Delphiniumdrabbles_

“Just tired. And achy. Must be getting my period soon.” You sighed.

“Take it easy if you need to. Don’t run yourself into the ground.” She gave you a stern look over the top of her glasses.

“Yeah, yeah.” You smiled.

The day seemed to crawl by. The cramps were getting worse and worse. You’d always had bad cramps, to the point you thought you might have endometriosis. They never found anything. But it was starting to get out of hand.

You ignored it and kept pushing through the pain. You just had to get through a few more hours. You groaned as you saw Jack walk in. He was going to see right through you.

“Whoa. You look like shit.” He said walking up to you.

“Charming.” You snapped.

“I’m serious. You don’t look good at all. What’s going on?” He put a hand on the small of your back.

“Just cramps. And nausea. But that’s because of the cramps.” You shook your head.

“Honey-”

“Jack, I have a few more hours and then I can go home and relax. Let me get through this.” You sighed.

“Fine. Fine. But if it gets worse, I’m calling it. Understood?” He pointed at you.

“You just get off by being in charge.” You rolled your eyes.

“Bet your sweet ass I do.” He smirked.

“Keep it professional, for god sake.” Dana scoffed.

The shift slowly progressed. It was a glacier pace. You were really starting to feel like shit. Once a patient noted how sweaty and pale you were, you knew you couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Dana, where’s Jack?” You leaned over the counter, the pain too much to stand up and bear.

“Finishing up in trauma one. Sweetheart, you have to sit down.” She rushed over to your sweaty form.

“No, I won’t get back up.” You waved her off. “I just need Jack-”

“Jesus, fuck!” Jack barked as he ran over to you. “Honey! You’re off the floor. Dana what’s open?”

“Room 2. I’ll send Robby your way.” She ushered you toward the room.

“It got so bad I couldn’t move for a second.” You leaned into Jack’s side for support.

“You should have gotten me before it got this bad.” He criticized.

“I know. I thought it was nothing.” You whined as you sat on the bed. “My hips are killing me.”

“Let’s get you in a gown.” Jack said, helping you strip your scrubs off.

“I hate being the patient.” You mumbled as he tied the back of the gown closed.

“No one likes it.” He kissed your cheek.

“Knock, knock.” Robby entered the room with a sympathetic smile. “Oh, yeah. Dana was not exaggerating.”

“Keep your comments on my appearance to yourself, Robinavitch.” You hissed.

“Sorry.” Robby put his hands up. “Tell me what’s going on?” He snapped on his gloves.

“Abdominal pain, nausea, sweating. It comes and goes, but it’s getting worse.” You groan as he presses on your belly.

“Definitely guarding. Ever had your appendix removed?” He asked.

“No. You think it’s my appendix?” You sat up.

“Could be. We’ll get some blood work going and I’d like to do an ultrasound. Any chance you could be pregnant?” Robby looked between you and Jack.

“I doubt it, but you should probably check.” You sighed.

“I appreciate the honesty. I’ll be back once we have results.” Robby nodded.

“Hey, Rockstar, gonna get your blood going.” Perlah came in.

“Full panel, please.” Robby ordered.

“You got it.” Perlah smiled as she set up her station.

“You have patients to look after.” You looked up at Jack.

“They can hold down the fort without me. Shen’s got it.” Jack said, pulling the chair closer to your bed.

“Let us take care of you.” Perlah gave you a stern look.

“Alright, I concede. I don’t have the fight in me anyway.” You gave a half-hearted laugh.

The pain only increased as you waited for blood work. Robby had apologized for the wait on the ultrasound as a trauma had come in. You were curled in a ball, panting and sweating. Jack was getting more and more anxious, more and more angry at the wait.

“That’s it.” He growled as he jumped up and stormed out of the room. “Robinavitch!” He barked.

“Jack. I was just on my way over. I’m sorry.” Robby sighed, seeing the red growing on Jack’s face.

“She’s in a ball, shaking in pain! Get a move on!” Jack stomped back to the room.

“Yelling never makes anything faster.” You grumbled.

“Worth a try.” Jack sighed.

“Sorry for the wait!” Robby came in with the ultrasound machine.

“Get to it, Robby.” Jack snapped.

“Relax.” You shot him a look.

“Hey, Robby!” Perlah came running in with a tablet in hand. “Her blood work just got back. You need to take a look.” She handed him the tablet.

“What’s wrong?” Jack sat up, taking your hand. He knew that if a nurse was worried, it was bad.

“Oh. Okay. Wow.” Robby cleared his throat.

“It’s cancer. I’m dying. I knew it!” You groaned.

“Not cancer. You’re pregnant.” Robby said.

“What!?” You and Jack looked at each other in shock.

“What’s the hcG?” Jack swallowed, trying to get his voice to work.

“Well…117,000. With, it looks like, an increased blood volume.” Robby said.

“What are you saying?” You asked him, getting frustrated by the coy nature of his demeanor.

“By the looks of your blood work, and I have to confirm with an ultrasound, I’d say you’re full term.” Robby watched the color drain from your face.

“Hold on!” Perlah shouted, grabbing an emesis bag and shoving it at your face just in time for you to vomit.

“No way. That’s not possible. She doesn’t even look pregnant!” Jack ran a hand through his curls.

“Everyone breathe. Let’s look at the ultrasound before we panic.” Robby rolled the ultrasound next to the bed.

“I would have known. Right?” You looked up at Jack.

“I mean…cryptic pregnancies happen. I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Gel is gonna be cold.” Robby warned as he spread the gel on your belly. He pressed the wand into your belly, scanning and typing. His face remained neutral, not even an eyebrow twitch.

“What’s it look like?” You asked.

“Good news, the baby looks healthy. I don’t see any abnormalities. Potentially bad news, I think you’re in active labor.” Robby moved the screen to show you and Jack. “That is a head down, full-term fetus.”

“Holy shit.” You mumbled.

“I don’t…we…um…” Jack fell back into his seat.

“I can’t imagine the shock you two are going through right now. But I’m going to need to call OB down. They’ll want a pelvic exam. I can do it or I can get McKay to. Up to you.” Robby said.

“McKay.” You said, a far-off look in your eye.

“Try to remember to breathe.” Robby said as he got up and left.

“You two are going to be okay. Even the most prepared parents are surprised. Don’t worry.” Perlah gave your hand a squeeze before running out of the room.

“Holy shit.” You mumbled again.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, finally back in his body.

“No. Not even a little. I just found out that I’m about to push a bowling ball out of my body and I didn’t even know it was there! Oh my god! Jack! I drank! I drank so much wine!” You gasped.

“I know, it’s okay. We didn’t know.” Jack tried to get you to calm down.

“Jack, we smoked so much weed! It was so much!” You started to cry.

“Baby! It’s alright! We’ll figure this out! Right now, my priority is keeping you safe. That’s what we’ll worry about first.” Jack squeezed your hand.

“How could I not know? It’s my body. I just…I don’t understand.” You tried to take a deep breath.

“Some women don’t experience any symptoms. It’s not unheard of.” Jack was just as confused as you, but he had decided that didn’t matter.

“I’m so fucking scared.” You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

“I know. Me too.” He kissed your hand. The knock at the door made you both wince with anticipation.

“Hey, you crazy kids. Robby filled me in.” McKay came in, snapping on gloves.

“No one gets to use me for a research paper.” You huffed.

“Wasn’t even gonna ask.” McKay chuckled. “I’ll do a quick pelvic exam, see how far along you are. When you’re ready, let me know.”

“J-Just a second! Shit!” You groaned.

“Um, remember to breathe.” Jack took your hand, letting you crush it.

“Fucking stupid thing to say!” You growled.

“Sorry.” His voice came out strained as he tried not to wince at the pain in his hand.

“Focus on breathing out. Focus on one breath at a time.” McKay put hand on your thigh.

“Shit. Okay. Okay. It’s over.” You breathed out.

“Ready?” McKay asked.

“Sure.” You sighed.

“Let’s get those knees up, great. Deep breath, lots of pressure.” She said as she started her exam.

“Pressure. They always say pressure.” You squeezed your eyes shut.

“O-kay! You are fully dilated!” She pulled her hand back and snapped off her gloves.

“What!?” You barked. “No way!”

“Yes way. I just felt the head.” She said, jumping up and running to the door.

“This can’t be happening!” You groaned.

“It’s going to be okay.” Jack brushed the sweaty hair from your face.

“I need a BOA kit and some hands!” McKay called out into the hall.

“I can’t do this, Jack! I’m not prepared for this!” You panted.

“Honey, you don’t have a choice.” Jack said.

“Not helpful!” You snapped.

“Honey, you’re going to do this because you have to. I know you and I know you can do this. There isn’t anything you can’t do when you put your mind to it.” Jack kissed your cheek.

“What a show, Rockstar! You are never living this one down.” Perlah came in laughing.

“OB is on their way, not sure they’ll make it.” Robby came in and grabbed a gown from Perlah.

“No! Not you! Absolutely not!” You barked.

“An attending has to be present for births. You know that.” Robby said.

“I have one! Jack!”

“He’s the father, he doesn’t count. I’m a professional. I’m not phased by this.” Robby sighed.

“Super. I am!” You groaned. “Fuck!”

“Baby, let him do it! It’s him or Shen.” Jack told you.

“Fucking fine!” You whined.

“Okay! Let’s get the bed ready. Is the warming station set up?” Robby snapped on his gloves.

“Got it!” Donnie wheeled in the warming station.

“No more boys! No boys!” You hollered.

“Thank you, Donnie. Go ahead and let everyone know this is a female only room.” Robby instructed.

“You got it.” Donnie scurried out of the room.

McKay and Perlah helped set up the bed. Putting your feet into the stirrups. They covered your body in blue drapes.

“Okay, when you feel the next contraction, put your chin to your chest push.” McKay instructed.

“You make it sound so easy.” You whined.

“You can do this.” Jack leaned in close, his hand firmly in yours.

As pain hit you groaned, tucking your chin to your chest and pushing. This was certainly not how you thought the shift would end.

“Good! Really good job! Lots of progress.” McKay cheered.

“Oh my god, I don’t want to do this!” You sobbed.

“Honey, look at me,” Jack cupped your cheek and turned your head so you were forced to make eye contact. “I know this is scary. I know that you’re in pain. I wish I could fix it, I can’t. But I know you are braver than you realize. Just a little more effort and then it’s over. Okay?”

“You’re getting snipped after this!” you cried.

“Anything for you.” Jack smiled. He shot a glare at Robby who failed to muffle his laughter.

“The heads out, just a few more pushes.” McKay told you.

“Oh god!” You cried.

“You’re doing great.” Jack said.

“Stop saying that! Say literally anything else!” You groaned.

“Sorry, I wasn’t really prepared for this either.” Jack sighed.

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah, that’s right, fuck me. Go with that!” Jack cheered.

“What!?” You looked at him confused.

“Curse! Swear! It’s good for you. It doesn’t bother me if you tell me to fuck off.” He smiled.

“Get fucked!” You screamed as you pushed.

“You’re doing great! Keep going!” Jack kissed your cheek.

“Fuck this!!” You screeched.

Out in the treatment area, everyone had turned to face the screaming. The nurses looked at each other with confused faces.

“Should we…tell them to stop?” Shen looked to Dana.

“You want to go in there and tell that woman to keep it down?” Dana cocked an eyebrow.

“Absolutely not. She scares me on a good day.” Shen scoffed.

“Anyway, that’s a valid response. I did that twice and I knew what was coming and I was traumatized. Can’t imagine what she’s feeling.” Dana shook her head.

There was so much noise in the room. From the monitors to the people talking. It was pissing you off.

“One more big push!” McKay told you.

“You said that two pushes ago!” You growled.

“Come on, deep breath. Let’s finish this.” Jack nodded.

You gave one last heaving push, screaming your baby into the world. Her cries made your breath stutter in your chest.

“It’s a baby girl!” McKay cheered.

“She’s okay?” You panted.

“As far as we can tell.” Robby smiled down at the bundle. McKay put the baby on your chest.

“Holy shit.” You couldn’t breathe, you were so stunned. Your arms immediately came up to hold her. “Jack!”

“I know.” He sniffled.

“Hi, little one. What a way to enter the world.” You cooed to the baby.

“That was a hell of a surprise.” Jack cupped the baby’s head.

“I can’t believe I just had a baby.” You laughed, tears streaming down your face.

“You’re amazing. That was…fucking incredible.” Jack beamed down at you and the baby.

“Okay, little one. Let’s get you checked out.” Perlah lifted the baby from your chest, taking her to the warmer.

“Everything looks good.” McKay helped the nurses clean you up and get you comfortable. “Placenta is going down to pathology, just to be safe.”

“Sounds good.” You yawned.

“Tired?” Jack chuckled.

“Beyond.” You nodded.

“We’re going to send her to the nursery for monitoring. You’ll be able to get some rest soon.” Robby said.

“Are you okay for a minute? I just realized I haven’t clocked out.” Jack stood up.

“Yeah, I think the excitement is over for now.” You nodded.

“I’ll be right back.” He kissed you and left the room.

The door closed behind him, and he bent over, hands on his knees, gulping air. His face was red and eyes wide. Dana and Shen watched, unsure what was happening.

“Holy fuck. I have a baby. I have a daughter.” Jack stuttered.

“Uh-oh.” Dana rushed over. “Jack, take a deep breath. Sit down.” She pulled him over to the closest chair.

“I-I don’t know what to do. I don’t have a crib. I don’t even have a car seat! How am I getting her home!?” Jack was panicking. This was a new sight for the staff, used to the steadfast Dr. Abbot.

“Relax. They’re going to be here for a few days. Plenty of time to get the essentials.” Shen put a hand on his shoulder.

“Donnie has agreed to give you guys some hand-me-downs to tide you over. We’re going to get you two sorted. Don’t you worry.” Dana nodded.

“Right. Okay.” Jack cleared his throat.

“You can do this.” Dana could see the panic lingering.

“Ya know the funny thing is, we just started talking about kids. Agreed to start trying soon.” Jack huffed.

“Universe called your bluff.” Shen chuckled.

“I married a superhero.” Jack took a deep breath, looking toward your room.

“Yeah, you did. Get back in there. She’s freaking out still, I’m sure. Go freak out together.” Dana patted his back.

Jack took a deep breath. Stood up and walked back into the room. The sight he was met with almost made him drop to his knees. You were holding your little girl, your gown pulled down so she was skin-to-skin and humming to her.

“Steady on, Jack.” Robby gave his shoulder a pat.

“Wh-when are they going upstairs?” Jack cleared his throat, trying to stay present.

“Soon. They’re getting a room ready. We’re getting her some formula ready.” Robby said.

“Right here.” Perlah came waltzing in with a bottle. “A bottle of PTMC’s finest for the newest member.”

“Thank you.” You chuckled, taking the bottle.

“Donnie is giving us some things to help us out.” Jack sat next to the bed.

“That’s nice of him.” You hummed. The baby latched onto the body like she was angry about it. “Got your dad’s appetite.”

“Poor thing.” Jack huffed. “I’ll go out and get a car seat tomorrow. And a crib.” Jack ran a hand through his curls.

“She’ll have to sleep with us until we get the office converted.” You said.

“Shit, yeah. Didn’t think about that.” He bit his lip. “Once you two are settled, I’ll head home and get some of our things.”

“Make sure you don’t forget my socks. My feet are going to be freezing up there.” You handed the empty bottle to Jack, who set it aside on the table and grabbed a towel from the cabinet and draped it on your shoulder so you could burp the baby.

“Look at you two. Already in sync.” Perlah chuckled.

“We’re always in sync.” You smile.

“Don’t forget to think of a name at some point.” Perlah said. “I’m going to give you three some space. Holler if you need me.” She said, ushering everyone out of the room.

“She deserves a raise.” You chuckled.

“She makes a good point. She needs a name.” Jack leaned against the railing, watching the baby squirm in your arms.

“Got any ideas?” You asked.

“Nope.” He sighed.

“What about…Felicity? She feels like good luck.” You kissed the top of your baby’s head.

“Felicity. Yeah, I like it. Felicity Abbot. Sounds like a badass hero.” Jack smiled, running a finger along the baby’s chubby cheek.

Eventually, you and the baby were transferred to the postpartum recovery ward. The second everyone left the room, you passed out. Jack decided to swing by the nursery before he went back to the house.

“Dr. Abbot, did you want to see your girl?” One of the nurses smiled up at him.

“Yeah, I just wanted a second with her.” Jack nodded. The nurse led him over to the bassinet where the baby lay.

“Technically, I’m not supposed to let you back here. Don’t take too long.” The nurse said s she walked off.

“Hi, Felicity. Hi, baby.” He picked her up, cuddling her close.

The baby squirmed for a minute before settling in his arms. She looked up at him, her little eyebrows furrowed as she tried to understand him.

“We might not have been prepared for you, but you are going to be so loved. We’re going to make sure you are so happy.” He kissed the soft curls on her head.

You hated Pittsburgh. 

Compared to sunny Oceanside, the Pennsylvania city was all smog and despair. You, technically, weren’t even supposed to be there, but being a dutiful wife, you followed your husband and his brothers wherever they went. Being a part of a crime family (whose favorite pastime was robbing banks) had its perks, one of them being the first-class tickets they al splurged on. The other being the large house that they rented during your stay. If you closed your eyes long enough, the pool could almost transform into the ocean waves. 

But that had been at the beginning of your stay when you believed the job would go right. 

You should have known that the job wasn’t as simple as it had seemed. The plan was to rob a bank; simple enough for men who’d been doing it for more than half their lives. However, Pittsburgh wasn’t Oceanside that seemed to be stuck in the early 2010’s with beach shops that had sub-par security systems and workers who cared more for their lives than pressing the emergency button. 

Andrew hadn’t wanted you there . . . as in, inside the bank when it all went down. He knew how fast jobs could go south; he knew the risks better than anyone. Three years and nineteen days in prison had shown him that truth. Yet, since the city remained foreign, they needed eyes and ears in the lobby. 

That was where you had come in dressed as a civilian with an earpiece tucked strategically behind your hair. 

For fifteen minutes, the plan went smoothly. Andrew and the boys came in, guns raised with masks over their faces. You played your part as the hostage, hands in the air, stomach to the floor while they demanded money to be shoved in their bags. 

For fifteen minutes, you believed that you all would get out of there unscathed. 

By minute seventeen, the emergency alarm went off three minutes early; a result of a forgotten clerk who was already bent behind the counter before the boys had even walked through the glass doors. 

You watched them panic behind their otherwise cool demeanor. Instead of running, they waited for the rest of the cash before sinking out the back. Andrew, still going according to plan, picked you up by the arm and pushed the butt of his empty gun to your temple. He dragged you along, and you kicked and screamed the entire way again as the perfect hostage. 

It wasn’t until freedom was in sight, twenty-seven minutes after the plan went into motion, when the first wave of cops rushed in. You could hear them yell all the way from where Andrew held you close. And for what you believed to be the first time ever, you felt Andrew freeze at your back. Your hands that gripped his forearm tightened. 

“You need to leave,” you hissed quietly. “Now.” 

“No,” he replied, voice so low it left no room for debate.  

You shook your head. “You cannot go back to prison; I won’t let you. Drop me and find me later.” 

Andrew whispered your name in that soft tone he used to always get his way when the two of you argued. If you turned, you knew you’d see his soft and pleading hazel eyes. Andrew may have been a hardened criminal to most people, but he never failed to show that he reserved a special softness specifically for you. With the quickest kiss in history to the back of your hair, lips pushing through the strands, he shoved you forward and ran. 

Your hands scraped against the ground while your mind raced. To everyone else, you’d been taken hostage, but the lack of injuries would probably look suspicious. Not knowing what else to do, you sucked in a breath, curled your fist, and started hitting yourself. 

The first punch landed against your cheekbone. The second managed to catch the divot of your eye. The third made a cut by your lip, curtesy of your engagement ring and wedding band. After that, you lost yourself in the motions until your face pulsed with extra blood in painful beats. 

Voices grew louder, and in one final attempt at making yourself look beaten and bruised, you threw yourself back down to the ground. Your head rested and rolled against the cold, scratchy concrete. It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds before the back door burst open with men drenched in SWAT uniforms. You pushed a desperate, overexaggerated whimper from your lungs. 

“We got one over here!” you heard one of them yell. “We need a medic! Abbot!” 

Footsteps thudded in your ears, adding to the rush of blood and the dizzying feeling that was threatening to swallow you whole. Your self-given hits might have been a bit overboard, but Andrew had been the one to teach you how after giving a whole lesson as to why self-defense was important to learn. You let your eyes flutter closed after the footsteps seemed to grow louder. 

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” a voice asked right above your head as hands gently rolled you onto your back. “Ma’am? Can you open your eyes for me?” 

No you wanted to say, but really all that came out was another pained noise. Blood from the lip cut already drenched your teeth and trickled down the side of your chin. 

“Victim is unresponsive. Calling in a 10-52.” 

Ambulance needed your brain provided, and your heart raced below your sternum. Ambulance meant hospital, and a hospital meant questions. Your eyes flew open while you pushed out a sound of disagreement. Your hands shuffled below your body and began to push your top half up, but that same gentle hand pressed you back down. 

“Nope; you gotta stay down for me. You’ve been in a heist and hostage situation. Can you tell me your name?” 

You mumbled it out, body giving up any fight since you knew it was pointless. They were going to take you in anyway. 

“Okay, that’s good. Glad to be acquainted with you,” he said while his hands ran over your face, checking your injuries. 

Through slotted eyelids, you glanced at his blurry face and frowned. Slowly, your hand raised and tried to touch his face, but the motion was more of a swat, and Jack was quick to push it back down next to your side. Your brows furrowed. 

“Andrew?” you muttered in confusion.

Andrew wasn’t supposed to be dressed up as a SWAT medic. Even if he’d donned other uniforms, wearing one now wasn’t part of the plan. He should have been long gone with your brothers-in-law. If this was a deviation, you were going to give Craig and Deran a stern talking to the moment you found them again. 

“There’s no Andrew here, ma’am. My name’s Jack.” He met your eyes before sighing, face turning towards the radio clipped to near his shoulder. “Victim is disoriented. What’s the status for my 10-52?” 

He had just finished asking when the wail of an ambulance suddenly rattled your skull. It was so loud, it could have been right on top of you. The sound gulped you down until all you could hear was the cry of the siren. Your eyes blinked lazily as you looked around. More feet joined near Jack, and the next thing you knew, you were being slid over onto a gurney. You grunted when they lifted the gurney into the ambulance. Jack used both hands to haul him in after you. 

“All right,” he said once the doors closed. “We’re going to take you to Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center to get you looked over.” 

The paramedics placed leads under your shirt and followed with a quick check of your vitals. You squinted when they flashed a penlight across your eyes. 

“Pupils are equally reactive. No signs of concussion.” 

Jack pursed his lips. He knew you had to have been “down” for at least five minutes, and looking at the severeness of his injuries, he was confused. You were giving him the textbook symptoms of a Grade 1 Concussion: mild confusion, slow blinking, wincing at the noise. 

“Let’s get her hooked to an IV,” he ordered. “And I want a CT ordered.” Jack rubbed a hand on your arm when your eyes closed again and said your name loud enough to get your attention. “Do you have an emergency contact we can get a hold of?” 

You were silent for two breaths. “My husband, Andrew. Phone’s in my pocket . . .” you trailed. 

“We’ll make sure to get him called,” one of the paramedics reassured. 

“Thank you.” 

After another round of vital checks, the ambulance screeched to a halt. The doors swung open, and instantly, there was another group of people waiting for intake. You jolted with the gurney as it dropped down from the ambulance. Your chest expanded in a sharp inhale when the sliding doors opened. With men all around you, the oncoming emergency department devoured you into the belly filled with people who, if they asked enough questions, might be able to put your family into prison. 

_______________________

Andrew had never felt such pure terror than when he pushed you to the ground and ran without a second look goodbye. 

You were his wife, his life, and his reason for living all wrapped into one, and he had left you behind after promising that nothing would go wrong. He had to swallow every single curse word and insult under the sun in order to not spew them at his brothers, especially Craig who was supposed to be the one who counted the employees. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel as he drove them around and around, waiting and praying that his phone would ring with you telling him where to pick you up. 

But with every lap that you didn’t call, his panic grew and grew until it wrapped around his throat. 

“Dude, a watched pot never boils. Stop looking at your phone,” Craig muttered from the passenger seat. “She’ll call when she gets somewhere safe.” 

“She should already be gone by now,” Andrew barked back. 

Deran shook his head, hands gripping the backs of both seats. “And she’s smart. If they kept her longer for questioning, it might be a couple of minutes.” 

Suddenly, Andrew’s phone began to ring, yet Craig was the one to pick it up and put it on speaker. When the call went through, they waited for you to be the first one to speak, however, their concern and confusion grew when your voice wasn’t the one to flood the speaker. 

“Hello? Is this Andrew Cody?” 

The three of them glanced around before Andrew spoke. 

“This is he? Who are you, and why do you have my wife’s phone?” he questioned, fingers gripping the wheel even tighter because he knew if he let go, his hands would be shaking. 

“Hi Mr. Cody. My name’s Dana Evans, and I am the charge nurse at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Mr. Cody, have you spoken to your wife recently?” 

Andrew’s heart thudded in his chest. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center? What happened after he left you? Why were you at the hospital? Were you hurt? 

He cleared his voice. “She was supposed to be coming back from the bank.” He swallowed a gripe. “Is my wife okay?” 

“Unfortunately, it looks like your wife here was held up during a bank heist earlier this morning. SWAT officers picked her up after finding her out back with some injuries that needed to be looked at.” 

Injuries? Andrew’s brows pinched. “Injuries?” 

“Yes, sir. Looks like one of the suspects beat her up before fleeing.” 

Deran sat up and leaned between the front seats, looking equally confused as Craig and Andrew. They both knew that, while Andrew wouldn’t hesitate to rough up someone, he’d never touch you. 

“Is she okay?” Andrew asked once he knew he could talk without his voice breaking. 

“Right now we’re holding her while we wait for a CT, she’s already given a statement, so if the CT comes back just fine, she’s good to go home.” 

“Am I able to come sit with her while she waits?”

“That would be perfectly fine, Mr. Cody.” 

Craig pulled out his own phone and quickly typed in the address while Andrew spun the wheel to turn the car around. He quickly wrapped up the phone call and stomped on the gas. At one point, Deran had to remind him to slow down; they couldn’t afford to be pulled over with the guns and bags of cash in the back. Hesitantly, Andrew released the pedal just a bit but kept a steady speed. His heart never once calmed down during the entire drive, and it seemed to race even more when he pulled up to the front. 

Andrew didn’t even say anything before he jumped out of the driver’s seat and stalked up to the door. If Deran and Craig were smart, they’d drive off and go back to the rental to lie low while Andrew stayed with you until the scan was finished.

All at once, his senses overloaded the minute he stepped foot into the waiting room. Blood tanged the air, babies wailed, and adults yelled at a patient woman sitting behind Plexi glass. Andrew hated every moment of it while he stood in line, and he desperately wished he remembered to grab his earplugs from the car door. 

“Next please?” 

He stepped forward and wrung his hands. The woman looked up and smiled at him, an action that made his chest ache. 

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked. 

Andrew looked around before holding eye contact. “I got a call about my wife being here. I’d like to sit with her.” His voice stayed monotone and held a wave of anxious feelings. 

The woman typed something into her computer. “First name?” 

He said your name before spelling it. 

“Last name?” 

“Cody. C-O-D-Y.” 

Her eyebrows rose. “Ah, there she is. You can come around back. She’ll be in Room 3.”

To his right, he heard the door hiss and unlock. He gave the woman a silent nod before slipping through the door. Again, he hates the way the next room is crowded, even if he knows that rushing doctors and nurses are necessary in an ER. Without much thought, his hazel eyes lock onto Room Number 3. 

You were behind that door. 

Andrew knocked once before entering and paused in the threshold. Every nerve in his body fired at the sight of your face. He noted the cut on your lip, the mottled bruise that spanned from your eye to your cheek bone, and the matching shade on the opposite side near your temple. He was going to kill whoever did this to you. 

You, on the other hand, perked right up when Andrew walked through the door. 

“Andy,” you said, holding out your hand. 

Andrew stayed put, and his hands curled by his sides while he continued to watch you. He tracked the wires sticking out of your shirt and up to the heart monitor in the corner. The rhythmic beeping did little to settle him, but it also helped him know that you weren’t dying. 

“Andy.” 

He tore his eyes away and looked back at you. 

“Come here.” 

Almost like a trained dog, he obeyed. It took him two steps to get to the side of your bed, and you grabbed his hand once he was close enough. With a small tug, you made him sit down. Your hand rose and settled against his cheek, thumb rubbing in a back-and-forth motion under his eye. He continued staring as he took in your face now that he was closer. 

“Who hurt you?” he whispered, tone baring a viciousness you hadn’t heard in a while. 

Your face scrunched in a wince. “You’re going to think this is silly,” you said, and your casualness made him jolt. 

Andrew swallowed thickly around his tongue. “You’re hurt. How is that silly?” He raised his hands and cupped your face but remained careful of your injuries. 

“You shouldn’t have taught me to punch so hard,” you muttered. “I guess I didn’t know my own strength. That’s what’s silly.” 

“What?” His eyes took another lap around your face before he realized the meaning of your words. 

Sure you had bruising, but the locations didn’t make much sense. When Andrew punched, he drove his fists into the middle of someone’s face since it was the largest area that he could reach. He rarely ever went for a lip or the high cheek bone unless whoever he was after kept squirming. His chest finally loosened a bit when a small chuckle pushed past his lips at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“You did this?” he asked, lips curling ever so slightly. 

You nodded slowly before speaking in a low tone. “Thought it’d look suspicious if I was taken and came out unharmed.” 

Andrew leaned forward, placed his lips to your forehead, and held them there for a few seconds. He couldn’t help but think about how perfect you were. Unasked, you had injured yourself so that they could get away, and cops were always too concerned to press for more questions. When he pulled back, he placed kiss on your lips. 

While you kissed back, your hands trailed until they covered his. Your fingers rubbed against his knuckles until you felt a roughness across the skin. 

“Did you punch Craig or something?” you asked against him. 

“No. Punched the steering wheel.” 

“Andy—” 

“You didn’t call; I got mad.” 

“Doesn’t mean you need to punch the poor rental.” 

Andrew grumbled, and you leaned back enough to look fully at his face until you remembered something important about the emergency department you were currently at. However, before you could speak, someone knocked at the door. Andrew instantly pushed up and stood near the top of the bed next to where you were propped up acting like a guard dog waiting for his next order. 

In the next breath, two people entered the room. You recognized the first woman since she had already been in once to go over your plan of car, but the tall man next to her looked utterly surprised when his eyes looked past your shoulder to where Andrew was standing. He quickly composed himself as he shut the door behind him. 

“Sorry about that wait for the CT. The line is backed up like no other. I’m Dr. Robinavitch, the senior attending on shift,” he introduced himself, trying to keep his eyes on you. 

However, you caught the way his gaze shifted towards your husband more than you liked. 

“All good, doc,” you cooly responded. “The only thing I’m missing is pool time at our house.”

He chuckled at the joke. “Sounds to me like you’re feeling better, which coincides with your all-clear scan.” 

Your shoulders loosened at the news. “Does this mean I get to leave soon?”  

The woman—Dr. Trinity Santos—nodded this time. “Yep. We just have to run one more test if possible.” 

“One more test?” you echoed. “I’m sure a couple of bruises don’t need more testing if the CT came back clear.” 

Andrew’s hand lifted and rested against your shoulder, but he continued to stay quiet. You looked up at him and softly smiled before looking back at the two doctors. 

“I think I should be fine, yes?” 

Trinity bit her lip, and her fingers played with the tablet that she held to her chest. “We just want to make sure that everything is perfectly fine before we get you your discharge papers. If we could just have your—” She took a quick glance at the tablet screen. “—husband step out, we’ll have you out of here in no time.” 

Oh. 

You knew exactly what was happening, and you felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner that they were probably thinking that Andrew was the one to put you in this hospital bed even though you’d told them that you were roughed up by the “bank suspects.”

Andrew surprised you by speaking first. “I’m not leaving my wife while she’s already hurt.”

Dr. Robinavitch slightly stood up taller. “I can assure you that it’s just precaution and standard protocols for patients.” 

The hand on your shoulder gripped you tighter, but you knew that was just Andrew’s fear of leaving you flooding out of his system. You needed to think of something fast before they even thought of calling security. 

“I know exactly what you’re going to ask if he were to step out,” you stated. “And I can assure you that my bruises were caused by the men that robbed the bank.” 

The two doctor’s eyes widened.

“Ma’am, that’s not—” 

You held up a hand. “Please. I can see the way you’re both looking at him with apprehension. To an outsider, it does make sense. I have bruises all over my face, and his knuckles happen to be split. And I understand that so many can say this was all some coincidence, but sometimes that’s the truth. My husband boxes; that’s actually why we’re in town.” 

Andrew caught on to what you were saying. “Yeah. One of my buddies was plannin’ a tourney for later this week over at Conn-Greb Boxing Club. Thought I’d come visit and help out.” 

You giggled slightly to ease the tension in the room. “His gloves didn’t fit in the bags because . . . well, I think I got excited when he told me he got us a house with a pool, and I packed way too many swimsuits.” 

Trinity and Dr. Robinavitch glanced at each other before Trinity looked back down at the tablet. You knew that she wanted to keep pressing, and a part of you was thankful that she did. You’d known of so many women who had to go back to abusive households because their doctors didn’t want to deal with the paperwork. 

“Is Dr. Abbot still here?” you asked instead. “He was the one who found me, and other than this morning, I’ve been away from Andrew all day. Maybe he can convince you two.” 

Dr. Robinavitch seemed to mull your words over before he twisted and opened the door. His voice was muffled a bit, but that didn’t really matter since he pulled back in after a few words. The door remained open until a familiar man walked through the doors. You couldn’t help but smirk when the doctors’ eyes went back to Andrew before moving onto one of their own. 

Jack gave you a once before looking at the man over your shoulder. “Well, glad to see it wasn’t a concussion talking.” 

You looked up to Andrew and laughed softly. “Andy, when Dr. Abbot found me outside the bank, I thought you were there instead. Thought I finally got to see you in something other than your button up polos.” 

At your try of a jest, Andrew pouted. “I thought you liked my button ups.” 

“I do; I do,” you reassured before turning back to the group of three doctors. “On the other hand, I more than understand the need for caution, but I think I can say that Dr. Abbot is 100% certain these bruises were not there before I went to the bank.” 

Jack’s eyebrows rose in understanding. He’d done enough extra testing for women with signs of abuse to know what was going on even before he walked in.  

“Yeah,” he agreed with you. “Bruises were fresh when we got to her, and the cut on her lip was still bleeding as well. If CT came back clean, she’s all good to go. Definitely no need for one more test.” He shot a wink your way. 

“But it’s good that you wanted to follow up, Dr. Santos. I know so many people need a doctor like you who’s not afraid to get more information.” 

At your words, Trinity smiled. “Then I will go get your discharge papers. I hope your bruises heal and fade quickly, Mrs. Cody.” 

Dr. Robinavitch didn’t say anything else, and the two of them left the room. Jack gave you one more smile, shook his head in amusement after glancing back at Andrew, and followed them out of the room. 

It was silent until Andrew spoke up. 

“Can’t believe they’d think I’d hit you,” he muttered. “I’d rather die.” 

“I know, Andy,” you said before dropping your voice into a lower pitch. “But I had to do something. Like I said, you are not going back to jail and leaving me alone, Andrew Cody. You understand me?” 

Andrew nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good.” You leaned back against the bed. “Should probably call your brothers. I’m sick of these white walls. And tell Craig that if he ate my leftovers, he might be the one to experience the best trauma center in Pittsburgh.” 

_______________________

“No, literally, the guy was an exact copy of Dr. Abbot,” Trinity’s voice carried across the nurses’ station. “He was giving off this don’t look at me vibe, and honestly, I think that’s exactly the type of man his wife wants.” 

Jack laughed as he looked over another tablet. “While I’m flattered you think he looked like me, Santos, I definitely didn’t see it. Poor woman was so confused, and I think she just wanted her husband in her time of need.” 

Trinity huffed, her eyes finding Robby’s figure over on the other side of the counter. “Dr. Robby, you saw it right?” 

Robby looked up from his computer. “Saw what right?” 

“That husband with the lady earlier after the bank heist. He looked like a younger Dr. Abbot; the resemblance was uncanny.” 

“She has you there, brother,” Robby replied. “Thought I was going crazy.” 

“Man, I want to see Dr. Abbot’s doppelganger,” Victoria chimed in. “You know that there are at least seven people in the world who look like you? It’s crazy that you found one of them!” 

“What were they here for anyway?” Jack questioned. “Her insurance statement came in from Oceanside, California.” 

Trinity thought for a second. “I think he said a boxing tournament over the Conn-Greb Club. The dude was a tank.” 

Jack cocked his head to the side. “Can’t be Conn-Greb. It’s closed for renovations. I had to find a new gym because of it, and now I’m down another fifty for a second membership.” 

“Mmmm, pretty sure he said Conn-Greb.” 

Victoria took out her phone. “What was their last name?” 

“Cody.” 

The med student went silent while she typed “Cody Oceanside, California” into a search engine. Her eyes widened when her screen flooded with multiple different news reports. “Oh.” 

Trinity was instantly curious. “What’s oh, Crash?” 

Victoria turned her phone around wordlessly, and an air of shock engulfed the station. Everyone stood silently as they read the first few headlines. 

Andrew “Pope” Cody Released From Folsom Three Years After Bank Robbery 

Heist Charges Dropped Against Cody Family

Cody Family Not Named in Recent Cartel Bust 

Your name stood highlighted in the short blurbs that trailed off after a few words. 

Trinity nodded slowly. “So Dr. Abbot’s doppelganger . . . is a part of a crime syndicate? The universe must have been laughing when that happened.” She shook her head. “Small world, right?” 

Jack blinked slowly, taking it all in that he might have just let you two walk free now knowing that you were probably in on everything and it was too late to do anything. He leaned against the counter and sighed heavily. 

“Small world indeed, Santos. Small world indeed.” 

- emma loves doing readers hair, she finds it therapeutic!

- reader is a sad girl and it KILLS emma and brendon

- i think emma and brendon were already together and they met reader at a work get together where reader was working

- she def feels like an addition and not an equal part of it

- she pretends it doesn’t bother her but it very much does so she goes MIA for days at a time

- park is NOT mean to emma at work but he is nonchalant final boss

- he just loves nurses though idk

- he loves having his two docile girls at all times when he’s not working

- his little deer and his little lamb :((((((

- he calls reader bambi and she teases that it’s unoriginal but he doesn’t care, he also uses “sweetheart”

- he calls emma any name under the sun, but he is really fond of “em”

- brendon is normally just “bren” or “b” or “doctor” (jokingly)

- sometimes reader threatens getting a phd so she can also be doctor (but by the time she’d be able to start a phd they would already be out of the picture)

- emma calls reader “baby” or “angel”

- reader and emma are bffs & gfs so they gossip and paint each others nails and shop together but also scissor LMAO

- reader met park and felt like he was a really strict dad at a sleepover LMAOOOO

- the first night she stayed over emma was asleep and reader wanted water so she trotted downstairs and brendon was awake and reader asked him “emmas dad, can i get water” and she thought it was the funniest thing

- he did not.

- reader is a year younger than emma!!!

- emma had trinity ask reader for her instagram at the bar and then she and bren stalked her the SECOND they got back to his place

- emma wants her to see michigan so bad but she says no every single time

- bren also wants both of them to see his hometown (it’s a suburb of boston in my headcanon) and she also declines

You’re new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.

This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. You’re definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.

While running through the entrance of the ER, you’re barely looking where you’re going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.

Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry– I didn’t even see you,” your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried you’ve already made an enemy and you hadn’t even started your shift. 

A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.

“Hey, kid– easy, easy. You’re okay.” His voice is instantly calming. “You our new nurse?” he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you. 

You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question. 

He’s incredibly attractive.

The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. He’s taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.

You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man. 

Collecting yourself, “Uh– yes! That’s me–” you stumble over your words internally cringing, “I’m so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.”

He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you. 

You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his hands– oh, you’ve got to stop thinking like this. You’re so fucked. 

“Dr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.” His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. “But don’t let it happen again.” His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.

“No, no of course not. I promise. I’ll be 45 minutes early every day!” Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like you’ve already failed before starting.

“Jesus, kid, breathe.” He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. “You’re apologising like you hit me with your car.” He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you. 

He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesn’t ruin you, doesn’t cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors. 

“I’m really not usually this much of a disaster– well, most of the time.” You laugh shakily.

You notice his intense stare, like he’s studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,

Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once you’re settled.

“Oh– and, kid?” He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.

“We do have supplies here, I promise.” he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed. 

Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him when– Fuck. This is so unlike him.

Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lena’s fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shen’s smirk.

“Stay away from my nurses, Abbot. She’s clearly a good kid.” She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him. 

Jack doesn’t look away from the board, smirking a little.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. “Just being friendly.”

Shen scoffs, “Yeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.”

Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lena’s sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.

“There ya are, honey. I’m Lena, your charge nurse. C’mon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?”

During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.

Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.

You hope otherwise.

───────

True to your words, you’re never late again. 

Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since you’re starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldn’t bother him, if you’d at least show the same fondness for him.

Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you can’t let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.

However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldn’t stop watching Abbot’s hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how they’d feel cupping your face, your neck, inside you–

That’s when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldn’t be around him.

From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, you’d go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, “Oh, uh, I’m okay, thank you.” Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.

It bugs him.

How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.

Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if you’re hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches. 

He’s so lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.

“You got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if you’re not careful.” Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.

No.

His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.

You’re his.

───────

Admittedly, you’re making it very hard to make you his.

You’re almost too polite with him. A small, “good evening,” greeting when he comes in, a simple, “see you tomorrow, boss,” whenever you head out. You’re impossible to get time alone with.

Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You don’t even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.

He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows that’s not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.

So he tries to talk to you when you’re not as busy, just charting.

Jack’s leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him. 

He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your ear–

His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.

He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen. 

“Oh– Dr. Abbot!” you startle, being caught off guard. 

Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you don’t turn your head, you can’t. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.

He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.

The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.

“This is good stuff, kid, keep it up.”

His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.

You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, “Uh– thank you, Dr. Abbot.”

He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand. 

You’re so shy. Shy with him. Oh.

But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe he’s read this all wrong.

───────

He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all. 

He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.

Now you’re here and he’s all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.

He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.

You’re sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food. 

His quiet, tired voice cuts through. 

“S’alright if I join ya?”

You’d been too tired, too into your phone you hadn’t noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.

“Listen, kid. I just wanna apologise if I’ve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?” His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.

You pause. 

Uncomfortable?

Fuck. 

You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.

“No, god, no. You’ve never– that’s not it–” Stop rambling, you tell yourself.  Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. “M’sorry for the way I’ve been acting. It's not you.” Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.

He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,

“You sure, kid? You can tell me–”

You shake your head again, cutting him off.

“You make me nervous.” You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning. 

Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.

“Honey, hey, look at me.” He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. “Please?” 

You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. He’s smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didn’t completely ruin everything–

“S’okay.” His expression softens, voice gentler now. “You never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?”

Oh.

He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you haven’t entirely humiliated yourself.

Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.

“I want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.” His inflection on Robby’s name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.

The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over  yours where it rests on the table.

“I mean it. Anything.”

───────

He notices how you don’t run from him anymore, don’t push him away, let him exist within your space. 

You’re still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and he’s proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.

One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.

You’re about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.

You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.

“All good in here?” 

You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.

Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass. 

“Mhm.” Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.

Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.

“Good. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, can’t I, sweetheart?” His voice is sweet, almost cooing.

You’re starstruck. Sweetheart. 

You blink, unable to respond, but he’s already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.

Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now? 

The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?

Wrecks him. 

He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.

───────

The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. You’re just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.

During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night. 

You’re off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.

He frowns, because the rowdy patient they’re on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasn’t dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient that’s a danger to your safety. 

But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where he’s leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch. 

He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.

He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. You’re assessing for the right time to jump in. You’re so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.

And when you try? You’re so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.

He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadn’t even spoken, smiling along. 

His heart breaks.

You’re used to this, being spoken over always happens, you’re just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though you’re a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave. 

Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.

“Hold up, kid.” You hear him jogging slowly behind you. 

You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if you’re trying to hide it.

“You leaving without saying goodbye?” he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.

You dip your head shyly, 

“Didn’t think anyone would notice.” You mumble, trying to laugh it off.

His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.

“I notice.”

His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. You’re speechless.

He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.

“C’mon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?” 

You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. It’s a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. He’s silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like they’re the most important words ever.

When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.

“Hey. M’proud of ya, for speaking up in there.”

You give him a little confused look shaking your head. 

“It didn’t really feel like I did.” You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.

“You did. I’ll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?” Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.

“G’night, sweetheart” He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.

On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.

He’s proud.

───────

Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least. 

His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time he’s within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.

“Good catch, sweetheart.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

“Jesus, you really make my life easier, y’know that?”

And he always delivers. 

Aside from the praise, he’s incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather. 

But he’s also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges. 

Tonight is no different.

You’re in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how she’d been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughter’s back and legs, suspecting her husband’s abusing her.

You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that you’ll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry. 

He’s unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.

“You bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permission–” He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath

“Sir–” Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off. 

“No!” He shrugs her off

“Your permission?” The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. “You’re laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think I’m gonna let you be near her?” She’s defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.

The yelling gets to you admittedly, you’re never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security

The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate. 

Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.

The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over. 

“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.

Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way you’re so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.

You step back once the mother sits by the daughter’s side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jack’s hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,

“Go take a breather, yeah?” His voice is soft, gentle.

You look up at him to convince him you’re fine, you don’t need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this. 

───

Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.

He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,

“You did really well there – with the girl.” He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell he’s looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.

“She shouldn’t have had to hear that.” Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. “Talk to me?” His voice is begging.

You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. “It’s stupid, really.” You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. “I just don’t handle yelling very well.”

“Yeah. I thought so, honey.” His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. “That’s not on you.” His voice is gentler now.

“I feel ridiculous.” You wipe quickly under your eyes. “I should be able to handle it better by now.” Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.

“No.” His response is immediate, firm but gentle. “Don’t start thinkin’ the answer is makin’ yourself colder.” He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.

Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.

“Take as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, I’ll take you home, yeah?” His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.

Your eyes open ready to protest, you can’t possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too much–

“Ah, ah, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.

───

Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as you’d had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.

The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.

You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.

She’s gorgeous.

She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you. 

Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lena’s voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.

It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.

God you’re so stupid.

Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.

“Hun, you don’t wanna go down that route.” Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like she’s truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.

Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.

“Oh– no it’s not like that.” you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.

“Trust me, hun. I’ve been around long enough to know, men like him don’t realise the effect they have on girls like you.”

Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.

“You’re young, go on dates. Don’t pine over old men like him, you’ll only get hurt.”

She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man who’s naturally charming and kind to everyone? 

You’d completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time you’re walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbot’s actions towards you, trying to search for when you’d started to misinterpret things.

Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but you’re already down the street by the time he’s at the door.

───────

Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and you’re colder than ever. 

You’re distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder you’ve been working.

You’ve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you what’s wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again. 

He notices how you’re no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, you’re pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he can’t help and it’s hurting him.

But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesn’t want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. It’s completely wrecking your body, but you don’t want to think about anything else except work.

One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.

“Hey, brother, I gotta ask.” Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadn’t arrived yet, before lowering his voice. “Somethin’ going on with her lately?”

Jack’s brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. “Why?”

“She’s running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.” Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl can’t be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.” His expression tightens. “M’worried about her.”

Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.

He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadn’t realised how bad it’d gotten.

His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.

“Fuck.” The word leaves him quietly.

“I’ll talk to her.”

───

Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes you’d be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. He’s rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.

When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. It’s beautiful, and he doesn’t realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.

Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a man’s forehead, and you’re blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and he’s looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you.  

He shouldn’t feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man you’re stitching up, he’s definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. You’re still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasn’t been for too long. He can’t take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.

He knows he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how you’re no longer happy to be around him.

Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.

“Hey–” Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbot’s expression. “Did you need something?” 

Jack’s jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time you’ve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now. 

His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesn’t even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.

“Didn’t realise we were entertainin’ patients now.” His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.

He watches your face fall. Fuck. 

Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically. 

“I-I’m sorry–” Your voice is meek, he can’t bear that he caused this.

“Just don’t let it happen again.” Jack’s voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, he’s hurting you and he’s completely out of line.

───

The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. He’s completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure you’re okay if he’s also driving you away.

He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell you’re exhausted by the way you hold yourself.

He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time you sat down.

“Hey– hold up.” His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. “You eaten yet?

Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again. 

“M’fine.” You’re short, a little dismissive.

Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesn’t deserve your kindness right now.

“It’s quiet, you should take your break–” He tries but you cut him off.

“I said I’m okay.” Though your tone has little real bite behind it, it’s still harsher than he’s ever heard it. 

He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You won’t look at him.

Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off. 

What he doesn’t see is the guilt flooding your face.

───

You need to apologise. He’s your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you can’t get rid of it.

You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, you’ll find him. Explain yourself. 

You’re standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.

“That guy– from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.” She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh

“That guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.” You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.

“C’mon, you’re young. Live a little! He’s insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger I’d jump his bones–” you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.

“Lena! You’re married!” You turn towards her with a wide smile. 

“I can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.” She smirks before continuing. “What’s the harm? He’s still here isn’t he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sex– just do something to get you outta this slump, y’hear me?” 

You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You don’t want that guy. You want Abbot. 

What you didn’t realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lena’s grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who she’s talking to, who she’s talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. You’re smiling, like you’re considering it. He can’t handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.

You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. “I dunno, Lena.” Your voice is almost sad. “He’s not who I want.”

“You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you, honey?” Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. “M’sorry, hun. It’ll pass, I promise.”

You don’t want it to pass. 

───

You can’t seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.

The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, it’s a kid.

“Pediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.” The EMT scoffs.

You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you. 

“Initial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.”

You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesn’t want you here.

The EMT cuts in. “Father pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.” 

“Decreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.” Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving. 

She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.

Abbot’s jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The mother’s wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kid’s abdomen.

“Pressure’s dropping.”

“BP 78/40.”

“We’re losing him, Abbot.”

Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.

And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But you’re spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the mother’s wailing. Jack’s chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.

“Get her out!” He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.

But he can’t focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.

“Gauze.” He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.

Nothing.

The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.

His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.

He snaps.

“I can’t afford hesitation right now.” Jack’s voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. “If you can’t keep up, leave.” 

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.

Your chest feels like it’s caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.

You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.

Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.

Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.

You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.

You know he’s right, you shouldn’t have hesitated. Your throat tightens.

The boy could’ve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didn’t want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boys’ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?

Abbot’s words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.

  ───

Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. 

He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.

Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that he’s the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain. 

He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He can’t. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.

───

You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lena’s concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.

Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts. 

You set up your tool table beside you, and you’re lucky your patient isn’t a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white. 

You’re utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.

You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate. 

“Shit–”

The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain

“Oh shit you okay, lady?” You hear the patient ask, but you’re already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.

“God fucking damn it, piece of shit–” You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.

Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.

You’re not that lucky.

“Hey, listen, I wanted to say that– what the fuck?” Jack’s voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.

Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you don’t speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing you’re going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.

The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact you’re hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.

“Sit.” He commands, his voice tight, clipped.

Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.

“You don’t have to–” You attempt to say you’re fine, you don’t need help, it’s a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, there’s something softer behind them, concern. 

“Yeah. I do.” His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him you’re trying to hide your hurt.

You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You can’t read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.

He can’t look into your eyes again, the broken teary look you’re adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like you’re trying not to cry in front of him.

“This’ll sting–” He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much you’ve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.

You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.

“I’ve got you.” He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. “You’re alright, sweetheart.”

His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.

“M’so sorry.” Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, please–”

His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.

“Hey– No. No, honey. Don’t.” His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He can’t stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.

You shake your head. “I keep fucking up–” you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.

“God, c’mere.” He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. “You got nothin’ to apologise for, y’hear me? 

His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl. 

“I shoulda never yelled at ya, it weren’t right.” His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. “You get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.”

Baby.

He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didn’t do anything wrong.

“Is he– is the kid–” You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.

Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. “He’s good, he’s stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.”

You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isn’t mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious. 

Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:

“I never wanna make you feel like that.” His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. “Never again.”

You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid you’d been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.

“Jack–” You practically whimper his name. 

His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly. 

He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.

Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.

You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.

He crashes his lips to yours.

It’s hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt. 

He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. He’d kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could. 

He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him. 

He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you. 

“I didn’t– I convinced myself you didn’t want me like that.” Your whisper breaks the silence. “I couldn’t be around you, it hurt too much.” 

Oh. 

He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, you’d affected him so much tonight he snapped. He can’t imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.

“You don’t gotta explain, sweetheart.” He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. “But you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.” 

Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding

He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.

“How’d this happen?” He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if it’s deep enough for a bandage or stitches. 

“Wasn’t–” You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. “Wasn’t paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped n’ tried to fix it, blade slipped.”

He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation. 

“Why didn’t ya tell someone, hmm?” He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.

You shrug. “Wasn’t thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.” 

Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, you’d broken down alone.

He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.

“You always come to me when you’re hurting, yeah? I hate that I didn’t know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.” He begs, squeezing your thigh. 

He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. “Good.” 

He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. “There we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.” 

You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.

“There she is.” He coos at your smile.

───────

After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.

It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that you’d been running yourself into the ground for.

He didn’t tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.

You’re leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times. 

The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat. 

Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.

Until you get deeper into country backroads. 

You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.

Until you seem to keep passing more animals. 

Deer.

Squirrels.

Rabbits.

Foxes.

Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone. 

Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you. 

His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. “What’s got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?” he says, softly.

Your stomach flips, of course he notices. He’s so in tune with your tells by now, you couldn’t even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side. 

His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg. 

“Don’t hide from me, my sweet girl,” his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.

Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, “It’s nothing, really, It’s the animals–”, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, “It hurts”, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.

Oh. Realisation floods Jack’s face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby. 

You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah? That’s what’s gotten my girl all upset?” his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if he’s silently judging.

“They might have had family or friends waiting for them!’’ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why you’re upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall. 

Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing it’ll upset you more. He doesn’t mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he can’t help but let out a low chuckle.

“You’re right baby, m’sure they’re sat around the dinner table, waiting for ‘im to come home.” He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips. 

“Jaaaaack! It’s not funny,” you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed. 

Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology. 

“M’sorry, baby, c’mere.” He’s still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.

You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch. 

You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“Shh, baby, I know, I know.” He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. “I was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?” His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.

Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. “You know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.” he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.

“You just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.” He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.

The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jack’s breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.

Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesn’t make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.

“S’why you’re my favourite nurse, baby”. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.

Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, “What is?”

For the life of you, you can’t figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.

His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. “Your sensitivity, compassion, empathy.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quip– “It’s not the sex?”

You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.

“You were my favourite before the sex smartass– no, you have a big heart, biggest I’ve ever known, you care deeply.” You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.

“Plenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.” You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and it’ll wear you down. 

Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.

“Not like you, baby.” His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does. 

Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest. 

“You hear me, baby? Hmm?” he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.

“You’re m’favourite attending.” You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.

Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadn’t expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.

“Oh yeah? S’not Robby?” He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.

“I know, sweetheart.” He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.

Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.

─

Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if you’re okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.

“Jack!”

His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that you’re hurt somehow. 

Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, “Baby, what’s–” he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking. 

You’re crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,

“I swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!” you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.

Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, “baby, what are you doing?”

You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.

“Please– kill it, quick!” you beg him 

He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, “What if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?”

You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. “Jack, I swear to god–”

He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.

“Yeah, you’re not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.”

Hours/chapters may shift around a bit as the story develops.

07:00 PM ● Jack

Jack picks up Reader and Robby before the storm.

08:00 PM ● Reader 09:00 PM ● Jack 10:00 PM ● Reader 11:00 PM ● Jack 12:00-01:00 AM ● Reader 02:00 AM ● Jack 03:00 AM ● Reader 04:00 AM ● Jack 05:00 AM ● Reader 06:00 AM ● Jack 07:00 AM ● Reader 08:00-10:00 AM ● Jack 11:00 AM ● Reader 12:00 PM ● Jack 01:00-03:00 PM ● Reader 04:00-05:00 PM ● Jack 06:00 PM ● Reader 07:00 PM ● Jack

Jack Abbot loves his wife.

Any moment spent with her is another moment where he knows true happiness. Any moment spent away from her is another moment where he knows true longing..

The two had met one early morning in spring. Jack was walking back to his building after a long night shift and stumbled upon the most beautiful woman he’d ever met..-

Now here’s where Y/N would interrupt his retelling of events with the truth.

Because in reality, she was a sweaty mess.

Hair tied sloppily to keep it away from her face, no makeup on, and in the most low effort outfit she could manage. It was moving day after all. There was no need to look put together. But to Jack, she looked effortlessly gorgeous..

She sat at the steps of his apartment building, cradling her ankle with a pout playing on her lips. Jack stopped to check in on her and she explained that her friends were supposed to help her move, yet they were running late. She had begun moving things on her own but had stepped wrong on the steps while exiting the building.

Now, one thing about Jack Abbot should be made clear here. This man… Loved playing hero.

It’s what pushed him into medicine. It’s what got him through the military. It’s what made him perfect for SWAT. And it was his favorite thing to do for pretty women. Maybe it was his age showing, but Jack truly believed the best compliment a guy could receive from his woman was a cheesy ‘you’re my hero!’ line.

So without much hesitation, Jack offered up his services. Even while exhausted, even while sore. And when receiving permission, he scooped Y/N up and carried her to her apartment. Setting her carefully on her couch, Jack worked first as her doctor. Then, he worked as her personal mover.

To thank him officially, Y/N would surprise him a few days later with a bottle of white wine, he’d let it be known that that was his favorite drink, and some playing cards since he’d joked with her that, as a veteran, he knew all the best card games.

The two were meant to be from that night on..

But for as much as Y/N was his dream girl, there were just a few times where he’d look at her, shake his head, and wonder how the hell she had survived so long without being in a giant bubble of protection..

These are those times..

{ Number One: The Kitchen Incident.. }

Y/N had been trying to help Jack make dinner one night, when she somehow managed to knock over his spice rack instead.

Trying to help clean it up only resulted in her cutting herself on the broken glass.

Jack, with a sigh and a fond smile, just scooped her up and placed her on his kitchen counter top.

He tended to her injury and then, with a quick kiss to her temple, handed her a bowl to stir.

“Wha… I can still help!” She tries bashfully as he softly chuckles.

“Baby. Just.. Supervise from up there." He says with a slight tease to his voice before pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“It’s safer for everyone." He continues jokingly, making her playfully pout.

{ Number Two: The Morning Mishap }

Y/N was still half-asleep when she rolled out of bed.

Trying to get ready for the day, she ended up blindly bumping into the bathroom doorframe, stubbing her toe.

“Ah! Fuck!”

Jack was up fast, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He had just gotten home about an hour ago. Looking over, he’s met with his gorgeous wife on the bedroom floor, holding her foot as she tries to stay quiet with her angry grunts of pain. It’s as if she truly was trying not to wake him up right now..

He eyes her with slight amusement before getting out of bed with no words exchanged. She didn’t need to ask for his help, he’d always provide it.

Turning on the bedside lamp in order to fill the room with some soft lighting, Jack walks over, scoops Y/N up, and carries her into the bathroom. Just to make sure she doesn’t encounter anymore obstacles.

Setting her on the bathroom sink, Y/N sheepishly mumbles a thank you while he moves to turn on the shower. He then goes back to her, resting his forehead against hers with a soft sigh of content.

“Don’t mention it, beautiful..” He whispers softly with a small smile.

{ Number Three: The Romantic Picnic Situation }

Jack had planned a beautiful picnic in the local park after a very long week of just work and responsibilities.

It was supposed to be a day to just relax and take in the sun.

As Y/N is walking to their spot by the lake, basket in hand, she stumbles on a perfectly flat patch of grass.

Luckily, Jack had been holding her other hand, and quickly yanked her towards him before she could fall flat on her face.

He can’t help but laugh in slight disbelief as he softly pulls her closer to his body. “How does that even happen?” He asks, smiling down at her when she begins fussing sheepishly that there must be a rock there that she’d tripped over.

There wasn’t..

{ Number Four: The Garden Emergency }

Jack Abbot was a man of many hobbies.

One of which happened to be gardening.

In order to spend more time together, Y/N decided one morning to help him, despite his reservations.

“Jackie, please. I can be real helpful..” She gives her best puppy dog look. He grumbles softly.

Those damn eyes would always work on him.

Within five minutes though, Y/N had managed to somehow prick her finger on the rose bush she’d been tasked with caring for.

She tried hiding it, but Jack had already heard her soft yelp when it happened. He gives her a knowing glance, holding out his hand for hers. With a dramatic sigh, Y/N sets her hand in his and he hums, leaning down to kiss it better..

{ Number Five: The Christmas Debacle }

It was Christmas time.

More specifically, it was Y/N and Jack’s first Christmas living together, and Y/N wanted to make sure the house was perfect.

Jack had taken the day off in order to help fully decorate the house, and also because he had a hunch he’d need to watch over Y/N..

She was trying to hang some tinsel on their tree, but the step stool had begun to feel wobbly. Maybe it was her determination, or her faith that Jack would be watching out for her, but either way, she wasn’t fazed by the constant teetering.

Sure enough, she starts to sway a bit as she gets on her tip-toes, so close to the perfect spot on the tree for the pink tinsel. Jack, who had been watching her with a fondness, immediately rushes over, catching her by her hips and gently tugging her off the stool.

“I’m not even gonna risk that..” He jokes as he carries her to the sofa.

“I could do it!” She complains lightheartedly, knowing with her luck she would’ve just ended up in the tree or on the floor..

“I got a better job for you, my love. Hm? Chief Decorator..” He jokingly presents the title like it’s massive. “How’s that sound, hm?” He gently tucks her hair away from her face as she playfully glares up at him.

“Sounds like a made up title..” She plays along as he smirks.

“Nah. It’s the most important job, baby. I'll handle the physical work. You just point where.." He assures softly as she bites back a smile, acting as if she’s begrudgingly taking the ‘job’..

Your foot caught the edge of the third step. The laundry flew from your grip, sending sheets and towels flying as your weight shifted violently forward.

You launched. Your knee slammed hard against one step, and before you could even register the ache there, the sharp edge another one scraped violently across your cheekbone.

For a second, the world just went completely quiet. You were crumpled on the steps, the breath knocked clear out of your lungs, staring down. The pain in your knee was loud and throbbing, and your face felt… numb.

"Doll, what happened? Are you okay?"

Jack’s voice broke the silence. You looked at him, his gaze sweeping over the scene. Because of his leg, he couldn't just drop to his knees or rush up the stairs to scoop you up; he had to take each step deliberately. The frustration of his own physical limitations was already written in the tight line of his jaw.

"I'm fine!" you managed, your voice sounding small. "Just... dropped the towels. And added another bruise to the collection." You tried to laugh, pulling yourself up to sit straight.

Jack reached the step just below you. "Don't move. Stay exactly where you are."

His tone was rigid. Stripped of all warmth.

"Jack, seriously, it’s just a scrape—"

"I said, don't move," he snapped, his fingers gently but firmly clamping onto your chin to tilt your face upward into the dim stairwell light.

That was when you felt it. A strange trickling sensation creeping down your cheek. Something dripped past your jawline. You reached up to touch it, but Jack caught your wrist mid air, holding it tightly away from your face.

But your fingers were already stained red.

"Oh," you whispered, the adrenaline suddenly spiking. "That's... blood." You tried to deflect with a nervous laugh. "Does the cut matches the bruise on my knee? A matching set for the collection. I'm keeping you in business, Doc."

Jack didn't laugh. He didn't even smile.

"Shut up," he said. "Don't make a joke out of this."

"Jack, I'm just trying to—"

"I don't care what you're trying to do." He snapped, letting go of your chin. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it firmly against your cheek. "Apply pressure. Hold it there."

You took over, pressing the cloth to your face, the sting finally waking up beneath the numbness. "Don't talk to me like that. I just tripped."

"Because you were running! How many times do I have to ask you to slow down?" Jack’s hands were trembling slightly. "You treat your own safety like it’s a punchline. 'Another bruise to the collection.' Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to hear a crash and know I can't run down there to catch you? Do you know what went through my head when I saw you lying here?"

His voice cut through your defense mechanism. You looked at him, he was angry and terrified. And, you knew, he was trapped by a body that wouldn't let him be the protector he desperately wanted to be.

"I wasn't trying to minimize it," you said softly. "I joke because I'm embarrassed, Jack. I'm clumsy, and I hate that I make you worry."

"I don't care about being worried," Jack replied. "I care about you being safe. I spend all day at the hospital patching up people who didn't see the accident coming. And you... you're rushing through our own home like you're invincible. And I can't... if something happens to you, I can't get to you fast enough. You know that."

The silence returned, heavier this time.

Jack gently reached out, taking your hand away from the handkerchief to check the bleeding. The edge of the cut was clean, but it was deep enough that it would probably need a few butterflies, if not a stitch or two.

"It needs to be cleaned properly," he murmured. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah," you whispered, wincing as you shifted your weight onto your bruised knee. "I can stand."

"Good." Jack took a deep breath. Once he was stable on his good leg, he offered you his hand. "Let's go fix you up. No more jokes."

"Okay. No more jokes," you agreed, letting him pull you up into the kitchen.

Jack guided you to a stool by the kitchen island. Without a word, he moved around, pulling a first-aid kit from the cabinet and grabbing a damp washcloth from the sink.

"Keep pressure on it," he ordered softly, setting the kit down.

When he turned back to you, he pulled up another stool, carefully positioning his stiff leg out to the side so he could sit close enough to work.

"Okay, take the cloth away. Let me look."

You pulled the blood soaked handkerchief from your cheek. Almost instantly, a fresh crimson stream welled up from the split in your skin, tracing a rapid path down your jaw and dripping onto your collarbone.

Jack’s brow furrowed. He took the damp washcloth and gently tapped around the wound, trying to clear the area to see the actual depth of the laceration. "Hold still. I know it hurts."

The cold water hit the raw nerves, and you gasped, leaning back instinctively. "It stings—god, Jack."

"I know, I know. Don't pull away from me." His hand was firm on the back of your neck, holding you in place. But as he wiped a fresh layer of blood away, the wound immediately filled again, spilling over. The edge of the step had sliced deep, right over the prominent curve of your cheekbone where the skin was tight.

He waited a beat, pressing a clean piece of sterile gauze against it, counting silently under his breath. One minute. Two minutes. When he pulled it back to check, the blood welled up just as fast. It wasn't clotting. The edge of the cut was jagged, grinning open in a way that made his stomach do a sick flip.

Jack let out a frustrated breath. He didn't say anything, but the professional shift in his posture told you everything.

His ER doctor self had completely taken over.

"I-Is it bad?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"It’s deep," Jack said, his voice felt cold. "It tore right through the dermal layer. It’s too wide for butterflies, and because of the location on your face, it’s going to keep opening every time you talk or blink. I can't close this here. It needs a layered suture, and it won't stop bleeding until it gets one."

He packed a thick stack of sterile gauze against your cheek, taking your hand and forcing your fingers to hold it there with heavy pressure.

"We're going to the hospital," he said, already standing up. The sudden movement made his brace click sharply.

"Jack, can't you just do it? You have a kit, you're a doctor—"

"I don't have a local anesthetic or the proper fine gauge monofilament sutures in the kitchen cabinet," he snapped, his voice cracking with sudden panic. He grabbed his car keys and his and your jacket from the hook by the door. "If I try to patch this up with what I have here, you’re going to end up with a massive scar on your face. We’re going to the hospital. Now."

The drive was quiet. He kept his hand firmly on the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the road, while you sat in the passenger seat, pressing the now heavy gauze to your face.

You looked over at his profile, his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle was jumping in his cheek.

"Jack," you whispered, the movement pulling painfully at the cut. "I'm sorry."

He didn't look at you, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Just keep pressure on the wound, please. We're almost there."

-

The doors of The Pitt hissed open, swallowing you both into the familiar air of the emergency department.

Tonight, you were the intake.

"Jack? What the hell happened?"

Robby said from behind the central desk, his eyes darting instantly from Jack’s tense face down to you. He saw the blood soaked gauze you were holding tightly against your cheek and the dark stain on your collar.

"She took a fall on the stairs," Jack said, sounding entirely professional, though the tight grip he kept on your elbow betrayed him. "Laceration to the zygomatic arch. It’s deep. It’s been bleeding consistently for minutes. I couldn’t get it to clot at home."

"Alright, let's get her into Room 4, it's empty," Robby said, immediately stepping into gear, stepping beside you. "Can you walk okay? Did you hit your head? Lose consciousness?"

"My knee is a little banged up, but my head is fine," you muttered around the cloth, feeling a flush of embarrassment as a couple of nurses glanced your way. "Just... really clumsy."

Robby guided you onto the examination bed. "Let’s take a look."

You layed down and slowly pulled the gauzes away. Without the constant pressure, a fresh bead of dark blood immediately welled up. Robby leaned in, using a piece of sterile gauze to gently dab the edges of the wound. He winced slightly, assessing the deep split over the bone.

"Yeah, you really did a number on this," Robby murmured. "It’s a clean tear but it’s deep. It’s definitely going to need a few sutures. I'll get the lidocaine and—"

"I'll do it," Jack interrupted.

Robby paused, looking up at Jack, who was standing at the foot of the bed.

"Brother, you know the protocol," Robby said softly. "You don't treat family. Let me handle it. I'll make the lines clean, I promise."

"It’s my wife, Robby." Jack said, he stepped closer to the bedside, his eyes locked on the wound. "I’m doing the stitches. I need to do them."

The two doctors locked eyes for a long moment. Robby knew Jack, he knew his friend's frustrations, he knew how much Jack hated feeling helpless.

Letting Jack treat you wasn't standard, but Robby knew that forcing Jack to stand by and watch someone else patch you up would be worse.

Robby sighed, stepping back. "Fine. But I'm staying in the room to assist. And if your hands shake even a millimeter, I'm taking the needle."

"They won't shake," Jack said.

He moved to the side of the bed, carefully adjusting the stool so his rigid leg could extend comfortably.

Jack snap on a pair of sterile gloves, and when he pulled the tray of instruments closer, where a nurse put all the necessary.

"Look at me," Jack murmured softly. He picked up the syringe of lidocaine. "This is going to burn. A lot. Hold my knee if you need to. My good one."

You reached out, gripping his good knee tightly. He didn't flinch as your fingernails dug into his skin. "Okay, you're going to feel a little pinch."

The needle pierced the edge of the cut, and a sharp burning sensation flared across your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, gasping as the medicine flooded the tissue. Jack’s was completely steady as he repositioned the needle to numb the entire perimeter of the wound.

Within a minute, the burning subsided into a heavy weight.

Jack worked in absolute silence. He used a small suction tip to clear the pooling blood, exposing the deep layer of tissue beneath. With a needle driver, he began the meticulous process of closing the deep dermal layer first.

You only could feel the gentle tugging of the thread as he pulled the edges of your skin back together. You watched his face. His brow was furrowed, his eyes entirely locked on the millimeters of flesh he was mending. The anger from the stairwell was gone, completely replaced by an aching tenderness.

Every movement of his hands was incredibly precise, deliberate, and gentle.

Robby stood by, cutting the sutures as Jack tied off each knot. "Nice tension," Robby commented quietly, validating his friend's work. "That's going to heal beautifully."

Jack didn't reply. He just kept sewing, treating your face like the most fragile and precious thing in the world.

By the time he tied off the final knot, the wound was closed, reduced to a thin black line across your cheekbone.

Before Jack could even reach for the dressing supplies, Robby quietly stepped into his line of sight, a non adherent telfa pad and a strip of medical tape already in his gloved hands. "I've got the dressing, Jack. Step back for a second."

Jack blinked, the sharp medical tunnel vision breaking as he looked up at his friend.

He didn't argue.

His hands were just starting to develop a microscopic tremor from the adrenaline crash, and he knew it.

Robby offered you a warm smile as he leaned over the bed. He placed the small protective gauze pad directly over the neat row of black stitches, securing it firmly to your cheek with the clear tape. "There you go. That’ll keep it clean and protected. Excellent handiwork, by the way. You won't even be able to see the scar in a few months."

Jack dropped the instruments onto the tray. He pulled off his gloves, tossing them into the bin, and took a deep breath.

"All done, baby," he said softly. "You're okay."

"Thank you," you murmured, with an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

The ride back home was calm. The dashboard clock glowed a late hour as Jack pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

"Let's get you inside," Jack said softly. He had the night off.

He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and offered you his hand. As you stood up, your leg wobbled, and Jack immediately caught you. He held you close, bearing your weight as he carefully guided you into the house.

He led you straight to the living room, easing you down onto the couch. He disappeared for a few minutes, and when he returned, he was carrying a plush blanket, a fresh ice pack, and a glass of water.

He carefully lowered his weight onto the couch beside you and draped the blanket over your lap, then gently held the ice pack against your bruised knee.

Looking at him, seeing the dark circles of exhaustion, the faint smear of dried blood on his forearm that he hadn't fully washed off, and his unconditional care, the dam broke.

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

"Hey," Jack murmured, his brow furrowing as he set the ice pack down and instantly reached for your face. "Hey, what’s wrong? Is the local anesthetic wearing off? Is it hurting?"

"No," you choked out, your voice thick and trembling. You shook your head, immediately regretting it as the movement pulled at the tight stitches. "No, it doesn't hurt. Jack, I'm so sorry."

"Sweetheart, you don't need to-"

"I do," you interrupted, a sob catching in your throat. You reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'm so, so sorry. I know I make a joke out of being clumsy, but I hate that I frightened you. I hate that I made you feel... helpless. I know how much you want to protect me, and I was careless. I didn't think about how it would affect you to hear me fall and not be able to just run down there. I'm so sorry for being reckless with myself."

Jack stared at you, his eyes softening.

He reached out, his thumb gently catching the tears on your cheek, careful not to touch your wound. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne.

"Thank you for being honest with me" Jack whispered into your hair, his hand gently stroking your back. "But you don't have to carry that guilt. I was angry because I was terrified. When I'm at work, I can control things. I have a team. But when it’s you... here... Seeing you hurt, and knowing my own body slows me down from getting to you... it scares me, baby."

He pulled back to look into your eyes.

"I know accidents happen," he said softly. "But I just need you to take care of yourself, because you are the most precious thing in my life. Okay?"

"Okay," you sniffled, wiping your nose with the edge of the blanket. "No more running on the stairs. I promise. I'll take them like a snail."

A smirk broke across Jack’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It was the first time he had smiled all night. "A snail might be a bit too slow, but I'll take it."

He leaned in, carefully placing a kiss on the uninjured side of your face, then another on the tip of your nose. "I love you, doll."

"I love you, my Jackie."

"Lay back, you need rest," he commanded gently, helping you settle on the couch. He placed the ice pack back on your knee and tucked the blanket securely around you. He picked up the TV remote and settled back against the cushions next to you.

As the soft sounds of a night time program filled the air, Jack's fingers gently stroked your head, lulling you to relax and close your eyes.

After a few seconds, you drifted off to sleep, feeling completely safe and secure in the tranquility of home.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

This had to be the day from hell. Y/n had stayed up the entire night before finishing last-minute details for a work project and didn’t get a wink of sleep until around 2 AM. She ended up completely sleeping in while her husband, Jack, kissed her sleeping form goodbye to go on a SWAT shift. She woke up to her latest possible alarm in a cold and empty bed. 

To make things worse, this was the day of her big presentation. People were relying on her to lead the meeting on the said work project. She rushed to get ready. But there was a difficult balance between a full face of makeup and an impossible time crunch.

She ran out the door, but then forgot her keys. She ran back out… then realized she forgot her laptop charger. Then ran back out and growled in frustration upon realizing she forgot her wallet. Definitely not something she wanted to leave behind.

By the time she sat in the car, ready to pull out, she was sweating profusely. The heat outside was heavy and dry, and the running back and forth had caused stains to appear under her arms. 

Naturally, she cranked the AC, turning the knob as she backed the car out…

Holy fuck- hot air blasted right at her face. Her brows scrunched. What? It was on the lowest possible setting it could be. That didn’t make sense.

She tried turning it on and off. Ensuring that it wasn’t on the heater by accident. Pressing buttons and turning the knob back and forth. All while trying to drive. But nothing worked. It just blasted hot air that made the car go from hot to sweltering. Sweat dripped down her face, and her lip began to quiver, knowing her makeup was going to be ruined.

With a deep breath, she turned the AC off and rolled down the window. Goodbye, fancy curled hair. But the whipping wind outside wasn’t that much better. The temperature was pretty much the same inside and out. 

She turned on the radio to try to distract herself.

“This is radio KISS 44.6. And we’re in the middle of this huge heat wave-“

“YOU THINK?” She grumbled to herself as she stopped at a red light. 

She had managed to stop at every red light on the way to the office. It was as if god was throwing every sign at her not to do this stupid presentation.

As she got closer to the office, her eyes started to get really dry. Her vision blurred. So she blinked hard to get the focus back. Damn contacts. 

Her mouth was incredibly dry as well. Her tongue felt swollen against the roof of her mouth. A sudden sense of self-awareness overtook her. God, let’s hope she didn’t have bad breath before the meeting. 

Her head started to pound. She took a wavering breath, feeling that something was wrong. But she shook it off. Now was not the time for health anxiety. Once she got to the office, she’d chug a water bottle and call it go time.

But by Murphy’s law, naturally, the only parking spot available was the furthest possible one. That’s what I get for being late. Her mind kept replaying that sentiment as she made the trek toward the building, body tingling. It felt like she couldn’t think or process anything going on around her. 

Her eyes slowly became half-lidded as a wave of nausea overtook her. She gagged a cough, but fortunately, nothing came out. She didn’t really have time for breakfast that morning. The woman was set on her goal- making it to this goddamn work meeting. 

She was so set in fact, that when she finally reached the front of the building, she didn’t realize that the world around her was blacking out. And she was fully collapsing to the ground with no one to catch her. 

Dr. Robby had been having a pretty normal morning. With the heat wave, he had just about as many dehydration and heat stroke victims as he figured he would, and it wasn’t even noon. He was in the middle of convincing a woman that an IV does not inject microchips when Dr. Mohan knocked on the door frame. 

“Dana said to tell you there’s an incoming trauma. ETA less than five minutes. Some friends from SWAT got very ambitious. GSW.”

Robby clapped his hands, “Great. I’ll finish up here and get to lecture Jack about him and all his adrenaline junkie friends.”

She nodded and walked away, leaving Robby to convince this woman for another four minutes. 

A few minutes later, he walked out to see Jack pumping an AMBU bag on a man being rolled in on a stretcher. Both in full-camo uniform, they were surrounded by EMTs. Robby walked up, helping take the stretcher from the medics. 

“Take him to the trauma bay,” Robby instructed the nurses who took over for the EMTs.

Jack looked to Robby, “This is Peter. GSW in the right shoulder. Has an entry and exit wound. Carotid’s a little tachy, and had to give him an AMBU bag after he started to hyperventilate.”

“Hi, Peter. You got lucky today, having Dr. Abbot by your side.”

The man blinked hard as if to say, ‘Yes, that’s true.’ Robby looked to Jack, who was sweating much more than his usual, and the guy sweated a ton on the regular. 

“You been drinking water?”

“Of course. How do you think I can sweat through this goddamn jacket?”

They chuckled and rolled the man into the bay. 

Mid-bleed, Langdon was able to take over for Robby as he seemed to be pulled in every other direction. He peeled his bloody gloves off and threw them away as he rushed out to see a woman being rushed in from the ambulance bay. His attention immediately piqued. She looked… familiar. 

He started to rush forward as he would any other patient. But as he got closer, his footsteps quickened because this wasn’t just any other patient. This was Jack’s wife, and she lay unconscious on a stretcher being pushed. Her hair was drenched, presumably from sweat and paramedics spraying cold water on her. Ice packs covered her neck, chest, and stomach. 

“Shit.” He said, getting to her side. 

One of the paramedics began to speak, “This is-”

“Y/n Abbot. 25-year-old female.”

McKay, who had taken over for one of the EMTs, looked at him, confused. She didn’t even register the last name at first. 

“Do you know her?”

Robby’s brows raised, and he hissed a sigh, “This is Dr. Abbot’s wife.”

“Oh shit. Do you want me to grab him?”

He looked over and saw Jack in the middle of giving compressions to Peter. If he took him, they’d be left with no one but Langdon. While he was sure he could handle it… that was an all-hands-on-deck situation. And he knew that Jack would come sprinting if he learned. 

“No. Don’t tell him yet. We don’t need more chaos and a husband working on his wife.”

The paramedic continued, “Her coworkers found her unconscious outside their office. No idea how long she had been out there. Heat stroke. She was at 105, and we got it down to 104 through ice bags, but she hasn’t budged since being admitted. Laceration on the right side of her scalp from the fall. Bad bleed, but the wound’s shallow. Surprisingly, no indentation.”

“Doesn’t stop the possible concussion. Was she conscious and speaking at all?” 

The paramedic shook his head, “No. She’s been unconscious from arrival to here.”

“Shit. Perlah, Princess, get an ice bath ready in South 20,” Robby called out. 

The women nodded and started prepping the room. They didn’t necessarily have ice baths at the ready, but they did have the ability to fill a body bag with ice. They set up the blue bag on the bed and rushed to grab ice from a freezer nearby. 

They wheeled her in just as the two nurses were setting the bottom bed of ice. 

“Perfect, okay. We’re gonna lift her and move on three, ready? One two three-”

Everyone moved her onto the ice, so Perlah and Princess could overlay ice on top of her. Robby stepped back and ran his hands down his face. He looked over to see Jack and Langdon directly across the pitt. They were focused on stopping the bleeding and seemingly starting to finish up. Shit. 

“We need to hustle people. Start checking core temp again. We’ve only got around thirty minutes to get her to 102 before organ failure.” 

Organ failure. He didn’t want to be the one to tell Jack this. He didn’t want to tell him at all, actually. But part of him knew that if he didn’t tell him, he’d hate him for a long time… and it’d be even worse if this went awry. 

McKay took her hand out of the ice, “She’s at 104.4 right now.”

Robby barely registered it. He wrung his hands behind his neck.

She walked up to him with raised brows, “You know someone who could have her entire medical history? Someone who can answer for her? Abbot.” 

“Yeah.” Robby looked down at his shoes and shook his head, “Yeah. I know.”

“We need to tell him.”

He looked over at Jack and Langdon doing some sort of insane procedure. Par for the course of those two. He shook his head, then looked back at Cass. 

“I don’t think you understand how fragile this is, McKay.”

Her head bobbled as she stared at him in disbelief, her red ponytail swishing. 

“I’m not saying he scrubs in. I’m saying we need to ask him questions because his wife can’t do so.” 

Robby tried to hush his voice, but it came out in his upset growl, “Someone else’s life is in his hands, and if we tell him right now, he will let it slip through his fingers.”

“Well, her life is in our hands for the next twenty-five minutes, and if she turns out to be allergic to a medication we push-“

“Fuck, McKay! Let him finish up on that patient, and then we’ll tell him!” He exclaimed, rubbing his eyes. 

Perlah and Princess sent each other a wide-eyed look. They’d be talking about this in Tagalog later for sure. 

McKay put her hands in the air. “Okay. Fine.”

Robby ran his hands down his face.

“Keep monitoring her. Every few minutes. If she’s not lowering in ten, we need to prep for the worst. Keep the fans going and fresh ice and ice packs added.” He instructed McKay before heading out.

“Got it.” She said, knowing at the very least, he was right about the treatment.

Robby stormed out a bit more abruptly than he meant to. He had to check on other patients and needed to get his mind off Y/n and Jack until the time passed. 

Ten minutes later, Robby came back around to her room. McKay, Javadi, Princess, and Perlah were all doting on her. Perla was switching out an IV bag. 

“Update?” Robby crossed his arms.

“She’s still 103.8. Far from 102.” Javadi said, “We’ve given fluids, but she started seizing and had to push Keppra.” 

“Fuck. Okay. Her brain overheated, but hopefully, we may get some meaningful movement here soon. At least she’s cooling down, that’s what? .6 degrees in ten minutes? If we keep on this track, we should be okay.”

McKay stood up from her bedside. “Update on Abbot and his patient?”

“I uh- I haven’t checked.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes went wide at him. 

“Not my patient, not my monkeys. I will ask Langdon for a status once we get her temperature under control.” 

McKay scoffed in complete disbelief. Just then, Mohan peeked her head through the door. 

“Dr. McKay, we need you back in West 14.” She said, then looked around, sensing the tense atmosphere. “Do you have a moment-”

“Yes. Yes. Dr. Robby, care to take over?” 

He nodded, “Of course.” 

She slipped out past Robby and started speed walking away, leaving Mohan to catch up with her. Her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum.

“What’s going on?” Dr. Mohan held her clipboard to her chest.

“That heat stroke victim? That’s Abbot’s wife.” 

They both immediately turned to see Abbot watching their trauma patient get wheeled away to the ICU, then turned back to each other. 

Dr. Mohan’s eyes widened. “Have you told him?”

McKay’s jaw ticked. She raised her hands in innocent defeat.

“I’m about to.” 

Jack Abbot had just finished a miraculous pull-through. Peter had started to lose too much blood due to damage to an artery, but he and Langdon managed to use a balloon to pressurize it. He took a moment to catch his breath and throw off his camo zip-up, leaving him in just his black T-Shirt. He’d have to get back to HQ and report that Peter was alright. A full write-up and a nap were waiting for him at home before he’d have to come back to the pitt for the night shift.

Just then, Dr. Mohan walked up to him. He brightened a little at the familiar face, but her face was incredibly stoic. Did something happen to her? 

“Dr. Abbot. I need you to talk to Dr. McKay.” 

His brows furrowed, “Can she not come up to me herself?” 

“Just come with me and don’t talk to Robby.”

He followed her fast footsteps as she led him to the side of the nurses' station that couldn’t be seen from the South wing. He tried to look around for Robby, but was shielded by the walls and columns. For the most part, he figured it was just Mohan dealing with Robby breathing down her neck again. The guy was way too hard on her. So sometimes Jack lent an ear to listen. 

“What’s going on?” He asked as they approached Dr. McKay. That’s when he slowly started to realize that maybe this wasn’t just about Robby’s teaching techniques.

The red-headed woman clapped her hands gently. “Dr. Abbot, I need to tell you that your wife is in this ED right now.”

His heart completely dropped into his stomach. His mouth dried up as he blinked, surely not hearing her right. This couldn’t be true. He had to be hearing things after the adrenaline rush of being shot at. She wasn’t supposed to be there. It couldn’t be her usual dropping by to give him food mid shift because, well, he wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

“What?” 

“She’s in South 20, right now. Her co-workers found her outside unconscious. Heat stroke. We’ve got her in an ice bath and her temperatures coming down, but it’s slow.” McKay explained. 

He immediately started trying to look over her shoulder, trying to get a better vantage point of South 20. He couldn’t get a view, so he started walking past McKay. His walk at first was slow, but then he started to nearly sprint. The women ran after him as he 

“How long has she been here? How come nobody fucking told me?” 

He burst into the room and immediately covered his mouth at the sight. His beautiful wife lay unconscious in the ice, most of her clothes off. Her skin pale and her face covered in dried blood. He choked. And after everything that man has seen, it was hard to get him to react this strongly.

Javadi immediately stood up with wide eyes as if she had just been caught. Robby pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Abbot crossed his arms, his horrified eyes morphed into anger. He slowly shook his head. His jaw clenched.

“I need patient status right now.”

Robby reached out, putting his hands on Abbot’s shoulders, “Jack, the best thing for you to do right now is to sit by her side and not-”

“Just tell me the fucking status of my goddamn wife!” 

Javadi spoke up in a shaky voice, “She’s down to 103.2 from 104.8. She started seizing, but we gave her Keppra, and she responded positively. Her pupils reacted, and we’re waiting for meaningful-” She saw the disapproving look from Robby, so her voice trailed off, “Movement…”

Jack didn’t even look at Robby as he shrugged him off. He pointed to Javadi. “I want 2,000 milliliters of saline delivered. Her seizure could be from losing electrolytes from sweating.”

“You’re not even on shift, Jack!” Robby exclaimed.

“Scrub me in. I’m not just gonna sit around while my wife’s kidneys fail and her brain swells.” 

Princess stood on the sidelines getting a surgery gown for Abbot ready, but Robby pointed to her. 

“Princess, do not get that dressing gown. Jack, sit down. If something happens, you do not want that responsibility to be on you.” 

Jack got slightly in his face.

“So you want it to be on you? My best friend, who didn’t tell me that my wife has been here the entire time? When I had to learn from fucking Dr. McKay and Dr. Mohan?” He said through gritted teeth. 

His chest heaved like he would cry any second. His heart was held together by the tiniest string, and at any moment it was ready to snap. Robby shook his head. 

“I’ll give the order for the saline, but you can go sit down. I’m not budging on this.” 

Just then, Javadi looked down and noticed her hand starting to twitch and move. Reaching out. Reaching to grip the blue medical bag. 

“We have movement!” 

Jack glared at Robby, but shook his head in defeat. “Give the order.”

Robby sighed and gave out the order for the saline. Perlah was already on it.

Jack rushed over to her side as McKay ran in and gave him a chair to sit in next to her. He noticed her pointer and middle fingers twitching. Her wrist struggled to pull up. He reached down to hold it. 

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart. I’m right here.” He didn’t take his eyes off her, “Lighten the sedative. I wanna see if she can squeeze my hand. Give a neurotest.” 

At first, Robby didn’t say anything. With crossed arms, he had a look in his eyes as if he were thinking it over. Perlah looked to him for approval, and after a moment of consideration, he nodded. 

“Yeah. Do it.” 

Perlah shot an activator into the IV, and after a few minutes, her eyes began to waver. Her head began to shake side to side. Slurring words stumbled out of her mouth. 

Javadi shot up excited, “102! We can move her.” 

“Perfect.” Robby called out, moving over to her side, “Let’s get a fresh bedside and dry her off.” 

Jack squeezed her hand, “Good job, baby. Coming back to us.” 

She made a half-conscious noise before her eyes grew completely heavy again. He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, thankful to whatever god out there that her temperature had made it down in time. 

An hour later, she woke up in a proper ICU bed. Her entire body ached like she had been hit by a truck. All her muscles felt wrung out to the point where even breathing felt like a challenging task. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed again at the bright hospital lights. She grumbled before forcing herself to look around. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Jack said in the gentlest voice he could muster. 

She looked over at him and blinked, confused. Last she remembered… she was heading to work. How did she get here? And why did her husband look so… fragile? The bags under his eyes looked heavier than usual, and he sat hunched over as if his bones were too heavy for him to bear. 

He reached out and squeezed her hand. 

“Can you say something for me?”

“What happened?” 

He put her hand to his forehead and shut his eyes tight, grateful to hear her voice. He brought it to his mouth to kiss it again, then looked to her. 

“You had a bad case of heat stroke.” His voice cracked, “I don’t even know how you managed to get such a bad case.”

She swallowed, slowly putting the pieces together.

“I was running late… And I kept running back and forth to the car cause I kept forgetting stuff. Then- then my car AC broke. Just blasting hot air.”

His eyes widened in horror, “Did you roll the window down?”

“Mmhm.” She nodded, then winced. It felt like her brain was weighing down her skull with a pounding headache. She sniffled, “Then I had to park in the far lot today… And I felt a little weird… Now I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He reached out and brushed her messy hair back out of her face. He tucked a few strands behind her ear. “It’s been… It’s been a rough day, huh?” 

Her eyes suddenly popped open, and she tried to sit up. 

“THE PRESENTATION. I don’t know if my boss got the files to-”

Jack immediately stood up and pressed a calloused palm against her shoulder, gently guiding her back to lie back down. 

“I don’t think your boss is worried about that. They’re probably more worried about a personal injury suit.” He reassured, “You can contact them after you get better, and if they don’t understand, you shouldn’t be working for them anyway.”

She slowly nodded with a pathetic, “Ow.”

There was a moment of silence. The hospital beeps and the whir of the air conditioning were the only noise filling the air. Jack took a shaky breath, trying to exhale all his worries away, but failing. 

“You gave us quite the scare.” His voice cracked, “I-I was in the ED because of a SWAT shift. I didn’t even know you were here until McKay told me. And it was… a close call, sweetheart. A real close call.”

She melted at his words. It was a rare sight to see Jack choked up. She’d only seen it a handful of times before. Even in his darkest moments, he preferred to cry to himself, not in front of her. She squeezed his hand. 

“W-why were you in the ED? Are you okay?”

He let out a gruff laugh, “You’re seriously worrying about me when you’re the one who passed out?” 

She nodded, and he sighed with a small resting smile now. His love apparent in his softened eyes. 

“I’m okay. There was a hostage situation, and my buddy Peter was sent in to negotiate. Came out with a bullet through the shoulder.” He explained, “I was out of the line of fire. So nothing scary for me.”

“And Peter?”

“Peter’s okay too.” He reassured, “You hungry? The doctors are gonna give you a bunch of tests soon for your blood and kidneys, and you’ll need to eat after.”

She shrugged, “I’m really thirsty… And exhausted.”

“I bet, sweetheart.” He stood up and leaned down to kiss her forehead, “I’ll go grab you some water.” 

Suddenly, she tugged at his hand, “Don’t leave.”

He froze, looking down at her nervous expression. The quiver in her lip and the way her brows slanted down. There was no way he was gonna leave his girl like this. 

“Okay.” He sat down at her bedside again, “I’ll just text Robby to send a nurse, okay?” 

“Okay…”

He sent the quick text on his phone, then pocketed it in his cargo pants. 

“Rest. I’ll be here the whole time… Quite literally, I have a shift here in six hours.”

She huffed, crossing her arms, “Then you should sleep too.”

“Fine. Fine, we’ll take a nap together. How’s that?” 

And when she nodded with a small smile, he scoffed playfully and shook his head. 

“Always worrying about everyone else.” He murmured under his breath, making her giggle.

Shifting her back down against the stiff hospital bed, she did her best to get comfy. And once she found a decent spot, she looked over at Jack with half-lidded eyes. He was in the middle of trying to configure some sort of sleeping position in an armchair that looked practically plastic. 

He eventually leaned back and crossed his arms against his chest. Shutting his eyes, he tilted his head back. She was glad to see him somewhat comfortable. 

“I love you, Jack.”

One eye opened in a comedic fashion, making her giggle before his head lulled to face her. He looked at her with exhausted eyes.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Power tools were out.

Motorcycles, absolutely not.

Seat belts were nonnegotiable, lawn mowers were "death traps," and trampolines might as well have been medieval siege weapons.

Snowboards, mountain bikes, ladders, roofs.

Jet-skis, regular skis, bagel slicers, box-cutters.

Dogs with too much enthusiasm—every one of them had been blacklisted by a man who had seen too many fractures, too many mangled hands, too many limbs that couldn't be saved.

Even jogging too much had earned a suspicious side-eye from him, Brendon muttering darkly about cumulative joint damage and cartilage wear as if the use of your legs was a personal betrayal.

He had known long before marriage that you possessed a surplus of common sense the rest of the population seemed to mysteriously lack—especially in the realm of mundane, everyday tasks—and part of what had first drawn him to you was the cutting sharpness of your mind.

You were the first woman he had ever met who could truly keep pace with him, match his wit stride for stride, keep him honest, keep him guessing.

You never once allowed him to disappear too far into the polished arrogance of a surgeon's ego without neatly taking him down a peg and planting him back on earth where he belonged.

And yet, somehow, the sight of a mandolin slicer anywhere near your hands still sent his pulse into a frenzy, the same way he used to go visibly pale if you so much as reached for a meat cleaver.

It had always annoyed you—that suffocating, almost absurd protectiveness—because Brendon knew exactly who you were.

He knew you were careful.

Capable.

Sensible.

So for him to look at something as harmless as jogging and act as if your knees were one careless mile from catastrophe, it had always felt, if you were honest, just a little belittling.

But now, given your current situation, you had the creeping feeling that once he found out, he would never let you leave the house again.

"Thirty-two year old female involved in an altercation at a bar!" one of the EMTs piloting your gurney barked, breathless but practiced as the trauma team converged at the threshold of PTMC's emergency department. "Exchanged blows with an adult male, was knocked to the floor during the crowd surge, then sustained a compound tib-fib injury after being stepped on."

Jack Abbot was already at your bedside, gloved hands moving with cool efficiency over your face and splinted leg while Dr. Ellis and Dr. Shen flanked the gurney

"Active bleeding from the right temple, three-centimeter scalp lac. Split lower lip. Bilateral abrasions to the knuckles consistent with closed-fist strikes. Open fracture to the left tibia—visible bone protrusion lateral shin, splinted in field, distal pulse present before and after splint placement, foot warm, cap refill under two seconds."

You groaned, voice slurred but sharp with irritation as you pressed the blood-soaked pad tighter to your temple, "I told you guys to take me to Presby."

One of the EMTs exhaled through gritted teeth, exhausted. "Ma'am, please, this was the closest hospital."

John Shen's brows shot up as he glanced at the shredded knuckles and the blood on your lip, "You got into a fight with a man?"

Despite the temple blood trailing warm down the side of your face, you turned your head just enough to flash a crooked, drunken smirk. "You should see the other guy."

Your friend, Nicole, breathless and disheveled beside the gurney rail, immediately jumped in, "He pushed me off the bar while I was dancing. I was fine—she really didn't have to—"

"Shut up, Nic," you muttered, eyes half-lidded but fierce. "The bastard had it coming."

Jack's mouth twitched into a smirk as he palpated carefully around the temple wound, gaze laser-focused, "I like her."

Ellis leaned in, penlight already out as she held your cheek steady, guiding the light over your pupils, "What about the head lac? Did you fall into glass?"

You huffed a humorless laugh, "No. He clipped me with one of those ugly rings he was wearing."

You shifted, trying to lift the bloody gauze pad from your temple.

"I'm not concussed," you assured. "I just need some water."

"Keep that dressing on, ma'am," the second EMT said firmly, pushing the gauze back against your head.

The first nodded to the physician team.

"Intoxicated but alert and responsive, GCS 15. Oriented to questions. Respiration's normal, O2 sats 99,  blood pressure 128 over 82, pulse 112 sinus tach, likely secondary to ethanol, stress response, and blood loss. Pupils equal and reactive. Denies loss of consciousness."

"Open fracture site dressed with sterile wet gauze, leg immobilized with vacuum splint, bleeding at temple controlled with direct pressure," the second EMT added. "No narcotics administered en route because patient repeatedly stated she doesn't feel any pain and remained hemodynamically stable."

That made Dr. Shen glance up sharply."No pain?"

The EMT gave a grim look, "None. Not even when we aligned the leg."

You shrugged, "I got a high tolerance."

"Yeah, adrenaline and alcohol'll do that to you," Dr. Abbott confirmed.

Ellis's eyes flicked up, "Name?"

Your gaze immediately shot to the ceiling.

The EMT gave a helpless shrug, "She's refusing to state. Friend won't provide it either."

Nicole pressed her lips together apologetically and stayed silent.

You let out a sigh, muttering, "My husband'll kill me if he finds out."

John gave a short incredulous scoff, partly joking, "What, does he work here or something?"

"Yes."

Ellis deadpanned, already reaching for the side rail as they turned toward Trauma One, "That is the least of your worries right now. We need your name."

A drunken chuckle escaped your split lip, "Jane Doe."

Jack huffed a laugh of his own, then his voice snapped back into crisp command. "Let's stabilize the leg, pressure bag fluids, trauma labs, type and cross. Head strike plus temple lac buys her a one-way ticket to CT soon as she's secure."

The team surged forward, gurney rattling down the corridor at top speed.

As they whipped past the central desk, Dana stopped dead in her tracks, expression twisting into one of concern.

"(y/n)? The hell you doin' here, kid?"

At the sound of your name, you groaned, allowing your head to fall back against the gurney as it disappeared into Trauma One.

"Looks like we got a name," Jack smirked, quickly lowering the rail on his side.

"Goddamnit, Dana..." you huffed.

.

.

.

Up at Orthopedics, the air still carried that sterile, metallic chill unique to post-op corridors—chlorhexidine, cautery smoke ghosts, and the faint rubber scent of fresh gloves.

Dr. Brendon Park strode out of the OR like a storm front in navy scrubs, mask already long gone, hair still slick despite the cap he'd just stripped off.

Behind him trailed a small cluster of medical students, all of them bright-eyed in the way only the deeply sleep-deprived and painfully ambitious could be.

Brendon, meanwhile, looked about as thrilled as a man walking behind his own casket.

"Post-op for BKA," he said flatly, voice clipped and fast enough that pens nearly scratched through notebook paper, "is not complicated unless you make it complicated. Serial neurovascular checks of the residual limb. Monitor flap perfusion, capillary refill at the skin edges, temperature, color changes, any duskiness that suggests ischemia."

He calmly turned the corner, gait smooth and to-the-point like that of a dormant predator.

"Dressing stays clean, dry, and intact unless there's strike-through. Rigid removable dressing or immediate postoperative prosthesis if PM&R clears it. Elevation for edema control in the first twenty-four hours, but don't leave the knee in flexion unless you enjoy flexion contractures."

He cut a look over his shoulder so sharp it could have opened skin.

"And if you forget early prone positioning and aggressive hip and knee extension exercises, congratulations, you just bought your patient a future revision."

The residents murmured frantic notes.

Brendon hated this part of the job.

Not the surgery—never the surgery.

The amputation had been clean, efficient, textbook: posterior flap preserved, tibial cut beveled, fibula transected proximal to the tibia, myodesis secure, hemostasis immaculate.

No, what he hated was this.

The teaching.

The hand-holding.

The dead-eyed terror in learners who somehow survived anatomy and clinicals only to stand here blinking like livestock.

Teaching hospital, he reminded himself bitterly. Comes with the territory.

Without warning, he pivoted mid-stride, nearly causing the MS3 closest to him to trip over her own clogs.

"You," he snapped, fixing her with a stare. "Hypothetical. POD one, BKA patient spikes tachycardia, increasing pain out of proportion, tense posterior flap, drainage darkening under the dressing. Next step."

The student froze.

Actually froze.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Her pupils went wide.

Brendon stared at her for one beat, then another, jaw flexing.

"Well?" he said curtly. "Go on. Quit wasting my time."

"I—I'd probably increase the opioid dose and maybe loosen the ace wrap to reduce—"

He cut her off with a sharp exhale through his nose.

"No," His tone was dry enough to desiccate tissue. "The next step is immediate dressing takedown to inspect the stump. Assess compartment tension, evacuate hematoma if present, and get the patient back to the OR for emergent decompression or hemostasis if there's any question of vascular compromise. Pain out of proportion after amputation is not treated by loosening bandages."

The student went pink with humiliation.

Brendon had already turned away, uninterested.

They rounded the corner into the Orthopedics charge station, the fluorescent buzz louder here over the drone of printers and distant telemetry alarms.

Charge nurse Sally was just hanging up the phone, expression pinched.

"Park," she called, "ED just called up a gnarly open tibial fracture. Sounds like a grade III, stepped on in some kind of bar fight. They're asking if you want to come take a look."

Brendon scoffed, already snagging the chart from the BKA he'd just finished.

He uncapped his pen and scribbled quick postoperative orders across the margin.

"Tell them to irrigate, start cefazolin and gent, tetanus if needed, splint, and wait." His tone was dismissive, eyes never lifting from the page. "I've got better things to do."

Then the elevator chimed.

A soft, ordinary ding.

But it sliced clean through the station noise.

The doors slid apart.

Nicole stepped out.

Brendon's pen stopped moving.

His head snapped up so fast the residents actually flinched.

His brows drew together instantly, dark and severe, eyes narrowing with a speed that telegraphed something far rarer than annoyance.

Recognition.

And then something colder.

Nicole.

Your best friend.

The two of you were supposed to be downtown right now, out celebrating her birthday.

For one suspended, electric second, the entire floor seemed to go still around him.

What the fuck was she doing here?

The instant Brendon's eyes locked with Nicole's, every trace of color drained out of her face.

Her mouth dropped open.

"Oh, shit."

The curse came out in a frantic hiss, far louder than she probably intended, and then she lunged for the elevator panel, jabbing the close door button with panicked, repeated stabs of her thumb.

Brendon moved before the doors even started to slide.

"Nicole!"

His voice cracked through the Orthopedics floor like a rifle shot.

Every resident at the charge station went rigid.

Sally's brows shot nearly to her hairline.

No one—no one—had heard that much raw emotion in Brendon Park's voice in years.

Not anger, exactly. Something sharper. Hotter.

Something terrifyingly close to fear.

He abandoned the chart in his hand without a second thought, pages fluttering against the counter as he crossed the distance in three furious strides.

His palm slammed between the narrowing doors with enough force to trigger the sensor, metal panels shuddering back open.

Nicole winced.

Brendon's face was taut.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The words came rapid-fire, clipped with fury. "Where the hell is (y/n)?"

Nicole's eyes darted left, then right, like she could physically outrun the question.

"I—I was just looking for the cafeteria," she blurted. "I got turned around."

Brendon's expression somehow got darker.

He leaned in, voice low and dangerous, every syllable razor precise.

"You know damn well that's not what I'm asking." His jaw flexed. "Why are you in a hospital, Nicole? Why aren't you out with my wife like you're supposed to be?"

She clammed up so fast it was almost audible.

Her eyes dropped.

Dodged.

Brendon barked her name again, louder this time. "Nicole."

Her chin lifted in stubborn apology, "I was sworn to secrecy."

Brendon's eyes widened.

"What do you mean sworn to secrecy?! What the hell happened?!" he snapped. "Is she hurt?!"

He stepped closer, voice dropping into something so cold it made even Sally flinch from across the desk.

"Nicole, so help me God..."

But she held.

Not a word.

Not a single word.

Brendon stared at her for one searing, vibrating beat, chest rising once, sharply.

Then he let the doors close.

The second the elevator sealed shut, he pivoted on his heel and stormed for the stairwell so fast the residents had to flatten themselves against the wall to avoid getting clipped by his shoulder.

Sally watched him go, wide-eyed.

The med students stood frozen in his wake, mouths parted.

Now that wasn't new.

This was Dr. Park the brilliant, merciless orthopedic shark who shredded residents for sport.

This was blood in the water.

And he was already hunting the source.

.

.

.

He hit the ED level in a blur of motion that made the elevator look lazy.

Fifteen flights should have left any normal person winded.

Brendon barely seemed to notice.

The stairwell door slammed open hard enough to ricochet off the wall as he strode into the chaos of PTMC's emergency department, eyes cutting through the movement with ruthless efficiency.

He scanned for one thing only:

Dana's blonde hair.

He didn't see it.

As Princess swept past carrying a stack of warm blankets, he turned sharply enough to stop her in her tracks.

"Where's your charge nurse?"

Princess blinked, eyes going wide.

He had never once, in the handful of ortho consults that dragged him down here, acknowledged her existence beyond the patient in question.

The sheer fact that he was speaking directly to her left her momentarily stunned.

Three seconds.

That was all the patience he gave her.

When she still hadn't answered, Brendon scoffed under his breath and moved on.

Across the pod, a cluster of male nurses and a couple of security guards stood in a loose knot, voices low and animated.

The second Brendon's expression came into view, the older nurses instantly read the room and scattered like prey.

Everyone except Ahmad.

New enough not to know better.

He looked up, grin easy. "Hey, man, you want in on the pool?"

Brendon ignored him, using the slightly raised vantage point near the desk to keep scanning the room.

Ahmad kept going anyway.

"Female in Trauma One. Bar fight, won't give her name but says her husband works here." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Abbott's the favorite since he admitted her, but weirdly enough Robby's pulling as a dark horse."

And then Brendon saw Dana.

He was moving before Ahmad finished the sentence.

Dana barely had time to look up before Brendon was in front of her, looming, eyes dark with something far more dangerous than his usual surgical arrogance.

She blinked once, surprised, then smirked, "Sally just called. Said you denied the tib-fib consult."

"I've got something more important," he bit out.

Dana folded her arms. "What can I do for ya, Shark?"

His response was curt, immediate.

"Park."

The smirk slipped.

"Did you admit a woman with the last name Park? Brown skin, brown eyes, curly hair." His throat bobbed once. "About this tall."

He gestured roughly to his own shoulder.

Dana frowned, already mentally running the board.

"No Parks."

His brows drew together so hard it almost looked painful, "Double check."

She held his stare, then shook her head once, firm, "No Parks in the ED today with that description."

For one second, pure frustration flashed across his face.

Then Dana's expression shifted.

"...Though," she said slowly, realization dawning, "there is that woman in Trauma One. Same description. The tib-fib from the bar fight."

The words hit him like blunt force trauma.

Brendon went still.

His heart dropped so violently it felt like it hit somewhere near his knees.

Shit.

You were the tib-fib.

Without another word, he turned and strode hard toward Trauma One, every step faster than the one before, fury and fear now fully braided into something lethal.

Dana watched him go, then slowly turned her head toward Ahmad across the room.

A grin spread across her face.

"Ahmad," she called.

He looked up.

She jerked her chin toward the retreating orthopedic surgeon. "Put fifty on Park the Shark for me."

.

.

.

The doors to Trauma One slammed inward so hard they rebounded off the stopper.

Both you and Jack Abbott jumped.

"For fuck's sake!" you yelped, your hand flying to your chest hard enough to jostle the blood-pressure cuff around your arm.

Abbott looked up from where he'd been checking the gauze at your temple, blatant displeasure flattening his mouth.

"Well," he drawled dryly, "look who finally came down from his ivory tower to join the rest of us."

Brendon didn't so much as glance at him.

His eyes found you.

Then your leg.

And every trace of color seemed to drain out of his face as his gaze landed on the mangled reality of your grade III open tibial fracture—the splint peeled back enough for the jagged cortical edge of tibia to protrude through torn skin and soaked dressings.

"Jesus Christ, (y/n)..."

His stomach visibly dropped.

He was at your bedside in two strides, all sharp motion and barely restrained panic, hands hovering before settling into practiced purpose as he took in the injury.

The second you realized it was him, your eyes screwed shut.

"Nicole," you hissed under your breath, "I'm going to kill her."

Brendon's voice came fast, rougher than you'd heard in a while, "Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Any dizziness, nausea? Can you move your toes? What the fuck happened?"

At the sheer informality of the exchange, Abbott's brows drew together.

Then it clicked.

A slow grin spread across his face.

"No shit," he said, looking between the two of you with delighted disbelief. "This is him?"

Brendon's head snapped around so sharply his curls shifted over his forehead. "What do you mean, this is him?"

And then, against his better judgment, something hot and ugly curled low in his chest.

Jealousy.

You... alone in a room with Jack Abbott for God knew how long, while you were hurt and vulnerable and half-drunk.

Not that he thought you'd do anything.

But Abbott?

He was a psych case with a stethoscope.

You turned to Jack with a pleading look, silently begging him not to say a word.

His grin only widened.

"The ED's been runnin' a betting pool on who her husband is," he said, enjoying every syllable. "Ever since she let it slip he works here and refused to give us her last name."

Slowly, Brendon's stare slid back to you, laser-sharp.

You visibly deflated.

Your glare cut to Abbott, "This is coming out of your patient satisfaction score."

He shrugged with an amused huff, "Worth it."

At the door, he paused just long enough to toss over his shoulder, "I'll take it we've secured that ortho consult."

Brendon answered with nothing more than a grunt.

The door shut behind Abbott.

Silence.

And then Brendon erupted.

"You deliberately omitted your name so I couldn't find you?!"

You scoffed right back, temper flashing despite the throbbing in your temple, "Because I knew this is how you'd react! Brendon, I am not made of glass!"

He took in one short, incredulous breath, anger still sharp but fraying at the edges with fear.

"I have every goddamn right to react like this when I find out from someone else that my wife nearly snapped her leg in half!"

His eyes dropped to the injury again, horror freshening as if seeing it for the first time.

"What the hell happened?!"

You exhaled through your nose, "It was just an incident at a bar."

That somehow made him look more alarmed.

"(y/n)," he started, voice low and serious. "Tell me what happened. Did someone do this to you?"

You held his stare for a beat.

Then sighed.

"Nicole and I were out celebrating. She was dancing on the bartop, we were having a good time, and this random asshole shoved her off."

Brendon's jaw tightened.

"She fell hard," you continued. "Really hard. So I punched him in the face."

His eyes widened a fraction.

"Then we got into it. Fist fight, cops got called, crowd rushed, people started pushing, I got knocked down..."

You gestured vaguely toward the leg.

"Yada yada, here we are."

For a moment Brendon just stared at you.

Then he almost stammered, disbelief cracking through the anger, "You got into a fight... with a man?!"

Your bandaged knuckles and split lip suddenly made awful, perfect sense.

You blinked at him, "Why is everyone so surprised by that?"

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking about my friend!" you snapped. "She could've cracked her skull open because of that guy. You of all people have told me enough stories to know people get seriously hurt from way less."

He shot back immediately, "Nicole isn't the one with the broken leg!"

You folded your arms over your chest and turned your face away.

"I'm not arguing with you about this," you said curtly. "It's already done. So you can either be my husband and leave until I find another doctor, or you can be Dr. Park and do the damn consult."

That hit.

It showed only in the brief tightening around his eyes, the smallest fracture in his expression, but it hit.

He wasn't trying to be that guy.

He'd spent the last ten minutes wondering if his wife was visiting a friend... or lying unidentified in the morgue.

And all because you'd hidden your name so he wouldn't get upset.

He exhaled once, slow and controlled, and forcibly redirected every ounce of emotion into the place he trusted most:

The medicine.

His gaze returned to your leg.

"Alright," he said, tone leveling into pure surgeon.

He snapped on gloves.

"I need you to answer everything honestly. Any numbness in the foot before EMS splinted it?"

"They already asked—"

"Humor me."

At his curt tone, you scoffed, but complied, "...No."

He palpated gently along the exposed margins of the wound, assessing the soft tissue and contamination. "Pain when you stretch your big toe?"

"A little."

He checked distal pulse at the dorsalis pedis, then capillary refill in your toes.

"Good distal perfusion. Toes are warm."

His fingers moved with meticulous care over the deformity.

"Obvious displaced open tibial shaft fracture, likely with associated fibular fracture. Significant periosteal stripping but the posterior soft-tissue hinge looks partially intact. No gross vascular compromise on exam, but I still need to rule out occult injury."

None of that sounded remotely reassuring.

He continued, snatching up the chart Abbott left and glancing it over.

"This needs urgent irrigation and debridement in the OR. Looks like broad-spectrum IV antibiotics were already started, but we'll need repeat tetanus verification, then likely external fixation. We'll also monitor closely for evolving compartment syndrome given the crush component."

You blinked at him.

Half of that might as well have been another language.

He finished the exam, stripped off his gloves with a sharp snap, and let out a breath.

Then his whole posture softened.

"Look," he said quietly.

Your arms loosened a little.

"I'm sorry for how I came in," he said first. "I'm sorry for how I spoke. And I'm sorry that you felt like you had to hide from me to keep the peace."

The anger had burned off, leaving only the truth beneath it.

"You scared the hell out of me," he admitted, voice lower now. "For ten minutes I didn't know if you were in the ED, visiting someone, or downstairs in the morgue. I was furious because I was terrified, and no one was telling me anything."

He rounded the gurney and gently took your hand, his thumb gliding carefully over the bandage wrapped around your raw knuckles.

"You are a strong woman, (y/n). You wouldn't be married to me if you weren't," he murmured. "But strong doesn't mean invincible."

His eyes lifted to yours, steady and sincere.

"And as your husband, it is my job to worry. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you when I could've done something to prevent it."

Guilt curled warm and uncomfortable in your stomach.

Your arms fully uncrossed.

He reached up, cupping your cheek with a careful hand, thumb brushing beneath the uninjured side of your lip.

"But I'll try to be... softer about it," he said, the word sounding begrudging but genuine. "But you can't avoid me. Not in an emergency, and especially not when you're hurt."

You caved.

Slowly, you nodded.

For Brendon, the faint curve that touched his mouth was practically a beaming grin.

"Thank you," he muttered.

Then he leaned in and kissed you.

Soft.

Tender.

A world apart from the fury he'd entered with.

You hummed in pleasant surprise against his lips, the corner of your mouth quirking when he pulled back.

"Trying to bring up your patient satisfaction scores, Dr. Park?"

A quiet chuckle escaped him, forehead touching yours.

"Maybe."

.

.

It was your eighth birthday when you’d first realised. You’d woken up to the sounds of your Moms’ singing Happy Birthday, and their voices had floated into your twin brother’s room. You’d clambered out of bed to join them, and they’d included your name in the song but they’d both sat on your brother’s bed, either side of him whilst you’d sat cross-legged on the floor.

Your eyes were bright with excitement and anticipation. You’d been begging your Moms’ for a tamagotchi and a games console for the past month – you weren’t even fussy about which kind of console. Something handheld like a Nintendo DS, or maybe a PlayStation or an XBOX. You had a handful of games on the family computer that you and your twin brother would often play, but you wanted the opportunity to expand your gaming library. One of your friends at school had a PlayStation which you thought was the coolest thing ever but you’d have been happy with any of them.

Brandon always got to open his presents first and he’d been bellyaching for a skateboard which was the first thing he opened, shrieking with excitement. Your Moms’ eyes had lit up, and Wanda had taken photo after photo of him. Your hands had ran over your brightly wrapped presents, tired of waiting for your turn, but Brandon still had other gifts to open. He’d opened new sneakers, a football, action figures, books, and finally, a PlayStation. Your mouth had fallen open and your excitement had risen – if Brandon had got a games console, you must have one too!

Finally it was your turn and you’d beamed, ripping the paper from your presents, your face falling slightly as you stared at them all. Two new books, a Barbie, a wristwatch and a delicate necklace with your initial. No gaming console, no tamagotchi. You’d looked towards the PlayStation on Brandon’s bed, asking quietly, “Is… Is that for both of us?”

“No, it’s Brandon’s,” Natasha had said, surprised. “He’s the one with a TV in his room. Maybe he’ll let you play too if you ask nicely though.”

You’d looked between your presents and your brothers. He was too excited with his own gifts to look your way, to acknowledge your own lacklustre pile. It wasn’t like you minded reading but these books were bright with unicorns on the cover – your favourite series was about a kid detective, you liked mysteries and adventures. These were generic ‘girl books’, picked at random, nothing to do with your actual interests. You didn’t have much of a sense of monetary value but it was clear even to you that your Moms’ had spent double, maybe even triple on your brother than they had on you.

Wanda took another photo of Brandon and that was when you realised she hadn’t taken a photo of you, not once. Natasha’s attention had already turned from you back to Brandon, beaming at him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Wanda wished him a Happy Birthday again and you watched, your bottom lip trembling and your eyes watering. Nobody noticed how upset you were.

“Why don’t we go for dinner at the Cheesecake Factory after school?” Wanda suggested.

Your brother had cheered; The Cheesecake Factory was his favourite whilst yours was Panda Express. There was no discussion of what to do or where to go, as if it wasn’t even your birthday too. For breakfast your Moms’ asked Brandon what he wanted for breakfast, but nobody asked you. It occurred to you then, that your Moms’ never asked you. Not just on your birthday but all year round. Your opinion was never considered, never even asked for. Brandon’s was, and you were expected to go with the flow.

That was the first time you’d truly realised that your Mom’s had a preference for your twin brother. But once you’d noticed, it was hard to stop seeing it every single day.

Over the years you realised that your brother’s achievements were celebrated, whilst yours were brushed over. If Brandon got an A, his test was displayed on the fridge, and Wanda would make her famous cookies, letting him have the first pick. If you got an A, Natasha would ruffle your hair and Wanda would say ‘well done’. When Brandon made the football team, your Moms’ had taken the two of you out for dinner at Texas Roadhouse, his new favourite place as his tastes changed. When a story you’d written had won a prize, you’d got the same ruffle of your hair and Wanda’s quiet ‘well done’.

It wasn’t just their reactions – they drove Brandon to football practice every Saturday, swimming on a Thursday, and guitar lessons on a Tuesday. You’d asked if you could learn the piano and had been told they’d ‘look into it’ only for lessons to never materialise. Sometimes you’d go downstairs and you’d find them all in the living room, having a ‘family movie night’ that you hadn’t been invited to. One time you’d even been left behind on a trip to Yellowstone and it had taken them an hour to return to collect you.

As you grew older your brother generally had more achievements than you. Brandon was the quarterback of the football team, achieved straight A’s, had a sensible girlfriend that your Moms’ loved. There was always something to celebrate.  You just about scraped passing grades, generally cruised for life laying low, flying under the radar.

What was the point in getting angry though? It wouldn’t change anything.

You’d tried to get your Moms’ attention after that disastrous eighth birthday. That night at the Cheesecake Factory you’d asked Natasha if you could have dinner at Panda Express the following evening, and she’d given you a look. “We’re out for dinner tonight for your birthday treat, we don’t need to go out again tomorrow. Don’t be so ungrateful.”

Once you’d gotten home, you’d picked up one of your new books and had shown Wanda. “Mom, will you read to me before I go to sleep?”

“You’re eight now Sweetheart,” Wanda had laughed, ruffling your hair. “I think you’re plenty old enough to read quietly by yourself before bed.”

You’d been so tired. After the Cheesecake Factory the four of you had gone to the local park so Brandon could try out his new skateboard. Your Moms’ had beamed and laughed while they watched him, taking even more photos. You’d found another girl to play with but it had been boring – you wanted to be at home, playing with the games console you’d been hoping to receive. If you’d been given a tamagotchi, you could’ve at least played with that while Brandon had messed around on his stupid skateboard.

What made your Moms’ lack of interest in you even harder was that you weren’t close to Brandon. Over the years Wanda had told you stories of how close she’d been to her own twin brother, the uncle that neither of you had gotten to meet. How they’d protected each other after their parents had died. In all media you’d seen with twins, they were the same – inseparable, making up their own secret languages, looking after each other.

It had been okay when you were really little. Brandon had been your playmate and the two of you had gotten up to adventures, played games at the family computer together, he’d let you sneak into his room for midnight feasts. But Brandon was outgoing and sociable whilst you were more reserved, and when he’d started school he’d gained a whole heap of friends whilst you hadn’t. He’d pulled away from you without a backwards glance.

Whenever your Moms’ had to go away for missions, Brandon would go and stay at a friend’s house, not contacting you at all, even when you messaged him to say you were worried about them, that you were terrified something was going to happen to them. When you’d been bullied at school, Brandon had looked the other way, pretending he didn’t even know you. At thirteen, you’d tried to tentatively bring up the difference in how the two of you were treated and he’d snapped at you. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Moms’ love us exactly the same. You’re always doing this, trying to be the centre of attention; it’s getting old Y/N.”

Your best friend, Cassie, often fumed about it, “Why wouldn’t you give him hell? Everything has always been about him and he has the nerve to say shit like that? Why wouldn’t you give him a piece of your mind?”

You’d shrugged your shoulders, “Why waste my energy? He’ll never agree and neither will my Moms’.”

Sometimes it was hard to remember that your Moms’ loved you. You supposed they must, even if they liked Brandon more, but the hardest part was realising that they didn’t know you at all. Your eighth birthday had been one example but at every turn, they proved that they didn’t know you very well. When you told them both that you were thinking of applying to do creative writing at college, Wanda had glanced at you. “I didn’t know you liked writing.”

“Well, yeah,” You’d said quietly. “I won that prize for that short story I wrote, remember?”

“You did?” Natasha asked. “That’s… Well done.”

You’d clenched and unclenched your fists, swallowing hard. “Anyway, I was gonna apply to California College of the Arts.”

Part of you had hoped there would be a discussion about how far that would be from home. How you could go if you wanted to but that they’d miss you, that you should call at least once a week, and that they’d make provisions for you to come back for the holidays. Natasha had carried on as if you hadn’t said anything whilst Wanda had simply asked, “Did you look into scholarships?”

“Yeah, I submitted some of my work to them. I’m just waiting to hear back.” Neither of your Moms’ replied and you swallowed hard again. “It’ll be weird. Being so far from home.”

“You’ve always been pretty independent,” Natasha said. “You’ll be absolutely fine.”

‘I had no choice but to be independent!’ You’d wanted to snap. But what would be the point? Life isn’t a movie, you’d realised a long time ago. There would never be a moment where they realised how badly they treated you compared to Brandon, would never be a moment where they gathered you into their arms and reassured you that they loved you just as much as him, that things would change from now. It just simply wasn’t going to happen.

“Besides, you can come whenever you want.” Wanda had said. That had lifted your spirits somewhat until she’d added, “If you can afford the airfare. You thinking of getting a part-time job while you study?”

“Yeah…” You mumbled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

When you’d received the confirmation of your scholarship, Natasha had ruffled her hair and Wanda had said that usual ‘well done’. Brandon got a party at the compound when the confirmation of his own placement at Columbia University came through.

You’d watched from the sidelines, feeling lonelier than ever when Tony had suddenly sidled up, handing you an envelope. “What’s this?”

“Congratulations on California. Consider this a going away gift.”

Your eyes had widened when you’d spotted the cheque inside the envelope. “Tony… I can’t accept this…”

“Of course you can. I’m your rich Uncle, I won’t miss it. You’ll need money at college for books and food and rent and well… I think golden boy over there will be getting far more financial help from home than you.”

You’d glanced over at Brandon and then at Tony, wondering how much he’d noticed over the years. For a moment you’d felt angry, annoyed that someone had noticed the difference between your treatment and hadn’t intervened, had never said anything to your mothers. Why was he telling you? Of course you’d noticed. None of the Avengers had ever really bothered with you; a lot of them often seemed surprised to find that Natasha and Wanda had a daughter, that your brother had a twin sister, even though all of them had met you multiple times. But then you’d seen the small smile on his face and the sad look in his eyes, and you’d realised that he felt bad. That this cheque was the peace offering – and you weren’t exactly in a position to turn it down.

“Thanks Tony,” You’d said quietly. “I appreciate it. Really.”

Your moving date finally arrives and you carry your boxes down to the front door. Brandon had moved out three nights ago and your Moms’ had made a big deal of making his favourite dinner, giving him a going away gift and spending time with him the night before. You hadn’t received any similar fanfare last night and you hadn’t expected to. You see Natasha in her Black Widow outfit in the kitchen and you pause, shifting the box in your arms. “Are you not coming with us?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks, clearly distracted.

“With me and Mom to move me in.”

“Wait, you seriously thought we were gonna drive you? Jesus Y/N, it’s two days just one way.”

You hesitate, the box feeling even heavier in your arms as you shift from one foot to the other. “Yeah but… I’m going to college.” There’s significance to that statement but Natasha just blinks at you. “I thought we’d make a road trip out of it, I could spend some time with you and Mom before I- I mean, you helped Brandon move in-”

“Y/N, come on, Brandon went local, it took less than a day to move him in.”

You feel your bottom lip begin to tremble and you bite it, willing yourself not to cry. “It’s just… You never asked me how I was getting there, so I guess I just assumed that-”

“You’re an adult now,” Natasha says, giving you a tired look. “You can’t rely on your Mommy’s to do everything for you forever. We thought you’d figured something out, maybe caught a ride with someone else who was moving from New York to California.”

You shake your head and mumble dejectedly, “No… No, I didn’t do that.”

“Well you’ll have to figure it out. I’ve got work to do and your Mom doesn’t have the time to drive you that far.”

Natasha presses a half-hearted kiss to your cheek as she leaves and you realise that you don’t even feel angry or disappointed. Not really. You’re not actually surprised that they’re not driving you to college. That Natasha might not see you now until Thanksgiving or maybe even Christmas, and that had been her goodbye. Wanda is upstairs but you know there’s no point in going up to ask her for a ride. Instead you take your phone out and text Tony, asking if you could have one more favour.

An hour later Happy appears outside, and it’s him who takes your boxes back and forth to the car. You wait in the hallway, glancing towards the staircase, not sure if you’re hoping that Wanda will come downstairs to wish you goodbye. Maybe you are hoping but you’re not expecting it, not really. There’s movement upstairs but she doesn’t make an appearance.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Happy says to you as he grabs your final box.

You hesitate, glancing towards the stairs one last time before shaking your head, “No need. We should probably get moving, it’s going to be a long drive.”

“I understand if you want to say goodbye, I’ll wait as long as you need-”

“I already did,” You lie. “I’m ready to go, seriously.”

As you climb into the car, you find that you don’t feel sad about not saying goodbye. The thought of not returning for Thanksgiving, Christmas, or any other holiday doesn’t fill you with dread. All you feel as Happy begins driving is a strange sense of calm and acceptance.

University will be different. You won’t be Brandon’s twin sister, the one stuck in his shadow, never getting to step into the spotlight. No one will ever even know you’re a twin. Finally, you’ll get to be yourself. As for your Moms- It’s hard not to stop the tears welling in your eyes as you remember the proud way they’d hugged Brandon when they’d left him at college. How they’d never looked at you with the bright, proud eyes that Brandon had grown to take for granted. How Wanda had stopped tucking you into bed not long after your tenth birthday but had continued to tuck Brandon in until he was twelve and had asked for to stop, and how you knew you wouldn’t have asked her to stop, not until the day you moved out. How you felt on your eighth birthday when you realised for the first time that your Moms’ might love you in their own way but they had never understood you, and had never cared about you the way they had Brandon.

It had taken all of your energy to tell yourself multiple times as a teenager that it wasn’t anything you’d done, or even anything that Brandon had done. He wasn’t any more special than you, not even if he had more achievements. Maybe you could’ve achieved higher results if your Moms’ had put a fraction of the effort they put into Brandon into you. If they’d let you learn piano, go to karate, join that young writers class, maybe you’d have more things to be proud of.

You turn slightly in your seat, spying the PlayStation 3 you’d managed to buy second-hand from your local flea market when you were fifteen, bought with money you’d saved from your paper route. If there was anything that you wanted in this life, you’d learnt ten years ago that you needed to get it yourself.

As you turn to face forward again, you think about your Moms’ again and wonder if they’ll even notice that you never intend to come home. That you’ll stay at college over every holiday and the moment you graduate, you’ll settle down anywhere, as long as it’s far away from New York and far away from the family who had never appreciated you. Would they even care? You’re not sure. But that’s not your problem anymore.