“We aren’t anything Javadi, thank you.” Victoria smiles awkwardly and takes the opportunity to leave the conversation while she can,

Surely it was an accident. There was no way that Jack or you would forget to invite Robby to your fellowship celebration party. Robby still credits himself as a big reason you were able to get into the fellowship in the first place, despite Jack essentially stealing you from him. He pulls his phone out to quickly ask him about it.

Were you going to tell me about the party you’re hosting for her?

Dana passes by as he hits send,

“Did you know about that party Jack was throwing tonight?” he asks her as he leans onto the desk,

“Yeah, I just didn’t think you would wanna go.” Dana says mindlessly as she shuffles through the papers on her desk. She looks up to see Robby's bitter smile,

“Don’t get any bright ideas, Robinavitch. That girl worked hard and you aren’t going to ruin her party just because you’re upset. Either you show up tonight with a smile on your face or you don’t come at all.” Dana finds the form she was looking for and walks away.

Robby can’t picture showing up tonight and spending most of the night standing on the sidelines while Jack parades you around. He’ll feel ridiculous knowing Jack was the one whose name was signed on your letter and not his. Robby’s phone buzzes, snapping him out of his thoughts.

I didn’t think you would wanna go.

Change of plans, he was going to show up tonight.

⋆˚౨ৎ ⋆.˚

Robby shows up a little later than expected. It was nearing 9 PM but he was hoping a bottle of champagne would make up for it. He knocks on the door, standing awkwardly at the doorstep. He can hear music coming from the backyard and the occasional laughter. The door swings open to reveal you in a small pink dress. Your eyes widen at the sight of Robby,

“Robby! What are you doing here?” he can tell you’re already a little drunk from the red flush in your cheeks and slightly messy hair,

“I’m here to congratulate you.” Robby says, holding up the bottle towards you. You grab it from his hands,

“Thank you.” you mutter,

“Hey, you made it!” Dana says, approaching from behind. She puts her hands on your shoulders and gives him a warning glare as he welcomes himself in. You turn around to see Dana giving you a reassuring smile.

There’s a big ‘Congrats!’ banner hung up in Jack’s kitchen, along with balloons on the floor and some stuck on the roof,

“Help yourself to some food and drinks are in the fridge.” you tell him, stumbling around to open the fridge. Robby is quick to grab you and stabilize you,

“Woah, hey. You’ve had a lot already, huh?” he gives you that same familiar condescending smile. You feel your cheeks getting warmer as you regain balance,

“Hey, didn’t think you were gonna make it.” Jack says from behind Robby. He gives Robby a pat on the back as you hand him a beer,

“Change of plans.” He cracks open the can, walking outside to join the rest of the party. You notice Victoria’s eyes widen from afar in surprise as he joins the rest of the residents and nurses,

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was coming tonight.” Jack whispers in your ear. You give Jack a kiss on the cheek,

“It’s okay, it’ll be fine.” you grab another drink from the fridge.

⋆˚౨ৎ ⋆.˚

To say you’re freaking out is an understatement. From the second Robby walked in, it seemed like you only got drunker from there,

“Cheers to PTMC’s future attending neurologist!” Trinity yells out as everyone stands with a small plastic shot glass. Robby and Jack stand together watching from afar as you swing the cup back. Jack smirks at the face you make as the liquor burns the back of your throat. Robby looks over and sees Jack’s expression,

“You gonna let her work tomorrow with a hangover?” Robby asks,

“She’s a big girl, she can handle it.” Jack says, keeping his eyes on you. Robby shakes his head laughing dryly, taking a sip from his drink,

“Good luck with that, her work gets sloppy when she’s hungover.” Jack can sense Robby’s attempts at getting under his skin. Even after all this time, Robby is still trying to find an opportunity to get you back,

“Like I said, she can handle it.” Jack says flatly.

“Actually, do you wanna know why I think she can handle it?” Jack pauses and turns towards Robby,

“It's because I trust her. I also respect her and I’m not afraid to show that.”

“The only reason you know that is because you went and changed her shifts without asking me.” Robby quickly responds.

The pair notice your attention shifting to them as they talk in the corner. You aren’t able to make out their words but quickly forget about the sight when Mel pulls you for a picture.

“I didn’t need to ask. I’m also an attending in case you forgot.” Robby laughs.

“You won, Jack, is that what you wanna hear?” Robby excuses himself and walks away back into the kitchen towards the fridge.

In Jack’s eyes, it was never about ‘winning’. It had always been about treating you right— no more standing by, watching Robby speak to you however he wants. Winning was the last thing on Jack’s mind especially after you had confessed that you were previously sleeping with Robby. His goal has always been to love you fully and with as much support as he could provide.

As Robby grabs another drink from the fridge, he hears you stumbling towards the washroom. You look like a newborn deer trying to learn to walk for the first time. Robby follows as you slowly make your way down a hallway. You trip and nearly fall until Robby catches you,

“I got you.” he says lifting you back up,

“Thank you.” you try to keep yourself upright and stand as far away from him as possible— It’s not much given, it's a tight hallway. He stares as you adjust your dress. Your hair is done differently than how it is at work and he also notices that you wear a different perfume now. You did your makeup a little differently too and notices a small tattoo possibly? It’s almost frustrating to him how recognizable you were yet different you had become. You were no longer the same compliant, docile resident he trained and he hated it,

“You look beautiful, by the way.” Robby says quietly. He hesitates for a second,

“I’ve missed you.” It comes out awkwardly, like it was something he repeated in his head but had no intention of saying out loud,

“Thank you.” you mumble.

Robby stands close to you but keeps his hands behind his back— if he could, his hands would be on your cheeks, pulling you in slowly. Instead, Robby leans closer and closer to your lips. He doesn’t plan on kissing you, but hopes you’ll kiss him first. He wants to see that you still need him and prove that Jack isn’t giving you what he thinks you need.

You step back a few steps before hitting the wall and stumbling again. Robby grabs your arms again, lifting you up,

“Looks like you still need me.” Robby mumbles jokingly. Though it comes off much more condescending than he usually intends,

“I don’t need you anymore, Robby,” you say, shoving his chest as hard as you can. He stumbles back in surprise, hitting the other side of the hallway wall,

“It was just a joke.” Robby laughs at your reaction.

Robby loved watching you get riled up at him. Any indication that you needed validation from him, he was taking from you. He was willing to keep pushing until he decided to give it to you,

“Yeah, well it didn’t feel like it.” you felt anger bubbling in your chest the longer you looked at his stupid, ego filled smile.

Meanwhile, Jack had been searching all over outside for you. You weren’t with Trinity or Samira or any of the residents around— Dana started helping search for you at some point. As he starts searching inside, he hears Robby’s laugh first then your voice,

“I haven’t needed you for a long time now. I didn’t need you to get into my fellowship.” it comes out more obviously irritated this time and Robby smiles.

Jack knows it’s wrong to be eavesdropping. He trusts you wholeheartedly but he doesn’t trust Robby and whatever ulterior motive he might have. He stands close by around a corner. Jack swears to himself that he’ll give it a minute before he grabs you. He can’t help but be curious to know where this might go,

“Right, and now you need Jack.” Robby retorts,

“That’s different.”

“How so? You went from one attending to the other. Does that make it any different” Robby scoffs,

“He isn’t a manipulative asshole for one.” Jack almost lets out a laugh as he overhears you,

“Manipulative asshole?” Robby repeats laughing harder this time,

“I made you into one of the best residents, and an even better neuro fellowship candidate. Don’t forget that when you come crawling back to me.” That's Jack’s cue to step in. He rounds the corner to see Robby towering over you,

“Hey, there you are. Dana brought a cake for you.” You turn to look at Jack. He senses a feeling of relief from you and irritation from Robby. Jack puts his hand on the small of your back, leading you outside but not without glaring right at Robby.

Sat between Samira and Mel, you cut the small cake into slices and pass them out. As you pass another plate around,

“This feels like a birthday party.” Trinity says,

“Cakes are meant for celebrations, what’s wrong with that?” Dana says, slapping her arm jokingly.

A pop! is heard from the corner as Princess holds another open bottle of champagne; it’s the bottle Robby brought, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. In the corner of your eye, you notice Robby standing by the backyard door. He stands with his body half inside and half outside, as if he’s teetering on staying. Jack thinks he’s overstayed his welcome and Robby agrees since the next time you look over, he’s already gone.

⋆˚౨ৎ ⋆.˚

Jack sits beside you as he pulls the blanket over top. He smiles at the sight of you drunkenly looking up at him. Jack can’t help but notice a small shift in your mood as he watches your smile turn into a pensive expression. He doesn’t rush you to confess what’s on your mind, he know it’ll come out when you’re ready,

“What were you and Robby talking about earlier?” Jack gives you an uncomfortable smile. He knew the conversation was coming, he just thought it would be tomorrow morning over breakfast and not while you were drunk and half awake. He takes a deep breath,

“Nothing really, I think he just misses you and doesn’t know how to talk about it.” there’s a pause,

“What were you and Robby talking about? Earlier by the bathroom.” you flash a similar uncomfortable smile to Jack’s question,

“You heard that?”

“I was looking for you and I might’ve heard a bit.” The pitch of Jack’s voice goes higher towards the end of his sentence. You ponder Jack’s thoughts for a second,

“I don’t know if he misses me. I think he might just miss controlling me— having control over something really,” you say.

Jack walks to the other side of the bed, removing his leg and climbing in beside you. He pulls you close until your head is on his chest,

“You’re not gonna leave me once I’m at Westbridge, right?” you whisper,

“Why do you ask?” Jack knows exactly why you’re asking. He knows Robby planted the idea in your head earlier and you haven’t been able to shake it since,

“No reason.” you mumble. Jack doesn’t press on it.

“I’m not leaving. I fully expect you to come back and boss us around when we call neuro down. Don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you though.” The small laugh from you makes Jack’s chest swell.

The bedroom goes quiet and is soon filled with your soft snores. Jack lays wide awake, replaying the conversation he overheard between you and Robby. The more Jack thinks about it, he doesn’t entirely agree with what you just said about Robby. Jack thinks the complete opposite of what you said. Yes, Robby lacks control over things in his life, but he’s more frustrated that he can’t control who you fall in love with. Robby can’t make you love him and he hates that so much that he’ll take whatever you give him.

Jack feels himself spiraling more and more until your phone dings. He thinks it’s just Santos sending you pictures from tonight until another one goes off shortly after. He grabs your phone in hopes of turning it silent but sees it’s a text message from Robby.

I didn’t get a chance to say it but congratulations.

I’m proud of you. More than you’ll ever know.

Jack stares at the phone for a second. There’s no other messages, no previous conversation. He swipes delete on the conversation and watches it disappear from your text history.

He feels you shuffle around and puts your phone down,

“Who’s that?” you mumble half awake,

“Just Santos. Don’t worry.” Jack kisses the top of your head as you fall back asleep.

As he walks up to you from behind, his arm is already reaching toward you before he’s even close enough to touch. His gentle and familiar hand on your shoulder has you turning to him with a dazzling smile, and he momentarily forgets his worries when a face that beautiful is grinning at him so lovingly.

“Hiya, handsome,” you greet, pouting your lips for a kiss. He’s quick to give you what you want, always is, and presses his lips to yours. Something you normally rarely allow him to do when you’re both in the Pitt.

“Baby, what’re you doing here?” he cuts straight to the chase. He looks and sees his son and daughter talking animatedly to a kneeling Mateo behind the counter.

“We just wanted to come say ‘hi’ to everyone and take you to breakfast,”

“It’s so early, you should be in bed,” he frets. It’s past 7:00, the scheduled end of his shift. If he had to guess he’d say it’s closer to 8:00, a few last minute traumas delaying shift change. You roll your eyes—not without fondness—and let out a huff.

“Jack, I’m fine,” you insist, a hand on his chest that he immediately covers with his own, “I wanted to get out of the house. I was going stir crazy,” you whisper the last part.

He opens his mouth to argue, to say you still don’t need to come into your place of work when you’re supposed to be relaxing, but Lena’s voice cuts him off.

“How dare you try and hide this cuteness from us, Abbot,” she’s glaring at him over his child in her arms.

It’s Jack’s turn to roll his eyes, “Kid was just in the hospital 2 months ago, figured he didn’t need to be back anytime soon,” he grumbled.

But he can’t deny the soaring in his chest as he takes in his growing family. You are so amazing, and he’s grateful everyday and tells you plenty, but seeing you here and all his kids happy and healthy with this new addition, it’s hard not to feel an overwhelming appreciation.

“Woah, it’s raining Abbots!” Robby’s voice joins the crowd. Your daughter turns and runs toward him and he squats down to scoop her into his arms before standing again.

“Uncle Robby!” She cheers. He grins at her, walking up to where you and Jack lean against the countertop with her on his hip.

“Hi sweetie,” he coos, “have you been good for your mommy?” he winks at you and you huff a dry laugh.

“Don’t start with me, Robby.” you chastise.

“Yeah, don’t.” Jack glares at him and Robby just raises his free hand in surrender.

Lena passes the baby back to you, all the surrounding nurses cooing at him as he fusses at the movement.

“Looks like Abbot’s got another mini me,” Lena smiles.

Jack’s chest swells with pride, glancing at his eldest son who’s a spitting image of a young him; auburn curls and a goofy smile. He thinks it’s too soon to tell who the baby looks more like—you or him—but he has to admit his genes are strong, a twinge of red even showing in your daughter's hair when it catches the sun.

“He is pretty handsome, isn’t he?” He says with a smug smile.

“That’s the last thing we all need; more Jack’s.” Robby teases.

“‘m making the world a better place,” he says gallantly.

He leans down and picks up the carrier, placing it on the counter for you. You give him a grateful smile, transferring your youngest smoothly and buckling him in.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” your oldest son says softly, looking up at you.

“Okay, my baby,” You coo and brush his hair back, hand coming around to cup his cheek gently, thumb caressing freckled skin, “We’ll go as soon as daddy’s finished,”

“Oh, daddy’s finished,” Robby says, passing your daughter into Jack’s arms, who goes happily.

Jack takes her without a second thought, but his brow pinches, “Robby we still gotta finish handoffs.”

The taller man just shrugs, “I think we got it covered. Go have breakfast with your family.” He claps Jack on the back once.

You gasp in exaggerated excitement, “Say ‘thank you Uncle Robby,’” you tickle your daughter’s tummy who giggles in her father’s arms.

“Thank you, Uncle Robby!” your son, daughter, and Jack chant in unison. Robby offers your son his fist, who bumps it with his own tiny one, and then grabs a tablet from the counter.

He’s already walking towards the first patient room as he calls over his shoulder to you, “Now get out of here, you’re supposed to be anywhere but here.”

Jack gives you a look that says told you so and you narrow your eyes at him.

Your son lifts his arms up to you and Jack doesn’t even give you a second to think about bending down to pick him up—doctor’ orders (him)—before he’s scooping him into his free arm. Your daughter giggles at the jostling, Jack settling a kid on either hip. They’re both still small enough to carry at once, but he knows it’s only a matter of time until his son is too big to be carried. He’ll savor it as long as he can—and start lifting heavier weights to prolong that time, which he’s sure you’ll enjoy. Two for one special, he thinks.

“Got him, baby?” Jack asks. You nod as you pick up the carrier, waving goodbye to all your coworkers who have already scattered around the busy ED back to work.

“Who’s ready for breakfast?” He looks between his two oldest as you all make your way towards the car, the kids shouting in agreement, “Me too, I’m starving. What took you guys so long to come rescue me?” he teases.

The sound of his kids' laughter ringing in his ears fills him with an indescribable warmth. As you all walk through the parking lot, the early morning sun shining bright on your glowing face that’s flashing him your stunning smile, Jack can’t help but fall deeper in love with you.

He thinks for a moment it’s a secret mercy his kids take after him and not you because there’s no way he’d ever deny them a thing if it was your eyes pouting at him. He shakes the thought away—cause who is he kidding? he can’t deny them now; it wouldn’t make a difference.

Still, he can’t help wondering if maybe the next one will be your mini me, and he can’t wait to find out.

You look back at him and squint your eyes at him in suspicion, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He asks suavely, lower lip drawn between his teeth and you straight up laugh at him. It’s a ridiculous question—he knows that—because he only tells you nearly every waking moment.

“Wipe that look off your face, Abbot. Maybe wait till this kid can lift his head on his own before you start thinking that,” you scold, but he sees right through you.

He only scoffs in exaggerated indignation.

and…when you need it, he takes care of you in other ways, from time to time. it’s not like you’re seeing anyone else, not with a toddler on your shoulder. and it’s your right to ask him for something, he’s your baby daddy. why not ask the man who gave it to you so good in the first place?

he always knows what u want before you even ask, can see the way you look at him when he comes through the door, arms out and jorts so low you can see his happy trail. biting your lip at his stupid mustache, and his stupid hairy stomach, and his stupid hot arms. eyeing him up as he rocks the baby to sleep, talking low to you about work.

when he puts his girl down for a nap, shutting the door quietly he’s nudging you into your bedroom. “cmon, get on the bed. know what you want.” he closes the door soft behind him, already unbuttoning his pants as he watches you crawl on the mattress. you’re bare under your big shirt, it’s your house, you’re feeding, doing nothing with your baby all day. no real need for panties.

he’s got you on your back, legs hiked up over his shoulders as he plows into you, smirking along to your slew of moans. “fuckin love this pussy, this’s my pussy. all mine, yeah? not lettin anyone in this shit?” “never, never boyd promise,,” you’re so smitten by his cock you can’t help but submit to him, especially when he talks so low in your ear with that voice you like.

and he’s so fuckin possessive too. he has to be, you might not be his lady, but you’re the mother of his child. he’ll be damned if he lets you out his sight. “you better not have. better not let any dirty fucks round my daughter either, alright? i’ll fuckin’ kill em, you understand? say you understand momma.” he’s slapping at your ass, you’re so out of it that it inflicts a moan. “i-i understand, i understand i promise daddy ohmygod!” he ssooooo annoying oh my god

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands rest heavy on his knees, fingers perfectly still. His eyes are wide, unblinking, fixed entirely on the curtains. He’s sinking, trapped in a gray fog where past regrets and future dread blur together into absolute nothingness.

Outside the open bedroom door, small sneakers squeak against the hallway tile.

Your five year old daughter stops in her tracks. She carries a stuffed dog by its ear, her eyes peeking into the bedroom. She watches her dad for a long moment.

He doesn't move.

He doesn't even seem to breathe.

She’s seen this look before.

She turns on her heel and runs back to the kitchen, where you’re leaning against the counter. She tugs sharply on the hem of your shirt, her brow furrowed.

"Mama," she whispers urgently, pointing a finger back down the hall. "Dada is doing it again."

Your heart aches slightly, but you don't let it show. You know exactly what she means.

You set down your mug, offering her a reassuring smile. "Is he? Well, let's go, sweet girl."

You scoop her up into your arms, settling her against your hip. She wraps her arms around your neck, burying her face for a second before looking toward the bedroom.

When you enter the bedroom, Andrew hasn't moved an inch. He looks entirely detached from his own body, a ghost sitting in a room he built.

You position her on Andrew's right, and you sit down quietly on the other side. The bed shifts, but he doesn't react.

"Hey," you say softly. "Look who found you."

Andrew doesn't turn, but a microscopic twitch in his jaw tells you he’s trying to fight his way back through the fog.

"Okay, careful, on three, babygirl," you whisper, leaning close to Andrew's side. She mimics you perfectly, leaning her small frame against his right side, her face inches from his cheek.

"One... two... three."

Simultaneously, you press a kiss to his left cheek while your daughter plants a loud and sloppy kiss on his right.

The physical contact snaps through him.

Andrew blinks rapidly, the dull film clearing from his eyes as a sharp breath hitches in his chest. His gaze lands on his babygirl's hopeful smile, and then at you.

The tension in his shoulders visibly melts away.

"There you are," you murmur, reaching up to gently cup the back of his neck, your thumb smoothing over his hairline.

Andrew swallows hard, his hand coming up to cover yours, pressing your palm firmly against his skin as if to convince himself you're actually there. He reaches out with his other arm, wrapping it securely around his daughter's waist and pulling her tightly into his chest. He buries his face in her curls, breathing her in, baby shampoo and sunshine, before looking back at you, his eyes clear and entirely present.

"I'm here," he rasps, feeling grounded.

Andrew shifts the toddler so she’s sitting right on his lap, her back pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around her.

She looks up at him. "You were gone, Dada."

"I was," Andrew murmurs, his voice softening. He gently tucks a stray curl behind her ear, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "But you brought me back."

She beams, entirely proud of her mission. She reaches up, her small hands grabbing both sides of his face, squishing his cheeks together. "Mama said we have to kiss the monsters away."

A smile breaks across Andrew’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Did she?" he asks, glancing up at you with softness.

"Mmhmm!" She nods solemnly, releasing his face to pat his nose. "Are they gone?"

Andrew catches her tiny hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss right into her palm. "Every single one. Thank you, bug."

She giggles, the sound bright and musical, and immediately squirms until she can bury her face in his neck, hugging him tightly.

“The new intern claims Barbie’s been doodling your name with little hearts all over her forms. Somebody’s got it bad.”

Mateo’s statement floats over the nurses’ station diver.

It manages to slam straight into your self-image. Delicate tissue at the best of times, wedged between your left ventricle and the tiny circuit that compels you to adopt every sad house-plant at Trader Joe’s.

Yes it’s true, you do, for the record, employ thematic embellishments. A heart here. A flourish there. (Morale matters; medicine is bleak). That is not the same thing as ‘having it bad’. 

But the problem is apparently people can’t make that distinction, and now you can see it too clearly, a pack of first-years huddled together, snickering over your smittenness, spider-webbing a hairline crack right through the high-gloss competence you spent seventy-eight paychecks shellacking.

It’s that eighth-grade deja vu: the day Jack Harrison caught you tracing Mrs. Jack Harrison in bubble letters on your planner and passed the page down the row like contraband. 

The heat that bursts behind your ears now is the exact temperature of that day, when the whole cafeteria seemed to sync with your cardiac rhythm — thump, she likes him, thump. 

You straighten behind the med cart, ready to emerge and correct the narrative before it mutates any further, when Frank speaks first. “Ignore it. It’s just noise — I’m sure she’ll lose interest soon enough.”

Oh.

Something clamps shut inside you so abruptly it almost audibly clicks.

Like you’ve been fizzing under pressure all shift and someone, somewhere, has just screwed the cap on tight. The carbonation tears around blind, frantic for an exit.

Noise. The word expands until it feels the whole corridor. Noise, as in background nuisance, as in easily tuned out, as in the thin electrical whine of a dying bulb that nobody bothers fixing until someone from maintenance finally rips it out and tosses it. 

So that’s what he hears when you talk? A squeaky hindrance he tolerates out of courtesy? 

The lively back-and-forth you stored under maybe someday morphs, in one breath, into you pawing at a deadbolt while he waits for the scratching to stop. 

You pivot on silent flats, slip down the side corridor before Mateo or Frank registers movement. 

Three steps in, a shoulder clips yours — McKay, clutching a stack of imaging requests. Clipboards explode across linoleum. 

“Whoa, road-runner much?” she laughs, stooping. Her grin falters when she meets your deer-in-the-headlights stare. “Hey, you good? You’re kind of… vibrating.”

There’s no better word for it. Your fingers keep sparking against each other, your chin keeps twitching toward the main hall, and every nerve ending chants the same directive: bolt, wounded-fawn style, into the nearest underbrush before the hunter looks up. 

You drop to your knees, paper edges nicking your skin as you herd the spill into something vaguely stack-shaped.

Out of the corner of your eye, Frank and Mateo both turn at the clatter. Frank’s brows notch, mouth already forming the silent You okay?

You slap the stack into McKay’s hands.

“Peachy!” you babble, already sidestepping to block Frank’s sight-line. “Totally good. Very busy. High-priority sticker emergency. Life or death if you’re, like, six and waiting for discharge.”

Your shoes squeak as you bolt. 

There are several indicators, in Frank’s opinion, that suggest you’ve come down with something terminal, and the first arrives in the form of his inbox. 

Or rather, the absence of its usual infestation. 

When he finally gets ten uninterrupted minutes to wade through his overnight emails, there is only one from you.

A curt administrative note about revised intake-labeling protocol, plus an attached spreadsheet for the week’s front-desk coverage.

It is concise. Properly punctuated. Horrifyingly lucid. 

Frank stares at it a full second longer than necessary, as if more of you might reveal itself under scrutiny.

Because, usually, by this point, there are at least twelve.

They arrive in glitter-bomb bursts throughout the day. A few carry actionable intel. Most are digital magpies’ nests: random URLs, blurry memes, rogue exclamation points, and the kind of half-formed shower-thought nonsense you apparently consider too important to trust to your own mind.

He spends longer than he’s willing to admit at the computer waiting for more emails to come in.

They never do.

The second indicator presents itself when he swipes into radiology and, for the first time in recent memory, does so alone. 

No sudden apparition at his elbow, no imploring eyes, no breathless little “oops, forgot mine again,” delivered as though this is an unforeseeable act of the gods rather than a behavior pattern.

He tends to just hand the badge over without questions. 

There is no point doing otherwise. If not him, you’ll simply latch onto the next available soft touch with security clearance, and Frank would rather it be him. 

He frowns when the reader spits its green light at an empty hallway.

The third, and by far the most worrying, indicator arrives in the break room.

Frank boxes himself into a stolen minute, pours a cup, looks up too late, and finds you standing at the same counter. 

Usually this is your opening. Your preferred habitat. 

You’d reach across his body for sugar you absolutely do not need (you’re sweet enough as it is), clip his front with your ass, crowd his elbow while stirring, then look up like none of it was intentional, like he’s just a piece of furniture placed unfortunately in your path. 

He braces for impact. Nothing happens.

Instead you give a brisk nod, measure out a generous amount of creamer into your cup, and keep your radius fanatically intact. 

You leave before he can tally the damage.

The space beside him turns freezer-aisle cold. Frank’s fingers blanch on the mug handle. He blames the overzealous hospital ventilation for about half a second, then hears the excuse rattle around his own head and die there. 

He has half a mind to go after you. Catch you by the wrist before you get too far, steer you into a vacant bay, and do the whole thing properly since apparently no one else is treating this personality drop as emergent. 

History, exam, differential. What’s been siphoned out of you, and can he replace it?

In a better universe, that line of inquiry earns him one of your usual responses, “Should I unbutton for the stethoscope, Doctor?” 

But he can’t do that. Can’t go stalking after you like some lovesick asshole with a savior complex and a death wish. 

Especially not now when he is, at best, one bad headline away from vaporizing the fellowship he’s been clawing toward for years. He needs HR to stop looking at him like one more incident will finish the job rehab failed to. 

And beyond that, he’s been trying to starve the gossip before it gets any bigger. Partly for himself, sure. Mostly for you. 

This place has a long memory when it comes to his mistakes and a short one when it comes to anything decent he’s ever done. 

He’s not about to hand the hospital a fresh excuse to staple your name to his and let people act like you’re just another piece of collateral from the mess he made of himself. 

But shit he misses you. He wants your attention back on him. And the flirting and the smart mouth and the little collisions of your body with his like you’ve forgotten where one of you ends and the other begins. 

So if he can’t be obvious, he’ll be strategic. He’ll do what he does best. Lay the bait and wait for you to come to him. 

At two he messes with the thermostat. 

There’s a woman in Facilities who’ll adjust it for him without putting in a work order, no questions, an ongoing favor from the time she showed up in the ER with split knuckles and a story about slipping while replacing a vent cover. 

Frank stitched the cut closed in under six minutes, declined the point out that the wound looked a lot more like she’d punched through something than brushed against it, and earned himself a useful little pocket of goodwill in the process.

And, more often than not, Frank squanders that usefulness on you. 

A degree warmer in the mornings, sometimes two if the night crew has left the department with all the ambient warmth of a crypt, timed just before you blow in the front doors, already looking faintly wounded by the concept of central air.

It’s at sixty-six now. 

Low enough to summon you, high enough that no one can accuse him of weaponizing infrastructure for attention.

Although that is precisely what he’s doing. 

But it takes longer than expected for you to appear in his line of sight. And when you finally do, you pay him no mind.

You putter through the department in several layers: cardigan, coat, fleece, thermal tights, hands tucked into your sleeves.

You look pissed. You look adorable. Frank resents learning those two things can coexist so easily.

He tries to catch your eye but you just keep moving through the pit like an overdressed cumulonimbus radiating indignation at every ceiling vent, refusing to seek him out.

It makes no sense. You should have filed a verbal complaint with him by minute eight.

And at minute forty-five he watches (sourly) as Garcia slides up beside you, a still-steaming warmer blanket perfectly folded over her arm. 

“You look frostbitten,” she murmurs, settling the plush square around your shoulders. 

You exhale a blissed little thank-you and lean into her, soaking up the heat Frank had planned to supply by proxy.

Garcia lifts her gaze, finds him across the pit, and winks. Problem solved, ER Ken, she mouths, fluffing the blanket with exaggerated care just to make sure he clocks her fingerprints all over his failed experiment. 

Problem not solved. In fact, freshly enlarged. 

Frank later lumbers down the hallway toward your office like a kicked senior dog chasing the last scrap of affection from its owner. He clutches the print-outs in his hand so tight they rasp with every step. 

He finds you at your desk, hair fallen in stray ribbons across your face, mouth pulled down at the corners while the monitor paints you blue. Concentration or maybe displeasure. Hard to tell from this angle.

He hovers, suddenly unsure whether to knock on the actual door or just the wall of silence you’ve erected. 

He opts for the literal door, two knuckles, two quick knocks.

Your head lifts. Something bright like excitement sparks across your face then the expression collapses, shutters down to business. Like you remembered all at once the circumstances surrounding him and whatever stupid hope had leapt up before you could stop it. 

He hates that expression immediately. Hates that it exists. Hates even more that he can’t quite sort out why seeing it on your face feels like a personal failure. 

“Need this form revised,” he says, lifting the mangled stack. “Thought maybe you could escort me to radiology? Could use the company, and you terrify the techs less than I do.”

It’s needy and transparent and he knows. He doesn’t care how it sounds as long as you say yes.

“I’m, uh, really busy at the moment, Dr. Langdon. Pending labs, two admits… might be a while.” You rattle it off too fast, like reading a grocery list you just wrote in your head. He knows every item is invented on the spot. 

“Humor me, okay? I’ve had seven hours of people telling me to wait my turn. I need one cooperative face before I implode.”

You worry the inside of your lips, eyes flicking to the doorway.

Finally you nod. “Fine.”

One syllable, and it hits like epinephrine. He can’t stop the microscopic lift of his chin, lungs taking in a fuller breath as if permission itself has oxygenated the air. 

He angles toward the hallway, offering the smallest tilt of his shoulder so you can merge. 

“Thanks,” he says, voice pitched towards casual.

“Sure.”

He glances at you to his left. Goosebumps litter the expanse of your arms. He eases his stride so you’re shoulder-to-shoulder instead of half a step behind. “You cold?”

“Nope. Perfectly comfortable.” You answer while simultaneously yanking your sleeves down to your knuckles.

He snorts. “Yeah and I’m the post child for impulse control.”

You stop mid-stride, eyes narrowing. “That’s not funny, Frank.”

His first name. That’s progress, he thinks. Even laced with contempt, hearing it from you feels like an exhale after hours underwater.

He knew you wouldn’t like the joke. Made it anyway, cheap currency to buy a spark out of you. If spark equals fury, so be it. Fury beats indifference every time. 

“Yeah, poor taste. Reflex, I guess.” He winces, thumb rubbing the knot at his collar. 

You huff through your nose and pivot forward again, pace clipped. Frank falls in step a half-pace behind, then edges closer.

“Cardigan looks new,” he ventures. “Color suits you.”

“It’s old,” you say, eyes still on the hallway ahead. 

Frank smothers another wince. Stupid. By this point the day has offered him more than enough evidence that the usual methods are dead on arrival.

Compliments, bait, orchestrated coincidence, all of it useless now that you’ve apparently decided to treat him like a mildly inconvenient coworker.

That’s the part he likes least. The sudden sense that he can’t locate himself in relation to you anymore. 

The part he likes least changes when he finds you twenty minutes later, stationed beside some orthopedic meathead, looking luminously alive.

No longer wan or withdrawn or visibly dying of whatever new strain of virus you’ve contracted. But smiling. A laugh bubbling out, fingers corkscrewing a curl the way they do when you’re charmed.

Apparently you can still flirt. You can still sparkle. You just can’t seem to do it anywhere near him. 

Before his cortex can veto, he’s crossing the floor, stopping dead at your shoulder. 

“Just need a status update on Mrs. Carlson’s tib-fib before radiology locks the board.” 

Mrs. Carlson, insofar as he knows, is fictional, but her imaginary fracture buys him two startled glances and three precious seconds inhaling the vanilla-and-alcohol warmth of your laugh. 

Meathead flips through pages. “Um… we don’t have a Carlson today.”

Frank fakes a thoughtful frown. “Huh. Alias, then. Happens every weekend — patients think we’re the witness-protection program.” 

Ortho squints. “I can pull the day-sheet again —”

“Good idea,” Frank says, nodding like a supervising attending. “Check PACU and the boarding queue; wouldn’t want to miss an imaging window.” 

The guy mutters agreement and slinks off, shoulders hunched in duty. Frank turns to you, expression suddenly softer. 

Crossing your arms, you cock a hip where Ortho had been. “Impressive diversion tactic. Did Mrs. Carlson spring fully formed from your imagination, or is she a previous imaginary friend?” 

The fury’s back again. 

Frank scratches at his jaw. “Didn’t think it through.” 

“You think plenty. Maybe just tell me what you want instead of throwing Jason under a bus.” 

Jason. Stupid name for a stupid guy, he thinks.

What he wants is one honest conversation and maybe your ass back where it belongs — in his personal space. He can’t say that last part though, so he settles for the first in the only terms he knows how.

“What I want is a five-minute consult with you. Somewhere quieter.” He flicks a glance at the empty bay down the hall, then back to your crossed arms. “Please.” 

You study him for a moment, then nod once.

“Bay twelve’s open. Five minutes, then I’m due back at my desk.”

Frank files the claim under Questionable. You treat workstations like bar stools — occupied only until something shinier beckons. It’s not the desk ticking in your head; it’s the idea of being walled in with him past the half-life of your composure.

He watches tension climb your scapulae as you march ahead, timing yourself like a patient on a stress test. 

Bay 12 yawns open and swallows you both.

The instant the noise of the corridor seals off, Frank feels his pulse redeploy to places it has no business patrolling. Temples, wrists, the hollow just above his sternum.

For one beat you stand opposite like combatants in a children’s-duel-turned-board-meeting: arms folded, backs straight, pretending neither of you can feel the static in the air. 

“Right.” He claps once (why did he clap?) and immediately regrets it. “Consult.” 

Your brows tip up, perfectly polite, perfectly guarded. “On our imaginary tib-fib?” 

Frank’s ears go hot. 

“Yeah, about that. I might have — misallocated resources.” He forces a laugh that sounds like a cough that sounds like a car refusing to start. “Look, I just —” A breath, steady, like he tells interns before a lumbar puncture. “I’ve noticed you’ve been… different. Quieter. Less —” he gestures vaguely, like there’s a medical term for starlight. “I thought maybe I’d done something.” 

“Frank, I’ve been at this hospital for three years. You’ve existed in approximately one and a half of them. If I’m different and you assume it’s about you, that’s either breathtaking narcissism or —” a small, lethal smile “— maybe something else.” 

Something else. He recognizes your own bait and still lunges. 

“Yeah. Maybe.” Quiet. Direct. No place to hide in it. “Maybe I did assume it had something to do with me because I wanted it to.” His knuckles sweep his jaw. He never looks away from you. “Because if it’s not that, then I’m standing here making an ass out of myself for no reason, and I’d actually prefer the narcissism.” 

You hesitate. “I’m just… giving you a little breathing room, okay?”

“Breathing room?” He moves toward you impulsively before catching himself, eyes wide, almost pleading. “I don’t — fuck, I don’t want breathing room. What are you doing that for?”

“What do you think?” You laugh, but it’s hollowed out completely. He doesn’t like the sound. “I spend half my shift practically trailing after you. Everyone sees it. I just —,” you purse your lips. “I don’t want to embarrass myself any more than I already have.”

He frowns at that. You’ve never once moved through this place like someone worried about looking foolish. 

You flirt when you want to flirt, laugh when you want to laugh, and say things most people would bury alive before letting them leave their mouths. You leave little traces of yourself everywhere. Lip gloss prints on coffee lids. Heart-dotted notes. Sweaters draped over chairs that aren’t yours. There is nothing cautious about you, nothing particularly governed by social survival.

Even your embarrassment tends to be theatrical, temporary, burned through fast and replaced with another bad idea. He has never known you to care this much about the audience. 

“What are you talking about?”

He watches as your eyes break off and land somewhere past his shoulders, as if the answer might be stapled to the wall.

“I heard what you said earlier.”

Frank’s brow furrows harder, causing a headache. “What?”

“With Mateo.” Your arms tighten across your middle. “About me being ‘just noise.’ About how I’d lose interest soon enough.” Your eyes flick up to his for a second. “So I thought maybe I should help you out with that.” 

Blood sluices out of his skull, then surges back so hard his vision pulses.

For a beat, Frank just stands there, knocked completely sideways by the realization that you heard that, heard those exact words with none of the context that had made them make sense in his head. Christ. 

No wonder you pulled back. No wonder you’ve been different. He’d been cornered by Mateo outside the med-supply cage, half-listening to him gleefully recycle some intern gossip thread like it was harmless entertainment, and all Frank had been trying to do was kill it fast.

Shut it down. Mateo was fishing for a reaction, for confirmation, for anything he could carry back into the staff room and let breed. 

Robby’s got a disciplinary file half built with his name on the tab. One more thing and he’ll be back in that carpeted purgatory explaining how “post-rehab Frank” was just a limited-time offer.

The only thought had been do not feed this. Do not let you become a bigger target than you already are. 

“No, that’s — fuck.” He breaks off, already hating how badly he’s said everything. “That’s not what I meant. I called the intern noise. The gossip. The whole stupid conversation. I meant she’d get bored and move on if I didn’t exacerbate it. I did not mean you.”

If anything, the entire point had been to avoid throwing you under the bus by acting like there was nothing there to poke at. And somehow that attempt has landed here, in front of him now, having done exactly the opposite. 

You look at him for a second like you’re trying to decide whether to believe him and coming up short. 

“I can handle it, you know. I’m a big girl. If I’m too much, or if I’ve been making you uncomfortable, you can just tell me.” The flat seam of your lips is more withering than any shout. “I’d rather hear it straight than keep walking around here feeling like some joke everybody else is already in on.” 

“I know you could,” he says, too fast, like he needs to get there before you decide otherwise. “I know you could handle it. And if that was what this was, I would’ve said it, yeah?” His chest keeps punching at the scrub top, lungs over-ventilating around the terror of being misunderstood.  “I don’t want you to stop flirting with me. I don’t want you to stop hovering or talking or… any of it. I — I fucking need it — You.” 

“Frank…”

His eyes flick down to your mouth, then up again, like he hates that you can see him thinking it.

“If I do something stupid right now,” he says, voice low, “are you gonna slap me?” 

He’s half begging for the hit, half begging on the green light. 

Your exhale stutters into a breathy laugh. “Depends how stupid.” 

Stupid wins. 

Frank closes the last inch and touches his mouth to yours.

Soft at first, like he’s half-afraid you’ll vanish. You don’t. You stay… then soften… then melt, and everything inside him rushes forward. The second your lips part, the kiss deepens. Hunger and apology braided tight.

His hand rises to the back of your neck, thumb stroking the hair there, and the kiss tips from cautious to greedy in a single heartbeat. 

He’s been starving himself on purpose, convincing the ache it was dietary. You don’t feed a craving that noble, he’d told himself in a dozen graveyard-shift pep talks. Now the craving is kissing back, and his resolve crumbles like a sugar packet. 

You curve forward, spine bowing until his shoulders hit the curtain and the metal rings screech on the rail, but the world past the vinyl may as well be orbiting another sun. You both break into breathless laughter, but neither of you stops.

They warned you about selfish addicts, a voice needles.

This is exactly what they meant: taking the one thing that makes the ward bearable and unintentionally hurting its feelings to keep it safe — then stealing it anyway.

He swallows the guilt, chases it with another taste of peppermint. 

Frank pulls back just far enough to speak, foreheads still touching. “No more breathing room, okay?” 

You pretend to ponder, then glance at the inch (maybe) separating your bodies. “Pretty sure you just repossessed every cubic inch of it.” 

“Good,” he says, thumb stroking the tendon at your nape like he’s checking his own pulse there. “I’m keeping it.” 

Selfish, a reprimand flickers, but he can’t imagine surrendering the warmth that’s finally tugged his chest open. 

Then the hallway pager shrieks, reminding you that the world still exists and someone probably needs a doctor who isn’t currently making out behind a curtain. 

You both straighten, slower than necessary, Smooth hair, reset badges. 

As you step through the divider he catches your hand, gives it a quick, secret squeeze.

You squeeze back, and the grin you trade in that split-second says everything the rumor mill never could: whatever this is, it’s no longer background noise.

MARIA NOTE hi hi hi thank you for reading and witnessing er barbie and franks FIRST KISS!!!!!!!!!! behind a questionably sanitary curtain, no less. may their pager batteries die forever so we get more smooch time. ₊ ⊹🪻 ✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🪴

“Have you ever thought about swapping to the night shift?” Jack asks as you walk together to your next patient,

“Uhm… I don’t know. I’ve never really thought of it actually.” you’re unable to read Jack’s face as he pulls you to the side,

“You should really consider it, I think you’d be great on the team.” he says quietly, trying to keep the conversation between the two of you. your brows furrow in confusion at his sudden approach, sensing an ulterior motive behind,

“Look, he’s my best friend but I see the way he talks to you. I’m not trying to make up shit to excuse whatever's going on with him, but you know how he is. I just think maybe you need a break, a change in teams, y’know.” you flash Jack a sympathetic smile as he speaks,

“Doctor Abbot, I’m fine, really. I appreciate your concern though.” you say as you hold the tablet out to pass to him. he takes a deep breath as he takes it from you, letting you walk away to finish your handoffs. 

Jack wants to throw a lifeline to you. change your shifts without your permission, let you see what you’ve been missing out on firsthand and ask for forgiveness later. he doesn’t care about whether you might resent him for it or not, he just knows that you’re too ambitious, too smart and too keen to let it be diminished by the other attending.

as you type out your final chart of the day, Robby taps your shoulder, 

“Mind if we chat?” he says, tilting his head to indicate he wants to pull you aside. Dana stands nearby, watching carefully. her and Jack have talked about it numerous times and not even Dana can get through to you or Robby. though, neither of them really understand, and you know that they wouldn’t,

“I trust my residents, all of them. I trust that whatever undergrad program you’ve done has taught you the value of thorough charting and why we do it,” you nod as Robby starts, “So, I would love an explanation on why I see that your charts from earlier this morning are half done. They’re sloppy, disorganized and there are typos that could lead to wrong prescriptions.” he has that same slight condescending smile on his face that Dana recognizes even from afar. 

“I got caught up with helping on a peds case, then that overdose came in and then Langdon asked me to help in triage— I’m sorry —they’ll be fixed before I go.” you tell your attending with your head low. 

“They should be done properly after every single patient. I expect better from you, not excuses.” he says, arms crossed. you stare at the lines of the beige coloured floor, waiting for this to be over so you can get back to work. it goes quiet between the two of you and you miss seeing his eyes softening suddenly after scolding you, 

“Hey,” Robby says softly, grabbing your attention. when you look up, his expression is entirely different. he no longer looks at you as your attending but with a face pleading with desperation. it’s the kind of face only you get to see in private and no one else. 

“Same time tonight?” he says. If Jack was around, he’d argue that Robby sounds like he’s borderline begging,

“Of course.” you reply with the smallest of smiles. he nods, silently dismissing you from the room. Jack sighs as he watches you leave the room, quickly walking back to your station to continue your charts. Dana stands beside him, putting her hand on his back

“I tried talking to her again today. Still isn’t budging.” Jack says in disappointment

“Some people just don’t wanna be helped. You know that better than anyone.” Dana says sympathetically. Jack however strongly disagrees with her and is newly motivated by his need to prove Dana and Robby wrong about you. he might finally follow through with his idea of changing your shifts and begging for forgiveness later, for one week at least. 

your arrangement with Robby happened fast and out of nowhere. it started the way all messy, casual relationships do; at a bar, drunk, and with a little bit of playful flirting. 

you stared at the other residents scattered across the bar. some were in line for more drinks, some playing pool and others even dancing on a nonexistent dancefloor. you always like people watching and it was sweet to see them let loose after work. you sat quietly, and close beside Robby, knees brushing against one another every so often.

“So, have you applied to any fellowships for next year?” he starts as he takes a casual sip of his beer,

“I’m thinking of neurology right now and I know what you’re gonna say, it’s competitive, it’s for the best of the best and—” Robby cuts you off,

“I think it’s great, it’s perfect for you,” Robby looks at you smiling. No caveat, no sneaky comments, he stops with that. “You’re incredibly good at what you do in the ER, I think neuro would be very lucky to have you.” you smile at the praise from your attending, feeling yourself getting shyer by the second. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying to ignore the lustful way Robby looks at your lips, then back up to your eyes. maybe it’s the liquor but the words continue spilling out of you, “You’ve taught me a lot over the years and I don’t think ‘thank you’ will ever be enough. I never take anything you teach me for granted.”

Robby thinks of closing the distance between the two of you, kissing you right then and there in front of everyone and dealing with the consequences tomorrow. he’s so damn close to it but before he can make a move, you check the time on your phone, 

“Fuck, it’s late. I should head home.” you shuffle around to grab your bags and chug the last bit of your drink down. you know you might regret it later, but getting your money's worth from the last bit of alcohol outweighs the potential hangover or bad decisions you’ll make,

“Let me drive you.” Robby offers, desperate to keep you longer.

“Oh, no. Please, it’s okay!” you plead.

“I’ll drive you, it’s okay. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re home safely.” Robby is already standing up from the booth with his hand reaching out to help you stand. neither of you say goodbye to the rest of the day shift and quickly slip out the bar doors.

the car ride was a comfortable kind of quiet. the radio played at a low volume, and you’d hum some bits of a song you heard one too many times. he parks his car outside your apartment building, leaving the engine running. Robby still wants to kiss you, but feared that he’d come off too strong or like he’d been expecting something if he turns the car off,

“Thank you, Doctor Robby, I really appreciate it.” you say turning to look at him. he smiles softly, acknowledging your thank you with a nod. he looks at your lips again, then back at your eyes, similar to what he did in the bar before leaning in slowly. you don’t stop him, if anything you lean in to meet him halfway over the center console. he kisses you softly and with hesitation, as if he’s testing to see if what he’s doing is okay. when you don’t pull away, he puts his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer and kissing you deeper and deeper. your lips taste like a mix of vodka and the cherry lipgloss he always sees you wear, tempting him constantly. he’s always wanted to taste it and now he’s dizzy with lust and only continues to kiss you harder and deeper. he can’t hold back any longer and pulls away for a second,

“Can I come upstairs?” he asks with his hand still on your cheek making small circles. you hesitate for a second before nodding. Robby shuts the engine off before the two of you head up to your apartment. 

in hindsight, you should have said no. you should have told him that what you two were doing violated pages worth of HR guidelines and that your medical career wasn’t worth putting on the line for him. but the way Robby praised you earlier that night, the mentorship he’s given you for years, confiding in him felt natural to you but it wasn’t necessarily love. 

you could argue that you wanted him just as bad but in a different way. Robby was infatuated, desperate to feel your love, call you his and only his. on the other hand, you craved his validation, his leadership, his guidance. his desire for you to be wanted and needed by him was so strong, it made for a horrible combination. you, highly ambitious but docile, combined with his overbearing mentorship, your relationship or whatever you wanted to call it, was made to crash and burn. 

he towered over you, looking down at you as you stared up with big eyes, waiting for instructions. he always found that you were especially pretty to him like this; waiting for his instructions, only acting when he commanded. even in the bedroom, he naturally fell into a leadership role for you,

“So pretty.” he purred as he put his hand on your cheek again, leaning down to kiss you again. 

you never addressed your arrangement to each other but sleeping together became a routine most days after work. Robby only ever came over to your place, never his, and part of you is convinced that because of that, you have control over your arrangement; that you have the control to stop it whenever you want.

you laid in bed with your head on his bare chest, unable to rid your mind of the conversation you had with Jack that day. it replayed over and over in your head. maybe it was a ploy to poach you and have you join the night shift, or maybe he was genuinely concerned about the way Robby spoke to you. now that Jack mentioned it, you have noticed Robby has been a bit meaner to you than usual, and unfortunately it only made his rare praises more desirable,

“You were a little mean today.” you blurt out, not thinking your words through. there's a small moment of silence while Robby processes your sudden thought,

“You understand why I have to though, right?” Robby responds calmly. of course you know the answer. it was something he reiterated to you only ever in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I know.” 

“Say it.” there’s a tinge of Robby’s usual condescending tone. 

“You’re pushing me to do my best and you want me to be the best. Better than you.” your voice suddenly goes monotone, as if you’re reading from a memorized script.

“And?” he says with no change in tone. 

“And because it’s not fair to everyone else if you’re easy on me.” you say increasingly quieter.

“That’s right,” Robby says. the lack of an apology leaves you feeling empty and he can tell that’s exactly what you were looking for, 

“You know I started on your letter of recommendation for your fellowship next year,” your eyes look up at him with a sudden new sparkle, something he hasn’t seen in a while. it was close enough to an apology that was never coming, and you were taking what you could get.

𝜗ৎ 

the following week, you noticed a change in your schedule. for the first time during your residency, you were working nights. something about the change made you nervous; would Robby be upset? would it affect your letter of recommendation? you silently reminded yourself the schedule change is out of your control, but you can’t help but feel at fault for it. 

as you walk into PTMC, Jack and Shen stand together at the workstation,

“Here comes our newest Nightcrawler! How does it feel?” Doctor Shen says with a smile and his usual iced coffee in hand. 

“Really weird, I think it’s gonna take me a sec to adjust to the sleep schedule.” you say a bit on edge. even though you know everyone on the night shift, it still feels like you’re in unknown territory,

“I’m surprised you managed to almost avoid being on nights your entire residency,” John says as he passes you an energy drink, 

“As a welcome gift.” you smile as you take it, cracking it open before heading to your locker. 

as you put your things away, Robby approaches from behind, putting his hand on the small of your back to grab your attention. you turn to see him with slightly worried eyes, 

“So you’re working nights, huh?” he starts.

“I didn’t ask anyone to swap me to nights.” your defensiveness catches him off guard. 

“I know. And I know you’re smart, just don’t forget everything I’ve taught you,” he says, shaking his head slightly, 

“I would hate for this to affect your recommendation letter.” Robby feels ashamed to hold the letter above your head, but how else could he remind you where you belonged and who taught you everything you knew? Jack rounds the corner suddenly, seeing Robby speaking with you. there’s a notable shift in your energy from the way you were speaking with Shen minutes ago, 

“Hey,” Jack’s voice grabs both you and Robby’s attention, 

“Why don’t you catch up with Lena? We’re gonna huddle in a few minutes.” you scramble to lock everything away and head back towards the central area of the ER. Robby stays back, expecting Jack to confront him on the sudden shift in your energy,

“Did you ask to have her on nights?” Robby starts before Jack can say anything, 

“Because she was doing perfectly fine on the day shift.”

“She’s in her last year of her residency and hasn’t worked a single night shift. Don’t you think she should have an opportunity to see what it’s like?” Jack avoids his question but Robby already knows the answer. he’s too tired to fight, the day was already gruelling and exhausting enough on him,

“Just don’t go easy on her. She’s talented and she’s got a real shot at this neuro fellowship she wants for next year.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck up your protégé.” Jack says with his sarcastic flair. though he fails to mention that he’s serious on planning to show you what proper leadership looks like to him. 

𝜗ৎ 

Robby leaves PTMC right as he hears the usual HOOAH! from the nightcrawlers. he thinks the way Jack leads them is too laid back and filled with too many opportunities to bend the rules. he silently prays it doesn’t rub off on you. months worth of progress he’s made with you would all go to waste. 

“Eric Lake, twenty nine years old, had a bottle hit over his head at a bar tonight. multiple lacerations on the skull, possible skull fracture. BP, one thirty over seventy, heart rate, one twenty.” the paramedics call out as they pull the gurney towards trauma two. you look up to see Jack waving you over towards the room. 

as you enter trauma two, Jack is already working to get a gown on you,

“You’re going to need to make an incision on his skull. Neuro is on their way but there's a larger piece of glass that’s too deep. If we don’t do it now, it might press into his frontal lobe.” Jack says calmly as he can sense your panic set in.

“Doctor Abbot, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” you say with a shaky voice.

“I’ll walk you through it,” he says decisively. you walk over and he passes you a scalpel,

“Deep breath, go slow and gentle.” you take a deep breath in and follow his instructions exactly. once you make the incision, Jack takes the scalpel from your hand and passes you a set of tweezers next. you carefully remove the piece of glass and it feels like you can finally breathe properly again,

“Atta girl, let’s get him up for a CT scan next.” Jack says as he moves to take his gown and gloves off. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, following the same motions as him and removing your disposable gear. 

there’s a noticeable difference in the way Jack walks you through traumas. Robby was much less gentle, he would have reminded you of your neuro fellowship application a dozen times before you got to making an incision. he would’ve probably scolded you for taking your time, whereas Jack was calm, he trusted you and in turn you trusted yourself. 

the rest of the shift goes by as smoothly as possible. by the last hour or so, you’ve managed to finish most of your charts with your shaky, over caffeinated hands,

“You got a second to talk?” Jack says as he passes by you, waiting for you to follow. anxiety begins bubbling in your stomach, it’s a usual routine for Robby to put your mistakes on blast but it never fails to make you uneasy. Jack pulls you aside in one of the empty trauma rooms,

“You did good today, really good. You should be proud of how you handled that head laceration,” Jack starts. you look up at him nervously waiting for whatever caveat he has. he can see the nervousness in your eyes and something about the way you look at him makes him feel a sense of pity, 

“Mind if I give you some advice? Nothing bad, I promise,” you nod at his request, 

“You’ve got all the answers in you. All the right ideas and you need to own them more. Your technique, your approach with patients, it’s all great, but you need to be more confident in yourself.” you nod again at his advice. you’ve got all the answers in you repeats in your head like a new mantra,

“Thank you, Doctor Abbot. I appreciate it.” Jack nods in acknowledgement. 

from afar, Robby watches as Jack and you leave the trauma bay. he turns to Lena who is already carefully examining his every move,

“How’d she do tonight?” Lena already knows who he’s referring to,

“She did perfectly fine without you, Robinavitch.” Robby laughs dryly in response to Lena, shaking his head. perfectly fine without him sounds like an exaggeration. he wants to ask you how your first night went; were you pushing yourself hard enough still? are you learning better things from Jack than what he could’ve taught you? did you miss him? the questions continue popping up as he watches the way you interact with the night shift attending from afar. 

𝜗ৎ 

the end of your first week on nights was merciless– a mass crowd crush at a concert forced some of the day shift to come back in early, including Robby,

“He’s experiencing hyperkalemia, let’s administer nebulized albuterol now please!” you call out. Jack watches close by, nodding in agreement with each order you make. as Jack passes you by he quickly says,

“You’re doing great, keep calling orders just like that.” Robby watches as your eyes squint slightly, indicating a smile coming from under your mask. Jack leaves the crowded trauma room and heads towards the ambulance bay, Robby is quick to follow, grabbing his arm as the automatic sliding doors open, 

“She should’ve seen those hyperkalemia symptoms earlier, she didn’t deserve that win.” Robby says in a low and firm tone. Jack stops to face the other attending fully,

“But she still ended up identifying it, and that man is alive because of that,” Jack defends you quickly. Robby stares back with a deadpan expression, 

“Just because she doesn’t do it the way you would, doesn’t mean she’s not capable, Robby. A win is a win, and I’m still her attending on shift.” Robby is taken aback by Jack’s response, leaving him to walk back to the ambulance bay. 

you watch the two interact from afar as your patient is pushed out of the trauma room. you can’t make out their exact exchange but can only assume it’s about the way you’ve handed trauma after trauma tonight. 

as Robby turns to head back inside the ER, your eyes briefly meet. neither of you have spoken since you started on nights, nor has he tried to come over. Robby’s eyes have a familiar softness to them as you look at each other. part of you is torn between feeling guilty about not seeing him, but the other half is relieved to have your space, even if its temporary. you quickly look away, tearing your gown off and heading out of the trauma room through the rear door. there are silent prayers in your head hoping he isn’t following after you. 

the ER finally slows as the majority of the crowd crush patients either rest or head up to surgery. Jack watches as you type quickly to get through each chart. he can sense your fear of falling behind and having to pick up another patient so he rolls his chair beside you, casually looking at his watch,

“Down to the last hour,” you smile at his comment, still typing relentlessly. it had felt like there was no end in sight to today and you didn’t want to stop until then. Jack puts his hand on your forearm, finally putting a stop to your typing, “I’m really noticing improvement in your confidence especially in your verbal orders. Keep it up.” for the first time all day, you feel your shoulders drop and body begin to relax,

“Thank you, I’m really trying.” you say as your turn your body towards him.

“And I see it.” Jack holds his eye contact with you as he tries to continue emphasizing his praise to you,

“If you want, we could go for breakfast to celebrate your first week on nights?” heat spreads across your face quickly before you start frantically nodding. he flashes a smile, unable to hide his overwhelming excitement. 

the way Jack looks at you and treats you feels different than what you’re used to. you feel like a deer in headlights whenever he compliments you and this time, it felt genuine, authentic, like there isn’t some trick behind his words. the walls you put up to protect yourself from getting hurt are slowly coming down around him and you’re fucking terrified. 

he doesn’t tell you where you’re going, except that he knows you’ll enjoy it. the car ride together is quiet, he doesn’t push for conversations nor do you. it’s comfortable, there’s no pressure to talk about work or anything else, it’s a mutual space to silently decompress. Jack pulls into the parking lot of a small breakfast diner, looking over at you as he pulls the keys from the ignition,

“You okay?” he says with raised eyebrows, waiting on confirmation. you nod and head in together. 

it’s your traditional breakfast diner, a time capsule stuck in the 60s with posters reminiscent of those times. the floors have the usual black and white checker print with contrasting bright red booth chairs and tables. Jack guides you to a seat as a server passes you both menus,

“Did you pick this place ‘cause it reminds you of when you were a teenager?” you tease. it’s the first time he’s heard you make a joke in a while and he doesn’t care it’s at the expense of his age,

“Yeah, and sometimes I like to go to those renaissance fairs to remind me of my childhood.” he replies, smirking. you let out a laugh and he’s willing to do or say anything to hear it again. 

you both place your orders and it’s quiet again. you stare out at the window, still trying to decipher what him and Robby were talking about earlier,

“What’s on your mind?” Jack says, grabbing your attention away from the passing cars on the road. you stare back at him in hesitation,

“Can I ask you something?” Jack lets out a hum, opening the floor to you,

“What were you and Robby talking about earlier? When we were dealing with the crowd crush.” Jack breathes in deeply, shifting in discomfort,

“We just disagree sometimes on how we approach things.”

“Approach… Me?” you ask, still hesitant to continue. 

“Yeah, sort of.” Jack answers. it goes quiet again between the two of you,

“I heard you’re applying for a neuro fellowship next year?” he says, trying to steer the conversation away from Robby. he knows he’s failed when you’re suddenly the one shifting uncomfortably,

“I’m trying, yeah.” 

“Good for you. You’re great at what you do, neuro would be very lucky to have you.” Word for word, Jack repeats the exact same thing Robby said when you first told him about your plans to apply. something about hearing it again from Jack instead makes it sting,

“Is Robby writing your letter of recommendation?”

“He’s trying to apparently. Not sure he’s happy with me being on nights though so I haven’t really heard much about it.” Jack hums at your response, not pushing further. 

“Y’know for a while, I thought about changing to something else. I don’t know, maybe I felt burnt out but I just didn’t feel like I was good enough for it anymore.” there’s another small pause, Jack knows you aren’t finished yet,

“But that kinda changed recently, after being on the night shift. It reminded me why I’m here and that I’m good at what I do.” you say, looking at Jack. he tries to keep a straight face, feeling his chest swell with pride.

“You’re more than welcome to stay on nights.” he replies. you might just take him up on that. 

𝜗ৎ 

Can I come see you tomorrow? Saw you’re off. 

your half awake eyes scan over the text from Robby again. it’s been a few weeks since you’ve started on the night shift and neither of you have really spoken to each other outside of the usual patient hand offs. it was too early (or too late now that you worked nights) to be thinking about Robby and what your relationship meant. 

when you enter PTMC that evening, Robby is quick to follow you to your locker,

“Didn’t know we were ignoring each other now.” he starts with a slight bitterness,

“I haven’t had a chance to respond to anyone, Robby.” you say as you struggle to clip your badge to your scrub. it’s a half truth, you’ve been tired from the sleep schedule change but he didn’t need to know that. 

“I get it, you’re busy, I just didn’t—” he stops mid sentence to gently grab your badge and clip it on you. your arms drop as a click noise confirms that he’s secured it, 

“I didn’t think you swapping to the night shift would mean I wouldn’t see you anymore.” he says a bit quieter. you’re not sure how to respond to him. it’s not that you didn’t want to see him, you just didn’t want to deal with all the criticism and baggage that came with seeing him. Robby can tell you’re at a loss for words,

“How about I come over tomorrow, cook some dinner for you and show you the first draft of the recommendation letter I wrote?” before you can respond, Parker rounds the corner,

“Hey, that patient with dementia from last night is here again. She’s asking for you.” your attention is brought back to reality suddenly, remembering the events of your previous shift,

“Right, Mrs. Williams, I remember her. I’ll be there in a second.” you start to walk back towards the ER but Robby is quick to stop you,

“Let me know, okay?” you nod, trying to hurry back. 

𝜗ৎ 

the rest of the night passes by quickly. it’s a friday night and you learned quickly that weekend night shifts mostly included stitching up frat guys or tending to bar hoppers who drank too much. 

by the time the morning rolls around, you’ve already forgotten about Robby asking to come over. you had been preoccupied with whatever assignment Jack was throwing your way and for some reason that night, he was insistent on putting you on as many as possible. 

“Can we talk?” Jack says, interrupting you mid-chart. you follow Jack to a vacant room and there’s suddenly a familiar anxiety in your stomach that never goes away when you’re singled out by either attendings. 

“Here,” Jack says as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to you, 

“Open it.” he steps back with his arms behind his back, watching you carefully open the PTMC branded envelope up, eyes quickly skimming across the paper inside,

“To whom it may concern,

… A fantastic fit for a neurology fellowship…

… Extremely detailed in her work, highly competent, all while approaching every case with kindness and empathy…

… Knows all the answers within herself…

… I highly recommend her… she would benefit the team greatly…

Signed,

Dr. Jack Abbot

Attending Physician, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre”

“Whatever you choose to do, I just hope you get to stay in Pittsburgh.” Jack says with a quieter voice, filling the silence. you stare in awe at the letter,

“You didn’t have to.” you managed to get out,

“I wanted to. It’s the least I could do.” the ‘least he could do’ had possibly changed the trajectory of your medical career. 

you’re not sure what to do with yourself but your body naturally goes in to wrap your arms around Jack’s neck. he holds you close, putting his chin on your shoulders. the smell of your light perfume mixed with your skin consumes him. you pull away first, your hands still around his neck and his hands suddenly on your waist. 

neither of you have spoken but the longer you look at one another, you swear you can hear each other's thoughts.Jack just hopes he isn’t misreading anything as he slowly leans closer to your face kissing you hesitantly but softly. you don’t move, you don’t pull away, instead letting him pull away first,

“Jack, I don’t wanna mess this up.” you say in an almost whisper. it’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name and he wants to hear it again and again, 

“I know.” 

“And I need you to know I’m not doing all of this because you gave me that letter.”

“I know,” he reiterates again. “We can take it slow.” you look at him before awkwardly leaning up to give him a small kiss. Jack smiles,

“We can start with breakfast again?” 

outside in the ER, Robby walks in starting every shift the same way; staring at the portrait of Doctor Adamson. his need to continue his legacy and be half as good of a mentor is constantly consuming him and the portrait was a reminder of it. Dana walks in a few minutes later, standing next to Robby. 

“He woulda been proud of what you’ve done with the place.” Dana starts.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” Robby huffs shaking his head. 

“A bit of advice?” Robby looks over at Dana before reluctantly nodding.

“Some of the best mentors I’ve had are the ones who trust their mentees to make the right decisions. I know he did with you,” Dana says, motioning at the portrait. she leans in a bit closer, “It also helps when there are no feelings attached.” Dana leaves Robby with her thoughts and heads towards the nurses station. 

in the corner of his eye, you and Jack exit a room and Robby immediately notices the bright smile on your face. it looks out of place for someone who just worked a twelve almost thirteen hour shift. he watches you walk together and notices a bright white envelope in your hands that he can only assume is your letter of recommendation. the two attending’s eyes meet and Jack gives Robby a sly smile— a smile that reads you’re too late. Robby sighs as he looks back up at Adamson’s portrait for one more moment. Jack, on the other hand, has you both exactly where he wants; Robby feeling sorry for his mistakes and you on the night shift with him for the reminder of your residency.

“Cefazolin and gent,” you say with the same affect, “we've cleared her chest, abdomen, and pelvis.”

“Clean wound, no crush injury, rapid transport time. Replantation is a go. I'll book an OR. Irrigate the hell out of this with 3 liters.” Shark nods at you, as if you had done the entire case alone.

“3 liters?” Whitaker confirms, confused by the large quantity.

“Of saline, genius.” Shark says, voice flat.

“Thanks, Shark.” Robby says.

“Bye doctor,” Park nods at you. 

“Ok,” you say, not bothering to look up at him as he leaves. 

“I knew he meant saline,” Whitaker looks between you and Robby asking for confirmation that you know he’s not an idiot.

“Ignore him,” you say, still sounding agitated at the whole interaction.

“Yeah, Shark doesn’t really like anyone,” Robby offers the two, slightly shaken, young doctors sitting in front of him.

“He seems to like her just fine,” Ogilvie points a gloved finger to you and you scoff.

“That’s just because he wants to f-” you cut yourself of realizing your chief attending is standing right next to you, “I think I hear someone calling my name out there, yeah no, I gotta-” you push out the door, everyone in the room knowing that no one was calling you.

“She was going to say fuck her,” Ogilvie says.

“Thank you for clarifying Ogilvie,” Robby says, giving a curt nod.

You don’t usually work the day shift but after McKay got a call from Harrison’s school she had to bow out for the day. Robby is certainly excited to work with you and get to know you a little better, you are his best friend's favorite resident, in more ways than one. Robby knows that Jack is seeing you, however the exact parameters of your relationship are unclear to the chief attending. He’s tried to spot slip ups between the two of you during hand-offs, any indication that you two are anything more than co-workers, but you are entirely unflappable and Jack is the same. He assumes the secrecy is because you and Jack want to keep things in your private lives private but the truth is Jack himself is unsure of the exact nature of your relationship.

The two of you are having sex, hot, passionate sex, on a regular basis. He feels like a teenager again, desperate to have his mouth on yours, his hands on your body, his cock in your tight pussy. The first shift after the two of you hooked up Jack could barely look at you, his ears flushing red every time he saw you, thinking of the day before when you were panting and whimpering beneath him, squeezing him like a vice, letting him come inside you... Over time he got better at staying composed. No one at the hospital had suspected anything, he maintained his cool outer shell without an issue, but for those first couple of weeks he had felt like he was melting inside. More recently the two of you started getting breakfast together after a shift, staying at each other’s places, lingering near one another in the ER…

“Your little resident is fiery, I like her for you,” Robby smirks as Jack stands next to him at the hub, the senior attendings preparing to start hand-offs.

“Oh yeah? What’d she do to get you so wound up?” The corner of Jack’s mouth curves up ever so slightly.

“Just put Shark in his place this afternoon,” Robby says, pushing his glasses up to rest on his head.

“Park? Why? Was he bothering her?” Jack’s mouth drops, imperceptible to a passerby but Robby notices. Shit. He had just meant to tease his friend a little, not wind him up before a shift.

“Nah he’s just- he just seems to be uh, interested, but she shut him down,” Jack gives him a look, waiting for Robby to elaborate, “no he just- he just asked her what she was doing later,”

“Well, what did she say?” Jack crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“Man, you should just talk to her,” Robby sighs, regretting saying anything.

“Robby,” Jack looks at him with a hard stare.

“She said ‘not you,’” Robby shrugs, “‘what are you doing later?’ ‘not you,’ that was it- it was funnier when she said it.”

Jack’s mouth is in a firm line.

“Fuckin’ ortho surgeons,” Jack mumbles.

“I mean… glass houses, brother.” Robby says, again without thinking.

Jack raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, silently prompting Robby to explain himself.

“You, you have been known to try to charm the odd patient… or nurse… or doctor…” Robby tries to placate him.

“That's different.” Jack’s head pulls back slightly.

“Why?” Robby scrunches his eyebrows.

“Because- because I'm seeing her.” Jack says, dropping his voice low.

“You weren’t always seeing her.” Robby pauses, looking in the distance, “actually now that I think about it she’s the only person I haven’t seen you make eyes at."

“What do you mean? You don’t think she’s charmed by me?” Jack cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah but you don’t do the whole Dr.-Jack-Abbot-thing with her, there’s no smoke or mirrors, you’re just… being Jack.”

“Hey,” you slide next to Jack where he stands at the hub, resting your hands on the desk dangerously close to his, “heard you’re taking Dr. Al for a beer, can you put in a good word for me?”

“With Al-Hashimi? Why?” Jack turns away from you, starting to walk towards the ambulance bay.

“Uh, because she’s a smart, assertive attending with a cool, humanitarian background? I mean the AI shit is lame but I don't know, I feel like I could learn some stuff from her,” you chatter away, following him closely, not entirely picking up on his foul mood. “Not that I don’t love to learn from you but- I don't know, men have been in charge of me my whole life, it would be nice to have another woman be a mentor figure. And I wanna do a slash trach.”

“Why don’t you ask Shark to teach you?” Jack says with a little bite once the two of you step outside.

“Shark? Yeah I’ll ask him for help if I ever need to use a hammer,” you breathe out a laugh, “He’s… how do i say this professionally….” you purse your lips and tap your chin, pretending to think, “he’s the worst.”

“Yeah well he thinks very highly of you,” Jack mutters.

“Oh my god. Has Robby been whispering in your ear? Jack, it was a non-event. He does it all the time. I’m used to brushing him off.” You say sympathetically.

“He does it all the time?” Jack head snaps to you.

“Not literally,” you sigh, “you have no reason to worry about Shark, I can't stand him, there’s nothing to be jealous about,”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s jealous,” Jack turns away from you slightly, his comment prompting you to let out a sharp breath as a laugh.

“Who am I supposed to be jealous of?” You say incredulously.

“I’m not having this conversation right now,” Jack rubs his hands over his face.

“Oh my god.” you let out a breathy laugh, “you want me to be jealous. Why?”

“You’re acting like a child.” He turns to you.

“Me? Are you serious right now?” You cross your arms, staring at him with your eyebrows raised. Jack says nothing, starting to turn back into the hospital.

“Jack,” you grab onto his arm, keeping him from walking inside, “talk. It's just me.”

“Yeah that’s the problem," Jack snaps, "you’re the problem."

Your face falls at his words.

“Wh-what did I do?” You say suddenly seeming very small. 

“No- you didn’t-” Jack lets out a frustrated breath, rubbing his hands down his face, “look- you’re young- god- you’re so young, and I know dating has changed since I was doing it twenty years ago but I don’t know how to do this with you- I don’t know how to see more than one person-”

“I’m not seeing more than one person-” you cut Jack off from his spiral. 

“What?” He looks at you blankly.

“I’m not seeing more than one person,” you say again, sounding a little more bold, a little more like yourself, “I'm only seeing you. I only want to see you. You thought I was seeing other people? Are you?”

“No- I don’t- I don’t know-” Jack stammers.

“You don’t know if you’re seeing other people?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No- of course I’m not- I just didn’t know if-” Jack struggles to articulate himself.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” You say gently.

“You seriously need to ask me that?” Jack finally turns to look at you, “I’m a widower, I’m a vet, I’m an amputee. I’m a night shift ER doctor, you should know what that says about me, better than most people. I’m twenty years older than you… I’m punching above my weight here… I- I figured I’d take what I could get.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t think of anything to say. That’s how he thinks of himself? Damaged goods? He is the most confident, borderline arrogant, doctor you know and he ought to be, he really is that good. And he’s just as good of a person. Sure, he had some walls up but slowly he was letting you in, showing you his entire self, something you felt privileged to have access to...

“Come with me,” you take his arm pulling him back towards the hospital. He pauses slightly, not exactly sure what you’re about to do, “Jack, can you just- please?” 

He follows you silently to the elevator which takes the pair of you to the third floor where the orthopedics department is located. The ride up is silent as you tap your foot, arms crossed tightly across your chest. The elevator dings and you step out with a determined stride, scanning the floor. You spot Park standing with two other ortho surgeons.

“Park!” you shout across the room, “we need to talk.”

Park smirks as you beeline towards him. The poor sucker, Jack thinks, slowly following you at a safe distance, stopping at the nurses station, resting his elbows on the counter, not even bothering trying to hide his interest in this interaction. The other two surgeons skulk away, god, Jack wishes he could see your face right now

“Stop smiling,” you say as you stand in front of him and his smile immediately drops, “you need to stop asking me out. First, I’m with someone, and I’m not sure he’d like it if he knew you were bothering me every time you’re in the ER. Second, even if I was single it would never happen with you and me. If we were the last two people alive it wouldn’t happen. And third, it’s fucking unprofessional. I’m a doctor, not your groupie. Am I making myself clear?”

He swallows hard, then nods.

“Say: yes doctor,” you say, looking him right in the eyes.

“Yes, doctor, it won’t happen again,” Park looks almost sheepish. Jack can’t think of a time he’s seen him look like this… ever. Despite his imposing frame, Park seems so small right now.

“Good,” you smile and turn on your heels walking back towards the elevator where Jack stands with his mouth agape. You take his hand pulling him towards the stairwell, the door dropping shut behind you. 

“Can I get in trouble for that?” You turn to Jack with a slightly anxious expression.

“I was with you for the last hour and didn’t even see you go up to Ortho.” Jack smirks at you.

“Hm,” you smirk back, grabbing the back of his neck, placing a quick kiss on his lips. He keeps leaning towards you as you pull back.

“Jack,” you smile, pushing him away lightly, stepping down one stair so he towers over you. 

“So who’s this mysterious person you’re ‘with’?” He gazes down at you with his hands in his pockets as you bite your lip.

“Mm,” you hum, toying with his ID that sits against his hip, “he’s just this older guy, really fuckin’ smart, measured, competent…” you pull his badge toward you examining the photo, “he’s sexy, even when he gets a little jealous,” you let go of his ID badge letting it snap against him sharply, he winces slightly at the stinging sensation but keeps gazing down at you with adoration. Your eyes flick up to his. 

“And I really like him,” you finish, a small smile on the corner of your lips. Jack takes a step down so you’re eye to eye. 

“Am I allowed to just say we’re dating? All these code words ‘seeing,’ ‘with,’ ‘exclusive…’ I just-” Jack cuts himself off with a shake of his head.

“Mm it depends,” you hum, a playful grin on your face, “are we dating?” 

“Yes,” he squeezes your hip.

“Then you’re allowed to say it,” you say, looking up and then down the stairs, seeing that you’re still alone, placing another more lingering kiss on his mouth, your lips soft against his. You pull back and see the tips of his ears turn bright red, making you blush as well.

“But we’re not telling anyone down there,” you clarify. 

What if you weren’t fine? What if you believed him, and then you died or there was a complication or several other things all aligned perfectly, and you were patient zero for some strange, unresolvable medical anomaly? It was all possible, even if the chances were slim, and waiting in this dismal room was making him consider it all. He wished he had gone into surgery. He wouldn’t be going through any of this if he were a surgeon. 

Jack’s knee had begun to shake when a nurse finally entered the waiting room and looked around. It was the same nurse who had assured him, several times, that they were aware of your allergies and would call him immediately if anything went wrong, so Jack shot up from his chair. He ignored the ache in his leg and brushed down the material of his jeans, and he walked over to her before she could even register who he was. 

“How’s she doing?” Jack greeted, hands pressed together to look casual, but he was anything but casual. His wife was lying in a hospital bed, and he wasn’t there, and that was not casual. 

Nurse Caroline, Jack had taken it upon himself to remember, gave him a soft smile. She still had a scrub cap on and didn’t look stressed or nervous, but Jack was familiar with compartmentalizing in front of patients’ families, and he was a patient’s family. He held his breath and tried to look casual again. 

“She’s doing just fine, Dr. Abbot. There was a minor complication with bleeding, but nothing we couldn’t handle. We’ve been observing her for the past half hour, and she’s responding well to the titration of meds. Starting to wake up, but she’s pretty out of it. Don’t be alarmed.” 

“What kind of complication?” Jack asked, right on the heels of nurse Caroline as she guided him through the maze of patient rooms. “Something surgery-related or a predisposition?” 

Caroline hooked her chin over her shoulder. “I’ll give you the full note in her discharge summary, how about that? You can review the entire procedure.” 

“Not sure I need to do that,” Jack muttered under his breath, though the thought comforted him. “Just a rundown would be fine.” 

“Right. And I’m sure about a thousand follow-up questions after? I know how you doctors are.” She pointed at him with a teasing smile. “And I especially know how you are when we’re working on your wives. You can read the summary and bring any questions to her post-op in two weeks, capiche?” 

Jack grumbled something back, the sound left in the hall as he entered your room. And you looked… fine. About what he expected you to look like after surgery. He didn’t particularly enjoy the bleary way you were staring up at the ceiling, your waning skin, or even that you were in a hospital bed at all, but those were all temporary things. He could pack away the comparisons to nightmares he’s had about you in the ED and lower his tone to a comforting decibel. You needed that more than you needed a panicky, nauseous husband. 

“Hey, baby,” Jack all but whispered, his hand coming to rest on the top of your head. He leaned down and tried to enter your line of sight. “How you feeling?” 

You didn’t answer right away, or even focus your gaze on him. Jack’s thumb rubbed along your forehead, and he looked up to Caroline in the corner of the room, her attention fixed on the computer. “How long did you say she’s been awake?” 

“Only a few minutes,” nurse Caroline replied. “Some people just take a little longer to come out of it, as I’m sure you’re aware.” 

“But—” 

“Just give it a sec, Dr. Abbot. Before you freak out.” 

Jack nodded—to himself, as Caroline hadn’t looked up from her computer once—and furrowed his brow as he turned his gaze back down to you. He blinked as he realized you were already looking at him, a layer of relief resting atop his panic. He offered you a smile that radiated fondness and adjusted his hand on your head, brushing your hair back. 

“There’s my girl,” Jack quietly encouraged. “Feeling pretty crappy, huh?” 

You squinted and nodded, and Jack asked, “Do you have her on pain meds?” which nurse Caroline quickly affirmed. She seemed very well-versed in treating doctors and related categories, and Jack was subtly grateful for her nonchalance. He wondered if she was chosen specifically for the ED attending’s case, and then stopped wondering as you started to speak. 

“Are you my doctor?” you hoarsely asked, grimacing as you shifted on the bed. 

Jack’s smile widened. “Not today. Tried to be, but they told me I don’t have enough specialized training to remove a gallbladder.” 

“They took my gallbladder?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. It was causing you more trouble than it was worth. Better to take it out.” 

You made a worried sound, your eyes hazy. “Can I live without my gallbladder? Can I have someone else’s?”

Jack quietly chuckled to himself, his fingers continuing to draw shapes along your temples, your forehead, your jaw. “You can live a perfectly healthy life without one. I’ll help you figure it all out, okay? Worst case scenario, I’ll find a way to give you mine.” 

You hummed, leaning into his touch, and Jack felt his chest warm. Everything was fine. You were uncomfortable and confused, but you were fine. He was about to ask Caroline more about your post-op appointment and when you could be discharged when you jolted against him. He snapped his gaze down to you instantly, assessing for anything that could have gone wrong. His hands went from caressing you to hovering an inch over your body, afraid to do more. 

“What is it?” he pressed out.

But your wide eyes were not filled with pain. Instead, they were tracking the wedding band on Jack’s left hand, a hint of fear in your expression. “Are you married?” you whispered. 

Instinctively, Jack rolled the ring in his fingers. He slowly replied, “Yes,” and let caution simmer in the space between you. Somewhere behind him, Caroline had finally turned away from her computer, brows raised at the scene. 

“Oh my god,” you groaned, and Jack winced as you shoved your head back against the bed. “And to think I was being all… like that with you. How mortifying.”

“I don’t—” 

“And you were being all… touchy. You have a wife.” You ran a hand over your face, your IV trailing alongside you and making Jack wince again as he worried for the tangled lines. “I am so embarrassed.” 

Jack didn’t quite know what to say. You were very clearly still out of it, your brows furrowed in confusion and your eyes looking lost, but all the usual tactics he would use to comfort you were not going to work. His adoring husband repertoire was effectively useless. Jack felt his heart break a little at the notion of being a stranger, but this was temporary. You likely wouldn't even remember it. 

Jack swallowed, cleared his throat, and shoved his hands in his pockets because he couldn’t just have them hanging. “Hey, no need to be embarrassed. I’m… uh—I do have a wife, but—” 

“But he’s your post-op nurse,” Caroline cut in from behind him. She threw him a look that said don’t confuse her when she’s coming off of anesthesia and rounded the other side of your bed. “The touching is necessary. In fact, he’s also going to be your driver home. New service we have.” 

“Oh,” you mumbled out, playing with your fingers in your lap. Jack felt his own hands twitch in his pockets at your slight pout. “So everything is fine?” 

It took Jack a moment to realize you were looking at him. He sprang into action as he caught your expecting gaze. “Oh, more than fine, sweet—uh, miss. We’re going to get you home, and I’ll be back for more post-op care.” 

“Be back at my house?” 

“Yeah. I’ll… be there a lot.” 

“Lucky me,” you yawned. “But not lucky wife.” 

Jack pressed his lips into a line to stave off the laugh. “My wife’s okay with it. She knows it’s part of the job.” 

Caroline had begun checking final vitals and milling about your bed. She removed your IV and scanned your hospital bracelet before returning to the computer. Jack watched each step carefully, hands still shoved into his pockets, and nodded when discharge paperwork was sent to his email. He didn’t really need it, but he knew the procedure notes would be attached, so he would read every word as you slept. A quick check-in from the surgeon was the final key to going home, and Jack had carefully guided you into a wheelchair with hands that knew you better than he led on. You were half-asleep by the time you reached his truck. 

“Hey, wake up for me, baby. Gotta get you settled in.”

You squinted and grimaced, and Jack wished he could have just carried you in without the hassle, but the nurse said your stitches were in a delicate zone and you needed careful movement. You threw an arm over his shoulders, and Jack fought the urge to kiss your head as he buckled you into the seat. He didn’t want to startle you. It took physical force to shut the door without touching you more. 

He opted for a soft smile when your head rested against his passenger-side window, feeling jittery as he started the engine and backed out of the employee parking garage at the PTMC. You spoke again when you were a few miles away from home. 

“Your wife must really love you,” you sleepily pointed out, eyes struggling to stay open. “If you treat her like you treat your patients.” 

The lingering warmth in Jack’s chest made his heart skip a beat. He kept his eyes on the road. “I like to think I treat her just a little more special.” 

“Really love you, then.” 

“Yeah, that’s the hope,” Jack smiled to himself. “But pretty sure I love her a whole lot more than that.” 

“That’s nice, Nurse.” 

And when you got into the house just a couple of minutes later, your wedding pictures sprawled across the walls, Jack’s belongings mixed with yours, your jaw dropped, a starry-eyed gaze turning on your “post-op nurse.” 

“Am I your wife?” you gaped. 

Jack took the opportunity to finally touch you, bringing his hands from the clinical guidance around your shoulders to rest delicately around your waist—just to help you walk inside. And maybe because it had only been a car ride, but he missed touching you like he was your husband. He smiled at you from over your shoulder. 

“Yeah, baby. We had a pretty fun wedding. You’ll remember it when you wake up.” 

“Ho-ly shit,” you replied, stunned as Jack led you through the living room filled with your life together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack let his nose brush along your temple. “Better to leave things simple when you wake up from a surgery. Wouldn’t want to stress you out with big news.” 

“Are you actually a nurse?” 

“I’m a doctor.” 

“Shit,” you repeated. Jack took on more of your weight as you started to fall forward. 

“Okay, no more big news until you’re lying down,” Jack stressed, gently tucking your hair back as you approached the bed and struggled to sit down. You swayed slightly where he put you, and Jack crouched down to meet your dazed expression. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know after you sleep some of this off. Promise.” 

“Where’s my wedding ring?” 

He took your hand into his, kissing the empty space. “No jewelry in surgery. Did you hear me? Sleep first, then information.” 

“Am I a doctor? I don’t think I am. Do we have children?” 

“I love you so much.” Jack paused, tapping your cheek lightly. “It’s time to sleep.” 

“You’ll tell me everything when I wake up?”