose and pointed vaguely toward the hallway. “Sweetheart.”
You tore your gaze from Andrew to look at him. “What?”
“Go do your handoffs.”
Your brows lifted. “Jack—”
“Go,” he repeated, still watching Andrew instead of you. “Before Dana starts a manhunt.”
You hesitated, sensing the almost openly hostile vibe Jack was giving off. It was certainly heavy enough that you suddenly felt like you were standing in the middle of something private. Andrew sat watching Jack with the same unreadable stillness while Jack looked back at him with visible suspicion. It genuinely felt like watching two wolves silently size each other up.
You pointed between them uncertainly. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” Jack muttered.
Your eyes rolled back deeply. “You are unbelievably exhausting.”
Then, after one last glance toward Andrew and a silent wave goodbye, you slipped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind you.
Jack crossed his arms slowly over his chest, leaning back against the closed door while studying the man in front of him more carefully now that the initial shock had worn off. Up close, the differences stood out more clearly, but enough resemblance lasted to make the situation deeply irksome.
Andrew continued to stare, though his lips had quirked up well before you had left the room.
Jack exhaled sharply and shook his head. “You know, most people would correct someone after the fifth time they got called the wrong name.”
Andrew’s gaze drifted over his shoulder like he could almost see you through the wooden door. “She was nice. Didn’t want to upset her. She looked like she was enjoying the idea of getting to take care of you.”
An unpleasantly possessive feeling twisted deep in Jack’s gut at the quiet sincerity of his answer. He understood why the man in front of him had gotten such a reaction from you. Andrew didn’t deflect; he said simple truths in a low steady voice that was somehow worse than flirty in his eyes.
Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Did you flirt back?”
Andrew considered the question for a moment. “Didn’t have to since she did all the talking.”
And to his credit, he didn’t smirk afterward or act smug about it. If anything, he almost looked sad as he stood slowly from the exam bed. Even concussed, he carried himself with a height that made Jack very aware of the man when he moved. Jack puffed his chest out without meaning to, an instinctive reaction to the man who had held your attention for an entire day.
Andrew stepped close enough that now they both could look each other in the eye at the same height, making Jack almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
“You have a good girl,” Andrew said quietly, never looking away from hazel eyes that mirrored his own. “Don’t let someone else get to her first.”
The fact that Jack could picture you getting swept off your feet by another man felt like a punch directly to his chest. He’d been hiding behind teasing remarks and heavy sarcasm and blatant flirtation because it was easier than admitting how badly he wanted you. He couldn’t fathom the idea of someone, much softer and gentler than he might ever be, taking the chance he was too scared to. Andrew was an example of that man, someone who sat still long enough and quiet enough to let you feel seen and heard without interruption.
Because while he was falling behind, some concussed stranger who happened to share his exact face had managed to make you blush just by listening carefully.
Jack stared at Andrew for another long moment before muttering, “You know, I really don’t like this.”
“Do you not like this because I’m making you uncomfortable? Or do you not like this because I’m finally a wakeup call?” Andrew answered before stepping past him toward the door.
Jack whirled around. “Where are you going?”
Andrew opened the door with one hand. “To get discharge papers. Even though I enjoyed hearing her talk, I do not want to sleep in a hospital bed.” He paused. “You could probably go talk to her. Never know if another one of us might waltz through that door.”
The door swung shut behind him a second later, leaving Jack standing alone in the suddenly too-quiet room. For maybe three seconds, he stayed there staring at the empty doorway before he swore softly under his breath and headed out after you.
He found you near the nurses’ station halfway through handoff, leaning over a chart while Dana talked beside you. The second you noticed him approaching, your entire expression shifted somewhere between lingering embarrassment and outright panic. He didn’t slow down.
“Dana,” he interrupted the blond charge nurse mid-sentence.
She stared at him over her nose. “What?”
“I need her for a second.”
Her eyes tracked between him and you for a beat, and disappeared, though not before throwing you a deeply interested look over her shoulder. The moment she was gone, silence settled between you and Jack in a rather awkward way.
You looked down at your hands. “So.”
“So,” he echoed.
A soft groan pushed through your lips while your hands covered your face. “I cannot believe I spent an entire afternoon thinking your doppelganger was you with a concussion.”
“I can’t believe you called him handsome and still thought it was me when he didn’t do anything.”
“Hey,” you whined, lips jutting in a pout. “I was under emotional distress because I thought you had a severe concussion!”
“You know he liked you,” Jack teased with a smirk for half a second before his face dropped into a more serious look. “I don’t blame him, though.”
You swallowed once. “Jack—”
“I’m serious. And honest? I’m jealous as hell that he got to spend an entire shift with you.”
Warmth rushed to your face. “You’re jealous of your own face?”
“I don’t think that was my point, sweetheart.” He stared down at you. “I think I’ve been screwing this up for a while and seeing him just made me very aware of it.”
Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said slowly, “I keep joking around with you because if I actually said what I’ve been feeling, I’d probably mess it all up.” He ran a hand through his curls, almost frustrated by the lack of words to describe his feelings. “I like you,” he admitted finally. “Like . . . really like you.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly under your breath in disbelief. “It took your twin from another universe getting a concussion for you to finally say that?”
“Apparently, yeah.”
Your smile widened helplessly, and Jack’s gaze briefly dropped to your mouth before lifting back to your eyes.
“Can I kiss you?”
The fact that he asked nearly ruined you on the spot. You nodded once before your brain could catch up enough to overthink it. But apparently that’s all Jack needed because the next moment, his warm hands slid carefully against your waist as he pulled you closer. Unlike all the teasing flirtation that existed between you for months, the kiss itself felt so intensely severe your knees almost buckled.
There were no games, no smug comments, just Jack kissing you like he’d wanted to for a very long time, his concussed double finally being the last straw to do so.
By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling a little stupidly.
And somewhere down the hallway, you were almost certain you heard Dana yell, “FINALLY!”
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꒰ 🎀 ꒱ synopsis 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 moral support at the eye doctor except you are not providing moral support you are the one who needs moral support
REMINDER NOTIFICATIONS ARE SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU.
that's the whole point of them. you set them, theoretically, at some earlier version of yourself who had her life together enough to open a calendar app and type something in, and then future-you gets the little ping and goes oh right, thank you past me, very responsible, and handles it. system works great.
the problem is that past-you had apparently set this reminder for the day of the appointment, at eleven in the morning, for something scheduled at two, which — okay, that's three hours. that's technically enough time, but it's also the kind of timeline that made your stomach drop the way it does when you realize you've been meaning to do something for so long that it has looped back around from responsible errand to active emergency. you stared at your phone screen.
Eye doctor appointment — Dr. Reyes — 2pm. Don't forget!!
you had, in fact, forgotten. past-you had anticipated this, apparently, hence the exclamation points. past-you knew you. it was almost sweet.
the other problem — maybe the bigger one — was that you didn't entirely remember making this appointment. you clearly had done it at some point, with your own hands, using your own phone., but the context around it was fuzzy in the way that most responsible adult tasks were fuzzy, like a dream. had something been blurry? had someone told you to go? had you just walked past the office one day and thought yeah, sure, why not?
unclear.
you sat with this for about eighteen seconds and then called damian. he picked up on the second ring. "heyy!"
a pause. the kind of pause that meant he was doing something and had answered anyway, which — you knew better than to find that endearing but you kind of found that endearing. "what's wrong."
"how's your day going?"
"what."
you wandered into your kitchen to open the fridge, only to close it shortly after. “are you busy? you sound busy. were you in the middle of something?"
you could hear him exhale. not a frustrated exhale — well. a little frustrated, but the kind of frustrated that had a ceiling on it that only ever went so high with you specifically before it just sort of leveled out into something else. "i was reviewing reports."
“oooh, for what?”
“wayne enterprises.”
"oh." you thought about this. "do you like doing that?"
“it’s necessary.”
"that's not what i asked."
“…it’s fine.”
"is it interesting though? like are the reports interesting or is it just numbers."
"it's — there are figures, projections, quarterly assessments —"
"so numbers."
"predominantly."
"that sounds really hard," you said, with full sincerity, because it did, genuinely — you could not think of anything that sounded more exhausting than sitting and looking at numbers and understanding them and then doing something with that understanding. that was like three steps too many. "you're really smart."
"i'm aware of that."
"i just think it's nice. that you're smart. like it's a good thing to be." you found a hair tie on the counter that you'd been looking for for three days. score. "do you ever get tired of it?"
"of being intelligent."
"yeah, doesn't your brain ever just get full? like you put too much in there and then there's no room?" you stretched the hair tie between your fingers. "mine does that."
the silence on his end is very specific. silent judgement. probably deciding whether to say the thing he was actually thinking, which was probably something like that explains several things, and was choosing, for the moment, not to. "my brain," he says finally, "does not get full."
"that's so cool. but it never, like, overheats?”
"i don't overheat."
"you kind of do."
"i do not —"
"you get this thing where your jaw does —"
"we're not discussing my jaw."
"i'm just saying i've seen it," you note, very pleasantly. "it's okay. it's cute."
"it is not —" he stopped. you could hear him stopping himself, that very precise internal edit he did when a conversation went somewhere he hadn't planned for. "why did you call."
right. he asked like the answer was going to be straightforward, like you had called with a purpose and that purpose was sitting right at the front of your brain ready to be delivered. which — you had. you definitely had. there was a reason. you'd picked up the phone and pressed his contact specifically because of the reason.
you just had to remember what it was.
"i wanted to talk to you!”
"you called me in the middle of a workday.”
"you picked up."
"i —" he stops again. "that's not the point."
"you always pick up," you notice, saying it softly, a little wondering, like you were just now thinking about this even though you'd thought about it before. he did always pick up. "i like that you always pick up."
"you called me to tell me you like that i answer my phone."
"and to ask about your day."
"...hm." not a word, really. more like something that happened involuntarily. you smiled at your kitchen ceiling.
"oh wait," you remember suddenly, perking up and giving yourself a mental high five, "i did have a thing to ask you!”
"of course you did."
"i have an appointment."
"what kind."
"eye doctor. it's today." you glanced at the clock on the microwave, which you were pretty sure was still wrong from when the power blinked out last week, so you looked at your phone instead. "at two."
the silence that followed was the sound of damian doing the math, realizing it was currently eleven twenty-three, registering the full sequence of events — the phone call, the how's your day, the you're so smart, the i missed you — and understanding, correctly, the order in which you had prioritized these things. "you have a two o'clock appointment."
"yeah."
"and you called me twenty-five minutes ago."
"yeah."
"and you didn't mention it."
"i was getting to it!" you defended, which was true. you had always been getting to it. it was a process.
"i'll pick you up at one-forty."
"okay," you agree. then, because you didn't actually want to stop talking to him: "okay, but —"
"goodbye."
"wait—-"
he hung up.
you set your phone down. picked it back up.
he'd texted: Be ready.
two words, nothing else. you pressed your phone to your chest like a victorian person receiving a love letter and then put it down again because you had, you suddenly remembered, things to do. the appointment was at two. damian was picking you up at one-forty. it was currently — you checked — twelve-oh-four, so you had an hour and thirty-six minutes, which was fine. that was actually a lot of time if you thought about it.
you went to your bathroom. the thing was, you were going to see damian! the appointment was sort of beside the point in the sense that the appointment had always existed but damian coming had not always been a guaranteed thing, and now it was, which meant the afternoon had shifted in a significant way from medical errand to you were going to see your boyfriend, which meant, obviously, you had to look good.
you stood in front of your mirror and looked at yourself with the seriousness of someone receiving a project brief. base, you did your moisturizer — the good one — and then the primer, which you'd been told by approximately seven different sources was necessary even though it felt like a completely made-up step, like somewhere a long time ago someone had just added it to the routine and everyone had just gone along with it and now here you all were. you did it anyway. damian noticed things. he'd once told you your mascara was smudged before you'd even registered that you'd touched your eye, which was either very romantic or mildly unnerving and you'd decided a while ago it was romantic.
then eyes. this was the part that took the longest because you had a lot of options and also because you got distracted partway through trying to remember whether damian had mentioned once that he liked when you wore brown tones or whether you'd imagined that. you were like sixty percent sure he'd said something. or maybe he hadn't said it and had just looked at you a specific way when you'd worn it. those were basically the same thing to you.
you went with the brown tones.
mascara, two coats. you looked good. you looked really good actually. you pointed at yourself in the mirror, which you would never tell anyone about, and moved on. hair. this took forty minutes and involved three different products and one moment where you did something that didn't work and had to start over, which you definitely remained very calm about. by the end it was doing the thing you wanted it to do, which felt like a victory of moderate but genuine proportions. now, outfit. you stood in front of your closet with your hands on your hips and had a conversation with it. a one-sided conversation. you were looking for the specific intersection of cute but not like i tried too hard and put together and i look like this all the time, effortlessly, this is just my regular wednesday.
you tried on four things.
(the first one — no. too casual, you'd worn it to run errands last week and it felt like that. the second one was good but you'd just worn it and damian had seen it. the third one was maybe too much for an eye doctor's office, and you held it up and thought about it for a second, really considered it, then thought about damian's face if he showed up and you answered the door in it, and almost put it on anyway. you didn't. fourth try.)
you looked at yourself in the mirror. yeah, that was the one. you turned sideways. you turned back. it was one twenty-two. you were ready by one twenty-two, which was eighteen minutes before he'd said he'd arrive, which was — genuinely, honestly, an achievement. you should text him that. you should tell him you were ready early. you picked up your phone.
i'm ready early, you typed, and sent it without thinking about it. three dots appeared. disappeared. appeared again.
I'll be there in two minutes.
you put your shoes on and went outside.
the car was pulling up before you'd even made it down the front steps, which — of course it was. damian did not idle. he timed it so that the car arrived exactly when you did, which required a level of coordination that most people did not apply to wednesday afternoon pickups and which he applied to everything as a matter of course. the car was sleek and black and aggressively wayne, the kind of car that didn't need sound to announce itself because everything about it already had. you came down the last step.
he was already looking at you, you could see him through the windshield — that was the thing, you got the unfiltered version for like two seconds before he could arrange his expression into whatever he decided it was going to be, and in those two seconds damian wayne looked at you in your dress and did something with his eyes that you were going to think about for the rest of the day, possibly longer. you got to the passenger door, opened it, got in, and when you looked over at him he was facing forward, both hands on the wheel, expression doing exactly nothing. the picture of composure. a completely normal man in a completely normal car having a completely normal afternoon. "hi!" you greet.
"you're early."
"i told you."
he didn't respond to that. you watched him, shamelessly, and felt something in the vicinity of extremely pleased with yourself. "you can say it.”
"say what."
"that i look nice."
a pause. a very controlled pause. "i didn't say anything."
"i know. you can though."
he put the car in drive. "address."
“what?"
"the address. of the appointment." he glanced at you, briefly, and then back to the road. "i need the address to drive there."
"oh." you picked up your phone to open your email, because the confirmation had to be in there somewhere — you scrolled past several things that were not the confirmation, a sale you'd forgotten about, three newsletters you'd never unsubscribed from, something from your landlord you should probably read — "one second —"
"take your time." he said, in a tone that meant the opposite.
"i'm looking, i'm looking —" you found it. read him the address. he put it into the navigation system with the efficiency of someone who found asking for directions a personal affront but had made peace with gps as a reasonable technological compromise, and then pulled out onto the street. you watched the neighborhood go by for a second, then you put your phone in your bag and looked out the window and thought about nothing in particular for a while, which was one of your better skills.
the office was nice. that was your first thought when you walked in. it was nicer than you'd expected an eye doctor's office to be — not like, fancy, but clean and bright, with a display case along one entire wall that was just. glasses. so many glasses. every shape, every color, little tags with names on them like they were art pieces in a gallery, which honestly they kind of were, and you stopped just inside the door to look at them because you couldn't not, that was just a response you were having involuntarily —
"keep moving." damian instructed from directly behind you.
"i'm just looking —"
"you can look after. check in first."
"i'm going —" you moved toward the desk, he moved with you, and the woman at the front looked up and did the thing that people did when they looked at damian, the brief recalibration, and then smiled at you both. "hi! i have an appointment, it should be under —"
"she is a new patient." damian interrupted.
"okay, perfect, then i'll just need you to fill out —" she was already reaching for a clipboard — "some intake forms, and then —"
you took it. looked at it. it was a lot of boxes. a lot of small boxes with small lines next to small words and you looked at the first section which said patient information and started with full legal name which you could do, you knew that one, and then went to date of birth which you also knew, and then primary care physician which —
damian took the clipboard out of your hands.
not snatching, just the smooth transfer of an object from one person to a more qualified person, the way you might hand a complicated piece of equipment to the person in the room who knew how to use it. he looked at the form, took the pen that was attached to the clipboard by a little plastic coil, and started writing.
you watched him for a second. "i could have —"
"sit down." he says, not looking up.
"i know my own birthday—"
"i know you do." still writing. "sit down."
you listened and sat for approximately forty-five seconds before the glasses wall started happening to you again. you got up — slowly, like you were just stretching — and drifted toward the display. they were so fun. there were little round ones and big square ones and thin gold wire frames and thick dark acetate ones and ones that were a color you'd call terracotta if someone asked and ones that were just classic and perfect and there — in the corner, second shelf from the top — tortoiseshell. warm brown with those lighter flecks through it, slightly oversized, the kind that made people look like they had their life together in a soft and interesting way. you leaned in to read the little tag.
"those are for farsightedness," said a voice to your left, you looked over and there was a kid, maybe seven, with very small round glasses and the confident bearing of someone who had been coming to this office for years and considered themselves a local expert. "my friend has those ones. she says they help her read."
"they're really pretty.”
"i like mine better." the kid pointed to their own frames, bright blue, slightly crooked on their face. "i picked them myself."
"those are so cute," you said, because they were. "did it take you a long time to choose?"
"forever," the kid said gravely. "my mom almost cried. why are you looking at glasses if you don't have glasses?”
you opened your mouth.
"she's a new patient." damian cut you off from behind, you turned and he was standing there with the completed clipboard — both sides, pen back in the coil — looking between you and the seven-year-old with an expression that was doing several things at once. he looked at you specifically. then at the tortoiseshell frames you were standing directly in front of. then back at you.
"i was just looking!!"
"the doctor hasn't seen you yet. you don't have a prescription."
"i know —"
"so you can't buy glasses."
"i know, i was looking —"
he handed the clipboard back to the receptionist then came to stand next to you in front of the display, which you hadn't expected that. you'd expected to be steered back to the chairs. he stood next to you and looked at the wall with his arms crossed like he was reviewing a report. "those are reading glasses." he observes, apparently your boyfriend likes to state everything and you have to just let it happen, nodding at the ones you'd been looking at. "you don't need reading glasses."
"i might —"
he turned and looked at you with an expression that was so flatly, specifically patient that it had lapped itself and come back around to something almost gentle. "you called me this morning because your calendar app sent you a notification. your vision is fine."
"it's been a little blurry lately," you said, which was true, you'd thought of this in the car, there had been some blurriness. "like sometimes. at screens."
a pause. he looked back at the wall. "we'll see what the doctor says.” he answers, which was not you don't need glasses anymore, which felt like a meaningful distinction.
you looked at the tortoiseshell ones again. "those ones.”
he looked at them the same way he looked at things he was actually assessing. "the frame width is proportional." he compliments eventually, which meant he thought they'd look good on you and had chosen to say it like that instead.
you smiled at the display case. "yeah.”
a nurse opened a door across the waiting room and called your name. the pre-screening was in a small room with a machine you were supposed to put your chin on, which you did, and the technician — young, the practiced calm of someone three years into a job they were good at — said just look at the image in the center. you looked and there was a tiny picture of a hot air balloon over a field.
"why a hot air balloon?”
"sorry?"
"the image. in the machine." you were still looking at it. "why is it a hot air balloon?"
the technician blinked. "i — honestly i don't know, it's just —"
"do all these machines have the same image? or do different brands have different ones."
"i think there are a few different —"
"i feel like i've seen a farmhouse before, at a different place. so they're not all the same."
"yes, i believe the farmhouse is a different manufacturer —" she paused. "okay, so while you're looking at the balloon, just try to keep your eyes relaxed —"
"relaxed how?”
"naturally. don't strain."
"okay." you looked at the balloon. you tried to relax your eyes. you weren't totally sure what relaxed eyes felt like. "like this?"
"yes, perfect." a click, a small puff of air directly at your eye, and you jerked back immediately with a small noise that you would not be describing to anyone later. "sorry," the technician apologizes, "i should have warned you, that's just the pressure test —"
"what was —" you blinked rapidly — "what did it do —"
"it measures the pressure inside your eye. it's very quick, it doesn't —"
"it shot something at my eye —"
"just air —"
"air?" you were blinking rapidly, one hand coming up toward your eye on instinct before stopping because you'd been told not to touch. "like, why? my eyes get air. they're out all day getting air. they don't need extra —"
"it measures the pressure inside —"
"by shooting it —"
"it's a very small —"
"it didn't feel small, it felt like —" you turned around to look at damian, who was sitting in the chair against the wall with his arms crossed and the expression of a man who had known, with complete certainty, that this was going to happen and had made peace with it before it did. "did you know about this?”
"you are fine," he said, the tone he used when he was trying to transfer his own certainty directly into you through sheer force of vocal delivery. "it's a standard test. it doesn't hurt."
"it surprised me.”
"i know." a pause. something in his expression adjusted approximately two degrees toward something more human. "you have to do the other eye."
you looked at the machine. the hot air balloon sat there in the little screen, serene, completely untroubled, floating over its field with no awareness of what it was complicit in. "i don't want to.”
"it'll take two seconds. you already know what it feels like. so it won't surprise you."
you looked at the machine. you looked at him. the technician was being very patient in the way that people in medical offices were professionally required to be patient, stylus hovering over her tablet, waiting. "okay." you turned back to the machine, put your chin on the rest, and looked at the hot air balloon. "fine," you said, mostly to the balloon. "do it."
the puff happened. you flinched, same as before. you turned back around immediately after and damian was already looking at you and he gave you a single nod, very small, the kind that meant see, that was nothing, and you made a face at him that meant it was not nothing and he made no face back because he didn't do that. "great," the technician said, with genuine relief. "okay so next we're just going to —"
the letter chart was fine. you knew your letters. you got most of them and on the ones you weren't sure about you said so, which felt like the honest approach, and the technician said that's okay, best guess and you guessed and moved on. the one where you had to cover your eye with the little plastic spoon thing was also fine except you kept accidentally leaving a gap and she had to tell you twice to cover the whole eye and you did, you were trying, the spoon was just awkwardly shaped and also covering one eye made you feel slightly strange in a way that was hard to explain.
the one where she held up the little light and looked at your actual eye up close was fine except you looked at the light instead of past it and she had to redirect you three times and at one point she said look at my ear and you looked at her ear and said which one and there was a pause and she said either one and damian, from the chair, exhaled through his nose. "sorry." you were on your fourth apology, to the technician, and then to damian, and then to the general room.
"you're doing fine." the technician said. damian said nothing, which meant the same thing from him.
the doctor came in the way doctors did, clipboard, smile, the energy of someone who had six more appointments after this one — and you liked her immediately, which you did with most people. she was looking at your chart when she sat down and said, without looking up, "so what brings you in today?"
you opened your mouth.
"routine exam," damian answered for you from the chair. "she's been experiencing intermittent blurring. primarily at screens. no history of corrective lenses."
the doctor looked up. looked at damian. looked at you. "is that — yes?"
"yes, what he said."
she made a note. "any headaches? eye strain at the end of the day?"
you thought about it. "sometimes? like, i get headaches —"
"where."
"in my head?”
"location," damian said. "she means location."
"oh." you touched the space between your eyebrows. "like here, sometimes. when i've been on my laptop a lot."
"any difficulty driving at night? halos around lights?"
you looked at damian.
"occasionally," he said. "she mentioned it."
you didn't remember mentioning it. you thought about it and actually, now that it was being said, yeah — sometimes at night the lights did a little thing. so that was apparently information he had remembered from some conversation you'd had and then immediately forgotten. you looked at him for a second. he was looking at the doctor. you looked back at the doctor. "yeah," you said. "that."
the actual exam part went mostly fine. the big machine, the phoropter, which she told you the name of and which you immediately lost, had two little windows and she clicked through lenses and said one or two, which is clearer and you said one, then two, then one, then actually maybe two again, and she was very patient about it, and damian was very still about it. "take your time." the doctor encouraged.
"they look the same.”
"look at the letters on the bottom line —"
"they both look the same amount of blurry."
"okay, how about now —" a click —
"that one's worse.”
"good," she said, "that's helpful —"
"wait no, i think i was looking at it wrong, can you do it again —"
damian, from the chair, made a sound so quiet it was barely a sound. you did it again. you said two. she wrote it down. you were fairly confident about two. (you were like sixty percent confident about two.)
then she swung the machine away and did the part with the handheld light, the one where she came close and looked directly into your eyes, and you knew from the technician's version of this that you were supposed to look past the light, not at it, you had this information, and you looked past it, and then the light moved and you followed it because that felt like the natural response to a thing moving and she said try to hold still and you held still and she looked and then she leaned back and looked at your chart and said, "okay. so the good news is your eyes are very healthy overall."
"and the other news?”
"there's a small refractive error. very mild astigmatism, and the beginnings of some nearsightedness, also very mild." she turned her screen toward you and showed you numbers that meant nothing to you, a row of them with plus and minus signs. "your prescription would be quite weak —"
"but she needs glasses." damian said. not a question.
"technically she'd benefit from them, yes. primarily for driving and screens. it's a small correction but it would reduce the strain and the headaches —"
"right," he said, like she'd confirmed something he'd already decided. he uncrossed his arms. "the frames she wants are in the display case out front. tortoiseshell, second shelf. do you have them in her prescription?”
the doctor blinked. "we'd have to check with the optician, but most of our frames can be fitted with any —"
"we'll need two pairs. one for daily use, one for screens. if the tortoiseshell ones come in a blue light variant —"
the optician was a small woman named rita who had been doing this for twenty years and had seen everything, or thought she had, until damian wayne stood in front of her display wall with his arms crossed and said his girlfriend can try whichever ones she wants in a tone that closed the door on any alternative, and then proceeded to stand there while you tried on glasses for —
okay. a while.
it was a while.
you tried the tortoiseshell ones first and they were exactly what you'd thought they'd be and you held up the little mirror and looked at yourself and said "okay these ones for sure" and rita said "great, so just the one —" and damian said "what else do you want to try" and you looked at him and he was looking at the wall with the expression of a boyfriend who had nowhere to be, which you both knew was not true, and you felt something warm in your chest, so you tried more.
the little gold wire ones, which were delicate and cute but felt like they'd blow off in wind. (damian looked at them on your face for a second and said "fragile" and you said "i know, but cute" and he said "you can get them" and you put them in the maybe pile.)
the big square dark acetate ones, which were very serious. you put them on and did a stern face.
the clear frames that were having a moment right now, which rita said were very popular, which was actually a point against them as far as damian was concerned — you saw his expression do something small when she said very popular — but they looked good, so. pile.
the round ones that made you look like a person who frequented independent bookshops and had opinions about tea. (you tried these on and said "do i look smart" and there was a pause and damian said "you always look like yourself" which was the most non-answer answer he had ever given and you were still thinking about it.) pile.
the cat-eye ones that were a dark emerald green and completely impractical and you loved them immediately with your whole heart and picked them up and put them on before rita could even offer and turned to damian and said absolutely nothing because you didn't need to. he looked at you in the emerald cat-eye glasses for approximately three seconds. "those.”
"i know.” you said.
"get those.” he said.
"i am.” you said.
rita was writing things down.
in the end — rita would later describe this to her husband over dinner as a wednesday — the list was: the tortoiseshell ones, obviously, which had started this whole thing and remained the cornerstone. the gold wire ones because they were delicate and you were willing to be careful. the big dark acetate because damian had looked at them on your face. the clear frames because they looked good regardless of what anyone said about popularity. the round ones because you'd already decided. the emerald cat-eyes because of the three seconds. and two pairs of the tortoiseshell in the blue light version, one for your desk and one for your bag, because damian had asked rita specifically about the blue light coating and rita had said yes and he'd said two without consulting you, and when you'd looked at him he'd said one will get lost and you'd thought about arguing and then thought about your track record with small objects and said nothing.
by the very end of it rita had a full page of notes and the focused look of someone doing significant arithmetic and damian was standing at the counter looking at the list with the same expression he'd used on your medical intake form, that complete practical engagement, the this-is-a-task-and-i-will-do-the-task quality. "eighteen," rita said, looking up from her notepad professionally. the way you might say it is currently raining. "eighteen pairs."
"yes." damian doesn’t seem the slightest bit phased.
"that's —" she paused. made a decision. "we can have most of them ready in about two weeks. the specialty coatings might take —"
"however long they take. ship them when they're ready."
you were standing next to him looking at the list. eighteen pairs of prescription glasses. you had needed none of them this morning. you had a prescription so mild the doctor had said technically before recommending it.
rita nodded, started processing while you stood at the counter, looked at the list and felt the particular satisfaction of an afternoon that had gone significantly better than it had any right to. you were a person who owned eighteen pairs of glasses now, or would be in two weeks, which was basically the same thing. you were already that person. you could feel it. damian signed something rita slid across the counter, then you looked at the display wall one more time, just to check, just to make sure there wasn't anything you'd —- there wasn't. you'd been thorough. you felt good about it.
the light had shifted in the time you'd been in there, gone from afternoon to the beginning of the part that came after afternoon, everything golden and a little long-shadowed. damian was walking beside you toward the car with the unhurried precision of someone who was, you knew, ready to go home, who had been ready to go home since the fourteenth pair of glasses, who was running on the reserves of patience he kept set aside for you specifically and which were, you sensed, getting toward the bottom.
you got in the car.
he got in the car.
he put his seatbelt on. "okay," you said.
"okay." he said, and reached for the ignition.
"i need to go to the store."
his hand stopped. resting on the key, not turning it. "the store.”
"yeah —"
"which store."
"i don't know yet." you were already on your phone, which you'd pulled out with the momentum of someone who had just had an idea and needed to follow it before it fully formed. "like a — a hat store. do those exist?"
"a hat store."
"or like, anywhere that sells hats." you were scrolling. "like berets specifically."
"why."
"because — so i'm getting glasses, right? and glasses are like a whole thing. like they're part of a look."
"they're a medical device —"
"they're also a look, and the look i'm thinking about —" you turned to him fully, because this required full-body communication — "is like. nerdy french girl."
damian looked at you.
"like a beret," you continued, "and the glasses, and maybe like a little bag —"
"you have bags —"
"a french bag —"
"there's no such —"
"damian." you put your hand on his arm. "i could be so tumblr."
he looked at your hand on his arm. looked at the windshield. looked at some middle distance that existed beyond the windshield, somewhere further, somewhere that might have answers. "we're going home." he said, and turned the key.
guys this old ash sorry if it’s lowkey dookie :/// i know it’s been a minute since i updated this series SIGHSSS im sorry but hopefully this was lengthy enough to make uo for it
