k ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⋆˚꩜｡

You were weird.

That wasn't new; you always had been. 

The sense of perpetual oddness that people tended to tiptoe around. Not everyone; some people were drawn into your orbit based on that alone. The way you'd laugh at someone's joke when you noticed no one else was, but would somehow slip yourself back into the shadows. Or, how your voice was just a decibel below everyone else's, easily talked over and interrupted. 

In some cases, you were sure that it had something to do with it. That they were drawn to your oddness because they had a desire to fix it, fix you. If not to fix it, then at least use it to their advantage. Someone kind and malleable that'd smile and nod as they shoved their problems onto.  In defense of your hospital colleagues, most of them were kind to you. Some you'd even call friends. They'd look to you during traumas for an opinion they valued and then ask you to join them on whatever outing they had planned after work. They'd ask even if they didn't expect you to say yes, which you often didn't.

Every once in a while, like clockwork, you'd force yourself to join. For the sake of team building, you'd tell yourself. Really, you wanted to belong somewhere. To be understood, quietly and gently.

You knew you couldn't blame people for not feeling things at the same intensity you did. That was one of life's many curses for someone like you. Someone who lived with an open heart that trickled metaphorical blood, staining everyone you met with love. But, an open heart that never gets filled empties quickly.  The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Yet, every time you went, you had some kind of hope that you'd magically feel different. That you'd blink and suddenly people would see you.

Because every time you looked in the mirror, you were convinced what you saw was different. You saw your own reflection, the pores on your skin, and the rise and fall of your chest. You were real, alive. But when others looked at you, all you could imagine they saw was a shadow. Amorphous, dark, confusing. Something tangled in the wires of your thoughts you were sure they could read if they squinted enough.

At the very least, the feelings subsided during work. A small mercy through the blood and chaos you deal with every day. When you were in trauma, your voice had to carry; it had to boom. You couldn't afford to be pushed aside. When you were gloved up, people listened. Every night as you fought sleep, you pondered if that was better or worse.

If there was ever a quiet moment between the workload, and the feelings started clawing their way out of your chest, an incoming trauma would force them back down, letting them settle there and no doubt finding a way to eat at your liver.

———

So, your gaze disassociated further, eyes locked onto the computer screen in front of you. Your head blared that you should be comprehending the words on screen, not letting them get lost in the swirl of thought. You were relieved to hear Dana's voice echo around the nurses' station before you accidentally suffocated.  "MVA rolling in, ETA 2 minutes out."  "How many we gettin'? You hopped out of your chair, grabbing sterile gloves from the rack as you passed.  "Three minor, two major. But, who knows if it'll stay that way." Dana gives an exasperated sigh from behind the desk.

"What do we got?" Robby asks, winding up beside you on his seemingly never-ending circling of the hospital floor.  "Car crash." You say simply. Never leave much room for filler words when you speak. Especially not once you find yourself in trauma mode. Already heading towards the ambulance bay, Robby falls into step with you.  You liked having Robby as a boss, actually. Being his resident was the one steady thing you had. At the beginning of every day, you could expect him to already be there. Chart in one hand and that thermos of coffee he always had in the other. Whatever chaos happened in between was the hard part. Whatever horrors you both saw that day and whatever ways your brain decided to attack you during the quiet moments. But then the end of the day came around, and you could expect a pat on the shoulder from Robby's hand, strong and steady like he didn't just live through the same disastrous day you did.

Robby didn't always say much. Especially not standing in the ambulance bay like this, mentally trying to come up with any sort of a game plan without seeing what damage has been done.  But, he always had this way of his eyes saying more than his words could. You weren't sure if he was aware of it. Like a language he didn't even know he could speak.

Everything about him was contradicted in his eyes. Not only his anatomy, but how dark they were, deep-set with age, but unexplainably soft in expression.

Whenever he'd look at you with those eyes and a tiny tilt of his head, you knew what he was asking in that language only he was fluent in, but you'd somehow manage to pick up.

Are you okay?

With a nod of your head and a hollow smile, he didn't press further, but you saw the unbelieving squint in his eyes once again.

———

These people were going to die.  There was no way around it. They were in your care, and they were going to die.

An accident. One that could've happened to anyone. A speeding car, a car that ran a red light, and a minivan passing through an intersection at the wrong time that got T-boned. The fact was left completely up to fate that they were in the left lane, so the right side of the car took the brunt of the impact. Father, who chose to drive, and his daughter, who chose that side of the car today.

That's the part that never made sense to you. How did accidents get decided? Was it fate? Was it religion? Was it punishment of some kind, or was it predetermination? Were you always going to end up here no matter what kind of life you lived? If that was true, how was that fair?

A father and daughter were completely helpless to anything modern medicine could do. His wife and second child were in the adjoining room beside you, their comparable injuries so mundane it really was unfair. They were even alert enough when brought by ambulance for you to hear the wailing and screaming. The wife got a chance to say whatever words she could to her husband and daughter while they wheeled them in together. The other two lost their chance to say anything else once that car hit them. Unfair With Langdon gone, leaving Robby down a resident, he had to up your workload. Putting you as lead on two of the major traumas tonight. He didn't like it, putting more on you. But you were capable and reliable. If those were the two words someone thought up when it came to you, you'd take it. It was the typical thought everyone seemed to have about you. Only what you're capable of, how you perform at work, and nothing else. Nothing about you. But, at the very least, you took up occupancy in someone's brain enough to be thought of. You didn't have a clue at the reverence the other doctors held for you, Robby included. Maybe most of all.  Santos did what she could with the father as you ran between both rooms at the sound of someone yelling for you or the beeping of a monitor that sometimes jolted you awake in nightmares.  You yell for Santos to page surgery, even though you know it would be an anomaly for these two people to make it long enough to become emergency surgery candidates. You can't even get a sentence out to Garcia's voice on the other end before you hear the beeping from the other room.

"If he crashes, shock and come get me! And get surgery down here!" You yell over your shoulder at the nurses and doctors in the father's room with you.

Shouldering your way into the daughter's trauma room, it's a worse sight than before. Javadi and Whitaker were exhausting themselves with the daughter. Beads of sweat are already forming on Whitaker's forehead from the extensive CPR.  Over his shoulder, McKay shakes her head at you just once. Enough to tell you there's nothing to do.

"Alright," You shake your head out once, feeling it clear the mental debris there. "Intubate. Then we're gonna ventilate that way." A nurse scurries off to grab the items required the moment you ask. "Whitaker, tap out."

You physically tug his arm off and straddle the bed before beginning compressions yourself. Whitaker's hands go to his knees immediately as a small bead of sweat falls onto the floor already dirtied with blood.  "She's had three rounds of Epi already." Someone calls out, voice mixing in with all the other stats being shouted.

Hair slips loose from your clamp as you continue with the compressions, the motion rattling the girl's body and your own in different ways. You blow it from your eyes as best as you can to see the screen. Agonal rhythm is still, and no positive change in blood pressure. Not to mention the blood loss. Focusing completely on compressions, you can't let yourself get lost in the image you see. So much life-saving work has already been done that it's left her looking half-machine.  "She's crashing!"

You think the voice belongs to Whitaker, but don't look up.  Your hands stop compressions for the short second after you say "clear", immediately back to work, the stats showing no changes. After the third shock, the sweat is stinging your eyes as it travels down your face in streaks.

"Again!" You yell. You put your arms up and yell clear, but you're not even sure how you managed it since your arms are completely unfeeling besides the vibrations coursing through them.  You recognize the change in sound that follows the fourth shock. It's the same one that plays in your ears when you're finally alone and able to crumble. The same one you somehow manage to hear in the hospital bathroom when you lock the door with tunnel vision setting in. The specific flatline that people don't come back from.  "Asystole." The room was still for the first time since the young girl was brought in. That's the worst kind of sound you can hear in a hospital room. Maelstrom means there's still hope, but stillness means there's nothing left. Another person gone and another piece of yourself you're sure you won't get back.  "Call it, and I'll notify the family." You say somberly, not sticking around to hear anyone offer to take that burden off you. This should be your cross to bear.

Maybe you should've been a better doctor.

———

"He's not an ECMO candidate." You hear Robby saying in the vague direction of the nurses and doctors from where he stands near the front of the room. The monitor is screaming, and the rhythm is showing asystole. A father's and daughter's hearts both giving out within minutes of each other, nothing but a wall apart.

"Time of death 20:14."

Your legs get that same burning feeling your arms have, but they haven't been strained at all. It seems like the sole act of holding yourself upright is starting to become too much for them. The stillness and quietness are setting in again, and your body is taking notice.

Robby gestured with a nod of his chin to the room next door. All you can do is shake your head in response. You see the pain flash through his eyes, mirroring your own. You look away quickly, choosing the floor as your target, afraid that his eyes will somehow betray you for the first time and turn cruel.

"Let's all take a moment of silence." Robby's commanding voice comes out in the somber tone it takes on during times like these. "Remember this man for who he was, a husband, father, a son to someone." A few people clasp their hands as everyone's heads bow.

Robby's head tilts again just a bit as he looks at you, stuck in place, eyes still on the floor. His heart clenched in his chest in a way it often didn't do anymore. The way you have this tendency to cower in on yourself. It's like he can physically see some kind of force pushing you down, making your shoulders hunch.

Believing you're to blame somehow sits easier in your chest. Sometimes that hatred soothed the stabbing in your chest. Yeah, it was sick and unhealthy, you knew all that. But you were in no place these days to sit down and fix it. 

You had all the words, the trite sayings that'd been said to you by multiple people over the years. You even had a little stack of papers from professionals with a written list of what to do and say when you felt like the world was resting entirely on your shoulders. You are not in control of other people's feelings and bullshit like that.

But, as it was Atlas's punishment to hold up the heavens alone, so it seems it should be yours.

You can't take standing in the room a minute more; not only are you facing the failure of this body on the table, but behind you, just a door away, is the daughter with the same fate. And both of them should've survived. Whether it was because you should've been a better doctor or just that fate's a cruel bastard doesn't matter. Either way, it's unfair.

"I'm going to go notify the family." A hand clamps down on you before you're even halfway down the hallway. The shuffle of his boots on the vinyl gave him away before you even had to turn around. His taller frame should feel daunting in this little hallway, especially with the way his fingers are curled around your forearm but it doesn't.

You're pretty sure you can feel your own heartbeat under the spots where every one of his fingers is. But, as a doctor, you know that's just not possible.

"I sent McKay to speak to the family." His words feel like they reverberate in your skull even though he's speaking softly to you.  Instead of answering right away, your eyes just focus on the hand he still has on your arm. This is the oddness that usually made people turn away from you. The long silences during what should've been conversations, the way you'd hone in on one specific thing and stare sometimes. That could be unnerving to people who didn't know you enough. But Robby? He knew you.  So, instead of speaking again and scaring you out of whatever small hole inside you've just crawled into, he just squeezes your arm. Carefully, barely a flex of any muscles. But, similar to what you'd done for him in the times you'd found him in a similar state. Silent but there.  "No." You say, finally shaking out your head and finding his eyes. The glasses made his eyes look bigger, amplifying every emotion he had in them. "I should. I was the one…" Your voice trails off, unsure even which word was going to come next. Doctor or Reaper? "I sent McKay." He says with finality this time. "Why don't you head out early. There's less than an hour anyway."

Once again, your silence drags on, taking up the entire hallway.  "I have some charts I need to finish up." Gesturing vaguely with your thumb back towards the hospital floor.  "Charts can wait until tomorrow." "I know. But, I'd just rather not have it on my mind." That was almost a laughable excuse. Charts would be lowest on the totem pole of worry. No doubt they'd be there, floating around like everything else, but not enough to matter. "I'll help Abbot with the handoff too. Thanks, though."

"Okay."

———

The wires in your head were tightening. Every thought stretched into a thin line and managed to tangle itself together. The cacophony of sounds blaring through your head defied any medical logic. But, even that was more tolerable than the images of people you failed to save burned behind your eyelids.

Charts

You reminded yourself, blinking the thoughts away and forcing your eyes to focus. The chatter of everyone around you actually served as a nice buffer for a while until you felt the same hand on you once more.

Your shoulder instantly unraveled the built-up tension inside, dropping from where it felt like they were hiked up to your ears. Your night was back on track, finally. Robby's hand on your shoulder and some empty words of, "Get some good rest tonight."

"We're heading across the street to unwind, maybe have a few beers. Why don't you join us tonight?"

Great. It already sucked enough rejecting your colleagues' offers, but now you're going to have to reject your attending. 

That emptiness in your chest begged you to say yes. But this time it burned differently. Something inside you that you couldn't trace to a specific place was begging for more time with Robby. 

Your heart dropped. Usually, you could figure out what was hurting you, where it was metastasizing. But this? This was entirely different.

"Not tonight. I have some more stuff I wanna get done here."  "You sure?" Donnie popped up behind Robby, six-pack already tucked under his arm. The invitation was real and open. He wanted you there, like you weren't some nuance that would wreck someone's night. "We might even manage to get Javadi drunk!"

A smile actually graces your lips, small and fleeting. Man, Robby hates how his eyes lock onto it immediately. He glances away quickly, scuffing his foot across the floor quietly at the fact that he wasn't the one who got it out of you.  "I'm okay. Kinda tired anyways." You pull your shoulder up into a shrug. "Thanks, though."

"Can I talk to you before I head out?" 

Robby waves Donnie along, shouting something about being there in a second, as he lingers by your desk.

"Me?" You point to yourself. Idiot. Of course, he means you. Who else could he possibly be speaking to? "I mean, yeah. What's up?"

Your head starts working so fast that, for all you know, there may be a hole burning through you somewhere. Were you in trouble? Anything but that, please.

As he guides you down the hallway, his hand barely hovering just over the small of your back, like he was afraid to push you too hard. That, or he was so unsettled by you that he didn't want to touch you right now. Either way, the gesture felt more humiliating than if he were to drag you down the hall by the ear. 

Was he going to go through a checklist, point by point, of everything you did wrong with that poor father and daughter? Okay, that probably wasn't it, but still.

The sound of the door clicking shut felt like it reached the volume of a gunshot, every nerve in your body was screaming at you to somehow fix whatever you've done wrong.  "You're not in trouble." He says the second he turns enough to see your face. He bends his knees just a little bit to get closer to your level as he speaks. Like he was making himself a little smaller for you.

Oh. So, your emotions must be showing on your face, clear as day.

"I just wanted to check in before I left… Do you have anyone to talk to after days like this?"

You want to burst into flames where you're standing. Either bile or humiliation climbs up your throat as you stare back at him unblinking. Was your loneliness that palpable?

"Yeah." You shake your head no before course-correcting it to an up-and-down nod. The single word burns your lips as it passes through, a punishment for lying, you'd assume.

Robby doesn't crowd you or reach out to pat you on the shoulder again; he just stands there with that slight bend in his knees, his eyes not leaving your crumbling face. His eyes narrow just slightly, but stay impossibly soft.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

You feel so small right now. Not like you're prey caught in front of a predator. No. Robby could never be a vulture like that. Not when he's looking at you like this. Small, like somehow all the strings that make you up, make you appear human on the outside, have given way at once. Now, all that's left of you is a tangled mess of twine on the floor.

"I should really get back to work." You say, brushing past him before he could interject. Whatever pieces of yourself you couldn't manage to pick back up stay there in that room with him. More of yourself is lost tonight.

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

A single chill racks through you as the wind seeps in through your unzipped jacket. But the most important matter at hand is getting your headphones untangled. Once those are in, everything will be fine.

Your phone shows 12:24 as you plug in your cable. No calls, no texts, one alert from iCloud that you don't have storage space anymore. Great.

Spotify picks something old and slow as you cross the street, zipping your jacket up to rest over your mouth, the zipper ice cold as it bumps your nose with each step.

The song crescendos in your ears as the vague silhouette of a man comes into view, barely illuminated by a streetlight that the city needs to change. He's slumped against the back of the park bench that's become a landmark for you to pass on your walk. The short hair, big hoodie, and bad posture could only belong to one person.

Part of you considers turning around, taking a different way home, but another part of you, same as before, begs you to move. Your feet make the choice before you do.

"Dr. Robby?" You say quietly as you take the headphones out. Tony Bennet, whom you've just identified, is now singing into the night through the dangling headphones.

"Hey." It's all he says for a moment. He doesn't seem shocked by your presence, like he knew you'd stumble upon him eventually. Hoped maybe. "Everyone headed out pretty early." He tries to explain why he's still sitting on this park bench two hours after a casual after-work meet-up that probably only lasted half an hour max.

You nod, no words finding their way out. Lips pulled into a thin line. But, instead of your feet forcing you to leave, they kick at the dirt idly. Why won't you leave? And more importantly, where the hell is this feeling coming from?!

He kicks at the half-empty six-pack with his foot. "Want one?"

"I'm really not a big drinker."

He bends over toward his backpack, resting against the park bench. His hands dig for a second, the sound of a Ziploc being opening sounds before he retrieves what he was searching for.

"I have an apple."

You stare at the red apple in his hand for a second, then back to him, completely earnest in his offer. Just anything to keep you here a little longer.

"Yeah, okay." You say quietly.

He rubs the apple along the sleeve of his hoodie, haphazardly cleaning it before tossing it to you. The bench barely makes a creak as he shifts over. No big fanfare, just a now-open spot beside him.

"Sit."

You keep enough distance between you two as you scoot onto the bench. A little wary, like somehow you were going to break something or scare him. You take a careful bite into the apple, your stomach twisting as you do, far more hungry than you'd realize. Yeah. Hunger. That had to be all this feeling was! That's why your stomach is in knots.

"Thanks." You say through a bite of an apple. "What are you still doing out here?"

He sipped his open beer before he answered. Staring ahead at the treeline, trying to plan out his next words before he spoke. He had no interest in scaring you off now that he got you to stay. Like a stray that finally butted it's head against his hand after months of letting them adjust.

He didn't want to admit that he stayed out here for two hours in the hopes that you'd turn up eventually. That he's been worried about you. That he worries about you more than the rest of his residents, and worst of all, that whenever you let him get close enough, you have a way of making him feel an assortment of things that he thought he lost the ability for.

"Didn't feel like facing my couch." Is the final casual sentence he lands on.

"Yeah." You nod back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

The silence takes over the two of you for a bit, and neither of you rectifies it. It was comfortable. For the first time you can remember, your silence didn't feel like it was imposing on anyone. You didn't feel like the weird girl in the back of the class getting laughed at or told to "speak up".

"How were the mom and son?" You ask. The images of the way you failed them flashing through your head. You give a tiny shake of your head to rid the thoughts. Robby doesn't comment on it.  "Medically, they're gonna be fine. Emotionally, it'll take a while. But, they'll figure it out."

You make a sad sound of agreement, poking at the apple with the end of one of your nails.

"Why do you think it happened?" You ask, offering up no more information on the question.

"Guy ran a red."

"No. Not like that." You say, spinning the apple in your hand. "Why does anything like that happen? Is it God? Just the way life goes sometimes?"

Robby hesitates with an answer. He probably had less of an idea than you did. But it wasn't lost on him the way this was eating away at you. Maybe you actually did need an answer. One from him specifically. You trusted him to teach you medicine. Why couldn't he answer this for you? Surely this was easier than explaining how to put in a chest tube.

"I don't really think I'm the one to ask." He laughs, but the sound is hollow and gruff. "I think it depends on what you believe in."

"What do you believe?"

"I don't know on days like today." He shrugs with his hands in his hoodie pockets. The tension in his shoulders is even more obvious.

He turns his body towards you on the small park bench, uncrossing his legs so he doesn't crowd you.

"But what I do know is that you did really well today." 

Your eyes shoot up quickly. He must be mistaken. You? Who lost the only two patients you were supposed to handle? You search his eyes quickly for any signs of deception, but there are none there. No, what looks back at you is earnest.

You have to peel your eyes away immediately. The lump in your throat forms so quickly you're afraid the look he's giving you might actually kill you. How is he not looking through you? He's looking like you're not some figment of imagination that accidentally stumbled onto this plane of reality.

"I don't see it that way." You clear your throat after your voice cracks on the second word.

His eyebrows knit together, getting lost behind the rim of his glasses as his eyes soften, barely adjusting them with two fingers. That little sideways frown on your stone face showed him how much guilt you held for yourself.

"You know that's not true."

You pull your legs up on the park bench with you, tucking your knees against your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Not to hide or cry into, but just to have another barrier to the world. Like an animal protecting their soft points.

"Isn't it? You trusted me with half that MVA, and my half died."

The words have harshness behind them. Like you were talking about the wrongdoings of someone you hated. 

There was the same feeling creeping up Robby's neck. The one he gets when the anger you have for yourself seeps into your words, the pain he feels for you, like he was divinely sent to care for you, and you won't let him. Or, he won't let himself.

"They didn't have a chance. You did better than anyone else could've."

What was he trying to do to you, seriously? Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but there was nothing you wanted to do less than cry in front of your attending. Especially not one that's the only person you've ever come across that's made you feel something that, for the first time, was even lost to you.

"I've been training residents for a long time, and you're one of the best I've ever had."

He saw the way your eyes were glassy and half lidded with exhaustion. The kind you always carried but worsened after days like today. The adrenaline had left your veins a long time ago and left nothing but guilt in its wake.

"Thanks- uh, thank you." Is all you can get out without your voice betraying you even further. Blinking in rapid succession for a few seconds, angling your head away so he couldn't see the sheen of tears covering them.

There you were, cheek pressed against your knee as you rested your head, your body slowly and against your will relaxing in his presence. The worst part was that you didn't even look sad, necessarily. You just look faded, like pieces of you were being carved away every day. Robby recognized this pain.

He collapsed in on himself the same way every night. At home, if he was lucky, in some tucked-away corner of the ED, if Adamson's presence loomed too heavily. But right now, he saw you armorless.

"I should probably go." You said once your voice felt solid enough coming out.

Now, it was his turn to let silence stretch on. The kind of quiet that forms around two people feeling adjacent things that they don't have names for yet. Maybe Robby knew long ago, but this feeling was new to you and confusing, not to mention terrifying.

His eyes found yours over the rim of his glasses, and for a second, he didn't look burdened. Like he'd let all of his reservations go. Maybe that was the natural order of things. One person could be so petrified of their own feelings that they give the other a new sense of self.

"Not if you don't want to."

"Do you want me to?"

You had no idea how he saw you. The fact that you'd even have to ask. Like he hadn't been half begging for you to just be near him all night. He had more respect for you than you could ever fathom. How you acted as a doctor, how you poured life into everybody else. You were extraordinary to him, and yet you acted like you were nothing.

"No, I don't." He had to force the words out, not because they weren't true, but because they were hard for him to say. His emotions had been stuffed down for so long that he wasn't even sure they were there anymore. But, for you, he'd work at them, chip away at whatever he had to.

Looking at you right now, he felt a pull like he never had before. Like everything awful that had happened, happened so that you could be sitting right here.

You couldn't fathom what was happening in your body. But maybe it wasn't bad? 

Yes, you couldn't identify what part of the body these feelings were sitting in. One of the stupid things you tried to train yourself to do when "complicated feelings" arose, as your old therapist called them.  

But, maybe the reason you couldn't trace them was because it was everywhere. Like your skin was prickling. But this didn't feel the same, not the feeling you had when you'd lay in bed hollow and alone, and certainly not the feeling you'd get when you lock yourself in the bathroom, with a hand over your mouth sobbing. 

Was this actually good?

His hand lifted slowly, just enough to land on the spot between your collar and jaw. His thumb barely brushed across your jawbone. His touch was so careful, not grabbing at you or rushing you, just there. Feeling you under his hands, rough from work. You were almost shocked when his hand didn't go through you. You were here, real, and he was touching you.

"You okay with this?" He asked quietly, bringing his hand up just enough to wipe a stray hair away from your temple. He was giving you the chance to retreat if you wanted to. 

But if not, he had no issues taking this weight off your shoulders and guiding you tonight.

"Yeah." You say, nodding, turning your head into his touch just barely. Maybe unconsciously even, just needing it to stay.

Robby felt your stillness when he kissed you. You panicked. You saw him going in for the kiss and even leaned in yourself. But now? All those thoughts swirled in your head again. Not to mention the newest one blaring about how he must be hating you right now for messing up this kiss. Your hand on his shoulder, perched awkwardly, trembled against him just a little.

"Hey," Robby said, pulling back enough to speak, your foreheads almost touching. "I got you."

Those words undid you completely.

When you finally met his lips again, your kiss wasn't aggressive or with years of pent-up tension behind it. It was careful and tentative. It felt like you were testing to make sure this was real. His lips softened against yours, following whatever pace you set. He has a firm, guiding hand on your back, anchoring you here. He traces his fingers up and down your spine slowly over your scrubs. All of his motions give you some kind of security in this moment. That he's here, he's got you, that for once it's okay to rest.

His thumb strokes small circles on your cheekbone. A quiet kind of tenderness that Robby can't remember the last time he showed anyone. 

With little confidence in your movement, you brought a careful hand up to his face, letting one of your fingers barely trace over his beard. He exhaled through his nose, a quiet breathy sound. 

His own hand leaves your back and covers the one on his face, intertwining your fingers together, keeping you there. A silent, that's good.

Your touch was so soft. The tips of your fingers tracing over his beard, the grays peppering throughout it giving it a new kind of coarseness. The way you drew him in closer, like the feeling of the beard, of the age it showed, the stability was something of deep reverence to you.

You were wrecking him.

His lips slowed against yours again. He didn't want to deepen the kiss or devolve into hunger right now. He wanted you to know he was there. That he had you. You were here, you were safe, and he wanted you. Two people who could understand the weight the other one carried without words.

Pulling back from the kiss felt torturous, but you had to. You couldn't bring yourself to pull your hand away yet, loving the way every part of his face felt under your fingertips. He couldn't help lean into it, taking a ragged breath like a man starved for tenderness.

"Still with me?" He asks.

And the smile on your face was one of the best things he'd ever seen. Not the polite one you'd give to patients, or the fake one you gave while fighting your way out of tough conversations. No, this was real. Your eyes crinkled around the edges, even. Because someone had chosen you.

"Yeah."

Your heart is hammering in your chest so rhythmically it sounds like knocking. Like it was physically pounding against your skin to be let out. Because, for the first time in a long, long time, it had the strength too. 

⋆˚꩜｡

“We deal with the weirdest and the wildest.” Jack Abbott's voice rang in your head, over and over again. “Because we’re the weirdest and the wildest of them all.”

That seemed to be proving true tonight more than ever. When you finally made it to resident status a year ago, it seemed like the hospital got kicks out of torturing you. You thought this title bump meant power and freedom, not cleaning up everyone else’s messes. Some nights are easier than others, and the moment you walked through those hospital doors, you had a feeling this wasn’t going to be one of them.

The fluorescent lights buzzed high over head, highlighting the hospital floor. They had a way of turning everyone skin the same sickly pale. It was louder than usual. Every bed seemed to be occupied by someone hurting, dying, or loudly causing problems for every member of the staff. It seems like there are more people than usual tonight, and twice that number are probably waiting tirelessly in triage.

Must be a full moon or something

You swear the room spins around you as all the sounds accumulate in some loud brigade against your ears. Just looking at everyone and everything you're going to face tonight.

Someone in a closed trauma room across from you screams, the very specific sound of a bone snapping back into place following. Apparently the situation isn’t going well based on the next string of words you hear from Dr. Walsh through the wall.

With a sigh, you reach into the bag still slung over your arm, reaching for your can of Red Bull. No way you're making it through this shift without an energy drink. You’re hand finds emptiness in your drink pocket, patting around frantically. Then, you picture it sitting on the messy counter in your crappy apartment, right where you left it this morning. Next to your small lunchbox, which is still sitting there. Fantastic.

-

“What the hell is that?” Ellis asks from behind you. Based on her laugh, it seems she's already seeing what you are. She comes and stands beside you, eyes squinting as she leans in. She knocks her elbow against your arm as she fully makes it out.

You're staring at the X-ray in front of you, the light board behind it illuminating the imaging from a 42-year-old male. Your mouth hangs slightly open as you fully see it now. You both make out the image of a foreign object that seems to be a carrot.

“That's not a stomach.” Shen says, stopping in his tracks at the image.

“No. It’s not.” You sigh, ripping the image down off the screen. Of course, this case is the chart you just happened to pick up. Shen and Eliss’s laughs echo behind you.

“Abbot!” You call after him. You jog down the hallway to catch up, holding your stethoscope against your chest as it bobs along with your footsteps.

He’s always preferred you to call him Abbot or even Jack. Doctor Abbot felt too formal for how close you two have grown over the years. Trips to the bar down the block, coffee after shifts at the little cafe within walking distance. Those excursions would be too weird with you still calling him “Dr Abbot” like some scared med student.

He turns around quickly at the sound of your voice, gesturing for whoever he was talking with to go ahead without him. His full attention is given to you immediately.

-

“Wow.” Is all Abbot says as he holds the X-ray up to the light. “Can't say I’ve ever been that desperate.” His lips turn up into something between a smirk and a grin.

The humor of the situation finally catches up to you as you laugh at the tight-lipped expression he's wearing.

“I don’t need to or want to think about that, Abbot.” You respond.

“And for that… You get to do the honors.” His closed smile turns into an irritating grin as he shoves the X-ray back into your hands, already walking away, leaving you in front of the last room you want to enter.

“Nightcrawlers, baby!” Jack yells to no one and everyone.

-

After half an hour, a surgery consult, and a very volatile man who insists he somehow managed to slip in his kitchen, you leave the trauma room with a final click of the door. Walsh eyes you as she walks beside the man's gurney, taking him up for more imaging. She's not thrilled you made this her problem. But she's not thrilled with much.

Without even meeting her eyes, you wave her goodbye, adding a little finger wiggle to really piss her off. It works.

“Your residents need to learn to problem solve and not push it off on surgery.” Walsh puts her hand out to stop Jack as he attempts to walk by. “This could’ve been a small procedure done down here and you know it.”

”You said it yourself Walsh, heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Jack snickers as he looks past her, finding your eyes.

He props himself against a lone gurney in the hallway, facing you with that same grin still on his face. The ER hasn’t calmed down at all in the past few hours. Matter of fact, you’re almost sure it's gotten more chaotic, but Jack always seems to find a way to make small moments for you.

“She might be right. You probably could’ve signed off on something down here.” You laugh along with him, making a guilty “oops” face.

“And put my favorite resident through that? No way”

-

“Coffee?” Shen is already standing sympathetically in front of you. He’s holding his own Dunkin coffee and another iced coffee just for you. You’re starving, and the look of the iced coffee makes you wanna drop to your knees and rejoice.

“Yes. Finally. Thank you.” You say, dropping your head in gratitude, spraying a little hand sanitizer before grabbing for the cup.

“No time.” Jack appears, not slowing down. He grabs your arm as he strolls by, wrapping his fingers around your bicep. He drags you for a second, not letting go until you're matching his speed, and even then he seems hesitant. “Single MVA rolling up. Guy went into a pole.”

“I’ll leave it on your desk,” Shen yells after with a thumbs up. “I got you extra caramel drizzle.”

-

The sliding doors to the ambulance bay open with a woosh. It’s not a luxurious place by any means. One of the fluorescent lights above you is out and emits a strange hum that you usually can’t hear over the sound of the ambulances. Though, the flowers planted around the building make it a little nicer. No telling how much money they spent on that instead of better safety measures.

The cold air hits your face immediately; it's a windy Pittsburgh night. You zip up the athletic jacket that’s been around you all night, tucking your mouth and nose into it for a second. Jack reaches over and barely untucks your hair that's gotten tangled into the jacket. He doesn’t say anything as he does it, just carefully moves the hair from off you and adjusts the jacket. His fingers barely graze the side of your neck as he pulls back.

“How’d it go with Carrot Top anyway?” Jack asks, tightly crossing his arms over his chest. Almost as an animal would for protective measures. As if he didn’t just share an incredibly tender moment with you.

Your mouth falls open at the nickname, an embarrassing snort coming out, clamping a hand over your lips quickly.

“Carrot Top?"

Only Jack would think up a name like that.

“Carrot Bottom?” he questions with the raise of an eyebrow. Very proud of himself.

“I hate you.” You nod reverently, your face betraying you as you grin through every word.

“You could never.”

Jack makes a motion of putting his hand on your crown and ruffling your curls. From anyone else this would be annoying. These curls have a very meticulous routine. But, from Jack it's weirdly endearing. The smile on your face only serves to egg him on as he picks up a coil and stretches it.

-

The MVA you’re missing your extra caramel drizzle coffee for turns out to be a drunk man who has nothing nice to say and yet no injuries to explain his grand irritation. The slurred voice and incoherent yelling quickly turn from just annoying to grating.

“We are gonna get you pain meds, but first you need to shut your fucking mouth.” Jack says to the man very sternly. It even draws your attention, making you straighten yourself out. He can be demanding when he wants to.

The drunk gestures wildly with his hands and occasionally with his feet as he yells. The smell of his breath and the alcohol reeking from him would make you wanna gag if you had any food in your stomach. During a long brigade of words that make no sense in the order they're said, the man's fingers catch your hair by accident.

He yanks, pulling your whole head down with his grip. You tug once but can’t break his grip. The sound of instruments clattering against a tray echoes through the room, and Jack's voice booms with a “Hey!”

His hand clamps around the drunk man, physically prying his fingers off of you. The man protests with sharp sounds of pain that Jack ignores.

“You good?” He asks quickly, eyes searching yours. His hand is still clamped around the man. “I’m fine.” You shake your head out physically. Soothing out the clump of curls that are now frizzy from the friction of his grip.

“Push Haldol. He’s combative.” Jack orders one of the nurses in the room with an unusually authoritative yell. His eyes flick to yours every few seconds, surveying you for any sign of discomfort.

How is he even still awake?” You ask, adjusting the man's IV, half-impressed and half-irritated.

“To spite us.”

And the way this night's going, that very well may be true. Some cryptid figure sent from Hell just to irritate you further.

-

Two Discharges down and a mountain of charts to fill out, you finally have time to sit at a desk. Being off your feet for the first time in hours. Your energy is almost depleted after having nothing to eat and no caffeine.

Plopping down in your chair is wildly uncomfortable. Your lumbar support must be giving out. Make a note to complain about that.

Although if they're not worried about coughing up money for better safety precautions so doctors and nurses get their hair pulled less, something tells you they won't care about this chair.

Finally reuniting with your beloved coffee, you discover it’s died in your absence. You find the ice completely melted. Now, some off-putting sludge the color of wet cardboard. Even the little streaks of caramel look depressed. Great.

To make matters worse, your computer isn’t turning on. “What the hell is with this thing?” You tap the power button insistently, definitely making the problems worse.

“Oh yeah, Victoria said that one wasn't working. Someone on day shift did something to it,” Mateo says, spinning himself around in his chair. You're a little jealous of how carefree he always is.

“We're calling Dr. Javadi Victoria now, are we?” You ask with a sideways smile and a knowing glare.

“I’ll call IT.” is all the response you get.

“Can’t.” A passing nurse with a name you can’t place says. “They left already.”

”Oh yeah.” Mateo smiles to himself and finally speaks in response to your raised eyebrows. “Apparently Donnie's taking out the IT girl tonight. Must be why she cut early.”

“Fantastic,” You say with a clearly sarcastic smile. “Donny gets a hot date, and I get a busted computer and a night alone.”

“You could get a hot date.” Mateo grins.

“Don’t make me tell Victoria,” You turn in your chair quickly to stare at him. The sound of wheels squeaking.

“Not me. You're too old for me,” he says.

“We’re like almost the same age!” You say back incredulously.

“Yeah, and I like younger women.”

You make a gagging sound before he finishes his thought.

“I mean Dr. Abbot.”

“Again, Mateo. I’m like half his age!”

Jack is well into his 40s, and not to mention your attending. Sure, you've thought about it. Briefly, I mean, you're human; you have eyes. Plus, it's not even your fault. He makes it hard not to. In reality, it's really completely his fault.

“Okay, and maybe he likes younger women too.”

“You're nasty.”

_

The sound of an older woman's shaky but familiar voice pulls you out of the small fantasy you were letting yourself have about a world in which maybe you do manage a hot date with Jack. Stupid Mateo. You drop your head onto your desk for a moment, bonking your head against it.

You're close enough to stay in your rolling chair and spin yourself backward to reach the woman. You already knew exactly where she’d be. She tended to wander, the dementia making her restless especially at night. She was a frequent flyer.

“Mrs. Deborah, what is it?” You ask, always finding yourself smiling at the woman even when she pesters you all night.

“I want to see that handsome doctor again. I liked him.”

”Dr Abbot is busy.”

You kick yourself immediately for jumping to Jack when you heard the words, “handsome doctor”. She could've meant anyone. But let’s be honest, she probably meant Jack.

“He’ll make an exception for me.” She says back with all the confidence in the world. It's impressive, honestly. You laugh, not cruelly but with warmth for the woman. She even laughed back with you, no doubt forgetting what she's smiling about.

“I’ll let him know you're interested.” You nod, closing her curtain back.

-

“Mrs Deborah in curtain one for you.” You say, catching Jack's arm as he passes by, basically shoving the iPad into his chest. He's sturdy. You're beyond tempted to keep your hand there for a second when you feel him flex from the impact, but you think better of yourself. “She's very insistent on seeing the handsome doctor again.”

He props himself against your portion of the desk, like he’s planning on staying for a while. He really was handsome, even under the awful fluorescent lights. Where they washed everyone else out, they seemed to highlight his features—the darkest parts of his graying hair and his dark eyes.

“Ah and you came and found me?”

“Lucky guess.” You catch his gaze and drop it back down to the chart you're scribbling on quickly.

“Would you get outta here and just satisfy her, please.”

His eyes widen a little at your words as he pulls his head back, tilting it at you. He starts to scoff before you realize your mistake.

“Not like that!” You give his arm a whack with the manilla folder in front of you. “Go, just get!” You whack him a few more times to shoo him away as you hear his deep laugh getting quieter and quieter.

“Guess that tells us he at least doesn’t like older women,” Mateo pipes up from across the desk.

You're gonna go crazy here.

-

“Got a kid for you in 3.” You don’t even bother to look up at who's speaking as you take the iPad that was unceremoniously shoved into your hands. “Can someone else just get the write up started for me? I'm just running to the vending machine for a Red Bull.”

“Nope. Its yours”

Great. It's like these people are out to keep you caffeine-less, starved, and angry.

Leaning against a free wall, you scroll through the papers. 7-year-old girl with fever, cough, and stomachache. It’s routine at least. The papers in her file are sparse. Only one sheet from a primary care physician, and it a couple years old. A single sheet showing she went to urgent care once, no school papers.

System must be on the fritz again.

”Anyone else had their charts wrong tonight?” You ask as you lean against the desk, shifting through some rogue papers. And, of course, seeing as you’re being divinely targeted today, everyone else answers that they haven't had a problem.

“Got somethin’ wrong?” Jack asks, tilting his chin up at you in question.

“I think I’m missing papers.”

“I got time. Let's go check it out.” He says, his hand coming out to pat your arm as he gestures you along with him. He keeps his hand on your arm for a second longer than a casual brush requires and certainly longer than any kind of professional necessity. He finally releases your arm with a small squeeze to your bicep. He seems to be attached to your hip after the brush with the drunk patient.

”Knock knock.” You say in a light voice as you crack the door open, peering your head in to smile at the young girl on the other side. “I hear we’re not feeling so good today!” You say with a frown. Your voice takes on an uncharacteristically light tone that it doesn’t usually have.

Jack fills the space beside you; the peds room is small enough, but as he stands beside you, it feels like it's shrunk. His hands clasped behind his back, the stance he always seems to have as he takes in a scene. He gives you the nod to go ahead. He’ll let you run it.

You are his favorite resident after all.

The mother accompanying the girl has an immediate presence when you enter the room. Hovering and impatient. “Yes. She's been here half the night already, and we’ve seen anyone. She's coughing and hot - but really we were about to leave.”

“Yeah. I apologize.” You nod along sympathetically; your jaw twinges as you find yourself grinding your teeth at the woman's tone. But. you’ve managed to master the art of sympathetic nods and conveniently timed reactive listening.

“Why don’t you tell me what's hurting you, okay?” You squat down beside the young girl's hospital bed, running your hand over her forehead. The poor girl doesn't get a syllable out before the mom is huddled above you, taking over your motion of rubbing her head, nearly colliding your hands together.

“It’s mostly the fever. Her stomach’s started feeling better in the last hour. It seems to be passing; her grandmother was just very insistent on bringing her here. We’d really like to go home soon.”

You pause for a second as to not have your tone be as aggressive as it wants to be as the words start rising in your throat. Jack catches on. Your threshold for any kind of annoyance has been shrinking the whole night, and he can see it.

“Hi ma’am, Dr. Jack Abbot.” He interjects, shaking the woman's hand. Giving you a sideways look of - breathe and cool it

“Usually we let them tell us what's wrong. Makes the kiddos feel better and all.” He winks over at the child, effortlessly charming.

After a few words of babble you don't quite pick up, you get the overall idea that the girl “doesn't feel good, is hot, and her throat's scratchy.”

“And my tummy really hurts.” She mutters, pulling herself into the fetal position.

So, clearly this mother wasn't adept at answering your questions for her daughter.

You glance over at the woman while her daughter's cries of her stomach hurting fill the room. The casual glance might've been more of a glare, you realize as you sense how narrow your eyes are. Oops

“Am I gonna have to get a shot?” The little girl asks, pulling the thin hospital blanket over her face.

“Oh my goodness! I would never let that happen to you!” You say in the certain tone of voice you only reserve for children. The little girl pulls the blanket down just enough to peer her eyes out. You reach over and hook her much smaller pinky with yours. “I promise you.”

“Yeah!” Jack grins from beside you, squatting down to get closer to the girl's height. “We're only doing the easy stuff. We could do it with our eyes closed.” He barely pulls the girl's blanket over her eyes and then pulls it back down teasingly. She giggles from somewhere under the blanket.

You’d forgotten how sweet Jack was with kids. He seemed to have a way of relaxing them. He always makes them feel seen and heard.

Speaking of shots, you scroll back through the papers, going over what information you seem to be missing. “I'm afraid we may have lost some information in transit.” The mom sighs before you even finish. “I'm sorry about that if we did.” You continue; the only smile you can manage now is a tight-lipped one. “When did she receive her vaccines? I’m not seeing that or the six-year boosters.”

“She hasn’t.” The woman says as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Your thumb hovers above whatever you were looking at on screen, your eyes shooting up.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ve chosen to keep her unvaccinated. She's very healthy, and we’ve been very safe. She’s homeschooled.”

Across the room, Jack, who was leaning casually against the door, straightens up, hands positioned behind his back once again, as if surveying a battlefield. Not only is he visibly more on edge, but it seems there's a new sense of irritation radiating off of him. Everything he knows medically is being questioned, but morally too. He doesn’t speak yet, though.

“Okay,” You say, the word coming out way too slow. Nodding at the same pace, your lips puckering.

I'm a doctor, a professional. professional. professional

“So, your daughter is 7 years old and has not been properly vaccinated?”

“No, but-“

“And why is that exactly?” You cut the woman off before whatever follows "but".

Okay, maybe THAT wasn’t super professional

Jack's eyes dart to yours. Not threatening, but maybe a vague warning in there.

The mom crosses her arms, a mix of defiance and defensiveness. Whatever nonsense she's about to spew, she clearly believes. The daughter barely shifts from under the blanket, letting her now widening eyes poke out at her mom. She stares like she knows something’s happening but isn't sure what exactly.

“They're full of God knows what! The government's been hiding this stuff for years; only now is there someone that’s being honest and looking into these things. Not to mention there's proof that children are getting sick from these things, even getting autism and -“

Now your face has given up on hiding its feelings. You squeeze your eyes shut so they don't manage to roll out of your head, rubbing them furiously with your thumb and index finger. Her thoughts and opinions are so wrong you can't even seem to find the words to explain how for a moment.

“Ma’am,” Jack speaks up. His voice is level but at a slightly lower register than you normally hear it. He's lacking that charm he usually has, the way his words seem to roll out. “That information is widely spread but not always medically accurate.”

This touches a nerve for him and you can see it. Having been in countries that didn’t have access to these things like we have, having seen so much harm that could’ve been prevented with these same things this woman is withholding from her daughter.

“It's blatant misinformation!” You say, a humorless laugh coming out behind it.

Today has gone too far. Too many people griping in your ear, so loudly and so wrongly that it seems to all have accumulated in your system as this one woman pushes too far.

“Do you know how many diseases you’re letting your daughter be vulnerable to?” Your hands seem to be moving by their own accord, flying around as you speak.

The poor young girl doesn’t understand, and all she seems to piece together from your words and your anger is that she's done wrong, she's in trouble, and she’s gonna get much sicker. You don't even realize the little girl's reaction and hone in on the mother, blinking rabidly as you wait for her answer. Tunnel vision sets in as you grow more frustrated and your body seems to be losing its ability to cope.

”Do you know many children in other countries are dying every day because they don’t have these things?!” You continue, the words flying out rapidly. Your voice is now hitting an octave that’s far too high to be polite or professional.

The girl is now in tears, hiding under her blanket, calling for her mommy. At this, Jack is stepping in. He’s angry, but he hides it better than you. Must be all that therapy and nude yoga he does. Changing gears to defuse this quickly, he puts his hand over the little girl, running it over the blanket soothingly.

His eyes shoot over to you, narrowed and stern. A single glance that he’s seemed to have mastered over the years. It can shut anyone down pretty quickly.

Even though he agrees with every point you’ve made, you’ve just made a scene in his ER. He cannot let you sit here and berate a patient's family members, no matter how noble the cause.

His gaze shifts from angry to disappointed for half a second. You're his best resident, and you’ve just stood here and acted wildly unprofessional while in his presence. You're better than that, and he knows it. You messed up a very important case, and that’s not like you. You’ve probably now just made it completely impossible to get through to this woman if there was even a small chance. Not to mention, you were near screaming in the presence of a child who you’ve just scared half to death.

His gaze registers, but too much adrenaline seems to be pumping through you too much to care. Whatever knot was being wound so tight tonight finally seems to have snapped. Any other time a look like that from Jack would’ve made you want to melt into the floor.

“Doctor!” He calls out, his voice stern, but demanding attention from everyone in this little room. That does manage to put a stop to your brigade of questioning, shaking you back to reality a bit. “I’m gonna take over here.” Without any politeness, Jack tears the iPad from your hand, his back now facing the mother and daughter.

“You find a way to calm yourself down, and you be back here in five.” He opens the door a little wider, signaling it's time for you to leave. Now, finally noticing the girl crying in the corner of the room, you see no place for argument.

-

You jab your thumb into the elevator's up button, bouncing back and forth on the balls of your feet, incredibly antsy to just get some air and get out of here.

“Excuse me, Doctor?” A medical student you’ve only seen twice and therefore haven’t memorized the name of wanders up beside you with a lost puppy look.

“Ask someone else. I'm on a break.”

You thumb the up button at least 10 more times; it can't come soon enough.

“Sorry. I just needed a-“

“Find anyone else, literally any other resident who cares. Not me!”

As the elevator doors shut with you inside, you catch a final glimpse at the wide-eyed student, standing there like you just dumped a bucket of cold water on him.

-

The air that hits you on the roof is frigid and harsh. With the sound of the heavy door shutting behind you with a final squeak from its hinges, you can finally breathe. Chills run up your arms as you strip off your thin jacket. Leaving you exposed to the cold air in nothing but your thin black scrubs made of some material that swishes when you walk.

Knowing what you know about the human body from your years of study, you know that cold exposure stimulates your vagus nerve. You can stop this panic attack before it happens. You close your eyes, resting your arms over the railing surrounding the edge of the roof. They put this up years ago to deter jumpers, keeping you back a few feet from the ledge.

You let your head drop, finally relaxing the tense muscles. The wind starts to numb your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you're sure they go red. You go over what should be happening in your body, like a mantra.

“My heart rate is lowering, my sympathetic nervous system is engaging, I'm falling into a state of calm. And, after a while, you start to believe it.

Glancing down at your watch, you see your five-minute allotted break Abbot “allowed,” has passed, but you don’t move yet. Instead, you duck under the tall railing, muttering to yourself as a curl gets caught on an exposed bolt. You jerk it back while gritting your teeth.

Somehow this is the most annoying thing that’s happened to you all day.

Once under, Pittsburgh seems to have grown 10 sizes. Now you can see straight below you. The way the streets and sidewalks blur together with the cars looking smaller than possible. You're contemplating whether this sight calms you or alarms you more as the sound of the door groaning perks your ears up.

“If you're gonna jump, don't do it over anti-vaxxers.” Jack's voice rises from somewhere behind you. He pauses, waiting for any reaction from you. He doesn’t get one as you stay facing the skyline.

“If you do, it might end up with you a number in one of their statistics, and that just wouldn’t be fair.” Your shoulders barely shake with a laugh, the sight giving him a small sigh of relief. Turning to face him, you find yourself not able to stare at him too long.

“Surely making jokes about jumping off the roof is counterproductive to all that therapy speak you use.” You take a step towards him, feeling unnerved by the vast Pittsburgh skyline and the drop-off that's close behind your back.

“It’s a process.” He shrugs from the other side of the rail. “Besides, she says humor is a good coping mechanism. Better than drinking anyway.”

You roll your eyes, letting yourself laugh. You keep your eyes on the ground in front of you for a bit longer, not wanting to be met with the same look you were on the receiving end of in that peds room.

“Yeah. I don’t think I have any place to be talking.”

“No, you don't.”

A few moments of silence pass between the two of you. Your eyes are still focused on the tennis shoes on your feet, yet you can still feel his gaze burning into you.

“I’m not gonna apologize for what I said. I was right.” You barely scuff your shoe against the ground as you speak.

“I expect nothing less.”

You finally bring your eyes up to meet his gaze. To your surprise, it's not a cold stare as you’d expected. It’s the same Jack you've always known. Kind eyes that always seem to manage to stare through you, a smile that’s always just sitting on the corner of his mouth, like he’s always on the brink of making a stupid quip.

“And I’m not gonna apologize for kicking you out.” He says, tilting his head to the right as he stares at your face for a reaction. ”But, I can apologize for how I did it.” Now diverting his own gaze. He may be advancing in his therapy and his healing process, but he’s still not great with apologies from either side.

“No, don’t.” You sigh, brushing him off with a vague waving gesture. You imagine the little girl's face peeking up from under the blanket, scared of your yelling, and feel like you probably deserved worse. “Trust me, I think I earned it.”

“C’mon,” Jack puts his hand out from the other side of the railing. He makes a noise from the corner of his mouth and nods his head back towards the door. “You're makin’ me nervous over there.”

Your feet stay planted for a second, twisting your neck around to see the Pittsburgh skyline one more time. Before you cross that threshold again, you feel like you have to ask about the girl and the vaccines. If Jack was able to work his magic and convince the mom. If the answer you get is no, there's just no point in following him back inside. Maybe you’d live on the roof forever, never enter that hospital that has worn you down so badly tonight again.

But, despite it all, you know you will. You always do

“Is she getting her vaccinated?”

“No,” Jack says with a sigh that racks his own body. He’s as torn up about this as you are, but he's better at internalizing it. “She signed out AMA.”

“Son of a bitch!” You yell, louder than you meant to and way louder than anything Jack was expecting from you.

“Stupid. Fucking. Hospital.”

Jack watches on with what can only be described as shock and horror as you kick at the iron railing in front of you, punctuating every word with another bam of your foot.

“Stupid. Fucking. Parents.”

He’s never seen you so angry before, certainly never angry enough to kick literal iron. Unfortunately, the sight is kind of hilarious. The way your giant curls bob along with every kick and your top lip narrows as you yell.

“Fuck!”

Your anger got the best of you, and your final kick was just a little too hard. Your hand clamps down on your right foot, gripping your toes over your shoe. The pain makes you hop in place on your good foot, your body flooded with that weirdly awful sensation of stubbing a toe.

Jack's laugh echoes along the roof as he ducks under the railing smoothly. “What the hell was that?” He asks, bending down a little to see your face in your hunched-over state.

You grit your teeth. “Just shut up for a minute.” That kind of pain radiating from your foot that makes everyone and everything around you irritating. You pound your fist against the railing in frustration, willing your toe to stop throbbing.

You hear Jack's knee hit the concrete, the distinct clink of his metal prosthetic barely audible. He takes your foot and rests it on his knee, carefully moving his fingers along the front of your shoe. He feels around gently, no feeling of any toes being broken or bent.

“As flattered as I am, I really don't think now’s the time for a proposal.” You half laugh, half still wince from your standing position above him, who’s still on one knee. From afar, this might actually look like a really shitty hospital rooftop proposal.

“You wish.” He quips back at you easily, not even looking up. “My proposal would be much better than this.”

Your stomach does a little flip at his words before you can stop it. His tone is so casual and sure, like he’s actually thought about it before.

He taps his hand against your leg and gives your calf a feather-light squeeze, lowering your leg off his knee and back on the ground. “Nothing's broken. Just don’t kick any more metal tonight.”

Without even thinking about it, he grabs the side of your thigh to give himself better leverage to stand back up. You chide yourself internally for the feeling it gives you.

He’s just an old man with a bad knee!

“We got ten minutes left tonight.” He glances down at the thick black watch on his wrist, the numbers lighting up in military time. “Think you can handle a few more charts?”

Your hellish night can be over in 10 minutes if the world doesn’t throw anything else at you.

You nod, ducking under the railing with him, the same bolt catching another curl. Someone or something HAS to be out to get you today.

You wobble a little as you stand back up straight. You still never had proper time to eat or drink, just the occasional chug of water when the chance presented itself. You hadn’t noticed how exhausted and weak you feel until now.

“Alright, sit down for a second.” Jack sighs, seeing the way you look unsteady on your feet. He's never been one to push people past their limits, especially you. He lightly wraps his hand around your arm, pulling you along with him, keeping you steady with his tight grip.

The rooftop wasn’t meant for lounging like you and Jack seemed to use it. All there was up here was huge air conditioning units, long pipes running along the walls, and concrete that’s been bleached by the sun. Jack dragged you over and sat you down on a thin edge of concrete where the giant HVAC unit was situated. The hum of the machine and the view straight ahead of the skyline actually made it pretty peaceful. This must be his specific spot. The thought brings a small smile to your face. He’s brought you over to his one little slice of peace on this roof. He shifted himself into sitting down beside you, one leg pulled up, and his prosthetic stretched out onto the roof, his black pant leg rolling up just enough to see it.

From the breast pocket of his scrubs, he pulls out a granola bar wrapped in a green wrapper. “Eat something before you go back down.” He passes it over to you, sitting close enough that your shoulders are pressed into each other.

“How often do you sit here?” You ask, a bite of granola bar in your mouth. Part of yourself tells you to act more proper to try and impress Jack a little, but the other part of you has never quite cared what people think, and you're too starving to care.

He reaches over and gently pulls a small crumb of granola from your hair. It’s the gentlest anyone’s touched you tonight.

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.” He says monotoned, narrowing his eyes a little in an attempt to be threatening.

You laugh, coughing into your hand as you inhale a piece of granola wrong.

“That is if you don't beat me to it.” He claps a hand over your back, patting a little as if you were choking. But, he doesn’t move his hand after those few seconds. He stays like that, hand on your back, leaning his head against the humming machine behind you both. He looks at peace here, with you in his favorite spot.

His hand seems to naturally start slipping, finding its way to the small of your back now and just resting there comfortably. You try to stop, telling yourself to focus on the skyline, not him. He means nothing by it; Jack is just naturally affectionate.

Losing your restraint as the seconds tick by, you dart just your eyes over and see him staring, entirely turned towards you on this small piece of concrete. With your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you give in too, turning to have your whole body completely facing him.

His face is closer to yours than you thought. If either of you leaned forward just an inch, your noses would brush. He doesn’t do anything, just looks. It's like he’s taking in your whole face, every feature as his intense gaze stays trained on you. His eyes drop just for a second. down to your lips. When he meets your eyes again, you nod your head just a little, something that would’ve been imperceptible to anyone but Jack, who notices everything.

At that, he lets his own resolve crumble around him, leaning forward quickly like he can’t stop himself for another second, finally meeting your lips.

He’s careful at first, matching the pace you set. You hadn’t realized exactly how much you wanted this until you finally have it, finally have him. Giving in to him, you bring a hand up to his face, resting your fingers just above his jaw, running your thumb along the patch of dark gray stubble growing in. He feels your hand on his face and leans in further, half forcing you to let yourself fall back against the concrete. The hand still on the small of your back supports you, putting your other hand on the space between his neck and shoulder, using him to stay steady. His strong hands keep a tight grip on you as he deepens the kiss.

Forcing himself to pull back for a moment, he rests his hand on your face, carefully cupping your cheek, his eyes searching yours, immediately making sure you’re okay with this.

“Oh shit.” Is all you can get out of your mouth, putting your fingers over your lips like you can’t believe he was just there. The side of his mouth barely pulls up at the weirdly charming sight of your wide, unbelieving eyes looking back up at him.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds gruffer now as he nods along with you and your air of shock.

“Oh shit!!!” You say again, propping yourself up on your elbows. It’s hitting you all at once that Jack is your attending, not to mention twice your age. But you really can't find it in you to care enough.

“You okay?” He asks, working through the same ideas in his head and coming to the same careless conclusion. He’s worried though; he's the older one and your professional senior. He feels it's on him to make sure you're comfortable, and he's taking that seriously. His eyes search yours a little quicker now when you don’t answer right away.

But, as if some switch flipped, you're pouncing back on him in a second. The intensity almost knocks the air out of his lungs.

Both hands on his face now, you deepen the kiss quickly, trailing one hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him in as close as you can. Now, as if the situation has reversed, you're leaning against him, one hand moving to his chest, pushing him down with more force than you intended. He laughs gruffly for the half second that your lips part from each other as you push him flat on his back.

You're like a woman possessed as your lips find his again. The feeling of your palm scratching across the concrete beside his head only encourages you more, the other still firmly pressed on his chest, feeling his chest flex through his thin black shirt. He smiles against your lips as he tangles his hand in your mountain of curls. His hand presses against the back of your head to keep you as close to him as possible, making it impossible to leave his lips for a second. Just as his other hand squeezes onto your hip, that familiar sound of the old door echoes across the roof.

Your head shoots up as you both pause to listen, staying completely still. his hand falls from your hair, craning his neck from his lying-down position to try and see anything. Jack is hidden enough behind the HVAC but you’re not.

Dana's thick accent floats through the air as she calls Abbott's name. “Dana?!” You whisper to him frantically. Day shift must be trickling in now. You two definitely stayed up here longer than you should’ve.

She steps out of the doorway as the door shuts behind her. She moves her head around to look wherever she imagines Abbot might be on this roof. Her eyes skip over you for a second before snapping back.

“The hell are you doing up here?” She asks, now positioning her hands on her hips as she looks at you suspiciously.

This is bad. You've always thought Dana had all-seeing eyes and now she's here.

“Oh, uh - just getting some air.” You feel Jack pinch your side at how unbelievably bad your delivery was, half stumbling through the words. You slap his hand away quietly.

“Why are you laying like that?” She asks, her head tilting like she knows something. You hadn’t quite considered how much of a compromising position you must be in visually. Half sitting up, the bottom half of you she can't see, wide-eyed and nervous like you've been caught doing something wrong. which you kinda have.

“Oh, I um- uh…” Your voice trails off as you try and dig through your head for anything to say. Literally anything. “Lost an earring…” Your voice quirks up at the end like you’re asking her if she even believes you.

She doesn’t answer, just stares. And it's terrifying

Jack just barely raises his head enough to try and see what she’s doing as her silence draws on. What he seems to forget is the cardinal rule of: If you can see them, they can see you.

You put your palm flat over his face, half smothering him for a second and completely not caring. Pushing his head back down slowly as if moving slowly would somehow stop her from seeing what she's already seen. You barely smile at her, the expression more of a wince as the look of guilt overpowers it.

Dana's not shocked by much; she's seen everything a person can see in her career, but this one takes her by surprise. She knew you were up to no good the moment she saw your puppy dog eyes, but quite possibly the last person she imagined was under you was Jack Abbot.

“Please-“

She cuts you off almost immediately as you start speaking.

“I can’t believe what I'm seeing.”

You look away, deciding the stars must be better to look at than the cross-armed, unbelieving stare she's giving you. You think you actually hear her laugh but don't dare check.

“We have an ambulance rolling up in two minutes. Multiple MVA, all hands on deck. That is if you can pull yourself away.” She talks with her hands now, her accent seems to come out stronger as her frustration with you grows.

You nod quickly, choosing carefully not to say another word.

“You got all that, Jack?” She asks, now the unmistakable sound of humor in her voice. You wince when she says his name. You knew she saw him, but the fantasy of pretending she didn’t was nice.

“Got it.” He yells, still hidden and flat on his back. Raising a thumb in the air for her to see.

“Come on then, people.” She claps her hands loudly.

You scramble up quickly, slipping onto your hands for a second. Popping back up and frantically grabbing your jacket off the railing, flailing around with your arms trying to get it on properly over your now extremely wrinkled scrubs.

“Get yourselves together.” She shakes her head in a similar cadence a disappointed mother would. You're pretty sure you hear her muttering something along the lines of, “And they call themselves doctors.” as the door slams.

Jack groans as he stands up, a hand over his back as it aches from the concrete.

“Very nice, old man. Thank you.” You grimace at him for getting you both caught.

“Yeah, blame me, misses “I lost an earring.”

He comes up behind you and fixes your jacket, which you're still fighting against, pulling the left arm right-side out and guiding it through. He walks around and stands in front of you now, looking with that same gaze he's had with you all night. Except this time there seems to be something softer in his eyes, along with the softest, most relaxed smile you think you've ever seen Jack wear. He pulls at a few coils of your curls, flattening them back down from where his hand was tangled a few minutes ago.

“For what it’s worth, I’d like to finish this and not have Dana interrupt us this time.”

And, once again, like he's completely irresistible to you. Your hands are on his face. pulling him into another kiss. Fleeting and short this time.

Just like that, your terrible night seems to have completely turned around.