Interests are ever-changing

He doesn't chuckle at your joke, doesn't do more than shyly try to cover himself up a little, as if hiding away something that he broke after being explicitly told he shouldn't touch it.

He's honestly half expecting you to yell at him, invalidate his feelings and tell him what he's doing exposing himself to the line of fire is stupid or reckless.

But you don't?

"Gimme that," you hold out your now gloved hand.

He hands over the q-tip begrudgingly, body slightly relaxing as you step around him and roll the tip in the ointment jar again.

"You're not mad?" his voice is uncharacteristically soft.

Your brow scrunches in confusion. "Why would I be mad someone shot at you?"

There's a tinge of anger in your voice, and he can almost convince himself that it's directed at whoever dared try to hurt him.

He shrugs, as much as the purpling on his back will allow. "It's not exactly a...safe hobby."

You chuckle. "Yeah well, we all have weird hobbies, who am I to judge?"

Your nonchalance starts to scare him but the prospect of a new morsel of information that he can pick at takes precedence.

"We do?"

You still for a split second and he simply knows he pulled correctly.

"Y-yeah..." you clear your throat. "Shen collects Pokemon cards, Ellis runs marathons, Dana’s really into WWE, Robby…he's practically married to that stupid bike, you volunteer to get shot at—”

“And you?”

You smile, heart beating a million miles per second.

“I…am a perfectly well adjusted adult that likes to order takeout and watch trash tv after a long shift.”

He scoffs. “Yeah right."

You chuckle, setting the q-tip down and picking up a piece of gauze and scissors.

"Don’t worry, I’ll find out on my own.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. “I mean, there’s nothing to find out, so…”

“Sure there isn’t.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, securing the gauze to his back before discarding your gloves.

You really shouldn’t have poked the bear, should’ve given him some lame, fake hobby that way he would not have spent the last two weeks hounding every single person that knew you just a little bit better than him for information.

Luckily, no one bit. And he was offering a lot of money for even the smallest morsel of information.

Fortunately for him, he wouldn’t have to work so hard to find it. Unfortunately for you, you really should’ve taken him seriously.

It happens at shift change three weeks later.

You’re there earlier than him, all of the student doctors huddled around you conspiratorially at the hub as you all whisper in hushed tones.

He pretends he doesn’t see it, gives you space and instead walks over to leave his bag in his locker, waiting for them to come to him.

And like a grizzly bear in the middle of a river patiently waiting for jumping fish, they all come to him in a swarm.

At first it's the usual chatter, excited to go home, running a bubble bath, nothing out of the ordinary.

But then he sees it.

Tucked and hidden beneath the arms of every single woman you know, and Whitaker, there’s a book.

It looks normal enough. Maybe you started a book club, hell knows Walsh tried that a few years back with zero success.

But then he notices something stranger.

None of the books have cover art. Only a title and an author name.

Jack knows nothing about books but even that’s weird to him.

So he waits patiently, saying hello, pretending to check his messages until one of them puts their copy down and he's able to take a quick picture of it.

Bingo.

You're already working the floor when he returns, unfortunately, which only gives him more time for the snowball to turn into a full blown avalanche.

He's actually giddy all through handoffs with Robby, the satisfaction of knowledge so close he can practically taste it.

The adrenaline from it keeps him going until the early hours of the morning when he finally has the chance to sit down and open up google.

Whatever he's already imagining is nothing compared to the sweetness that is connecting the dots.

At first he thinks he's projecting, maybe you're just working with the author, nothing major. You've never mentioned writing before, at least not directly to him or in passing.

But then he finds a TikTok from Dr. J where she's promoting a novel and it's enough for him to know.

He doesn't pounce right away with this information, however.

Instead he waits, patient and calculated, all the way until the launch of book one a month later.

He's not invited, obviously, but he doesn't need to be.

He preorders his copy and it arrives the day before the party, which you’ve taken off so you can go.

Meanwhile, he spends the entire shift reading, obviously disguising the cover with a sleeve from another book, one of Robby’s adventure ones.

To say he’s hooked would be an understatement.

Who knew you were this good? He certainly would’ve never guessed that you would be the one to write a book. He always guessed Javadi.

It isn’t until he gets to the first turning point that he’s introduced to the main love interest.

And boy does he let out a loud and boisterous laugh that has the entire ED coming to a stop.

He makes his move the next afternoon.

You're gonna be taking off for two weeks on a national tour, nine cities. And of course you’re starting it in Pittsburg.

The day shift has been posting stories congratulating you all day, which he knows because Trinity did him a solid a few months ago and introduced him to the joyous world of “fake” Instagram accounts.

He knows exactly where to go. Makes sure to be last in line before it gets cut off.

He’s in line for a total of twenty minutes. He can feel you visibly relax as you notice there’s only one more person left.

“Hi, who should I make this out to…”

Your voice trails off as your gaze lifts to meet his Cheshire smile.

“Motherfucker.”

“That’s no way to treat your fans,” he smirks, holding out his copy for you to sign.

Your eyes narrow, annoyance overflowing. You snatch the book from him, focusing on the blank page and start signing it.

“You know, when you said you had a weird hobby,” he starts, teasing and slick. “I never thought it was attached to a five figure deal.”

You scoff. “You make just as much working with SWAT.”

He chuckles. Touché.

You slam the cover shut, handing him the book back.

He grabs it but you don’t let go. You stay there, taunting the other for what feels like a short eternity.

Until Jack brings forward his other arm that had been hiding behind his back.

A bouquet of lilies, pink and white, your favorite.

You stammer, your grip faltering enough so that he can take the book from you and tuck it under his arm as if it’s an afterthought.

He steps forward, pressing the flowers forward until you finally snap out of your haze and grab them.

Tears swell in your eyes as you hold them close to your chest.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

You beam, cheeks heating up at the pet name.

“Thank you Jackie.”

“Do you want go get dinner?” He asks, suddenly timid. “Officially.”

The smile you give him is so bright it could rival the sun.

“I would love to.”

He waits while you say goodbye to the event organizer, take pictures with staff and literally take the time to thank every single person still standing.

By the time you’re done, he wraps an arm around your waist and walks you out of the little independent bookstore where the event was held.

“So…” he starts, pulling you closer into him. “This Jackson character—”

“Oh my god shut up!” You shove him, hard, but neither of you can help the burst of laughter that escapes you, your bodies drifting back to each other as you keep walking, hands interlaced together as he continues to tease.

a/n: your honor i love them

taglist: @theariespov, @tjohn63, @stuffingbuttsandshit, @suprbrat, @mewmew222, @thefemininemystiquee, @icarusthriving, @golden-stilinski, @marvelsimps, @ch-rryyy, @simp4f1, @campfire-chronicles, @lifeofapittgirl, @antisirkbitch, @kennedy-brooke, @pastawoman, @dear-fifi, @kneelforloki, @bubblegumworldsthings, @freeflyingphoenix, @stevesaint-eve, @rufles2, @amnatreal, @ilovechaiandyogurt, @sacha1slytherin, @redhooduwu, @strangegirl26sff, @harhar0777, @veemegatron, @foreverchangingmind

You only looked away for a second, reaching into your bag to put your book away, and the next your son was screaming. Your head snapped to look at the field and you spotted him in the outfield, clutching his arm. You were out of your seat the next second and charging onto the baseball field. You beat the coaches there.

Steven was wailing, though you could hardly blame the six-year-old, and you felt like your heart had stopped, listening to him in so much pain. Clearly he had been hurt, but he had no obvious signs of injury other than the fact that he was clutching his arm tightly to his chest.

You tried your best to soothe him, calm him down, but your own fears had begun to cloud your mind. If it was not broken, it had to be a sprain. There was a lingering sense of dread, of fear kicked into overdrive, but if it was a break, then at least that was not life-threatening.

Your first instinct other than to comfort your child was to call your husband. You first wanted to get Steven into the car so you could get him to the hospital, so you tucked your phone into your pants pocket and helped him to his feet.

“I know it’s really painful, baby, but mommy is going to make it better, okay?” You attempted, “Do you want me to carry you? Can you walk?”

Steven finally took a long intake of air, cheeks damp. He huffed in a few more unsteady breaths in, his lips in a large pout. The hazel in his eyes was exactly like his father’s.

“I can—I can walk.” He said, face scrunched up.

You admired how strong he was being, but you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go. You helped him to the car, trying to position his arm against his chest with the elbow bent without causing any more pain.

“We’re gonna go to the hospital now, and I promise it’ll make you all better.”

You were overly thankful that Steven had been in the hospital enough to not be afraid of it — from picking up his father, to the odd days you needed to drop him off before the end of your husband’s shift so you could get to an early meeting, leaving him in the caring hands of one of the nurses.

Steven was still softly crying when you called your husband, and you found yourself unbelievably annoyed when he didn’t pick up. He nearly always did, always panicked that something might have happened. You hated that was how he reacted when you called him at work, but to be fair, you usually only texted him about things. The one time you actually needed him to pick up? Voicemail.

You tried to calm your own frustration, knowing he was likely in a trauma or something equally serious. Despite all his faults, he never ignored you on purpose.

In the waiting room, you found yourself relieved to see Lupe running registration. She recognized you instantly. Her eyes flickered from you to Steven’s tears.

“I think he broke his arm,” you told her, frowning, “can you get Jack? I couldn’t reach him.”

“I think he’s still in Trauma-1, but I’ll get someone to bring you back right away, Mrs. Abbot.” She nodded, disappearing into the back.

That explained it. Whatever he was doing, it was life threatening, but you still felt antsy to tell him.

It was Collins who came through the door within the next minute, eyes scanning for you. Looking at the time, she was likely rounding out her shift, but it was good to see her. She smiled when she saw you, before looking down at Steven and frowning.

“Let’s get you two into a room,” she said, ushering you into the back with her. “I’ll put him down for an x-ray, but I’ll go see about getting him bumped to the top.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at her. Oh the perks of being married to Jack Abbot.

Collins parked you both in an open room, mentioning someone would be in shortly to start some pain meds while she worked on getting Steven to x-ray. A figure passing by stopped short and stepped into the room.

You greeted Robby with a smile. You two were no strangers, Robby occasionally coming by your house to hang out with Jack. He took one look at you and another at Steven, and panic invaded his calm demeanor.

“Broken arm, I think,” you told him quickly, so his mind didn’t run to the worst case scenario. He was much like Jack in that way.

“Hey, buddy,” Robby said, stealing Steven’s attention. “Can I see your arm?”

Robby assessed your son gently, before ordering intravenous pain meds and administering them.

“Heather is trying to get him into x-ray.”

He nodded, “Jack know yet?”

You shrugged, “I heard he was in the middle of a trauma.”

“I’ll go switch out with him,”

“Thank you, Robby.”

He waved you off and disappeared out into the hall.

—

Due to a mild hiccup, Jack had come into work earlier than usual — missing his son’s baseball practice that evening. He went when he could, but he tried to never miss a game. The Pitt seemed to swallow most of his time, but he never let it steal those moments with his son.

After clocking in, he was thrown right into a major car vs pedestrian trauma, but he fell into it with practiced ease. The buzzing phone in his pocket made him a bit on edge, but with gloved hands soaked in blood, he did not even think to answer it.

It took forever to stabilize the pedestrian who had been hit, but they finally were wheeled up to pre-op and he discarded the bloodied gown. He reached into his pocket to check his phone, finding two missed calls from his wife and a voicemail. His stomach churned uneasily.

He stepped toward the charge desk to put a chart away, glancing up at the board out of habit, before turning toward the staff lounge so he could call you back.

Wait…

His eyes snapped back up to the board, scanning the names and stopping on his son’s.

Steven Abbot.

His heart lurched into his throat. Fuck. He saw the room number and turned, only to find Robby next to him.

“Hey, brother,”

Jack barreled past him toward Central-8, heart beating wildly against his ribcage. He hadn’t even checked what prognosis sat besides his son’s name, or the level of severity, there was just pure instinct to be with him.

Robby jogged to catch up with him, “He’s fine, he’s fine. Broken arm. Was just coming to get you.”

That settled some of his fears, but worry bled through every pore. The one time he did not answer his phone…

His wife’s face did wonders to soothe him, as did the fact that his son was sat back and playing on his wife’s phone, arm in a sling. He released a long breath.

“Dad!”

Jack wrapped his son up in a hug, careful not to put any pressure on his arm.

“Hey, buddy, how do you feel?”

Steven gave a toothy smile, “Better after Uncle Robby gave me medicine.”

A relief washed over Jack’s features, eyeing the IV in his uninjured arm. He kissed the top of his son’s head, turning back to Robby just as Collins stepped into the doorway.

“They’ll be taking him next,” she said.

“Thank you, Heather.” You said.

“Don’t mention it.” She told you with a smile. “Just glad the little man is okay.”

Robby and Collins departed, leaving just you and Jack with your son. You typically were rigid around screen time, but felt being in the hospital was a perfect time to be lenient.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer—”

“It’s fine, Jack,” you told him, grabbing his hand from the gurney. “I know you were busy. Besides, you couldn’t have done anything on the phone anyways.”

He frowned, “But you called and I didn’t answer. I could’ve—”

You sighed, “Had it been more serious, I would’ve called an ambulance, or tried to reach out to Robby or Dana or whomever to let you know. Our son is okay. Let’s not focus on the what ifs.”

Jack sat on that for a moment, before rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re still a good father, Jack.” You said, as if you could hear the thoughts racing through his head.

His hazel eyes snapped to yours, taking you in.

“I mean it,” you said in the silence. “Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise.”

“I love you.” Jack said, not fully knowing how else to put his feelings into words. His gratitude, his care, his love.

You smiled easily, already understanding what he meant, all he meant, “As I love you.”

He leaned over to kiss you softly and you smiled against his mouth.

Steven made a sound of disgust, shielding his eyes with a soft giggle. You laughed, moving to kiss your son’s forehead. Jack’s heart swelled.

The x-ray revealed that his arm had been broken, likely by falling on it wrong, but it was not serious enough for surgery. That fact relieved both you and Jack tremendously. Just a quick pull to put the bone back right and a cast for five weeks.

“So what color would you like, Stevie?” Jack asked, sitting down beside your son. “They’ve got blue, yellow, pink, green—”

“Green!” Steven yelled happily.

You chuckled at his excitement over his cast.

“Do you think everyone will sign it?” He asked, toothy grin wide.

That ‘look on the bright side of things’ definitely came from you, Jack thought with a smile.

“I’m sure they will, bud.”

All Dr. Abbot content taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @sharkluver @yournerdmodziata

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver

Dad!Abbot?? Give it to meee