Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
pairing: jack abbot x neighbor!reader
synopsis: after a one night stand goes less than expected, abbot patches up his neighbor physically and emotionally.
warnings: references to a sexual encounter that had lasting physical/emotional effects (not with abbot). it is written as consensual, but became rough/unpleasant. nothing is explicitly written, but reader has marks on her knees and bumps, which leads to her going to abbot. if you have any similar sensitivities, probably best to avoid this writing. please please prioritize your comfort. other than that, references to medical care. language. mentions of sex. not proofread, normal grammar issues probably in there. reader insert but no 'you' or 'y/n' (she/her used). hurt/comfort. angst and fluffy angst. cheesy dialogue and bad jokes. some of this might possibly come off as kink-shaming. it's not. i want all freak flags to fly, they're just, like, not really flying so much in this instance.
notes: i'm trying something kind of sort of new here, so i hope you guys like. i didn't specify an age gap, though i suppose a small one is implied given some of the emotional tendencies (?). really read it however you'd like. this is part one of two. ok byeee
word count: 5.3k
✧ ✧ ✧
Jack rolls into his apartment some time closer to eight than seven, as usual. Always lingering after handoff, giving too much information on basic cases, charting just to enjoy those fluorescents a little longer.
And be alone a little less.
Sometimes he'll grab a coffee or stop at a diner a couple blocks from home. Then he'll trudge through the hall, flipping his keys. Maybe he'll catch her on the way to work, stumbling out half-late and still pulling clothes from haphazard to fitting.
But not today. There's no chaos on the other side of the door or flying out of it. He imagines her asleep on her side of the wall, probably cramped on the couch if she's at all honest about her sleeping habits.
Oh, well. If he times his mail run right, he'll probably see her there.
But then he's about five minutes into dropping bags and shrugging off clothes and something's different. He pushes the water off at the bathroom vanity, letting his toothbrush hang limply as he focuses. The TV in his bedroom is buzzing lowly, but that's not what piqued his interest.
He's about to return to scrubbing when he finally hears it clearly; three raps at the front door. He hasn't ordered food yet, and doesn't really expect anyone for that matter. But then three more come to interrupt his contemplation and he's back in motion.
He flicks off the toothbrush, covers and shelves it, and picks his t-shirt back up on the way to the door. His leg pinches, a reminder of a to-do he hadn't managed to check off yet.
There's something about the situation that has his heart beating a little faster, this unknown thing beckoning him. But then he feels ridiculous for surviving the shift he did and being nervous about answering the door, so he pulls it open.
But it's just her on the other side, looking tired and wearing flannel pajama pants; standing there like an exhale he needed. His surprise robs him of words immediately, but she's polite enough to pick up where he doesn't even start.
"Morning, Doc." It's her usual sarcasm, but it's heavier thing now, squeezed out, measured.
And he sees it then, her eyes red-rimmed, her arms crossed, her lips bitten.
The relief in his chest calcifies.
"What's wrong?"
She scoffs, laughing like it's for his comfort alone, "That's not a very neighborly greeting."
But his brows have already drawn together and his eyes are set in that way that makes a case study of you. He opens the door, stepping aside.
She hesitates, trying to hold that farce of a smirk, but he grunts, calling her in with a tilt of his head. Her resolve falters, the non-smile goes with it, and she's turned back around repenting before the latch even clicks.
"I'm sorry, I know you just got home. I waited for the sound of the door, I can't even pretend I didn't know—"
"Hey," he interjects, holding up hands that would look like a surrender if they weren't reaching too far in her direction. "It's alright. You caught me mid-toothbrush. No harm no foul."
She nods, looking guilty. It's an obvious effort when she meets his eyes again, hers glassy and betraying a fair amount of embarrassment.
"Gotta get those lateral incisors." The pathetic attempt at a joke would be funny in its own failure if it wasn't hammered flat by her hoarse voice.
"Gotta," he agrees, lulling a beat. Then he cautions another question, "You ok?"
She nods again, too quick.
"Yeah. Yes."
His head tilts, eyes narrow.
She sucks her teeth, the popping of it admission enough that he called her bluff correctly.
"This is rude of me, so feel free to tell me to fuck off," she prefaces.
"I'm not gonna tell you to fuck off. Probably."
He's coaxing words out of her now.
Her lips pull tight, close to a smile but not quite. She sighs, focusing on the air in front of her gesticulating hands so she doesn't have to look at him.
"I took kind of a spill last night; thought it was fine but then I got a little woozy and it didn't go away by the time I woke up. Probably nothing, but I only slept for, like, two hours thinking I was gonna trigger an aneurysm or something."
The sound that punctuates it is probably supposed to be a laugh, but she swallows hard enough to choke it out when she finds his usually vaguely amused expression veering a little too close to concern.
"God," she backtracks, "this is embarrassing. I'm sorry, I should've just gone to urgent care or something. I don't know why I thought bothering you right off your shift was a good idea."
"You're not bothering me." He manages to fit his words in before she can finish spilling hers, "And I'd be offended if you went to urgent care. Let me take a look."
The breath she expels is audible, her chest loosening with it.
Thank you. For not making me ask. For not asking anything else.
She knows he probably notices her relief, hawk-eyed and standing three feet away as he is, but he's too polite to linger on it.
He juts his head to the right, thumbing toward the bathroom. "Got the best light in there."
She nods, following his lead.
He pushes a couple odd products out of the way, clearing a space for her to settle on the counter. She looks to it, wondering if it's meant for her.
"Do you mind?" He catches her confusion, nodding to the free space and maybe absentmindedly his leg as an explanation; earning the convenience.
She gets it; they've shared enough morning trade offs to catch each other at the peaks of stumbling morning routines. All panicked blouse-tucking and glimpses of scrub pant legs hiked too far.
"No problem."
His brow briefly softens into its own form of appreciation.
"Alright, sit tight for a second, I'll be right back."
She hops up, grunting when the impact sends soreness reverberating through her. He dips out to find his discarded bag, fishing out a pen light, then he's back in front of her.
"So it's your head?"
She nods, following his finger gliding through the air in front of her face then the light he brings in from either side of it.
"Yeah, the side." She lifts a hand, pointing slightly behind her temple.
"Ok," his head bobs along, tracking even though his focus is elsewhere. "I'm gonna feel around a bit for any bumps, tell me when it's tender."
His fingers step along her hairline, pushing into a knot where she indicated.
"There," she hisses, the eye closest screwing shut as he prods.
He releases pressure immediately, finding it again with a gentler touch.
"Pretty good goose egg here." He pushes her hair out of the way, looking for contusions, "Not seeing significant bruising, though."
"Yeah, that was there last night. I put some ice on it. Was kinda hoping that would take care of it."
"That's good, you probably cut the swelling."
She hums.
"Dizziness? Nausea?"
"Dizzy a little bit after, the first time I tried to get up after it happened. Just felt like there was some pressure there."
He steps back enough to get a good look at her, his hands falling away. She doesn't meet him there, her eyes retreated, cast slightly off him.
"Any other complaints? Anything else hurt?"
He tries to paint a picture of her 'spill' without asking too much.
"Just a little sore. But I slept like shit," she huffs out, hoping jest disguises the fact that the ache in her extends far beyond her head.
But he's unrelenting, panning over her, waiting for her to look up.
She doesn't.
"Would you mind describing the impact? Just so I can get a better idea about what else could be involved. Neck, spine," he lists.
She swallows, thick, but her eyes finally flicker back to his. His skin crawls with the something he can't quite grasp yet.
"Um, yeah. Yeah, it was kind of a knocking motion," the hand opposite her injured side comes up, pushing the air in imitation. "Two times. The first was harder."
His face folds, confused, "Twice?"
Her nod is curt.
"A fall? Two surfaces?"
He watches carefully as deeper unease twists her features. Then it's gone, replaced by her mouth pulled suddenly into a bashful line.
"And here I was thinking we could avoid the really embarrassing part."
He's lost count of how many jokes she's pitched just a note or two off key. Still, he tries to return it.
"Would you feel better if I told you HIPAA still applies in the confines of a builder grade bathroom?"
She laughs a little more honestly. Then she pulls a deep breath, looking at him because he won't let her do anything but.
"You see your fair share of bedroom-related injuries in the ED, right?"
It's his turn at a deep breath, unwittingly relieved as the pieces click into place, her reservations made clear. He turns away, huffing out a laugh, all the thoughts of dark alleys and cracking skulls—and whatever else his overtired mind was conjuring—slipping away with it.
"Yeah. Yeah, I've seen a good amount of clipped nightstands. Headboard-related splinters. You name it."
Her head bobs, more resigned than comfortable just yet.
"Well, thank god," she laughs with an effort to catch up to his.
"So, something like that?"
"Something like that."
Her following expression is a bookend, not inviting or giving anything else away. It stirs his stomach, sends static up his spine. She looks toward her lap and he resumes his exam.
First, he palpates her neck. Noting subtle winces. Then her legs, thumbing the flats of her shins over the plaid covering the. One pressure points cuts her breath and stills his movements. He bends slightly, asking if he can push the fabric up. She nods, as if verbalizing anything betray what she knows he'll find.
The marks are the darkest over the peaks of her bones, broken stretches of morphing purple, blurring under her kneecaps. He looks up, his stomach cinching a bit at how suddenly guilty she looks.
He swallows, trying to find a casual tone he isn't even close to feeling. "So what was it?"
"Hm?"
"Nightstand, headboard. What was it?"
Her head tilts.
We can leave it where it is. You don't have to ask.
But he's expectant despite her pleading eyes.
"I guess I get a little experimental when the wine comes out." Another attempted joke that clatters between them.
He doesn't offer any padding this time.
Her tone lowers, her features flattening, serious now, "There was a lot of stumbling. Walls. The floor. Y'know."
The floor.
He pictures the hardwood of his living room, the way it switches patterns, slatted perpendicularly over the threshold between there and the bedroom; some contractor's slip of mind.
He pictures her apartment, and every other exact copy behind adjoining walls on every floor of this building. The same thing just a couple inches of insulation away.
He pictures stumbling and walls and pressure enough to raise the skin on her head and discolor her knees and wine and—
The floor.
"Is he still over there?" He asks before he can think better of it.
She shakes her head, rolling into damage control, "I can see your gears turning. Don't turn this into something it's not. It's really, really not."
"Is he still over there?"
She tries to move on, "So what's the prognosis? Think you can get me a week off work?"
"Is he still over there?" His voice remains steady, firm but level; not threatening anything, but wanting—needing—to know.
"Jesus Christ, Jack. No. I'm pretty sure he was zipping his fly before my back even hit the mattress." Then, realizing perhaps she overshot the reassuring jest thing, she assures, "It's ok, I'm good. I wasn't exactly expecting Prince Charming from Wednesday night drinks."
His head drops, shaking at the image that paints.
He's never dismissed the sound of her laugh until now, untrue and tainted by her usually bright eyes tinged pink, begging him to meet her where she's at. But he can see it on her, the skin under her eyes blurring purple with sleep she didn't get. Her bottom lip swollen in a way that brings up images of someone else's gnawing teeth. He can practically see fingers tangled in her hair, pushing and pulling without any regard for her.
"Do you want to talk to someone about this?"
"It's not like that. I don't want spin this out of proportion. Can we drop it?" Even as she says things that should be drenched in some amount of desperation, her voice is deadened, drained.
But he's still raking over her, combing for details he hasn't noticed yet.
She continues, "Stop, please. We were just...trying something out. It was a little less Hollywood than I would've hoped, but we talked; nothing I didn't agree to."
His back teeth grind, the energy he wants to channel into fervent pacing directed there instead.
That's reassuring.
He takes a breath, staring back iat her, trying to find the understanding she's begging him to.
"So you discussed it?"
Her head basically jerks in agreement. "Yes. Yes."
He's unconvinced.
But it's true.
Somewhere between the elevator and pushing up against her front door, notes on preference were exchanged through slotted lips.
"Just got a little carried away."
God, any other time she'd be embarrassed beyond comprehension, her cheeks mimicking her pulse. But now she just really, really wants him to think of her in any other way than the pathetic, wounded thing his eyes are betraying.
"Come on, haven't we all had a couple unsatisfying sexual encounters?"
"Unsatisfying?" It's the closest thing to a scoff she's heard from him; the closest he's come to actually calling her on her bullshit.
It punches at her sternum, crinkles her already tired eyes, and he sees it immediately. He has to force his eyes away, pulling a breath as he levels his face.
"Sorry, I just—"
"Look, I'm sorry for making this your problem. I just freaked myself out a little. Does everything look fine?"
He gets the distinct feeling he said a succession of wrong things.
Her name apologetic from his mouth only spurs her on as she dislodges herself from his vanity. He steps back to let her. His attention flicks to the mirror, watching her from there instead of prying for the eye contact she's suddenly intent on denying him.
She rolls her neck as she pushes off the countertop, letting her head loll where it's tense, drawn tight to her shoulders. It's a flicker, a barely-there glimpse when he glances in the glass at just the right time. But he catches it, how her sweater slouches down when she winds her neck, how the fabric dips low enough to hint at angry skin and slotted punctures over the peak of her flexing shoulder blade.
When she relaxes again, the shirt pulls back over it—but he knows.
"Hey," he reaches for her, pointing back toward the injury, "I missed something."
Her face drops, almost comically if he were in any joking mood.
"Noth—nothing," she coughs, stumbling over it.
His brows raise.
You're caught. Give it up.
But she's averting her eyes, sliding off the counter, just about done with this examination she regrets asking for.
"I should let you get some sleep."
He sidesteps, blocking the door.
"Just let me finish up here." His head dips, chasing eyes she won't give him, "Yeah?"
She's still, staring at his shoulder so she doesn't have to see his face. Clearing her throat, her eyes flicker up to him briefly, shinier, more dejected by the second.
She looks back down, nodding. "Yeah."
He returns it and gestures back to the counter. She sidles up to it, back to him now. He gives her a moment, watches her shoulders rise and fall three times before stepping closer.
"I'm just going to move this so I can get a better look," he says as he reaches for the slouching fabric of her shirt.
Ok?
She hums permissively.
What he finds isn't surprising, but it sends his jaw ticking anyway. His lips twitch with the words he knows she doesn't want to hear. Only one or two of the marks indicate an actual puncture, show the teeth that punched through her skin. The rest of the outline is marked by inflammation, broken blood vessels in the shape of a mouth he pictures cracking.
He hates the images that flash through his mind; the way he can paint her so vividly, indecently, with every new piece of evidence. His stomach lurches as the focus goes from coarse to fine in his head.
He breathes suddenly like the image will disappear with the exhale. His air seems to fill the room in place of hers turned to stone, biting down until this whole thing can be done with.
He's softer when he speaks up. "I have supplies here to clean this, but antibiotics are still your best bet. I can call—"
She shakes her head, "No prescriptions. Let's just do what we can here."
He stares at her in the mirror, her head still fixed down.
"The human mouth has more germs than Disneyland, It would be best if—"
"I showered right after. And I trust you. So let's just take care of it here." She says it with a finality that seems rude to challenge.
He wants to tell her that she should trust him. And, if she does, the best option is to go with the antibiotics, have it properly taken care of; to let him go the distance on this one thing if laying out some asshole from her office building isn't an option.
But he's already well past his third strike.
So he says, "Ok."
She doesn't talk. Not when he sifts through the cabinet next to her legs to grab the first aid kit. Not when he swabs the bite as clean as he can, cursing under his breath that he doesn't have saline or gloves that haven't been stuffed inside a plastic box for god knows how long or an at all medically appropriate environment. Her face screws up when he finally presses a bandage over it and pulls her shirt right again.
"All set."
She hums an acknowledgement but he watches her jaw clench.
He can't help himself. "Do you see this guy often?"
Are you going to see him again?
She sighs in lieu of an answer, losing patience he's surprised she's managed this long.
"I just mean—" he doesn't know what he means, "Just—it's not a normal thing, is it?"
"I've told you it's not."
"And it's not something you have to tolerate."
"Jack," she warns.
"If you're into that sort of thing, that's one thing," he's grasping for purchase now, trying to be understanding and manage his anger and tamp down his worry all at once, "but to hurt you—"
She bites. "I don't need my neighbor to lecture me on my sex life."
His stomach lurches. Despite it's truth, the statement feels like a gross diminishment of whatever it is between them.
"I'm not trying to lecture you."
She shakes her head, exasperated.
What is it that you're trying to do then?
"I'm just trying to tell you that you're not the one that should feel bad about this situation."
He can tell by her rising tone that he's just added another tick to the list piling against him.
"You're seriously gonna sit here and act like you've never gotten carried away? Like things have never gotten a little rough when you've been with a woman?"
He stutters, trying to not to lend much validity to her obvious brush off.
"I—That's—Yes. Yes, but that's not the point."
"That's exactly the point."
He sighs like he's too polite to voice how insincere she's being and how aware they both are of it.
"Yes, sure, sometimes you get carried away, or one thing leads to another. Shit, sometimes, you want to throw each other against the wall—I'm not denying any of that. But, no, I've never thought the point of being..." he trails off, looking for the most decent descriptor he can, "vulnerable with a woman was to hurt her. Or that the intention is just to get rough with her."
She wonders if he can actually see her cower, recoiling at her own words quoted back and suddenly sounding so disgusting.
When she doesn't respond, just stares back at him through the mirror, stern and glassy all at once, his pulse quickens. There's something like a whimper, a small pathetic sound, that escapes her rather than a rebuttal. And it's like watching a building collapse, the way her features buckle suddenly, her brows pinching and lips trembling.
She can't look at him. Not through the mirror, not on her way out of the room. She backs up, turning to go without ever facing him. He's on it immediately, after her into the living room as she tries to make an obvious break for it.
No amount of heys, waits, or calling after her stops her, and their shuffle is dangerously close to the door, so he goes against his better judgement and reaches out. His hand around her forearm, gentle but with pressure enough to halt her, does the trick. His stare burns into the side of her face when she doesn't immediately turn to him.
He knows she must be seething, pissed that he kept pushing when she repeatedly asked him not to. He knows that putting his hands on her is probably punching a couple of his arguments flat—but he doesn't let go.
The silence settles over them as they still, and he sees the quake of her shoulders, hears the unevenness in her breathing. Realization prompts his hand up, looser around her elbow, thumb sweeping against her arm like he can't help but soothe her. Movement seems precarious, but he takes the risk, rounding her front. Her free hand covers her face before he can assess it fully.
"Hey," his voice is gruff despite his attempt at softness.
She sniffs.
He pulls at her wrist, rocking the pads of his fingers to pry the cover off her face.
"Hey," he tries again, landing closer to his aim this time.
Her eyes brim, pink gone red and outlined by clumped eyelashes. If any part of him betrays panic, it's his eyes flitting between hers. It eases him slightly that hers follow, looking equally as stirred by the gentleness she sees in him this close up.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad." His voice pitches higher when he speaks this softly.
She shakes her head, wishing she could wipe the evidence of being affected off her face but not really wanting to pull out of his grip.
She frees the inner part of her lip from between her teeth. "That's not it." Her voice is suddenly ragged.
He tilts his head as if to let her know she doesn't have to deny it.
"Really," she continues, glancing away briefly then back, "you're just so...nice." Her chest juts again, emotion getting the better of her.
He can feel the tremor of his expression morphing and he quickly tries to bite it back, sure that befuddled isn't the thing to be right now.
If he's her idea of 'nice', there's a lot more foundation to his worry than he initially thought.
But he doesn't say that—he'd never say that. During this particular conversation.
She pipes up again before he can think of a response. "Jesus, this is humiliating."
That creases his brow.
"What?"
"We don’t really know each other that well. This isn't exactly something I wanted to add to the very short list of impressions you have of me."
He should deconstruct that assumption, reassure her that his impression of her is anything but meager, that this situation most definitely doesn't reflect negatively on her from his perspective.
“We know each other well enough,” he manages.
“Flirting with you by the mailboxes and unloading my personal problems are slightly different things.”
His lip quirks at that, his pulse picks up a beat or two in spite of his commitment to a sullen, understanding demeanor. But he can see the glistening of her waterline and her jaw still wound tight through the joke, so he shoves it aside.
She won’t meet his eyeline regardless of how deliberate his asking for it is and the elbow still cradled in his palm seems to be the only thing keeping her from walking out, so he ditches the usual reassurances.
“Remember running into me on the roof?”
She glances up, attention caught.
Running into was a kind way of putting her stumbling upon him stoically perched at the edge. Especially as she clattered over the warning chain with a feather-light folding chair and cheap alcohol in tow.
Her brow furrows, obviously predicting his route and not wanting to entertain it. “That was different.”
His head tilts. How so?
She’s quiet.
“Do you remember?” He asks again lowly, punctuating the words with dips of his head.
She remembers it vividly, nearly tripping onto the tarred rooftop, bursting violently into the quiet of it before she could even register him there. His head whipping her way as she immediately quipped about her misstep, expecting their usual conversation to follow. The sinking in her stomach is the same now as it was then, when he’d turned away instead of answering; when she’d noticed the toe of his boots snug against the lip of the roofline.
Before then, the most agonized she’d seen him was in flashes; worry or inconvenience, or any drive-by glimpse of emotion painted big by his puppy dog features. But sadness washed his face desolate, the only signs of it the occasional catch in his throat and the streaks over his cheekbones.
Of course she remembers.
“Yes,” she huffs. “That was different.”
“I was a grown man caught crying in the corner by myself. Pretty fuckin’ mortifying to me.”
“That’s not what it was. No one’s supposed to be up there; you weren’t expecting me to interrupt you. And when I did—when we talked—it wasn’t like you were moping over something ridiculous. I just freaked myself out, overreacted—” she takes a breath, flustered in defense of him then and concurrently against his point now. “That is not what this is,” she reasons quietly.
He can picture her concerned face on queue, can remember how much he hated being on the other end of it. Seeing him like that painted her in shock she couldn’t hide. The newness of seeing someone so steadfast at the end of a building obviously hadn’t worn off yet. He’d have been embarrassed for her to know how much of a cliche it was that she was actually witnessing.
“That seemed like a friend helping a friend out. That’s what this seems like to me.”
“I split an eight-dollar bottle of wine with you and lent you a shitty chair. I don’t think I did you any favors.”
He wonders if that’s really all she makes of that night. Of staying when she could have turned around and pretended she didn’t see anything.
His sigh meets her stubbornness.
“I know you go up there sometimes. I mean, I knew. Then. I knew that then.”
Her eyes widen just enough for him to notice as her face settles into realization.
“Maybe I wasn’t waiting, but I knew there was a chance.”
He’s looking at her like maybe he’d hoped there would be.
He offers the slightest twist of his mouth, worry giving way to sweetness for a moment. “Is that ridiculous?”
He thinks better than to note the sudden uptick in her trembling lips, so he lifts his brow to prompt an answer.
“No,” she admits softly.
He nods. “Then maybe you’ll agree this isn’t, either.”
She hesitates, but he continues before she can recycle any protests.
“I’m glad you came here. I wasn’t the perfect host, but I’m glad you did. And I assure you my impression of you is thorough and skewed wildly in your favor.”
He kneads his thumb into her arm, like he can make her feel the words there if she won’t hear them. She looks up at him finally, holding his gaze. The friendliest of surrenders.
“Thank you” is just about all she can manage. Then she tacks on, “I owe you one.”
His face pinches. “You don’t owe me for shoddy medical advice. Or need to thank me for it.”
She thinks back to the roof, “Please, let me. We’re not even close to breaking even here—”
“We don’t need to tally it up.”
She raises a wounded brow.
“I’m not interested in keeping score with you. I’m here. Whenever, whatever. Cup of sugar. The works.”
She stills, seeming to bear the weight of the words rather than hear them. She rocks a bit, not quite still on her feet. For a moment, he’s sure he’s said the wrong thing again, been flippant where he shouldn’t have been. But then she pushes up onto her toes, suddenly in a proximity to him that’s only been imagined until now. It sends his nerves into a tailspin instantly.
He stills, bracing, then stiffens when her arms finally loop around his neck. When she pulls tight, he settles a bit, letting surprised hands fall lightly to the small of her back. It’s her face nuzzling into his shoulder, the press of her firmly against him, that liquifies him. He lets out a breath long enough to fill the spaces between them, wraps his arms tighter, lets his head rest against hers.
Thank you.
This close, he can hear the unevenness of her breathing slowly settling.
“I’m not going to ask if you’re alright,” he cautions, muffled in her hair, “But if you’re not, I’m here ‘til six.”
He feels her nod.
It’s her that unsticks herself from him a moment later; he’d be damned if he was going to be the first to go. She steps back, folding her arms at her front as she looks him over.
“I’ll be fine.” She smiles weakly.
He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to make the wrong move. But then she’s moving again and he can’t help himself.
“Just—” it juts out of him like a plea as he steps around her toward the table. “Here. Just take this. Use it if anything changes or you need a get out of work free card. Anything.”
She smiles down at the torn piece of newspaper with his number scrawled over it.
“Will do.”
His lips purse with lingering worry, but he nods anyway. She’s quiet, her eyes tinged pink and exhausted—and, despite the tender pull of her lips, she looks like an apology in human form. He tilts his head.
Don’t.
Her not-quite-smile deepens a bit. She holds the paper up instead.
“I’ll let you get some sleep.”
She turns for the door and he follows, not deterring her this time. Before she can swing it open fully, she turns back, using most of the small space his entryway affords them to face him. He draws a breath when she rocks up on her toes again, but the peck of her lips on his cheek punches it right back out. It’s soft, a quiet gratitude and nothing more.
But his pulse trips, and for the seconds she takes to make her exit, the only movement in his body is cellular. He can finally breathe again when the latch clicks and jolts his heart back into rhythm.
summary: a collection of their first times together. connected to my other shy!reader fic, but can be read as a standalone!
content: explicit 18+ MDNI. smut, oral (f receiving), tad of dry humping, unprotected p in v. brief mention of sexual assault (a patient, not reader), reader is a SANE.
wc: 8.9k
notes: thank u for the love on my first fic!! i thought id write a lil extra fic of this dynamic bc i also adore them.
masterlists
First Date
Jack is a traditional man, you’ve come to realise.
After the kiss, the invisible boundary stopping him from taking care of you the way he wanted had been broken, and he promises to care for you to the fullest extent, for as long as you’d let him.
Your schedules never seemed to align to both have a day off, and Jack was getting antsy at the prospect that he had kissed you days ago, but couldn’t take his girl out for a date.
A particularly stressful case one evening broke his patience.
An MVC trauma case had rolled in just before his shift was about to end, the man was in his late-thirties and the crash seemed to have paralysed his lower limbs. He worked to treat the most imminent problems, but Jack could tell the man knew what had happened to his legs, and was grieving silently.
Not long after he’s finished treating the man, a tall, blonde woman rushes into the trauma room just as Jack was about to exit, and the look on her face was fear followed by complete devastation. He watches her sob as she rounds the table to sit next to her partner, moving strands of hair away from his face so she can lean in and press her forehead against his.
Jack stands off to the side watching the scene unfolds, and his breath hitches as he hears the couples’ cries, their pleas of love for one another, the fear that she had almost lost him; lost him before they could finally get married, he overhears.
The woman promises that nothing could ever change the love she has for him, begging to scrap the big, fancy wedding they’d planned, wanting to elope, not bearing to waste another day of not being married to him.
Something twists low in his chest, patience wearing thin and excuses himself from the room, desperately needing to find you.
He couldn’t wait.
Jack’s shoulders are tight when he exits the trauma room, shaking his head and searching for you, hoping you hadn’t left for the day.
───
You’re zipping your bag up where it rests on your chair, when a low, familiar voice startles you from behind.
“What are you doing right now?”
“Uh, going home and sleeping. You should try it sometime, y’know–” You begin to tease back, turning to look at him, but his face is serious, tight, making you falter. You’re about to ask what had happened, never having seen him so disturbed.
He speaks before you can ask, shaking his head and commanding,
“No. C’mon, we’re grabbing food.” His voice is gravelly as he grabs your bag, slinging it over his shoulder, before picking up your coat holding it out for you to slip into it. Your heart warms at the sweet, domestic gesture. Nervously, and heavily blushing, you turn, and let him drape you in the coat. You move to take the bag from Jack, but he shakes his head, holding it tighter.
“Let’s go.” His voice is low, and you feel his hand rest on the small of your back, guiding you to the exit. You almost just let yourself fall into the comfort of allowing Jack to take over, enjoying not having to think for once.
“Jack– hold on.” You say a little flabbergasted. Shen and Lena give you both an amused look as you pass, clearly they seem to know what’s going on whilst you’re left in the dark.
“We’re exhausted, I look a mess right now– we just finished a 12 hour shift!” You try and reason with him as he hurriedly leads you to his truck.
“So?” He gives you a look that implies what you said has no grounds for protest, whatsoever.
You scoff, completely taken aback, and swivel to face him once you reach his truck, searching his face for an inkling of an idea as to what’s up with him.
“Jack–” You try, but he just leans past you, and opens the truck door for you, nodding his head signalling for you to hop in.
“First of all. You ain’t a mess, sweetheart.” He says, almost offended by the notion.
Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you watch as he reaches for the seatbelt and buckles you in, and before pulling away, he rests his forehead on yours and whispers, “You looking fuckin’ amazing all the time.”
You can't help but let out a flustered whine at his praise, blush covering your face as you meet his intense stare. His expression begins to soften once he looks you over, realising you’re finally here with him. He softly brushes a strand of hair away from your face.
“Diner food okay, doll?”
───
You feel the car come to a stop across the street from a 24/7 diner downtown, it’s cutesy, it has a retro feel to it. You go to open the door, but his hand gently catches your wrist mid-movement.
“Ah ah. Stay.” He commands with a soft-but-stern tone, willing you to obey.
You smile to yourself as you watch him round the hood of the truck, you’ve never received this kind of princess treatment, and your heart clenches. You thrum with anxiety as you wait for him to open your door, begging yourself to not make a fool of yourself and somehow faceplanting out of the truck.
Checking that no cars are passing, he opens the door and holds his hand out for you to take. You can’t stop your smile from growing or the heat covering your face, utterly touched by his gentlemanly gestures.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know?” Your voice is quiet, but slightly teasing as you hop out of the truck, holding his hand. “I already like you.”
Jack sighs when looks down at you, wrapping an arm around you to rest on your hip before moving you to the inner side of the sidewalk, away from the road.
“I ain’t doing this to impress ya.” He grumbles out, bringing his lips to your temple. “It’s how you deserve to be treated, honey.”
You’re speechless.
He needs to stop making you blush, you’re already flustered and overwhelmed by all of his actions within the short span of time you’ve left the ER, and the date has barely begun.
You’re barely able to focus or think straight, which is why when you reach the doors to the diner, you mistakenly make a move to open the door, and Jack almost hangs his head in soft frustration
“Sweetheart, c’mon.” He says in disbelief. You look up at him with a confused expression, watching as he enters your space, and opens the door for you. God, he’s so traditional. Your grin is wide as you stare at him, unable to keep it off your face as you enter the Diner.
You let him order first, as you stare up at the menu above the counter. You’d heard him order a savory dish, something with eggs. It’s healthy, and though you’d wanted something sweet like pancakes you start overthinking, not wanting to look unhealthy or childish in front of Jack, completely baseless worries.
He turns to look at you, seeing your brows are furrowed and a worried look paints your face as you’re trying to decide. He reaches back, squeezing your hand tilting his head. “Honey, get whatever ya want, yeah?”
Your smile is tight and shy again when you order the pancakes, nerves wracking your body for no good reason, just another moment anxiety seems to spike randomly.
“Will that be separate or together?” The cashier asks about payment whilst finishing up the order, and both you and Jack speak at the same time.
“Separate–”
“Together.”
His tone is final as he looks at you with an incredulous expression that you even tried to offer to pay on your first date. You begin to shake your head, feeling guilty about making him pay for you, but he taps his card and gives you a stern look.
While you’re waiting for the food he wraps you in his arms and whispers into your hair.
“Let me take care of you. Please.” His voice is gentle but pleading.
Your heart clenches as you look up at him from where you’re wrapped around him, face touching his chest. Vulnerability flickers in your eyes, unsure if you should admit to Jack just yet, how hard it is for you to let go and be cared for.
But he just smiles, patting your hair, and silently, you think he already knows.
Grabbing your food, you look for a place to sit, but you notice Jack is… walking out? You frown again, catching up to him with confusion painting your face. Did he not want to eat together? Had you completely misinterpreted this as a date? Maybe he just wanted to grab food before going home.
He snorts at the confusion, back tracking a little and cupping your face with one hand, a thumb stroking back and forth across your cheek.
“You think I was gonna take ya to a diner for our first date?” He croons, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Jesus, kid, who have you been hanging around with before me?”
───
What you hadn’t expected was for him to bring you to a remote spot that overlooked the city. It was still early in the morning, a fresh spring fog coating the city from above as you sat on a bench and had breakfast.
You’re too in your own head, you know this. But you can’t stop. You’re painfully aware that this is a date, you want to act the right way, say the right things, be charming, be funny. But it inevitably leads to complete silence from you and jumpy eyes darting around focusing on anywhere but him.
Sighing, he sets his takeout container on the bench beside him, before scooting closer to you.
“Hey, what’cha worrying about over there?” He nudges his knee with yours. He meets your eyes and finds insecurity and so much shyness. He tilts your head up using his fingers on your chin, making sure you really hear him when he speaks.
“You still get me so nervous.” You breathe out shakily, laughing a little at the prospect knowing he’d already kissed you stupid days ago.
“You got no one to impress, yeah? S’just me.” He teases a little, recalling your words from earlier.
“Plus, I already got a taste of those lips, doll.” This raises a shy laugh from you and you groan while you nudge his knee back playfully, clearly calming down. He has a way of easing you, making you comfortable around him like no one ever has. You lean your head down against his shoulder, bringing your hand to trace patterns on his scrubs.
In the comfortable lull between you both, you break the silence.
“What happened today? Why were you so… worked up?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment by bringing up negative emotions.
Jack pauses, you feel him tense beside you. But he places a hand on your thigh and rubs his thumb back and forth comfortingly, searching for the right words.
“I just… didn’t wanna waste any time.” He admits softly, breathing out a sigh of relief.
“I know what I want, and we’ll go as slow as you want– but I’m not waiting around to miss key moments with you.” He leans down to where you rest on his shoulder and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a moment after his admission.
Your breath hitches at his intensity, realising how serious he is, that he really wants this, wants you.
“Now,” he pauses, using his hand to lift your head off his shoulder. “I’ve been dreamin’ about kissing you again for days.” His rough voice whispers, searching your eyes for permission, any indication you want this as much as he does.
You don’t give him time to find it.
Immediately, you lean in and crash your lips to his, faster and passionate than your first.
Jack is genuinely taken aback by your little show of confidence, and he makes a surprised whine at feeling your lips again.
You pull back, wide eyed and shocked at what you had done. “Fuck–”
He growls at you having broken the kiss. You don’t get time to sit with embarrassment at how desperately you’d kissed him, you notice how blown out his pupils are and he immediately cups your face bringing you back in.
He had so effortlessly taken over, comforting you and pleasing you with one kiss that your worries dissipate, your body relaxes into him, and you let yourself feel it.
For the second time, Jack had kissed you stupid.
First Personality Shifts
Slowly, but surely, Jack was getting you to come out of your shell. He was discovering parts of you he hadn’t known existed, and loved it.
He was encouraging you to grow, to flourish, which is how he discovered how sassy you could get.
The night shift were working overtime, wrapping up cases here and there, during a particularly brutal shift. You’d been working around 15 hours now, exhausted but powering through.
You and Emma, a day shift nurse, were assisting a trauma case led by Jack and Dr. Robby, much to the dismay of Shen and Ellis. It was a particularly tricky case, you’d all been in that room for ages, holding your breath during a risky procedure as the room stays silent.
After a while, you watch Jack and Robby step back from the patient, letting out a breath of relief before Robby raises his thumbs, signalling everything went perfectly. You see them smile, their eyes crinkling from under the mask.
Small cheers and laughs filter through the room, the tension easing out.
“You’ve still got it, man.” Jack praises Robby.
Robby almost looks reluctant to accept the approval.
“Nah man, that’s all you.” Robby retorts, his hand patting Jack’s back whilst Robby went to leave the room.
“Take the compliment, Robby.” Jack raises his voice to reach where Robby was leaving the room, knowing how his friend gets. Robby pauses in the doorway turning to face Jack.
“No, seriously, brother. Everyone could learn a thing or two from you.” Robby says loudly enough so his residents can hear, making it a point.
You hear them go back and forth for a while, your brain is finally slowing down from exhaustion, they do this all the goddamn time, which is why you don’t even process it when you blurt out your next sentence.
“Careful, Jack’s ego is inflated enough as is.” Your voice is somewhat quiet, you really meant it for just Robby and Jack.
The room erupts in small giggles, Robby’s eyebrows lifting in surprise and smirking at Jack. He can’t help but let out a laugh.
“Oof, damn girl.” You hear Ellis joke from behind you.
Your wide eyes shoot up to meet Jack’s, your tired brain catching up and afraid you’d offended him. But he’s stood there, completely still, and grinning so hard. He almost looks proud.
Jack didn’t think he could fall for you any harder.
He was wrong.
───
You had finally gotten comfortable enough to ask for his comfort.
Before you met Jack, you couldn’t imagine asking for help for the littlest of things, afraid of inconveniencing people. Jack had reassured you, time and again, that he wants to be the person you go to when you need help.
So you do.
At first, it was adorable for Jack trying to get you to ask for help. Being a slight tease about it, encouraging you to use your words.
You’d had a rough shift, you weren’t meant to be going to Jack’s place after work, but god did you need him today more than ever.
You’d been in the room for a few trauma cases, neither of which had ended with the patients pulling through, one being a pediatric case. You’d also opted to do an evidence collection for a sexual assault patient, knowing how busy Lena had been tonight, the floor needing her more than ever, so you’d taken over for her.
Safe to say, by the end of the night, you were a wreck. You felt on the verge of tears for hours, like the littlest thing could set you off. You were emotionally depleted, you wanted to just switch off, and you knew Jack could help.
So you approached him quietly, anxiously, your hands fidgeting. He was grabbing his bag out of his locker, so you slid in next to him, your back against the lockers next to him searching his face, checking if he’s too tired, because you wouldn’t want to be a burden.
“Hey, baby.” He smiles at your appearance next to him, glancing over at you.
“Everything okay?” He says gently after noticing your stature. He can tell you’re anxious. He pauses from where he’s gathering his stuff in his lockers, turning to face you fully now. You’re staring into his eyes, you’re hesitant.
“Talk to me.” He commands gently, his hand coming to yours to break apart your nervous fidgeting.
You swallow the lump in your throat, asking for help always ended with tears for you and you didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now.
“Jack.” You just whine, silently begging that he’d understand what you need without you having to vocalise it. Your eyes water slightly, needing his comfort desperately.
“C’mon, baby, use your words.” He coaxes, his hand cupping your cheek. “You can do it.” His thumb brushes back and forth across the apple of your cheek, catching any tears if they fell.
“I need you.” Your voice is shaky, broken. It’s all you can manage without completely breaking down at work.
“Yeah?” His voice is so gentle, like he’s trying not to spook you, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Atta girl.” His praise causes an involuntary, but quiet whine to leave you.
He’ll stop the teasing for tonight, he sees how much you need him and the fact you had even verbalised your need for him was progress. He’s so proud of you.
“You need me, baby? C’mere.” He opens his arms for you, beckoning you into his hold. You’re a little embarrassed as you hug him, worried someone will find you like this, all vulnerable and mushy.
“You did so good, baby, asking me for help.” He strokes your hair, comforting you. “C’mon. I’ll bring you home.”
A protesting whine escapes you before you realise, the idea of him dropping you home alone upsetting you. You had just said you needed him, hadn’t you?
“Hey, hey.” He says quickly, needing to settle you down before you get more upset. “I meant home. Our home. You’re mine, baby. Imma take care of you now.”
───
However, one particular night, he uncovered an unexpected, but one of his favourite sides of you.
It’d been a rare evening where most of the night shift were off for the day, well at least those fun enough to drink with.
You and Jack hadn’t even bothered to try and hide your relationship around your coworkers, they knew too much. It wasn’t much of a problem anyways, not that either of you were overly affectionate at work.
Lena supported you, but continued to encourage you to err on the side of caution, worried you’ll get hurt. Shen, however, lived for teasing you both.
With a few drinks in your bloodstream, you had shuffled closer to Jack within the booth, searching for his touch. Shen, sitting opposite you both kept giving you knowing looks. It’d started with your thigh against his under the table, a gentle, grounding presence. But drink after drink, it hadn’t been enough. You wrap your arms around his forearm, your head on his shoulder now.
You’re definitely feeling the drinks, tipsy if not drunk, and you’re practically all over Jack. It's like you wanted to crawl into his skin. He’s definitely enjoying how clingy you’re being tonight. He leaves soft kisses in your hair from time-to-time, not trying to go full on PDA in front of his friends. But you were making it very hard for him to keep his cool.
The drinks get to your head, making you both loose-lipped and a little sleepy.
Your eyes fall to his hands. His fingers idly trace around the condensation on his glass as he politely listens to a story Ellis is telling. Truthfully, you hadn’t been clocked into the conversation for a while now, Jack occupying so much space in your mind. Jack. Jack. Jack.
His hands just looked so good. They were so big and veiny, and his fingers were so thick. You don’t know what had gotten into you, but you were so incredibly entranced by his hands.
Without thinking, you slide your hand that rested on his bicep, down his arm until it landed on his hand, gently pulling it away from his glass. He lets you, doesn’t even look down to see what you’re doing, assuming you wanna hold his hand. But you just turn his hand over, palm facing up, and reject his attempt at intertwining your hands together.
You let out a small, short whine in protest. Keeping his hand laying flat on the table while you take your nails and gently trace your fingers in his palm, up his fingers and back down. They were so worn, tough. Nothing like your soft hands.
This touch from you makes him shiver, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. He glances down at your face, your eyes are glazed over and you seem completely infatuated by his hand. He watches you turn over his hand again, and you begin to trace his veins, like you’re completely hypnotised.
His breath comes out shakily, now completely zoned out of Ellis’ conversation.
“What’ya doing, honey?” He whispers quietly into your hair, ensuring no one else can hear him.
You peek up at him from where you rest on his shoulder. God, you’re drunk. He’s so beautiful.
“Your hands are realllyyyy hot.” You blurt out, drunkenly as you continue to toy with his hands. By the power of the universe, the table had erupted into laughter at Ellis’ story at the same time you’d blurted that out, such that no one heard.
He stills at your comment and almost barks out a laugh. He holds it in, not wanting you to get all shy on him. Not when his shy girl has gotten so confident.
“Is that so, baby?” He practically growls into your ear, lifting a drink to hide his smirk.
“Mhmmm.” You hum in affirmation. Your focus shifts from his arm to wrapping both hands around his bicep, it flexes slightly as he brings his drink to his lips. “Y’r arms too. Soooo big. Wanna bite ‘em.”
He genuinely chokes on his drink at that, something possessive stirring in his chest. His shy, sweet girl, completely fawning over Jack.
He blinks around, making sure no one heard what you said, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else hearing your desired rambles for him. Looking up, he notices Shen’s cocky smirk as he glances between the two of you. Jack’s about to tell him to mind his own business, but you beat him to it, by doubling down.
“Like it's unfairrrrr.” You mumble into his bicep.
“Unfair?” Jack asks, confused.
“How are you sooo– ugh!”
He tilts your chin to look at him, wanting to know where all this flattery is coming from, and you have a lovestruck tired expression.
You pout as you take him in, his curls, his scruff, his face.
Oh.
Something more present and aware flashes in your eyes the longer you stare at him, like you’re realising you spoke the words out loud. Your eyes widen slowly, mortified, and heat rushes to your face as you stare at him silently, replaying everything you just said. In public.
You dart your face around the table and make eye contact with Shen who's laughing under his breath. Oh fuck. You probably just embarrassed Jack and yourself.
You detach from him so quickly it gives him whiplash.
“Oh my god, I’m so–” Your voice is incredibly apologetic, horrified, and you won't even look at him in the face.
“No, hey. none of that.” Jack’s voice is firm. He brings his hands to cup your face, making you look into his eyes. “I like you like this, cheeky, confident.”
You want to be happy at his words, but you can’t help but feel guilt and nausea stir in your stomach. Your drunk brain is making it very hard to think straight. You bite your lip anxiously.
“Do you…” You hesitate, looking into his eyes. “Do you wish I was more like that?” You have to ask. Maybe sober you wouldn’t feel so insecure, but you’re tired and your mouth is still feeling braver than your brain.
“God, no, honey–” He pauses trying to find the right words, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. “I mean– Don’t apologise for this. I want you, every version of you.” His tone is pleading. You calm down a little at his words, feeling silly at how quick your mind jumped to the worst case.
“Want you even when you’re drunk outta your mind and thirsting over me like this–” He teases which gets cut off by a groan from you. You can’t help but smile as you hide your face into his neck again.
First Time
You’d been dating Jack for a little while now, but you still hadn’t had your first time together. Jack waited for your signal, he wouldn’t push, he’d wait until you were comfortable enough to be with him.
Which you were. You wanted to be intimate with Jack for so long, but there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your brain, stopping you from initiating.
Your past relationships, as Jack had slowly realised, weren’t exactly the best. You weren’t ever cared for like you are with Jack, which extended to sex. Sex had never really been about you and your partner, it’d always been about his pleasure, his needs.
And now you’re with the most perfect guy, you don’t know how to navigate being intimate in a way that isn’t focused only on him.
This thought was really getting to you one evening. You and Jack were at his place, just having finished dinner, and now you sit on the couch with your legs in his lap as you absentmindedly watch TV. His hand is giving you gentle strokes up and down your leg, and you can’t stop thinking about needing to warn him about your relationship with sex.
“Jack?” You ask gently. He doesn’t look over, he continues stroking your leg whilst humming in response.
You bite your lip anxiously.
“Um– I need to tell you something.” Jack’s hand falters his motions on your leg and he turns his head quickly, concern flashing on his features. Your tone, so nervous and anxious, had worried him, his chest twisting.
“Baby, what’s going on?” He coos, but he’s definitely on edge.
“It’s nothing, really. Um–” You pause, realising you hadn’t thought about a way to approach this with him. “I just really wanna have sex with you–” You blurt out.
Oh for fuck’s sake. You wince and close your eyes in embarrassment. That’s definitely not the right way to do this
Jack’s face is even more confused, amusement flashing his features.
“Right. Baby, I’ve been waiting for you…” He reminds you gently.
“No, no, I know.” You huff frustrated. “I– it’s about that. I just– fuck.” Your frustration builds at yourself for not being able to articulate your words well.
Jack sits up now, sensing your discomfort. He brings you closer to him, leaning on his shoulder now.
“Honey, focus, you’re okay. You can tell me anything.” His voice is immediately grounding. You breathe out shakily.
Silence hangs between you both, before you finally admit it.
“I can’t finish during sex.”
Silence continues to permeate the room. You’re so mortified. You don’t turn to look at his face. You can’t.
“You mean– you haven’t or you can’t?” His voice is gentle, a hand coming to stroke your hair. He’s definitely suspicious of your confession.
“I dunno… both, I guess. I’m not saying this to make it a challenge– people have done that before and it just makes it worse. I’m just warning you beforehand my body is wired differently and I don’t want you to feel bad if you can’t make it happen–”
“Oh, honey, is this why you’ve been hesitant to have sex?” He asks softly, interrupting your rambling.
You just hum in affirmation, embarrassed.
Jack mulls over your words, he won’t argue and tell you he will make you finish but he seriously thinks this is a product of your previous boyfriends being inattentive and careless with you. Anger twists in his chest thinking about you thinking you’re somehow inadequate when it was your boyfriends who just took and took.
“Listen to me, baby.” He tilts your face to look at him now. “I don’t care about that y’hear me?” He watches your expression falter, eyes full of vulnerability.
“If you can’t? Fine. I don’t want you any less, I just wanna make you feel loved, baby.” He can tell you’re still hesitant, but you nod.
You smile shyly and cuddle into his side, resting your head on his lap as he plays with your hair.
The days following your conversation you think over his words more, and a few days later, you tell him you wanna do it– be with him.
He checks in multiple times throughout the day, making sure you’re okay, that you’re absolutely sure. But you also notice how much more often his touches linger. You can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, but you can’t stop thinking about him. Everything about him that day is so much more gentle and careful with you.
That evening, when he leads you onto the couch your body is thrumming with anxiety. You know what's about to happen, he knows. Why are you so scared? You’ve never been more tense, more afraid of something going wrong. This is the man you love.
When you both sit on the couch, cuddling like you always do, he doesn’t make a move. Maybe he’s waiting for you. Your leg shakes as you try to figure out what’s meant to happen, what you’re supposed to do.
Before you can overthink it, you drape yourself over his lap and crash your lips to kiss, a hungry desperate kiss.
He returns it, a grunt of surprise before melting into it. Hands coming to gently rest on your face. The kiss is almost rough, your tongue intertwining with his. You can do this, you can make him feel good. Your brain already slips into making sure he’s pleased, unable to shake the habit from the past.
You move against his lap, and he groans in pleasure. The noise he makes thrills you, wanting to hear it again, you’ve never heard him like this. You try to grind again but he pulls away breathless, shaking his head.
“Baby, slow down.” He practically laughs caressing your cheek. He can’t lose his cool already, not when he plans to make you feel good.
Fuck.
Shame floods your chest and your cheeks heat, climbing off of him and curl up next to him. You somehow messed this up, you want the couch to open and swallow you up.
“Oh, my sweet girl. C’mere.” He coos, turning to face you. He realises how his words may have come across like a rejection, and that’s the last thing he wants you to think.
“I don’t wanna rush this” He places a hand on your thigh, dipping his head trying to find your eyes. He can tell how nervous you are, how much you’re overthinking this. “Lemme take over, yeah?” He asks softly.
You meekly lift your head to meet his eyes before nodding. His eyes are blown out, he looks hungry. But there's an edge of restraint, he's holding back.
You don’t even have time to feel guilty before he cups your face and brings your lips to his again, slow, passionate.
He leans forward, crowding you back against the couch until he’s lying over you. Your heart jumps at the closeness, the position you’re in.
You become breathless, almost gasping for air between each kiss.
Jack moves from your lips, placing sweet kisses down your jaw. Your body erupts in goosebumps, you’re practically shivering at the contact. You don’t even register your hand lifting to comb through his hair, pulling him down onto your jaw for more.
You feel his lips twitch into a smirk.
“That feel good, baby?” He rasps. The low grumble of his voice has you bucking your hips into him, desperate for him. You get completely lost in his kisses–
“Words, baby.” He commands pulling away to look into your eyes. He smirks smugly as he sees how wrecked he’s made you with just his kisses.
You blink processing his request, breathless and annoyed he’s stopped kissing you.
“Yeah– please, Jack. Don’t st– ah!” You’re cut off by his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck, just below your ear. You whine as he sucks on your skin, for sure leaving a mark. Your body shivers again with the thought of him marking you that you involuntarily tug at his hair, which provokes a growl from Jack.
He detaches from your neck breathlessly dipping his head like you’ve just wrecked him with a simple tug.
“Do that again.” He commands low, before hungrily returning to your neck sucking more spots over and over.
A surge of confidence fills you knowing you have the capacity to make him feel just as wrecked as he does you. You continue to rake your hands through his curls, tugging occasionally loving his whines, as he sucks spots lower and lower down your collarbone and chest.
His hand trails under your shirt, his cold hand making contact with your tummy and you tense involuntarily. He pauses looking up from where his head rests on your chest.
“You need to slow down?” His tone is so soft, gentle, it almost makes you cry.
“Nononon– please keep going,” you almost beg “Your hand was just cold.” You laugh embarrassed while stroking his hair.
He smirks at your neediness trying not to tease you more.
He holds eye contact while his hands trail up your torso, goosebumps erupting throughout your body once again. You get flustered as he stares so intensely and you try to look away.
“Eyes on me.” He coos, bringing his fingers to tilt your head back to face him. Heat rushes in your face, your body practically shakes with anticipation.
He lifts your top off so slowly, that you almost just beg for him to hurry up, for him to touch you. His hand slowly slides up from your hips up to your breasts, a hand coming to cup you over your bra as he returns to sucking spots at your collarbone. You get lost in the sensation once more, not noticing his other hand working at removing your bra. Once you peel it off he just stares. You almost go to hide, feeling self-conscious under his stare.
“So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans before directly leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth.
Your hands grip the couch roughly and your back arches into him involuntarily.
“Fuck– ohmygod–” you whine at the sensation of his tongue swirling your nipples. You feel jack smirk against your breast, cocky fucker, before returning to suck on them hard.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good, you had no idea kisses and touches like this could wreck you.
His teeth unexpectedly grazes your nipple and you moan. Your body shakes with overwhelm, you bring your hands to cup jacks face needing him to pause.
His lips detach from your nipple and his pupils are black. He looks like a man starved. He tries to go back to sucking but you hold his face steady.
“Need– fuck– need a break, feels too good.” You pant.
Jack blinks and his cocky smirk returns.
“Oh yeah?” He rasps, with a mock condescending tone.
You want to even the playing field a bit so you paw at his shirt, needing him to take it off, which he complies by ripping it clean off so quickly you barely register it. He leans down to capture your lips again, but you push your body upwards into his to manoeuvre you both into sitting position. You’re on top of him now, your turn to wreck him.
His eyes narrow and smiles at your little show of dominance, and he’ll let you think you have the upper hand, for now.
You lean down to return the kisses he gave you. You test out his sensitive spots, kissing and sucking spots along his neck whilst raking your nails along his biceps, his back, his chest.
His breathing is shallow and you hear him whine.
Bingo.
You continue sucking in that spot on his neck, one hand tugging in his hair and another raking nails on his bicep. You love the sound of him falling apart.
You feel his hips involuntarily buck into your and you know you have him under your finger. It’s your turn to smirk against his neck, peppering small kisses up his jaw before locking eyes with him and grinding down straight into his lap.
His hands jolt to your waist, not roughly, but a firm presence. He holds you down as he groans loudly, coming to rest his head on your chest. You try to move again but his hands on your waists prevent it, and he sounds destroyed.
Your smug, cocky victory is short lived.
His hands are on your thighs in an instant and you’re suddenly jolted upwards, your legs wrap around his torso as you let out a startled yelp. He’s carrying you.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease, baby.” He murmurs into your neck as he carries you towards his bedroom.
You’re plopped down onto his bed and you bounce a little. You don’t even get time to speak before he’s on you again, his kisses desperate.
His hands paw at your bottoms, sliding them off in one quick go before he cups your panties.
“You enjoy almost getting me to blow my load in my pants, hmmm?” He teases feeling how wet you are already. “Making me feel like a fucking teenager again–” He growls before latching onto your breast again.
His hand slides your panties off as he sucks you, and it all feels too good you whine as you paw at his belt, wanting him to take his pants off too, to be on equal playing ground.
Groaning, he reluctantly detaches again before quickly working at his belt. The sound of the clink and him sliding it through the loops has your stomach flipping as you breathlessly stare at him from the bed.
As soon as they’re off he’s on you again, his fingers coming to your clit, spreading the wetness from your folds up and making small circles. You jolt a little at the feeling, not expecting his touch there.
“Jack– fuck– what’r you doing? You don’t have to–” You begin to tell him to not waste his time on you, you already know you won't be able to cum.
“M’working you up, baby.” He coos, not slowing his motions. “No pressure to finish, yeah? Just wanna make sure it doesn’t hurt.”
You hesitate, staring into his eyes and you realise he’s being sincere. You swallow a lump in your throat, feeling extra vulnerable at the lengths of care you feel he’s taking for you. You nod before falling back against the bed, just letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his touches.
You feel the way his fingers move slow circles against your clit, how they adjust every time your breath hitches, as he’s searching for the right tempo and pressure to make you feel good.
You can hear how wet you are, you almost feel embarrassed how his fingers glide through your folds so easily. He continues to pepper gentle kisses down your neck as his fingers stroke you, they move lower and lower until they reach your entrance.
You gasp as he pushes his fingers inside you, feeling full.
You let out small whines of pleasure as he thrusts his fingers inside you. He shushes you by placing his soft lips to yours, continuing to mumble sweet words.
“Just let go for me, baby.”
“Thaaaats it.”
“Rub your clit for me.”
You reach down to add pressure to your clit and immediately jolt at the feeling. It feels different. The pressure from his fingers inside you, curling upwards and continuously thrusting at a consistent pace is getting to you.
Your lower stomach twists, he sucks on your neck as he rubs against the spongy spot inside you, you realise the pressure feels good. That the way you’re rubbing yourself as he thrusts into you while whispering is working. You try so hard to keep it there. Keep rubbing. Keep focused on the feeling. Focusing on his words–
It disappears.
“Fuck!” You huff frustrated, tears welling in your eyes. He pulls his fingers out immediately, worried he’s hurt you and you curl up into yourself. “I can’t do it.” Your voice is wobbly as you berate yourself, wiping a tear off your face.
“Hey, easy, baby.” He soothes by rubbing a hand on your back. His heart clenches at the sight of your teary eyes.
“M’sorry, Jack,” you sniffle. “You spent so much time on me and I couldn’t–”
“No. Hey.” He stops you, firmly. “No apologies. M’not mad, not upset.” He coos, moving your hair away from your face.
“I did all of that because I wanted to. You didn’t ruin anything, y’hear me?” He cups your face making you look into his eyes.
You nod shyly, but you’re still feeling low about it, he can tell.
“Jack– It’s okay if you wanna just fuck me now. M’ready. I want it too.” You whisper looking up into his eyes, still on the verge of tears.
He’s shaking his head before you even finish your sentence.
“No.” His tone is final.
He has an inkling that you’re in your own head too much, putting too much pressure on yourself to perform even when he told you there’s no expectations. He can feel your frustration, just wanting to fix this for you. An idea lands in his head.
“I’m not done with you.” He says gently whilst moving down your body again. “If you’ll let me, I wanna try something else, yeah?”
“But–” You begin to protest, feeling guilty he has to try so hard on you.
“It’s for me. Not for you. Humour me, okay?” He asks so politely, you don’t wanna deprive him of something he enjoys. So you nod.
“Lay back for me completely, baby.” You oblige, breathing heavily.
You feel his fingers in your folds again, they linger on your clit before he gently thrusts them back inside you. You lie back, continuing to feel the pressure but you can’t shake the guilt.
You feel his hot breath ghost over your mound. You jerk your head up, he’s staring directly at you before he places his lips directly on your clit and sucks.
Your body jolts, arching your back off the bed, your hand landing in his hair once more. You were not expecting this.
“Jack– ohgod.” You breathe as he simultaneously works his fingers inside you and tongues your clit. He smirks at your reaction.
“That feel good?” He’s cocky, but he’s also checking in on you. You nod fervently and guide his head back down. He obliges wordlessly and gets back to working your clit. You’ve never been made to finish with someone else's fingers, but no one has ever tried this.
He hears your small whines and it takes all the restraint in his body to keep focused on you, as much as he wants to just take his cock and slide it inside you, to watch your eyes widen as he fills you up, he wants you to feel good.
You feel the familiar pressure build in your lower stomach.
You start squirming, your lower half somehow both chasing his mouth but trying to get away from it. You’re getting overwhelmed, your body experiencing too much at once, and this is where you usually tap out, where it dissipates.
Jack senses it. He feels you clenching around his fingers. Feels your whines becoming more high pitched and breathless. He doesn’t want you to think too much about finishing, can’t have you waiting for the build because it’s gonna drive it away.
He doesn’t change his pace, his fingers continue thrusting, and his tongue doesn’t speed up on your clit, he keeps everything consistent.
“Jack–” You whine, feeling overwhelmed but knowing it’s not going to work, edging towards overstimulation.
He glances up to meet your eyes but doesn’t stop his motions, searching your face. He can see you’re wrecked. He’s desperate for you to fall off the edge, you’re right there.
So he distracts you.
In one smooth motion, he removes his mouth. You almost whine in sadness before he replaces them with his fingers, eliciting a stronger reaction from you, and he says, in the most casual tone:
“You finish your charting?”
What?
“My– Jack– what?” You huff out breathlessly but he doesn’t slow his fingers from toying with your clit and thrusting inside you
You try to answer his question, racking your brain.
But you can’t think.
It feels too good.
Your mind goes completely blank.
And you let go.
You fall apart completely. You clench around his fingers and your legs shake involuntarily.
“Fuck–!” You moan loudly. Jack continues to work you through your orgasm, not stopping for a minute.
He pulls the pleasure from your body, the only thing you register is the waves of pleasure crashing down on your body. Your back is arched off the bed and your eyes are squeezed shut as Jack manages the impossible.
You didn’t know it could feel this good.
You finally start squirming trying to get away, and he eases his fingers out of you. You’re practically shaking, breaths coming out heavily as you lay on the bed completely destroyed.
You feel him slide up the bed, tucking himself under you so your head rests in his lap and he just strokes your head, moving strands of hair out of your face from where they’ve stuck to you as you’ve gotten sweaty.
You slowly calm down, coming back to yourself and shyly open your eyes. He’s already staring down at you, smiling so wide.
Despite yourself, you blush. Like he hadn’t just made you completely fall apart.
“My sweet girl.” He coos, stroking your cheek.
You try to hide your face in your arms, feeling impossibly shy at his words.
“Oh, c’mere, baby.” He coaxes you out of hiding. “Y’getting all shy? After I just made you cum so hard?” He teases gently and you groan, turning around to sit in his lap, resting your head in his neck.
“Jaaaaack.” You whine.
“Okay, I hear ya, baby. No more teasin’,” he rubs a hand down your back, then his tone gets impossible quiet, like you’ve never heard before. “That was okay, right, sweetheart?” His puppy dog eyes meet yours.
You can’t help but laugh.
“Okay?” You scoff.
“Jack, that was– everything.” You tell him, kissing his cheek.
He settles down a little after that, the brief shyness leaving him.
“My turn, please.” You beg whilst reaching down to his crotch where you can feel the erection poking through from where you’re sat above him.
He grabs your wrists as you touch the waist band of his shorts, stopping you, you frown.
“Darlin’, believe me. Any other night, absolutely,” He pauses stroking your cheek. “But I need you so bad right now, need to be inside you.”
“Oh.” You whisper, a shy smile coating your face as you realise how wrecked he is. Rising from his lap and allowing him to remove his boxers, you settle back down onto the bed. He’s on top of you in an instant. “Jack– I can get on top, wanna ride you.” You say shyly.
“Fucccck,” he groans. “Baby, I want that, but I’m not gonna last. Next time. Let me feel you this way. Please.” He begs while positioning himself between your legs.
You wrap your legs around him as the tip of his cock slides through your folds. Your breath hitches when it nudges against your clit, the feel of your wet folds sliding against his cock makes it twitch against you, and he lets out a low groan at the feeling. Jack repeats the motion a few times before bringing the tip to your entrance.
You instinctively brace, knowing how painful it always is. Jack sees this, leaning down to kiss your neck and calming you down, relaxing you.
“S’okay, relax.” He coos before dipping his head into your neck, and pushing in.
He pushes in slowly, so slowly he’s losing his restraint.
But it doesn’t hurt.
He’d worked you open so well, kept you so relaxed, you just feel full.
You moan as he bottoms out, a hand tugging at his curls and the other gripping his bicep. You nod fervently,
“You can move, please, move–” You don’t even finish your begs, your permission is all he needs to start letting go and thrusting into you.
You swear you’ve never felt so good in your life, the level of intimacy is unmatched.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” He whines
His eyes meet yours as he thrusts, and as always his stare is intense. His pupils are blown and he looks destroyed.
He fits so perfectly inside you, you’re so full, you can’t help but moan.
You’re clenching around him so perfectly, your breasts bouncing with every thrust and he can’t take his eyes off you.
“You’re doing so good f’me.” He praises even though he looks like he’s on the edge.
Holding himself up on one arm to continue his movements, he brings a second to your clit.
You don’t expect his touch once more, so lost in how full you feel, how heavenly it all is, that you hadn’t realised how close you were again, and his simple touch pulls a second orgasm from you.
You fall apart even more, gripping his hair, nails leaving marks on his bicep as you shake around him, clenching.
That’s all he needs to finish.
Your beautiful moans, the way you don’t break eye contact, the feel of you coming undone on his cock, he’s gone.
His thrusts stagger, becoming more desperate and frantic, his hold on your waist tightens as he grips onto you bringing you down onto his cock. His head lulls next to your head, hot breath in your ear as he groans, his seed spilling inside you.
He’s completely wrecked, his last few after-orgasm thrusts jolt you, overstimulating. He lets his body go and completely crashes down onto you like a weighted blanket, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck.
You’re both breathing so heavily, he’s still inside you as your aftershocks move through you, clenching involuntarily, but he seems to enjoy the feeling even as sensitive as he is.
“Y’were perfect for me, baby.” He whispers into your ear.
Your heart clenches at his words, how soft he’d been with you the whole time. He was so caring, so focused on you, praising you throughout the whole thing, he never took, he just kept giving and giving. He made sure it didn’t hurt. You realise that you’ve been accepting subpar treatment your whole life and just brushing it off.
In your post-orgasmic blank brain, you can’t process the emotions and a few silent tears spill from your eyes at the complete overwhelm of emotions.
Your sniffles are what alert Jack, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes. His heart drops into his stomach, panic flooding him.
“Hey, hey, talk to me.” His tone is so soft you feel guilty for worrying him. He moves to pull out, but you’re not thinking straight and you lock your legs around him, not wanting him to leave.
You just reach around and koala-bear hug him. He settles a little knowing he hasn’t hurt you, that you still wanted him touching you.
“Gotta talk to me, baby.” He pleads, cupping your face.
You’re not silent for much longer, calming down enough to stop his worry.
“You– felt so good.” Your voice is high pitched, almost shy. “You cared for me.” You sniffle.
Jack’s heart practically breaks.
“Oh, baby.” He coos, bringing you into his chest. Peppering many kisses into your hair. “M’always gonna take care of you.” He says so gently you can’t help but let out another tear, but you’re smiling now.
“I love you.” You whisper, eyes full of tears, him still inside you.
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Baby you got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.” He kisses you, soft, passionately.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, protective jack, age gap, miscommunication, slow burn, he snaps at you, descriptions of reader injury/blood, mentions of abuse (patient)
wc: 10.5k
note: this is my first fic, enjoy :))
masterlists
You desperately wanted to make a good first impression on your first shift at PTMC.
The universe had a different idea, with your plan actively unravelling.
You’re new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.
This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. You’re definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.
While running through the entrance of the ER, you’re barely looking where you’re going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.
Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry– I didn’t even see you,” your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried you’ve already made an enemy and you hadn’t even started your shift.
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.
“Hey, kid– easy, easy. You’re okay.” His voice is instantly calming. “You our new nurse?” he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you.
You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question.
He’s incredibly attractive.
The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. He’s taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.
You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man.
Collecting yourself, “Uh– yes! That’s me–” you stumble over your words internally cringing, “I’m so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.”
He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you.
You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his hands– oh, you’ve got to stop thinking like this. You’re so fucked.
“Dr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.” His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. “But don’t let it happen again.” His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.
“No, no of course not. I promise. I’ll be 45 minutes early every day!” Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like you’ve already failed before starting.
“Jesus, kid, breathe.” He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. “You’re apologising like you hit me with your car.” He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you.
He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesn’t ruin you, doesn’t cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors.
“I’m really not usually this much of a disaster– well, most of the time.” You laugh shakily.
You notice his intense stare, like he’s studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,
Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once you’re settled.
“Oh– and, kid?” He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.
“We do have supplies here, I promise.” he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed.
Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him when– Fuck. This is so unlike him.
Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lena’s fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shen’s smirk.
“Stay away from my nurses, Abbot. She’s clearly a good kid.” She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Jack doesn’t look away from the board, smirking a little.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. “Just being friendly.”
Shen scoffs, “Yeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.”
Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lena’s sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
“There ya are, honey. I’m Lena, your charge nurse. C’mon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?”
During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.
Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.
You hope otherwise.
───────
True to your words, you’re never late again.
Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since you’re starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldn’t bother him, if you’d at least show the same fondness for him.
Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you can’t let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.
However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldn’t stop watching Abbot’s hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how they’d feel cupping your face, your neck, inside you–
That’s when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldn’t be around him.
From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, you’d go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, “Oh, uh, I’m okay, thank you.” Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.
It bugs him.
How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.
Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if you’re hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches.
He’s so lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.
“You got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if you’re not careful.” Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.
No.
His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.
You’re his.
───────
Admittedly, you’re making it very hard to make you his.
You’re almost too polite with him. A small, “good evening,” greeting when he comes in, a simple, “see you tomorrow, boss,” whenever you head out. You’re impossible to get time alone with.
Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You don’t even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.
He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows that’s not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.
So he tries to talk to you when you’re not as busy, just charting.
Jack’s leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him.
He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your ear–
His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.
He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen.
“Oh– Dr. Abbot!” you startle, being caught off guard.
Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you don’t turn your head, you can’t. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.
He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.
The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.
“This is good stuff, kid, keep it up.”
His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.
You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, “Uh– thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand.
You’re so shy. Shy with him. Oh.
But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe he’s read this all wrong.
───────
He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all.
He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.
Now you’re here and he’s all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.
He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.
You’re sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food.
His quiet, tired voice cuts through.
“S’alright if I join ya?”
You’d been too tired, too into your phone you hadn’t noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.
“Listen, kid. I just wanna apologise if I’ve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?” His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.
You pause.
Uncomfortable?
Fuck.
You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.
“No, god, no. You’ve never– that’s not it–” Stop rambling, you tell yourself. Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. “M’sorry for the way I’ve been acting. It's not you.” Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.
He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,
“You sure, kid? You can tell me–”
You shake your head again, cutting him off.
“You make me nervous.” You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning.
Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.
“Honey, hey, look at me.” He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. “Please?”
You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. He’s smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didn’t completely ruin everything–
“S’okay.” His expression softens, voice gentler now. “You never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?”
Oh.
He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you haven’t entirely humiliated yourself.
Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.
“I want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.” His inflection on Robby’s name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.
The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over yours where it rests on the table.
“I mean it. Anything.”
───────
He notices how you don’t run from him anymore, don’t push him away, let him exist within your space.
You’re still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and he’s proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.
One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.
You’re about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.
You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.
“All good in here?”
You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.
Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass.
“Mhm.” Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.
Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.
“Good. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, can’t I, sweetheart?” His voice is sweet, almost cooing.
You’re starstruck. Sweetheart.
You blink, unable to respond, but he’s already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.
Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now?
The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?
Wrecks him.
He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.
───────
The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. You’re just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.
During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night.
You’re off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.
He frowns, because the rowdy patient they’re on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasn’t dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient that’s a danger to your safety.
But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where he’s leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch.
He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.
He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. You’re assessing for the right time to jump in. You’re so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.
And when you try? You’re so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.
He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadn’t even spoken, smiling along.
His heart breaks.
You’re used to this, being spoken over always happens, you’re just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though you’re a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave.
Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.
“Hold up, kid.” You hear him jogging slowly behind you.
You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if you’re trying to hide it.
“You leaving without saying goodbye?” he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.
You dip your head shyly,
“Didn’t think anyone would notice.” You mumble, trying to laugh it off.
His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.
“I notice.”
His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. You’re speechless.
He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.
“C’mon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?”
You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. It’s a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. He’s silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like they’re the most important words ever.
When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.
“Hey. M’proud of ya, for speaking up in there.”
You give him a little confused look shaking your head.
“It didn’t really feel like I did.” You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.
“You did. I’ll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?” Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.
“G’night, sweetheart” He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.
On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.
He’s proud.
───────
Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least.
His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time he’s within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.
“Good catch, sweetheart.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”
“Jesus, you really make my life easier, y’know that?”
And he always delivers.
Aside from the praise, he’s incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather.
But he’s also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges.
Tonight is no different.
You’re in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how she’d been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughter’s back and legs, suspecting her husband’s abusing her.
You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that you’ll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry.
He’s unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.
“You bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permission–” He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath
“Sir–” Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.
“No!” He shrugs her off
“Your permission?” The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. “You’re laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think I’m gonna let you be near her?” She’s defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.
The yelling gets to you admittedly, you’re never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security
The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate.
Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.
The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over.
“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.
Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way you’re so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.
You step back once the mother sits by the daughter’s side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jack’s hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,
“Go take a breather, yeah?” His voice is soft, gentle.
You look up at him to convince him you’re fine, you don’t need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this.
───
Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.
He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,
“You did really well there – with the girl.” He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell he’s looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.
“She shouldn’t have had to hear that.” Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. “Talk to me?” His voice is begging.
You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. “It’s stupid, really.” You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. “I just don’t handle yelling very well.”
“Yeah. I thought so, honey.” His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. “That’s not on you.” His voice is gentler now.
“I feel ridiculous.” You wipe quickly under your eyes. “I should be able to handle it better by now.” Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.
“No.” His response is immediate, firm but gentle. “Don’t start thinkin’ the answer is makin’ yourself colder.” He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.
Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.
“Take as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, I’ll take you home, yeah?” His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.
Your eyes open ready to protest, you can’t possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too much–
“Ah, ah, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.
───
Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as you’d had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.
The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.
You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.
She’s gorgeous.
She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you.
Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lena’s voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.
It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.
God you’re so stupid.
Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.
“Hun, you don’t wanna go down that route.” Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like she’s truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.
Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.
“Oh– no it’s not like that.” you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.
“Trust me, hun. I’ve been around long enough to know, men like him don’t realise the effect they have on girls like you.”
Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.
“You’re young, go on dates. Don’t pine over old men like him, you’ll only get hurt.”
She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man who’s naturally charming and kind to everyone?
You’d completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time you’re walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbot’s actions towards you, trying to search for when you’d started to misinterpret things.
Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but you’re already down the street by the time he’s at the door.
───────
Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and you’re colder than ever.
You’re distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder you’ve been working.
You’ve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you what’s wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again.
He notices how you’re no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, you’re pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he can’t help and it’s hurting him.
But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesn’t want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. It’s completely wrecking your body, but you don’t want to think about anything else except work.
One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.
“Hey, brother, I gotta ask.” Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadn’t arrived yet, before lowering his voice. “Somethin’ going on with her lately?”
Jack’s brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. “Why?”
“She’s running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.” Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl can’t be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.” His expression tightens. “M’worried about her.”
Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.
He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadn’t realised how bad it’d gotten.
His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.
“Fuck.” The word leaves him quietly.
“I’ll talk to her.”
───
Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes you’d be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. He’s rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.
When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. It’s beautiful, and he doesn’t realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.
Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a man’s forehead, and you’re blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and he’s looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you.
He shouldn’t feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man you’re stitching up, he’s definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. You’re still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasn’t been for too long. He can’t take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.
He knows he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how you’re no longer happy to be around him.
Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.
“Hey–” Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbot’s expression. “Did you need something?”
Jack’s jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time you’ve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now.
His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesn’t even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.
“Didn’t realise we were entertainin’ patients now.” His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.
He watches your face fall. Fuck.
Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically.
“I-I’m sorry–” Your voice is meek, he can’t bear that he caused this.
“Just don’t let it happen again.” Jack’s voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, he’s hurting you and he’s completely out of line.
───
The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. He’s completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure you’re okay if he’s also driving you away.
He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell you’re exhausted by the way you hold yourself.
He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time you sat down.
“Hey– hold up.” His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. “You eaten yet?
Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again.
“M’fine.” You’re short, a little dismissive.
Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesn’t deserve your kindness right now.
“It’s quiet, you should take your break–” He tries but you cut him off.
“I said I’m okay.” Though your tone has little real bite behind it, it’s still harsher than he’s ever heard it.
He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You won’t look at him.
Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off.
What he doesn’t see is the guilt flooding your face.
───
You need to apologise. He’s your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you can’t get rid of it.
You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, you’ll find him. Explain yourself.
You’re standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.
“That guy– from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.” She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh
“That guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.” You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.
“C’mon, you’re young. Live a little! He’s insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger I’d jump his bones–” you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.
“Lena! You’re married!” You turn towards her with a wide smile.
“I can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.” She smirks before continuing. “What’s the harm? He’s still here isn’t he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sex– just do something to get you outta this slump, y’hear me?”
You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You don’t want that guy. You want Abbot.
What you didn’t realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lena’s grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who she’s talking to, who she’s talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. You’re smiling, like you’re considering it. He can’t handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.
You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. “I dunno, Lena.” Your voice is almost sad. “He’s not who I want.”
“You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you, honey?” Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. “M’sorry, hun. It’ll pass, I promise.”
You don’t want it to pass.
───
You can’t seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.
The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, it’s a kid.
“Pediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.” The EMT scoffs.
You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you.
“Initial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.”
You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesn’t want you here.
The EMT cuts in. “Father pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.”
“Decreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.” Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving.
She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.
Abbot’s jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The mother’s wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kid’s abdomen.
“Pressure’s dropping.”
“BP 78/40.”
“We’re losing him, Abbot.”
Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.
And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But you’re spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the mother’s wailing. Jack’s chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.
“Get her out!” He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.
But he can’t focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.
“Gauze.” He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.
Nothing.
The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.
His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.
He snaps.
“I can’t afford hesitation right now.” Jack’s voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. “If you can’t keep up, leave.”
You feel like you’ve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.
Your chest feels like it’s caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.
You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.
Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.
Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.
You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.
You know he’s right, you shouldn’t have hesitated. Your throat tightens.
The boy could’ve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didn’t want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boys’ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?
Abbot’s words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.
───
Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.
He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.
Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that he’s the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain.
He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He can’t. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.
───
You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lena’s concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.
Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts.
You set up your tool table beside you, and you’re lucky your patient isn’t a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white.
You’re utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.
You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate.
“Shit–”
The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain
“Oh shit you okay, lady?” You hear the patient ask, but you’re already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.
“God fucking damn it, piece of shit–” You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.
Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.
You’re not that lucky.
“Hey, listen, I wanted to say that– what the fuck?” Jack’s voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.
Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you don’t speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing you’re going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.
The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact you’re hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.
“Sit.” He commands, his voice tight, clipped.
Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.
“You don’t have to–” You attempt to say you’re fine, you don’t need help, it’s a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, there’s something softer behind them, concern.
“Yeah. I do.” His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him you’re trying to hide your hurt.
You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You can’t read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.
He can’t look into your eyes again, the broken teary look you’re adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like you’re trying not to cry in front of him.
“This’ll sting–” He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much you’ve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.
You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.
“I’ve got you.” He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. “You’re alright, sweetheart.”
His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.
“M’so sorry.” Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, please–”
His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.
“Hey– No. No, honey. Don’t.” His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He can’t stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
You shake your head. “I keep fucking up–” you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.
“God, c’mere.” He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. “You got nothin’ to apologise for, y’hear me?
His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.
“I shoulda never yelled at ya, it weren’t right.” His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. “You get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.”
Baby.
He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didn’t do anything wrong.
“Is he– is the kid–” You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.
Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. “He’s good, he’s stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.”
You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isn’t mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious.
Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:
“I never wanna make you feel like that.” His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. “Never again.”
You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid you’d been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.
“Jack–” You practically whimper his name.
His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly.
He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.
Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.
You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.
He crashes his lips to yours.
It’s hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt.
He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. He’d kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could.
He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him.
He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you.
“I didn’t– I convinced myself you didn’t want me like that.” Your whisper breaks the silence. “I couldn’t be around you, it hurt too much.”
Oh.
He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, you’d affected him so much tonight he snapped. He can’t imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.
“You don’t gotta explain, sweetheart.” He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. “But you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.”
Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding
He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.
“How’d this happen?” He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if it’s deep enough for a bandage or stitches.
“Wasn’t–” You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. “Wasn’t paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped n’ tried to fix it, blade slipped.”
He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation.
“Why didn’t ya tell someone, hmm?” He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.
You shrug. “Wasn’t thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.”
Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, you’d broken down alone.
He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.
“You always come to me when you’re hurting, yeah? I hate that I didn’t know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.” He begs, squeezing your thigh.
He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. “Good.”
He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. “There we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.”
You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.
“There she is.” He coos at your smile.
───────
After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.
It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that you’d been running yourself into the ground for.
He didn’t tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.
You’re leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times.
The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat.
Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.
Until you get deeper into country backroads.
You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.
Until you seem to keep passing more animals.
Deer.
Squirrels.
Rabbits.
Foxes.
Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone.
Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you.
His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. “What’s got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?” he says, softly.
Your stomach flips, of course he notices. He’s so in tune with your tells by now, you couldn’t even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side.
His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg.
“Don’t hide from me, my sweet girl,” his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.
Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, “It’s nothing, really, It’s the animals–”, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, “It hurts”, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.
Oh. Realisation floods Jack’s face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby.
You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah? That’s what’s gotten my girl all upset?” his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if he’s silently judging.
“They might have had family or friends waiting for them!’’ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why you’re upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall.
Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing it’ll upset you more. He doesn’t mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he can’t help but let out a low chuckle.
“You’re right baby, m’sure they’re sat around the dinner table, waiting for ‘im to come home.” He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips.
“Jaaaaack! It’s not funny,” you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed.
Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology.
“M’sorry, baby, c’mere.” He’s still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.
You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch.
You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.
“Shh, baby, I know, I know.” He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. “I was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?” His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.
Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. “You know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.” he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.
“You just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.” He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.
The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jack’s breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.
Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesn’t make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.
“S’why you’re my favourite nurse, baby”. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.
Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, “What is?”
For the life of you, you can’t figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.
His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. “Your sensitivity, compassion, empathy.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quip– “It’s not the sex?”
You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.
“You were my favourite before the sex smartass– no, you have a big heart, biggest I’ve ever known, you care deeply.” You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.
“Plenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.” You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and it’ll wear you down.
Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.
“Not like you, baby.” His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does.
Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest.
“You hear me, baby? Hmm?” he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.
“You’re m’favourite attending.” You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.
Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadn’t expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.
“Oh yeah? S’not Robby?” He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.
“I know, sweetheart.” He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.
Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.
─
Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if you’re okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.
“Jack!”
His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that you’re hurt somehow.
Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, “Baby, what’s–” he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking.
You’re crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,
“I swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!” you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.
Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, “baby, what are you doing?”
You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.
“Please– kill it, quick!” you beg him
He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, “What if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?”
You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. “Jack, I swear to god–”
He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.
“Yeah, you’re not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.”
who everyone would always avoid, turning to talk to his brothers instead because they were less “off-putting”.
andrew pope cody who won’t leave you alone with his brothers because he doesn’t trust them.
maybe deran if he really needs someone to stay with you. most of the time, if he leaves, you’re leaving with him.
you keep your eyes on pope, staying quiet like he always told you to in these situations. makes things easier not to provoke them.
“jesus, pope, the fuck you think we are?” he hears baz say while pope brings you to your feet, slipping your arms through your jacket for you.
but he’s played this game with them before.
andrew pope cody who hates when you involve yourself in smurf’s parties.
he doesn’t like being there, but when you’re in the pool in a tiny bikini, he’s right there beside you, an arm around your waist to keep you close. if anybody sees you close to andrew pope cody, nobody will even think about breathing in your direction.
andrew pope cody who is the odd one out to his brothers.
the one who went “soft”.
“she makes me happy, bro,” he shakes his head, taking another swig of beer.
craig laughs at him. like it was a joke. “she pussied you out, brother.”
with that, he doesn’t think for a second before grabbing his shit and leaving. he can hear them calling out after him. “it was a joke”, “we were just fuckin’ around, pope, c’mon”.
but they weren’t fucking around. if that’s how they really feel, he’s not hearing any of it.
andrew pope cody who hugs you from behind when he comes home earlier than he told you he would be. huffing your scent to remind him he’s got someone on his side.
“thought you were hanging with your brothers tonight?” you ask gently, reaching back to scratch the nape of his neck.
he shrugs. “changed my mind.”
you let him hold you for however long he needs. his energy isn’t hard to read after awhile.
he mutters, “thank you.”
because if theres anybody who has andrew pope cody, its you.
a/n: i love him i love him im crying my sweet angel baby
synopsis: jack abbot is obsessed with you and he's going to make it everybody else's problem
- or -
5 moments the night shift (and co) observes between you and jack + the 1 they don't
contains: bsf night shift crew!! dana & the pittlings cameo, he fell first AND he fell harder, age gap (reader is in her 20's), suggestive at times, everyone calls reader sweets, no use of y/n, jack is probably ooc but i refuse to believe that man does not yearn deeply and he is written so, and most importantly: NIGHT SHIFT SUPREMACY
note: first fic for the pitt because i think i might have actually read my way through every fic on here and i crave more pls be nice to me :') this started off as a completely different fic and then it became this instead so there's a half written part 2 (and a part 3 …) if anyone really wants it. yes i did write this instead of the giant piles of actual work i have to do i hope you enjoy <3
dividers by @uzmacchiato <3
1. The Crush
It’s been exactly one week since you joined the night shift. Six days, twenty three hours, and thirty one minutes technically speaking but who was counting.
In that time you’d made yourself indispensable. You were one of the most competent nurses to ever walk through the doors of the PTMC. You were practically hard wired to thrive in the absolute chaos of the night. And, best of all, you’d become Shen’s caffeine addicted partner in crime. Five out of your last seven days you’d dragged him into a pre-shift coffee run and he always complied with your demands.
The night shift wasn’t easy for just anyone to take to. It was hard and yet here you were, doing it all flawlessly. And Jack couldn’t look away. Not that he’d ever want to.
It’d taken no time at all, about five hours into your first shift, for him to become borderline obsessed. All it took was one conversation in the ambulance bay just after midnight. A joke cracked under the light of the full moon, one that broke through the stern expression he’d had on with no hesitation at all, for Jack to want to know every single little detail that made up who you were.
In a normal way of course.
Now here he was. Watching. Eyes following you as you walked into the ED beside Shen, both of you carrying trays piled high with various hot and iced drinks. He can’t imagine how much even one of those things cost.
Within moments most of the drinks are gone, taken by Ellis and Lena and whoever else had placed their order with the two of you the night before. Jack, for just a moment, regrets not having done so. Not that he even likes the sugary sweet monstrosities you always chug your way through before midnight, always somehow armed with another one to get you through your second half of the night.
He’d pretend though. Especially if it meant you’d stop and smile at him and maybe even talk to him for just a couple seconds about something not medicine related before diving into the mayhem.
“Hey!” Your voice isn’t a hallucination, Jack determines when he sees you walking up to him with a smile.
He tries not to look too surprised. Or flustered. Or excited. “Hi.”
Nailed it.
“I brought you something.”
Jack thinks he might melt into the floor.
You hold out a drink, one clearly meant for him. It’s green on top and pink on bottom with strawberry slices floating above the ice.
“You didn’t have to.” He takes it from you and relishes in the brief moment that his hand touches yours. You need to calm down, he thinks to himself.
“I know, I wanted to. It’s on me.” You say it so easily and Jack thinks now might be a good time to excuse himself and go jump off the roof because he can feel his whole body warming in a way it shouldn’t be at the sentiment.
You’d thought of him. Part of him wonders how long you’d been doing that for and if it was for as long as he’d been thinking of you. Day and night. Hour after hour. In ways he definitely shouldn’t be.
“I just figured you could use a little caffeine that wasn’t the stale black coffee in the break room for once,” You shrug like it’s nothing but it means everything to him. “As a certified drink specialist I thought you might like this one. Shen said I was crazy for picking it but I spent every minute I was awake looking through the cafe's menu debating and I think I finally narrowed down something to live up to your incredibly high standards.”
Jack had stopped listening as soon as you looked up at him. Wide eyed and a little nervous but with that sweet smile he was maybe just a little bit obsessed with already. “What is it?”
Frankly, he didn’t really care. He’d love it no matter what because you’d been the one to hand it to him. You’d put effort into finding something you thought he’d like and that was more than enough for him.
“An iced strawberry oat milk matcha. It’s not too sweet but definitely a step up from a black coffee. I,” You stop yourself for a second, hesitating a little. One look from him though, one that practically begged you to continue, and you kept going. “I see the face you make when you drink it even when it’s fresh so I thought we’d switch it up a little.”
You’d noticed him. He was one more observation away from imploding. He swirled the drink around to distract himself from the fact and then took a huge gulp.
“Holy shit,” His eyes went wide as he took a second to savor the drink. It was good. Really good. He had no clue how you’d figured him out so perfectly. Part of him was hopeful enough to think that you just knew him. Saw him. He took another sip.
“You like it?” You were beaming at him now, satisfied and proud of yourself.
He couldn’t be more obsessed with you if he tried. He was tempted to propose marriage right then and there. Instead all he said was, “This is phenomenal.”
Jack couldn’t help himself. He looked directly at you and hoped that maybe these abilities of yours to read him perfectly well extended past the drinks and you’d be able to look into his head to see what he really wanted to say. You’re phenomenal. I like you. Probably more than is healthy. Never leave me, actually.
“Oh you’re kidding,” Jack had almost forgotten where he was until Shen walked over, handing you a half drunk iced coffee along with a fresh one for later, just like usual. “He liked it?”
“Just like I said,” You held up your hand for a high five, which Shen gave you despite dropping his head and groaning. “Which means you’re buying for me tomorrow.”
Jack rolled his eyes at the sight of the two of you. His smile pushed through the serious facade he was trying to put on. Nothing could ruin his mood right now he was positive of it.
“Is it that surprising?” Jack held his drink a little tighter and held back the urge to take another sip of it. He was seriously already starting to understand your guys' shared obsession with always having some kind of drink on you.
“No, it’s just,” Shen paused for a moment and it hit him all at once. Abbot was in a good mood. And all it’d taken was a personal delivery straight from you. He was wearing a smile, a genuine one. Best of all, his eyes kept straying back to you. Like you were some kind of magnet pulling him in against his will. Oh yeah, he’s obsessed. “I’m glad you found something you like.”
Jack heard it. The tone. His eyes snapped back to Shen and narrowed the slightest bit. All he did in response was wink at him and take a sip of his first coffee of the night.
He could see right through him.
2. The Confession
It had been three days of this and every time Jack saw you he felt the question at the tip of his tongue. And every time something else came out instead. So here he was. Two weeks into your time here and he was obsessed with you. That much he could admit.
If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be lingering by the nurses desk, pretending to look at a stack of papers he was pretty sure were blank. Every few seconds he glances up to where you were deep in a conversation with Ellis and Walsh. The three of you had gotten yourself partnered on the same case and were taking advantage of the fact that your patient was doing perfectly after surgery to actually talk about something normal while you could since you found yourselves with a little downtime.
“You don’t have to hover, you know.”
Jack freezes.
He thinks he might’ve actually stopped breathing. He knows exactly what Lena’s talking about though and he’s determined to lie his way through it.
“What?”
Okay, maybe not the best start. He doesn’t look up from where he’s pretending to flip through whatever papers were in front of him. Definitely not eavesdropping.
“Oh, please,” Lena rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair. “She’s not gonna disappear into thin air. You can get work done and I promise she’ll be there after.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Jack betrays himself when he glances back over in your direction. He smiles to himself when he sees you laugh, a beaming grin on your face. When he looks back towards Lena she’s already staring at him with her arms crossed.
“I think you just might be the world's worst liar,” Lena leans forward conspiratorially. Her voice drops when she asks, “So when are you gonna ask her on a date instead of moping around?”
Jack freezes again, “What are you talking about?”
“Seriously?” She lets out a disbelieving laugh at his bad attempt at faking innocence. “You’re worse than a kid with their first crush, it’s a miracle she hasn’t noticed yet.”
Okay so maybe she had a point, Jack could admit that much. He remembers the first time he’d seen you here clearly. He’d felt some kind of pull towards you the moment you entered the PTMC just over a year ago. It’d been easy to ignore then, though. You’d just graduated and had been doing an emergency medicine residency program under Dana during the day shift and it was only every now and then he’d be there at the same time too. Yet every time he did happen to work with you, even for a fleeting moment, it was like the entire place shifted a little bit.
Dana had even stopped him one time, so casually that he hadn’t even questioned why she was calling him. “You better watch yourself, Abbot. That’s my girl, best one to come through here in ages. Last thing she needs is you distracting her.”
He’d scoffed at the statement at the time, claiming that it wasn’t like that. It had been exactly like that, though. He knew that now. You’d been easy to avoid when you were on day shift but now you were here all the time and he couldn’t imagine not finding every reason he could to stick to your side.
“She’s not one of yours, you know. She’s one of mine,” Lena’s voice brings him out of it. There’s an I told you so look on her face that he rolls his eyes at. “I’m just saying, the paperwork will be a lot easier to fill out.”
“Aren’t you a romantic,” He knows he can trust Lena, though. If it was really a bad idea she’d tell him so with zero hesitation. So finally, hesitantly, he says, “I’ll think about it.”
***
Jack barely needed time to think about it. He had made his choice quickly and it was eating him up inside. It was just past 7 AM and he could hear the day shift and night shift looking for you both. His time with you was running out and fast. It was just the two of you alone in the room, your patient had just miraculously gotten a bed upstairs and you’d been there to ensure a smooth transition. Maybe that was his sign that you’d say yes.
He stops you before you can pull the curtain open to let them know the room was now open. He reaches for your hand, grabs your waist, and spins you around to look at him in a single swift move. “When can I see you again?”
The question doesn’t phase you.
“In about twelve hours.” You answer him with a teasing smile, choosing to stay just a little bit too close to him instead of stepping back.
“You know what I mean, honey.”
And then you look at him in a way that’s new. Your smile turns less teasing and falls a bit. It makes you look a little more vulnerable. He watches your eyes flicker across his face and he knows you’re trying to see what he’s really made of. If he really means it. He wants to shout the truth to you in that moment. That he can’t get enough of you.
“Say it,” Your voice comes out soft and he wonders briefly if you can read his mind. You step a little bit closer to him. “Tell me what you really want from me.”
Jack is painfully aware of the voices and footsteps coming closer. They’ll walk in any moment now, he knows it. He glances towards the door and when he looks back he can see you about to step away, thinking he wasn’t going to tell you the truth. He blurts it out before you can.
“Everything.” He says it so easily that it makes your breath hitch a little bit, he can see it happen. “I want to take you on a real date again and then take you home with me because you will not believe how hard it is to sleep without you next to me. When I wake up I want to just lay there looking at you for a little bit wondering how the hell you agreed to all of that. And then I want to do that over and over again until you get sick of me.”
You don’t say anything after his confession. A few seconds pass where you just let the words sink in and then, “Only if your plan includes taking me to that cute little cafe down the street too.”
“Whenever you want.” Jack’s never agreed to anything so fast in his life.
“Right answer,” You finally will yourself to step away and swing the curtain open. Before you walk away you look at him again and the teasing smile is back. “I’ll meet you outside in a bit?”
He walks towards you again and he’s really pushing it when he stands so close you can feel the heat of him. “Odds we can sneak out of here before they can stop us?”
“Abbot!” Dana's voice.
You laugh at the way he groans as his head falls onto your shoulder briefly. “Not likely.”
3. The Kiss
It’d only taken a month for everything the night shift knew about Jack to change. It had also been a month since you’d joined them. The two things had to be related. They just couldn’t prove it yet.
“Hey,” Ellis whispered as she practically ran to where Shen and Lena were deep in a conversation. There was an uneasy look in her eyes as she looked around, as if she was expecting someone to overhear what she was about to say. “Is he being weird?”
They look towards where she had subtly nodded and found Jack. He was in an exam room laughing with a patient as he finished stitching him up. Laughing.
Night shift chief attending Dr. Jack Abbot was in a good mood. For the first time maybe ever, as far as they knew. At least publicly in a good mood. He was never like this at work, always opting for serious and stoic with his patients because he needed to be at a job like this.
But this was his third patient in a row now that he made easy conversation with. It was a lot more than pleasantries and small talk, it was real conversations. Questions about themselves and their lives and jokes traded back and forth. It was unsettling, frankly.
“Thank you! I told you something was up with him,” Shen slams a hand down on the counter before looking at Lena and leaning forward the same way Ellis was, mocking concern. “ Have we tested him for any substance use lately?”
“Alright drama queens,” Lena rolls her eyes at them and leans back in her chair. “Why can’t he just be having a good night?”
Ellis shakes her head at that, nose scrunching as she disagrees, “No, I think he might actually be physically incapable of that.”
“Well what do you think it is then?”
“I think he got laid,” She says it confidently and with zero hesitation at all. Shen chokes on his drink and Lena’s eyes go wide as saucers. “What? He’s all glowy and shit, there is literally no other explanation?”
“Explanation for what?” Your voice comes out of nowhere and Ellis and Shen nearly jump out of their skin.
“For,” Ellis recovers faster and quickly glances at Lena and Shen, neither of which provide any help. “For why Shen’s guy in south 18 is really concussed.”
“Oh he’s having an affair with his neighbor for sure,” You set your tablet down and swipe your badge along the card reader at one of the computers. “This guy shows up with his pants backwards, shirt inside out, and his left shoe missing and he expects us to believe he just tripped while on a late night walk?”
It’s at that moment that Shen notices it. There’s no iced coffee in your usual place. It’s always right there, tucked in the corner of the desk Lena sits behind. You always reach for it every time you’re nearby, it’s how you make your way through it faster than almost anyone else. He watches carefully as you reach in that exact direction subconsciously before pulling your hand back. Empty.
“Where’s your drink?” He blurts the question out suddenly and you glance up at him.
“What?”
“Your drink,” He glances at Ellis and Lena and they can see the real question in his eyes. “You always leave it right there. It’s barely nine, there’s no way you’ve had enough downtime to finish it already.”
“Oh,” You go back to the computer screen and shrug. “I just woke up late, didn’t have time to stop.”
“Right,” Shen’s eyes narrow at you but he doesn’t say anything else. That’s when he notices Jack leave his patient's room and walk in the direction of the break room. “Hey, my second one is in the fridge if you want it?”
You sit up instantly and immediately a little bit of life fills you again. So maybe you both had a little bit of an addiction. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” And that’s all he has to say before you’re making a beeline to the break room, steps faltering just the slightest bit when you see Jack disappear through the door. Then you glance back at them, smile, and disappear in the same direction.
“No,” Shen shakes his head immediately. “It's a coincidence. There’s no way.”
“And what makes you so sure?” Lena, admittedly, is invested now.
“Uh, because Sweets is my best friend in the whole wide world and would have told me obviously,” He rolls his eyes like it's obvious. “Plus there’s no way Abbot would admit how deep he is in his feelings already. He’s due for at least another couple weeks of yearning from afar.”
“I don’t know, he might’ve,” Lena shrugs as she recalls all the little things she’s witnessed the last few weeks. “This is intense, even for him.”
“Besides, look who we’re talking about,” Ellis points out the fact that they all know is right. You were sunshine personified. The piece they didn’t even realise the night shift was missing. And it was just like Jack Abbot to want you all to himself. “He’d be crazy if he didn’t.”
“Wait,” Lena pieces it together first. The missing coffee. The good moods. The hesitation before your smile, the one that was just a little bit different than usual. Softer. “Didn’t they walk in together today?”
There’s a moment of silence as they all realize the same thing at the same time.
“First one to find out pays for the others drinks for the next two weeks?”
“Deal.”
“You’re on.”
***
“You’re insane.”
Jack only grins at you as he locks the door of the supply closet behind him. He wastes no time at all and immediately wraps you up in his arms, skipping all formalities and letting his mouth fall to your neck. “I thought that’s why you liked me”
He knows now how easy you are to distract. One glance at you and how your eyes have fluttered shut already confirms that. You let out a content little sigh as you pull him closer to you, “Among other reasons.”
The noise that fills the pitt disappears and suddenly all you know is Jack. His hands wandering underneath your shirt. His mouth on every bit of skin he can reach. The way he cages you in between his body and the shelf behind you and holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“Jack seriously,” It takes every bit of your self control to pull yourself back and attempt to look at him for real. “We can’t do this here.”
“We're alone, honey. No one has to know,” He doesn’t even look at you, eyes trained on your lips instead. He slips your scrub top over your head leaving you in just the thin, see-through, white undershirt. You're both quickly losing all sense of rationality.
“Someone’s gonna come looking for us”
“I'm their boss, I'll make them go away,” One of his hands tangles in your hair this time and he pulls your head back so he can look into your eyes. Blown out pupils, breaths falling heavy, lips swollen from how you’d been biting them in an effort to keep quiet. He groans a little bit at the sight. “Just this once, baby, I swear,” He kisses you. Really kisses you. Long and slow and deep. Enough to make your thoughts go blurry and your knees weak. He pulls away the slightest bit and smirks when you chase the feeling of him. “Promise.”
“You know, somehow I don’t believe you.” He laughs then, pretending he doesn’t notice you start to push his own shirt up little by little. Your hands are cold on the warm, bare skin of his chest and he shivers a little bit, smiling even wider. He's addicted to you, he thinks.
“Can you blame me?” Another kiss, this time picking up where he left off before. “You’re perfect.”
Someone pulls on the door seconds later, just as his hands start wandering lower.
“Why is this door locked!”
You slip your scrub shirt back on in record time and Jack pushes you behind him when he goes to open the door as Ellis starts pounding on it. “I swear to god I -”
She doesn’t see you when he opens it. Not at first.
“Can I help you?” Jack asks the question like nothing is wrong in the slightest.
Ellis looks around for a second, trying to determine if anyone else was seeing this or if she had finally entered a state of hallucination. “I just need -”
That’s when she sees you. Tucked behind Jack, clothes a little crooked on your body and a little more disheveled than before. You’re smiling at her, only the slightest bit shy but mostly looking a little pleased. “I - hi?”
She doesn’t know what else to say to you.
“Hi,” You smile at her and step around Jack. “What did you need to grab?”
“I just - I just need a suture kit.”
You grab one off the shelf next to you and step around Jack, stopping for just a second to shoot him a smile. She watches him return the smile, absolutely noticing the way he reaches for you. His fingers barely skim against you when you step just a little too close to him, like even that feather light touch will get him through the rest of the night. You turn back towards her like nothing happened. “Do you want any help?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ellis tries not to stare when Jack grabs your hand for real, pulling you back and kissing you again, modestly this time. On your forehead as he whispers something to you that she can’t hear.
It’s not until you’ve walked further away from the storage closet that she leans a little closer to you. “Hey, are you two…you know?”
You laugh a little bit at the question. “Dating? I thought it was kinda obvious after that.”
“I didn’t want to assume.” Ellis laughs along with you and shakes her head, leading you in the direction of one of the rooms. Then she notices Shen and Lena out of the corner of her eye again and stops. “Hey, can you get started? I need to check with Lena about some lab results real quick.”
“Yeah, go for it! Take your time.”
Ellis watches you pull the curtain of the room closed. Then she waits until Jack has disappeared into another room on the other side of the ED, the most smug looking grin on his face, before she practically runs to the nurses desk. “They’re dating, I told you so.”
“What?”
“And we’re just supposed to believe you? How do you know?”
“I asked,” She pauses for a moment before leaning closer. “And I found them both in the supply closet with the door locked, you connect the dots.”
Shen’s face scrunches in disgust. “Ew.”
Lena on the other hand only lets out a sigh. “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on them aren't we?”
“Probably.” Ellis looks incredibly pleased as she starts walking back to the room you’d gone into. “I’ll send you guys my drink order before next shift.”
4. The Reveal
The day shift doesn’t usually notice when the night shift starts to trickle in. You remember it clearly, the way it feels like every single person with every single ailment known to mankind seems to congregate in the pitt all at once right before it’s time for shift change. That’s something you don’t miss. By the time you guys come in it feels settled. Or maybe you all just like to think so.
Either way, they definitely don’t notice when you and Jack walk in together, your bag slung over his shoulder. They’re too distracted by the drinks Shen and Lena walked in with, relegated to delivery service after losing some bet to Ellis.
All the noise is forgotten quickly. This, the rare quiet moment in the staff locker room where it feels like the whole world comes to a stand still, is Jack’s time to breathe. He watches you throw all your things into his locker, somehow getting to the point of sharing custody of one now in the last couple of weeks.
He knows you’re saying something. He can hear the sound of your voice but you’re also tying your hair up so it’s out of your way for the night and he loses all ability to think straight. Some kind of pavlovian response overtakes him and this feeling fills him up inside and suddenly he can’t help himself.
He stands up and it's like his hands move on their own without him meaning for them to. They set themselves firmly on your hips and pull them back, completely flush against him. He bunches the scrub top up and settles his hands underneath the long sleeve shirt you’re wearing under it. Your skin is warm under them and the little noise he lets out is perfectly content.
“Can I help you?” He can hear the smile you’re wearing when you ask the question and he can picture it perfectly.
“No,” Jack shakes his head a little and kisses your cheek. It lingers for a second before he starts moving down the expanse of your neck. “I’m fine. What were you saying?”
“You're so needy, you know that?”
“Are you complaining?” He doesn’t get a response from you. Instead your arms settle over his and you relax into his hold. He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
You don’t get very long to escape into the moment.
“There you are. Robby’s looking for - woah,” The exhausted look on Santos' face turns into a shit-eating grin in a fraction of a second. “What’s going on here?”
Jack frowns when you wiggle out of his hold to turn to look at her.
“Hey,” You smile at her like she hadn’t just seen what she clearly just did. She shares a look with both Javadi and Whitaker who’d walked in with her. “How was your shift?”
“Uh, I'm sorry,” Javadi laughs in disbelief a little as she looks between the two of you. You, smiling brightly at her in the way she misses seeing so much on the day shift, and Jack, who looks like he’s never hated three people more. She’s pretty sure he’s committing their murders in his head. “What is this? When did this happen?”
Jack all of a sudden feels protective in that moment. Over your relationship that very much fuels his will to live and over you. Part of him is surprised you hadn’t told them yet. The first friends you’d made here, probably some of your closest, clearly had no idea about you and him. Then he remembers your opposite schedules and the constant cycle of work and being completely enveloped by the so-called honeymoon phase of your relationship he thinks might actually never end.
“Wait, did I not tell you guys?” You’re trying your hardest to trace back every moment of the last few weeks. Jack takes it upon himself to hand you your drink and grab his before shutting his locker, taking a second to just listen. One of his arms wraps around your waist again.
“You did not, sweets,” Santos shakes her head and speaks slowly, trying to push through her absolute shock at this revelation. And trying very hard not to stare at the casual display of affection from Jack Abbot of all people.
Whitaker is the one who recalls the last real interaction you’d had with them fastest. Somehow he’s the least surprised. “You spent all of breakfast the other day telling us about that kid you patched up with Ellis. The one who slipped off the fire escape trying to sneak into his girlfriend's room."
“You told Mel, Samira, and Langdon," Jack says it in between sips of his matcha like it’s nothing. “When you had them over for dinner at yours your last night off. You sent me a picture of their reactions.”
“Right!” You try your hardest to hold in a laugh at the recollection. Samira had shouted into a pillow. Mel had asked a lot of questions, incredibly excitedly. Frank had decided he needed to take a walk to process and stood on your balcony for ten minutes. “I guess I forgot, everything kinda blurs together. They didn’t tell you?”
“Sweets, I think you told the three least nosy people in the ED,” Santos makes a mental note to yell at all of them for keeping this from everyone else. “Of course they didn’t.”
Then your attention slips from Jack completely when Javadi prompts Whitaker to tell you about something that happened earlier. He stops listening completely, now perfectly distracted by the excited look in your eyes and the way you smile at them. And okay so maybe he’s a little bit clingy.
Jack wraps himself around you from behind again, arms now fully circling your waist. He does not hesitate in the slightest to pull you flush against him again either. He does exercise a little bit of self control though. There’s no kiss this time. Instead he let out a soft sigh and let his head fall onto your shoulder, chin resting against it silently as you talk.
He doesn’t notice the way Javadi covers her mouth with one hand to hold back the comment she wants to make out loud. Instead she points at the sight as subtly as she can and mouths “oh my god!” you only grin at her. You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed at Jack’s display, but you settle back into him anyway.
He also doesn’t notice the way Whitaker stares at him, eyes narrowed in his direction and head tipped to the side curiously, debating to himself whether or not Jack was actually in the room with them. Physically or mentally.
Santos, ever curious, is the one who finally cracks and breaks him out of his self induced trance. “Okay, I have to know. How did this even -”
“Hey!” Ellis cuts in before she can even ask the question all the way. She pops her head in the door, eyes skipping past everyone until they land on you and Jack. She doesn’t look phased by the sight in the slightest. She nods at you with a smile in greeting before looking at Jack. “If you don’t get out there in the next five seconds for hand-offs, Robby might just track down a guillotine and use it on you.”
“Alright, alright,” Jack rolls his eyes and takes his time standing up straight again. He lingers for as long as humanly possible. Another kiss, to your forehead this time, before he very begrudgingly lets you go one arm at a time. “I’ll see you out there.”
Jack keeps holding your hand as he walks out of the room, not letting a single second go to waste. He holds on until he takes a step too far and lets it fall out of his own. An absolutely devastating moment in his eyes.
“Later, kids.” He just barely glances at Whitaker, Javadi, and Santos, saluting them with two fingers before taking another sip of his drink and walking out of the locker room with Ellis, who hands him a tablet.
The silence sinks in around you. In those few moments your friends realize that Abbot’s whole little display is evidently very much normal for the night shift. And then -
“Since when does Abbot drink matcha?”
5. The Declaration
It was bordering on 2 AM when the trauma came in. A young girl, who’d just wanted some pancakes and coffee while pulling an all nighter studying for her upcoming SAT exam. She’d been hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the diner and was in rough shape.
The room was already tense. She’d coded in the ambulance and they’d only just managed to get her stable. Every single one of you held your breath as you all did everything in your power to try to save her.
It was really with no hesitation that everyone else took a backseat to you and Jack moving easily around each other. The two of you were the girls best bet at surviving, a well oiled machine at this point. In every sense of the phrase. You could anticipate what he was about to do before he even said it. All he’d have to do is give you a look and you just knew, you’d hand him whatever he needed, or ask someone else if your hands were full, and you were right every single time.
“Honestly I think the rest of us can go home,” Walsh, who’d been paged to consult and make sure the girl was stable enough for surgery, said from where she stood on the other side of the hospital bed from you and Jack. She was watching closely and honestly, was more than a little impressed. Especially when you pointed something out to Jack that he’d missed right before she could. “Our sweet little angel face over there has this whole place locked down.”
“Including Abbot,” Shen watches from beside Walsh, looking on curiously at the silent understanding between the two of you. “It’s like they have some freaky mind meld thing going on.”
“You think its contagious?” Walsh puts up her side of the bed railing, seeing that Jack was just about done.
“Hopefully not,” Shen makes a face at the thought. “I'm more than happy letting her be the one to keep him too busy to yell at the rest of us.”
Neither one of you notice their conversation in the slightest, too involved in each other even in a trauma room. It’s almost unsettling. The small little smiles and the bedroom eyes and whispered comments passed between the two of you. The way Jack pauses for just the briefest moment mid procedure to turn and send you a wink that makes you roll your eyes and grin back at him.
Walsh watches the whole interaction, positive the two of you have forgotten everyone else is the room. “This can't possibly be normal. Are they like this their whole shifts?”
Shen thinks for a moment before shaking his head, “It’s usually worse. Boarding on an HR violation is their normal.”
A moment passes where Walsh realizes that yeah, that kinda tracks considering the moments she’s been witness to up until this point. Then, to Shen’s horror, she smiles. “Hey, do you wanna see something funny?”
His eyes narrow at her but ultimately his curiosity gets the better of him. “I’m not taking responsibility for your funeral expenses if this goes badly.”
That only makes her smile wider.
Walsh maneuvers her way to your other side, taking the place of one of the other nurses that was there. Shen’s eyes go wide when she looks at him again. She speaks before he can shake his head to stop her, breaking you and Jack out of the little bubble you’d put yourselves in.
“You know you’re really good at this, Sweets,” Walsh grins when you look over at her instead and Jack hesitates for just a second. “When can I steal you to help me in the OR? You’d be amazing in there.”
“Anytime,” You meet her smile easily. “I’m always down for a change in scenery.”
“Perfect,” She smirks a little at your answer. “Name a day and time and I'll steal you all for myself.”
“Done,” The other side of the railing snaps up, maybe a little more harsh than it needs to be. Jack looks up, not a hint of the smile he’d been using with you left when he looks at Walsh. “You can go now.”
Walsh looks more than pleased by his reaction. She looks at Shen who’s trying his absolute hardest not to laugh giddily at what he just witnessed.
“Down, boy,” She unlocks the wheels of the hospital bed and smirks even wider when Jack removes his gloves and loops his fingers into the hem of your scrub top, pulling you back into his side. It’s completely subconscious, she realizes, when neither one of you seems to even notice it happens. “Even when I steal her from you for my OR you’ll still get to take her home at the end of the night.”
“Wait, hang on, that’s where I draw the line,” Shen unlocks the wheels on the other side and starts wheeling the bed out with her. “You are not taking our best nurse all for yourself. Especially not when she’s the one who also brings us our caffeine every shift.”
“You know, you’re only giving me more reasons to steal her.”
Neither one of them notices that you don’t follow. Instead, the room empties out and then it’s just you and Jack. The silence settles between you as Jack unties the back of your surgical gown. When you turn to face him again he speaks softly.
“You could go, you know. To the OR. If you wanted to.” Jack says it before you can say anything about it. “Walsh is right, you’d be a natural up there.”
“Jack -”
“You don’t have to stay here forever. I mean, Shen is also right. We’d miss you down here. It hasn’t even been a couple months yet and it feels like you were made to be here with m- with everyone -”
“Jack -”
“Even if you just wanted to try it out. I think you should. I mean it’s-”
You kiss him. Not in the storage closet or the locker room or in an on call room or behind a curtain like usual. Right there in the middle of a trauma room, windows wide open and the ED buzzing all around you.
Jack melts into you immediately. Hands moving to your hips to pull you closer before one moves to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. A small groan leaves him when you pull away, the sweetest, most innocent smile on your lips.
“You talk too much,” A moment passes where you just stare at him, making sure he’s really listening to what you’re saying. “I’m not leaving the ED,” and then you add a little quieter, a little more shy, “You’re here.”
“I love you.”
Jack doesn’t know what possesses him to say it out loud here and now of all places for the very first time. But he feels it and he acknowledges it and there’s no way he can hold it in after that. There’s a need that settles deep in his bones and he knows he’s never going to want anything less than you right there with him always. Forever. He doesn’t know how he’d survive otherwise.
It takes a moment for what he said to sink in. You can see the intensity in his eyes, how much he feels it and means it. You really wish you were anywhere but the ED right now. Maybe if you wished really really hard you could somehow will everyone and everything to slow down long enough for you to sneak away with Jack for just a little bit.
Jack Abbot who loves you. The knowledge of that fact makes you feel warm all over.
“I love you too.”
+1. The Move
Jack is obsessed. He knows that for sure now.
With the way you kiss him and how you look at him after. With the way you let him be as attached to you as he needs to be at any given moment and you don’t mind at all. With the way you hold his hand and pretend not to notice when he moves his fingers to rest on your pulse point out of instinct. And especially with moments like these.
It’s pushing ten am and the two of you have only just left the hospital. A morning rush hour pileup meant that not only was there an influx of trauma’s coming in right before 7 but also that a good chunk of the staff were stuck behind the backed up traffic.
Despite the fifteen hour shift, you’re still happily nodding your head along to the soft music that fills Jack’s car. He watches you out of the corner of his eye. You’re mumbling the words to the song playing and taking sips out of the drink he’d just bought you, your third one of the day. His drink is sitting the cup holder. His second one, your habits had rubbed off on him.
The song switches once and then twice. By the time it switches a third time he’s watching you frown as you reach the bottom of your drink.
“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way,” He looks at you for a moment before looking back at the road. “But I think you might have a problem.”
“I do not!” You feign offense and turn towards him in your seat. “God forbid I treat myself to something nice after a long day.”
“What were the other two for then?”
“A treat for going to work and a pick me up for halfway, clearly.”
“Clearly.” Jack shakes his head as stops at a light. Silently, he drops one hand from the wheel and sets it palm side up on the center console. Almost immediately you’re placing your hand in his, the exact way he was craving.
The light turns green and he makes the split second decision then. He turns right, the direction that’ll let him turn around to head towards his place, instead of continuing straight, the direction that would take him to yours.
You watch as he does so, driving further and further away from your apartment. “Jack, what are you doing?”
He kisses the back of your hand. “Taking you back to mine since you’re clearly not planning on sleeping after all that caffeine.”
“Okay, one,” You turn to face him again, even while he’s driving. “I’ve built up a tolerance. This is nothing. And two, I've been out of clean clothes for like a week. I can only wash the ones I have there so many times.”
“So steal some of mine.” Jack shrugs and maybe the thought of you in his clothes is a little bit for him too.
“Bad idea, cause then neither of us will ever have clean clothes again.”
“I’ll buy you new ones then.”
“Not if I don’t let you.”
“Good luck stopping me.”
He’s winning and you both know it. So instead you say, “I have to stay at my place sometimes, what’s the point of even having it if I give in and always let you win these fun little arguments.”
The stop is sudden. Jack pulls over into the first empty spot he sees on the side of the road and turns to face you fully before you can ask him what he’s doing.
“You know what, honey? You’re right,” He leans towards you, fully leaning on the center console until he’s close enough to kiss you if he really wanted to. “There’s really no point in you paying for an apartment you’re barely ever in so I think it’s the perfect time for you to let me move you in with me.”
For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. Maybe he was right and the cocktail of caffeine and sleep deprivation was finally making you imagine things. “What?”
“Move in with me.”
So you definitely heard him right.
“You’re not serious.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“It’s barely been three months,” You shake your head as if that should explain everything. “And we haven’t even technically been dating for that entire time.”
“What can I say, I know what I want,” You’re still looking at him in disbelief so Jack takes your hand again and he sounds more serious when he says it plainly. “What I want is you. Every morning, every night, every shift, every minute you’ll let me. If you’ll have me.”
“It’s too fast.” You’re only trying to convince yourself at this point.
Jack smiles at you, softer than before. “You’re forgetting I’ve been pining over you for more than a year now.”
You catch the implication immediately. It went way further back than just three months. All the way back to the day you walked through the doors of the PTMC halfway through him going through shift change. He’d lingered a lot longer than necessary and you had thought it was just normal for him.
“You’re crazy.”
“That’s why you love me.”
And he’s right. It’s the reason why you finally give in. “Will you at least let me split the rent with you?”
“I own the place.” Jack shrugs and you know for a fact that he’s not sorry in the slightest.
“Mortgage then.”
“Already paid off.”
“Bills?”
“Paid in advance for the next three months.”
“Groceries?”
“Not a chance.”
“50 50?”
“90 10.”
You huff a little and pout at him. He doesn’t fall for it, only pausing for a second to kiss the look off your face. “Are you ever going to let me win one of these arguments?”
“Not unless it’s in your best interest.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me for that too.”
Jack finally thinks for a moment and that’s when his eyes land on the drinks in the cupholder between the two of you, his half full one and your empty one. “How about I let you pay for my drink every time we stop for one?”
You light up at his proposition. “Will you let me pay for mine?”
“Only after the first one. First one I’m paying for,” He leans in a little bit closer, knowing he’s got you on his side now. “Consider it a compromise.”
“Works for me.”
“You can pay for Shen’s too,” He adds quickly before you can agree. “I refuse to fund his addiction, he’s worse than you.”
“Deal.” That makes you laugh and you finally lean in and kiss him, sealing everything in place.
He can taste the sugary vanilla drink that still lingers on your tongue and it makes him smile against your lips. “Will you let me take you to our home now?”
“Okay,” You kiss him again. You really can’t help it. “Take me to our place.”
summary: you assume jack likes you until the pitt starts betting on how long it'll take him and samira to get together; jack assumes you like him until you get called into work while on a date with your coworker. turns out, all it takes is a bad bet and an even worse date for you and jack to realize how in love the two of you are. (7k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!loser!reader, trinity santos, samira mohan, nick barker, mcvadi crumbs
contents: friends to lovers, idiots in love, implied age gap, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, jealousy, humor, so much flirting, cw for medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, and probably several hr violations
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You make it halfway through your shift with a lighter wallet and a heavier heart than when you started it.
You can hear Princess shuffling through her stack of cash from the other side of the workstation, flaunting her winnings from a well-placed bet. You try and fail not to let it distract you as you scribble at the clipboard before you, with your heavy head propped on your clenched fist.
Charting was hard enough back when the computers were still running, back when it was easy — let alone when you have to make every single note by hand, and flit physically through a hundred different files just to cross-reference all the information.
“Is this what it was like back when you were a resident?” you’d asked Jack, when he dropped off an order slip by the filing cabinet, beside the bulky fax machine you were standing in front of and trying to tame.
He slid in beside you with a wide hand on your lower back, smelling like a dizzying mixture of sweat and musky cologne. He adjusted your labs in the tray without another word, turning it around and flipping it right-side up for you.
“Yeah, actually,” he’d nodded, dialing the proper number on the machine with his pointer finger, including the area code that you had forgotten to add. The corner of his lip flickered upward in a faint half-smirk as he joked with squinted eyes, “Back in the 1900s— when charting was done by candlelight.”
You felt your own mouth curling into a quiet smile despite yourself. “So this must feel really nostalgic for you then, huh?”
“Extremely,” he deadpanned.
“Well…” you sighed. “Got any tips for me then, old man?”
Jack exhaled a heavy breath and turned to face you while the heavy machine beeped and buzzed beside you. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his camo pants and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, look at it this way— Today is gonna suck, but… That means every shift from now can’t possibly get worse than this one, right?”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “That, or we just… keep descending into another circle of hell every day.”
Jack smiled wider at your cynicism, patting you softly on the shoulder before sauntering off the way he came. “That’s the spirit, kid.”
You still feel his hand on you even now, wide and warm over your thick black scrubs, while you trudge through the rest of your charting. You hate the effect he has on you; you hate how often he plagues your every thought. It takes a great amount of muscle memory, you find, not to accidentally jot his name down as your hand moves the pen on autopilot.
You don’t think it’d feel quite as pathetic if you thought that there might be an inkling he felt the same way about you. But now, all you are is an R4 with a stupid schoolgirl crush on her boss, and half a mental breakdown away from scribbling little hearts in her notes with his initials scrawled inside.
“You plan on getting in on this?” Santos asks in place of a greeting as she slides her swivel chair next to yours. She wears a faint smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her light eyes that gives you great pause.
Ink smudges on the inside of your wrist as you halt your scribbling to flash her a dubious look. “…On what?”
“Ahmad got bored after Princess won the last bet,” she tells you, reaching behind her to tighten the half-ponytail at the crown of her head. “Said the grid was too good to take down so soon, so… He started a new one.”
You scoff a dry laugh and turn away again.
“Yeah? What is it this time— Which one of us is gonna be the first to have a breakdown and quit? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d win that one…”
“Close…” Trinity croons, leaning in like she’s about to tell you some sort of secret. Her eyes flit somewhere over your shoulder, in the vague direction of where Mohan stands with Jack across the room, before she confesses. “It’s about Abbot and Samira. I have it on good authority that they were getting pret-ty close in Central 4 together…”
“C-Close?” you echo on bated breath.
Your head whips over your shoulder to the other side of the workstation, where Jack and Samira exchange information about one of her patients. You hadn’t given their closeness a second thought before now. It’s like you blinked, and now the sight of them together makes you feel sick.
You hope Santos doesn’t see the hurt weighing down your features when you turn back to her. “What— What do you mean close?”
“I mean, Dr. Abbot was half naked while Samira was tending to his shoulder,” Trinity explains with a scoff and turns back to her own clipboard. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it until I heard her say, ‘It’s our little secret—’”
She mocks in a high-pitched voice, which sounds nothing like Samira’s, before laughing to herself.
“—Like, c’mon. You guys could at least try to be subtle about it.”
You know she expects you to start laughing with her, but you struggle to find the energy to do so now.
“Yeah…” you sigh instead, hardly audible as you struggle to speak through the sudden tightening in your chest. “Right…”
“You should go place a bet,” she tells you, half-distracted by the files before her. “You could win back the money you lost and then some.”
“With what?” you joke with a sad scoff. “The three dollars I have left to my name?”
She flashes you a deadpanned look. “If that’s all you have to lose, I think I’d take those odds.”
You figure Trinity’s right. You have nothing more to lose, in truth — not after the shit day you’ve already had, and the money you’ve already lost, and the teenage heart inside of you that’s already broken.
You finish up your charting, return the clipboard to the patient rack, and retrieve your wallet from the locker room. Because, as you see it, you’ll either leave this shift about a hundred dollars richer or with nothing at all; either totally vindicated or with a bank account just as empty as you feel on the inside.
You find Ahmad in the security room, and he flashes you a toothy grin as you slink through the doorway like a shy little storm cloud. He motions with the notepad he holds in a sun-kissed hand. “I knew you’d wanna get on the books, kid— What’d it take to convince you this time?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug with a mournful sigh. “I just… realized that I have nothing else to lose, I guess…”
Dr. Barker laughs from beside you.
“Well, that’s always the best reason to make a bet, in my experience,” he jokes with a pearly white smile, pushing the sleeves of his navy button-down up to his elbows to reveal the expanse of his tanned, scruffy forearms.
Nick Barker stands quite a few inches taller than you — which you hadn’t expected before now, since he’d spent most of his time in the E.R. sitting behind the portable radiology machine. He has to look down at you from the bridge of his broad nose from this angle, with eyes so dark they’re almost black.
He’s almost effortlessly handsome. Like, Disney prince sort of handsome. The kind of handsome that makes it impossible to look into his eyes without blushing like a schoolgirl.
“I’m normally a lot more responsible than this, but… I figured all things considered…” you trail off with a sheepish shrug.
“Yeah, you’re talkin’ to the girl who hasn’t taken a day off since I started here— Two years ago,” Ahmad scoffs. “I think you deserve to let loose every once in a while, Doc, all things considered.”
He taps you gently on the head with his notepad. You roll your eyes and reach into the pocket of your scrubs, cheeks burning under the weight of the sudden attention you’re getting.
“Just put me down for $10—” you say, but cut yourself off when Ahmad hisses through his teeth. “…What is it?”
“Minimum this time twenty,” he grimaces.
Your shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Seriously?”
“We had to up the ante this time, kid— Rules of the game.”
“Then I guess put me down for twenty…” you huff and pluck your wallet from your scrub pockets. “For… unrequited…”
“Unrequited by who?” Ahmad presses with his brows raised to his hairline.
“I don’t know. Samira, I guess,” you shrug, half-timid, ‘cause it’s not like you totally believe it either. You’re just trying to take a page out of Trinity’s book, really, and manifest something good for yourself for a change — pretending that Abbot isn’t into her in the hopes that it’ll make it somehow real.
“What?” Ahmad laughs like it’s funny. “You’re telling me you don’t believe in love?”
You flash him a solemn look in return. “I’ll start believing in something again when the systems come back up,” you answer in a monotone.
“Touche…” he nods slowly while Dr. Barker exhales a quiet laugh through his nose.
A familiar voice comes suddenly from the entrance:
“I think that is the single sanest answer I’ve heard all day,” Jack Abbot himself hums in a gritty deadpan.
You nearly break your neck with how fast your head whips over your shoulder, finding the man leaning against the doorway with his toned arms crossed over his chest and a smug smirk dancing on his lips.
Your skin prickles with a red-hot heat while your pounding heart drops to your stomach. If he wasn’t into you before, he certainly won’t be now — not with you making bets on his love life like a crazy person with nothing better to do. (Though, in many ways, that is exactly what you are.)
“Dr. Abbot…” Ahmad croons, trying to play casual despite knowing his secretive betting ring’s finally been found out. “That’s funny— We were just talking about you.”
“Robby may or may not have told me,” Jack confesses as he saunters slowly into the security room, boots heavy on the white linoleum. “Wanted me to tell him if there was something going on with Mohan and me, so he could recoup the money he lost in the last bet.”
“…Well, is there?” Nick wonders lowly.
“C’mon, Barker. Where’s the fun in that?” Jack scoffs a dry laugh, then goes strangely solemn again in a flicker. “Even though, as an attending, I think I have to say that I am very against this— I feel like this has H.R. violation written all over it.”
“Well, what Gloria doesn’t know, won’t hurt us, right?” Ahmad quips.
“I’ve been livin’ by those exact words for years, brother.”
Your hands are clammy and trembling for a reason you can’t name as you pull two crumpled bills from your wallet — a dingy, pastel Polly Pocket billfold you’ve had since you were twelve — as if you needed another reason to look any less cool in front of Jack. The pale pink interior is left glaringly empty, save for a few folded receipts and miscellaneous fortune-cookie slips.
“Wow…” you huff as you pass Ahmad the twenty. “That is all the cash I have to my name. I’m officially more broke than I was in med school— I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“I can take you out to dinner with my winnings, if you want,” Nick offers suddenly.
Your head snaps in his direction, and his eyes widen, as though surprised by his own forwardness. He swallows hard, pronounced adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, scruffy with a five o’clock shadow.
“You know, if you— if you wanna… let loose or whatever.”
Your lip flickers upward in a shy smile when Dr. Barker sighs and shakes his head to himself. A few rogue strands of dark hair fall from their gelled quaff and hang over his forehead until he pushes them back in place again.
“Sorry, that, uh…” He chuckles awkwardly at himself. “That came out weird.”
“I might be stuck in charting jail for the rest of the night, actually,” you say with an apologetic grimace, wringing your clammy fingers into knots. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“Yeah!” he blurts, a little quicker than he means to. He clears his throat and, in an octave lower, repeats himself. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”
You dismiss yourself with a quiet smile and lack the courage to look Jack in the eye when you pass him on the way to the door. He watches you leave and waits for you to glance back at him with his heart in his throat. You never do.
Still, though, he can’t help but feel a little proud of himself; after watching you turn down the handsome radiologist every woman on this floor has been fawning over all day. He turns back around and hisses through his teeth, trying not to look as smug as he feels.
“Damn,” Jack deadpans. “That was cold, man…”
Nick’s dark eyes widen and flit wildly between the two men on either side of him. “Wait— Really?”
“Ice cold…” Ahmad affirms with a slow nod. “Girl said she’s broke, and you think she’s gonna say ‘no thanks’ to some free food? In this economy? Yeah… She’s not into you, man.”
Jack claps the solemn boy hard on the shoulder. “You win some, you lose some, kid… Don’t take it too hard.”
You forget all about the stupid bet and Nick’s offer some hours later, when Robby sticks you with Ogilvie and tells you to walk the MS4 through your canthotomy patient.
You talk aloud as you slice your scalpel through the young girl’s eye, where the socket is raging red and bulging from the pressure behind it. The boy doesn’t say a word the whole time, just holds the plastic cup where the bright crimson blood drains from the eye, and doesn’t move a muscle until it stops.
“I think that’s the closest I’ve come to puking since I started med school,” the boy confesses when it’s done, standing just over your shoulder while you fill out the patient’s med slip. “I didn’t even get that close during cadaver lab, when all of us started craving meat from the formaldehyde— I’m pretty sure five people dropped out that day alone…”
His voice trails off when Samira catches your eye, rushing by the desk with her wild curls falling from her claw clip. She wears the hard shift all over as she makes a beeline directly for Jack, planting herself ahead of the older man; so close she has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.
Your hand freezes around the pen as you keep your eyes on the two of them, staring harder than you probably realize as you struggle to make out their conversation. Their words are drowned out by Ogilvie’s rambling, and the surrounding beep and chatter of the crowded E.R.
Mohan talks wildly with her hands and says something about “a letter,” while Jack nods along sympathetically and says something along the lines of “give me your number.”
Your chest flares with a white-hot feeling when you watch the man pass Samira his phone to plug her number into. It’s like the world has fallen out from under you and swallowed you whole, like you’re drowning in the fire of your own envy.
You’re barely seven hours on the job, and you’ve already lost all your cash — you’ll be doomed to the three-day-old leftovers in the fridge, if the newfound heartache hasn’t already snatched your appetite for the evening. That means you’ll be running on fumes tomorrow morning — still broke, still hungry, still heartbroken.
Then you remember Dr. Barker — Disney prince Dr. Barker — and his offer of dinner from earlier in the security room.
You make the terribly impulsive decision to take fate into your own hands and forget to properly dismiss yourself before dropping the finished order slip off across the room. Ogilivie is quick to follow close behind, lacking any real sense of personal space. He nearly trips over himself to keep from running into you when you freeze suddenly in place.
“You don’t have to follow me anymore,” you tell him.
“Oh… Well, then… What am I supposed to do?” the blonde boy shrugs.
“I don’t know. Do whatever you want…” you trail off and glance around the bustling work station. You spot Trinity standing at the chart rack and motion over to her. “Go help Dr. Santos with her next patient.”
The dark-haired girl turns at the sound of her name.
“Oh, please don’t—” She cuts herself off with a sigh when Ogilvie makes his way towards her anyway. “Fuck. Fine…”
You continue your trek to the other side of the crowded work station, where the portable radiology machine takes up the majority of the room. You can smell the man’s expensive, musky cologne before he ever comes into view.
“Hey, Nick…” you greet, then wince at how weird it sounds a second later. “I mean, Dr. Barker— Sorry—”
He glances up from his work at the sound of your voice. “Nick is fine,” he assures with a kind grin and a pair of chocolate-colored eyes.
You try to smile back, but your nervousness makes it look more like a grimace. “It’s not, like, totally too late for me to take you up on that offer for dinner, is it?”
“No!” he blurts with a shake of his head. “Of course not!”
“Great…” you say with a relieved sigh.
“Yeah, I’ll— I’ll text you the details later.”
“Oh. Well, you don’t…” You scrunch the bridge of your nose in a sheepish look. “You don’t have my number…”
His mouth falls softly agape with the realization. “Oh. Right. Duh.”
You smile wider despite yourself, ‘cause he’s almost as awkward as you are, which you didn’t think was possible before now — especially not for someone as pretty as he is.
You turn away and grab the nearest pen, clicking it on with your thumb before reaching for his arm. You scribble your number over the dark blue veins on his wrist with a newfound confidence — one that you never had before now, one spurred on by the man’s obvious shyness.
You feel Nick’s eyes on you when you look away, flitting wildly across your profile.
“This isn’t… This isn’t just because of the bet, is it?” he wonders with a waver in his voice.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the whole thing you said about… losing all your money or whatever,” Dr. Barker explains with a sheepish laugh. “You’re not just going out with me for a free meal, are you?”
“Well, isn’t that kinda the point of going on dates? The free food?” you joke with a dry laugh, which fades instantly at the confused look Nick gives you in response. Your face floods with horror a second later. “I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding— Of course not.”
“Okay,…” Dr. Barker says with an awkward chuckle. “Good.”
“Good,” you echo with a sigh and rise to full height again.
“I’ll, uh— I’ll text you.”
“I’ll be waiting,” you chirp with a polite nod and a giddy grin, which ebbs the second you turn away from him. You shake your head as you slink back through the bustling emergency department, squeezing your eyes shut and murmuring under your breath in disgust, “I’ll be waiting—?”
You nearly trip over yourself when you ram suddenly into a firm body. Two calloused hands grasp gently at your elbows as you stumble backwards. You almost lose your breath when you find Jack Abbot towering over you.
“Shit… you huff. “Sorry, I— I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Where’ve you been hiding?” Jack squints. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Your shy smile fades into a disbelieving squint almost instantly; at the bitter reminder of Jack and Samira — of the seemingly intimate conversation they’d shared just minutes ago, and of the bet you know you’re bound to lose now.
“No, you weren’t,” you deadpan.
“I was,” he insists. “I feel like I always am, some way or another.”
Your chest warms at his words. You choke on the funny feeling when you force yourself to swallow it down. “I was just— walking one of the interns through a lateral canthotomy,” you stammer as you step back out of his hold.
“Gnarly,” Jack hums with a slow nod.
“Did you, uh… Did you need me for something?”
“Yeah, I have a patient over in Trauma 2— Sliced through his left hand with a circular saw,” Jack explains, staring down at you from the bridge of his nose as he crosses his strong arms over his chest. “But the crazy part is, he used his right hand to take the nail gun and—”
“Oh, my god,” you blurt before you mean to. “He tried to put his hand back on with the nail gun, didn’t he?”
“Close…” he hums with a knowing glint in his eyes. “He used the gun to fire two nails into his temple— Said he thought it would distract him from the pain in his hand. And the weird thing is, he’s walking and talking just fine.”
“Holy shit…” you mumble, wide-eyed. “Why do you always get the cool cases?”
“You can have it,” he assures you, with something soft swimming in his eyes. “That’s why I wanted to find you— so you could do it with me.”
Something about it feels way more intimate than being asked out for dinner.
You finish the rest of your shift as normal — feeling like a shell of your former self after hours of running on fumes; both excruciatingly tired and buzzing with white-hot adrenaline all at once.
The only real difference between today and every other day before this one is that, for the first time in a long, long time, you actually have plans outside of work — almost like a real human person with a social life would.
You return home after the long day, only for an hour or so, to shower and change out of your scrubs. You wash away the scent of blood, sweat, and antiseptic from your skin, and only cut your knee once when you shave your legs for the first time in weeks. You pull out a nice top, a short skirt, and a real bra from the depths of your closet. You go as far as to break out the expensive perfume that you’ve had for years, ‘cause you only use it on extra special occasions, which tend to be few and far between for you.
You feel like an entirely different person when you meet Dr. Barker at the address he’d sent you a few hours ago — a nice bar, just a few blocks down from your apartment building, that you’d been meaning to visit for years but found every excuse in the book to stay home instead. You find the man sitting alone in a far booth in the dimly lit room, sipping slowly at the beer he nurses in his hand, and feel a little like a fraud when you slide into the vinyl seat across from him.
Nick has only known you for the better part of a work shift, to be fair, not counting the handful of times you’d smiled politely in passing when you clocked out for the day. You know he’s got some version of you in his head already, like all men do — someone much cooler than you really are, someone much better at separating their work life from their personal life than you are.
You prove him wrong in record time, sharing a plate of loaded nachos between you and forgetting to eat any of it as you get too easily lost in your ramblings. You tell him of the long shift, and of the man you met with two nails in his skull, and fail to remember that not everyone can talk of blood and gore over a meal as easily as you can.
“—Honestly, I’m still surprised it didn’t hemorrhage! The X-Ray showed one of the nails was, like, half an inch away from nicking an artery,” you ramble with a giddy grin. “I pulled them out with some local anesthetic, and he was totally fine— Well, except for the hand, obviously. ‘Cause he did lose a few fingers, but… Dr. Abbot took care of that, so…”
“Did he?” Nick hums, hiding his smile behind the pint he brings to his mouth.
He thinks this must be the fifth or so time you’ve brought up the man’s name tonight alone — not that you seem to notice. He doesn’t know whether that’s supposed to make him feel better or worse.
“Yeah— I always tell him he would’ve been an amazing surgeon if he didn’t have the hand-eye coordination of, like… A half-blind sloth,” you say, then swallow hard at the playful look Nick gives you in response. “‘Cause, you know, sloths are really clumsy, and they… Sometimes mistake their own limbs for branches, so… They fall a lot…”
You trail off and reach for the glass of water at your side, becoming very suddenly self-aware of your inability to stop rambling.
“You talk about him a lot,” Nick observes with a kind smile, licking the sheen of alcohol from his lips.
“…Who?” you wonder with furrowed brows.
“Dr. Abbot.”
Your features flood with terror. “Do I?”
His broad nose scrunches with a breathy laugh. “A little bit, yeah.”
“Oh, god…” you groan and hide your face behind your hand. Nick’s laugh gets lost in the rock music playing overhead. “That’s so annoying. I’m sorry—”
Your phone glows to life as it buzzes against the wooden table it sits on. You reach over to flip it face down before you can read the message on the screen.
“I didn’t… I didn’t even notice… I’m so sorry.”
It vibrates again, twice more in quick succession.
Your stomach twists with the anticipation of what it might say.
“It’s whatever,” Dr. Barker shrugs, pushing the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. “I get it. He’s your boss and everything, so…”
Your phone buzzes on the table once more, for longer this time, now with a phone call.
You tense, but make no move to answer it, for fear of making this more awkward than you already have — though your pretending not to hear it doesn’t make it any better.
The corner of Nick’s lip twitches into a sympathetic smile, ‘cause he can tell that you’re trying to be polite, even though you’re fidgeting at the thought of answering it. Because your friends usually only ever text you, so if someone’s calling, it’s bound to be important.
“You can get that if you need to—”
“Thank you,” you sigh before he’s properly gotten the words out, scrambling for your phone with anxious hands. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m sure it’s just… Fuck.”
The call ends before you can answer it.
Nick’s eyes widen at your reaction. “Everything okay?”
“It’s Parker…” you answer with your eyes trained on the blue-white screen. Your chest deflates with a heavy sigh beneath your skin-tight top. “And I know it’s serious because she despises double-texting and she just sent me four back to back, so…”
Your eyes are wet and preemptively apologetic when they dart to the man across the table, who meets the disaster of you with a tender grin.
“You gotta go back in, huh?” he squints.
“I do…” you sigh. “I’m so sorry—”
“Just make it up to me next time,” Nick shrugs, watching with kind eyes as you scramble for your phone and purse. “When I win that bet, I mean. I’ll take you out somewhere nice— We can do this for real. If you want.”
You slide out of the cracking vinyl booth with a grimace — equal parts unnerved at the idea of doing this a second time and half-surprised that Nick would even want to, after you did nothing but anxiously ramble before bailing on him out of nowhere.
“Yeah…” you waver anyway as you stand to full height again. “Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”
“Thank you again— I’d kiss you right now if I could,” Dr. Ellis tells you when you pass her in the ambulance bay, where she hurries out of the E.D. on long limbs. She calls over her shoulder, moments before she’s out of earshot. “You look hot, by the way!”
The passing reminder of what you’re showing up to work in hits you like a punch to the stomach.
The double doors of the PTMC part for you, and the air-conditioned emergency room wraps its cold fingers around every inch of your exposed skin — your shaven legs, arms, and collarbones; all of which are normally concealed by your dark scrubs and undershirts.
You can’t help but feel a bit like you’re doing the walk of shame as you race past the work station with your head bowed, barely noticing that the systems are up and running again as you go. You’re too busy trying to make yourself as small as possible on your way to the scrub dispenser down the hall.
Jack smells you before he sees you.
He gets a sudden whiff of something sweet and creamy, like whipped vanilla and fresh raspberries, something candied enough to eat. Then he looks over his shoulder, from where he’s stood at the front desk, and finds you rushing past him in a hurry. His neck nearly cracks with the strength of the double take he gives at the back of you — short skirt swishing around your thighs, tight shirt showing a sliver of your lower back. He feels a little like he’s in middle school again, going wild at the mere sight of a girl’s bare shoulder.
By the time his brain starts working again to greet you, you’ve already turned the corner.
“Whoa, gotta hot date tonight?” he hears Shen ask as you walk by.
“Just left one, more like,” you scoff.
“Damn. Poor guy,” the man quips, then laughs when you flip him off.
“…What the hell?” Jack mutters under his breath, with his eyes still trained on the empty hall you’d just disappeared down.
“What? You didn’t hear?” McKay wonders aloud, from where she’s hunched over the monitor across from him, still closing down for the day now that the ED isn’t in analog hell anymore. She peers up at him with tired blue eyes, half-hidden beneath her wild fringe. “Don’t tell Princess, but apparently, she went out with that Dr. Barker guy from radiology.”
“Oh, really?” Jack hums, nodding slowly to feign interest. He hopes the hurt flaring in his chest doesn’t show all over his face as he turns back to his computer. “Sounds fun…”
Javadi eyes him from behind McKay’s shoulder. Her dark, observant stare traces the edges of his face as she twirls the string of her lavender jacket with her pointer finger.
“Well, don’t look so upset about it, Dr. Abbot,” she jokes with a quiet laugh, half-dazed from the long day. “I have a lot riding on this bet about you and Mohan, you know—?”
Cassie flashes the younger girl a wordless look.
Victoria’s eyes go wide when they flit back to Jack’s.
“—Which I wasn’t supposed to mention in front of you…” she blurts and fakes an awkward laugh. “There is no bet, actually. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
Jack doesn’t ease the tension by telling her that he already knows; that he has known all day. He just flashes her a half-smile and a pair of squinted eyes as he steps back from the monitor.
“Real smooth, kid…” he jokes before he walks away.
He leaves the work station and turns the corner to find you cradling a pair of black scrubs to your chest and making a beeline for the restroom nearest to the break room. He rushes on long legs to catch up with you, limping slightly from his prosthetic. You freeze at the sound of your name from his lips, echoing from down the long hall. Your skirt swishes around your thighs as you spin in place to face him.
“Hey…” Jack greets, only slightly out of breath when he towers finally over you.
Your brows lower in confusion at the sight of his flustered state, but you smile nonetheless. “Hey…?”
“How was the, uh… The date?”
“Date?” you scoff. “What date?”
“The one you had with Dr. Barker.”
His biceps strain against his scrubs when he crosses his arms over his chest, peering down at you from the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks flare instantly. You can’t help but feel like you’ve been caught, like he’s just found out you’ve been cheating on him or something — even though the two of you aren’t even together, even though it’s abundantly clear that he wants someone else.
“Well, it wasn’t— it wasn’t really a— a date,” you stammer and turn away. “It was just… dinner.”
“Right,” Jack scoffs and follows behind you the short distance to the bathroom. “Because the two of you weren’t flirting in the security room or anything.”
You huff an emotionless laugh and roll your eyes at him, even though you know he cannot see you. “Yeah, because you and Samira weren’t flirting in Central 4 this morning or anything…” you echo in a gritty monotone.
Jack catches the bathroom door before it can shut behind you. You glance over your shoulder when you hear it hit his palm. You find the man looming in the doorway with something mischievous glittering in his narrowed eyes.
“I’m trying to get changed,” you deadpan, despite the distant fluttering in your chest.
Jack passes through the threshold and lets the door shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the empty bathroom, where the white-blue fluorescent lights buzz overhead.
“Am I hearing things, or do you sound a little jealous?” the older man quips, glittering eyes trained on the back of you as you duck into the singular stall across the room.
It clicks shut behind you.
“Aren’t you the one who came chasing after me, Dr. Abbot?”
“Aren’t you the one who ran off from your date just to come back in?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” you laugh.
“C’mon,” Jack scoffs. “You know what.”
Your short skirt pools around your feet with a quiet thud. You step out of it and toe off your right shoe, sliding on the adjoining pant leg before slipping the sneaker back on again. You do the same for the left side, and Jack has to shake the visual of your half-naked body from his head.
“I thought we had… You know, I thought we had a thing going on…”
“A thing?” you repeat, half-muffled, as you slide your shirt over your head. You hang it over the stall before reaching for your scrub top. “I wouldn’t exactly consider flirty comments and lingering eye contact a thing.”
Jack catches a glimpse of your bare spine through the sliver in the door frame. He swallows hard and forces himself to look down at his feet.
“You say that like I don’t wish I could do more,” he tells you. “I’m an attending— I can’t just go around making moves on my residents. It’s not a good look.”
The stall door squeaks open again. You come into view, now dressed in your scrubs, and wearing a hardened scowl on your dolled-up face. “Well, that didn’t stop you from getting Samira’s number, did it?” you argue. “Or letting her patch you up this morning?”
“I gave her my number because she asked for a recommendation letter, and I told her I’d give her one,” Jack confesses, watching you with a glittering gaze as you storm past him with your clothes cradled to your chest. He makes room for you by the sink and fights back a grin while you scrub angrily at your hands. “And I was patching myself up, actually, until she walked in looking for her patient.”
“Well, how convenient…” you grumble.
Jack smiles wider. “You are jealous,” he croons.
“I am, actually,” you deadpan, with your eyes trained on the soap you suds between your fingers. Even still, you can see the man in your peripheral vision, standing in the mirror just behind you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and smell the cologne lingering on his clothes.
“So that’s why you went out with the Barker guy, huh?” Jack lilts. “You just wanted to make me jealous…”
“No, actually,” you tell him. “I went out with Nick because I figured I should probably stop chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t want me.”
You turn off the faucet with your fist and reach for the paper towel dispenser at your side.
Jack follows your every move.
“Yeah?” he hums lowly. “And who said I didn’t want you?”
You turn around to glare at him despite the newfound heat swimming in the pit of your stomach.
“Well, I think you’ve made it pretty clear, Dr. Abbot,” you deadpan. “I don’t think the entire floor would be betting on you and Samira otherwise.”
Jack takes a daring step closer, until you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze when he towers suddenly over you. With his hands crossed over his chest, he bows his head and tells you, “Well, I don’t want Mohan. And I don’t care about that stupid bet. Is that clear enough for you?”
Your chest warms with a familiar feeling. Your features crumple under the weight of it as you murmur sheepishly, “Okay. I’m not even trying to be funny right now, but if you’re trying to tell me that you do like me, you’re going to have to say that outright, or else my brain won’t—”
You feel his hands on you, wide and warm around the outsides of your elbows. You feel your feet stumbling on the tile, and your chest colliding with his, and then his mouth pressing against yours. You feel his chapped lips, his coarse scruff, and his exhaled breath from his nose as it fans warm over your skin.
You freeze against him, too stunned that he’s kissing you at all to remember to kiss him back.
Jack pulls away from you a dizzying second or more later. He peers down at you with a heavy gaze and smiles when he realizes you haven’t yet taken your eyes off him.
“I like you…” he tells you slowly, as though to make sure you’re really hearing him. “Are we clear now?”
You swallow hard and nod your head, licking at your kissed lips in a feeble attempt to taste him again.
“Crystal,” you quip drily.
You rise to the tips of your toes and wrench your free hand in his scrub top, with every intention of kissing him again — for real this time. You flinch in a fleeting panic when the bathroom door squeaks open a second later.
Samira slips inside, too distracted by the phone in her hand to see what she’s walking in on. You and Jack freeze against one another accordingly, as if being so still will somehow make you invisible.
The door closes behind her and muffles the never-ending chaos outside. Only when it clicks shut again does Samira look up from her phone, dark eyes wide as they flit wildly between the two of you.
“Holy shit…” she mumbles under her breath, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.
You push the man away from you on instinct.
“We weren’t doing anything!” you blurt, hardly convincing in the matter.
Jack’s soft eyes cut over to you. “Real smooth,” he mumbles.
Samira’s look of shock ebbs into a giddy smile.
“I knew it!” she exclaims, voice ringing through the tiled restroom. “Ahmad looked at me like I was crazy when I put forty dollars on the two of you, but I knew I was right!”
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The bet,” she shrugs with a smile. “I put mine on the two of you. Which means I just got a couple hundred dollars richer, at least.”
The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach.
“Which means I just lost all of my money…”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I can spare some of my winnings. I mean, it’s only right, right?” Samira says with a pretty laugh. “You guys can go out for drinks or something special. My treat.”
It becomes suddenly very difficult to imagine yourself from five minutes ago — back when you were overcome with jealousy just by the sight of her alone — knowing now that she had been rooting for you this whole time. Jack seems to know this, too, based on the smug smile he gives you.
“This real nice of you, Mohan,” he says. “But if I’m taking my girl out for drinks on a first date, I’m gonna be the one payin’ for ‘em— No offense.”
“None taken,” she shakes her head. “Means more money for me.”
You’re still catching your breath in the meanwhile, ‘cause the newfound title has all but punched the breath from your lungs. My girl, he’d said, and god, you wanted nothing more than to be his girl.
“We should, uh—” You clear your throat when the words get stuck there. “We should probably get out of here before the others think something weird is going on…”
“Something weird is happening— The entire E.D. is betting on my love life,” Jack scoffs as he follows you out of the bathroom, where the chaos of the E.R. finds you almost instantly. “Sorry you lost, by the way. The bet, I mean…”
He catches himself nearly reaching out for your hand. He balls his own into a fist instead to fight the urge. You can see the longing to glittering in his eyes, anyway, when you turn to flash him a sheepish look in response.
“Well, I didn’t lose completely,” you lilt with a lazy shrug.
“No?” Jack hums.
“No…” you grin. “I think I won where it mattered.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
content: 18+ mdni, widow!jack abbot, fake dating, sexually explicit content, age gap, discussions of miscarriage, discussions of surgical miscarriage, discussions of infidelity, dysfunctional family, discussions of divorce, wedding, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, mild violence, some named family members and ex significant other
words: 26.7k
synopsis: when the wedding invitation arrives for your ex husband's marriage to your little sister, you're tempted to set fire to your entire life. your attending, jack abbot, has other ideas.
a/n: i had a blast writing this all the drama all the love all the hurt all the pining!! it's been a while since i wrote something for jack and i'm really happy to be putting this out just in time for dr abbot to be back on our tv screens!! title is based on the song me before you by bleachers. i hope you love it <3 syd (also i know i did not edit this well so i apologize in advance for the typos)
The night had already started off badly enough before you checked the mail. You'd slept through three alarms, stubbed your toe on the dresser in your rush to get dressed, and burnt your coffee all before leaving your apartment. In hindsight, you should have left the overflowing mailbox alone on your way out. You wished you could have foreseen how yanking all the pieces of mail out of the small black box that hung by the door would ruin your whole shift. Would ruin your whole week, really.
Getting into your car, you had tossed the mail into the passenger seat. It wasn't until you were stopped at a light about five minutes away from the hospital that you caught sight of the envelope. Pastel pink bows and your name etched in cursive.
Your heart dropped, eyes glued to the envelope, the rest of your body locking up, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
A horn split the air from behind you and you jerked your head back to the front and saw the green light, "Fuck—Alright, alright!"
Your knee shook the entire rest of the way to the hospital and once you were parked, your hands were so shaky as you tried to open the envelope you immediately received a paper cut. But the pain was nothing compared to the agony that you felt ripple through your chest as your eyes traveled over the invitation, gold and pink glitter floating around the car onto your scrubs.
After staring at the piece of cardstock in your hand for too long, you felt your phone vibrate. Blinking rapidly you pulled it out to see a text from Jack Abbot: You good?
Your eyes traveled to the time at the top of your screen to see you were nearly five minutes late to the start of shift. Normally you walked through those doors at least fifteen minutes early. He was clearly showing heroic levels of restraint by waiting until you were several minutes late to contact you.
Sorry, running late. Be there in 5. You texted back hurriedly and were rewarded five seconds later with a thumbs up reaction.
Taking in a shaky breath, you closed out of your messages app to dial your mom.
She picked up after the second ring, "Hey, honey, everything okay? Thought you worked tonight."
"Has Maya lost her fucking mind?"
Your mom was quiet for a few moments, "…So you got the wedding invitation then?"
"I'm not going," You said, angry tears already burning the backs of your eyes, "and to top it all off, she's getting married at the exact fucking venue I wanted to get married at but David and I couldn't afford it at the time. She knew that, she fucking knew it was my dream wedding—"
"I know, baby," your mom said sympathetically, "I don't expect you to come."
"Why would she do this?" You asked, and finally, the anger evaporated from your voice, replaced with the pure devastation, "I mean, she already fucking won, what else does she want? Having my husband and my dream wedding isn't enough for her? She needs to humiliate me in front of everyone we know as well?"
"I don't think she's doing it to hurt you," your mom said quietly, "believe it or not, I think she just wants her big sister at her wedding. She misses you."
You laughed humorlessly, straightening your shoulders in an attempt to rid your body of the despair that now saturated it, "She should have thought about that before she fucked my husband."
Your mother sighed on the other line, "I told her that you'd react like this, but she wouldn't listen to me."
"You think I'm being unreasonable?" You snapped.
"Of course I don't," She said firmly, "and you know that. You know exactly how I feel about this whole thing and so does she. It's a goddamn shame. And if she ever wants to fix things with you she'll probably have to wait until she's divorced or that son of a bitch is dead."
You snorted at that and your mother, normally a perfectly poised saint, rushed in to damage control, "Sorry, I didn't mean that, I actually think his mother's a sweet lady."
You swiped at a tear and sniffled, "Yeah, she is. Thank you for listening to me scream and cry again, but I have to go to work now, I'm late."
"Anytime, kiddo. I love you."
As you hung up, you saw another text from Abbot come in: Come find me when you get here.
You sighed, "shit."
As senior resident, you had a pretty close relationship with your attending. Professionally, anyway. But you being late was out of character for you and Jack Abbot was perceptive. He'd want to get to the bottom of whatever was wrong and no matter how you tried to deflect, you knew he'd persist.
But that wouldn't stop you from trying.
"Hey hun," Lena peered at you over the rim of her glasses as you approached the hub, "you alright?"
"Yeah, just overslept." You forced a smile, "You know where I can find Abbot?"
She directed you over towards the beds in north where you found Abbot discussing a treatment plan with Ellis outside a patient's room. When he saw you, he gestured for you wait a second while he finished up with Ellis. Once she walked off, he gestured for you to follow him.
You fell into step beside him as you walked around the ER, "Everything okay with you?" he asked.
"Yes."
You'd arrived back at the hub and Jack turned fully to you, hazel eyes laser focused on you. You hated this about him, how he demanded your eyes on his at all times so he could properly assess you, as if you were a patient in need of fixing.
"That's it?"
You shrugged, "Yes."
He tilted his head slightly, "In the entire time you've been on my shift, you've never been late. Not even once."
"Yeah," You said, annoyance coating your tone, "which is why you should cut me some slack."
"You're not in trouble," he said mildly, "I'm just checking in. You sure everything's fine?"
You sighed, "Yes."
He stared at you a moment longer before taking an iPad from the docking station, "Okay, fine. Grab a med student and handle chairs."
"Chairs?" Your eyebrows shot up your forehead, "You are pissed at me."
"No," Abbot said shaking his head, eyebrows raised as he looked up from his iPad into your face, "You were late and I need someone to triage and who better than my senior resident?"
You scoffed, and pivoted on your foot, "Unbelievable."
"Call me if you need me," he shouted after you.
"I won't," you called back.
Jack watched you go, wrangling a student by the arm as you went, and then turned back to Lena, "She tell you what her problem is?"
Lena shook her head, "No, she even fake smiled at me when she got here."
He shook his head, "There's definitely a problem though, right? I'm not imagining things?"
"She's been off for weeks now," Lena looked over her glasses at him conspiratorially, "I know you hate the rumor mill, but there is one going around that she got divorced recently. And it wasn't mutual."
He looked up at Lena, incredulous look on his face, "That's ridiculous. She would've told me."
Lena shrugged, "Look, I'm just telling you what I've heard."
Jack turned towards the door to chairs where you had disappeared and frowned. You would have told him, right? The two of you had always been professional, but he did consider you something like a friend after you had been here for nearly four years. When there were social events after work or on days off, you had always gravitated towards him and Robby. A bit older than most of the other residents and students, it was easier to find common ground with them. Things had never gotten overtly personal, but there had always been some level of sharing about personal lives. And he really thought the two of you were close enough that you would have told him. Especially if you were struggling.
"When did that start swirling around?" He asked, turning back to Lena.
"Few months ago, I think," she said, "Jesse said he overheard her take a call with a divorce attorney when he was heading out one day."
Jack ran a hand through his curls and sighed. Jesse wasn't the gossiping type and if he did, that usually meant it was true.
"Okay," he said finally, "you'll come find me if things go to shit?"
"You got it."
***
You could feel yourself slipping as the shift went on, beginning to snap at patients and beginning to snap at the med student you'd pulled, Whitaker, who wasn't even really supposed to be here. He was usually on the day shift, but the usual single med student allotted to the night shift was out on bereavement and Whitaker had volunteered to fill the gap. You liked him, honestly, even if he was a bit spacey at times, he was earnest and never made the same mistake twice.
Except today, when he got you the wrong antibiotics, not once, but twice.
"Whitaker," You said slowly, "am I not speaking clearly?"
"Wha—? I—No—I mean, yes. You are."
"Then why are these still the wrong meds?"
Whitaker was starting to get flustered and you were getting more and more annoyed— "Because I changed the order."
It was Abbot's voice that came behind you and you turned to see him standing there, arms crossed with that disappointed look on his face you had had the displeasure of encountering just one other time while working on his shift. When you had tried handling an aggressive patient on your own without calling him or security and ended up with a black eye.
"Whitaker, you can finish up here?" Abbot asked, eyes never leaving yours. When Whitaker agreed, Abbot steered you out of the waiting room by your arm back into central.
You wrenched your arm away from him, "You don't need to drag me, I can walk."
"What is going on with you?"
"Nothing," You threw your hands up in exasperation, "I'm irritated that I'm out in triage—"
"You're too good for triage?"
"I know you're doing it to punish me—"
"When have you ever known me to punish anyone?"
"You changed my order, why? You don't even trust me to prescribe simple antibiotics?"
He sighed, "We didn't have the dosage you were looking for up here, it would've taken longer to call the pharmacy and Whitaker was too scared to come back to you empty handed, so I told him to get something else. It had nothing to do with your decision making, though the way you've been treating Whitaker all shift is absolutely unacceptable for a senior resident and you know that."
You never cried at work. It was your one rule. Even crying in the parking lot felt like sacrilege. No matter how fucked up things got, and they'd gotten well and truly fucked, you tucked it away until you got home.
But with Abbot looking at you like this, his judgment heavy as stone, on top of the invitation… It was too much. PTMC had always been your one safe haven from everything, but you had managed to ruin that, too.
Abbot looked at you with alarm when he saw your eyes water and your chin wobble, "Hey, what the hell?" he said softly and then quickly ushered you out to the ambulance bay, shielding you from anyone else's prying eyes.
"I'm sorry," you blubbered after you'd gone through the double doors, "I have to apologize to Whitaker."
"Not now, later."
You leaned against the wall of the hospital and scrubbed your hands over your face, "I was so mean to him all shift."
"I know, he told me," At the look you gave him through your hands Abbot shook his head, "Not to get you in trouble, he was worried about you. Said you weren't acting like yourself. And I have to agree, you're normally a very kind and patient teacher."
His praise—which you felt was undeserved—made you want to cry all over again, but you managed to swallow past the lump in your throat. Abbot leaned up against the wall next to you and pushed his hands into his pants pockets, "So, I'll ask you again: What is going on with you?"
You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, fought the urge to self soothe by wrapping your arms entirely around yourself, "You won't let it go unless I tell you, right?"
"Damn straight," He said immediately, "We can keep it between us, but it's starting to effect your work now, so I'd like to know what's going on. And maybe I can help."
You scoffed and looked down at your feet, "No one knows besides my family and that's only because I had no choice," You swallowed, "It's humiliating. You might look at me differently."
He narrowed his eyes at you, "If you really don't want to tell me I won't force you. But I promise there's very little you could say that would make me think less of you."
You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall. You weren't sure why it even mattered to you what your attending thought of your personal life. Despite your borderline friendly relationship with Abbot, there had still always been the irrepressible urge to impress him, to make sure he both liked and respected you. Probably had something to do with your absent father, but that was something to unpack in therapy.
"I got my baby sister's wedding invitation in the mail today," You said slowly, could already feel the heat bubbling beneath your skin, "And the man she's marrying is my… ex husband."
You felt the double take that came from his direction, but you couldn't find it in yourself to meet his eyes.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat, "I—I didn't know you got divorced."
You nodded, "Finding out they were having a year long affair was a hell of a motivator to get it done quickly and quietly."
"Fuck," he murmured under his breath, "When did all this happen?"
You chewed the inside of your cheek, "They started sleeping together while I was recovering from the miscarriage."
You thought you heard his sharp intake of breath at that, but you still couldn't look over at him. The miscarriage had happened almost two years ago now and marked the beginning of your life turning upside down.
You had lost a pregnancy you didn't even know had been in your womb. Fighting with David as he drove you home in stony silence while you cried about how you couldn't understand why he was acting this way, you'd always said you didn't want kids.
How when the bleeding didn't stop, didn't slow the way it was supposed to, and you told David you needed to go back to the hospital he—the lawyer—somehow convinced you—the doctor—that you weren't bleeding that much. You thought about this moment almost daily, now. You felt so stupid for letting him debate his way out of taking you to PTMC. It had taken you hours to finally text Abbot, feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, if he thought you should come in.
He had left the hospital to come get you and you remembered his quiet anger as he condescended to David while carrying you to his truck.
In the end, surgical intervention had been required to stop the bleeding and when you woke up to David beside himself with remorse beside you, you'd forgiven him.
And yet, you'd find out much later that while you recovered from surgery, he began sleeping with Maya.
"Well," Abbot said after a few moments of shocked silence, "Knowing that you've been holding all that in for… months now, I'd say you've actually shown remarkable restraint."
You huffed a laugh through your nose, "You think so?"
"Yeah, I do. If I were you they'd probably both be six feet under by now."
You hummed, "I considered it when I opened the invitation today."
"Why don't you go home?" He said quietly and you finally turned to look at him, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight, "We can handle the rest of the shift without you."
You shook your head, "I feel worse when I'm not working. I'm still not used to going home to an empty apartment."
At that moment Lena poked her head out into the ambulance bay, charge phone pressed to her ear, "Incoming MVA, five minutes out."
You both pushed yourselves off the wall to head back inside, "Hey," he said, fingertips ghosting over your wrist as you walked ahead of him, "if you won't go home, will you get breakfast with me after shift?"
You bit your lip as you looked back at him, "I'm okay. Really. You don't have to babysit me."
He shook his head, "No, I'm asking for me. You wouldn't make an old man eat by himself, would you?"
He had that easy smirk on his face as he followed you inside, helped tie your trauma gown at the base of your neck. Your stomach flipped the way it sometimes did when he showed you too much attention. You had always dismissed it as a silly crush, the cliche daddy issues you couldn't quite shake even in adulthood.
"Okay," you said finally, turning back to face him as sirens called in the distance, "fine, I'll get breakfast with you."
His grin widened, "Atta girl."
And then he was darting back outside to meet the ambulance, oblivious to the way your cheeks heated and your heart fluttered in response.
***
The only thought in your head as you sat across the diner table from Jack Abbot and the waitress poured you a cup of coffee was that your lips were chapped and you'd been picking at them all shift.
After the waitress took your order and walked off, Jack's eyes traced your face and watched as you chewed on your lower lip, "Stop that," he said softly, "You've been tearing your lips up all day."
Embarrassed, you pressed your lips together and clasped your hands in your lap, "Sorry."
He frowned, "What was that?"
"What?"
"Did you just apologize to me?"
The corner of your mouth tugged up just slightly, "Don't act like you've never heard an apology before."
"I have," he smirked, "just not from you. Now I've heard you say it twice in one day."
You rolled your eyes, "Oh, that is not true."
The waitress returned with your food and after thanking her, Jack speared a homefry into his mouth before turning his attention back to you, "So," he said, "What're you gonna do?"
You frowned, swallowing the eggs you'd spooned into your mouth, "About what?"
"Your sister's wedding."
You shrugged, "Nothing. She knows how I feel, it was fucked up of her to even invite me. I'm not even gonna RSVP."
His eyebrows knitted together, "What d'you mean? You're not gonna go?"
You snorted, "A weekend full of watching my baby sister and ex husband celebrate their love and solidify their union in the place I dreamed and gushed about getting married at myself to my sister for years?" You shook your head, "No thank you. I'm not a masochist. I'll probably spend the weekend with several bottles of wine on my couch watching Vanderpump Rules."
Jack balked, his head pulling back in that way it did sometimes when he was passing judgment on someone. You'd seen him direct it at patients, other students, occasionally Robby, but never you.
"If you don't go, they win."
You sighed, "Oh, come on, Abbot. They already won."
He shook his head, "No. They're shackling themselves in a relationship built on lies and betrayal. They've lost. And seeing you happier than ever at their wedding would be great revenge."
"Yeah, well there's only one problem with that," You stole a homefry from his plate and stuffed it in your mouth, "I'm miserable."
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes assessing you, "Do you have a plus one on your invitation?"
You blinked, "Why are you asking me that?"
He cleared his throat and rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward you conspiratorially, "I just think that even if you don't feel it, think about how much it would bother them to see you show up with someone else. Happy."
Was he delusional? You narrowed your eyes at him, and in turn leaned forward towards him, "My dating life is abysmal right now. So, pray tell, who is this imaginary knight in shining armor who's going to accompany me?"
Still smirking, he leaned back in his seat and shrugged, "I'd do it."
You nearly choked on your coffee. Once you'd caught your breath, you felt your eyes nearly bulging out of your head, "What, pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend? Make them think we're in love? Why would you agree to that?"
He shrugged, "You're my best resident and I'm tired of seeing you off your game. And I already told you, I want to help."
You hummed, "By forcing me into my worst nightmare?" You nodded, "Yeah, solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?"
He sighed, "Look, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but I think you should consider that this might… Give you closure. And it won't hurt to get in a few shots yourself by bringing me along."
You narrowed your eyes at him for a few moments before laughing quietly, "This is insane."
"Well just…Just think about it before you say no, okay?"
You raised your eyebrows at him skeptically, but he was still smirking, "Okay. But don't hold your breath."
After you'd both finished your food, Jack paid despite your insistent attempts to slip your card to the waitress and drove you home.
"I left my car at the hospital."
He shrugged, "I can give you a ride in tonight."
As he pulled up to your house and put his car in park, he leaned over and squeezed your knee lightly, prompting you to look at him, "You'll get some sleep, right?"
Doubtful, you thought, but you nodded, "Yeah, of course."
His eyes narrowed and he held out a clenched hand, pinky outstretched towards you, "Promise?"
You snorted, "Seriously?"
He raised his eyebrows, pinky still held out insistently. So, sighing, you wrapped your pinky around his, "Promise."
Jack smiled and released your finger, "Get out of here then. I'll be back here at 6:30."
"Yes sir," You mocked, and jumped out of the car before he could give a snarky reply.
You wouldn't tell him, but spending time with him had done wonders for your mood. You were even considering taking him up on his offer to come with you to the wedding.
But surely, that was a disaster waiting to happen.
"I think that's a great idea!" Your mom said enthusiastically over the phone an hour later.
Your black out curtains were pulled down tight over the windows, shuttering your bedroom in darkness. You likely wouldn't sleep much, but you would still try. The only light a dim glow from your phone.
You scoffed, "You think it's a great idea to pretend to be in love with my boss at my ex's wedding?"
"I've been saying for months that you let them off too easy. And David's always asking me if you're seeing anyone. Possessive little fuck."
"Mom—"
"—Sorry, sorry. He really gets under my skin. I met Dr. Abbot, didn't I?"
"Yeah," You said, rubbing a hand over your eyes, "When I miscarried."
"He seemed nice. Handsome."
You sighed, "He's just being nice. And also, I've apparently been doing a really shitty job at work and he thinks this'll help."
Your mom hummed, "Sure, sweetie."
Already once before at your bedside after your miscarriage, your mom had implied that she believed Dr. Abbot looked at you as more than just a resident, "I'm not saying it's romantic," She had said at the time, when you had still been married to David, "I just think… He sees you as a person outside of all this." She had gestured around the emergency room.
Now, it seemed, she had changed her tune.
You looked at the watch on your wrist, illuminated in the dark to see that it was nearly noon. If you had any hope of sleep, you'd have to try soon. You said your goodbyes to your mom, and to your surprise, sleep came easy… along with dreams of freckled arms and a face with gray stubble, smirking at you slow and sweet like molasses.
***
You climbed into Jack's truck that evening, immediately engulfed by the hum of his heater, the warmth cocooning you away from the harsh winter air. You let him drive in silence, his radio quietly playing, tuned to the classic rock station.
When you pulled up to the hospital, the two of you walking side by side inside and then by the lockers, "Steak, chicken, or fish?"
You felt it when his head slowly turned towards you, eyes assessing as he draped his stethoscope over his neck, "Steak," he said finally and you could hear the smile in his voice.
You chewed the inside of your cheek as you closed the locker and turned to face him, "You understand that this is a whole weekend affair, right? It's in upstate New York. If you come you have to stick it out the whole weekend. We'll have to share a room—maybe even a bed—"
"You think I didn't already think of all this?"
He was so…unbothered. It didn't make any sense to you. That he would do all of this for you.
You ignored his question—Of course you knew he had, you knew how over prepared Abbot was for every scenario no matter how unlikely—But you thought at the very least you'd detect some discomfort, some acknowledgement that it might not be so easy. "What about the fact that I'm your resident? You're not worried about how this could effect our professional relationship?"
He shrugged, "You only have a few months left and it's not like we've ever had a normal working relationship."
You were reminded of your miscarriage. You couldn't remember everything, the blood loss had muddled some things, but you did recall the way his voice rose when speaking to David, insisting he wouldn't leave until he saw you. The way he'd so easily slipped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then last year when you had noticed Abbot limping around the ED and trying to hide grimaces a bit too much, you were the only one he'd admit to that he was in pain. The only one he'd listen to when you demanded to take a look at his prothestic. You didn't scold him when you saw the blood and pressure sores. Just gently cleaned and bandaged them, asked him if he'd been fitted for a new socket yet since this one was obviously causing problems. It was you who gently followed up with him day after day until it healed. You were the only one he allowed that close.
He was your teacher, your boss, but the two of you had always had something a bit deeper, a bit more intimate, that you each always tried to brush off. But now, here Jack was, declaring it openly.
You swallowed and broke eye contact, "You should know that after I found out he was having an affair and with who… He tried to deflect. He brought you up, accused me of sleeping with you—"
"That's ridiculous," Jack said, sounding irritated.
"I know," You said quickly, "I'm just telling you because… If you show up to this wedding as my date, if we're pretending that we're in love, he'll probably see it as vindication that he was right. He'll probably act like it absolves him of any wrong doing."
He nodded, "Will that be a problem for you?"
You raised your eyebrows, "For me? No. Personally, I hope it eats him alive thinking I cheated on him." You shook your head, "No, I just want you to understand what it is you're signing up for. It might… put a target on your back."
The two of you were at the hub now and Jack chuckled as he picked up an iPad, "I'm not afraid of David. He's a fucking coward and he's always punched down," He raised his eyes to you and added quickly, "no offense."
You dismissed him with a shake of your head, "None taken. So it's settled then. We're going."
He nodded, a smile on his face, and reached out his pinky towards you again, "It's a date."
You tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped and your heart rate likely doubled when you wrapped your pinky around his, hazel eyes soft and gentle on yours. The moment passed quickly and then he released you, off to find Robby to start hand offs.
***
As the weeks passed and the snow thawed you were beginning to wonder what you had gotten yourself into. Your sister had texted you when you RSVP'd as if everything was fine now, saying she was so excited to see you and who were you bringing she wanted to see pics was he hot how long had you been seeing each other? She wanted to gossip with you as if nothing had transpired since the last time you talked to her, probably a year ago now. As if the last time you saw her you hadn't told her that she was no longer your sister as far as you were concerned.
You had ignored each text, telling your mom everytime you spoke to her to ask Maya to stop texting you. That just because you were coming to the wedding didn't mean all was forgiven.
"It doesn't matter what I say to her baby, she has her heart set on the fact that you coming means you're ready to be her big sister again. She won't stop talking about it."
It made you both angry and incredibly sad that Maya was naive enough to believe that you could just forgive and forget like that. You had meant what you said about her no longer being your sister. Truthfully, you still felt like you never wanted to speak to her ever again.
"And what does your husband think?" You asked as carefully as you could. It was something you had wanted to ask for a long while, what your stepfather thought of the whole thing. He had been the only father you'd ever really known after your biological father cheated on your mother and skipped town. He was Maya's biological father, but he had always treated you as his own—granted, you knew your mother wouldn't have accepted anything else. But when all this happened, you had assumed you'd lose him. After all, Maya was his real daughter.
"He understands why you need your distance, even though he hates seeing you girls fight. I've caught him more than once digging up old home videos of the two of you playing dress up or putting on plays. He misses you."
Your eyes had watered and you made a mental note to text him after, "I wish it didn't have to be like this." You'd said softly, and meant it.
But you didn't know how to be in the same room with Maya and David and not have a world ending meltdown. And you were realizing as the wedding drew closer and closer that maybe you were making a colossal mistake.
Which was how you ended up paralyzed staring at your half packed suitcase the day you were set to leave while Abbot repeatedly beeped from his truck outside.
You had left the door unlocked, so eventually after you ignored phone call after phone call and didn't come to the door, he made his way inside, calling your name.
When he walked in your bedroom and saw you, he breathed a sigh of relief, "Christ, I thought I was gonna walk in here to see you fuckin' passed out or something. What's going on?"
You chewed on your thumbnail and then shook your head frantically, "I—I can't do this. I'm not going."
"Yes you can and yes you are."
"Abbot—"
"I think it's time you start calling me Jack if you want to convince people we're dating."
You sighed and looked up at him, panic fluttering around in your chest like a trapped bird, "This is a bad idea," You whispered.
He shook his head, "If nothing else you and I are gonna have a really fun weekend away from the ER, alright? When was the last time you skipped town?"
You rolled your eyes, "This isn't exactly my idea of a vacation."
He feigned offense with a hand to his chest, "You're not excited to spend a whole weekend with me upstate?"
Despite the impending panic attack you felt brewing, you tried to banter back, "Bringing you to my ex husband's wedding wasn't exactly how I envisioned our first date, no."
You were pleased to see his grin widen, "So you've been dreaming about our first date, then?"
You rolled your eyes again and started throwing more clothes haphazardly into your suitcase, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. Ignoring how easy it was to play with him, how quickly it soothed you. With his voice in your ear, you thought maybe it'd be almost tolerable getting through this weekend. Almost.
"Shut up and help me close my suitcase."
***
As Jack pulled away from your apartment, you turned around to look in the back seat. It was filled nearly to the brim with duffel bags, first aid kits, bandages, emergency food kits, warming blankets—
"Do you know something about this weekend that I don't?" You asked as you took in all the supplies.
He shrugged, "It's always good to be prepared. Besides, do you know how many weddings I've been to where at least one drunk idiot injured themselves or someone else and needed a doctor?"
You would not admit to him how endearing—or sexy—you found it that he had overprepared like this. You turned back towards the front, "Fair enough."
After a few minutes of riding in silence, he cleared his throat, "So, what should I know? About fake dating you?"
You fought a smirk, "I don't think there's much to know. You know me already. Besides, I doubt we'll be spending much time with anyone who'd be able to spot it since I'll be avoiding Maya and David like the plague."
He frowned, "What about your parents?"
"Oh, my mom and step dad know we're not actually dating."
His head turned towards you, "So they know this is actually just a revenge tour?"
You nodded, "Yep."
"And they're… Fine with that?"
You chewed the inside of your cheek, "I think secretly they're hoping being in the same room with Maya will… help repair our relationship. Or something."
Jack scoffed, "They don't honestly expect you to forgive her, do they?"
"I don't think my mom does, no. My father cheated on her when I was really little and left us. So she… Knows how I'm feeling."
He paused, "I'm sorry, that must've been really hard on you as a kid."
You stared out the window, chewed on your thumbnail as trees blurred past your window, "I used to think, when I was a kid, that I'd never be like my mom. I saw how… hurt she was and I promised myself I'd never pick a man like my father. And David wasn't anything like my father. He was ambitious, kind, funny, romantic…" Your eyes watered, "He took care of me until he didn't. So maybe it's me, maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I was just doomed to repeat generational patterns by virtue of being my mother's daughter."
After a moment, Jack gave what sounded like an almost pained groan, "Don't do that."
"What?"
"Let him off the hook like that and put the blame back on yourself. He fucked up. Not you."
You knew there was no sense in arguing with him, convincing him that you must've done something to cause him to stray. To look to someone who was so much like you, but younger and less damaged. He could've picked anyone to cheat with, but he fell in love with your baby sister. The same sister you had cared for so vigilantly to make sure she avoided the missteps you took. So that she wouldn't have twin scars to match yours. Practically made in your image, except she was less damaged. How could you get Jack to understand what that felt like? How could you not blame yourself?
So you didn't say anything. You let the silence fall instead and tried your best to keep your sniffling to a minimum. After a few minutes Jack reached across the cabin and gently took your hand in his own.
***
A few hours and many gas station stops later, Jack pulled into the parking lot of the hotel you were staying at. You hopped out of the car first and he watched you from the rearview mirror for a few minutes before following suit.
You were so sad and quiet on the ride up he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake, convincing you to come here. But he couldn't stand the thought of you moping at home, building this wedding up in your head to be more than it was. Obviously, you had every right to be upset. Frankly, if you came to him and said you wanted to burn the whole place to the ground, he'd start googling where he could find kerosene nearby.
What he didn't want was you deciding that this wedding marked the end of your life when really, he thought it was probably liberating you. He wished he had known when you were getting divorced because he would've thrown you a party. He would never suggest that you were lucky for the way things had played out, but he was relieved on your behalf that it had all happened so early in your marriage, in your life. You had so much left of it. He wanted you to see that, that it was possible to be happy again even after your whole world had imploded as violently as it did.
He hated that you had so much shame wrapped up in the dissolution of your marriage when that fucker was the one the blame. It was horrible enough he had chosen your little sister, but the timing of it, right after your miscarriage, made his fucking blood boil. When you needed him the most he was busy warming your sister's bed. It made him sick with rage. And then to hear you blame yourself on top of it all? It was too much. Jack thought it would be a miracle if he made it through this weekend without punching the coward's lights out.
And then, to top it all off, he wondered if he had an ulterior motive for all this. That maybe he was so eager to play the part of your boyfriend because he really did want to be your boyfriend. It wasn't a novel thought, he had wondered to himself many times before if the reason he allowed you to get so close when he had historically pushed everyone else away, especially after his wife, was because he was harboring feelings for you. He had never been able to answer the question. Or maybe he was just too afraid to be honest with himself about it. For a while he had told himself it didn't matter how he felt about it because you were married. But now…Well, things had changed.
He settled his hands on your hips when he came up behind you as you were beginning to unpack the bags from the back seat, "We should probably set some ground rules before this goes any further."
You spun around, his hands still on your hips. You didn't seem bothered by his closeness, "What d'you mean?"
"Well," Jack started, feeling the heat begin to crawl up his neck at having this conversation while standing this close to you. His leg was beginning to ache from driving with the prosthetic all day and he leaned into the pain in an attempt to ground himself, "I'm a very physically affectionate man when I'm in a relationship. So, if you're uncomfortable with that, we should talk about it."
He watched the bob of your throat as you swallowed, "That's fine."
Jack hummed and looped his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and gently pulled until your hips were pushed up against his, "Maybe we should have a safe word."
"A safe word?" Was it his imagination that you sounded a bit breathless? You had only been here a few minutes and he was already in danger of crossing the line.
He nodded and bit his lip, "Yeah, so I know if I need to back off."
"That sounds… Like a good idea. Very mature."
"You pick, what's our safe word?" While walking around to you at the side of the truck, he had noticed what looked like a couple standing by the entrance of the hotel, watching. It could have been Maya and David, it could have been anyone. But on the off chance it was someone you knew, he wanted to make sure he was playing his part well. At least, that's what he told himself he was doing when he nudged his nose gently against yours.
He thought he felt you gasp against his mouth and it was taking almost everything he had not to kiss you.
"Troponin." You said, and he blinked. Confusion clouding his features.
"Troponin?" He repeated, eyebrows knitting together. He wondered if he had heard you correctly. He was this close to you, close enough to devour you, and you were thinking about a STEMI?
"Our safe word," You said and licked your lips. His eyes trailed the path of your tongue hungrily.
"You want our safe word to be troponin?" When you nodded he smiled, "Okay, troponin it is," he pressed a kiss to the bridge of your nose and then backed away slightly, "In the spirit of total transparency, I do think we have an audience."
He almost wished he hadn't told you. You had relaxed so much under his touch and he watched the tension return to your shoulders as you peered around, trying to locate the possible enemy.
But then when you saw them, beginning to walk towards you, your shoulders drooped, "It's just my mom and stepdad."
Jack watched a few steps away as your mother pulled you into a tight hug, your step dad watching with a bemused smile on his face and hands in his pockets. You looked so much like your mother. He remembered thinking it the first time he'd met her after your miscarriage and it still held true. She talked like you too, or rather, you talked like her. The same mannerisms and same lilt to your voices, the same warm laugh. If he closed his eyes, he might have a hard time telling you apart.
"Mom, you remember Jack."
He shook your mother's hand in both of his, murmured that it was good to see her again.
"And you, Dr. Abbot. Thank you for looking out for her, even outside of the emergency room."
"My pleasure, but call me Jack, please."
You introduced him to your step dad who seemed to be a reserved man of few words, but friendly enough.
"Well the two of you must've had a long drive so I'll let you get settled, but—" Your mom turned to look at you pointedly, "—We knew you were here because Maya knew you were here so I wouldn't be surprised if she shows up at your hotel room unannounced."
You frowned, "How did she know I was here?"
"Well," Your mom sighed, "It would seem that you never stopped sharing your location with her on your phone."
You groaned and clawed your phone from your pocket, "Oh, Jesus fuck—"
Your stepdad winced, "Language, please."
"I don't want to see her." You said, hands shaking as you unlocked your phone, undoubtedly trying to quickly stop sharing your location, "Can you please tell her I don't want to see her right now? I'm not—" Your voice sounded close to breaking, "Please, I'm not ready to see her."
Jack's hands itched to reach for you, but he clasped them behind his back instead. As far as your parents were concerned the two of you were not really dating, he was just here as a friend. He didn't want to make anything more complicated for you. But still, he felt like you were still in the ED, and thus his responsibility. He wanted to fix it.
"We'll tell her," your stepdad said softly, "But it's her wedding, you'll have to talk to her eventually—"
"I know that," you snapped, then immediately softened, "Sorry, I—It's been a long day. I'll talk to her, I promise. Just not today."
The three of them began hushed conversations that were becoming more and more strained. You had downplayed to him what your stepdad was hoping for, he thought now. You had been here only a few minutes and he was already laying into you about how "that's your sister" and "you're her big sister you should be the bigger person" and "you can't ignore her forever."
You absolutely could, if that was what you wanted. And Jack understood the man's stake in it. It had to hurt watching the girls you raised become estranged. But had he sat his other daughter down and explained to her the consequences of breaking your trust like that? Of betraying you like that? It sounded like the two of you had been close, best friends. Not only did she sleep with your husband, but her actions had resulted in you losing your best friend. You had a traumatic surgery and you ended up cheated on and divorced within a year and you hadn't been able to talk to your best friend about it. It was cruel to now ask you to be the bigger person.
Jack began walking back towards the back of the truck so he could continue unloading your baggage, heavily favoring his right leg. He was in a decent amount of pain, but he may have been playing it up so—
"Jack, is your leg bothering you?"
You were by his side in a moment, taking bags he had unloaded and carrying them on your shoulder.
"I'm fine," he said, "Just a little sore from driving all day." You started rummaging through his back seat, "What're you looking for?"
"Your cane or crutches or something—"
He scoffed and gently pulled you from the car, "They're in my duffel, I don't need them right now."
"But—"
"Sweetheart—" Your mother interrupted, "Your dad and I are gonna go, we'll see you at breakfast?"
You nodded and quickly hugged them goodbye and Jack felt immediate relief at their absence. They were nice enough people, especially your mother who he could tell was more on your side about the whole thing, but they were still being too hard on you in his opinion.
Once inside the room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic with a soft groan. He didn't look up, but he felt you watching him, knew you were trying to think of some way to help.
"Can I get you anything?" You asked finally.
He shook his head, massaging his limb gently, "No, I'll be fine after a hot shower and working some lotion into my leg."
"Oh, that reminds me—" You walked off towards the bathroom and then returned a few seconds later, "—Good, they remembered. I called a few days ago to ask them to put a shower chair in here. Just wanted to check so I could call down if they forgot."
Jack blinked, "Well, that was… Very thoughtful of you, thank you."
"Least I can do," You sighed, "After the ledges you're sure to talk me down from this weekend."
Digging into your pocket, you pulled out an unopened pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter.
"What the fuck?" Jack laughed, "You don't smoke."
"I know, I thought it was a great weekend to start—Hey!"
Jack had snatched them from you before you had the chance to unwrap them, "Do you know how fuckin' hard it is to kick a nicotine addiction? Do you?"
You sighed, "You're really gonna lecture me about this?"
"Yeah, I absolutely am. I'm not gonna watch you be self destructive all weekend. That's not why we're here. It's so you can see how better off you are."
You pushed your lower lip out into a pout, "You don't think I deserve a cigarette in this situation?"
Fuck, why'd you have to go and do that? It was unfair. Now all he could think about was your lower lip between his teeth— He could not let you know how easily you could wrap him around your finger. Clearing his throat, he pushed the packet of cigarettes into his pocket, "You take the shower first, you'll feel better after. I'm going to hide these while you're in the bathroom."
You looked for a moment like you might argue, but then your eye caught on what looked like a welcome basket on the dresser, filled with snacks and—wine, "Fine. Have the cigarettes. But I will be opening the wine after I get out of the shower."
Jack fought a smirk, "Only if you let me order us some room service. You've eaten nothing but jerky and Red Bull all day."
You glared at him from where you stood, arms crossed over your chest before turning on your heel towards the bathroom, "Fine, fine. Whatever. But only because I'm starving, not because I think you're right."
He watched as you sauntered into the bathroom, holding your bag of toiletries and a change of clothes. Then, with a sigh, he laid down flat on the bed.
"Abbot, you are so fucked," he murmured to himself. Then he propped himself up and reached for the phone on the nightstand.
***
Troponin. Troponin. It was so stupid, that that had been the only word you could think of.
A safe word. The very implication meaning that there could be a scenario where Jack Abbot could touch you and you wouldn't like it. Absolutely absurd.
No, the only real, looming danger of this weekend was that Jack Abbot would touch you and you would like it too much. You didn't think he knew it yet, but Jack had the power to break your heart even more than it already had been. You were afraid of him, but not for reasons he'd understand.
Jack was sound asleep next to you, snoring softly. The moonlight that spilled through the balcony doors lit up his watch enough that you could see it was a bit past 3:20 AM.
There hadn't been much back and forth about sharing the bed. Jack had said when you got out of the shower that he didn't mind calling and asking for a cot, but you had waved him off. Besides which, if you were going to be convincing that you were actually a couple, on the chance that your sister stopped by unnanounced you didn't want her seeing you were sleeping separately.
So you had each climbed into opposite sides of the bed, bid each other goodnight, and that was that.
Between being a night owl by default and the number of Red Bulls you'd had that day, sleep wasn't an option for you. You would've been surprised that Jack was able to sleep at all, both of you accustomed to working through the night, if you didn't also know he had a prescription for his insomnia.
So it was just you wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about troponin. A protein used to detect heart damage. Faced with the impossibility of the weekend, seeing both your ex and your little sister for the first time since you found out about their affair, all with your attending by your side, pretending to be in love with you, you thought it likely you might end this weekend with an abnormal troponin reading.
That's ridiculous, he had said when you told him David had accused you of sleeping with him. And while it may have seemed ridiculous to him, you understood why David had thought it. The hero worship was likely blatant in your voice and on your face whenever you talked about him.
You turned your head to the side and looked at Jack's sleeping face. Peaceful, wrinkles smoothed out. His silver stubble glinted in the moonlight. You liked when he grew it out like this, just a little bit.
You would never admit you were in love with him, but weren't you, just a little bit?
You blew out a long breath and turned your face back towards the ceiling. It was going to be a long weekend.
***
"I feel like I'm gonna be sick."
Jack turned to look at you as you said it. You were walking to the welcome breakfast, which was being held at the venue. It was a winery draped in greenery and curtained by trees. The couple would be married in the garden that overlooked the pond outside.
"Do you need to sit down?"
You shook your head and stopped walking, "I feel like there's a boulder on my chest," your breathing quickened and you brought your fist to your sternum, rubbing clockwise, as if it would free the pressure.
Jack stepped in fromt of you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, left hand sliding below your jaw to your neck so he could feel your carotid. Your pulse jackhammered against his fingers and sweat glistened on your forehead and upper lip.
"Panic attack?" He asked softly and you nodded, "We don't have to go in right away, we can be late. Take a lap around the pond."
You shook your head, "No, no Maya's in the door she's watching us. I don't want—Ah, fuck David's there too."
"Hey, look at me," Your eyes darted to his and he shook his head, "Don't look at him. What d'you wanna do?"
"Well I want to go home, but that's not happening."
Jack smiled, "Okay, let me rephrase that, what do you need to get yourself in there?"
Your chin was wobbling as you looked at him and you shook your head slightly, "I don't know, I don't—" Your eyes trailed over his shoulder.
Jack angled himself in order to block your view, "Hey—" Your eyes met his again, wet and frantic, "It's just you and me right now. They're not as scary as you think they are. You've built them up to be these scary monsters in your head and what they did to you was monstrous, but they're still just people. They should be afraid of you. Do you want to piss them off?"
Finally, your lip curled up the tiniest bit, "Yeah."
"Great. What should we do then? What would piss them off?"
You bit down on your lip gently and tilted your head. You seemed a bit shy, a feeling he wasn't used to seeing on you.
"Could you kiss me, you think?"
Immediately, Jack felt heat spread through his chest. He smirked, hoping he looked more nonchalant than he felt, "Are they watching still?"
Your eyes darted over his shoulder and then you nodded.
Hands still on your cheeks, he moved one hand to cup the back of your neck and gently pull you to him. His heart raced as he tasted you, slowly explored your mouth, relished in the way it felt for your lips to move against his.
It took enormous effort for him to pull away from you, but he managed it. Your pupils were blown out and you seemed a bit breathless, but he wasn't sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to see. You had only asked him to kiss you to make your ex jealous, he reminded himself.
"What do you think? Did it work?"
You peered over Jack's shoulder and nodded, "David stormed off. Maya's still there."
Jack hummed, running his fingers over your cheeks one last time before dropping them, "She probably wants to talk to you. Are you ready?"
You inhaled, slow and deep, "Will you hold my hand?"
Jack felt himself melt. He thought there was little he wouldn't do for you, "Of course," he slipped his hand into yours, ran his thumb over the soft skin on the back of your hand, "Remember, you've done nothing wrong. They should be afraid of you."
You kept pace with him, the venue looming ever closer in front of you, "Right."
Jack squeezed your hand reassuringly as you approached your sister, and shit, did your mother have strong genes. Even only being half sisters, the two of you were nearly identical, though there were obvious differences to Jack. Your sister was perfectly manicured, nails done, lips glossed. She obviously had some sort of workout regimen if her toned arms and legs were any indication. Likely pilates, he thought.
Obviously, Jack found you gorgeous. He knew your bitten down nails and often chapped lips were a symptom of the job—Long, manicured nails often led to broken gloves and who had time to constantly reapply chapstick in the ER?—But there was something to the two sisters standing side by side. He could see the stress and heartbreak of the last year on you whereas your sister looked nonplussed. Whether that was just an image she wished to project on her wedding weekend or if she really felt no remorse, he wasn't sure.
But he wasn't in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt. He disliked her instantly on principal.
Her throat bobbed as you approached. You came to a stop, a roughly three foot buffer between you. The two of you seemed unsure what to do next, staring at each other, both of you glassy eyed.
And then, without warning, Maya threw her arms around your neck. For a moment, you froze, and then you released Jack's hand, slowly easing your arms around her. He watched your face crumple just slightly, half hidden by Maya's shoulder.
"I'm so happy you came," Maya said, and Jack had to strain to hear it, her voice muffled by your shoulder, "I couldn't imagine getting married without you here."
You didn't say anything at all, but you kept holding her, that bereft look in your eyes.
Maya pulled away, a smile on her face, though tears began to cascade over her lash line. Then she turned to Jack, "And Dr. Abbot, I'm glad you're here too. You know, I always said there was something more between the two of you, the way she always talked about you."
You were despondent, eyes aimless as you stared at nothing. Jack turned his attention to Maya and he didn't smile, "It wasn't like that."
Her mouth fell open, maybe realizing her mistake, the implication, "Oh—Oh n—no, of course not—"
"Jack," you said softly, "save me a seat inside?"
He knew he had just got done telling you they weren't monsters, but he was ready to take it back. He didn't want to leave you alone with her. He had encouraged you to come here and now he thought maybe he'd been wrong.
But he nodded anyway, walked into the venue with his hands clasped behind his back. You weren't his. He kept forgetting that. He was acting like a fucking guard dog and you weren't even his to defend.
It was barely 10 AM and Jack strode over to the bar.
***
"I really am so happy you're here. Mom said you wouldn't come, but I knew you would— And this place! Isn't it gorgeous?"
Maya babbled on and on while you felt… Empty. She was discussing wedding planning with you as if nothing had changed. You remembered sitting with her on your living room floor after you'd gotten engaged, scrap booking your dream wedding.
You wished you could dig up that scrap book now because while you had had to settle and compromise on most things, it seemed that she had gotten everything.
The venue, the welcome breakfast in the tearoom, the open bar— You bet from the floral centerpieces on each table that she'd even gotten the same florist.
You had ended up getting married in a courthouse with a small dinner party afterwards. It was all you'd been able to afford between law school and med school.
Still, it had been the happiest day of your life because you loved him. You would have done anything for him.
And now you saw that same pure giddiness on your sister's face.
"Look, Maya, I don't—The last time we talked, I'm sorry I was so harsh, but I meant what I said. I'm not here to make amends."
She stared at you, almost disbelieving as the happiness began the melt off her face. You almost felt guilty, "Then why are you here?" She asked, bitterness slipping into her voice.
"I don't know. To get closure." You shook your head, "Maybe there's also a small part of me that thinks I can convince you not to go through with it."
Without hesitation, Maya stepped away from you, "I've had this conversation with mom already several times. Just because he wasn't good for you doesn't mean he's not good for me."
You tilted your head slightly and felt the tears burn the backs of your eyes, "You think you're the exception to how he treated me? Did you know you weren't the first woman he stepped out on me with? You were just the final straw."
She was shaking her head rapidly, "No, no, that's not true. He left you. He said—He said you wanted to make things work after… After you found out, but he wanted to be with me."
Your breath shook, "Well he lied to you. I told him that same day I found out that I was calling an attorney and he got down on hands and knees and begged me to stay—"
"You're lying!"
"—Ask mom! I stayed with her and dad that night, she sat next to me when I called the lawyer."
Maya shook her head, "Mom has not been subtle about how she feels about everything. She's just as bad as you, trying to convince me to leave him—"
"That's because we both know how it feels to love a man like David and we're trying to spare you from that—"
"I'm not a fucking child!" Her voice came out shrill and startled the couple that happened to be walking by at the time. But Maya, always perfect, flashed a perfect smile at them and recomposed herself before turning back to you, "I know it's difficult for both you and Mom to believe but I'm happy. And I'm sorry for how things played out, really and truly, I can't apologize enough and I feel sick about how I hurt you, but I don't regret it. He's the love of my life."
There was a pit in your stomach, but you knew when a battle was a lost cause. She really and truly believed he was it for her. And maybe he was, maybe she was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. But you had a difficult time believing that your sister was capable of reforming a man so quickly. Once a cheater, always a cheater. There was a reason that was the saying.
You swallowed and looked down at your feet, "Did you at least get a good lawyer for the prenup?"
"The… prenup?" The uncertainty in her voice made you look up. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she shook her head, "What're you talking about?"
You blinked for a moment, sure you must've misheard, or maybe she had misheard you, "The prenup. He made us do a prenup before we got married, said it was only practical. It was why the divorce was finalized so quickly."
You watched as her face transformed, defensiveness replaced with something that looked a lot like pity, "We don't have one," she said softly.
Confused and a bit nauseous now, you shook your head, "That… That doesn't make any sense. He was so insistent on it when we—Are you sure?"
She nodded slowly, "I'm sorry. But it really is different between us. I'm sure of it."
The room was spinning and you felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you. You were freefalling.
"That makes sense, actually," you said eventually, beginning to step away from her to go inside, "I've always been the person people use for a trial run. Just didn't realize my husband was rehearsing marriage on me."
Maya called after you, but you had heard enough. You needed to get away from her. To get away from David. You didn't hear Jack when he called after you and you didn't notice him trailing behind you while you looked for somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe to fall apart.
But when you found an empty room, likely the bridal suite that Maya would get ready in tomorrow, you moved to close the door— But found Jack's foot shoved between the door and the frame.
"Hey—what's going on? Can I come in?"
Immediately, you felt yourself soften at his voice. You felt nearly conditioned at this point to feel relief and comfort at his presence. There were many times during your residency where that voice had calmly talked you through a very scary case or his warm hand had guided you through an intense procedure. He was like a balm to your nervous system.
So after just a moment, you pulled the door back and let him in.
"What happened?" He asked as he closed the door behind you.
You shrugged helplessly and felt the tears begin to fall, an unstoppable wave behind your eyes, "They—they didn't get a prenup."
Jack frowned, "Okay…I don't understand."
You looked up at the ceiling, a halfhearted attempt to stem the flow of tears. All of this had been a terrible, awful idea, only spurned on by your schoolgirl crush on your attending. And now he was seeing you like this, humiliated. It seemed every time you thought you'd hit rock bottom, the ledge would collapse beneath you, revealing several more stories to go.
"Before we got married he insisted on a prenup. I didn't really mind it, I thought it was pragmatic at the time. Very modern," You sniffed, "and in the end it made the divorce a lot easier. But he didn't make Maya sign one." You scrunched your mouth to the side in an attempt to stop your lip from wobbling, "I don't know why it hurts so much. Of all the things he's done to me, I don't know why it bothers me so much that he didn't have her sign one—That he must think she's it for him and he didn't think that when he married me.
"And if that wasn't bad enough," You continued after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes, "He lied to her. Told her he was the one who ended it between us because he wanted to be with her." The memories flashed behind your eyes as you spoke, finding them in bed together, David chasing after you when you fled, tears streaming down his face as he got down on his knees and swore it was a mistake, "He begged me to take him back. Not even just that once, but for a while afterwards. He stalled on signing the papers for weeks. But he somehow convinced her that it was him who asked for the divorce so he could be with her."
When you were brave enough to look up at Jack, he was just watching you quietly, arms crossed, "It just feels like…" You said slowly, "It would be so much easier if she was just the other woman, but he did give her the wedding I always wanted and he didn't make her sign the prenup and it feels like maybe he did just upgrade to a newer model—"
"That's not true—"
"—And then I feel awful for not wanting that because that means in a few years he'll probably hurt my sister the way he hurt me. But the alternative is that I just wasn't enough for him, I wasn't a good enough wife and she is. And either way I'm still the one alone and heartbroken and miserable."
The more you spoke, the more frantic and rushed your speech became and you couldn't catch your breath.
"Okay—Can I—? Is it okay if I hold you for a minute?" Jack asked, arms already outstretched.
In the back of your head, you knew it was dangerous to keep seeking out his touch for comfort. But here he was offering and you were at risk of falling apart. So you nodded, let yourself fall into his arms, his body warm and solid against yours. You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around his waist in turn, further closing any distance between you.
"We knew this was going to be difficult no matter what," He said softly, running a soothing hand from your neck down your back, "But you need to remember that the decisions they made don't reflect back on you."
You scoffed, "Oh, they don't?"
"No!" Keeping his arms around you, he pulled back from you so he could see your face, "Fuck them. I don't care if they're fucking soulmates, it doesn't justify what they did to you."
You rolled your eyes and shook your head and Jack gently grasped your chin, pulling your face just slightly down so your eyes met his. His eyebrows were raised and the way he was looking at you so intently, his face so close to yours had your heart in your throat, "Maybe you don't believe me right now, but I'm gonna do my damnedest to get it through that pretty head of yours this weekend that you deserved better. You deserve the world. Nobody deserves what they did, but especially not you."
His closeness was so soothing to you, you rested your forehead against his, "Why're you so nice to me?"
He hummed, "Because you're one of my favorite people in the world and it makes me… fucking irate to think that you don't know how incredible you are."
Suddenly embarrassed by the way his words made your stomach flip, you buried your face in the crook of his neck instead, "You're one of my favorite people, too."
His arms tightened around you and he kissed your head, "You ready to go get a drink?"
You sighed and pulled away from him, "God knows I need one."
With that smirk on his face that made your knees weak, he led you back out by the hand, turning his head back over his shoulder to give you a quick wink. With him by your side, real date or fake date, you thought maybe people would see you as worthy. If someone like Jack Abbot could love you then maybe you weren't the pathetic mess that they all thought you were.
***
"You doing okay, baby?" Your mom asked immediately as Jack led you over to her table, "I saw you rush by after talking to Maya, you seemed upset."
Jack pulled your chair out for you and as you sat down he gently squeezed your shoulders, "Better now," you said honestly as Jack sat down next to you.
"You wanna talk about it?" Your mom reached to squeeze your hand.
You shook your head, "No, I'm good. I promise."
Jack leaned over to you, lips brushing against your ear in a way that sent chills down your spine, "David just walked back in the room. He can't keep his eyes off you."
You turned your head so you were nose to nose with Jack. You expected him to put space between you, but he remained there. You were both surprised and pleased to see his pupils dilate in front of you.
"Well," You reached out and ran your fingers through his silver curls, "We should make sure we give him a show then, yeah?"
A wolfish grin spread across his face and he took your hand, pressing your fingers to his mouth before curling his pinky around yours, "Let's make it one to remember."
For the rest of the breakfast, Jack hand fed you cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, kissed on your shoulders and neck, and kept a firm hand on your thigh, a hand that steadily wandered higher as the morning waned into afternoon.
"I'm gonna go get us another round of drinks," You said quietly in his ear.
"Okay," His eyes trailed down your face until they landed on your mouth. You watched, arousal spreading like fire through your veins as he bit his lower lip, "Gimme a kiss first?"
You were pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk enough to not feel the fear of your own desire. Things were getting precarious. You wanted him too much. You had had just a taste of him earlier and you were greedy for more.
But you knew, somewhere, David was watching. Maya was watching. You could worry about your feelings for Jack later. When you kissed him this time it felt full to the brim with tension, Jack moving his hand to the back of your neck so you couldn't move. It sent all your neurons firing, the smell of his aftershave and the taste of wine on his breath.
You felt almost dizzy by the time you pulled away from him and headed to the bar.
***
Jack was in his own head as he watched you walk off to the bar. It was a good thing you weren't looking at him because he was sure there were hearts in his eyes right now after getting to kiss you twice this morning. He was aware that he was toeing a line with you, that you were likely only humoring him to make your ex husband jealous.
But he couldn't help it. Especially after you'd been crying to him just a bit before. He wanted to make you feel loved and wanted, it was the least he could do for you this weekend.
"So, when're you gonna tell her?"
Jack turned to look at your mother who was now leaning across your empty seat to talk to him, a knowing smile on her face.
"Sorry?"
"When are you gonna tell her that you're not pretending?"
Well, shit. He thought maybe he was just coming across as a very convincing actor, but your mother had seen right through him already. Jack laughed nervously and shook his head, "I just… I just want her to feel good, that's all. She deserves better."
Your mother hummed, "No, I think you're exactly what she deserves. Handsome, intelligent, and most importantly, you've always looked out for her. I think you'd find she feels the same."
Jack shook his head as his eyes wandered back to you, "She's still in love with David."
"She's in love with the future she almost had with him. But I think a future with you would be even brighter."
He ran a hand along his jaw, "She doesn't need me or anyone else for that, she's created a bright future for herself all on her own."
Your mom's grin widened, "The fact that you know that just reinforces how good for her you'd be."
Jack was smiling, but he sighed. Your mother meant well and he knew the two of you were very close, but nothing was going to happen between you beyond the show you were putting on this weekend.
He was old, sad, widowed, an amputee. He wasn't even close to the man you deserved.
He wouldn't sit and explain all that to your mother. Besides, you were on your way back to the table now. He surprised himself with the force of his own grin when he met your eyes as you walked back over.
You were too good for him, but that wouldn't stop him from savoring every second pretending you were his.
***
After breakfast had morphed into lunch, everyone broke off to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.
Still buzzing, you and Jack stumbled arm and arm back to your hotel room. Immediately, Jack sat at the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic and liner, groaning with relief as he did.
You bit your lip, "Can I help?"
He looked up at you and shook his head, "You don't have to—"
"I want to. Please."
He must have been more innebriated than he thought because eventually, he gave in, watching you intently as you wiped down his leg and then his prosthetic. All he could think as he watched you was that no one had taken care of him like this since his wife.
You warmed lotion in your hands before gently massaging it into his leg and he couldn't hold in the groan that clawed up his throat.
He heard a chuckle from you and finally had the good sense to be embarrassed, "Sorry," he said quickly, "I'm just—I'm not used to anyone else—"
"It's okay, Jack. You don't have to explain." You finished massaging the rest of lotion into his skin and then leaned back on your heels, "Is that better?"
He nodded, "Much."
You sat on the bed next to him and without thinking much about it he slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you back until you were both laying flat against the mattress.
You burrowed closer to him, head on his chest, "Thank you for everything this morning. I don't know how I would've gotten through any of it without you."
He pressed his cheek into your forehead, "It's me and you this weekend. I'm here for whatever you need."
You propped yourself up to see his face, "I don't know of anyone else in my life who would've volunteered to come do this with me."
"Why not?" He smirked, "It's a pretty good gig. Paid for hotel and food and drink. I get to kiss a girl way out of my league all weekend long."
You tilted your head a bit to the side, a look on your face he usually associated with when you ran a list of differential diagnoses in your head. You were focused, assessing—On him, it seemed.
"I won't forget it," You said finally, "What you've done, what you're trying to do for me."
"Sweetheart, I'd do a hell of a lot more to make you see how wonderful you are. And I mean that."
He watched your eyes grow wet and then you sniffed and looked away from him, "Um, I'm gonna jump in the shower now, if that's alright with you?"
He nodded slowly, "'Course."
As soon as you removed yourself from his arms, he missed you. If things were different, if you were actually a couple, he likely would have followed you into the shower. As he listened to the spray of the shower against the walls and your soft humming, he closed his eyes and imagined himself in his shower chair, you stradling his lap.
When you walked back into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around your still wet body, Jack had to wave you off when you rushed to help with his crutches so that you wouldn't notice the tent in his pants.
He felt ashamed of himself when he finally did get in the shower and continued with the fantasy, grunting softly as he came down the drain, wondering what it would have felt like to spill inside you instead.
***
Your breathing was still erratic as you arrived to the rehearsal dinner, but knowing Jack would be next to you the whole time was a relief.
When your knee began jumping under the table as speeches were beginning to start, a warm hand engulfed your leg and squeezed gently.
"I think maybe I should step out," You whispered when your ex father in law began to stand, headed for the microphone. You felt nauseous. You hadn't prepared for the fact that people who used to be your family and friends, who had made speeches at your wedding would now be making speeches about your sister.
Before you could high tail it out of there, your ex father in law was speaking and though Jack was in your ear asking if you needed some air, you were transfixed. Unable to stop listening. He talked of the last year as if it was a revelation for his son. There was no direct mention of you, but instead a "black spot" in David's life for more than a decade. His father watched him wither under your love like a neglected house plant. It was only when your sister entered his life—conveniently no mention of how they had met—that he began to really flourish. That David grew to be a man his father was proud of.
You were gonna be sick. You were hurt, but mostly angry. You had thought your relationship with David's family had been good. But clearly, they had fallen in love with Maya and become disillusioned with you. Just like David.
In your cloud of rage, you pushed back from the table, chair scraping loudly against the wood floor and stood. You realized heads had turned to you at this point, but you didn't care about that much right now. You needed to get out.
As you spun on your heel to flee, you heard your father in law make a stupid joke to redirect everyone's attention away from you. You thought maybe you heard Jack call after you, but you kept walking, blood pounding in your ears.
The late spring evening air had a chill to it now that the sun had set. You walked some distance away from the building, still shaking, before reaching into the pocket of your dress and pulling out your pack of cigarettes and lighter. Jack hadn't put much effort into hiding them and you'd found them earlier in his nightstand while he was in the shower.
You weren't a smoker, but during med school you had been known to smoke the occasional cigarette while drunk. You thought as you went to take a pull that your lungs might forget the habit, force you to choke the smoke back up, but it went down smooth. Like riding a bike.
"I thought you'd quit those once you started your residency," The sound of David's voice behind you had your shoulders tensing.
"I'm having a mid life crisis," you managed to deadpan and brought the cigarette back to your lips.
"Well," He stepped next to you, but you avoided looking at him. It would be the first time you saw him up close like this in a little more than a year, "Maybe with it you'll finally grow out of making everything about you."
He wanted a fight. You wouldn't rise to the occasion. It was amazing, really, that after everything he had come out here to fight. You wouldn't give it to him.
"You've really upset Maya today. I thought you were here to support your sister, but it seems like you're just hell bent on ruining her day."
"Yeah, well, she ruined my life so the least she can do is give me a day."
He scoffed, "You love to make yourself the victim, but you cheated too. And you had the audacity to fucking bring him here to rub it in my face."
You hummed, "We only started seeing each other six months ago. I never cheated on you," Finally, you turned to look at him and it hurt as spectacularly as you thought it would. It felt like fireworks erupted in your chest. There was the tiny mole on his jaw that you used to kiss every morning. There was the curl on his forehead you used to brush out of his eyes when he went too long without a haircut. "But if I had cheated on you, would it really bother you? Or would it just be a weight off your conscience to think maybe you didn't hurt me as badly as you did?"
He shook his head, "I'm not blind, the way he came in our house that day—That wasn't the way a leader treats their subordinate. Not unless they're fucking."
"He was trying to save my life," You ground out, and with it, your cigarette, "something you should have been just as concerned about, you know, as my husband."
As you turned to leave, you felt his hand circle your wrist and you snapped back towards him like a rubber band. You were briefly shocked at his touch, not afraid necessarily, just surprised that he was trying to prevent you from leaving.
"You had a miscarriage," he said, and you felt his hot breath fan your face, the sickly sweet smell of bourbon flooding your nostrils, "you weren't fucking stabbed."
For a moment, his words took you back two years ago, to texting Jack, alone in your bed. How even to him you tried to sound dismissive. It's probably nothing but… Tell me if I'm overreacting… I feel a little lightheaded, but I can probably sleep it off. How much of a burden David had made you feel like, that you felt you should downplay everything to Jack. The pain you were in, both physically and emotionally. How excruciating the loneliness was, how clearly repulsive David had found you.
You thought maybe you would've preferred being stabbed. Maybe it would have come with less complicated emotions. Maybe your husband would have taken your pain seriously. Maybe he would have laid in bed with you and comforted you instead of sexting your sister.
"Hey sweetheart," Jack's voice floats through the air before you can say anything else to David and he drops your wrist, "Everything okay?"
You took a step back from David, into the warmth of Jack's chest, "Fine, I was just taking a smoke break."
That earned you a double take, but he must have decided it wasn't worth scolding you over in front of David because he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, "Your mother's looking for you, why don't you head back inside? I'll be right behind you."
You frowned and turned back to him, but he just winked at you in the moonlight and then nodded his head back towards the building.
***
Jack had been watching you and David from a distance as soon as you'd left. Frankly, he hadn't wanted David to speak to you alone at all, especially after the speech his father had made, but you didn't run away when David approached you. And he knew you could handle yourself, had watched you do it with difficult patients. You would even hold your own around him on the rare occasion the two of you butted heads in the ER.
But there was something about the way your body language shifted when he was around. You tensed and then seemed to curl inward on yourself. Like you were afraid of taking up too much space around him. He'd never seen you like that around anyone. It was what made him stay, watching you both carefully, just in case.
He waited patiently. Until you turned to leave and David stopped you.
You weren't helpless. Jack knew you knew how to get out of a hold like that. You had told him once before you took self defense classes pretty regularly and you tried to convince the nurses to go with you when you could. You could've thrown David on his ass easily.
But you didn't, you just wilted further. It infuriated him, just like it infuriated him when you had the miscarriage. There was something about David that turned you into someone he didn't recognize. He wondered if David knew it, if he realized how vibrant you became when you pushed yourself out from underneath his thumb.
When you let him keep you there, keep you from leaving, Jack couldn't watch it anymore. He knew you didnt need rescuing, but the blood was roaring in his ears and suddenly his legs were moving of their own volition and then— Hey sweetheart.
You seemed relieved by his intervention, and that bothered him even more. Because you could have left at any time, but David made you feel trapped.
He watched you walk away after he'd told you your mom was looking for you—a lie—and then turned back to David, "You touch her again," he said quietly, "and I'll break your fucking neck."
David laughed and ran a hand along his jaw, "Threatening a man on his wedding weekend. Very classy, Dr. Abbot. And bold considering you had an affair with my first wife."
Jack shook his head, "I never touched your wife inappropriately while you were still together. Unlike you, I greatly respect the sanctity of marriage."
For the first time, David's projected mask of casual indifference slipped. It bothered him immensely to be accused of anything immoral and it seemed no one in his life, except you, had pointed out to his face that he had. It didn't bother him that he had hurt you, Jack realized, it bothered him that anyone else thought less of his values. Or worse, thought he had none at all.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jack smirked as he backed away, "That was your one and only warning. Congratulations, man. I hope the second marriage sticks better than the first."
When he found you back inside, you were sitting with your mother, heads huddled together as you drank a dirty martini. He sat in the empty seat next to you and reached for the pack of cigarettes you'd left on the table.
"Hey—" You said indignantly, but Jack pocketed them before you could reach for them.
"You weren't supposed to have those." He said, eyebrows raised.
You pushed your lip out in an exaggerated pout, "But they made me feel so much better."
"Hm," Unable to resist, Jack ran a thumb over your lower lip, "so much better that you forgot your self defense training when he grabbed you?"
He had said it softly enough that only you could have heard, but you still found yourself glancing around, "He wouldn't have hurt me."
"That's not really the point though, is it? Why do you still let him make you feel small?"
Your eyebrows knit together and you shook your head, "I—I don't do that."
He nodded, "Yes, you do. I don't see you behave like this around anyone else—you shrink."
You pulled back in surprise and scoffed, "He was my husband." You said simply. As if it explained everything.
"So you just roll over and submit to him because he was your husband?"
Too far. He had pushed too far. He watched the wall go up behind your eyes, your features turned stony, "I need another drink." You said coldly and jumped up before he could say anything else.
"Fuck," Jack murmured, hesitating for only a second before jumping up to follow after you, "I'm sorry," he said sidling up next to you, "I didn't mean to upset you."
You were eating the olives from your empty martini glass as you waited for another, "Everyone is watching me today and will be watching me tomorrow. Picking apart my every move, foaming at the mouth hoping that I implode."
Jack glanced around and for the first time saw what you saw. At any given time there were at least four sets of eyes on you, whispers behind hands.
"I don't need you picking me apart as well."
He turned back towards you, "I didn't mean it like that. I just… feel very protective of you and I don't like the idea of anyone making you feel less than. Even if they were your husband."
You nodded and then thanked the bartender when he handed you another martini. With your free hand, you held out your pinky to Jack, "It's me and you, right?"
Jack smiled and nodded, wrapping his pinky around yours, "You and me."
There was a vulnerability in your eyes as you looked at him, a fragility you hadn't yet shown him until now. He was just now realizing how much of a show you must be putting on for everyone—for him. He didn't want you to hide from him.
Maybe you initiated it because you were drunk, but Jack didn't stop you when you slowly inched your face close to his. Mouths centimeters apart, he cupped your cheek with his hand, felt it when you leaned into his palm.
"Jack?"
"Hm?"
"I really like kissing you," you said softly, "probably more than I should."
His stomach flipped and he wet his lips with his tongue, "I really like kissing you, too. Definitely more than I should."
He felt it when your breath stuttered against his mouth, "Good."
It felt like a relief, admitting that. He had his suspicions you weren't kissing him back just for show, but to hear you say it outright electrified him. With your mouth on his, warm and tasting of olives and vodka, he didn't notice the likely dozens of eyes that must've been on you.
Jack hadn't dated since he lost his wife. He'd maybe shared a drunken kiss with a couple of women at a bar, but nothing beyond that. He hadn't wanted to. There had never been anyone else that he wanted to get lost in like that.
But kissing you now, his longing burst from him. Tongue sliding into your mouth, his heart felt like an open wound. Would you help him suture it closed? Or would you rip him open and dig deeper?
Tearing himself from you, he pulled back enough to look into your face, "Do you want to… Go somewhere else? Alone?"
Your fingers raised to your swollen lips, you looked around at all the people who were now acting like they hadn't been watching. Your eyes stopped on David for a moment as he brushed Maya's hair off her shoulder and kissed her bare skin.
You cleared your throat and turned back to Jack, "Yes."
***
Your heart was racing as Jack led you by the hand down the hall until you were in the bridal suite again, Jack pushing you against the door to close it.
His mouth was hot and insistent on yours, low groans deep in his throat stirring the fire in your belly.
It felt euphoric, being able to touch him and taste him like this. Though, every second, was the gnawing thought in the back of your head that this was only situational.
He didn't want you, not really, not fully. He just was caught up in the moment. You knew you weren't a bad kisser and you suspected Jack's private life was fairly nonexistent since his wife passed. He had only taken off his wedding band a couple months ago. Taking all that into consideration, he was just having some fun.
The problem, of course, being that you wanted more than that. Being newly divorced you guessed you should have wanted something uncomplicated, but you knew if it was Jack who was involved, you'd only want unfettered devotion. You cared for him far too much, there was no world where your heart was capable of being casual about him.
But fuck, you wished you could turn your brain off and just focus on the way it felt to kiss him, the way his hands on your body felt like heaven. He hitched your hip up to meet his, one hand roaming up your dress, your head falling back while he kissed your neck.
When he pulled back from you, you chased his mouth and he smirked. Repeating the movement, he leaned back into you before pulling away while you chased him.
You couldn't help the whine that slipped from you, "Fucking tease." You grumbled.
Jack brought his fingers up to his mouth and you watched, jaw going slack as he sucked two fingers in his mouth.
When he brought them back out, they glistened with saliva and you swallowed, eyes following as they went down—
"Eyes on me, sweetheart." Jack said softly and your eyes snapped back to his, even as you felt his hand beneath your dress. His deft fingers shifted your panties to the side and your eyes stayed locked on his as he gently slipped a finger inside you.
Your eyelids fluttered at the pleasure and Jack's sigh fanned your face, "That feel good, baby?"
You nodded, barely able to keep your head on straight. He was so close to you, you could smell the liquor on his breath, heady and intoxicating. You wanted him so badly, you ached, it wasn't enough with his fingers inside you. You felt greedy, you wanted to feel him wholly.
Your hands twitched, wanting to unbuckle his belt, see how hard you had made him. But along with the desire, panic was brewing. Through your haze as his fingers slowly thrust in and out of you, a thumb lazily circling your clit, you were panicking.
There had only been one serious relationship in your life and it had been David. Before David, you had done the hooking up while in college, the one night stands and friends with benefits. But it had never been enjoyable, you had never been able to come. For a while you thought maybe there was something wrong with you. Maybe you just didn't like sex.
But as you began dating David and then sleeping with him, you realized that wasn't it at all. It was just that you needed an emotional connection to get off. You needed to be attracted to someone's heart, you needed to trust them to get there.
And now with Jack's fingers inside you, it fucking terrified you how quickly your peak was approaching.
He was more than likely just trying to get his rocks off and you were falling in love with him, you could feel it. You were in danger of getting broken if you didn't find an escape hatch soon.
"Fuck—" Your walls were beginning to flutter around his fingers—It was becoming hard to breathe—
"There you go, sweetheart, I can feel you, go on—"
Swallowing, you put a hand on his wrist and pushed lightly, "Troponin," you gasped.
Immediately, Jack froze. Embarrassed, you avoided looking at him as he pulled his fingers from you and stepped back. You mourned the loss of his touch immediately.
"Sorry, did I—Did I hurt you?"
"No," you shook your head quickly, "No, you did nothing wrong. I just, um—" You grasped at nothing for the words, for what to say, heat spreading up your neck to your cheeks.
"It's okay, you don't have to explain," He said quickly, but you heard the disappointment in his voice, "I'm gonna step outside so you can straighten yourself out."
He was gone before you could say anything else and you were alone. Straighten myself out, you thought as you pulled at your panties and dress, putting everything back the way it should be. If only it were that simple to straighten out your head, your heart.
This whole thing, coming to the wedding, bringing Jack here, had been stupid. Reckless.
At this point, there was no way you left this wedding better off than when you came. Your eyes burned as you braced yourself to go back out there.
Jack had said you didn't have to explain, but didn't you? Didn't you have to give him some excuse after the confusion you'd certainly just caused?
But when you came back out, he was waiting with a smile. The only way to tell something had changed was just his subtle check in with you to see if he could put a hand on your back or hold your hand.
After another couple of hours of socializing and another drink or two, you were leaning your back against his chest. He kissed the side of your face and then leaned into your ear, "Time to get you to bed?"
When you nodded, he gently led you around to your parents so you could say goodnight before beginning to walk you towards your hotel.
"Jack, I'm really sorry about earlier—" You started when you were outside, the only sound was of the cicadas chirping and the muffled music and talking from the rehearsal dinner behind you.
"You have nothing to apologize for, I moved too quickly. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."
You bit your lip. You wanted to tell him that he hadn't moved too quickly, that actually you wanted him so badly he hadn't moved quickly enough.
"You didn't make me uncomfortable," You said slowly, "What you said earlier, when you said you didn't understand why I let David make me feel small—"
He sighed, "That was out of line—"
You moved in front of him and shook your head, "It wasn't. You were right, that's how our relationship always was. I let him… Tell me what to do, when to do it, I let him talk down to me, I let him do anything. He was the only relationship I ever knew," You blinked, tears blurring your vision, "I thought that was being loved. I still think that, sometimes. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and I know it's fucked up, but I thought to myself 'He still cares. He still loves me.' Sometimes I think maybe I should have forgiven him when he cheated on me. At least then I'd still have just that little bit of love." Your face crumpled, the emotion swelling even as you tried to stop it, "I'm just so fucking lonely. But I don't know how to be with anyone who's not him."
Jack's face softened and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest, "It's okay, baby, I've got you," As you cried into him, he kissed the top of your head, "It's gonna be okay."
When you got back to the hotel room, it was Jack who sat you at the edge of the bed and took a facecloth and your micellar water and gently removed your makeup while you cried, the most tender look on his face. He got your toothbrush for you, a cup to rinse and spit in after. And then with the softest voice, asked you if it was okay if he helped you out of your dress.
He tucked you in, following on his side a few minutes later.
You were still crying silently when you felt him next to you, careful to keep his distance. After the gentleness he'd shown you all night, even after your blatant rejection, your restraint was frayed.
"Jack?" You said after a few minutes.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think…Could you hold me?"
Without hesitation, you already felt him shifting on the bed, "Of course," He slung an arm around your middle and tugged you to his chest.
You closed your eyes and focused on the warmth of his body behind yours. Without meaning to, your hand grabbed ahold of his and you tucked his arm even tighter around you. You brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his calloused palm.
He sighed in what sounded like contentment into your neck and pressed a kiss just below your ear.
When you were about to drift off to sleep, comforted by the warmth and solidness of Jack behind you, his scent enveloping you, you thought you heard a muffled, rough "love you."
He was likely already half asleep, maybe thinking of his wife. But for just a moment, as you slipped further into sleep, you allowed yourself to believe he was talking to you. That you got to fall asleep like this every night, wrapped in his arms, safe and loved.
***
Jack wasn't sure what he should be feeling when he woke up the next morning, still wrapped around you. You were still sleeping when he woke, the sun streaming in from the windows haloing around your head.
As his eyes carved paths down your face, the curve of your neck and shoulders, he felt overwhelmed with adoration. He wanted to stay like this forever, transfixed by the peaceful expression on your face. Unable to resist, he gently stroked a knuckle against your cheek. You didn't wake, but you hummed softly at his touch.
Man, was he in love with you. He knew especially after last night that you'd likely never return those feelings. You were still hung up on David and even if you weren't, you deserved something that was uncomplicated. Not a traumatized, widowed, amputee, vet who was pushing fifty. He was grateful just to be your friend and to have this weekend with you to play pretend. He'd lock the memories carefully away when you returned to Pittsburgh, only to revisit when he was alone and wistful.
You interrupted his thoughts with a heavy sigh, blinking slowly until you woke fully. You shifted in his arms until you saw him, awake next to you, and smiled.
"Good morning," you murmured, voice raspy from sleep. He wished it didn't, but the sound of your voice the first thing in the morning had him wanting to do unspeakable things with you in this bed.
"Morning," he said softly, smothering his desire as he pulled his arm away from you, "How'd you sleep?"
"Good," You said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and then stretching your arms over your head. He pretended not to notice the way your nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton of your shirt, "You?"
He nodded, "Good. How're you feeling about today?"
You inhaled and exhaled slowly and then shook your head, "I don't know. I'm not looking forward to it."
He nodded, "Do you wanna go home?"
You frowned, "After all this, you would drive me home right now?"
He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, "I think maybe I was wrong about this whole thing. You've been hurting the entire time."
You shook your head, "Not the entire time," you said softly and squeezed his hand, "Anyway, I spent a fortune on a dress and I look hot as fuck in it so I can't let it go to waste."
Jack smiled slowly, "You're sure?"
You nodded, "I don't want to give them the satisfaction of leaving early."
He nodded, "Alright, let's get ready then."
You weren't kidding about looking hot in the dress. It was black and clung to your every curve, flowing out just below your knees.
"What do you think?" You asked, moving to bend down to put your shoes on.
Jack was faster though, sinking to a knee at your feet with a heel in his hand and gesturing for you to lift your foot into it, "I think," He said, buckling the strap around your ankle, "You look breathtaking."
Having helped you into your shoes, he straightened to standing, letting his fingers trail against your calf as he did. Face to face with you, you reached out to straighten his tie, which he thought was mostly just an excuse to step closer to him. His tie was already straight.
"You look good in a suit, Abbot." You said, smoothing your hands across his shoulders before meeting his eyes.
Pleased, he smiled and ran a hand along his jaw, "I was thinking about shaving—"
"No, don't—" You said quickly, causing him to meet your eyes in question. You bit your lip and looked away, "I just, um, I like the… scruff."
You were a tough puzzle to crack. Clearly, you were into him, physically anyway. Yet you had cut it off when you got too close to the edge. He knew he hadn't imagined your moans and the contracting of your walls around his fingers. You had been close and something about that had spooked you. Your explanation had been David, and he believed that for the most part, but he couldn't stop noticing the way you reached for him when you were scared or uncomfortable. How you had asked him to hold you the previous night. The physical intimacy between the two of you that had grown over the last two days seemed to soothe you.
And maybe that was all there was to it. That you were lonely and you trusted him and his touch made you feel safe. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see when he thought there was a bit more to the way you looked at him.
His mouth twitched, "Alright, no shaving, then."
***
The ceremony was difficult to sit through. You and Jack had done a shot of tequila before walking over, which had been helpful in loosening you up, but still. You looked almost anywhere else the entire time. Tried to ignore the nearby gushing of guests of how beautiful Maya was and how great they looked together and David tearing up when she walked down the aisle.
The vows were the most difficult to sit through and thankfully, you couldn't recall what had been said. The entire time, Jack's hand had been on your knee. But when that hadn't proved to be enough of a distraction, he had taken your hand and started thumb wrestling you. By the end of the ceremony you were having such a difficult time not laughing, people's heads were beginning to turn towards the two of you.
Once you'd made it to the reception, Jack had immediately tugged you to the bar— and was promptly disappointed when the bartender refused to serve you shots.
"Really, man? This is the bride's sister—"
"Jack—"
"I'll tell you what," Jack fished out his wallet and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, sliding it across the bartop, "Can we have those shots now?"
Your head swiveled as you watched the bartender pocket the hundred to see if anyone else was watching. Jack turned back to you, "What kind of bar doesn't serve shots at a wedding?"
You scoffed, "Have you been to a wedding in the last ten years?"
He turned to you, frowning, "Are you implying that I'm old?"
You smirked, "I didn't say that. Every wedding I've been to in the last decade that had an open bar refused to serve shots."
He narrowed his eyes, "That's insanity."
You shrugged, "As an emergency physician I would think you could understand why that may be the case."
"Eh," he shrugged, "Weddings should be a little messy. What's a wedding if your uncle doesn't get a little too drunk and start a fist fight with your third cousin?"
You laughed as the bartender slid you each a tequila shot, lime wedges on the rims. You took the lime off and turned to Jack, "Cheers," you said, clinking your shot glass against his.
After you both had slammed empty shot glasses back on the bartop, you were wincing as the tequila burned a path down your throat.
Jack winced too and then gestured yuou over with his hands, "C'mere."
You frowned, but stepped to him nonetheless, "What—?"
His hand cupped the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a bruising kiss. At first, the surprise of it had you tensing, but then you went molten in his arms, his tongue licking languid strokes in your mouth.
As quickly as it started it was over and you felt dizzy as you pulled away, clearing your throat, "What was that for?" You asked, conscious of the heat in your cheeks.
"Needed a stronger chaser," He said and winked at you, "lime wasn't enough."
Smirking, you let him lead you away from the bar and to your table. What the fuck were the two of you doing?
***
You probably should have been more careful about your drinking. Drinking when feeling vulnerable and sad and also wistful had never ended well for you. You were staring at Jack for too long, which for his part, he seemed to find amusing.
"I look that good, huh?" He leaned in and joked, nudging his nose against yours.
You had nodded, biting down on your lip, "You look sinful."
And it was true. As the night progressed, he had removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoned a couple of buttons at the top of his shirt and you could see some of his chest hair peeking out. You had an idea of what he was working with, broad chest and muscled arms that you had long admired in t-shirts and scrub tops, but tonight you felt like ripping his shirt off entirely. You wanted the buttons to pop and you wanted to ravage him.
You were drunk enough that the fear had seemed to leave you and Jack was a welcome distraction from everything else. But when the home videos started playing after they had cut the cake it was difficult to keep a smile on your face.
"You were adorable," He whispered in your ear, arm resting on the back of your seat. A video was playing of you helping your dad teach Maya how to ride a bike, "And a great big sister," You were about seven years older than Maya and had taken a lot of pride in being a big sister.
You inhaled slowly through your nose and pushed the ice in your glass around with your straw, "Yeah, and look where that got me."
Jack tilted his head, "Come on, don't do that."
You shrugged, "It's the truth." You felt the tears pinpricking the back of your eyes. This was what the alcohol did to you, brought everything you tried to bury to the surface. "I did everything for her and she stabbed me in the back. Sorry," You said immediately shaking your head, "I just need a second."
You pushed away from the table and went to collect yourself outside. Your hands shook and you cursed lowly under your breath. When you heard heels clicking behind you, you expected to see your mother, but when you turned it was your sister following you outside, white dress billowing behind her like an angel.
"Hey, are you okay? I saw you run out—Oh, you're crying."
You knew immediately that Maya had no idea how to comfort you. It was always you comforting Maya. And even after everything had imploded with you and David, you had never cried in front of her.
Awkward and stilted, she tried to wrap her arms around you, but you shrugged her off, "Please don't touch me."
"I'm just trying to help—"
"Don't you think you've done enough?" You snapped.
She scoffed and took a step back, "God, can't you just for one fucking day get over yourself? Today is supposed to be about me."
You laughed and shook your head, "Every day of my fucking life from the day you were born has been about you!"
"Oh, God, I'm so fucking sorry for the crime of being born—"
"That's not what this is about and you know it. Even my marriage ended up being about you—"
"I'm sorry he wanted me and not you! But that's not my fucking fault! Get over it!"
You scoffed, "Me? You want me to get over it? You stole my fucking husband—"
"You can't steal someone who doesn't want to be stolen!"
"Oh my fucking God," Your rage felt like a living thing in your chest. For a moment, you forgot where you were and it was just you and Maya. "Are you ever going to take accountability for what you did to me? Don't you think it's time you finally grow the fuck up?!"
"That's enough!" David swept in and placed himself between the two of you, Maya behind you, and lowered his voice to a hiss, "People are fucking staring, could you shut the fuck up?"
It was the alcohol, it had to have been. You never would have been behaving this way if you hadn't been innebriated to the level you were. But the rage you had suppressed for months and months was finally bubbling to the surface and the alcohol was like gasoline on the fire.
"Go fuck yourself," You said to David before you spat on his shoes.
Turning, you intended to leave and go back inside, but then your arm was being grabbed and pulled so aggressively, you thought your shoulder might pop out of your socket.
"Did you just fucking spit on me?" You were face to face with David again, his hand still gripping your arm no matter how you tugged.
"You're hurting me." You said calmly. If you were less drunk you might've been able to use those self defense classes Jack had mentioned last night to get out of his hold. But your brain was muddled and all you could focus on was your anger.
"Dave, let her go." Maya was saying in the background, but David wasn't listening.
"Hey!" That voice, you would recognize anywhere. But you were only used to hearing it that angry in the emergency department. With an unruly patient or fighting with admin. But Jack was pissed now as he stormed outside, laser focused on David and where his hand gripped you tight enough to bruise.
Upon seeing Jack, for his part, David immediately dropped you. But that did nothing to deter Jack, who although a couple of inches shorter than David, had no problem getting right in his face, "What did I fucking say to you last night, huh? You think this is a game?"
"Jack—" You said gently in warning, but he was lost to you.
David smirked down at Jack, "You gonna throw fists at my wedding, old man?"
You hadn't ever seen Jack this angry before and you were worried that he would start throwing punches. He fisted the lapels of David's suit in his hands and spun until he slammed David's back into a wall.
"Jack—" You said more insistently, a little more desperate since you heard Maya getting hysterical behind you, "It's fine he didn't hurt me—"
"You are so fucking lucky she's here—" He jerked his head in your direction, "—And I don't wanna embarrass her because I would take such fucking pleasure from ramming my knee into your groin if we were anywhere else. I may be an old man, but all that means is I've won way more bar fights than you have. And you're a fucking coward if your baby soft hands are any indication."
David set his jaw and looked around Jack to you, "Could you get your fucking meathead boyfriend off of me?"
Jack rammed David against the wall one more time for good measure before dropping him. Grabbing your hand, scowl still on his face, he dragged you back inside, "Jack—"
"I know, I'm sorry," He said finally, dropping your hand and running it over his face, "I know you can handle it yourself, but he just makes me wanna fuckin'—"
"Hey, it's fine," You said quickly, ignoring everyone else who was whispering about the scene you'd just made, "It was my fault anyway, I—" You bit your lip and looked down at the floor, embarrassed, "I spit on his shoes."
"I know, I saw," Jack said, sounding amused. And then his finger curled under your chin, pullng your face up gently so you could see the shit eating grin on his face, "It was kinda hot."
You snorted and rolled your eyes, "Shut up."
"No, I'm serious. It was nice to see you stand up for yourself with him for once. And your sister too. Did it feel good?"
Shyly, you nodded, "It feels awful to admit it, but yeah it did feel kinda good."
"'Atta girl," He said softly and your stomach did a somersault. You weren't sure what was going on between the two of you anymore. The line had blurred so much between what was being done for show and what was real that it was impossible to find anymore.
You weren't blind, you knew he wanted you physically and clearly he cared about you, but neither of those things necessarily combined to I'm in love with you.
And even if he were in love with you, that didn't mean he wanted to be with you. Love wasn't always enough, you knew that more than anybody. There was work to be done in a relationship and not everybody was willing to put in the work.
You were drunk enough that you were thinking of articulating all this to Jack, though a small part of you knew that was a mistake, but the second you opened your mouth someone was tapping you on the shoulder.
You turned to see Brandon, David's best man, glaring at you with a beer in hand, "Can I talk to you alone for a second?"
Brandon was known to be an explosive drunk. There were several times when out with a group of friends at the bar that David had had to carefully remove him from situations that would have gotten him arrested for assault. In fact, when David wasn't there, it wasn't unheard of for him to get a call in the middle of the night from Brandon saying that he needed to be bailed out of jail.
You didn't like Brandon, never had, and you certainly did not want to be alone with him when he'd been drinking.
"You can talk to me right here."
Brandon shook his head, then shrugged, "Fine. I think it was disrespectful of you to show up here with him and now you've made your own sister cry, saying her wedding's ruined—"
"Oh, give me a break, no one's gonna remember our little spat by the end of the night," You said rolling your eyes, "And if David and Maya wanted a perfect wedding they probably should have married different people. I'm so sick of everyone acting like what they did to me was fucking normal!"
"Stop acting like the victim when you cheated with him first!"
You blinked, "I never cheated and frankly I'm tired of everyone saying I did. I was recovering from surgery after miscarrying his fucking baby and he was busy sleeping with my sister! It's sociopathic behavior and I'm so tired of all of you making excuses for him!" You were shouting again, angry tears streaming down your cheeks, all the people around you were quiet and staring.
Brandon stepped closer to you and you stepped back—into Jack's broad chest behind you. Immediately comforted, you softened, until Brandon was wagging a finger in your face, "If you had any fuckin' decency you wouldn't have come here."
You rolled your eyes, "Oh, go kick rocks, Brandon. You're a drunk loser who's been riding David's coattails for the last decade. You don't know anything about decency."
You turned on your heel and grabbed Jack's hand as you tried to lead him away from the growing wildfire—When there was a sound like shattering glass and then a scream.
You and Jack both turned towards the commotion on instinct—And found that Brandon had gotten so angry, he'd thrown his beer bottle in your direction, but his piss poor aim meant it had shattered about three feet to your right—Right where Maya was standing with David—And there was blood on the floor.
It wasn't immediately clear where the blood was coming from because of Maya's billowing wedding gown, but judging by her tears it was definitely her who was injured.
Without thinking about it all that much, you and Jack both began walking towards her—
"Both of you, get away from her," David said, "I think you've done enough."
Jack's hands were raised in surrender, "We're probably the only doctors here, I just wanna make sure she doesn't need stitches, that's all." You noted his immediate shift in tone and posture: this was emergency medicine physician Dr. Abbot in front of you. All traces of Jack were gone.
"It's okay, David," Maya said softly, "Let them take a look."
Reulctantly and with his jaw set, David stepped aside. As you both moved to Maya, turned and pressed his car keys into your palm, "Why don't you go grab some supplies from my truck? And a suture kit just in case?"
You frowned, "But I—"
"Don't take this personally, but I think Maya's still upset with you and would be more comfortable with… someone else assessing her injuries."
You looked from Maya, who was carefully avoiding eye contact with you, back to Jack. He really had shifted into supervising attending mode. You were his senior resident again and he had just given you an order. You were annoyed, but shrugged and backed away, "Fine."
***
Jack trailed behind as David carried Maya off into another room. As he did, he couldn't help but think how David had downplayed you almost bleeding out from a miscarriage, but was now babying his new wife over a cut on the foot. He wasn't sure what that said about the man. If maybe he was truly better off with Maya or that maybe he was like this with you in the beginning as well. Maybe that was why you seemed to have such a hard time letting him go.
When David set Maya down on a chair in the bridal suite, Jack took a step toward Maya, but she stopped him with a raised hand and turned to David, "Davey baby, why don't you go check in with my parents? I'm sure they're wondering what all the commotion was about, they'll be looking for me."
David frowned, "No, I—" He glanced at Jack, "I don't want to leave you alone with him."
Maya gave him a skeptical look, "Whatever beef you guys have, I don't think Dr. Abbot would do anything to hurt me," she turned to look at Jack, "Right?"
Jack shook his head, "I just wanna check on that laceration."
Maya turned back to David as if to say see? And eventually, he folded, sighing, "Fine. I'll be right back."
With David gone, Jack lowered himself to the floor to get a look at Maya's ankle. She had pulled the skirts of her dress up so he could access it more easily. His limb was beginning to ache where it sat in his socket, and the lowering of himself to the ground wasn't helping, but the alcohol was doing a pretty good job at masking the discomfort.
There was one lac, about three inches long on her ankle and it seemed to already be clotting. He turned her ankle this way and that to see if there was anything else, but it seemed to be just the one. He'd have to flush it out with saline to make sure there was no glass in the wound, but she'd just need a bandage. He told her as much and she sighed in relief.
"Look, um—" She sighed, "You seem like a loyal man who really cares about my sister so I understand if you probably don't like me, but I just wanted to say that I am really happy for you both. You seem really good together." At the look on Jack's face she added quickly, "And I'm not just saying that to relieve my own conscience, I—" She sighed, "I know what I did, what I allowed to happen, I know why she can't forgive me, I just—" She blinked, eyes going glassy, "I just really miss her, you know?"
She looked a lot like you when she cried and it softened Jack to her immediately, "I think that in your rush to be forgiven and not lose her, she feels like you keep trying to dismiss why she feels so hurt."
Maya sniffed and nodded, "Is she really still that devastated? Now that she has you?"
God, she was so young. You and Jack weren't together, but he thought even if you were this would still be a sore spot for you. Did she really not get it? "Two of the people she loved and trusted most in her life lied to her and snuck around behind her back for almost a year. That's not something that heals that easily, and not without a scar."
Maya was silent for a moment and then her voice came out small, almost childish, "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"
Jack sighed and shrugged, "I can't answer that, kid. I know she really misses you, but I think she's just as angry."
She nodded, fingers knotted in her lap, "Can you at least promise me," She said, reaching out her pinky to him, "That you'll take care of her? She's always taking care of everyone else and I think she really just… Needs someone else to. At least for a while."
Well, that was easy. He'd never stop looking out for you. "Sure," he said and wrapped his pinky around Maya's, "I promise."
***
You don't think they heard you when you stepped into the bridal suite, but what a sight it was. Jack on his knees in front of your sister, smiling up at her, his pinky wrapped around hers.
You wished you could say the way you reacted had nothing to do with jealousy or trust issues. That it had nothing to do with how the last person you had been in love with had turned you in for the newer, fitter model in front of you.
It wasn't even the way he was looking at her. You'd worked with Jack for years, you knew he smiled at everyone like that. You knew he was a habitual flirt.
It was the pinky promise that really gutted you, combined with everything else. You felt like you were being slapped in the face with the fact that you weren't special, not to anybody, and certainly not to Jack. Something that had felt almost like a secret handshake over the course of the weekend now trespassed upon by your sister.
And of course, the alcohol in your system just fed on these insecurities, nurtured them until they were all you could see.
So, heart aching in your chest, you walked towards them and set the supplies you'd brought down next to Jack.
For your sister's part, she jumped away from him when she realized you were there, but Jack seemed unbothered, "Hey, could you start a saline flush? She just needs a bandage—"
"I need another drink, actually, so do it yourself."
You saw Jack stiffen at your curtness, but you turned and started walking before he could say anything else. He barely got out your name before you had left the room.
It wasn't long, though, before he caught up with you, "Did I do something wrong?" He asked quietly.
"Nope." You tried to feign cool and casual, but the truth was it felt the walls were closing in on you. You had nothing and nobody. You were so goddamn lonely it had started feeling like karmic punishment, for what you didn't know.
"Really," he said, "so there's no reason for the way you spoke to me back there? In front of your sister?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, I need a drink—"
He grabbed your arm, not unkindly, and turned you so that you were facing him, "I think you've had enough to drink today—"
You pulled away from him, stumbling a bit so that he reached out for you, but you regained your balance without his help, "We are not in the ED so you don't get to tell me what to do."
His brows knitted together and he shook his head, "I don't understand, we were just good like five minutes ago, why are you acting like this?"
"What does it matter? You're not my boyfriend, it's not your responsibility to figure it out." You turned and started walking again, "I'm actually just gonna leave, I think, I don't wanna be here anymore."
"Okay," Jack said slowly, "That's fine, let's go then—"
"No," you said, "Not we, me. I'm going. Alone."
Jack threw up his hands, exasperated, "Are we not friends, at least? Can you tell me where you're going? You're drunk, you shouldn't be wandering by yourself—"
"I'm going back to our room, getting my things, and then I'm calling an Uber to take me home."
You started walking again and Jack had to jog to catch up. You felt a pang of guilt when you noticed his slight limp. He'd been on his feet most of the day.
"You're gonna call an Uber to take you back to Pittsburgh? Right now?"
"Yes."
He sighed heavily, "Sweetheart, please, throw me a rope, anything: Why are you so upset with me?"
You felt childish when your vision swam in front of you, "What did you promise her?"
He frowned and shook his head, "What? Who?"
"My sister," You said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, "You pinky promised her something, I thought that was our thing."
His face fell and you could almost see his brain doing calculus behind his eyes as he shook his head, "That is our thing, we were just talking," You were shaking your head, trying to keep a stiff upper lip, "Come on, baby, it's you and me, remember?"
He was holding his pinky out to you and you hated the way you instantly softened at his term of endearment. Anytime he called you baby or sweetheart you melted. But that was how you'd been for David, too, and look how that had turned out. Jack himself said you gave into him too easily and you used to think that's what love was. You wouldn't fold like that anymore, not for anybody.
"I'm going home," You said again and then began walking outside.
Jack chased you the whole way, going on and on about how he knew you were hurting but he thought you were misdirecting your anger at him. When you got to the room he kept talking, begging you to stay and just get in bed with him and you could talk when you were sober. Please, I'll drive you home first thing in the morning, I promise. He was growing increasingly more desperate the longer you ignored him and when you went downstairs to meet your Uber, he carried your bag, but still repeatedly asked you to stay with him.
"Please don't get in the car," He said quietly, even as he put your bag in the trunk for you, "Please come back upstairs with me, I'm sorry. I was talking about you the entire time I was talking to your sister, I didn't mean anything by it."
Looking back on it later, you knew you should've stayed. Somewhere deep behind the anxiety and the pain you knew you were being unreasonable. Punishing Jack for crimes he hadn't committed.
You were looking for problems to make it easier for you to leave so he couldn't leave you first.
The truth was, in all the time you'd been with David, he had never once chanced after you when you were upset with him. He'd never made the effort to try to understand why you were upset. Not even when things were good between you.
Jack was nothing like him, but you were punishing him anyway because you were afraid of how much you cared about him. It was easier to think it wouldn't work out between the two of you because he had fucked up instead of the truth that he more than likely didn't want you like that.
So you got in the car, stared at your phone instead of Jack's receding form as your driver pulled off the curb.
***
Jack Abbot thought himself a patient man. After you left that night, he'd stared off after the Uber feeling sorry for himself and only sent you a single text: Please just let me know when you get home.
On the way back upstairs to the hotel room, he ran into your mother who he apologized profusely to as he explained you had left.
"It's not your fault," She said quickly, "Honestly, I'm impressed she'd made it this far. I expected her to cuss them out as soon as she set foot on the property."
Jack frowned, "Why'd you encourage her to come then?"
"Oh, well, that was the outcome I wanted," She smiled, "I know it seems crazy, what mother wants their daughters to have it out in front of everyone they love? But I've watched her bury it over the last two years. It was eating away at her. And I know that because I did the same thing."
Jack nodded slowly, "She mentioned. That you'd been in a similar situation with her father. I'm sorry."
She shook her head, "The only thing I regret now was not letting myself get angry." She sighed, "I'm sorry you were in the cross fire though, that I didn't want. I was actually hoping that you being here would remind her that her life wasn't over, but I underestimated how much she likes you."
Jack frowned, "I don't follow."
Your mother looked at him with a sad smile on her face, "She's scared of you. Of how you make her feel. That's why she left."
She had left him with that and he'd mulled it over in his head for a while, but decided he couldn't confront that and what it might imply right then. He was still drunk and now he was sad. He had only shared a bed with you for two nights, but he thought he'd probably sleep like shit without you.
He woke up the next morning in the empty hotel bed and saw you'd texted him just before dawn: home.
He wanted to say more. He wanted to call you, he wanted to hear your voice, make sure you were actually alright. But he didn't do any of that. He packed up his truck and headed out without saying goodbye to anyone and drowned out his thoughts with the radio.
Jack was patient when he arrived at his first shift back since the wedding, eager to see you, only to have Lena tell him you had called out. Fine. You had never done that before, but fine. If you still wanted space he could do that.
The second night you called out, he was irritated and finding it difficult to think about anything else. But still, he remained steadfast. He would not push you when you clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
The third night, he snapped.
"What the fuck?" He hissed to Lena, "She can't keep calling out like this, have you—I mean, have you actually spoken to her?"
"No, just texts," she leaned closer to Jack, "What happened while you guys were upstate?"
Jack scrubbed at his face, "Doesn't matter. Could you please call Shen and see if he'll come in tonight? I need to go check on her."
He tried calling you while he waited for Shen to get there, knowing you wouldn't pick up, but at least you didn't deny his call. You had enough decency to let it ring until it went to voicemail instead.
As he headed to your place, his fingers drummed anxiously against the steering wheel. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to say to you when—if you opened the door. Regardless, he was eager to see you. Even if you just screamed at him to fuck off.
He paced outside your door after ringing the doorbell, fists clenching and unclenching—he felt like a fucking teenager.
When the door cracked open, he stopped and turned, taking you in.
You were barefoot in sweats and a hoodie, eyes swollen and puffy. It was clear to him immediately that you hadn't been sleeping and you hadn't been taking care of yourself.
"Hey," he said softly, feeling like he was trying to coax a stray dog into his car, "How are you?"
Stupid. Dumb question. Especially when the answer was written all over you.
You crossed your arms, "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Shouldn't you?"
"I'm sick."
Jack hummed, "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe I can take a look at you since I'm here."
You sighed and shook your head, "I don't understand why you're here."
He tilted his head, "You don't?"
Your eyes grew wet and you sniffled, "Are you here to fire me? Is that it?"
"No," He said softly, "Of course not. I'm here because I'm worried about you. Why're you calling out? Is it me? You don't wanna see me? Because I can—I can talk to Robby and see if we can move you to his shift, but I don't want you throwing your career away—"
"I don't want to work on Robby's shift, but I—I have a hard time even looking at you right now," You looked up and screwed your mouth to the side, the way you sometimes did when you were trying to stifle an emotion. He waited, though he was hanging on your every word, "I'm… mortified by how I acted when I left. I—I shut down I was too drunk and I got scared—"
"Scared of what, honey?"
Your lip wobbled, "Scared of loving someone again, of giving someone else the chance to hurt me."
Oh. Jack's heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Your mother had said something similar to him just a few days ago, but after sobering up and the repeated call outs, he assumed she'd gotten it wrong.
"It's stupid and you probably don't even feel like that about me—"
"I'm gonna stop you right there," He said and stepped towards you. He reached a hand up to stroke your cheek, thumb swiping at the tears just below your eyes, "I am madly in love with you."
You hiccuped, bringing up your hand to rest on Jack's wrist, anchoring him to you, "Really?"
He nodded, "And I—I can't promise you that it'll never hurt, I'm…not the easiest to love. I'm old and sad and stubborn and probably have more PTSD triggers than the number of years you've been alive. But I won't ever treat you the way he treated you," He reached his pinky up between you, "That I can promise."
You wrapped your pinky around his and then used your intertwined hands to pull him closer and rested your forehead against his, "I don't think you're hard to love at all. I think I'd be very lucky to love and be loved by you, Jack Abbot."
He sighed shakily against your mouth before kissing you. You'd kissed before, but this felt transformative. As his mouth moved against yours, warm and soft and pliant, he felt overcome by how much he loved you—Something he didn't think he'd get to feel again after his wife passed. But when he was with you, it felt like he was starting over. Like maybe he could step in the light of the sun again and not get burned.
With a groan, he pulled away from you, breathless and euphoric, "I don't want to be presumptuous, but… may I come inside?"
You smiled and looked away shyly, "I… was not prepared for guests I know how neurotic you are."
He gaped at you, eyebrows raised, "I am not neurotic."
You laughed and stepped aside, allowing him a path inside, "I give you thirty seconds before you hightail it out of here."
Jack barely made it past the entryway. There was clutter everywhere, the kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes, towels and clothes in varying states of clean and dirty littered the floors and hung over the doors.
He could tolerate mess, really, he could. But this level of mess reminded him of living with three other men in college, something he promised himself once he had the money he'd never live with again. He could not fathom wooing you and taking you to bed in this pit of entropy.
"You still love me?" You asked, voice small.
He gave a surprised laugh and ran a hand through his hair, resting at the back of his neck, "Yes, but we're leaving. Pack a bag."
"Where are we going?"
"You're staying with me tonight," He eyed your overflowing trashcan, a takeout container perched precariously on top of it, "Maybe forever," he added softly.
He helped you pack, dismissing every embarrassed apology you threw his way about the state of your apartment. He had been to your place before when you lived with David, once, after your miscarriage when you ended up needing surgery. He remembered the place had been neat and tidy—not sterile, but cozy. The state of your apartment didn't worry him, it was simply a manifestation of your mental health as of late. Something that was fixable. And fix it he would—later.
Once at back at his place, Jack immediately started running you a bath. He had copious amounts of epsom salts to ease his muscles, especially his leg, and he poured these in while the hot water ran. You stood in the threshold of the door alternating between watching him and taking in his house.
"When was the last time you ate anything other than Doordash?" He asked, gently tugging you by the hands fully into the bathroom.
"Um, I don't—" You sighed, "I don't remember."
"I'm gonna make you dinner," he said softly, thumb running over your lower lip, "Do you like bolognese?"
You bit your lip as you looked up into his face, "You don't have to do that."
He shrugged, "I want to. If it makes you feel better I was gonna make it for myself anyway when I got off shift." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth, "Do you want a glass of wine while you're in the bath?"
"Sure," You smiled, and when he went to step around you, you squeezed his hand, "Jack?" He turned back to you, question in his eyes, "Could you stay with me while I'm in the bath?"
He smiled softly and walked back over to you, kissing you a bit deeper, worrying your lower lip between his teeth before pulling away, "Of course."
***
It felt a bit surreal, sitting in Jack's bath with a glass of red wine in your hand and the man himself staring at you with adoration as you soaked. This morning when you'd woken up you'd contemplated moving across the country so you'd never have to see him again. Now you were in his home and he'd told you he was in love with you.
You were still afraid, terrified really, of giving him the power to hurt you. It wasn't something that could be turned off so easily—but still, you trusted him. There was a persistent voice at the back of your head that reminded you you had trusted David at one point as well. But with Jack, it felt different. With David, even when you trusted him, there was an anxiety, a resentment, quietly brewing in the background. With Jack you felt only peace.
Your legs were thrown over the lip of the tub and the hungry look in Jack's eyes as he eyed them was not lost on you.
"You can touch, if you want," You said quietly.
His eyes dragged up to yours and then he smirked, "Is that why you asked me to stay?"
You sank lower beneath the water and shrugged, "Maybe."
His fingers tread carefully along your skin, at first kneading gently at your feet. You couldn't help the groan of contentment that escaped you almost immediately at his touch. It had been a long time since someone had touched you so lovingly.
Soon, you felt his lips at your ankle, pressing featherlight kisses along your leg as his hands traveled further up—Until they dipped beneath the water.
Your eyes stayed locked on his as his calloused fingers ran slowly up your thigh, your breaths quickening.
Slowly, he ran his tongue along his lips as his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, "You sure?" He asked, and his voice was rough and husky.
When you nodded, you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and beneath the water his fingers parted your lips. He began slowly, gently circling your clit as you sighed and arched your back. When you began whining beneath his touch, he pushed a finger inside you and you moaned in earnest as he slowly and gently curled it upward, thrusting in and out of you.
His fingers felt so good, warming you up and stretching you out, but you needed more. Your hands wandered up your torso until the cupped your breasts and you began pulling and pinching at your nipples.
"Fuck," Jack cursed and you watched as he palmed the bulge in his pants with his free hand, "You're gonna fuckin' kill me, kid."
Already, with Jack's fingers inside you, you were embarassingly close to the edge. You hadn't slept with David since before the miscarriage, so it had been something like two years since you'd been with someone. Since anyone had touched you with desire.
"You close, sweetheart?" Jack cooed, "You wanna come on my fingers?"
"Mmm," You whined, "Please, Jack."
There would be time for slow, for teasing, for edging later, you thought. Much later. Now you were ravenous for him. Altogether you thought it had only taken him about two minutes to get you to unravel on his fingers, and when you did, crying out, he hummed appreciatively, "You're so gorgeous when you come for me, baby."
As soon as Jack pulled his hand away from you, you were standing up. Jack laughed in surprise, "Where are you going?"
"Need you to fuck me," You said shortly, "Can't do that in here."
"Oh," Jack said, seeming surprised, and you watched as a flush worked its way into his cheeks, "You want to—Now?"
Getting cold now, you lowered yourself back down into the water, "Do you not want to?"
"No—No, of course I do. I'm just, um—" He shook his head quickly, "—It's been a—long time for me."
You nodded, "Me too."
He sighed and hung his head, "No, I mean, I haven't slept with anyone. The last person I slept with was my wife."
Ah. Well, that was quite a bit longer than you. Still, it didn't bother you, "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," You said slowly, "I hope that goes without saying. But I'm not going to be judging you on performance, Jack. I just want to be close to you right now."
He looked back up at you, a hesitant smile on his face, "I wanna be close to you, too."
Jack held your hand as you climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around you, kissing you tenderly as he helped you dry off. But his kisses became hungry, sloppy as the two of you maneuvered to the bedroom, his hands wandering to your hips and ass.
"God, you're so sexy," he murmured into your mouth. You licked into his in response, making every kiss impossibly deeper and hungrier, like you wanted to consume him.
When the back of his legs hit the bed, you dropped to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with wide eyes as you began unbuckling his belt. From this angle, from any angle, he was gorgeous to you, but he bit his lip now as he watched you free his cock and you felt your heart stutter in your chest at the sight of it.
He hissed when his cock sprung free and you wordlessly tugged him down to sitting on the edge of the bed as you admired him. He was thick and leaking, a patch of graying curls at the base, beautiful. You were practically salivating at the sight of it. Taking him in your hand, you lapped at his tip, taking his precum onto your tongue. Immediately, he was groaning and you watched him fist the sheets.
Looking up at him, you took one of his hands, watched it uncurl from the bed and placed it on the back of your head, "I want to feel how desperate you are for me," You said, looking up at him. He looked a bit helpless, almost stunned, and you nodded at him, eyebrows raised, "Okay?"
Finally, he nodded. This time, when you took him in your mouth, his hand gripped you. As you found a rhythm, bottoming out with him hitting the back of your throat, you were pleased when his hips began bucking into your mouth, his hand guiding your head on and off his cock.
After a couple of minutes of this, Jack groaned and gently pushed you off him, "Come up here," he said softly and watched carefully as you wiped the spit from your mouth with your arm and rose to standing.
He kissed you greedily and began to pull you into his lap, but you pulled away slightly, "Can we take all this off, please?" You tugged lightly at the shirt he was still wearing and his half off pants, "Want to see all of you."
Already nodding, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. You knelt back down to the floor to help him take his prosthetic off so the pants could come off too.
With everything off, Jack pushed himself backwards towards the pillows and you admired him from the foot of the bed for a moment. He was as broad chested as you imagined, covered in freckles you wished to connect like constellations. He was muscled, but soft around the middle, a generous happy trail that you longed to lick in its entirety.
You shook your head, almost at a loss for words, "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."
Jack blushed, but rolled his eyes and shook his head immediately, "Stop that, my body's—It's not what it used to be."
You shook your head, "I'm sure you were gorgeous then, too, but you're—" You bit your lip, "I wanna lick every inch of you."
You crawled over to him and straddled his hips, hands wandering eagerly across the planes of his chest while you ground your slick folds over his cock. Jack groaned appreciatively, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, "Fuck, you're so wet," You dragged your folds along the length of him again and he sighed, "That all for me, sweetheart?"
You nodded, eyelids fluttering as you rubbed your clit against him, over and over.
"You wanna come again, baby? Rubbing your clit on my cock like that?" He lightly slapped your ass and you moaned, quickening your pass to chase the friction.
You were close again, could feel your impending orgasm just on the cusp and Jack saw it all over your face, "Go on, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock."
His praise easily pushed you over the edge, Jack continuing to forcefully move your hips along his length as you came down.
With a hand on the back of your neck, Jack pulled you down to kiss him again, "So good," he mumbled, "feel so good."
Gently, he maneuvered you off of him and positioned you so you were on your side, you back to him, as if you were spooning. Flexing his left leg over your hips for purchase, he pushed inside you slowly from behind, the stretch of him making your eyes roll back into your head.
He kissed the back of your neck, "I'm—I'm not gonna last long like this, fuck—"
"That's okay," You ran a hand down his thigh and rocked your hips back into him, "We can go again later."
He chuckled and then started rocking into you fully, cursing occasionally or biting down on your shoulder hard enough that you were sure it would bruise later. Jack was overwhelming every one of your senses as he thrust in and out of you and you were being very vocal about. So loud, in fact, that Jack reached around and stuffed his fingers in your mouth and ordered you to suck on them as if they were his cock. This quieted you, but only just.
As you moaned around his fingers, he began slamming into you with more force, the sound of his hips snapping into yours filling the air until he stuttered and you felt him fill into you, warm and wet.
The two of you were panting as he finished, hips slowing until they stopped completely. After a moment of recovery, Jack tightened his arms around you and kissed up the side of your neck, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"
You almost laughed, "'Okay'? It was incredible. How was it for you?"
"Yeah," He said, kissing your shoulders, "About the same."
For a long while, the two of you laid there in the quiet, just holding one another—Until your stomach rumbled.
Chuckling, Jack ran a hand over your stomach, "Let's go make you dinner, sweetheart."
***
With the dishes cleared and your stomachs full, you had gotten ready for bed in Jack's en suite bathroom. When you walked back into the bedroom, he was under the covers, his face lit up with the blue light from the TV. When you climbed into bed next to him, you looked to see a baseball game on.
"Do you mind this? I can change the channel—"
You yawned and shook your head as you snuggled up next to him, throwing an arm over is chest, "I'm gonna pass out probably in the next five minutes, so, no need."
He hummed and ran a hand over your back, "Well I was planning on working tonight so I might be awake for a while longer."
"That's okay," You burrowed your nose into his neck, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, "As long as you stay here with me."
He kissed the top of your head, "No place else I'd rather be."
As you fell asleep, Jack kept looking back down at you, as if to check if you were still there. Every so often, he'd touch your face or kiss your head and you'd hum in contentment.
With you sleeping in his arms like this, he began to fantasize of another wedding, a couple of years from now. The dream wedding you'd always wanted, but didn't get the first time. He could practically see it, you in a white dress, him watching you walk down the aisle to him.
Both of you beginning a new chapter together, starting over. He didn't think he'd ever get to be a husband again. But with you warm and safe in his bed, he thought he'd very much like to be yours.
Leaning over you, Jack kissed your cheek and then whispered in your ear, "I love you."
Still half asleep, you murmured back, "Love you."
For the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot was looking forward to the sun rising and a new day beginning.
author's note: wrote this one in response to this lovely ask i received earlier today:
"Omg but like, the reader being so flirty with jack all the time (secretly is in love with him) amd he just smiles and shakes his head but he loves the attention from her then one day she sees him ask dr al hashimi for beers and she assumes he asked her out on a date and she backs off and stops flirting and barely even looks him in the eye because if she does she'll fall apart and abbot doesn't understand why she stopped flirting and tries to give her openings for her usual flirty lines but she doesn't bite anymore and just the she fell first, he fell harder stuff it's soooooogood😭😭"
thanks so so much to the lovely @stuffingbuttsandshit for this message (i fw your username sm) and i hope i did it justice. please never be afraid to send me a request, and thank you for all the support, it means the world !!! also, i'm back into my teaching job tomorrow, so this will be the last of what you'll hear from me for a couple days <3
pairing: jack abbot x resident! reader
word count: 4.1k
warnings: miscommunication/misunderstanding trope! medical inaccuracies, reader is a resident but no mention of age, no specific phsyical attributes to certain gender mentioned, also not proofread!
songs i listened to while writing this: so easy (to fall in love) by olivia dean, easy by the commodores, purple by wunderhorse, when we are together by the 1975
description: You flirt with jack every shift like that's what you spent years in med school studying for. When you overhear a conversation between him and another attending, you decide to pull yourself together and face the music - no amount of one sided love would ever change your relationship. At least, that's what you think.
It started out as a joke at first.
It wasn't a calculated one. Not even a particularly brave one. It was a way to find a bit of fun in the middle of a 12-hour shift that tested every line of the Hippocratic oath that you had taken against your better judgement. It was the kind of dumb thing that slipped out of your mouth during a long shift that should have died an embarrassing death right then and there.
It was harmless flirting. Something to take the edge off. Maybe you should have taken a less, well, serious victim.
"Careful, Dr Abbot," you'd said lightly, half leaning against the nurses station while he was in the middle of catching up on charting. "If you keep looking that good under fluroescent lighting, people are gonna start accusing you of witchcraft."
Jack had looked up from the keyboard he was typing away at with that familiar flat, unreadable expression and the smallest hint of amusement at one corner of his mouth. The entire nurse's station had gone quiet, and if you hadn't known any better, you might have thought an elephant had waltzed into the room and taken his seat in trauma room one. You watched as Mel looked up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, which is what made you realise you may have taken it too far, because to be honest, Mel usually passed no heed on your usual antics.
Jack had lifted his eyes to yours, studying you for exactly two seconds, then given one slow shake of his head.
"I could do with a check-up on our food poisoning patient in room 4, doctor y/l/n."
That had been it. No scolding, no shutdown, no sharp reminder of professionalism. You ran the image of that twitch in the corner of his mouth over and over again in your head that night like a teenage girl with a crush on her best friend's brother. Or in this case, more like her best friend's dad.
So naturally, because you were a glutton for punishment and loved the thrill of tethering on the edge of something hopeful, you did it again.
And then again.
And somehow, over the next few months, flirting with Jack became a part of your regular shift rhythm, as natural as grabbing gloves from the wall or stealing sips of stale coffee between traumas. You called him handsome under your breath while passing in the hall. You leaned into his space during chart review just to watch his jaw flex. You told him he was ageing like your favourite bottle of red, which had earned you a long, suffering stare and a low, "Jesus Christ."
You did it at first because it was fun. A way to pass the time. But as the months went on, and you moved from junior to senior resident, the truth behind your incessant flirting became a lot more embarassing than you ever wanted to admit.
You were smart. Too smart. Educated and graduated at the top of your class, saved countless lives on the daily and still had time to feed your tabby cat at the end of it all. So there was no reason why your stupid, dumb brain had decided to fall in love with your attending.
You flirted, because you were in love with him. With Jack.
You had been for longer than you wanted to admit to yourself. Long enough that the whole thing had settled beneath your ribs like a live wire. It was warm, and humming, and a little dangerous. Long enough that it had stopped feeling like a crush and started feeling like something worse.
The problem was, Jack never really gave much away.
He liked the attention, you knew that. You weren't imagining that part. He never stopped you. Never looked annoyed in any serious or real way. There was always that familar tiny shake of his head, that almost-smile, that quiet tolerance that was so stupid adorable and somehow felt more intimate than an outright encouragement would have.
But Jack was Jack.
Steady. Closed off. Impossible to read unless he wanted to be read. So you flirted, and he let you, and you told yourself that that was enough for now. You were a resident, and he was your attending. You weren't naive enough to believe that he would ever take a relationship with you seriously.
And you know, maybe it would have been. If you hadn't caught him mid conversation with Robby's sabbatical replacement, Dr Baran Al Hashimi.
It happened halfway through a nightmare shift when you were running on little else but caffeine and instinct, and the Pitt had that strange, overstretched feeling it got when every room was full, and everyone inside them was talking too loudly. You were cutting through the hall outside the break room with a chart tucked to your chest, already halfway to Trauma Two in your head, when you heard Jack's voice from inside.
It was common to catch Jack in during the day shift, and you wouldn't have stopped if he'd been talking to anyone else. But you caught Al Hashimi's laugh first. Low, and brief, and then Jack saying, "You want to grab that beer later?"
Your feet stopped moving before your brain caught up. There was no hesitation in the question or audible awkwardness. No heaviness to it that made it sound work-related. It sounded easy, casual. Like asking someone out. You wondered if he was shaking his head in that way he did with you.
Al Hashimi said something you didn't fully hear, because by then your pulse had gone loud in your ears. You self-diagnose with mind-numbing tinnitus and prescribe yourself a huge dose of amitriptyline. The ringing grows louder as you watch her smile, small, but warm, and nodded once.
"Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."
And that was it. So, you kept walking before either of them could see you standing there. By the time you eventually got to trauma two, your face was perfectly composed and your stomach felt like it had dropped through the floor. It was ridiculous, really.
Jack had never promised you anything. He had never flirted back in the way you flirted with him. Never said anything you could hold up in your defence. He just let you tease him and seemed to enjoy it. That was not the same thing as wanting you. And Baran Al Hashimi was gorgeous, and strikingly intelligent, and better yet, an attending. You heard that she had worked overseas doing humanitarian work in Afghanistan. She was everything you weren't and more. Of course Jack would want her. God, you didn't blame him.
So, you stitched up a teenager's chin and reassured a frantic mother and signed off on discharge paperwork with steady hands, all while something sore and humiliating tore through your chest and the ringing in your eyes got louder.
Then, because apparently the universe had a cruel sense of humour, Jack found you by the supply closet twenty minutes later.
"There you are," he said.
You looked up automatically and cursed yourself. And there he was. The same broad shoulders, same tired eyes, same infuriatingly unreadable expression.
Usually, by instinct, you would have said something. Nice of you to finally show up, handsome. Missed me? Something stupid and teasing and light enough to keep the whole thing moving. To keep that little nugget of hope that lived between your ribs aflame.
Instead, you just held out the chart in your hand.
"Dana needs your signature on this."
Jack took it, but his eyes didn't leave your face.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine-
You cut in, begging to be finished with the conversation, and forced a small smile. "All good, really."
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. It was the first time in almost a year that you'd walked away from him without giving him something. And Jack, as it turned out, noticed immediately.
The following night, you called him Dr Abbot during rounds. It came out before you could stop it, a verbal guard you decided to throw up to protect yourself from more hurt that wasn't even his fault. Not Jack, not any of your usual easy little digs. Just Dr Abbot, flat and professuonal and wrong enough that his head lifted from the chart like you'd said something in another language.
He looked at you for a second too long.
Then he said, "You sick or something?"
You pretended to not know what he meant. "Nope."
"Then why are you acting weird?"
"I'm not acting weird?"
Santos, standing two feet away with a pen tucked behind her ear, visibly turned her whole body to watch.
Jack's mouth flattened, unreadable. Shocker. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
He looked like he wanted to say it outright, but with half the team standing around the nurse's station and Lena calling for updates across the room, all he ended up saying was, "Never mind."
But it wasn't never mind, because you kept doing it. You stopped leaning into his space. Stopped giving him those easy openings for banter. Stopped calling him old man, stopped telling him his curls looked good, stopped stealing sips from his coffee and dropping protein bars in his pockets when you passed him in the hall.
At first, Jack felt confusion, which quickly turned into a gnawing annoyance he couldn't shake. By the third shift, with no change from you, the whole thing had become impossible to ignore.
You were charting at the nurse's station when he came up behind you and set a fresh cup of coffee down by your elbow. A sleek, black takeaway cup that looked suspiciously like the one from the new bakery across the street you talked about going to with Santos before shift.
You looked at it, and then at him. Usually, this would have been an easy way in. What, no little heart on the lid? Starting to lose your touch, Abbot? Anything, anything would do.
Instead, you said, "Thanks."
Jack stared at you.
"Thanks?"
You blinked at him. "What?"
"That's all I get?"
You looked back at the screen where your chart lay half full. "It's coffee."
"It's your coffee. Two shots, and vanilla creamer. I made sure they used the barista oat milk you always rant on about."
You kept your eyes on the screen, even though every bone in your body was begging you to reach out and touch his forearm in thanks. "Oh, well, thank you very much, Dr Abbot."
He stood there for another beat, arms crossed, like he was waiting for the rest of it. When it didn't come, he muttered, "Right," and walked away.
Across the station, Santos leaned slowly towards Whitaker.
"This is sooo much worse than I thought."
Whitaker looked nervous. More than usual. "Should we..do something?"
"No," Santos smirked. "Absolutely not. This is premium entertainment."
Javadi, creating a circling motion with her hand towards the direction of you and Jack, said, "That looked like some form of attachment rupture."
Santos pointed at her while still looking over at you. "You are absolutely right."
You ignored them all and kept writing. Any acknowledgement and you'd have to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment and humiliation. You think that actually might be a better way to go then facing Jack again the way you just did.
Four days go by. Four days of you being perfectly pleasant and professionally distant and absolutely miserable about it. You felt like like a three year old kid sulking in the corner after being refused ice cream for dinner.
Jack still tried, in his own strange, increasingly irritated way, to hand you opportunities you no longer took. You didn't read them as openings anymore, couldn't let yourself slip again into the realm of hoping it meant anything more than trying to get through a shift in one piece.
By the end of the week, Dana got involved.
She caught you restocking suture kits in a supply alcove and leaned against the doorframe with the expression of a woman who already knew the answer and was just waiting for you to say it out loud.
"What'd you do to him, hon?"
You kept your eyes on the shelf. "Nothing"
Dana snorted. "Honey, I know I'm in day shift territory, but I have known Jack Abbot for too long to miss when he's sulking."
"He doesn't sulk"
"He absolutely does. He's just old enough to do it quietly."
You smiled despite yourself. If Jack was here right now, you'd make a joke about old dogs not being able to learn new tricks, or whatever that saying is.
"There it is," she said, poking an accusatory fingernail at your shoulder. "Tell me what happened, kid."
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the pack of gauze. Dana Evans had a way of dragging honesty out of people with nothing but eye contact and a gaze that reminded you of your mother. You make a mental note to call her after shift and apologise for every time you've ever talked back to her.
"You know Al Hashimi? Robby's stupidly hot replacement? I overheard him ask her out"
Dana let out a laugh - no - a cackle. Dana was cackling at you.
You frowned. "Dana! Seriously, I know, it's not like I'd have any chance with him, but I just thought, just maybe-"
"You are a total idiot."
"Dana."
"She was going to a trauma conference with one of his old friends from the military and he asked if she wanted to talk to talk about it over a beer."
Your grip loosened on the gauze, and you turned to stare at her.
"Sorry, what?"
Dana crossed her arms. “Robby asked him to get her thoughts on some presentations he's gonna miss on his sabbatical. He's tryna suss her out, you know."
Your stomach dropped all over again, but this time for an entirely different reason. If your first option was crawling into a deep, dark hole, well, this option would have to be something far worse. Like, being shot from a canon, butt naked, while every one of your ex-boyfriends watched.
Dana's expression softened just enough for you to recognise her natural maternal instinct taking over. "You really thought he was asking her out on a date?"
You nodded, slowly. You ran an exhausted hand over your face, hoping the ground would come and swallow you whole.
Dana shook her head then, taking your shoulder in her hand and rubbing softly, a comforting presence that took you out of your head. "Baby, that man has been halfway in love with you since before Christmas."
You didn't acknowledge it until she was already pushing off the doorframe, walking away with that irritatingly final air of hers.
"What?!"
That made everything worse. So, so much worse.
Because now, you had no excuse. Now it wasn't about Al Hashimi, not really. It was about the fact that if Dana was right, if Jack had wanted your attention all this time, if all those tiny almost smiles and deliberate little openings had meant what you'd wanted them to mean - then you had spent four days acting like a stranger because you were too scared to ask, and too damn immature to think of any other possible situation.
That night, you slipped into the stairwell in between consults to breathe for exactly thirty seconds and maybe lightly bathe yourself in peace. Then, the door opened, and there he was, filling the space with the same steady presence that always made it feel a little smaller, and a little warmer.
He shut the door behind him, and you waited for the onslaught of questions.
"You gonna tell me what the hell your problem is?"
You stared at him over the railing. There was no real heat in his voice, but there was frustration. And beneath that, something else, something tighter.
"Uh, nothing?" You cursed yourself for making it sound like a question you definitely knew the answer to.
"Try again."
"Shouldn't you be working?"
"Yeah," he said. "I should be. But instead, I'm here. Because you've spent four days acting like you don't know me anymore."
Of all the things you expected him to say, that one landed harder than you expected. You looked away. Embarassment was a feeling that you were getting far too used to.
Jack waited a beat, then came down two steps so he was closer, though not close enough to touch.
"You stopped flirting with me." You laughed at his bluntness. He continued.
"You won't look at me. You won't call me Jack. I spent fifteen minutes of my twenty minute break time arguing with a lady in a bakery the other day about how she had to use the milk I brought for your coffee, and all you could say was thanks?"
The obvious edge of offence in that almost undid you. Load the canon now, doctor!
You said quietly, "I heard you ask Al Hashimi for a beer."
Jack turned and blinked at you, and for one second, his face went completely blank. Then he stared at you like he'd just discovered the source of a leak that had been flooding his basement all week.
"That's why?"
You swallowed. "Um, yeah. I assumed, you know. You, gorgeous woman, a beer. Date territory."
"That wasn't a date."
"It wasn't a date."
"No." He let out a breath through your nose. "Robby wanted me to ask her about this conference. We were talking about work. He's cagey about her, taking over his ER and all."
"Oh."
"Yeah," Jack said.
He continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why would that matter, anyways?"
You laughed once, sharp, and utterly miserable. You were so far past the point of humiliation, you might as well get it all out now. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously."
You looked at him then, really looked at him. And you saw it, that he genuinely didn't understand. That whatever this had been to him, it had not included the possibility that you'd step back so quickly. That made it worse somehow. Better, too, But mostly worse.
You looked down at the stairwell floor and said, because apparently there was no salvaging you dignity now. Here goes, you guess. "Jack, I don't know how to say this without, just saying it. I-I'm, in love with you"
Then the words sat there. Plain, horrible, real. For a second, that felt like so much longer, neither of you moved.
Jack broke the silence, very quietly, "You're kidding."
Your head stayed staring at the ground. That was it, there was no going back now. You tried to ignore the intense stare you could feel burning two holes through your head.
"You're in love. With me?" he repeated.
Heat climbed your face, and you couldn't believe this was happening right now. Is this not an ER? Does nobody with a GSW want to come through and interrupt your lovely moment here?
"This is deeply humiliating, so, if you could not-"
"Jesus Christ." He laughed once, and your heart fell into your ass and ran fifty miles in the opposite direction.
Then he came down the last two steps and stopped right in front of you.
“You thought that was one-sided?”
Your mouth opened. Closed.
“I flirt with you constantly and you smile and shake your head,” you said weakly. “What was I supposed to think?”
Jack looked at you like that was the most ridiculous sentence he’d ever heard.
“I never stopped you.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I wait for it.”
You blinked.
His jaw flexed once, like he was annoyed you weren’t getting there fast enough.
“I know what time you usually get coffee. I know when your shift starts from the sound of your shoes in the hall. I know when you’re about to make one of those stupid little comments because your whole face changes before you say anything.”
Your heart was pounding now, hard enough to hurt.
Jack took one more step closer.
“When you stopped, the place felt wrong.”
That did it.
That cracked the whole thing open.
You looked at him and saw it all at once. Every quiet little allowance he’d made for you, every almost-smile, every opening he’d handed you on purpose just to hear what you’d say.
You whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He huffed out a humorless laugh. “I thought I was being obvious.”
You let out a wet, startled little laugh of your own, because of course he had. Of course Jack Abbot thought silently orbiting someone and letting them flirt without interruption counted as emotional transparency.
“You are a disaster,” you said.
“So are you.”
You smiled despite yourself.
His gaze dropped to your mouth for the briefest second before lifting again.
Then, in a voice gone rougher somehow, he said, “Say something.”
“What?”
“One of your lines.”
You stared at him.
Jack looked almost impatient now, but there was something fragile hidden under it too, something he would probably deny to the grave.
“You’ve had one ready every shift for 9 months,” he said. “Say it.”
A laugh caught in your chest.
Then, softly, because it felt different now and somehow still exactly the same, you said, “You know you’re ridiculously handsome, right?”
Jack shut his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them, there was that tiny head shake again, the one that had started all of this.
“Jesus,” he muttered, and then he kissed you.
It wasn’t tentative, or rushed either.
It was the kind of kiss that felt held back for too long, warm and sure and a little bit annoyed, like he was making up for the fact that both of you had apparently been idiots about this. Your hand came up to the back of his neck automatically. His slid to your waist, steady and firm, drawing you in until you had to grab the front of his shirt just to hold onto something.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours.
“You done making assumptions?” he murmured.
You laughed softly, breathless. “Maybe.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Okay,” you said, smiling. “Yes.”
“Good.”
You looked up at him. “You loveeeeee me!"
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t start.”
“You do.”
He leaned back just enough to look properly annoyed. “You really want to have this conversation right now?”
“Yes.”
He sighed in that long-suffering way of his, but you could see the amusement sitting just under it now.
“You realised it first” he said.
You grinned. “Yeah, okay, but mine was slow. Yours was like, falling off a cliff into a stream of like, love crocodiles .”
Jack looked at you for a second, then gave in with a tiny shake of his head.
“Yeah, okay ” he said quietly. “Shut up.”
Something in your chest melted completely.
You kissed him again before he could ruin it by pretending he hadn’t said that. This one made him laugh against your mouth, just for a second, and then his hand tightened lightly at your waist and he kissed you back.
When you finally pulled away, there was a muffled voice from the other side of the stairwell door.
“Are they in there?”
Damn it Trinity.
You dropped your head briefly to Jack’s shoulder and groaned. “I hate this hospital.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” you admitted. “I really don’t.”
Jack tipped your chin up with two fingers.
“You coming back down?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
You smiled. “Very romantic.”
“I’m not here to romance you. I’m here to stop you making yourself miserable over nothing.”
“Wow.”
“You started it.”
You laughed again, because there it was, that grumpy, teasing edge that somehow made everything feel more like him, not less.
As he opened the stairwell door, Santos nearly fell inward from where she’d clearly been listening.
Her eyes went wide.
Then narrowed. Then widened again.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I knew it.”
Jack looked down at her with profound irritation. “Don’t you have a patient to bother?”
Santos, unfazed, looked past him at you and grinned. “So I was right.”
Whitaker, standing three steps behind her looking mortified, asked, “About what?”
She pointed at both of you. “Everything.”
Jack muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable and moved past her, one hand brushing your lower back as he guided you into the hall.
Not enough to draw attention.
Just enough that you felt it.
And this time, when you looked at him, he was already watching you with that same tiny, impossible almost-smile.
You smiled back. He shook his head once more, like he couldn’t believe you. But he looked pleased.
content: MDNI. 5 times jack pays for you +1 time you pay for him. jack’s love language is gift giving (he’s a giver) and assertive with it too lmao. mishmash of both seasons to fit the fic so s1 & s2 spoilers! pittfest briefly mentioned. alcohol, mentions of car sex (f. receiving). rooftop scene — allusions to suicide but nothing is directly mentioned. inaccuracies everywhere.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
1.
The first time Jack Abbot had dug in his pocket for you was not some act of kindness on a great scale of magnitude. Often during the night rotation at the PTMC—after being knuckle deep in a patient’s chest cavity—there was an unmistakable grumble in, not only your stomach, but Dr. John Shen’s too. With only mere seconds to bite into a protein bar before you’re called to another case, if at any point there was an eery lull in the Emergency Department; Grubhub was on speed dial.
Against protocol, because nobody was opposed to convenience, you and Shen would add a note to your order: DROP-OFF @ AMBULANCE BAY PLS. And, then proceed to Rock, Paper, Scissors your way into deciding who would run the risk of being caught red-handed, during a speedy collection by Dr. Abbot, who would undoubtedly have a few words if he caught wind of your misuse of the Ambulance Bay.
“Yo.” Shen caught your attention as you came out of Central 11. An empty cup of Dunkin in one hand, his phone in the other, he matched your lazy speed. “ETA on the food is 3 minutes.”
You held your open palm under the sanitiser dispenser, “Alright. Ready?”
Shen chuckled and tucked his phone under his armpit, “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He held out a closed fist the same time you did, “On three?”
You nodded and counted to three, throwing out a classic rock, confident it would land you another win compared to Shen’s four recent losses.
“Shit.” You hissed at the sight of Shen’s paper that he promptly wrapped around your fist to emphasise his winning round.
Shen shrugged, “Ooh. That was satisfying.” He backed away to check the board, “Godspeed, dude.”
Hands placed under the sanitizer dispenser out of habit, you scowled at Shen as he walked to the oval desk with a pep in his step, rubbing your hands together with vigour as you headed in the opposite direction to the Ambulance Bay.
Luck was on your side that evening, for one, there was no sight of an ambulance sliding into the bay and two, your Grubhub driver was already situated on the sidewalk with a motorcycle helmet still worn and a beige paper bag stapled with the receipt, in his hand.
You gave him a friendly wave, head turned to check the doors as you stepped into his space to retrieve the bag of hot food. You exchanged basic pleasantries, and then the delivery man hesitated to step away, his eyes visible through the visor as he stared, waiting for something additional in return.
A tip?
“Oh! Yeah, sorry—” You reached into your pocket and pulled out a button and a sturdy hair tie from Ellis, “Um…”
“Here you go, man.” A third voice.
The gravelled tone that both you and Shen tried to discreetly avoid amongst the several rendezvous‘ with your Grubhub driver. The one that belonged to the attending physician, that in line with technically being your boss, was also the one man at the centre of your little workplace crush.
You had met Dr. Abbot amidst the mass-casualty during PittFest. Assigned to the Red Zone, you worked amongst the seasoned professionals with a hindrance of confidence in the capability of your own hands. Not the time, nor the place to reach a movie-like flow of a meet-cute whilst performing CPR on an asystole patient with blood up to your elbows.
But you saw him. And, Jack Abbot definitely saw you.
That being said, under alternative circumstances, you’d have welcomed Dr. Jack Abbot’s presence in the Ambulance Bay.
Your body stiffened, the guilt riddled all over your face. No question as to who the Grubhub bag was for.
The driver gave a two-finger salute to the generous $20 tip and backed away to his motorcycle parked to the side. Jack would be sure to mention an abiding PennDot Motorcycle Safety Course user, to Robby at some point during hand-offs.
He slowly looked to you with mirth.
“I told him to take the pedestrian entrance?” Not convincing even yourself with the higher octave in which you spoke, pocketing the receipt in your scrubs to avoid Jack checking the order note at the bottom.
“Uh-huh.” Jack dipped his hand in the bag and pulled out three fries, “Jack Tax.”
With a hand held out to gesture you back inside, you gave a strained smile and obeyed his silent order to get back to work.
Shen was on the other side as you entered. “Better luck next time, Rock.”
2.
“What the hell are those?”
You looked down at your new scrubs. OK, you had pushed the boat out and bought a different shade of black, more complimentary to your seasonal colours with the undershirt to match. Maybe you hesitated in your car, singing lyrics as words of affirmation to beat the hesitancy that robbed yourself the joy of a new purchase.
(Being perceived was a sore spot for you.)
And then, the universe placed you in the PTMC with a specific co-worker that made it his full-time job to perceive his surroundings and outwardly share his candid thoughts without much effort for filtration. Aside from that being engrained in the speciality of being a physician, you still entered the PTMC with gritted teeth and a nervous disposition that Dr. Jack Abbot would pin the attention onto you.
Despite this, you looked up from your body and toward Jack, “My scrubs?” You reiterated verbally.
“No.” Jack reached for the earphones dangling around your neck like a stethoscope and tugged once, “These beat up things. They still sell them with the wires attached?”
Thank goodness it wasn’t the scrubs. You didn’t fancy using your credits already.
You jumped to their defence, “I like them having wires. Means I can keep track of both earphones.” You then added in deflation, “It’s not exactly in my budget.”
“If they’re on a leash?” Jack looked to Dr. Ellis with an expression that read: Are you hearing this shit? She shrugged. “You have got to get a new pair from this century, sweetheart.”
This century? You bit the insult harboured for the salt and pepper haired veteran turned senior attending. Sometimes things were best left un-personalised to save any feelings hurt.
In replacement, you deadpanned where Abbot smirked, slowly pulling the headphones from your neck to bunch them up and pinch them with a butterfly clip.
Dr. Ellis chuckled beside you, body leant against the desk, “Tell a girl how you really feel, Dr. Abbot.”
“I mean it.” Jack gestured to the knotted wires in your grasp, “Is the sound even high definition?”
“Out of one ear.” You mumbled quietly.
“Out of one ear.” Jack repeated with a curt nod and a playful laugh that translated to the idea that he proved his point in one conversation. “Alright, go drop those historical artefacts in your locker, I’ve got a patient in 10 for you.”
It took two days after that altercation for you to arrive at your locker at work, your trusted wire headphones miraculously MIA, meaning you had to persevere with the ambient noises of Pittsburgh on your walk to work. (All eyes pointing to Abbot and his security accomplice, Ahmad.)
Code punched in, you barely had time to blink the sleep from your eyes—your Circadian rhythm still adjusting with the new shift rotation—when you spotted a small white case haphazardly wrapped in…twine?
It look as if it were meant to be a bow. That alone was distracting, and very telling.
“What the—?” You plucked the case from the middle of your locker, the realisation making your ears ring before you slammed your locker shut and sauntered into the belly of the Pitt to find your culprit.
Jack was at the work station, refusing to sit as he bent at an awkward angle to read the words on the computer, when you found him with a little more aggravation than he had anticipated.
“Fucking AirPods?” You struck the atmosphere with a loud call. Lena—the charge nurse—peered over her glasses at your sudden outburst. Out of respect, you were quick to change the level of your tone, “Jack, these are like $250.”
His eyes darted up to you, nothing short of a serious expression on his face. “OK?”
You hesitated, “Are you—Are you playing a joke on me? I can’t accept these.”
“Well, that would be a little rude.” He sounded monotonous, uninterested as he scrolled down the page with the mouse in his hand.
You took a different route of reluctance to accept such a gift.
“How can you afford these?”
“Blood money.”
“Jack.”
Jack stood at full height, “Re-lax.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, “Consider it a welcome gift to the Night Shift.”
(Nobody put money in the make-believe pot but him.)
”I changed shift patterns, two weeks ago.” You retorted.
He corrected, “A belated welcome gift, then.” When you didn’t seem convinced, Jack went in for—what they called in bowling—a strike. “Accept the earphones from this century…you’re too pretty to be walking around with those battered old things.”
“What?” You blinked in disbelief. Jaw slack.
Did you just hear that correctly?
Jack didn’t bring forth any further compliments apart from a shit-eating grin that had you stuck in the mud, clutching earphones way beyond your price range. You heard Lena chuckle at her iPad, and you snapped back into reality, fingers curled around the gifted AirPods; because performing a surgery to be able to clutch your own heart beating triple the amount of beats it should be, per minute, was downright unrealistic.
“Thank you.” You said quietly before turning back on your heel to put the earphones in your locker for safe-keeping.
Jack and Lena watched you scurry away like a field mouse, Abbot failing to miss the knowing gaze from Lena peering over her glasses at him.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Dr. Abbot.” She spoke in a tone of amusement.
Jack gave a nod, “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing.”
3.
The third time was on the lesser side of grand gestures such as brand new Generation 3 AirPods wrapped in a twine bow, but the outcome was more gratifying to both parties.
The shift had been considered one of your worst. From the moment you stepped into the PTMC—even before this, but you attempted to leave your personal life at the door—you were greeted with hurdles that you continued to get your foot stuck under, metaphorically grazing your chin as you landed face first into disaster.
In addition to this, you were notified of Louie’s passing in an insensitive, pass-off comment by one of the new residents, James Ogilvie. It was told to try maintain a professional barrier between you and the patient, don’t get intertwined in their life and make a best friend out of them. But, you adored Louie. Despite the reasons behind his visits, his face was a welcomed one with the abundance of kindness he brought for someone who was losing against his own demons.
You placed your head against the coolness of your locker, burning eyes shut after Dr. Ellis told you to take five after you delivered some harsh truths to a difficult woman who was labelled Dr. Google and had little belief in the medical care provided to her son.
The idea came to visit Louie in the Viewing Room, maybe have one last conversation with him, but the notion was thrown off when you came to terms with the knowledge that a one-sided conversation with your favourite patient would only make matters worse for you. You’d be sure to visit him once your emotions were wrangled.
You let out a shuddered breath that you had been withholding.
“Hey.”
Almost giving yourself whiplash at the speed that you turned your head, your heavy heart dropped at the sight of Jack Abbot standing a couple of steps away from you with an iced coffee in his hand. He looked empathetic, concerned after it was relayed to him about your outburst toward a patient’s family member.
You were never one for sudden outbursts. Especially toward visitors.
You crossed your arms in an attempt to close yourself off, “Hey, Dr. Abbot.”
“I heard about Dr. Google.” He took a step closer and you winced, prepped for a slap on the wrist moment. He would remind you at a later time. “You OK?”
“I’m fine. Just—” You rubbed at your eyes, “Having a bad day.”
“Preach.” Jack mused and extended the plastic coffee cup to you. He encouraged you to take it with a nod of his head, “I think I got your order right. Don’t get mad if it isn’t. I heard that’s your thing now.”
You took the cup by the lid and threw Jack a stern look, unable to conceal the growing smile. “Thanks.” You took a sip and revelled in the immediate caffeine hit, and subsequently, Jack getting your order right.
(He asked Shen to go through his order history that he knew you had shared.)
Jack bit back a smile.
“Jack Tax?” You offered the cup up to Jack.
He hesitated to take it—cross-contamination and all factors a doctor usually worries about—but then threw caution to the wind. Might be the closest he gets to kissing you. Or something along those lines.
Jack took the cup wet from condensation back, tilting the cup upward until the coffee hit his lips. His eyes pinned you to the spot and suddenly, the ceiling tiles needed your immediate attention.
You started to count them. Length by width to equate the amount in total. Twenty-six by fourteen would equal—
“Are you free tomorrow?”
Oh.
Your equation forgone, your solemn expression wiped and replaced with surprise. Your attention dropped to the male in front of you, almost missing the way his free hand shook at his thigh. The burning question left hanging in the air as you digested each syllable he had spoken as if it were sacred text to memorise by word of mouth.
Suddenly feeling sheepish, Jack realised that he had picked a sensitive time in your day to boldly ask the question he had been biding his time to get correct. His throat bobbed, fingers curled around your coffee cup as it dawned on him that he may be translating as a real jackass with little emotional maturity to understand that you may just want to be left alone.
There was no escaping it, he thought. That would just look ridiculous now.
He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry.” He scrunched one eye shut and waved his own question off, “I shouldn’t have asked you when you’re having a bad day.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” You let out a nervous chuckle, palms pressed into your back as you arched your back to stretch awkwardly, “Free as in…?”
“A date.”
The wind almost knocked out of you. Lips formed into an ‘O’ you began to laugh from feeling shy, “Yeah. Shit, Abbot. I am off tomorrow.”
He knew. He checked the schedule.
Jack finally took a breath. His hand outstretched again to hand you back the coffee he had bought you.
“Alright.” He nodded, backing away with his thumbs up, “You can explain to me the reference: There’s people dying, Kim, that you told to Dr. Google over some drinks.”
You grimaced with the coffee back in your hands. Nose scrunched, you spoke, “Yeah. Sounds good.”
4.
Chivalry wasn’t dead.
According to the dive bar on Babcock Blvd with Jack Abbot punching his four-digit code into the card machine with every round of drinks he—and eventually you—had purchased on your night in Pittsburgh together.
You had both agreed on ‘casual’. Casual place, for a casual—no pressure—date, wearing casual clothes that differed from the usual scrub-wearing outfits you never seemed to be able to peel off of your frame.
Jack arrived early after you politely declined his text in the morning after you left work, asking if he could pick you up. The bar wasn’t far from your apartment, and it would save Abbot the fuel money that he so flippantly spent on brand new AirPods on you.
(The pieces of the puzzles were all slowly coming together.)
Nervous wasn’t part of Jack’s vocabulary. Built on adrenaline rushes and catastrophic tragedies, there wasn’t a bone in his body that shook at the definition of nervous.
He sat at the bar with the sticky countertop, his curls dampened from the rain and his prosthetic leg causing irrefutable irritation from the way it caused him to ache uncomfortably. No, he wasn’t nervous—he couldn’t be—Jack just felt…overwhelmed.
At least that’s what he so stubbornly called it.
And then you walked in.
Shit. OK, call it what it was. Nerves.
With a sunny disposition, your head shielded by a sodden newspaper you undoubtedly ducked into a corner shop to purchase on your walk. Suddenly, Jack felt inadequate in all aspects as a man, who wanted a date with the most beautiful woman he had set eyes on in a long time. His clothes suddenly falling short along the themes of ‘casual’, he regretted choosing a basic black tee—because it showed off his muscular biceps—and dark blue jeans. You looked breathtaking, and you weren’t even trying.
Jack threw back the dregs of his alcoholic beverage, hand slammed on the countertop as he gave a nod and a gesture to the bartender to give him the same again. Just stronger.
He stood when you approached, a grimace on his lips that told everything a doctor who knew him on a more personal level would know.
(His leg was killing him.)
You shrugged your jacket off, “Bothering you?”
“Not anymore.” Jack mumbled, eyes set on you with some well-placed adoration. When he sat, he spoke again, “You look pretty.”
“Thank you.” You tilted your chin into your shoulder.
After that, Jack paid you six more compliments—seven after his fifth drink slammed to ail his nerves—and aside from his attentiveness and eyes boring into your skull, the date turned out better than either of you had anticipated. There was no shadow of a doubt that it wouldn’t have crashed and burned but as two doctors at the PTMC, it was in your nature to expect the worst but hope for the best.
The kiss came in between your last drink and Jack passing off his card to the bartender. Mid-conversation, you had spotted Jack becoming fidgety in the stool he was perched on and you had put it down to the buzz of the alcohol mixed with relief that you two were two kindred flames outside of the workplace.
And then, his mouth was on yours. His hand placed against your jaw, fingers curled at the back of your head, he pulled you in for a painstakingly languid kiss. Noses bumped, smiles mushed together, you eventually pulled away when the kiss became borderline inappropriate for a public display of affection.
It sent your head reeling, judgement clouded to where the casualness of the date at the dive bar followed you into the car park, where Jack Abbot was casually knee-deep in the passenger seat of his truck with your bare thighs constricting around his head.
When he had finished, the windows fogged with droplets of condensation drooling down the tempered glass, Jack sat on the floor of the passenger side with the door open as he refitted his leg with a triumphant grin on his face. You had managed to wrangle your outfit back onto your body, face hot from a concoction of euphoria and the remainder of the alcoholic buzz.
“I’ve ordered you an Uber.” Jack mentioned as he cracked his spine, “ETA is about 5 minutes.”
He wasn’t going to be presumptuous of the night. Satisfied that you had reached your climax, Jack kept a respectful distance to the idea of going home with you after a successful first date.
(Not that he didn’t want to. He respected boundaries. Plus, with work the next day, his scrubs were at his house across town.)
You stretched like a cat in the seat, “How much do I owe you?”
Jack chuckled as he stepped onto the tarmac, his body angled toward you as he brought you in for another sweet kiss. “This one’s on me.” He mumbled against your lips.
5.
“I’m sorry to miss this.” Jack gripped onto the steering wheel of his truck, face apologetic.
You applied your lipstick in the passenger mirror, brows pinched at his apology. The lid to your lipstick made a soft click as you spoke, “Girl’s night?”
Jack nodded once.
That’s cute.
You leant over the console and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. The relationship still fresh—and more important, under wraps—you would take any opportunity outside of work to spend together. In which, Jack Abbot had coincidentally discovered his newfound love for ‘Girl’s Night.’
With a handful of your friends having met the elusive senior attending doctor turned…a person that you shared a bed with from time to time—labels had yet to be discussed—Jack had been privy to the inner workings of a get together where the women in your life sat on your sofa and just talked.
A lot.
He ended up making himself useful, serving drinks and food with a stolen kiss that had all your friends beaming from ear to ear. It turned out that Jack enjoyed it. And, when he wasn’t needed, he’d retreat to the bedroom to watch some news reports on his phone; with one earphone flicked out incase you called for his assistance again.
You rubbed your hand to the nape of his neck, “With all due respect. You’re not invited. And, not just because you picked up a SWAT shift on the Fourth of July.”
“Yeah.” Jack drawled, “You look pretty.”
“Thank you.”
Jack gestured in a circular motion around his own lips. “I like the…lipstick.”
“Oh yeah?” You grinned, lapping up his compliments like a parched dog.
“Yeah.” Jack confirmed lowly. He took a moment to rake your frame with his hungry eyes, a fleeting thought passed in his mind as he began to fish into his back pocket for his wallet—he started to carry cash whenever you were around—and pulled out a thick wad of dollars, his thumb making handiwork to count out the bills. “Here. Before I forget.”
“I don’t want your money, Jack.” You argued when he began to hand the money over to you.
Jack insisted, “Come on. A couple of rounds on me. Please?”
You hesitated, but ultimately knew it was a dead end debate in which Jack’s generosity and stubbornness would prevail. Fingers pinched the cash, you—respectfully—counted how much he gave you.
You frowned at the amount. “Jack. You’ve given me $200.”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you think we’re drinking?” You let out a breathless laugh and went to hand back $150, only to be met with reluctance. You shook your head, “Drinks do not cost that much.”
”$100 for drinks.” Jack leaned back into the driver’s seat, “And $50 for new lipstick.”
“What?” You stared at his weathered features in surprise, “You just said you liked my lipstick. Now you want me to buy a new one?”
As if it were the most glaringly obvious statement in this side of Pittsburgh, Jack tilted his head with his brows furrowed, feigning innocence like you wouldn’t believe.
It made your stomach knot.
“To buy more of the same lipstick.” He shifted in his seat to lean toward you, his lips a hot breath away from yours. “Because, I’ll keep kissing that shit off of you.”
You visibly reeled.
+1
You found Jack on the rooftop, where you had been informed he would be. His frame outlined by the bleeding pink and orange hue of the sunrise that peeked above the horizon. Hands in his pockets, he stood at the precipice of the ceiling, his eyes scanned across the Pittsburgh skyline.
You allowed some grace. Hand clutched a familiar brown paper bag, watching as Jack took deep breaths to remind himself he was still human. Still apart of the Earth that kept spinning after another person was added to the death toll.
Another person he couldn’t save.
When you saw his feet shift, you called out. “Grubhub delivery for one handsome veteran?”
Jack tilted his head to your voice, chin meeting his shoulder, “I didn’t order anything.”
“Shit.” You took a step forward, “Must be the wrong roof. You’re still handsome though.” Your lightheartedness was met with a chuckle, you could see it in the way Abbot’s shoulders lightly bounced whilst he shook his head.
“What are you doing up here?” He asked. Not that he wasn’t inclined to savour more moments up with you. The rooftop just wasn’t your thing.
You approached the railing that separated you from Jack, “Your friend with the loose tongue told on you.”
In reference to the Chief Attending, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, who had every incline to believe that you and Jack Abbot were in the early stages of a blossoming relationship. The man was incredibly intuitive, and when Jack began to smell like aftershave masking the scent of a lavender laundry detergent that was awfully similar to the one that he happened to smell off of you whenever you were in close proximity doing hand-offs…well, everything seemed to make sense in his mind.
So, as any good friend would do, he had pulled you aside with the ruse of discussing patient care, when in fact—whilst sparing you the gory details—Dr. Robby had some wonderful insight about Dr. Abbot’s whereabouts coming to his shift ending.
“Snitch.” Jack muttered.
“Out of love.” You reminded him, “Coming through.” Your body already dipped to bend below the metal railing, only for Jack’s hand to prevent you from reaching full height on the other side.
He thumbed behind him, “Behind.”
You stepped back reluctantly, “Oh, so there’s a hierarchy up here?”
Jack grunted as he bent down, popping back up behind the railing, his exhaustion worn on his face didn’t prevent a smile seeping through the cracks as he looked at you.
(God, he was so fucking attractive.)
“With a girlfriend that is afraid of heights? I’ll take my chances with her behind the railing.” Jack kissed you, his knuckle brushing your chin as you both avoided the fact that he had just pinned the tail on the donkey and called you his girlfriend. He sniffed, “You’re much cuter when you’re not chicken soup on a gurney.”
He kissed you again to distract you from the confusing comparison.
In translation: Jack didn’t want you fainting off the side of the building.
Slightly amused, you pulled back from the kiss and waggled the bag of hot food in front of Jack’s face. He read the side of the bag with narrowed eyes, a low hum elicited from the back of his throat.
“Robby?”
You threw him a look of complete disdain. “Jack Abbot. I’m starting to believe you don’t think I have any money.”
“I know you do. I just don’t expect you to spend it on me.” Jack said with honest conviction. He took the bag anyway, hand already diving into to find a couple of loose fries at the bottom of the bag.
He offered you one and you bit it between your teeth with gratitude. Not wanting to overstep, you allowed the silence to blanket over the two of you—the distant wails of sirens the only ambient sound so close to the PTMC—knowing that when Jack wanted to confide in you about his troubling thoughts, he’d do it when he was ready.
For now, Dr. Robby would be the one privy to that information.
You watched the sunrise further up into the sky whilst Jack tucked into his food, occasionally offering you a bite which you’d take out of politeness as you hadn’t eaten since the start of your shift. As the colours of the sky bled into a watered down pink, you let out a sigh of relief.
What a fucking pain of a shift to have overcome. You knew Jack felt the same.
Jack watched you rather than the scenic view ahead. That familiar ache in his chest returning; the one that he had felt similar to when he first met his late wife.
Not a comparison. Just a feeling.
When you caught him in the act of admiration, you lifted a brow for him to fess up.
I think I’m falling in love with you. No. He’d tell you that in different circumstances. In your apartment, with a pizza box between you and a movie thrown on that you swore you let Jack choose.
So, Jack Abbot settled for the next best thing. Your secret love language. “How much do I owe you?”
Summary: No one knows at the Pitt that Jack is married. They finally get to meet her...when she walks in as a patient. She cut her finger needing stitches. Jack can handle blood and chaos what he cannot handle is his wife on an ER bed.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Female!Reader
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: Descriptions of blood, needles, and Guillotine Cutter.
Jack Abbot wore his wedding ring on a chain beneath his shirt.
Not because you were a secret. Never that. If he wanted to, he would proudly declare that he somehow managed to marry a young, beautiful, sharp-tongued second grade teacher with the softest heart he’d ever known.
But he liked to separate his work life with his private one.
The hospital was known for bright fluorescent lights, blood, and grief. Which he carried all in silence. When he stepped foot into your guys home, saw the dinner you prepared for him, your slippers by the couch, and the fridge covered with drawings made by your students he felt weight leave his shoulders.
He didn’t want those worlds colliding. So you never met his coworkers. You wanted to of course you did but you respected that he moved at his own pace. Especially when he worked at an ER.
He never told you details about the shifts he worked, just the surface things.
“Someone passed away.”
“A kid broke his arm when he fell off the bike.”
“Drunk patient."
You never pushed details out of him. You saw the way his jaw would tighten when he didn’t want to talk about it.
You were preparing for the next day's assignment for your students at home, when you sliced the tip of your pointer finger on your left hand with a guillotine cutter. You had been rushing, trimming laminated worksheets, when the blade came down wrong. You didn’t register it right away. Not until you saw the blood. A lot of it. You reacted faster now grabbing a hand towel and wrapping it around your finger.
Jack had warned you about that damn cutter before.
You ordered an uber instead of driving yourself. You wish Jack was here to help but he was volunteering for the SWAT as a medical personal. You believed the last thing he needed was you panicking him mid-shift over something you thought was small.
You pressed your injured finger to your chest as the car pulled up to The Pitt. You walked through the metal detector and stood in line to talk to the front desk lady. You could ask for him and skip the wait. But as you looked around you could tell there were people here who needed treatment more than you did.
When you finally reached the desk, the woman behind the glass glanced up. Her name tag read Lupe Perez.
“Hi–” you started. Then you were shoved hard from behind. A tall man stormed forward, yelling to Lupe about wait times and incompetence.
“Hey! Don’t you see everyone else is waiting? They’re busy. Sit down and wait your turn instead of causing a scene.” Your teacher's voice came out without noticing. The man looked down at you eyes wide with anger but you stood your ground then, unbelievably, he backed off.
Lupe smirked and then looked up at you smiling. “Thank you, sweetie. Name?”
“Y/N Abbot.”
You watched as her fingers paused over the keyboard at your last name. She then brushed it off, she's met thousands of people. Could just be a last name.
“What brings you in?”
You lifted your left hand that was still wrapped in the bloody towel. “Guillptine cutter. It’s..not cute.”
“Alright, here is a packet you will give to them. I will call your name when ready.” She explained handing you the packet.
“Thank you.” You smile softly then take the packet with your good hand. You looked around and saw a seat in the corner. You sat down and waited to be called. You thought about what Jack was doing.
Three hours later, you were a little sleepy and your hand was aching from constant pressure.When your name was finally called, you stood up stretching your legs. A nurse met you at the entrance of the double doors, he swiped his card and led you inside.
That's when you saw the chaos. Nurses and doctors running around everywhere. You saw white boards set up all over the floor.
“Dana, are there any rooms available?” The young nurse asked, a blonde woman holding a clipboard looked up.
“Room 5!” She points in the direction, the nurse nods his head and walks you to the room.
You were ushered inside.
“Is it always like this?” You asked softly. The nurse starts taking your vitals.
“No…our uh systems are down.”He said softly then a doctor walked in.
“Hi,” She took your packet and read through it. “I’m Dr. Santos…Y/N Abbot huh..any chance you’re related to Jack Abbot-” Dr. Santos smirked softly; she couldn’t help but joke around.
The curtain snapped open again.
“You called,”His eyes met yours immediately. He froze, all color from his face drained.
“Y/N?! What are you doing here-what happened!?” He quickly walked towards you, eyes dropping to the bloody towel.
Dr. Santos looked between the two of you, a grin already forming.
“So..how do you two know each other?” Dr. Santos said with a smirk on her face, enjoying this far too much.
“She’s my wife.” He said softly his focus still on you.
Santos' mouth fell open then she turned and bolted out of the room like she’d just been handed the gossip of the century. The nurse followed her out not long after when he finished with your vitals.
You winced slightly as Jack gently took your hand.
“How did this happen?” He asked as he started to carefully unwrap the towel, it looked like he was mentally preparing himself.
“I was cutting some assignments using the guillotine cutter-” You admitted.”What are you doing here, I thought you were with the swat team-”
“I told you to wait for me when you use that thing,” He muttered, worrying through slight frustration. “Someone got hurt and we brought him here..” You frowned softly and placed your good hand on top of his to calm him.
“Jack.” Your voice is steady and grounding. “ I'm okay, I promise.”
“I know, but seeing you hurt in the ER I can't–I don’t like it.” He said softly, you watched as his shoulders slumped seeing your bloody pointer finger.
“See not that bad!” You said your tone positive, trying to ease the mood.
“You’re going to need stitches.”
“Good thing I married a talented Doctor.” You said. That finally earned you a faint smile. He looked at you and let out a deep breath. He then kissed your forehead standing up.
“Stay here, I'm going to get the supplies” He kissed your good hand and you watched him turn to leave.
The moment he stepped out, the curtain flew open again.
“There she is! Jack Abbot’s young hot wife!” Dr. Santos announced far too loudly. Behind her was Dana and two other doctors. You read their name tags, Rabby Robinavitch and Dennis Whitaker.
You straightened automatically, a little embarrassed. “Hi.”
“Well I'll be damned.” Dana said, smirking. “So you’re Jack's wife.”
“Right! I didn’t even know he dated.” Trinity whispered to Dana.
“Nice to meet you Y/N.” Robby, the tall one with the beard said, he gave you a small smile. Jack has told you about him.
“It’s really nice to meet you all. I’d shake hands, but uhm..” You lifted your injured finger. Your wedding ring glinting under the lights.
“And how did that happen?” Robby asked.
“Oh It was a huge paper cutter, I was prepping worksheets.” You said softly lowering your hand a bit embarrassed. They looked curious so you explained why. “Oh I’m a second grade teacher.”
“Of course he would bag an elementary school teacher.” Trinity said, grinning softly.
The curtain opened again. Jack stepped in and scooted past the audience with a tray of supplies. He took in the scene in one glance.
“Is there a consult I missed, or are you all just interviewing my wife?” Jack said evenly. He set the tray on the small table next to your hospital bed and then sat on the stool.
Immediate silence fell as they had been caught.
Trinity was the first to leave, dragging Dennis with her. You could hear them whisper but couldn’t make out the words. Dana excused herself shortly after giving you a warm smile. Robby just smiled.
“We’ll talk later, Jack,” He said softly, crossing his arms. “Nice meeting you Y/N” he walked out of the room leaving you and Jack alone. He was quiet and prepping your finger.
“They were nice.” You said softly. He picked up a needle and your eyes widened.
“This is going to numb your finger..One..Two–..” He poked your finger and you winced. He had all his focus on your finger but you knew something was off.
“Jack.” He doesn’t look up as he strings the thread through the needle. “What’s wrong?” Your voice was soft and warming which only stung Jack’s heart more.
“Nothing,” he said quietly.
“Jack.” You said more firmly, he started stitching your finger, but your eyes were just on him not your finger.
“I just,” He finished one stitch. “I don’t like seeing you here..in these rooms.” He finally admitted.
You took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” You said softly while watching him work. He stitched carefully,methodical, and controlled. His thumb brushed your knuckle like he needed to confirm you were real.
“Don’t be sorry,” He said, finishing the last stitch. “Just be more careful.” He finished the stitch and then added some neosporin and started wrapping it in gauze.
“I will be..” You said assuring him. He was cleaning up the mess. You placed a hand on his cheek, leaning forward and kissed him. This kiss was soft at first, he melted into it and his shoulders relaxed.
“And please next time,” he murmured against your lips. “ You tell them you’re my wife and you’ll get the special treatment you deserve. No more waiting for hours.”.
“How did you-”
“I asked Lupe,” he said softly. He looked tired already. You could see it in his eyes this was a long shift that had just begun.
“Okay, I’ll follow your orders,” You kissed him again this time a little more slowly and deeper. His hand slid to your waist all the way to your hips. you pulled away from the kiss then whispered in his ear. “And maybe when you get home..I’ll reward you for taking such good care of me”
Jack cleared his throat trying to keep his thoughts clean…he was working for fucks sake he had to keep his thoughts clear. His grip tightened slightly on your hips.
“I called you an uber.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I do.”
His forehead rested briefly against yours.
“I'll take care of your injury when I get home.”He said in a firm but protective way. “You rest and wear that thing you bought on Valentine's Day.”
“Doctor's orders?”You asked teasingly.
“Always, Darling.”
When he got home he definitely got special treatment…and a lecture because Jack forgot to tell you about the bullet that grazed his back.
summary: you like to give abbot an extra grey hair with your flirting and barely suppressed sex jokes, and he likes to put a little extra in your swear jar. it's a win-win shift.
warnings: grumpy!abbot x sunshine!reader, also lowkey sugar!daddy!abbot, suggestive jokes, tension, flirting, one swear word, abbot trying to pretend sooo hard he’s not in love w reader ᝰ.ᐟ
wc: 2.4k (alina finally learnt how to stfu!! yay!)
You’d have the absolute audacity—and likely the entirety of your medical license—smacked clean out of you if you ever said the next thought out loud, but…it’s 4 a.m., and the night shift has settled into something almost resembling quiet.
Well, as quiet as it can get between drunk driving accidents and chest pains that turn out to be something worse than indigestion. It's like the ER is easing up on you, just for a second. Which is exactly why your brain has decided to fixate on something entirely unhelpful.
Why has Abbot been in a grump.
He’s had that small scowl all night, not quite fully formed, like it’s still deciding where to land and how hard. You’ve been watching it develop with a level of focus you would absolutely deny under oath.
In fact…you kind of hope it lands on you.
Not for any good reason. Not even a logical one. Just the same instinct that makes people watch storms roll in from too close, curious about the exact moment it tips from interesting into dangerous.
“I’m telling you,” you murmur, not looking away from your screen as you type, “it’s going to be something stupid. Like the printer.”
Diaz glances over his shoulder, checking if the subject of discussion is still there, then turns back, scribbling something down. “Nah, too easy. He’d fix the printer before he’d let it piss him off that much.”
You hum, lips pursing as you click through another tab, the system lagging enough to irritate you. “Okay, fine. Then a person. But not a big thing. Something small.”
“You, then.”
“Uh—” You pause, looking up at him, mildly offended. “Rude. He’d never snap on me.”
“No, but he gets all stiff and weird whenever you flirt with him like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so it’s close enough.”
You cock your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at him. “I do not flirt with him.”
Diaz just raises his brows.
You glance back at your screen, suddenly very interested in whatever half-finished note is sitting there. “I’m just…friendly.”
“Sure,” he drags out smugly.
“I am.”
“Right.” He nods, entirely unconvinced, tapping his pen against the paper. “That thing you did earlier? With the ‘thank you, doctor’ and the smile?”
You frown. “That was polite.”
“That was not polite.”
“It was,” you insist, even as your fingers hover uselessly over the keyboard again. “It’s called good bedside manner.”
“Yeah,” Diaz mutters, “for the patients.”
You open your mouth to argue—fully prepared, actually—but it dies halfway out when you catch sight of Abbot heading towards the nurses’ station.
The scowl is still there.
Diaz follows your line of sight, takes one look, and immediately exhales like he’s just remembered somewhere else he absolutely needs to be. He shakes his head, already gathering his things.
“You coward,” you scoff.
“I’m not doing this.” He holds his hands up, backing away like this is a hazardous situation.
“Huh. You would if Javadi was here,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but when Diaz pauses, you can’t help the slick little grin that melts onto your face.
“What was that?”
You don’t look at him. Just mime zipping your mouth shut, tossing the invisible key over your shoulder.
“You’re annoying.”
“I’m not annoying,” you argue easily. “Right, Dr Abbot?” you add, just as Abbot comes to a stop at the counter in front of you, earning a very clear middle finger from Diaz on his way out.
You have to tilt your head up a little to see him properly, his scowl edging into view above your monitor.
“…Am I?” you press, because apparently self-preservation is optional, ignoring the small, bright fizz of something that bubbles up every time you decide to push him just to see where the line actually is.
“Annoying?” he repeats, flipping through paperwork in his hands.
You nod once. He glances at you long enough to catch it.
"Jury's still out,” he mumbles, turning the page.
“I know you don’t mean that,” you whisper, leaning in. “It’s okay, Mateo’s gone—you don’t have to hide that I’m your favourite nurse now. No witnesses, no morale casualties.” You wave a hand airily, then reach for your hand sanitiser, squeezing a few pumps.
“Morale casualties?”
“Yup,” you reply, tilting your head like you’re weighing the gravity of the situation. “Could bring the whole floor down if they found out I’m your favourite. Women swoon for you, Doctor.” You smear the sanitiser into your hands. “Men too, I’m sure.”
He snorts, shaking his head as he walks over to the printer, feeding the documents in. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But not annoying.” You point at him, arching a brow.
“How many times have you written the same sentence?” he asks, fussing with the printer, hands gripping the edges as he looks to one side of the machine then the other.
You roll your eyes and glance back at your screen, skimming your notes, only for your stomach to dip when you realise you have, in fact, written patient’s BP is normal three separate times.
“Okay, well, in my defense—”
“You don’t have one.”
“I was just making it very clear that the patient's BP was normal,” you shrug. “Robby likes details.”
Abbot gives the printer a light smack when the paper still doesn’t budge. “Robby’s not here, and I like legible charting.”
You blink up at him slowly. “So you’re saying I should put your preferences and needs over everyone else's?" You do your very best to lace the question with something sultry, though at four in the morning you’re fairly sure the effect is somewhat dampened by the fact your concealer has absolutely creased beneath your eyes and your hair could probably be redone. You commit anyway.
Abbot chooses to ignore your attempt, his hands hovering over the printer. “Do you know how to work this fucking thing?”
“Of course I know how to work a printer, Doctor. I’m not incompetent.” You swivel in your chair to face him fully, smile widening. “...Just admit I’m your favourite.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Well, in that case, I think my charting could do with a little improving,” you say, turning back to your computer, smacking your gum a little louder as your finger clicks on the mouse repeatedly. “Might rewrite that blood pressure note a fourth time. Maybe fifth. Really flesh it out.”
There’s a moment of silence behind you, followed by an exhale long enough to extinguish a line of candles.
“Okay. Fine.”
You freeze mid-click, slowly pivoting your chair back to him, the gum between your teeth suddenly tasting a little too sweet.
Abbot is staring at you with an exhausted expression. The one of a man who knows exactly how negotiations should go, having probably run more tense situations than you can imagine, but who also knows he’ll cave if it comes to the right thing. Maybe he’s just good at giving in when he wants to, like a soldier choosing his battles.
“Please. You little terrorist. You’re my favourite and I need these scanned to radiology. Now.”
You grin at him, pushing yourself up from your chair with a spring in your step as you approach the printer. “Fine, fine. Scanning, coming right up.”
He moves to the side, letting you take over.
“So all you have to do is give them a little push,” you murmur, dragging out the syllables, “just enough so they fit snug. And then you make sure the frames are squeezed tight…tight enough to keep everything in place, so nothing slips out.”
He clears his throat, eyes darting around like you’ve said something scandalous, and not just given him a briefing on how to use the scanning function of the printer.
“The paper, Doctor. Get your mind out of the gutter,” you chirp, nudging the papers in and watching the machine whirl to life.
“My mind’s not in the gutter.”
“No?” You glance up at him prettily. “Oh, then you must just be deeply impressed by my ability to handle old things with such ease and efficiency.”
He shakes his head, already looking tired of you in a way that suggests he is not nearly tired enough. “You are unbelievably committed to making HR a recurring issue for me.”
“Thank you for showing me how to use a simple piece of equipment is a sufficient enough reply.”
His mouth twitches before he reins it in. “Radiology. Now. You can shred the original once it’s saved on the system.” He taps the printer once before backing away.
“Aht, aht,” you call after him, snatching the documents and setting them on the counter before rounding it and dropping back into your chair. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you with immediate suspicion. “What now?”
You stare at him expectantly. He stares back. Then scoffs like he cannot believe he is indulging this.
“Thank you for showing me how to use a simple piece of equipment,” he repeats flatly.
“That’s very cute. I’m glad you can follow instructions. But—” You hold up one finger before bending beneath the desk and emerging with a very sparkly jar covered in rhinestones, the label aggressively pink and handwritten in looping glitter pen. “You need to pay for the f-bomb you dropped earlier.”
“We have a swear jar?”
“I have a swear jar,” you correct, giving it a proud little shake so the coins inside rattle merrily, loud and obnoxious, “and everyone in my presence has to contribute when they slip up.”
He scoffs again, folding his arms. “And who decided that?”
“Me, obviously.”
“Of course.” He nods once, like that answer somehow tells him everything he needs to know. “Lena know you’re scamming the entire ER?”
“She helped me decorate the jar,” you beam, unscrewing the cap. “Pay up, Doctor.”
He just stares at you. Then at the jar. Then back at you again like he is genuinely trying to work out whether sleep deprivation has finally pushed him into a hallucination.
“This is insane.”
“No,” you say sweetly, wiggling the jar in his direction, “this is discipline. We cannot have you running around the ER with a foul mouth, dropping f-bombs in front of vulnerable patients.” You lower your voice like you’re explaining something terribly serious to a child. “Honestly, I’m doing you a favour. Driving patient satisfaction rates up one dollar at a time.”
“Stop talking.”
“Well either pay up or give me something better to do with my mouth.”
The silence that follows is almost impressive.
Abbot looks like every thought in his head has cartoonishly slammed into the wall. His face doesn’t change, not really, but his whole body seems to lock for half a second like his brain is still trying to peel every single thought back off the surface where they’ve all just splattered at once.
You blink at him.
Then your own words catch up to you.
You like to flirt, yes—lightly, strategically, with plausible deniability. Not…whatever the hell that was. Not the sort of thing that sounds like you are actively trying to plant deeply inappropriate mental images in the mind of a man you have to see professionally every single day.
“Oh my God,” you breathe, eyes widening in horror. “I totally did not mean to say that out loud.”
His eyes are still on you, and your mouth has still not gotten the memo.
“Delete it. Delete the last ten seconds from your memory.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Well try harder. Please. I am literally begging.”
His mouth twitches. Not enough to count as a smile, but enough to let you know he is finding your humiliation far more entertaining than is medically ethical. “You’re assuming that I want to forget it.”
“Oh, that is not the correct thing to say to me right now.”
His jaw tightens imperceptibly, and it seems to hit him a fraction too late what exactly he has implied. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” you ask, already grinning despite your mortification, because embarrassment is temporary but the opportunity to harass him is forever. “Interesting. Because from where I’m sitting, it came out kind of perfect.”
“It didn’t.”
“It really did.” You stand back up and lean forward over the desk, placing the jar next to you. “So just to clarify, you’d actually like to keep thinking about my mouth?”
“You seem very committed,” he mutters, reaching into the pocket of his scrubs, “to seeing exactly how far you can push this before it becomes a problem for you.”
Oh.
Oh.
That shuts you up entirely.
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound. Not one single clever thing. Your brain, usually so eager to produce nonsense at record speed, has apparently packed its bags and fled the premises.
He watches the whole thing happen with far too much satisfaction before pulling out his wallet and flipping it open. “There,” he says, smug enough to make your eye twitch. “Peace at last.” Then he pulls out two fifty-dollar bills, folds them, and places them into your jar.
You’re silenced once again as you try to process exactly what he’s done.
“What the hell?” you blurt. “A hundred dollars? Really? Are you insane?”
His brow lifts. “You want more?”
“No. Absolutely not. I want less, actually.”
“Thank you for overpaying my swear jar after I’ve spent ten minutes sexually harassing you beside a printer is a sufficient enough answer,” he mocks dryly.
“I don’t see you complaining to HR. Matter of fact, this—“ you nod to the jar, “—looks a lot like you rewarding my behaviour.”
“Trust me, if I were rewarding your behaviour, you’d know.”
Your stomach does a humiliating somersault so violent it should probably be documented in your own chart.
He watches your face change and immediately looks far too pleased with himself. “That shut you up quicker than the money did.”
You scramble to recover, cocking your head to the side. “And what kind of behaviour would you lean towards rewarding? You know…for research purposes.”
“Getting those documents to radiology. Ensuring charting is done to the proper standard. No scheming during work hours.”
You roll your eyes and stick a finger in your mouth, mock-gagging. “Ugh, boring!”
“You asked.”
“True,” you concede, plopping back in your chair. “But I have a feeling there’s probably a much less professional answer rattling around in there that you’re not sharing.”
“I’m going to go now, okay?” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Enjoy your earnings.”
“Don’t act like you won’t be back later,” you call after him, twisting your lips as your eyes follow his retreating figure.
Of course you're not wrong, because he's back exactly thirty minutes later.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Description: You’ve been secretly losing your mind over Dr. Abbot for months. One slip on ice later, and your giant crush on the night attending becomes everyone’s business thanks to a concussion and a mouth that won’t stop calling him gorgeous.
or, Cristina Yang slips and gets saved by Owen Hunt in uniform, but make it The Pitt ✨
Tags/Warnings: Nurse!reader, you're so down bad for him, descriptions of a concussion and a mild icicle injury to the stomach, suggestive comments, banter and flirty Abbot.
Note: Once again a Grey's anatomy inspired fic lol. I had a lot of fun writing this one, enjoy!
Masterlist
You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad,
You make me so happy, it turns back to sad
Jack Abbot is ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know.
He goes to work every day completely unaware that somewhere across the hospital, you, a licensed, very mature and very competent nurse, is being driven insane by the simple fact that he exists. And quite frankly, you hate him for that.
Because he’s kind and smart. Annoyingly smart. Calm in a crisis, quick on his feet, always three steps ahead, always knowing exactly what to do. Patients love him. Nurses love him. Residents love him. Dr. Robby loves him. You lo–no, no you don’t.
And to make matters worse, he just had to be gorgeous too.
That salt and pepper thing he has going on? Unfair. The way he shows up wearing those black shirts out of nowhere? Mega unfair. The way he holds eye contact while expecting you to focus on doing your job? Sick and twisted, actually. And don’t even get started on his hands. Or his voice. Or his bedside manner. Or his…everything.
It’s infuriating.
He’s the kind of gorgeous that has you staring at a particular spot on the floor for too long, in the loneliness of your apartment, when you remember the way he said ‘Good night, you did a good job today,’ during shift handover. Because the worst part, the absolute worst part, is that you barely get to see him. Your lives only overlap in scraps that mean nothing and everything to you.
You’re a day nurse, he’s a night attending. That’s your 13th reason.
No, actually, you know what it is? I know you do. We’re all thinking the same thing here.
That uniform.
That stupid, cursed, virtue ruining SWAT uniform that makes you forget you’re a professional. A professional who has, on more than one occasion, had to physically remove herself from the nurse station and hide by the stairwell to look at the lava lamp video Dr. King so kindly shared with you, because Dr. Jack Abbot walked in wearing camo, and the devil on your shoulder told you to jump him and bite those biceps.
So yes, without being dramatic or anything, he is ruining your life.
By being hot. By being kind. By being good at everything he does. By flashing you those little smiles when your shifts overlap, when he has no idea what they do to you…or maybe he does. Because he always requests your help when he comes in during the day, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send you straight into the land delusion for the rest of your shift.
You tell yourself it’s because you’re a good nurse, despite it all. Princess says it’s because he likes you.
But Princess is insane. Maybe as deluded as you are, to be honest.
And having a silly work crush was fun at first, but it’s not fun anymore when all you do is wait for those tiny moments. When 7 p.m. has become your favorite and least favorite time of day. When you catch yourself smoothing down your scrub top before shift change, just in case. When you know the sound of his voice from three trauma bays over. When you start wondering whether switching to nights only for him would be that crazy after all.
All while Jack remains oblivious to the fact that he is the reason you’re stepping outside the ambulance bay at 6:30pm on a freezing Friday evening, completely exhausted, yet still hopeful enough to be the first one he says hello to on your last break.
You sigh as you lean on the brick wall near the entrance, tucking your hands deeper into your jacket’s pockets looking at nothing in particular. The snow has been shoveled away from the ambulances path, but there’s still a few patches of ice glistening on the asphalt.
“There you are,” a voice behind you makes you startle. You turn around slightly, finding Princess walking to you with a knowing smile. “You’re gonna freeze yourself out here.”
“I’m just excited it’s Friday,” you say, but there’s no actual enthusiasm in your voice. “Can’t wait to get out of here.”
“Ohhh, you got big exciting plans for the weekend?” She wiggles her brows, nudging you with her elbow. “Someone to warm you up?” That makes you snort, shaking your head and nudging her back.
“I wish. It’s just me and my couch…and my dog.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
“That bad,” she teases, but you know there’s no malice in it. “Tragic,” she sighs, before perking up just as quickly. “Me however…”
“Oh the firefighter?” You chuckle, watching a stupid little grin spread over her face. “You’re seeing him tonight?”
“Third date,” she sing songs. “You know what that means.”
“Hmm. Bunch of cardio.”
“It keeps me healthy,” she shrugs, beaming. “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, assume I died happy.”
You both start giggling, and you feel genuinely happy that at least your best friend is getting wrecked by a man in uniform. Not that you have imagined something like that. Actually, you’ve imagined a lot of things. Some more HR friendly than others. You let out a sigh without noticing, and Princess bumps your shoulder this time.
“See, that little pathetic sigh is why you need to do something about your little situation,” she starts.
“What little situation?” You don’t even turn to her, but you know she’s glaring at you. “What?” you say again.
“Oh I don’t know, maybe the one with the silver fox attending you’re into.”
“Princess!”
“What? Honey you’re already halfway through a shift switch petition.”
“So what? It has nothing to do with Dr. Abbot,” you snap, but realize your mistake as soon as the words leave your mouth.
“I never said Dr. Abbot,” she drawls.
You groan and look away as heat crawls up your face. At least it brings comfort against the unforgiving winter air.
“It’s not like that. I just think the change of pace could be interesting,” you excuse yourself, very poorly.
“Uh-huh. You just wanna stare at him more often,” she says, less teasing than you expected. “Have you ever thought he might like seeing you more often too?”
The sole idea of it makes you snort. “Yeah, sure.”
“I am serious, girl. I really think he likes you,” she reassures.
“No, he doesn’t,” you shake your head.
“He always asks for you.”
“Because I’m good at my job.”
“I’m good too, but he smiles at you differently.”
“Princess,” you warn, because living in delulu land has done nothing for you these past months. “Stop.”
“I’m just saying,” she shrugs with a little smile. “One day you’re gonna have to admit that man is ruining your life.”
Oh he is. And you know it very well.
“Yeah yeah, call it whatever you want. Now let’s go back inside before we freeze to death and Dana kills us for dying,” you chuckle despite yourself, making her laugh in agreement.
You turn toward the doors, a little disappointed to not have spotted the subject of your discussion yet, but you don’t have much time to mourn when your shoe skids on a thin layer of ice you didn't see, sending you flying back in a matter of seconds. Princess almost slipped too trying to catch you, but your head hit the pavement before she could.
For a second you only see the blurry lights of the ambulance bay, and a few glistening icicles lined above you. And because life loves you, when your vision manages to focus more, you catch the horrifying moment when one of the icicles breaks from the roof and falls straight into the side of your stomach. The impact makes you groan, Princess gasps and covers her mouth with both hands.
“Ouch…” you wince, trying to lift yourself up to see the damage but your head feels too heavy.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” she panics, kneeling next to you and slapping your hand away when you reach for it. “No, no. Don’t touch it! Hey–are you…are you okay?”
You barely lift your head, only to stare blankly at her, not exactly sure why you’re on the floor. She expects you to curse, cry or scream at her. Anything. But all you do is giggle in response, completely out of it. She looks like she has two faces, and stars around her.
Red flag.
“Alright, alright, don’t move Cristina Yang. I’m getting you help, just wait for me babe,” she says, already getting up and running inside.
“Nooo, don’t gooo,” you say softly, but it sounds more like you’re amused than an actual cry for help. “Help…” you whisper, chuckling at how funny you sound.
You lie there, on your back in the ambulance bay, wondering if this is what rock bottom looks like. Attacked by an icicle after daydreaming of the hospital’s McSteamy, like you’re part of some medical drama.
You giggle again.
Yup. That can't be good.
You hear loud footsteps approaching you, but they’re not coming from the direction Princess took. You yelp when a face hovers over you, upside down from your perspective, and that face is none other than the one you’ve had at least a thousand inappropriate fantasies about.
“Well, what do we have here?” He drawls, tilting his head when he sees the icicle and the little patch of blood around it staining your grey scrubs. The amusement goes away in an instant.
He drops to one knee beside you, lifting your head a little to check for any blood under, but your hair is only wet from the leftover snow on the asphalt, making him exhale in relief. His hands hover near the icicle without touching it. It’s only when he’s closer that you notice he’s not in scrubs, but in his god forsaken SWAT uniform, no vest.
You can’t really find yourself to complain in your hazed state.
“Oh no…” you gasp softly, in a failed attempt to hide your sudden giddiness. He already looks like he has little pink hearts floating around his head.
“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he coos, oblivious. “Can you tell me what your name is?”
“Of course I know my name, silly,” you snort, proudly reciting your full government name. He bites back a smile at the jab, nodding.
“That’s good. Do you know what day?”
“...Wednesday?” You narrow your eyes, he just shakes his head softly.
“Already went through that one this week. Come here.”
He slides one arm under your shoulders, the other carefully under your knees, making sure he doesn’t bend your abdomen too much as he hauls you up with a groan. Your brain blocks the pain and decides this is the funniest thing in the world, giggling into his long sleeve camo shirt as he stands. Once he’s got you in his arms, with his face close enough to hurt more than the piece of ice inside you, he grins at you.
“What about my name?” He asks playfully. You huff in offense.
“Oh Dr. Abbot. You’re a hard one to forget,” you sigh dreamily, drawing circles on his chest. “With that face…and those eyes…and that uniform clinging to that bod–“
“Okay, honey. That’s a concussion speaking for you,” he cuts you off with a chuckle, telling himself the blush on his cheeks is due to the cold. “I’m gonna get you inside, alright? We’re gonna keep your new friend exactly where it is until it's safe to take it out.”
If your head wasn’t in wonderland right now, you would’ve probably coded over the fact that he just called you honey.
“Mmm. Whatever you say, doc,” you hum, resting your head on his chest. He can’t fight the smile this time.
“You day shift girls really know how to make an exit…” He mumbles fondly with a shake of his head, making his way back inside. The glass doors slide open, and Princess nearly collides with him, her sneakers coming to a stop in front of him.
“Dr. Abbot! There you are,” she yelps. “We were just talking and she slipped, and then BAM, an icicle! So I went to get you, of course. Or any doctor–actually, no, preferably you. She definitely prefers you–”
“I got her, Princess,” Jack snickers without breaking stride, carrying you in his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You barely lift your head to grin at her, and manage to point at the man carrying you while mouthing an ‘oh my god’ to Princess. She nods just as giddy, turning away so Jack doesn’t see her expression.
The chilly air gets replaced by the warmth and noise of the ED, all heads turning in your direction when he strides in, suddenly turning into the most interesting thing happening on that floor. That’s on you for giving them the material anyways. Jack Abbot, in full camo, carrying a giggling, icicle stabbed day nurse? It’s free real estate!
“Oh shit, is that an icicle??” Dr. Santos calls from the charting station, propping herself up over the desk to get a better look. “Can I go in there, Dr. Abbot? Please tell me I can go in there.”
“You’re off the clock, Santos. Go home,” he says, ignoring the way she mutters something under her breath as she turns back to the computer. “Lena, what’s free?”
“Trauma two,” Lena replies, eyes widening when she sees the thing sticking out of your stomach. She stands up from her swivel chair to trail after you into the room. “What the hell happened?"
“Winter hates me…” you say with a little laugh, before falling back into Jack’s chest. “Or maybe it did me a favor…” you mutter under your breath, making Princess and Lena exchange a knowing look.
Jack sets you down so, so gently on the bed that you fight the urge to kick your feet at the contrast of his rough hands adjusting your body delicately. Princess is already hooking you up to monitors you can’t really manage to read right now.
“Winter assault indeed,” Jack chuckles, popping on a pair of gloves as he analyzes your injury from multiple angles. “Penetrating trauma, left lateral abdomen. Looks superficial, but I want imaging before I yank this thing. Can you page Dr. Shen for me? This has his name written all over it.”
“Are you sure you want Shen here?” Lena raises an eyebrow, cutting your scrubs open with some scissors, as Jack briefly checks your pupils with a penlight.
“Oh, he’ll be offended if I don’t call him for an icicle,” he says, pocketing the penlight. “Mild concussion, no need for a CT.”
“Alright,” Lena says, putting down the scissors and patting your leg in reassurance before she leaves. “How are you doing, kid?”
“Booored,” you sing, trying to lift your body up but your head swims and your abdomen screams in pain before you can. “Ow ow–”
“Hey, hey. Easy,” Jack says, pushing you gently back onto the bed. “Stay still for me, alright?”
“Just get it out already!”
Jack catches your wrist just before you can grab the icicle piercing your side. “Uh-uh, what did I say?” he scolds. “We’re not doing an extraction yet.”
You groan in frustration, unaware of the way Princess and Jack exchange looks.
“What do we have?” Dr. Shen asks from the entrance, iced coffee in one hand as he walks to his rightful place beside Abbot. He tilts his head at you and your stupid icicle, and whistles. “Wow. I don’t wanna see the other guy.”
“Don’t worry, John. Dr. Abbot saved me,” you huff out a weak laugh.
“Of course he did,” Shen glances between the two of you, amused. “Our noble SWAT doc.”
Jack keeps his gaze on you with that maddening smirk, only breaking eye contact when Princess lets him know the XR tech is there. People start moving around you, and by this point you start to feel everything catching up to you because things don’t seem so funny anymore. You feel so tired all you want is to go to sleep. You try to fight it by blinking at the ceiling, trying to count the lights but failing very quickly.
Jack is suddenly by your head, one hand braced on the bed near your shoulder, closely monitoring the process.
“Hold your breath,” he whispers, way too close to your ear. “Just for a few seconds. You’ve seen a hundred patients do this, right?”
“Have I?” You try to joke, but you sound more drowsy than amused to him.
That makes him frown and straighten up to check your pupils again. “Maybe you do need that CT...”
You squint at the intrusive light, trying to push his hand away but the tech mumbles not to move. “Stop with that–I’m okay, just let me take a nap here…” you say, already closing your eyes.
“No, no. Eyes open,” Jack orders, snapping his fingers in your face to keep you awake. “Stay with me, trouble.”
Your lashes feel heavy but you manage to drag your gaze up to his. It’s easier than trying to focus on anything else anyways. You feel the XR ray tech pulling away and leaving the room.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Jack tells you, so serious that you’d debate if he’d just picked you up from a dumb fall or if he'd saved you from a building engulfed in fire. “We’re gonna patch you up, and maybe get you a few days off. Milk this for all the sick time you can get. Okay?”
You nod, managing a small tired smile. He’s leaning over you now, allowing you to admire his face from up close. His beautiful hazel eyes, his jaw dusted with stubble, the salt in his hair shining under the harsh lights. You can even see the little lines at the corners of his eyes.
That’s when the single neuron left in your brain produces a thought. And you should definitely not say the thought.
You absolutely say the thought.
“Dr. Abbot, you’re so gorgeous,” you announce, loud and clear.
The entire room freezes. Jack feels heat go up to his cheeks. Shen’s eyebrows go up as he sips loudly from his straw, and Princess, who was in the corner pretending to look busy with the vitals machine, bites her lip to stifle a laugh.
“I–“ Jack starts, then stops. Why’s he getting so flustered? “Once again, concussion talking,” he clears his throat, looking around him.
“But I mean it,” you insist, fighting the urge to close your eyes out of pure spite. “Look at your face.”
Jack’s mouth twitches, trying very hard not to smile. Princess is just fighting the urge to pull her phone out and film the whole thing.
“And your stupid SWAT uniform,” you continue, groaning dramatically. “Out of all days you had to wear it today. Ugh. You’re so–you’re so gorgeous it makes me so mad.”
Jack decides this is the perfect moment to turn to the computer in the room, for “charting purposes” but completely forgets the part where he has to tap his ID on it and just stares at the hospital’s logo on the screen.
“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he mumbles under his breath.
Shen and Princess exchange the most dramatic side eye in the history of side eyes and then both simultaneously pretend they heard nothing.
“Abdomen films are back,” a nurse entering the room says, offering an iPad to Jack.
He takes the tablet, shoulders dropping as he scans the images. “Good news! Our icicle is more dramatic than dangerous. No organ involvement. Superficial muscle at most.”
“Boring,” Shen mumbles, chuckling when Princess glares at him.
“We’ll do it here,” Jack decides, handing the iPad back. “Local and a quick pull. Shen, wanna do the honors?”
“I’ll just watch,” Shen shrugs, placing his iced coffee on a table nearby in case he’s needed. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”
“Okay, little pinch,” Princess warns you. You take a breath as the needle goes in, your hand flies up instinctively, but Jack catches it and redirects it to grip his forearm instead.
His muscles feel solid under your fingers, and this feels like information you should not have in this condition. You squeeze your eyes shut, because if he keeps looking at you like that–
“You’re doing great,” he reassures. His voice is so close, so warm and so low and SO UNFAIR.
You crack one eye open, and immediately regret it. It’s the light brown eyes with little green flecks for you.
“God, that hurts,” you whisper. Not a single sane thought behind your eyes anymore.
“The icicle?” he asks, ready to order more anesthesia.
“No,” you say, a little breathless. “Your face.”
Princess makes a weird strangled noise next to you. Jack actually laughs this time.
“That’s a new one,” Shen says.
“Alright,” Jack smiles at you. “Before you say anything else that’s gonna end up in the groupchat, let’s get this thing out.”
He positions himself above you, one hand pressing your hip to stabilize you, the other wrapping around the base of the icicle, careful not to push it in further.
“Deep breath in. I’m gonna count to three, okay?” he says. You do as you’re told, trying to avoid his gaze. “One–keep looking at me. Two–“
And then, still keeping that steady eye contact, he pulls. The icicle slides out in one slick motion, leaving behind a sharp sting that makes you squeak.
“You took my icicle out before three!” you gasp, scandalized. “That’s not nice!”
“We’ll get you another one next Christmas,” Jack chuckles, tossing the thing into a tray as Shen presses gauze firmly to your side.
“You did amazing,” Princess tells you earnestly, running her hand through your arm. “That was so cool. I mean–not cool that you got stabbed, cool that you–uh never mind. You’re very brave, babe.”
“Best story at the nurse’s station,” you smile at her, throwing up a peace sign.
“Easy there, Winter Soldier. Best story in the group chat, at best.” Shen says, managing a little snort from you.
“Oh the group chat will hear about this,” Princess adds.
Jack shakes his head, but there’s fondness in his features as he strips off his gloves. “Okay, here’s the plan. Observation overnight for the concussion, pain meds for the side, no lifting, no heavy shifts for a few days. And no more confessions, alright?” He smiles down at you, winking playfully. “You’re gonna be okay.”
You stare at him again, taking in his stupid perfect face, his stupid perfect hands, his stupid heroic camo long sleeve.
No, you’re so not going to be okay.
You open your eyes and immediately regret it. Your head pounds, there’s harsh white lights shining down on you, and the familiar ED noise coming from outside the room doesn’t help.
What on earth happened?
You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but the moment your head lifts from the pillow, your body says Not today.
“Shit,” you groan, dropping back down with a wince, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Easy there.”
That voice alone is enough to almost make you forget about the headache and the strange sting in your abdomen. You open your eyes and squint at the doorway, where none other than Dr.Jack Abbot is standing, wearing a black shirt and scrubs pants.
There he is. The bane of your existence and the object of all your desires.
He looks maddeningly calm for someone who exists just to personally ruin your peace. He pushes off the doorframe and walks in with a smug little grin. You stare at him, mind completely blank as he stops beside a little table and offers you a cup of water with a straw.
“Here. Small sips,” he says, gently helping you sit up. And when he uses that voice? All you can do is mindlessly do what he says.
“Thanks, Dr. Abbot,” you rasp, clearing your throat after drinking some water. “So…what happened?”
Jack stares at you for a moment, debating if there’s a chance you’re messing with him, but you seem genuinely confused. It’s normal after a hit like that, so he just huffs a little laugh and explains.
“You were outside the ambulance bay with Princess and slipped on ice. You hit your head, and then got stabbed in the side by an icicle.”
…???
“An…icicle?” You ask in complete disbelief, he nods amused. “Like in Grey’s??”
“Ehh–you’re gonna have to ask that to Princess,” he chuckles. “I wish I was joking, but there’s nothing to worry about, it was superficial. Imaging was normal, Princess numbed you up and I pulled it out. You’re a little bruised and concussed, but otherwise intact. Robby’s gonna have to give you a few days off, though.”
“Oh my God,” you sigh, leaning back into the pillow dragging your hands over your face. “Out of all the ways I could’ve gone down in hospital lore…”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbles, biting back a smile.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he says, a little too quickly for your liking, then steps closer. “I just want to check you again before I let you keep hating yourself in peace.”
Before you can ask what that means, he moves to the side of the bed and leans over you, making your entire nervous system short circuit as he removes your hands from your face.
“Wow–” you breathe, shrinking back into the pillow on instinct. Being this close should be illegal for this man. “What are you doing, Dr. Abbot?”
“Shhh,” he mutters, “just checking on you. You hit your head pretty hard.”
His hand comes up, careful fingers tilting your chin slightly. His thumb brushes near your cheekbone as he angles your face toward the penlight and scans your pupils. Your heart starts beating in places it absolutely should not be beating.
Guess the butterflies are flying very low today.
He finishes the exam, but he doesn’t move back. Instead, he shifts just enough to brace one hand on the wall above your head, still leaning over you, caging you into the mattress in a way that feels anything but accidental. This is not helping your concussion, if anything, it’s making it substantially worse.
Your breath hitches, and because your mouth clearly exists to betray you in his presence, you blurt out, “God, that hurts.”
“What hurts?” He asks, tilting his head.
The words are right there. Your face. Your stupid gorgeous face.
“My head,” you say instead. Good girl…or not? Because something you can’t quite point out flashes in his eyes.
“Mmm, well, for what it’s worth…” he says–did his eyes just flicker to your lips??? “I think you’re gorgeous too.”
5@$%)#&
Everything inside you stops. Your face goes hot so fast it feels like your head is about to combust. For one unhinged second you wonder if you’ve blacked out again and this is some kind of fever dream created by your useless brain.
“Did…I said that out loud?” You ask weakly and cover your face again with your hands, creating a barrier between you and the predator above you.
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
“Oh no…” You whine. This is it, this is how you leave this earth.
“Oh no?” He laughs.
“Oh no,” you repeat miserably, peeking at him through your fingers. “What did I say, Dr. Abbot?”
“...Enough,” he says, maddeningly vague. He straightens at last, mercifully putting a little distance between you and your impending death by humiliation. “More than enough, actually.”
“Dr. Abbot,” you insist, more serious now. “What did I say?”
“Mmm, not a chance,” he crosses his arms over his chest. Okay now he's just being unfair.
“Please.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Jack.” That slips out before you can stop it.
His eyebrows rise in amusement, but he clears his throat before turning to check your chart on the computer, like the conversation that just derailed your life didn’t even happen.
“You slept almost through the whole night shift, it looks like you’ll be discharged in a few hours. All the scans were clean but you’ll need someone to stay with you today, though. Hospital policy after a concussion.”
You let out a sigh, looking at your hands over your lap. He turns back to you, a worried look on his face.
“What?”
“I uh–don’t have anyone to call,” you say, trying to sound casual and failing a little. “Princess is probably with the firefighter, so I guess it's just me and…my dog.”
He hums, tucking both hands into his pants pockets, and rocks back a little on his heels as if contemplating something.
“Good thing I’ll be out in a few hours too, then,” he says, casual, too casual.
“…What?” You let out a weak laugh.
“I’m taking you home,” he shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Pets are great emotionally, less useful for neuro observation, so I’m making sure you don’t pass out unsupervised.”
“Dr. Abbot–”
“Jack,” he corrects.
“Jack,” you try again, weaker now. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know…trust me, I want to.” He says it so…certain, with a softer voice that makes you melt onto the mattress. “Try to rest for a bit, drink your water and don’t try to escape. I’ll come get you when your paperwork’s done,” he points a finger at you, half turning to the door. “Just wait for me, gorgeous, okay?”
Jack waits for you to say something, but all you can do is nod slowly, because speech has abandoned you entirely. He gives you one more devastating smile, before stepping out, leaving you wishing you could turn over so you could scream into your pillow. You finally let out the breath you were holding, and very carefully reached for your phone on the little rolling table beside the bed.
There are at least a dozen messages from Princess with a few voice notes. You stare at the screen in horror, and from what you can briefly read without actually opening her chat, you really fucked up last night.
That explains the look on his face. That explains everything.
And still, *wiggles eyebrows*, he is taking you home. Apparently. So, because there is truly no helping you, you can’t help but smile.
Girl whatever.
If Jack Abbot wants to ruin your life, he can go right ahead.
Thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated 🤍✨
Summary: it’s embarrassing enough being seen for food poisoning in your place of work before the attending on shift decides to make you his priority for the night.
Warnings: food poisoning mentions and all that involves, lightly researched medical things, mentions of alcohol, he wears his camo pants in this bc I say he does
Author’s note: Ahh this is my first fic in forever and my first fic for the Pitt at alllll 🥹 inspired by my own unfortunate bout last weekend and my undying love for Jack (it wouldn’t have been so miserable if I had him to take care of me, I’m sure of it). Happy night shift to my fellow Hatosy hoes <3
——
As a doctor, you really should’ve known better.
That’s the thought repeating in your head as you slouch, back pressed against the wall in front of your toilet, contemplating dragging a pillow and a quilt into your bathroom for the night.
Your watch tells you it’s just past 1am now, meaning you’d only had a few hours of blissful, much-needed sleep before you’d woken with nausea, half of your stomach in your throat and the other tied up in knots.
Only as you sit on your flowered bath mat, squinting in the fluorescent light of your bathroom, contemplating another round of your head in the toilet, do you realize that your meal prep had maybe been a bit too far gone.
You’re no stranger to food poisoning — having and treating — and you know you could knock this out with Pepto, fluids and a BRAT diet in 36 hours flat.
But you don’t have 36 hours. You’re back at the Pitt in — you check your watch — five and a half hours.
You dig your phone out of your bedsheets once you’ve decided it’s safe to stand up and stagger back to your bedroom, pulling up your text thread with Mateo while you brush your teeth.
If I come in rn can someone see me for food poisoning
You weren’t holding your breath for an immediate reply, knowing how it can get on night shift, especially after the mess you left them all with at handoff. You had almost felt guilty as you left.
Almost.
But you’re pleasantly surprised when he responds immediately.
NOOOO!!!
Ya come on in, we’re super dead
(✊🪵)
—
You’d texted Mateo like he’d told you to after you checked in at Chairs, the night shift receptionist letting you know he’d tell them there was a VIP out here waiting. But you’d waved him off, albeit queasily, taking comfort in the relative emptiness of the waiting room at this time of night, hoping it won’t be too long without the fast pass.
“Now why am I seeing one of our R2s out here in Chairs?”
You open your eyes, realizing they’d closed as you tipped your head back against the wall for a moment.
Dr. Jack Abbot came through the ED’s main entrance at one point, back from a phone call or a break if you had to guess.
He looks at the receptionist like ‘what gives?’ but it’s all in jest, his smile far too sunny for the darkness of the hour as he turns his attention to you.
That the hottest doctor on either shift at the Pitt might be seeing you in the worst state of your life had never occurred to you on your way over here tonight, but you realize that might’ve been hard to do in between the deep breathing out of the open window and several almost pull-overs you had to do.
Because as Dr. Abbot, in all of his camo-panted glory, makes his way over to you, you’re struck by the fact that even in your weakened state, he’s still absolutely undeniable.
Maybe even more so.
“Dr. Abbot,” you greet.
“What’s going on?” he says, slowing his pace as he nears. You sit up straighter as he immediately begins assessing, feeling a bit exposed under his gaze in your haphazard outfit. You must look as bad as you feel, because you clock the moment his face falls.
You wince, hating every second of this, but realizing you want this over with so quickly that you can no longer care. “Food poisoning. Pretty sure.”
“Yikes, doc,” he says softly, crossing his arms. “Did you tell anyone you were coming in?”
“I texted Mateo.”
“I’m sure he just got pulled into something. Come on,” he nods toward the doors, then looks you over. “You good to come back?”
You mull it over, glancing at the bathroom in Chairs. Abbot follows your gaze, then nods again. He pats your shoulder as he makes his own way to the doors.
“Take your time and then come on back. I’ll order some Zofran.”
—
“So stupid. I didn’t even think how old it was,” you sigh to Mateo, finally seated on an examination bed while he does your vitals.
Mateo nods toward your crossed legs, which you unwind so he can get an accurate blood pressure reading.
He slips the cuff off your arm with a sympathetic smile, and you pull your sleeve back down. “Hey, at least you got the day off now. Can start that zombie show I was telling you about.”
You shake your head. “Not likely. You’ll see me at handoff.”
Mateo scoffs, looking at the clock on the wall. “In four hours? You gonna sleep here?”
You just give him a look, but you thought about it on your way here.
“Alright,” he says, finishing up your chart. “You good? Barf bag? I’ll be back with your Tylenol.”
You shake your head, lying back with your feet propped up on the bed. “Nothing left. I hope.”
“Noted. Someone will be by soonish,” he says. Then a knock on the wall beside your bed comes, and Mateo smirks at you as he opens the curtain. “Or right now.”
Dr. Abbot’s back, nodding his head at Mateo to make way in front of the monitor so he can swipe in.
“How’re we doing in here, Dr. Y/l/n? Zofran kicked in?”
You give a meager thumbs up. “Hoping it will soon.”
“Vitals are good,” Mateo says to him. “She is running a fever, though — I was about to run for some acetaminophen.”
“I brought some just in case. I’ve got her from here,” Jack says, his voice softer, directed to Mateo. “You can go check on your other patients, yeah?”
“For sure. Feel better, Y/n,” Mateo says, and you hear the curtain close again.
You lift your arm off of your eyes, blinking under more fluorescent lighting, squinting slightly as Jack makes his way over, a cup of water and a portion of Tylenol in either hand. “Think you’ll keep it down?”
You push up slightly, taking the cup of tablets, throwing them back and trading it for the cup of water, deciding the risk is worth the mitigation of the chills and aches that have begun to set in.
He takes both cups from you, and you lie back again immediately while he throws them out. “We’re gonna find out.”
“That’s the spirit,” he laughs, and you feel your own lips quirk. “I like it. Alright, I know you just wanted your Zofran, but can I bother you for an abdominal exam?”
You look down at the thick sweatshirt you fell asleep in, realizing you’re wearing absolutely nothing beneath it. “Um.”
Jack’s paused near the gloves. “Walsh is wrapped up, but I’ll ask Ellis to come in.”
“No, no,” you say. You’re a doctor, one who’s on shift in a few hours, and you can handle an attending seeing your midsection. And touching it. “You’re fine.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
He nods, satisfied only after your outright consent, and snaps a pair of gloves on — size large, you hate that you can’t help but notice.
You lift your sweatshirt up once he’s at your bedside before you can think too much about it, and he clears his throat.
“Let me know if anything’s tender.”
You feel the warmth of Jack’s hands through his gloves as he works his way through the quadrants with precision, pressing gently into your stomach.
With his focus trained on the exam and your own mind needing a distraction, you notice things — how his freckled arms flex periodically against the sleeves of his scrub top, the collar of the heather gray crewneck he’s wearing today preventing any good look at his chest, the way he has his badge reel clipped to his pants instead of his breast pocket.
The band you know to be graphite that he still wears on his left hand, the imprint visible through the glove.
It’s such an easy exam. Just to rule anything out. You’ve done them hundreds of times — he’s probably in the thousands.
“A med student could’ve done this,” you say, casting your eyes away from where they’d been fixated on the pale underside of his further arm, the muscle jumping as he pressed down. “You don’t have to be here.”
“We’re mid-rotation. They aren’t exactly fighting over food poisoning on the board at this point, even if it’s their favorite resident,” he says, like it means nothing. “We’re slow. Why wouldn’t I take care of one of our own?”
He holds your gaze in case you have an answer, and you don’t.
But Jack bails you out. “Do you know what it was?”
“Dinner,” you answer. “Meal prep from Monday.”
“C’mon, Monday? You know better,” he says, his tone teasing. “What time did you eat?”
“Right after shift, like eight?” you try to remember. But it’s hard to once his hands move to the lower quadrants of your abdomen, and his gloved fingertips skim the waistline of your sleep shorts. “I can’t even remember.”
“Yeah, you kinda sleepwalked out of here,” he comments, with no fanfare.
You watch his side profile, wondering at what point Jack Abbot started noticing you at handoff the way you’ve always noticed him.
He looks up. “Nothing’s tender? No pain?”
“No,” you breathe, realizing that the warmth of his hands, however brief, pressing into your stomach over and over again has created about the most relief you’ve had since you woke up.
“Good,” he says, his thumbs tucking under the bottom of your sweatshirt and pulling it back down for you. He tugs it snugly over the waistband of your shorts, covering you more than you were even when you initially laid back, his thumbs brushing your sides. “Any other symptoms?”
You shake your head, then pause. “Not gonna run me through the list?”
He smiles, and it occurs to you that it’s slightly weird to see him in the in-between, the throes of night shift.
Not bright-eyed, a breath of fresh air greeting you after a hard day at 7pm. Or on the flip side, a more somber sight to see first thing in the morning, his shadow grown in and his hair tousled. He’s settled, but not exhausted. It’s comforting.
“We could get real comfortable if you’d like, Dr. Y/l/n. But I trust that you know the symptoms I’d be worried about and would tell me if you had them.”
Your eyes meet, your heart stuttering slightly at his praise. You’d worked hard and earned everything you’d achieved, but it was no secret that the ED could feel thankless, and receiving affirmation from a doctor you admire was always a lift.
“I’ll let it slide, Dr. Abbot,” you say. “Diagnosis and treatment plan?”
“Well your fever’s definitely higher than I’d like for food poisoning,” he says, snapping his gloves into the trash. He puts his hands on his hips, cocking his head to the side. He looks thoughtful, “But I’m guessing everything is mostly out of your system at this point. Or hopefully… nearly there.”
You don’t swing your shifts very often, and you’ve only picked up a handful of swaps to night shift since coming to the Pitt as an intern last year.
Which means you really only cross paths with Jack at handoffs, Robby’s barbecues and street team. You detest that one of your few, extended, non-patient-related (yourself excluded) conversations with the man is about your vomiting schedule.
But you’ve watched and learned quality patient care from Dr. Abbot countless times, as he stayed over, showed up early, came in on his off days or during his SWAT shifts — to be the receiver of it is another feeling entirely.
“You know the drill. Rest, lots of fluids. The blandest food possible once you think you can stomach it. Rice, bananas, toast — nothing fun on it. Do you have any of that on hand?”
“Uh,” you wonder aloud, squinting at the mental image of your pantry. Neglected and bare, conditions conducive to the reason you landed in here tonight.
He takes your silence for what it is.
“DoorDash it then, will ya?” he asks, exasperated. “Some electrolytes, too. And Sprite. I don’t think we’re supposed to recommend that, but that’s my old favorite.”
“Alright moneybags,” you laugh, finally sitting up. “I’ll just pay some insanely high delivery fee on Sprite, then, since you say so.”
“I’ll pay for it,” he murmurs, not even looking up over the monitor while he taps your notes in. “Bill me at our next handoff. And I didn’t hear you telling Mateo you think you’re working today, right?”
Your brain has fallen a step behind in this conversation, your feet ceasing their dangling over the side of the bed as you sit frozen.
“Dr. Y/l/n?” he asks, still at the monitor.
“Well, I was — with the Zofran and everything I figured I’d be okay. That’s why I came in tonight instead of just riding it out, so I’d be good for work today,” you explain, rubbing your forehead. Your argument feels weak even to your own ears, but you feel a commitment to the Pitt, especially presently being here.
“You’re no good to anyone who comes in here while you’re sleep-deprived, dehydrated and running a fever,” Jack says, his eyes scanning your face. “You’re actually the opposite. You know that.”
The warmth you felt at his praise only moments ago evaporates at his chastisement, even if you know he’s right.
“Hey. You know that,” he says again. “Yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Take a day. Two if you need it. I’ll stay over and help Robby and the day shift get settled,” he says. “You leave him to me.”
It’s a joke if there ever was one, and he seems pleased when you laugh at the idea of Robby giving you a hard time over a few sick days.
You concede. “At least it’s quieter in here now. Which — I’m shocked, by the way.”
“Why? ‘Cause you guys left us such a mess?” Jack quips, logging out of the computer, sliding the curtain open and waiting for you.
“Honestly, yeah. We did,” you say, grabbing your belt bag off of the chair by the bed.
“Well, that’s what we do on nights. Clean up the mess you all leave behind,” he says, reaching for the strap of your bag, draping it over your head and letting you slip an arm through it and letting it rest on your shoulder. “You should try it sometime.”
In another world, where your Zofran and Tylenol had done their jobs already, and you weren’t completely disarmed by the comfort you felt from having the night shift attending put his hands all over you and then offer to pay for your remedies like it would be foolish of him not to, you might find the wherewithal to engage — to flirt back.
Because even your exhausted brain can put together the fact that Jack Abbot is flirting with you. In your sleep shorts, and your problematic sweatshirt. With your four hours of sleep. While you talked about your vomiting habits.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” you say. “I like my normal sleep schedule too much.”
His head cocks in that way you’ve noticed it does, his grin twitching.
“And yet here you are.”
—
“She lives.”
Two days later, you grace the Pitt with your presence once again, feeling your cheeks warm as Mateo tucks his tablet under his arm to slowly applaud your entrance.
“You say that like you didn’t text me for an update a million times,” you answer, rolling your eyes as he falls into step beside you on your walk to the board.
“My attending was all over me about it,” he says quietly.
You’re feeling good to be back at work, done wasting away in bed and ready to jump back in, but your brain is groggy — slow to catch up to what he’s implying.
When you do, you turn to him, and he’s grinning, looking like he’s bursting at the seams.
“Oh?” you try.
“Did you know that man had never used DoorDash in his life until a few days ago? I had to help him,” Mateo says, leaning closer, his voice dropping a few decibels. “It was… adorable.”
You knew when leaving the ED the other night you’d never be taking Jack up on his offer.
You didn’t realize he knew it too, however, until the delivery driver had shown up at your door later that morning holding three grocery bags bursting with food and drinks, shaking your hand and thanking you profusely for the generous tip you gave on the app.
You briefly thought you might need to walk back into the Pitt and tell them your food poisoning was definitely an infection that was presenting as hallucinations as you stood in your doorway, arms suddenly full of groceries.
You wondered for only a minute who your angel was, but the six-pack of Sprite had been a dead giveaway.
“I was wondering how he’d gotten my address,” you said. “Doesn’t seem like the type to skim it off my file.”
Mateo cocks his head, and his grin is becoming a bit too much for you at 6:45 in the morning.
“He was this close,” he says, pinching two fingers together. “Seriously.”
You shake your head, tossing your braid over your shoulder as you make your way to the locker rooms. “I should go drop my stuff.”
“Mhm,” he says. “You do that. You’re so busy. Here 15 minutes early and everything.”
“Bye Teo,” you say with finality, beelining it to the lockers before anyone else who’d witnessed you a few nights ago stopped you to chat.
A few night shift nurses ask you how you’ve been feeling near the lockers while you put your stuff away and slip your fleece jacket on, affixing your badge reel and checking the whisps falling out of your braid are doing so in just the way you want, but you’re lucky you don’t cross paths with anyone else that had witnessed your plight.
Until you emerge moments later to find Jack Abbot, arms crossed and waiting against the wall across the lockers, a respectable distance away, but no doubt with his eyes trained on the door.
He smiles, post-shift tired. “Thought I saw my favorite patient.”
Feeling well enough to play ball, finally, and frankly having milled over the next time you’d see Jack in your head through two straight days of rom-coms, you take the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.
“I thought I saw my favorite attending, too, but Robby must not be in yet.”
Thoroughly pleased when his mouth drops open slightly, you aren’t surprised when he trails behind you while you walk to your preferred charting station.
“I was gonna ask how you’re feeling, but it seems there might be a cognitive exam in order,” he says in reply, leaning comfortably over the desk as you sit down, sliding your badge through the scanner. You watch the line of his shoulders as he stretches tiredly.
“Better,” you say sincerely, unable to shake the mental picture. Jack asking Mateo for help with DoorDash in the lulls of night shift, using whatever extra time he could find to schedule something thoughtful for you to wake up to. “You didn’t have to send all of that.”
He shrugs. “Wanted to. Figured you were gonna crash as soon as you got home, and going to the store when you’re sick is the worst.”
You shake your head, your smile stubborn. “Way too much Sprite.”
His lips pull up to one side. “But it helped, didn’t it?”
You roll your eyes, asking him how night shift was and enjoying the way he prattles on while you settle back in.
“Did you wanna do your handoff now?” you ask, standing up again, grabbing the tablet off the charger by on your station.
“Oh, I already handed over to Santos,” he says, still making no move to leave your station, when you figured that had been the entire reason he was here. Or at least part of it.
Some of it.
“Oh,” you say. Sweeping your eyes around the ED — it’s still relatively early and things seem, for now, to be on the rarer, quieter side.
You lean against your desk, looking at him expectantly.
“How have you been though?” he asks. “Really. That wasn’t a tiny fever.”
“Good,” you say, sensing his worry. “I promise. It broke later that day. Everything… else subsided by yesterday morning, thank god. All the stuff you sent really, really helped. So thank you.”
“I’m glad. You gotta be more careful,” he says, tapping his fingers on the desk. “You know. Brush up on your food safety education.”
You sigh, wincing. “I know, it was stupid. Just exhausted and wasn’t thinking.”
He nods, considering. “Next time you’re too tired, let me know.”
You come around, leaning against the desk next to him. You think you see Mateo paused at the front door out of the corner of your eye, but you can’t be sure, because you’re too focused on the furrow in Jack’s brow as he looks down at you.
“What are you gonna do, send me dinner this time?”
“No. I’m gonna make you dinner,” he suggests, like it’s casual. But his eyes flit across your face quickly, assessing. “At my place.”
Your lips quirk up.
“Again,” he adds, nodding, but not fast enough to hide that his cheeks are tinged pink. Christ, he’s nervous. Your stomach kicks, in the best way this time, realizing that you are making Jack Abbot nervous. “Educational purposes.”
You hum, nodding your head, too. “And this is a teaching hospital.”
“It is,” he nods. “So, what do you say?”
For all of his confidence, the way he commands a trauma bay in a crisis, runs a new pool of med students like a combat unit, wrangles an unruly pod of frat boys here to watch a buddy’s stomach get pumped, you feel another thrill zip down your spine at his sought reassurances.
He wants to hear you say it. Just like with your exam.
Jack needs a yes.
“That sounds great,” you finally say.
“Yeah?” he asks, his grin growing.
You can’t help it, yours matching, “Yeah.”
He smiles wider, hiking his backpack up higher on his shoulders, and you swear it’s like his chest puffs out just a touch.
“Alright. You gonna give me your number now, or do I have to beg Mateo for that, too?”
—
A week later — only exactly as long as it took for schedules to align and your stomach to settle (Jack’s insistence, not yours) — you’re sat at his kitchen island, watching him chop vegetables with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder.
His home is cozy, a German shepherd named Ruby curled up underneath your feet.
He hasn’t told you what’s he’s making yet, but you can piece together it doesn’t contain anything that had triggered you last week, which you find sweet.
Jack watches you get up, glancing at your water glass to see if it needs refilled, whatever story he’d been telling about Shen and an ortho consult from Park gone awry dying on his lips, his knife pausing, but his lips quirking up as you circle the island nearer to him.
“What do you need, sweetheart? Wanna open a bottle?”
“No. Well — yes,” you say, your hand closing softly over his, the knife resting on the cutting board immediately, his body making space for you between himself and the island while he wipes off his hands. “Just not yet.”
“No?” Jack says, eyes glinting.
This close, you look up at him, your hand flattening to his chest, right over his heart. He’d put on a blue button-down for you, the material soft beneath your touch. He’s still so warm.
“Hi,” you say lamely, your confidence run out.
“You feelin’ me up, doc?”
Your hand slides from his chest down to his stomach, pressing lightly with the pads of your fingers. “You had your turn.”
Jack’s smile is knowing, like he could tell you were squirming on that exam table for more reasons than one but didn’t know for sure until now. Any embarrassment you might feel is assuaged by the fact that you can tell the exchange had had a similar effect on him, confirmed by his next statement.
“I’m gonna need a few more.”
“We’ll see,” you answer, tilting your head with mischief.
“Here I thought I was being a gentleman, waiting until after dinner,” he all but whispers.
“For wine?” you tease.
“You…” he laughs. His hands find your face, and as he leans in, you know you’ll look back one day and think that it was all worth it.
Maybe it’s nerves, your heart stuttering at how strongly you already feel — but you don’t know why you say it, practically whispering against his lips, he’s so close at this point. “I can’t believe the first time you hit on me was when I was literally in the middle of food poisoning.”
But he shakes his head.
“First time you noticed,” he corrects.
His lips meet yours briefly, and he pulls back, his eyes searching for your reaction to that, and he smiles.
Then he kisses your cheek, your nose, your forehead, the top of your head.
It’s like you’re frozen — but so, so warm in his arms.
Jack leans back, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, eyes locked to yours so there’s no mistake, and murmurs, “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”
ellievsbear
izzy806
gracieabrams
areudirty
stormborns
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
pixelskylines
