Hase 🐇

“Please, just give me something!”

Dr. Jack Abbot leaned against the counter, voice low but restless. It was the kind of plea that came from boredom. Abbot didn't know how to deal with boredom.

It was an usual quiet night shift.

The night had stretched thin, no traumas, no codes, not even a good chest pain to keep him awake. The Pitt’s ER, usually a blur of motion and chaos, had slowed to an eerie calm.

Nothing was happening.

And that was its own kind of torture.

The beeping of the monitors, a handful of people waiting in Chairs, and the scent of antiseptic clung to the back of his throat, driving him insane.

He needeed something to do.

Dana, the blonde charge nurse, had a phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, frantically typing something into the computer with perfectly manicured red nails. She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re acting like a child, Abbott. Go chart something.”

He sighed, drumming his fingers on the counter, running a hand through his greying curls. “I already charted everything.”

When she finally hung up, she flipped through a stack of papers, then pointed toward one of the curtained bays with a smirk.

“Bay two. Dog bite. Knock yourself out, cowboy.”

Jack pushed off the counter, grabbing the iPad she held out. “A dog bite?” It was way below his paygrade, but sure, let's save a life. He walked away scanning the notes on the screen.

The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead, their sterile glow washing everything in shades of white and blue. The air was cold; it was late November, and the overzealous hospital AC made his skin feel cold to the touch. Somewhere, a machine beeped steadily, and someone down the hall coughed.

Jack pulled the curtain aside, expecting another routine case; a quick exam, a tetanus booster, maybe a few stitches.

Instead, a young woman looked up at him.

The first thing he noticed was the soft color of her scrubs; pastel pink, paired with matching crocs with dozens of Hello Kitty charms, that looked almost too cheerful for the sterile harshness of the ER. Her hair was pulled into a sleek knot, not a strand out of place, though the faint flush in her cheeks and the way she cradled her wrist against her chest betrayed her discomfort.

She offered him a shy, uncertain smile.

For a moment, their eyes met and lingered.

Jack cleared his throat, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves from a box on the wall, to give himself something to do.

She was very pretty, he couldn’t deny that. Probably twenty-four, twenty-five at most.

Her big eyes glanced over his exposed biceps and his work bagde ID, a little more color climbing into her cheeks before darting her eyes down, which inflated his ego a bit. Just a bit.

“I’m Dr. Abbot,” he said, keeping his tone light but professional. He read her name from the notes on the computer in front on him, “What brings you in tonight?”

“Oh, um…” She hesitated, glancing at her wrist. “Work accident, I guess. I’m a vet tech and one of our boarders decided he’d had enough of his catherer when I was cleaning his kennel.”

“Vet tech, huh? Occupational hazard.” He smiled faintly, pulling a stool closer to her and sitting on it.

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” she replied softly, her voice warm but timid. “I swear, ninety-nine percent of them are angels and then there’s that one with a grudge.”

Jack chuckled. The way she said it was so earnestly, with that almost apologetic little smile, made it impossible not to smile with her. There was something too nice and too sweet for this world about her, as if life hadn’t yet worn down her edges. Like it has done with his.

“Let’s take a look, yeah?” He rolled the stool closer to examine the wound.

“I already cleaned it and wrapped it… sorry about that. Not my best work,” She held up her arm, showing the red bandage with tiny paw prints scattered over it. Neatly done but uneven in a few spots, the gauze pulled a little too tight in places. “I’m used to wrapping paws, not my own arm. Turns out it’s harder than I thought.”

“You actually did a good job,” he said, gently taking her hand. He was careful, slower than usual, his cold fingers brushed gently against her skin as he peeled back the gauze; Her wrist and hand looked impossibly small in his, and he found himself adjusting his touch to be even gentler, “Clean, tight, and no swelling under the wrap. Not bad at all.”

The bite was on the inner area of her wrist and it looked awfully painful. But it wasn't actively bleeding anymore, which was a good sign.

“Thanks. It’s been a night.” Her lips curved in a small pout.

“Didn’t have anyone to help you?” he asked, tossing the old bandage that was stained with her blood in the biohazard trash.

She shook her head. “No. The other tech on shift called out, her kid was sick or something and I didn't wanted to bother Dr. Cho, so I was covering for both of us. It’s just me tonight, and the six overnight patients.”

“That’s a lot for one person.” He frowned slightly, impressed.

She shrugged one shoulder, the motion small, modest. “I manage. The animals are never mean to me and I really enjoy being around them." she said and winced as he poured saline solution over the wound.

"Sorry 'bout that sugar." the nickname slipped out before he could restrain himself. “But good news,” he said softly, eyes scanning the wound. “No sutures needed. You got lucky.”

He cleaned and dressed her wrist, explaining each step as he went. She listened closely, nodding, occasionally offering a little quip that would make him smirk silently. Despite her age, conversation came easily with her, too easily. He found himself asking where she worked (a little clinic not even three blocks away from the hospital), how long she’d been doing it, what kind of animals she liked best. She answered every question with thoughtful honesty, her voice carrying that gentle warmth that made even the sterile ER feel a little less cold. It made him feel a little less cold.

"And for how long have you been doing this, 'Doc?" she asked as he was finishing wrapping her wrist.

"Probaly for longer than you've been alive..."

Her eyes widened, surprised. He smirked when her cheeks turned pink again, unable to help himself. It was almost too easy to make her flustered.

Was this flirting?

When he finished taping the fresh dressing in place, he gave her warm hand a small reassuring squeeze before stepping back and standing up, peeling off his gloves with a crisp snap and tossed them into the biohazard bin.

“Alright, that should do it. I’ll send you home with antibiotics and a oitment, just in case.”

"Thank you, Dr. Abbot." She said softly. "You were… really nice. I work in a hospital but I still hate being the patient...makes me a little anxious.” Her voice wavered, warm and shy. She hopped off the gurney with a delicate little bounce and reached for her pink backpack slung over the visitor's chair.

Jack's month tilted. She really liked pink.

"Just doing my job, sugar." He tried to make it sound light and casual,.

She stepped closer while slinging the backpack over her shoulder, close enought he could catch the scent of coconuts that rose in the air when she moved.

"I'm gonna have a nurse bring you the meds and they will be able to discharge you, is that ok?"

She nodded and bit her lip, darting her eyes away from him. Something shifted in her expression, something like concern or hesitation, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her brows.

Jack ignored the strange urge to smooth it away with his thumb.

He pulled the curtain open, stepping aside so she could pass. Whether he meant to or not, his hand hovered at the small of her back; not touching, just guided her toward the right direction.

None of this was protocol. He just told himself he was going above and beyond for a patient.

He handed Dana the discharge papers, suddenly wishing he had a better reason to keep her there a little longer; another test, another form, anything. But there wasn’t and he quickly pushed those thoughts away.

“Take care of that wrist,” he said, forcing himself to contain a smile, “You can stop wearing the bandage in about then days and start applying the oitment so you don't get any scars.” he leaned into her direction so she would be the only one that could hear him and winked, "And stay away from cranky dogs, capiche?"

“I’ll try,” she laughed, rolling her eyes, “Though I make no promises.”

"Good girl." The words left his mounth before he could stop himself. Pink blossomed over cheeks and she bit her lip, lifting her eyes up again. When their gazes met, for just a heartbeat too long, something stirred inside. Something warm, dangerous and familiar in way that terrified him.

"Here we go, darling. I got those two for you and you can go home." Dana interrupted their exchange.

Jack stared at the pretty girl in front of him for one more second before turning on his heels. He had barely made it three steps out to the mens bathroom when he stopped himself in his tracks when he heard her voice again.

“…is there a cheaper option?” she asked quietly.

He paused, hidden just around the corner. Dana, typing something into the computer, glanced up at her. The girl in the pink scrubs looked embarrassed to even ask, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes down, fingers nervously fidgeting.

“I—I’m a little broke right now,” she added, offering Dana a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it would be this expensive.”

Dana exhaled sympathetically. “Let me ask Dr. Abbot. Maybe he can—”

“No, no, please,” she interrupted quickly, shaking her head. “Don’t bother him. I’ll just take the antibiotics. I can make do without the ointment. Thank you.”

There was no resentment in her voice, just quiet resignation. She thanked Dana, clutching the small paper bag of medications to her chest, and walked toward the glass sliding doors.

And just like that… she was gone.

Dana spotted him lingering in the hallway and raised an eyebrow. “Cowboy, you heard that?”

“Some of it.” He cleared his throat.

Jack glanced down at the counter, jaw tightening. The girl had already been doing the impossible, working alone, covering for two people, managing overnight patients, and getting bit on top of that, poor thing must've been having a terrible night.

“Add it to my account,” he said quietly.

Dana blinked. “Seriously?”

“She shouldn’t go without it,” he muttered. “Just… ring it under staff. I’ll sort it out.”

Dana nodded, printing out the label and sliding the small box of ointment across the counter, and Jack didn’t even think, he grabbed it and headed for the exit.

The automatic sliding doors whooshed open as he stepped into the cool night air. The parking lot lights cast long silver streaks across the wet pavement, and the rumble of a distant ambulance echoed from the side bay.

He scanned the sidewalk.

Empty.

She must have caught her ride already.

Jack stood there for a moment, the ointment gripped loosely in his hand, the night breeze tugging at his coat. A humorless breath slipped out of him.

She was gone.

“You want her number to call her back?” Dana asked when he walked back in, looking a dissapointed.

He hesitated.

Her chart was right there. Her full name. Her phone number. Easy.

Too easy.

He imagined her picking up the call. Sweet, soft-spoken voice. Probably smiling even though her wrist was throbbing. But then he imagined what it would look like from her side, her creepy doctor tracking her down after she left, using her medical records for something other than medicine.

No. He wouldn’t cross that line. Not even for her. Especially not for her.

{...}

Jack hadn’t planned on running into her again, at least that’s what he told himself each morning after his shift when he deliberately chose the coffee shop three blocks farther from the hospital, knowing it sat conveniently close to the little clinic she mentioned. It was coincidence. Probably. Maybe. He let himself believe that.

Almost two weeks have passed. She still lingered in his mind.

He was caught off guard when he heard his name called in that soft, bright voice — “Dr. Abbot!” — so full of genuine surprise it stopped him mid-stride. When he turned, she was already half-jogging toward him, black scrubs brushing against her legs, her pink Crocs peeking out. Her hair was pulled back into a neat braid down her back and her smile widened when their eyes met.

And right at her heel was a massive Rottweiler, block headed, glossy, and very unaware of it's existance.

Jack’s mouth twitched into a smile before he could stop it.

“Well,” he said, “this is a sight.”

She flushed instantly, like she always did around him, but didn’t look away.

"We—I mean, I—had a bit of a rough morning and Mister Cupcake here was getting antsy in the kennel, so I thought we both deserved a coffee break.”

The dog huffed, as if in agreement.

“Mister… Cupcake,” Jack repeated, staring at the hulking dog.

She gave the dog’s head a fond pat. “Don’t judge him for his appareance. He’s sweet like a Cupcake.”

Jack let his gaze slide briefly — respectfully — over her. Her posture was straighter than the last time he saw her. A fresh, bandage peeked from under the sleeve of her underscrub, neatly taped.

“How’s your wrist doing?” Jack asked, eager to hear more of her voice.

“It’s doing okay! I think it finally started to heal...it’s been itching like hell.” She answered honestly, her gaze flicking down to her wrist as if to double-check it was still there. “But I think I’ll survive. Thanks to you, Dr. Abbott.”

The smile she gave him was small but bright, amusement flickering in her eyes like a spark she couldn’t hide. Jack felt something warm hook into him; he was starting to really like the way his name sounded coming from her lips.

“Long day?” she asked. She shifted her weight as if it were nothing, except his trained eyes saw it. The tiny wince.

His jaw tightened, though he kept his tone even. “Just finishing a shift,” he said. “I'm heading to get some coffee as well."

His better judgment braced a hand on his shoulder, firm and warning — Don’t. Don’t invite her. Don’t get closer. Don’t pull her into your orbit.

But then she looked up at him and bit her glossy lip, shining hope in her eyes like she genuinely liked being near him but didn’t know if she was allowed to.

And just like that, the last of his restraint snapped cleanly in two.

“Let me buy you a cup,” he said, softer than intended, he stared at the massive dog next to her. "I would love his company as well."

She blinked, startled.

And suddenly — shockingly — apprehension crawled up his spine, cold and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worried someone might say no to him. She’d been so receptive to him so far, so warm in that shy, hesitant way of hers… but for a split second he found himself afraid he’d misread it. Afraid she would pull back.

He swallowed, the moment stretching thin between them.

She blinked, surprised. “I—I don’t want you to get in trouble at work…Are you sure it's gonna be okay?”

He could get in trouble at work for this.

“You don’t need to worry that pretty head about it.”

She didn't need to know that.

Her blush deepened so beautifully, he decided it was totally worth it.

They walked together, side by side, the dog trotting beside her, tail swaying. She kept sneaking shy glances at Jack, then looking quickly at the sidewalk. The ideia of this older doctor paying attention to her made her feel some type of way. Something no boy her age had ever made her feel.

Jack asked about Cupcake, letting her ramble about the dog's dramatic barking fit that led to this coffee run, voice dipping in and out of quiet excitement.

"He ate his owner's edibles, that poor dude thought we were going to report him to the cops." she shrugged, "So we had to keep him under observation...he's a little grumpy because we can't give him any treats."

Abbott felt her eyes scanning him one for the hundreth time and landing on his work bagde.

"I bet crazy shit goes down in Emergency Medicine, huh?"

He almost didn't pay attention to her question, his mind focused on the fact that her faint limp was more prominet when she walked. The urge to stop her and check her immediately was strong—too strong—but he forced himself to swallow it.

He gave her a heavily edited version of his shift.

When they reached the counter, he ordered for her without asking — somehow knowing exactly what she’d choose, something sweet of corse— and she didn’t protest, only ducked her head and murmured a soft “thank you.”

They found a small table near the window — warm light spilling over the polished wood, the air scented with roasted beans and vanilla syrup. Cupcake settled obediently at her feet, massive head pressed against her ankle.

She focused on him a little too intensely, pretending to adjust his collar just so she wouldn’t have to stare at the intenside of his very pretty hazel eyes.

Jack sat close. Too close. Their knees almost touched beneath the table, separated by barely an inch. She tried not to think about it, but her brain was a whirlwind: He’s so close. He's so handsome. He smells like antiseptic. Why is my heart doing that? Calm down, act normal, breathe—

The silence made everything worse. The café was quiet, warm, intimate. And he...stared a lot. Not rudely, not aggressively, but very attentively. Thoughtfully. Like he was memorizing her features.

She swallowed, fingers tightening around Cupcake’s leash.

She grasped for something to say. “So, um… how long have you worked at the hospital?”

“Twenty-three years.”

Her eyes widened, shining with honest awe. “Wow. That’s… really impressive. I’ve only been a tech for three years. Still feel like I’m pretending half the time.”

“I’m sure you’re great at your job,” he said, and his steady eye contact didn’t waver for even a heartbeat. “You handled the night shift by yourself. I don’t think I could handle the ER alone.”

She snorted softly. “Yeah, that does sound like a nightmare.”

They laughed together, a brief warm ripple that seemed to soften the tightness around her shoulders. Jack’s gaze dipped to Cupcake, sprawled loyally beneath the table, the enormous dog lifting his head just enough to huff at Jack like he was part of the conversation.

“Have you always wanted to work with animals?” Jack asked.

The question made her smile and she turned her face away, nostalgia brightening her features. She nodded.

“Ever since I can remember,” she said quietly. “I’ve always felt more comfortable being around them…” Her eyes flicked down toward Cupcake. “Than being around people.”

For the first time since their first encounter, Jack heard something new in her voice. A faint thread of sadness. Maybe even bitterness. It twisted something deep in his chest; sympathy, curiosity, protectiveness, he couldn’t tell.

But then she lifted her eyes to his, really looked at him, and the breath caught in his lungs.

“But…” she added, voice small, almost shy, “I surprisingly like being around you though.”

It was innocent, pure honesty. Her lashes lowered like she wasn’t sure she should’ve said it, and a pink flush crept over her cheeks.

“Well,” he managed, voice rougher than before, “that’s good to hear.”

Good?

Before he could say anything else, something he might later regret, the barista called his name. He stood, something thrumming low in his chest.

By the time he returned to the table, she’d glanced at her watch and nearly choked. Her whole posture tightened as reality rushed back in.

"Oh no, I really need to get Cupcake back, my break is ov-"

She froze mid sentence, mortified when he placed her coffee and a very familiar box in front of her.

Her face went scarlet. “How—did you— I didn’t know you— I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to—” she blurted out before sighing, shoulders slouching in defeat once realization hit her, “You—um—heard me talking to the nurse, didn’t you?”

He didn’t deny it. “The healthcare system in this country is messed up,” he murmured. “No reason you should go without something you need. It will help with the intching and you'll heal a lot better.”

She looked at the box as though it weighed a thousand pounds. As if him remembering something so small meant something enormous to her.

“How—how can I repay you?” she asked, voice shy and hopeful, eyes big and earnest. “Please. I… I want to.”

Jack almost scoffed, not unkindly, just softened by the sweetness of her.

“Maybe next time we run into each other…” He leaned into her direction. “I’ll ask you for your phone number.”

Her breath hitched. Not fear. Something warmer. Something that pooled low in her stomach and made her toes curl inside her Crocs.

“I… I would like that,” she whispered, fumbling with Cupcake’s leash. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

And with that, she hurried off with the dog, braid bouncing, shoulders shyly hunched, but he caught her glancing over her shoulder twice, biting back a smile she couldn’t hide.

She liked his presence.

And he liked that far more than he should.

{...}

Life had caught up with him. Brutal shifts. Endless trauma cases. Paperwork that swallowed whole weekends.

He’d managed to slip by that little coffee shop near her clinic once, maybe twice, telling himself he was only stopping for better espresso, not because he hoped to see her. Both times he was met with nothing but the barista’s bored greeting and a quiet patio.

After the third week, he began making peace with the idea that their paths simply weren’t meant to cross again.

And the rational part of him, the part shaped by years of discipline and boundaries and the damn Hippocratic oath he kept breaking in his head, told him that was for the best.

Better for her. Safer for him.

But in that cold and rainy night.

The second her first and last name blinked on the patient board for incoming patients from Chairs, his brows pulled together and a cold wash of worry slid down his spine.

She shouldn’t be here again.

He shouldn’t care this much.

He dragged a hand down his face and headed toward the bay, already bracing himself. He told himself he was being ridiculous—she had probably come for something minor. Maybe the bite was still bothering her?

But the moment he pulled the curtain back, the breath punched out of him.

There she was—perched on the edge of the gurney with her knees pulled tight to her chest, hair a tangled mess, hands trembling uncontrollably. Still in her Hello Kitty pajamas and pink slippers, like she’d bolted out of the house without a single coherent thought.

She was also soaking—damp from the rain, from whatever frantic escape she’d made, tiny droplets clinging to her sleeves and collecting at the ends of her hair. She looked chilled straight through her bones.

An ugly purple bruise bloomed across her right cheekbone, stark against her wet skin. A split cut through her bottom lip, raw and fresh. Dry blood colecting under her nostrils as well.

She looked small. She looked hurt.

And she looked like she had run for her life.

Jack stopped moving.

Just…stopped.

“Dr. Abbott?” she whispered, startled. She didn’t look happy to see him. In fact, she looked almost…mortified. She angled her face away, trying to hide the bruise, curling into herself as if she could physically shrink out of his sight.

She’d come in during the late morning, on purpose, hoping to avoid him. For some reason the idea of that nice and handsome Doctor seeing her in this awful situation didn't sit right with her. But now he was standing right in front of her.

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

“Sugar…” The nickname slipped out and his voice wasn’t calm or clinical. It was tight, dangerous, shaking at the edges. “What happened?”

Her eyes lifted at the sound of the nickname he should not be using. She tried to offer him a little smile almost as a instinct but the split in her lip pulled and she winced.

“I—uh—it’s not that bad… I got into a fight—”

The curtain ripped open as Dr. Whittaker stepped in. His eyes widened when he saw Abbott, and he immediately began backing away like a terrified intern.

Jack didn’t bother hiding his glare. He plucked the iPad out of Whittaker’s hands without breaking eye contact with the girl on the bed.

“Out,” Jack said, voice like a snapped command. Whittaker left without the need to be told twice, instantly, practically tripping over the curtain.

“Look at me,” he said, tone leaving zero room for argument.

She obeyed immediately, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She looked so small, shoulders hunched inward as if she could fold herself out of existence.

“Someone put their hands on you."

She could feel the fury radiating off him, simmering under his skin like a heat wave. He was nothing like the flirty, smiling doctor who had bought her coffee a month ago. This was someone else, someone colder and infinitely more dangerous.

“I got into a fight,” she muttered, eyes dropping to her lap.

“Don’t lie to me.” he said, more harshly than he intended, "You think I can't tell?"

Her breath caught. She hated that tone.

It made her feel twelve years old, like she was being scolded by a disappointed adult. And the worst of all was that something deep inside her had a strange, instinctive urge to appease him, to make him stop sounding disappointed, to make him like her again.

“My stepmom gets…unstable when she drinks,” she blurted out. “It was my fault. I was pushing her buttons.”

A dark, protective surge washed through Jack so hard it nearly staggered him.

“She assaulted you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave because of his growing frustration. He was standing right beside her now, towering over her. “You need to report her.”

She shook her head quickly, eyes shiny with unshed tears, tears she refused to let fall. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She didn’t want him to see her that weak.

“It’s complicated…” Her voice was soft, exhausted, defeated. “You must know better than anyone that substance abuse is a disease and—”

Jack scoffed, a humorless, sharp exhale. The sound made her flinch. He raked a hand through his greying curls, pacing one step away as if he needed distance to keep from snapping.

God, he was so frustrated. Furious.

Of course, a sweet thing like her would try to have sympathy, and of course, she would try to defend the person who has hurt her; that's what victims of abuse do.

As a doctor, he knew she wasn't entirely wrong; substance abuse was an illness. People did lose themselves in it. But he could not take that into consideration right now; the only thing he could focus on was the fresh bruise on her cheek.

Jack’s jaw flexed, his chest rising with slow, controlled breaths as he forced himself not to let the anger show more than it already had.

“Well…as your medical provider, I don’t see any option other than to report it myself—”

“Please, don’t. Nothing it's gonna happen, I'm already an adult." Her voice broke. She inhaled shakily, bringing her hands together in front of her, like she was praying. “It’s not the first time this has happened—I…” She swallowed hard, shame blazing across her cheeks. “Can you just give me something for the pain? And I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You cannot possibly be thinking of going back there.” His voice sharpened again. “Where is your father?”

“My dad died in Afghanistan seven years ago.”

Jack went utterly still, like she had just slapped him across the face.

She continued quietly, humiliation spreading over her skin like a fever. “I’m trying to save money to move out. It’s just really hard to find a place where the security deposit won’t wipe out my savings." She swallowed again, shrugging her shoulders, a sad look in her pretty face. "She used to be nice, you know? Before my dad passed…”

His stomach twisted, anger, worry, guilt all crashing into each other. He reached out, tilting her chin gently, forcing her to face him so he could examine the injuries. His touch was soft, almost tender, despite the storm behind his hazel eyes.

“Does this happen often?” he asked, voice gentling.

“No.”

He gave her a look.

She sighed, cheeks warming. “Sometimes. Only when she drinks.” she swallowed, darting her away. "It doesn't usually get this scary."

That was it. The final line The one he could never uncross.

“You’re not going back there.” He straightened abruptly.

She smiled at him, it was soft, embarrassed and painfully sweet. She thought his worry was cute. She really believed he cared this way for all his patients.

“That’s okay. I’m sure my co-worker would let me crash in her place. In a day or two, after she cools off, I’ll go back and apologi—”

“No.” He cut her off, voice sharp again. “I’m not negotiating. Look at what she did to you.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You do now.”

“Are you suggesting for thay I stay with you?…” she laughed humorlessly, "I can't do that."

It's unethical.

“You can,” he said, stepping close enough that she felt the heat of him, the weight of him, the intent rolling off his body. “And you will. My shift ends in twenty minutes. You’re coming home with me.”

If anyone found out, it would be an HR disaster, a career-ender. He knew that. He didn’t care.

He had always had a savior complex. And the girl in front of him clearly needed saving.

“Absolutely not, Dr. Abbott…” she tried again, voice trembling. “I don’t want to be a burden—”

“You’re not a burden, sugar.” His voice softened, but his tone was resolute. “You need a safe place. I have one. End of discussion.”

{...}

She tried sneaking out three separate times before she finally gave up.

Each attempt ended the same way: Dana, the kind blonde nurse from triage, catching her halfway down the hall. Dana would gently wrap a hand around her wrist and steer her right back to her gurney with a soft, amused smile.

“You silly thing,” she’d say, like she was comforting a spooked kitten. “Your doctor hasn’t signed your discharge papers yet.”

Her doctor.

Dr. Abbott didn’t sign those damn papers until the exact minute his shift ended, not a second before. And now she was standing just outside the hospital’s sliding doors, completely overwhelmed, wrapped in his jacket — his very warm, very expensive-smelling jacket — trying to process the fact that she was actually doing this.

Going home with him.

She stood there in a daze, catatonic almost, the smell of his cologne curling around her like a ghost of a hug. Her cheek and ribs throbbed with every breath, her eyes felt gritty from forty hours without sleep, her entire body begged for rest.

She glanced down the street, a bus approaching the stop.

If she took off running right now, maybe she could probably make it onto the 76 before anyone noticed—

“This way, sweetheart.”

She flinched, her heart slamming against her ribs. Dr. Abbott stepped up beside her, a black backpack slung over his broad shoulder. As if it were second nature, his free hand slid to the small of her back, guiding her toward the staff parking lot.

It was like he could hear every single panicked thought in her head.

They crossed the street together. His hand never left her back, and she wasn’t sure if that steadied her or made the butterflies in her tummy riot harder. They walked past a neat row of expensive cars until he stopped at a sleek black Cadillac, its paint gleaming under the security lights.

He opened the passenger door for her… and that’s when the panic spiked again.

Was he really doing this out of the kindness of his heart?

He was a doctor, after all—someone trained to help, someone sworn to do no harm. But she knew better than most that a title didn’t make a person good. Doctors could have ill intentions too. She’d seen it.

But Dr. Abbott… he didn’t feel like that.

He’d been nothing but gentle with her, gentle in a way he didn’t seem with anyone else. And worst of all, his hazel eyes had lingered in her dreams far longer than she wanted to admit, soft and warm where he was usually sharp and controlled.

Still, was she really in her right mind?

Going home with a man she barely knew?

Her thoughts spiraled. Her pulse fluttered.

But the idea of leaving her father's house and the constant fear, the tension, the nights spent listening for footsteps in the hallway was intoxicating.

What if he had a wife? What did she think about him bringing patients home? He was handsome enough, unfairly handsome, actually, with his salt-and-pepper curls and commanding presence. Men who looked like that didn’t just… exist alone. Right? He didn't wear a wedding band, but she knew from her own job that jewelry could interfere with procedures.

Her brain was spiraling, hesitation washing over her in dizzying waves. Every instinct in her body screamed to back out, to deny him again, to come up with any excuse that would keep her from getting into that sleek black Cadillac.

But before she could try to reason with him one more time, a deep masculine voice came from behind them.

She turned. A middle-aged man with kind eyes and a worn leather messenger bag was walking toward them. He looked like a doctor ready to start another long shift. Dr. Abbott’s whole energy changed the moment he saw him, straightening subtly, the muscles in his shoulders tensing for a beat before smoothing out.

The two men bumped fists in greeting, like longtime colleagues.

The newcomer’s gaze flicked between Dr.Abbott, the open passenger door, and her, standing awkwardly beside the Cadillac, wearing his jacket. Then his eyes settled on her face. His polite expression faltered when he noticed the bruise on her cheek and the split in her lip. The same assessing scan Dr. Abbott had given her in the trauma bay.

Embarrassment flushed hot beneath her skin, and she looked away.

“I can explain,” she heard Dr. Abbott say, his tone clipped but controlled. “I’ll do so later.”

“I’m not asking,” the other doctor replied, though his voice carried both concern and warning. “But it better be a damn good explanation.”

A charged silence passed between them before the man gave a small nod and walked off toward the main entrance.

When she looked back up at him, his hazel eyes were fixed on her, steady and firm. His eyebrows lifted just slightly as if he was daring her to push him one more time, to make him repeat himself.

She didn’t.

She swallowed hard, climbed into the Cadillac without another word, and sank into the pre-heated leather seat. Heat curled around her aching ribs and bruised cheek, melting into her like a drug. She had never been inside a car this nice. Everything smelled like leather, clean air, and a hint of his cologne.

Jack shut her door gently, circled around the hood, and slid into the driver’s seat. The engine hummed to life with a low purr.

The silence stretched.

It stretched so long it started eating at her, gnawing at the edges of her already-frayed nerves. She couldn’t stop thinking about the other doctor’s reaction and about the fact that she was sitting in a stranger’s very expensive car and letting him drive her God-knows-where.

And then her anxious brain grabbed onto the one question she had been trying not to ask.

She cleared her throat, quiet and tentative.

“Um… Dr. Abbott?”

His eyes flicked toward her for a moment before returning to the road.

“Yes?”

She took a breath.

“Are you… married?”

Jack paused.

Just for a beat.

Then a sad, softened smile tugged at his mouth, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I've been a windower for some time now.” he replied quietly.

Her stomach dropped.

“Oh—oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she babbled, mortified. “I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have— I’m so sorry, that was rude, I don’t know why I—”

He reached out and placed a firm hand on her knee.

Warm. Steady. Grounding.

“Sug-,” He caught himself. “You’re okay. Calm down.” His voice gentled, dipping into that low, reassuring tone he saved only for her. “You can ask me anything.”

Her face burned. She swallowed hard, nodding once, trying to stop kicking herself internally. Her stepmom was right; she did need to learn how to keep her mouth shut.

{...}

She stood there awkwardly in the front lobby once they stepped inside his apartment, her slippers planted on the polished hardwood floors that gleamed under the warm lights. It smelled clean—cedar, faint citrus, and something distinctly him. Her eyes darted everywhere, taking in the high ceilings, the warm amber lamps, the gigantic bookcases lined with hardcovers, the minimalist furniture that somehow still felt lived-in. Her awe was impossible to hide.

He must be loaded.

Dr. Abbott noticed immediately. The corner of his mouth pulled upward in something like amusement as he set his backpack down by the entryway.

“Go sit on the couch,” he instructed gently, nodding toward a deep charcoal sectional that looked far too expensive for her to even breathe on, she felt a litte concerned because her pj's and hair were still a little damp, but she obeyed him anyways. “I’ll grab you something for the pain and get the guest bedroom ready.”

“G–guest bedroom?” she echoed, startled. “You… you have a guest bedroom?”

He blinked at her like the question was absurd. “Of course I have a guest bedroom. What did you think I was going to do? Make you sleep on the couch?”

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. “This couch is really comfortable,” she mumbled under her breath.

He scoffed and disappeared into the kitchen.

She perched on the edge of the couch like a stray cat afraid to sink its claws into something too luxurious. Moments later he returned with an ice pack, a glass of water, and two pills, placing them neatly on the center table in front of her.

“Take those,” he said, his voice firm but warm. “Then ice your cheek. I won’t be long.”

He left again down the hallway.

She swallowed the pills with the water, then pressed the ice pack gently to her cheek. A small sigh of relief escaped her. The cold numbed the ache, softened the throbbing. Her body, exhausted, cold and beaten in too many ways, wanted to collapse, but her brain was still buzzing with adrenaline.

After a few minutes she stood up, unable to contain hernerves, curiosity tugging her deeper into his living room. The walls were lined with medals, certificates, and framed diplomas, an entire life of excellence neatly displayed. She moved closer, her eyes widening. There were medical degrees and inside a cabinet, military commendations, awards she didn’t even recognize.

She gasped softely.

“You’re… a veteran?” she asked, turning just as he stepped back into the room.

He stopped, following her gaze to the display. For a moment something unreadable flickered in his eyes. He simply nodded.

A bright, earnest smile spread across her face—one of the first genuine smiles he’d seen from her since she’d arrived at the hospital. “Thank you for your service,” she said softly. “My dad also served. He, um… he passed away during his last tour in the Middle East.”

Jack felt a quiet jolt in his chest, like someone had pressed a thumb against a wound he’d almost forgotten. Sympathy washed over him, deep and sincere.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, carrying weight. “Truly.”

She nodded, eyes falling to the medals again.

There was a silence—soft, not uncomfortable—settling between them. Jack watched her, the small, slight way she held herself, the ghost of pain in her expression even as she tried to smile. The bruise on her cheek was already darkening; the split in her lip still red and raw.

That really struck a cord on him.

“Come on,” he said gently, breaking the quiet. “Your room’s ready.”

He guided her down the hallway, his stride steady and quiet, while she shuffled beside him with small, uncertain steps. When he opened the door to the guest bedroom, she froze on the threshold.

The room was twice the size of her bedroom back at her dad’s house. The walls were painted a soft, calming gray; sunlight spilled through tall windows framed by heavy curtains; the bed was enormous, covered in a thick white comforter that looked like it swallowed you whole. There was a dresser, a reading chair, a plush rug that her tired feet immediately sank into. Everything smelled faintly like cedar and laundry soap—clean, warm, safe.

Her mouth fell slightly open. “This is… wow.”

Jack watched her reaction, his expression unreadable except for the faintest softening around his eyes. “There’s a bathroom through that door,” he said, gesturing. “Clean towels, toiletries...You can shower and change. I’ll put something together for us to eat.”

She nodded, though her eyes were unfocused, overwhelmed. He continued, “The meds should start kicking in soon. You’ll feel drowsy. Don’t fight it.”

She stepped into the grand bathroom and felt her chest tighten. Marble countertops, a glass shower, soft white towels stacked perfectly on a shelf. She stood there awkwardly, her bruised reflection blinking back at her from the mirror.

God, she looked miserable. No wonder he seemed so eager to help.

“I… thank you,” she murmured, turning back toward him in the doorway. “I mean it. I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise. I don’t—I don’t want to bother you.”

Jack exhaled sharply through his nose. Not irritated, just… firm.

“You really need to stop apologizing for everything,” he said, crossing his arms, the strong muscles underneathing his skin bulging, “You’re not bothering me and you’re safe here. That’s all that matters.”

“But I—”

“Shower,” he interrupted gently, raising a hand. “I’ll be in the kitchen making breakfast. It’s still morning, and you haven’t had a proper meal in God knows how long.”

Her throat tightened. She nodded again, retreating into the bathroom before she could embarrass herself further.

He shut the door halfway, giving her privacy, and walked away.

{...}

When Jack returned to check on her, he knocked softly before pushing the door open, just enough to slip inside.

The whole room was silent.

She was curled on her side atop the comforter, wearing his T-shirt and sweats, he made himself a silent reminder to throw her Hello Kitty pj's in the drier later. The shirt hung off one shoulder; the pants, cinched at the waist, pooled loosely around her hips. The ice pack had slid off her head and was slowly sweating onto the blanket.

She was completely gone to the world.

He moved closer, slow and deliberate, like an intruder in his own house. When he crouched beside her, a lock of damp hair shifted across her face, sticking to the corner of her mouth. Before he could think better of it, his hand lifted, two fingers brushing the strand gently back behind her ear.

Her skin was warm and soft.

She didn’t stir.

Jack’s hand hovered there for a beat too long, suspended in the charged stillness between them. Then he withdrew, though instinct told him to stay—hover, guard her breathing like it might falter—was strong enough to tighten his throat.

He exhaled through his nose, quietly.

Satisfied?

Yes. Shamefully so. Seeing her wrapped in things that belonged to him settled something restless inside him he hadn’t known was pacing.

He eased the comforter up and over her, tucking it lightly around her shoulders. She sighed, a tiny, exhausted sound and his chest pulled tight again.

For another moment, he lingered.

Watching her breathe. Making sure she was real this time, not some brief, warm presence he’d lose as soon as he blinked.

Finally, he stepped back, leaving the door cracked so she wouldn’t wake to a closed room.

Breakfast could wait.

She needed rest.

And he… he needed a moment to steady himself.

{...}

To be continued?