FRICK YEAH!

// DC LEX LUTHOR SLANDER // f!reader / lex luthor ▸ long fic! You’re a journalist for the Daily Planet. You’ve recently got your hands on some leaked documents on LuthorCorp, so you’re slowly unraveling the glossy image Lex Luthor has created for himself. You simply have a job to do, and he’s got a reputation to keep. BEACH DAY // f!reader / lex luthor ▸  one shot! even ceo’s of massive corporations need a day off. but they can’t go anywhere without their secretary, of course. ALL YOURS // f!reader / lex luthor ▸ a blurb! where lex gives you a necklace. DRESS // f!reader / lex luthor ▸ a blurb! "Lex is gonna put waaay to much thought into picking the perfect dress hdbdb. Rip the Metropolis tailors, they're gonna have a rough week"

// HOUSE MD ROBERT CHASE MIDNIGHT BAGLES // f!reader / dr chase▸ a one shot! When Chase runs into an old university friend at a bar, he's caught off guard—not just by the coincidence, but by how quickly forgotten feelings resurface.

It was part of the job. Tech consulting. A few times a year, you had to travel out, meet with clients for a weekend, schmooze them over with drinks, a fancy hotel, activities. These always ended up being your biggest deals, (commission was nice!) but you were constantly debating on quitting your job when you had to change terminals… again.

You’re making your way to the new gate, and even in the distance, you can see that there’s not a lot of seats open in the waiting area. A heavy sigh leaves your mouth, when to your dismay, there’s only one seat left, to the right of a man with curly silver hair. 

Hopefully he’s nice, you can see that he’s right next to the charging station. Maybe he’ll feed your cord through and plug in your phone. You’ve been up all night trying to nail down the last details of your trip, and it drained your device. 

You quietly step around a few people, making your way to the open seat. You stop when you spot a backpack on the chair. Maybe saving it for his wife or something. 

“Damn it.”

You’re about to turn around when you hear a soft, “Hey.”

The man pulls his backpack off the chair, and sets it down by his feet, a silent invitation for you to sit. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” you say, and plop down on the seat, slinging your duffle on the ground in front of the seat. 

You turn to the man, who’s kept his focus trained on you. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

Your eyes flick down to his left hand. No ring. No wife. 

He nods, probably not really able to hear you through his headphones. He gives you a half-smile, his crows feet tightening around his hazel eyes.

His gaze feels… warm. Familiar. His entire body is relaxed and somehow it transfers to your tense shoulders, and you sink into the chair slightly. 

The man slides his headphones off his head and lets them rest around his neck. 

“Where are you headed? Off to a fun vacation?” He says. His voice is a low quiet rumble, clearly marking him as someone older, as if you couldn’t already tell from his cinnamon sugar colored locks, the way the grays sprouted out more around his ears, wrinkles setting in deeper lines on his forehead. 

“Definitely not. I wish,” you reply hastily, eager to make your identity clear that you were strictly business. “Work stuff.” 

“Ah,” he says. “Work stuff, in San Diego?” 

He’s a stranger. But something about his disposition makes him easy to trust. Maybe he works a lot with people. Like in healthcare. 

“Yeah. I have some business meetings. Some sales stuff. I work in tech.” 

He lifts his head slightly as he listens to you, peering at you with an interested look. “No beach getaway planned at all?”

You scoff. But it’s the first time Jack sees you smile. 

He likes it. 

“Maybe, we’ll see. If things go well, I’ll have the weekend free and I may get some time on the sand.” You shrug your shoulders. “What about you?”

“I have a few days off work. I don’t get out much for my job, so I like to travel as much as it permits, which isn’t a lot.” He pauses. “Purely self-indulgent vacation days.” 

You hum. “Sounds nice. What do you do for work?”

“ER attending. Night shift.” 

Ha. You were right. 

“Dang, see people’s legs getting cut off?” 

“Nah.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a sly smirk. “I don’t see that happen. But we do stitch them back together.” 

You nod. “Right. That’s what I meant.” 

He shakes his head. “It never gets old. The stuff you see. But y’know,” he gestures to the big window panes. “It’s nice to get away from it for a bit.” 

“Yeah. Makes sense.” 

There’s a pause in the conversation as you both watch a plane take off. 

He takes a deep inhale, and realizes he hasn’t even introduced himself. “I’m Jack, by the way.” 

You introduce yourself and he nods, letting the buzz of the airport fill the space between you. 

His gaze lingers a moment too long, taking in the way you’ve clipped your hair back, a few pieces framing your features, but keeping most of it away so he can really see your face. 

A chime rings out, and a flight agent announces that boarding will begin. 

“Finally,” Jack says under his breath. He’s not particularly impatient, but he feels like it’s been forever since he got here. 

“I’m glad I got to sit for a second. I’m always running late,” you admit out loud, and this gets a good chuckle out of Jack. 

Passengers begin filing in a line, and you and Jack join the group. He lets you stand in front of him, ”Ladies first,” he insisted. 

There’s the typical waiting and inching forward as people load their overhead luggage and shuffle awkwardly into their seats. You feel Jack’s looming presence behind you, raising hairs on the back of your neck. 

As you finally get to your seat, before you can pick up your carry-on, Jack is already lifting it off the ground and sliding it with a thud into the overhead compartment. 

“Oh, thanks.” You smile, heat rushing to your cheeks. You were perfectly capable of doing it on your own, but you didn’t mind watching his forearms flex, now noticing his weathered freckles scattered across his muscular arms. 

“Anytime, sweetheart.” 

Okay, as if you weren’t already blushing enough.

You slide into the middle seat, and watch as Jack checks his boarding pass, then looks up at the seat number, and then back at you. His brows furrow a bit, but then he loads up his own duffle bag, and lowers himself into the seat right next to you.

No way.

“Y’can’t get rid of me,” he says, adjusting himself in his seat and clicking the metal buckle across his lap. 

“Who says I’m trying?” You respond without thinking twice, and when you see his expression shift into amusement, you blink and shake your head. “It’s just- I’m not used to talking to strangers at the airport. It’s kind of nice to interact, you know.” 

He nods at your rambling, acutely aware that you’ve flustered yourself… about him. 

But he doesn’t mind. The fact that he hasn’t scared you away yet by his age, or by simply starting a conversation, it feels good to him. 

New. 

Different. 

“So tell me more about your job,” he says, ignoring the safety message that plays across the speakers. 

“Well,” you roll your eyes. “I think you should go first. My job is like watching grass grow in comparison to what you probably do.” 

His eyebrow quirks. “Is that so?” 

“Tech sales… yeah. It’s not super exciting.” With your toes, you push your backpack further under the seat in front of you.

“Why do you do it?”

You pause. And let your shoulders sag a little. “Pay isn’t bad. It’s actually pretty good at this company. I get lots of time off. I joined the company because I started dating some guy that worked there. But then we broke up… and he left. I stuck around.” 

“Was that recent?” 

You laugh. “No, it was about a year ago. I pretty much got promoted to his position too. Benefits all around.” 

“Poor guy, had to go break his heart like that.” 

Your face contorts into discomfort. “Well… he broke up with me. Kinda out of nowhere.” 

“Are you seeing anyone now?” Jack blurts too quickly. 

The second the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. 

Way too forward. 

But to his relief, you shake your head lightly. “No. I think that whole thing messed me up more than I expected.” You give a dry laugh. “Dating kinda sucks lately.”

You let your head hang for a moment and shrug your hands in the air in defeat. “People leave so easily now. There’s no commitment.” 

You glance out the window, and quieter, “Maybe I’m just hard to stay for.” 

Jack’s jaw tightens as he sees the weight of failed relationships on your shoulders. 

“I seriously doubt that.” 

You look over at him. 

His eyes stay fixed on you when he adds, “Sounds more like they didn’t know what they had. 

You straighten a bit under his gaze, trying to not read into what he could be implying. No. There’s no way. This guy is probably closer to your dad’s age. 

Still, he wasn’t half bad to look at. Hell, he was actually really attractive. That made it worse. It’s one thing to have an older guy hitting on you, it’s an entirely different thing when he’s handsome and competent. 

“So,” you clear your throat, voice going neutral. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen in the ER?” 

Jack notices. The shift in the conversation. He winces internally. 

Yep. Too far. 

But he answers, settling back into his seat more comfortably. Like you’re not prepared for the answer. “You really wanna know?”

“Absolutely not,” you admit, “but I asked, so you have to tell me anyways.” 

Jack grins. 

The conversation goes a lot smoother after that. Jack tells you stories that are horrifying and hilarious, your expression shifting from near-vomiting to laughing a little too loudly for an airplane. Elderly men with objects lodged where they definitely shouldn’t be. College students making drunk decisions (ones that you made not too long ago!), and long nights that he barely made it out alive from.  

No more hints of flirting or romance, at least from what you can tell. 

You don’t notice the fact that you’ve been smiling almost this entire time. 

But he does. 

The plane hums steadily around you as the time passes slowly. Somewhere midway through one of his stories, your responses start getting sluggish and your eyes burn more and more. The lack of sleep, stress of packing, and running through the airport has finally caught up. 

Jack stops talking for a moment when it’s the third time you’ve suppressed a yawn. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, now acutely aware that you might be communicating the message that you’re getting bored. 

“Tired?”

You nod. “A little…” 

Jack studies you for a moment before speaking again, then in a lower voice, “you should really get some sleep.” 

You want to keep listening to him. To that smokey, raspy voice of his. 

...

Yep.. you probably need sleep. Your brain was going places it shouldn’t be. The more Jack told you about life in the ER, the more you watched as he explained things with those big hands, watching his veiny arms move around. 

“Yeah, okay,” you surrender, shifting in your seat for a moment before letting your head hit the back of the headrest. 

The next thing you know, you’re out. It didn’t take long before your chest rises and falls with each breath. 

Jack sneaks a glance at you now that you’re unconscious. He prefers you awake, active in conversation, listening to his tales, but he doesn’t mind seeing you like this. Peaceful. 

He feels your shoulder slide closer to him as some turbulence jostles the plane a little. Then your head tips towards him, slowly, 

Then fully.

Your cheek lands on the space between his shoulder and the curve of his tricep. You don’t wake, much to his surprise, and instead your mouth parts slightly against the fabric of his shirt. 

Jack looks down carefully as to not move, afraid even just a little movement will wake you. He takes in the relaxed expression and your proximity with a deeper breath. 

It’s adorable. 

It’s even quieter now on the plane with you fast asleep against his shoulder. 

He tells himself he should stay awake. Just in case you wake up embarrassed. Or if your neck starts hurting, Maybe if a flight attendant needs to get through the aisle. 

The exhaustion from the night shift catches up to him too. His head tilts against the seat. And as he slips into unconsciousness, it slides towards you. 

A flight attendant pauses by your row. She smiles faintly at the sight of you completely passed out against each other, and gently unfolds a spare blanket across your laps. 

The lights in the cabin glow on as the plane begins its descent into San Diego. Sunlight blares through your eyelid and everything shifts slightly to the left, the movement startling you. 

For a moment, you’re disoriented. Vision blurred, your legs feel like pins and needles asleep. 

Then, you realize, your cheek is pressed against Jack’s chest now instead of his shoulder, his head resting lightly against the top of yours. And there’s a blanket. Over both of you. 

What the-

Your eyes widen at the sight. Jack wakes a second later, blinking slowly, and sitting up.

His voice comes out even rougher with drowsiness. “Are we there?” 

You stifle an embarrassed laugh. “I think so.”

He glances downward, noticing the blanket. Then realizes you’re still halfway tucked against him. 

A sleepy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Well. Looks like you got comfortable.” 

Your face instantly goes red, heat rushing up your neck. You sit up, much too fast, nearly tangling yourself in the blanket. 

“I am so sorry.” 

“Relax,” he mutters softly, reaching over your lap with one arm and taking the blanket. “Could’ve been worse.” 

You bury your face into your palms while he chuckles under his breath beside you, folding the blanket up and sliding it under the seat in front of him. 

The plane lands promptly after that. Thank goodness. You were far too mortified to endure any more time on this flight. Though you didn’t mind being curled up against him. You never slept longer than 30 minutes on any flight. The fact that you were passed out most of the time was impressive. 

There’s a bit of strange awkwardness that follows the unexpected intimacy. Jack doesn’t bother saying much. He’s not sure what to say. Thanks for falling asleep on me?

Though he is, oddly enough, thankful for your presence. He’s actually feeling sad thinking about the fact that this could be the last time he would ever see you. 

Maybe. 

You both stand once the aisle starts moving towards the exit. Jack grabs your carryon from the overhead before you can reach for it. 

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Of course,” he says, dipping his head slightly. “Starting to think you’re expecting it.” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s paired with a soft smile. 

The walk through the bridge, following Jack, feels short. 

Reality is starting to hit you. This is the last time you’d be seeing him. 

Maybe. 

People start heading towards baggage claim and the exit. Jack’s pace slows, allowing you to catch up to him. 

Then he stops, watching you, as if waiting for you to say something.

“Well,” you press your thumb into the button on your carryon handle absentmindedly. “This is probably where the fun ends.” 

Jack looks at you with his dark hazel eyes. Oh how you’d miss them. 

Then he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out his phone. “You said if your meetings go well, you might escape early.” 

Your stomach flips. 

“I did say that…” 

He taps the screen twice and holds it out to you. An empty contact. 

“Then maybe you should have my number… just in case you get bored.” 

You stare at him for a moment, mouth turning upwards into a smile. 

“Just in case?” You repeat. 

Jack tilts his head towards the phone. 

And you take it. 

He grins. “The beach is a lot more fun with company.”

“I’m not going,” Joy mutters. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory.” Abbot smirks. “You afraid of losing in a round of poker?” 

Joy’s face contorts in disgust. “Whatever. My shift is over. Going home. Bye.” 

Almost in unison, Abbot and you give each other that look. You stifle a laugh and he grimaces as Joy dramatically storms away. 

Once she’s out of earshot, Dr Abbot takes a step closer to you. “She’s allergic to fun.” 

You almost snort. 

“I assume you’re going?” 

Then you get the truth from him. “I’m pretty sure I have to be there. I don’t have a choice. Robby’d kill me if I didn’t show up.” 

You nod in agreement. “Probably, he’s always looking for excuses for that.”

This gets a low chuckle out of Dr. Abbot. 

Someone calls out an incoming patient, severe blood loss, missing foot. 

Abbot takes a quick breath. “Sayonara.” And with that, he’s gone, leaving you to finish charts. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

After another twenty minutes, you finally get to perform the glorious miracle of clicking the log out button. 

You gather your items from your locker, and make your way towards the exit. You always liked leaving through the ambulance bay, thankfully only on rare occasions you had to go through the waiting area. 

To your surprise, Dr. Abbot stands by the curb, both hands relaxed in his pockets. He’s not facing the doors, just looking out into the distant night sky, back turned against you. 

You attempt to move past him quietly, but he hears the rustle of your coat against your backpack, and lowers his head and turns in your direction. 

“Hey,” he says softly, seeing it’s you, facing you as you step away from the exit doors. 

He’s glad you’re finally heading out. You always spend too long after your shift, but he never says anything. Never tells you to leave when it’s time. Part of him knows you’re trying to prove yourself, and part of him, well, though he’d never say it out loud, just likes your presence. 

You’re sparkly, bubbly, smooth, everything he isn’t. You bring in just a little bit of the daytime into his night shift. 

“Your patient okay?” You ask, legitimately concerned, because the last you remember, there was a commotion in triage, led by the attending himself. 

He runs a weathered hand through his silver curls. “Yeah. He’s okay. Stable now and going up for surgery. I just needed some fresh air.” 

“Ah, good to hear.” You grip the strap of your bag tighter. 

He clears his throat, looking off to the distance, trying to find the right words. “So, uh, tomorrow night.”

“Mhmm?” 

Abbot takes a step closer and his gaze lands back on you, his eyes glimmering from a streetlamp close by. “The invite says plus ones are invited. You can say no, but-”

He pauses. This could cross a line. Not a big one, not technically, but he doesn’t want to have to make things complicated. You’re a resident. He knows how it could look.

He almost drops it. Almost lets you walk past like nothing happened. But it’s too late and you’re giving him an inquisitive look, the same one he sees you do when you’re waiting for instructions on call.

“Will you come with me?” 

You stammer before your brain catches up with your mouth. And your response even surprises yourself. 

“Yeah! I mean, sure.” You look down at your feet before glancing up at him with a puzzled expression. “I’m already… invited though. You could find someone else to be your plus one…” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I know. I’m asking anyway.” 

There’s confidence in his tone now. No deflection. Like he’s already made up his mind. 

“Oh, okay, yeah, I can be your plus one,” you say back with a timid smile. 

Abbot tilts his head, analyzing you for any doubts. “I’ll pick you up around six, that good?” 

He wouldn’t push if you didn’t want this. That much is clear in the way he asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be ready then.” You fight the flush creeping up your face.

“Good.” He turns, already heading back inside. “Have a good night.”

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

You’ve never been more anxious about shopping. You stopped at maybe four, no, five stores before finding something that wasn’t too revealing. You didn’t mind showing a little extra skin, and the thought of standing close to Dr. Jack Abbot in an open back dress, leaving less to his imagination, did in fact tempt you. 

That thought lingered more than you wanted it to. 

Show some dignity, geez. He was maybe just being polite, helping you feel included. 

No, that wasn’t it. He doesn’t do things just to be polite. Not like that. Not with you. You didn’t just bypass the social norms of an event for someone you felt casual about. 

Your fingers wrap around the smooth, silky fabric of a long, black dress. You unhook it from the rack and hold it up against your figure. It’s in your size. The price tag flashes and you bite your lip. It was definitely more expensive than your budget in mind, but it was the first dress where the neckline didn’t drop below your sternum. 

And more importantly, it feels like you. Or at least… a version of you, one you don’t let people see often. 

You twirl around in the dressing room, admiring how well it fits every curve, every inch of your body. It had a tight bodice that held in your midsection, making your waist appear much smaller than it actually was, and fabric draped over one shoulder, purposely falling off the other shoulder, giving it a more sultry edge that even you couldn’t resist. 

You shouldn’t like it this much. You shouldn’t be thinking about how the night shift’s attending physician’s eyes might sweep over you.

The employee helping customers agreed. “You look smokin’.” She had said when you stood in front of the mirror. 

Damn it, this was the one. 

You have to look away when the cashier rings you up. 

Anything to give you a milligram of courage would be necessary. It was worth the sacrifice. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

As you pull on your heels, there’s a loud three knocks at your door. 

“Coming!” You yell, but you’re in the furthest room of your apartment. They probably couldn’t hear your voice. 

One, no, two sprays of perfume. For good luck. 

For him.

You take one last glance into the mirror, and blink when you almost don’t recognize yourself. You can’t remember the last time you looked this put together. You touch your necklace, a dainty chain with a small charm rests on your exposed collarbone. Your pulse thrums faster than normal where it sits against your skin.

The knocks come again. You nearly trip down the stairs rushing to get the door. With one ruffle of your hand, your hair falls neatly into place. It’s usually in some tight style, pulled away from your face, but tonight you let it free. Leaving in its natural state as much as possible. 

You tug open the handle, and your heart immediately skips when you see him standing there. 

Dr. Jack Abbot has nearly the same reaction that you do, and both of you stand there in silence, taking in each other’s new appearance. 

He doesn’t hide it. Not even a little.

His hazel eyes drop and travel from your legs, slowly, deliberately, tracing every line, every curve, until they meet your face again. He takes you in like he’s memorizing every feature.

“You look amazing.” 

It’s hard to stay calm under his darkened gaze. There’s something behind his usual demeanor that feels heavier, intentional. Hot. 

Focused entirely on you. He can’t help it. 

“You- look amazing too,” you stutter to return the compliment, a little dizzy under the weight of his attention.

He’s in a well pressed suit. He didn’t shave, thank goodness. You loved his scruff. His hair is more in place tonight. You catch the faint auburn still lingering beneath the silver. A sleek black tie sits at his neck. 

It’s a bit crooked. 

“Here, let me-” you say, stepping closer.

Reaching out your hands, you close the distance between, air filled with the scent of his woodsy cologne and of your cozy, vanilla perfume. 

It’s warmer here. Close to his body. 

He stills as you fix the tie into a straight line, letting you, too transfixed on your long lashes that frame your beautiful face. He cannot take his eyes off you. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare.

Wow. 

Jack Abbot always knew you were pretty. Stunning even.

But now he was struggling to find air, especially when you let one hand smooth out the tie before you take a step back, toeing the line of intimacy and professionality. 

“Dr. Abbot,” you say, waiting for him to take the lead. 

“Shall we?” 

He holds out his arm, allowing you to slip your arm in the crook of his elbow. As your arm slides in, he lowers down to your ear, his gravely voice nearly sending chills down your exposed spine. 

“It’s Jack, for tonight.” He murmurs, closer than needed. 

Then, he pulls back, a small, knowing look in his eyes, and guides you down the stairs to his car, supporting you in your delicate heels.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The hospital floor just above the emergency room has been transformed into a moody party venue. They host it here, since technically all the doctors and nurses are still on call downstairs, allowing anyone to hurry away to a patient if needed. 

Abbot helps you out of the car, holding out his large hand, taking yours in it, guiding you out of the door. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, unaccustomed to this level of chivalry. 

His head ducks. “Of course.” As you both take a step forward, you feel the warmth of his palm against your lower back, a gentle guide as you make your way to the entrance. 

It’s noisy, but not overwhelming inside. Soft jazz music drifts out of speakers. There’s the clacking of chips at a few tables. Everyone else is dressed up as much as you were. Dana’s wrapped in a light blue dress. Santos sports slacks and a button down shirt. Whitaker’s tie is already discarded as he’s hunched over the poker tables. 

“Let’s grab some drinks, shall we?” Jack says, pointing to the cocktail bar. 

Admittedly, you’ve already had a tall glass of wine at home while you were getting ready for tonight. You’re not ready to admit why you were so on edge, but any extra drinks would be welcome. 

“Sure, let’s do it.” You grin at him, giving him permission to lead the way. 

Mckay walks by in a green gown, and stops, jaw going slack. 

“Are you guys…” she trails off, unsure of what to even say, “together?”

Jack’s hand is still pressed to the small of your back and he sidesteps into the space between you. “She’s my plus one tonight.”

Mckay’s eyes go wide. “Oh- okay… didn’t know this was happening,” she says, then hurries off.  

You glance up at Jack, biting your lip out of embarrassment. But all he gives back is a confident smirk. 

He’s just happy you’re here. 

Dr. Robby is hovering by the cocktail bar, making light conversation with unfamiliar hospital staff. He does a near double take when he spots the two of you, catching him mid-sentence. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He raises a whiskey glass in your direction. 

“Nice tie,” you interject, already feeling warmer than what’s a comfortable level for you. 

Robby reflexes and touches his bright purple tie. It tells you that maybe it’s the only one he owns now. “Why thank you, but you didn’t answer my question.” 

Jack interrupts to your rescue. “The invite said plus ones were welcome. Thought I would bring one,” he says casually. 

“Ah.” There’s a mischievous glint in Robby’s crinkled expression, but he doesn’t push anymore. Figures it's about time that Jack gets some action. 

It’s been ages since he’s actually entertained the thought of a date. If that’s what one could call this interaction. It’s a date, right? He asked you out. 

Between exhausting night shifts and fun extracurriculars like being on call for SWAT, there just isn’t a lot of time to go out there and pursue anything romantic. Sure, he might have participated in flirty conversation at the bar, but work was his new responsibility. It never went anywhere. 

The relationships around him sustained him plenty. And perhaps a newcomer on the day shift a few months ago motivated him even more to stay “off the market”. He didn’t see her much, but always tried to find opportunities to slip her into procedures when the night shift came in to take over. 

And a charity night, plus ones invited… it was an easy excuse. To finally ask out someone he’s had his fancy on for far too long.

As you near the bar, the woman behind perks up. “Hiya! What can I get for ya?” 

“I’ll take an aperol spritz.” You’re hoping it might cool you down slightly. 

She nods and turns to Jack. “And for you, sir?” 

“A Manhattan, please.” 

You watch as she begins to mix the drinks behind the counter before your hair is being swept off your shoulder. You glance over, and watch as Jack’s hand lowers. 

He gives that all-too-familiar half-smile. “Sorry, just wanted to see the necklace you have on.” 

Your chest tightens. For a split second, you expect eyes on you, questions, and unwanted attention. But there’s nothing. Just background chatter and laughter, like the rest of the room exists in a completely different world. 

“Oh. It’s from my mom. She gave it to me before I started med school. It’s just been my good luck charm since.” 

He’s not looking at the necklace. Instead his quiet attention rests on your lips, listening to you as you explain the significance of the pendant.

“Here you go!” The bartender places the drinks on the counter, and you eagerly take a sip. 

“How is it?” Jack says after taking a sip of his own. 

“It's good, wanna try?” You hold the glass up to him.

His finger tips brush your hand for a half second while you pass him the spritz, taking a sip directly in the spot where your lipstick stains the rim. 

You wonder what he would look like with lipstick stains on his freckled cheeks, against his greying temple, down his rosy neck. 

“Um, how about we go play some poker?” You breathe, trying to wipe your mind of wherever it was deciding to go just now. 

He hums. “Sure, let's do it, you feeling lucky, sweetheart?” 

It shouldn’t affect you… “sweatheart”... but your chest tightens at the sound. 

You loop your arm into his again, your hand resting gently on top of his bicep with a newfound excitement. “I’m feeling extra lucky tonight.” 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The table is already half full when you get there. Santos’s eyes dart around suspiciously, cards snapping between her fingers. Whitaker leans back in his chair like he owns the place, chips stacked high in front of him. Javadi sits quieter, observant, eyes flicking between players like she’s cataloging tells. Al-Hashimi barely looks up, only to take a sip of her nearby drink.

Santos glances up first. “Well, look who finally decided to join us.”

Whitaker sports a tight smile. “Abbot brought backup? That’s dangerous.”

Jack pulls out a chair for you. “Try not to scare her off in the first round.”

You sit, smoothing your dress slightly. “I can handle myself,” you hum.

“Good,” Perlah quips, sliding a stack of chips toward you. “Buy-in’s the same.”

The first few hands move around quickly. You play it safe… at first, watching. Santos likes to push early. Whitaker overcommits when he’s ahead. Javadi folds more than she should, she’s probably never played poker before in her life. Perlah is definitely too experienced. 

Jack sits close by, his presence looming over the table. He seems relaxed in a way you haven’t seen in a while… ever, actually. You only ever see him as an attending, nothing else. 

“Fold,” Whitaker mutters, tossing cards down.

Santos smirks. “You’ve been folding all night.”

He groans. “It’s a strategy.” 

“Maybe he’s just afraid,” Al-Hashimi whispers loudly. The table joins in laugher. 

You hide your own smile, glancing at your own cards. Not the best hand, but something you could work with. 

Jack leans slightly, hushed voice only you can hear. “Don’t chase the hand. Let them make mistakes first.”

Your eyes flick to him. “You always this helpful?”

“Only when it benefits me.”

You peer at him with squinted lids, and the round continues. You follow Jack’s advice and low and behold, you take a small pot off Santos, then Whitaker. This gets everyone’s attention. 

Santos sucks in a breath. “Beginner’s luck.”

You shrug. “Or maybe you’re predictable.”

Whitaker lets out a short laugh. “Oh, this is good.”

Jack doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to, he’s content with you getting the glory.

Another round. Stakes climb and the chips stack higher. A few players drop out in frustrated huffs and signs and the table narrows down.

Now it’s you, Jack, and Perlah across the table, her expression unreadable as always but her fingers tapping lightly against her stack.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she says, eyes flicking between you and Jack.

Jack leans back slightly letting his arms stretch out. “Just enjoying the game.” As he shifts back into the chair, his knee brushes yours under the table, toe of his shoe connecting with yours. 

You go still, not sure if you should move. He doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t realize.

Your heart races as his leg pushes closer into yours. 

Okay. It was intentional. 

You glance at your cards, wanting to shift your focus away from the slightly distracting connection happening under the table. Strong hand this time. You keep your expression neutral, pushing a few chips forward.

Perlah watches both of you carefully. “Interesting.”

The pot grows. One more round and you’re ready to push it. 

You’re just about to go all in, when there’s a page on the overhead speakers. 

“Code trauma to the ER. Incoming in two. All available hands, respond”

Jack’s gaze darts to yours. You meet his hazel stare, a knowing look. 

“I should go,” he says, rising from the poker table. 

Without thinking twice, you pop up to your feet too. “I’ll come.” 

He waves a hand. “No need, I can grab someone else.” 

But he doesn’t protest when your heels click right behind you, downstairs to the chaos of the ER. 

“You probably just saved me from losing everything,” you mumble. 

He chuckles. “I think you had it. Perlah was totally bluffing.” 

The second the stairwell door swings open, you’re snapped back into work-mode. The beeping machines and humming devices replace the low music upstairs. It’s colder, and the permanent scent of blood and alcohol hangs in the air. 

By the time your heels hit the floor, you’re already rushing to a gurney at the other end.

Voices overlap and you tune in quickly, every fiber of your body tensing for the incoming action. 

“Blunt force trauma, possible internal bleed- BP dropping- ”

“Let’s move, let’s move.”

Jack, now Dr. Abbot disappears from your side to take his place at the head of the bed. 

A nurse taps your shoulders, holding out loose paper scrubs for you to slip on over your dress. It’s somewhat hard to move around, but you manage to stay nimble. 

“Do we have a FAST yet?” you ask the nurse, sharper than you expect.

She hesitates. “Not yet-”

“We should. If that pressure keeps dropping, we’re missing something.”

Jack’s eyes flick up at you, appreciative that you can switch into Pitt-mode at the drop of a dime. 

As if the lines of passion and professionalism couldn’t blur even more, somehow you’re even more attractive to him as you put on the blue gloves.

“Get ultrasound,” he says immediately. “Now.”

You’re already reaching for the device that’s nearby. More voices call out. 

“Pressure’s tanking!”

“Hang another unit!”

But before you use the ultrasound, you lean in, scanning the patient with your bare eyes  noticing the subtle asymmetry in the abdomen, just barely noticeable to the trained physician. 

“Left side’s distended,” you cut in. “That’s not right.”

The room shifts in unison and different orders are called out. People are moving faster around, but with more intention. 

Between motions and commands, Jack’s eyes find you, assessing, checking in. 

Making sure you’re good.

Of course you are. His plus one isn’t just anyone. You’re just as capable as the other residents. 

This is different. Seeing you in this light, it feels familiar yet so foreign. You’ve clipped your hair back but loose strands still fall in front of your face. Softened. Almost careless. And the dress that exposes just enough to catch a glimpse of your shoulder blades, even with the paper scrubs slung over. 

He fights hard to stay focused. Thank goodness for all his SWAT days. Bullets ringing out and your formal outfit are totally like the same thing. 

The ultrasound is in place within seconds. Someone calls out findings, and it aligns with what you saw. A nurse pivots immediately, adjusting the line of treatment. Another starts prepping blood.

Dr. Abbot nods once. “Good work.” 

There’s a brief lull as the patient is stabilized enough to move once the IV drip hits their veins. 

“Prep for OR,” he says confidently. 

You take a step back as a team wheels the patient out of the room, leaving just you and the night attending there. Although your hands remain steady by your side, hands stained with the faintest of the patient’s blood, your adrenaline is far from tapering down. 

It’s just like another day in the Pitt. Only it’s quieter because of the event upstairs, and you’re in an open back dress, heels that you’re now dying to peel off, and Dr. Abbot, chest heaving slowly as he works his own nerves down. 

He drags off the paper scrubs he was wearing and tosses them into the trash, revealing a creasing black suit underneath. 

Jack grins. 

“Wanna go back?” 

You blink as he circles the room, watching you with a new intensity. He places his hand on your exposed shoulder. 

You lift your chin slightly, taking in his always-calm features. Despite chaos, he was always anchored. The adrenaline in your veins switches into a warmth that pools below your gut. 

“Maybe…” 

He chuckles, his thumb brushing slow and absentmindedly over your arm. “...how about the roof?”

You shrug. “Let’s do it, as long as we can grab another drink on the way without anyone catching us sneaking off.” 

Jack moves his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger there a beat too long. 

“I like the way you think,” he says quieter with an intimate grittiness 

Your breath stutters, and you’re not quite sure what you’re feeling anymore as he leads you out of the ER.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

You nurse the drink in your hands, closing your eyes as a breeze pushes past the roof. 

“This is so much better.” 

The evening sky glitters with city lights, cars buzzing quietly below. 

It’s quiet, just you and Jack, perched against the railing on the top of the PTMC. 

He stands to your left, unmoving, enjoying the silence away from the drama of the event and the chaos of the ER. 

There’s only a few inches of space between your arms, and you’re much too afraid to close that distance. 

What it would mean for you and him. 

You’re confused at what this all means. To Jack Abbot. 

“Um,” you say, opening your eyes, but keeping them focused on the horizon. “Why did you ask me to be your plus one?” 

Jack’s body shifts as he stands a little taller, pushing himself up with his hands against the rail. 

“You didn’t have to invite me, I was probably going to come anyways-”

“-I know,” he cuts you off. 

You shake your head. “So then, why?” 

Jack’s head dips down. “Would you let me answer?” 

“Sorry.” 

You hear the rustling of fabric as Jack slides his blazer off, then wraps it around your shoulders. 

His leftover warmth settles around your back. You didn’t even realize you were cold till it chases away the goosebumps on your arms and neck. 

He doesn’t move away now. And you try to ignore the fact that he’s left one arm around you. 

“Look at me,” he says. 

You do. 

His smile is warm. 

“Because I wanted to.” 

You just nod. 

Like you can’t even accept this. That your attending would ask you out, make a grand appearance with you at his side, even pick you up at your door and escort you like a true gentleman. 

No words come out of your mouth, you just open, and close it once. 

“Is that not enough?” He asks, still locked onto you. 

“It’s just, well, I didn’t expect it. I feel like I hardly know you, outside of work,” the words tumble before you can stop them, tripping over each other. “I mean- you’re my attending, well an attending, and what will people think, it’s like-” 

His brows raise quickly. “Hey. It’s just a date. I’m not asking you to marry me…” 

You breathe, and relax a little. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” 

Jack can’t help but love this side of you. Flustered, but here. Not shutting it away. Just… trying to make sense of it all.

He knows you’re thinking too far ahead. You always do. You’re always two steps ahead at work, how could he expect your personal life to be any different.

His thumb shifts slightly against your arm.

“You think a lot,” he grumbles quietly.

You let out a small shaky laugh. “Yeah. Occupational hazard.”

“Not right now.”

Your brows knit just slightly. “What does that mean?”

He moves closer. The space between you disappears almost imperceptibly. The noise in your head begins to iron out. 

“It means,” he says, “you don’t need to figure this out tonight.”

It feels impossible to do that. “Then what do I do?” you ask, voice hushed, almost like you’re asking yourself and not him. 

His hazel gaze doesn’t leave.

“Just be here. With me.”

The smile that creeps into his cheeks is quick and small but very real.

Your breath catches slightly, but you don’t look away.

And Jack, he notices. 

The way you haven’t stepped back. The way your hand, almost unconsciously, tightens in the fabric of his blazer around your shoulders.

“You’re not as hard to read as you think.”

“Oh?”

“No.” His voice softens, but it doesn’t lose that edge. “You like me.”

Your breath stutters, and this time you don’t even try to hide it.

“Jack-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts in gently, noticing your face falling as his lights up. “I like you too.”

You swallow, your voice quieter now. “You barely know me.”

“I know you enough.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you like a patient being diagnosed. “I know you don’t hesitate under pressure. I know you don’t try to impress people, which is rare in this place. You’re more stable than most of the ER.”

His hand moves, brushing lightly against your jaw, slow, like he’s giving you time to pull away if you want to.

You don’t.

“And I know I want to know more.”

“Is that a good idea?” you whisper.

A quiet exhale. He blinks. Actually considers your question.

“Probably not.”

Surely he’s drunk. Surely you’ve had too much to drink, but you count the cocktails in your head and there’s not enough combined between you two to make either of you unaware of what’s happening right now.

“But I don’t really care.”

And that’s when he leans in. He hovers , close enough that you feel his breath, whiskey tickling your lips, giving you one last chance to decide.

Without thinking, you move in. His lips meet yours, just holding there for a moment as he takes in the surprise that you kissed him first. Your hand finds the shirt fabric against his chest and you tighten it into a fist, pulling him closer to you. 

Jack chooses this moment to deepen it, moving slowly against your mouth, tongue rolling along the edge of your lips. His hand is firm at your jaw now, keeping you there as if you might pull away. 

You can’t. He’s kissing you too slowly, too passionately for you to even think about stopping anytime soon. 

Just as your arms move up and around his shoulders, he pulls back, darkened eyes looking at yours once before he straightens. 

No, come back.

“I meant what I said,” his voice smokey from the kiss, bumping his forehead gently against yours affectionately. “I want to see you more.”

Your heart is racing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The left corner of his mouth lifts in his crooked smile. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah,” you say. “That’s… definitely okay with me.”

“Good.”

His hand snakes around your waist before he leans in again, the kiss feeling more real this time.