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A/n: written as a part two to my last fic. Can be read out of order. Hit flow state last night and wrote this in three hours while Shawn Hatosy pilled as freak. Reblogs, likes and comments so appreciated! I love you down. (I am gonna upload this to ao3 but my computer is too far away rn. So enjoy your tumblr exclusive!)
The morning breeze blows through your bed head, still knotted from sleep. You sit on the front porch of yours and your dads shared house, slowly rocking in the chair, sipping coffee. You’re still in a loose pajama set, feet kicked up on the porch railing trying to get some sun. Mornings like this have always been what grounded you. Solace on off days. Needed when work days are filled with strangers' worst days of their lives.
What would usually be a peaceful scene is filled with an undercurrent of worry. Today is the day. The day you have tried to put off or put a stop to completely. The day that has worried you to no end.
When your dad first told you about his plan to go on a sabbatical, you felt the world shift under your feet. Everything you knew about Dr. Robby completely flipped on its head. Everything you knew about the man that took you in was completely rewritten.
“What do you mean sabbatical? Like, a break? From work? You?”
“Yeah that’s pretty much the idea.”
”Why?”
No answer.
The coffee warms your skin and wakes up your nervous system. Anxiety pools in your stomach. Deep breaths. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Jack’s voice echoes in your head. Closing your eyes, you think back on his voice. Soothing and deep. Grounding. The way you’ve always known him to be.
You listen to the sounds of Robby washing dishes and finishing up his packing inside. The sound settles in your bones. The fear. You know it’s irrational. That Jack talked him off the ledge. Convinced him to take a car on sabbatical. For him to not go driving off a cliff. You and Dad even had a good conversation last night. You listened to him. He agreed on getting help. Just not here. That was the one thing you couldn’t get over. You wanted him to stay. You wanted to watch him like a hawk. The only way to make sure that he didn’t go back downhill was for you to not let him out of your sight. Right? He disagreed. And maybe he was right. You just weren’t ready to let go.
A car rumbles up in the driveway. You open one eye against the sun and see Abbot’s Bronco pulling in. Your stomach flips. Damn stomach, keep it in your pants. He steps out, black t-shirt fitting a little too well. Jeans that look like they were made for him. Boots. God, not boots. What is the guy trying to do to you?
“Mornin’, kid,” he says, staring up the stairs. You know it’s early because he hasn’t started limping too bad. Proof that his prosthetic hasn’t started aggravating him yet. He leans against the railing in front of you, blocking the sun from your eyes and crossing his arms.
Uncross your arms. Please don’t make today harder than it has to be.
“What are you doing here Jack? You and Robby saw each other last night. What? You needed one more good bye kiss?” Oh, it’s so fun to pick on him. It’s natural. You’ve known Jack as long as you’ve known Robby. There’s an ease with him there will never be with anyone else. And yes, that means picking on their bromance.
Jack might give you a disapproving look, but you see the sparkle in his eyes. They way they lock onto yours a little too long.
“Very funny. No, I came to see him off.”
You know that’s not the whole story. You see it all over his face. Your head cocks to the side slightly, challenging him.
”I came to see him off. With you.” There’s that stomach flip again.
“Hmm,” You hum looking down into your coffee mug, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the smile at bay. “I think I’ll manage.”
”Well now you don’t have to,” he says like that’s the end of the story. He squeezes your ankle still propped on the railing, and walks inside.
You feel the electricity from his hand crawl all the way from your ankle up your leg and settle in your lower belly.
“Shit,” you murmur and drop your head into your hands, setting your mug on the side table.
Robby doesn’t know that you and Jack are close. He assumes you’re as close family friends would naturally be. Yours and Jack’s relationship cannot be described as “family friends.” If you were being completely honest with yourself, he was your best friend. You don’t know when exactly it happened. Maybe when you got into med school and he was right next to you and Robby when you found out. Or maybe at the countless dinners he crashed at yours and Robby’s house. His sleep schedule never lined up with Robby’s. So when Dad crashed early you and him sat in the living room. Him watching the tv, and you studying with your feet pressed up against his leg. Possibly it was when you found out you got into the residency program at PTMC on your own merit, and drove straight to Jack’s house unannounced to tell him. You sobbed like a baby in his arms, so overwhelmed with gratitude and pride to make out any coherent sentences.
“I’m so proud of you, kid. Never a doubt in my mind,” he whispered, cradling your face in his hands while you cried.
All of those moments add up to right now. Him in your house. Knowing he’s not just here for Robby. Not entirely. He’s here for you.
The front door opens and the two men walk out with Robby’s packed bags. Jack helps load them into the truck. You sit upright, watching the two talk and say their final goodbyes. You see how much Robby trusts Jack. How easy it is for them to exist together. You saw it in your house all throughout school. You see it in the ED when they have to work alongside each other. You see it when they just stand together. Surveying the area around them. Existing together. Jack pulls Robby into a hug. For one of the first times, Robby reciprocates.
You meet your dads eyes from over Jack’s shoulder. Here we go.
Robby makes his way onto the porch and you stand to meet him.
“Alright kid,” he starts, rubbing a hand down the back of his head, trying and failing to make eye contact.
“Stay safe, old man,” you start, pulling him into a hug. “Call and update me on the sights.” There’s so much you want to say. So many things you fear would make it worse.
“I will.” That’s all he can seem to handle in way of talking about him. “Call Jack with emergencies. Don’t burn my house down-“
“When have I ever almost burned the house down?”
“Summer before your senior year of high school.”
“Ok. So once. My stats are still pretty good.”
He just smiles at you. One last kiss to your forehead. And he’s walking to get into his truck.
Jack walks up the steps to stand shoulder to shoulder with you. His hands in his pockets, yours wrapped around yourself. You step even closer to line your whole arm with his. Grounding.
And that’s it. Dad drives away. The clock starts counting down three months until his return. You’re fine. You’re steady.
Jack’s arm comes around your shoulder to pull you into him. That’s all it took for you to break. Tears stream down your face. It’s not loud or ugly. It’s just steady sadness. Knowing how badly you’ll miss him. Fear of him changing his mind about getting help. Fear of being alone in the house. That fear presses upon you so strongly you can feel it against your sternum. It’s also the only one you seem to be able to rectify.
“Do you think- would you stay for a bit? I’ll cook. There’s coffee.” You look up at him, his arm falling down to your waist. Stomach flip. Not now, stomach. I’m busy.
“Well, if there’s food.”
“I’m nothing if not a master negotiator.”
One month later…
The day shift was too painful the first week, so you changed to nights. Just until Robby came back. It didn’t feel right not working with him in the department. At least on nights he was never supposed to be there. You can pretend everything is normal.
You’ve fallen into an easy routine. Jack picks you up in the evenings. Brings you home in the morning. Sometimes he comes in for coffee. Most days he sleeps through the day in your guest room. It’s efficient, you tell yourself, you’re both going to the same place tonight anyway. You don’t miss the way you crave waking up with him already downstairs. The way it makes the days less painful. You’re not entirely sure it's just his company that makes things less lonely. You’re pretty sure it’s him.
It’s terrifying. The man you’ve known since you were sixteen and moved in with your dad- his best friend- becoming your best friend. Your favorite person on the planet. You think you're his too. You hope you are.
One morning, the two of you come home. You both have the next few nights off, so Jack just comes in for coffee. He’s sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island and you're standing in front of him, hip resting on the island to keep you from falling over from exhaustion. That’s probably why you lose your filter.
”Do you remember the first time we met?” You ask casually, taking a sip of coffee.
He stops mid sip and just stares at you. “Yeah. Course I do.” Like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
”What did you think? Of me, I mean.” What are you trying to get out of this? What do you want him to say?
”I was wary. You were just a kid that showed up on my best friend's doorstep claiming to be his kid. But then I saw your eyes and I knew you were Robby’s.”
Not at all what you expected.
”Yeah. I guess I never thought about what the people in his life would think about me showing up.” Your mom had led you to believe that Robby didn’t want anything to do with you. You were happy to believe her until she relapsed and overdosed your sophomore year of high school. You didn’t have any family. So you did the only thing you knew to do. You played detective until you found Robby’s name and work place. You expected him to send you away, but you had to try. You never banked on him not knowing you existed in the first place.
”I didn’t know your mom, but I knew of her. What Robby had told me. So yeah, I was worried.”
“I know what she did to Dad, but she wasn’t all bad.” All these years later and you were still trying to defend her. She was sick. She had an addiction. It did a lot of talking for her throughout her life.
”I mean… she raised you, and you’re one of the best people I know. She couldn’t have been all bad.” The way he says it. So plain and so serious, without taking his eyes off of you, makes your heart race.
”I remember when I met you too,” You announce, not entirely sure where you are going to take this.
”Yeah?” He leans his arms on the counter, leaning toward you.
”Yeah,” it’s so hard to look into his eyes like this. “Robby had you over for dinner a couple weeks after I moved in. I remember you having less grey in your hair.”
”Ouch.”
”I like the grey.” Danger. “I had a crush on you my entire junior year of high school.”
Oh, God.
His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Oh yeah?” You wanna wipe the shit eating grin off his face. Kiss it off.
”Alright don’t go getting a big head. I was seventeen. Seventeen year olds are notoriously flirty.”
”What about when you were twenty six?” He folds in on himself. It’s endearing and confusing.
”What?”
”When you were twenty six. Your last year of med school. Who did you like then?”
Every atom in the room seems to explode and sizzle in the air. Your face is burning up, but you can’t seem to slow down.
”I was a little busy trying to get into a residency program.” It’s honest. You know it’s not what he wants to hear but it’s the truth.
A beat. He looks down at his coffee. You can tell he’s gauging what to do next, where to steer the conversation.
“Jack,” you whisper. You round the corner of the island and stand directly in front of him, almost in between his knees.
”Yeah. Just wondering.” He’s staring at you now. He might not be leading the conversation anywhere, but he’s not backing down either.
”Who…” Now or never, I guess. “Who did you like… when I was twenty six?”
Time stops. You hold your breath. You are plummeting down toward the ocean and you can’t remember if you checked for rocks at the bottom. It’s too late to know for sure, you just have to hope you’ll have a safe landing.
”I’ve been trying really hard to not be in love with you since you were twenty six.”
”How’s that going?”
”Like shit.”
You broke the surface. The water feels amazing.
You can’t wait even a second longer. You grab the sides of his face and pull his mouth to yours. Every neuron snaps and fires at once. All your nerves have been dialed up to one hundred. His hands on your hips. His lips on yours. You could explode from the weight of the feeling.
His tongue slides over your bottom lip, and you open up for him. Your back arches into his space and your hands move to grip his hair. His hands snake around your back, pulling you into him like he can’t stand having even an inch of space between you anymore. Everything falls away into bliss and the feeling of him on you. Your nails rake down the back of his scalp, and the sound that comes from his mouth at the sensation shoots through your soul. Nothing about the way you feel right now is physical. It’s all spiritual and religious and heavenly. If you looked down and saw yourself hovering in the air, you wouldn’t be surprised.
The two of you come up for air at the same time, foreheads resting together. You can’t even open your eyes.
”You have no idea,” Jack pants, “how long I’ve been waiting for your green light to do this.”
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pairing: chef!jack abbot x f!bartender!reader
warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), steamy, reader is described as having hair long enough for jack to grab
word count: 2.5k
summary: a bet takes over your night out with your favorite chef.
notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with any of my work or this fic. new series alert!!! i hope you enjoy! there will definitely be a part two, so please like and reblog and let me know if you enjoyed this <3 not properly proofread so apologies for any errors!
there is a low hum of sound that vibrates around you. such is typical for a friday night at pittsburgh’s finest restaurant. well, maybe not finest. one of the most fine, certainly. it had been hours since you had taken a good look at your surroundings. bartending was something that allowed you to lose yourself. you could slip into a rhythm and find that half of your shift has gone by, and you liked that. you liked that you worked hard and fast and that you ached a little bit when you were done. you enjoyed that you always had a story to tell and you knew the best and worst places to go in the city.
it was a certain type of hellish privilege to be a bartender for a fine dining restaurant. and now, you need your reprieve.
you nudge joy with your elbow and let her know that you’re going to go take your break. she barely looks up at you– she’d already gotten her break and her lunch, because joy was like that, and everyone respected that, even if they didn’t follow her lead.
it’s not worth it to take your apron off when it’s likely that you’re only going to get three puffs of a cigarette in before something drags you back inside. you hook the flimsy outdoor chair with your ankle and tug it closer to you, fishing your phone out from your back pocket so you can spend these few moments of solace staring into the blue light.
“mind a buddy?”
your eyes flick upward to see abbot. he’s rubbing his hands together– his arms have little knicks on them from too-sharp knives, his forehead has a slight sheen to it, and the little white t-shirt he wears looks like it’s about ready to bust at the seams from the strain his biceps are creating.
he is, categorically, the hottest man that you’ve ever seen, and you swore that from the moment you first laid eyes on him.
“not at all.” you gesture to the array of mismatched chairs— some being retired and decrepit from the outdoor seating area, others being old camp chairs with name designations on the back: cassie is written on lime green with purple sharpie, shen written in a neat script with a smiley face. it never matters. people take the seat they’ve deemed their favorite, technical owner be damned.
abbot takes a seat in a old plastic white chair that’s seen better days. he takes a gulp from the quart container he has filled to the brim with water. a little stream runs from the corner of his mouth and along the sharp slant of his jaw, and it makes you feel like you need a glass of water.
“you’re kicking ass tonight,” abbot says, looking down at his hands. “every time i’ve popped out on the floor, you’re on that shit. good job.”
abbot gives praises out like they’re mints, abundantly and happily. it’s how he’s able to inspire as a leader, and you respect it. in a kitchen, it’s vital. you’ve worked with many a chef that had the opposite approach— robby, to name one. one of the reasons you try to avoid him whenever possible. “thanks, chef.”
“you’re welcome.” abbot looks over at you out of the corner of his eye, but casts his gaze downward when you dare to meet it. you’re left with a view of the wrinkles around his eyes. a decent trade off, if there had to be one. “now, what about my performance?” he asks, puffing his chest out.
you’re grinning lazily, leaning back into your seat. “i wasn’t paying attention,” you say. “was i supposed to be?”
“i was putting on a show just for you. the, you know, three times you came back.”
“i was on a mission.”
“i was trying to distract you, i guess.”
this was how it had always been with abbot. when you were twenty three and freshly poached from the bar that ellis and shen frequented after their shift ended. when they would drag abbot inside with them and jack would pay for the round and buy you one to have you join in. when he was the patron and you were flirting with him, innocently, because it was always innocent when it came to guys at the bar.
flirtatious. easygoing. just toeing the line of something questionable, but one foot solid on the more appropriate side. despite how attractive you found him, instantly, it always felt very comfortable with abbot. he was warm. you liked warm.
“aren’t you always?” you glance at your watch. joy can hold her own for another five minutes, you rationalize. things had hit a nice lull just before you came out. “well, what did i miss?”
“i garnished the oceanic hamachi crudo just hoping i might catch your eye.”
“my apologies for missing something so important.” you rub at your face. as much as abbot thinks you’re a rockstar, you don’t feel like much of one today.
“uh oh. c’mon, you can’t make that face and then not say what’s going on with you.”
“it’s just one of those days,” you say in the way that all service workers end up understanding. abbot gives a knowing nod of his head. “you going out with everyone after this?”
he sucks on his teeth and it makes you grin. “don’t tell me i’m not going to have my dancing partner tonight?”
“you know, i am old.”
“you are old, but you’re a good dancer. and you’re gonna be up until one am, anyway. what’s another couple of hours?” you bat your eyelashes. “you’re gonna make me beg?”
“you’d like begging too much,” he fires back, and it makes your face warm. but he just takes another drink of water. “i’ll be there.”
you stand up and pat his shoulder. “i knew i didn’t need to beg.”
—
you changed in the bathroom. you usually kept a spare outfit and a cute pair of going out shoes in your locker— a night out was never off the table, and you didn’t want to feel unprepared. most have already shuffled out by the time you were out, having called that you didn’t mind locking up. but a familiar shadow lingers near the bar, your bar. “i said i’d meet everyone there.”
“i think i’d be liable if something happened to you on the walk.” jack says, voice wry. “and, i would never forgive myself.”
“i’m a big girl, abbot.”
“never doubted that,” abbot’s eyes flick down, taking in your outfit from top to bottom. “am i not allowed to care what happens to you?”
this was a regular topic of conversation. you were reckless and jack likes to pretend he’s not reckless, but he recognized parts of you that resonate with parts of him. always telling you to be safe, make semi-decent decisions, all of the good stuff. and that if you were ever in trouble, he was a phone call away. you’d utilized that offer, once or twice. once ended with you throwing up in the passenger seat of his truck, the other ended with him dropping you off at your apartment after your ride back from philly bailed on you.
jack abbot had driven nine hours round trip for you. if you needed something, there was little question if he would step up for you or not.
“yes,” you relent. “thank you, chef.” you mostly only ever call him that to give him shit. the new ones call him chef in earnest— ogilvie and victoria and mel. but you also call him that because every time, you swear you watch him swallow his own heart.
jack holds the door for you and carries your backpack on his shoulder, dropping it off at his truck on the way. he always walks on the closest side to the street and pulls you gently into him when the sidewalk gets busy. you joke about the bachelor party you had in tonight and retell the worries the groom to be had lamented to you over his third vodka red bull. “he tipped two hundred dollars,” you add. “i think he thought it was two five’s.”
“atta girl,” jack says as you approach the loud dive bar, multicolor lights shining from the windows. “was his name chad?”
“brad!” you laugh as you flash your id to the bouncer, jack following in behind you, no id necessary.
the music is loud, and it is so incredibly busy. you look over your shoulder at jack and loop your arm through his, fingers curling around his bicep. because you don’t want to get lost. obviously, that is the only motive that you have. he parts the red sea of bodies until you get to familiar faces. santos throws her hands up and cheers, shen and ellis embrace abbot.
your little restaurant that could is not perfect. but you like these people. you like them very much, and that’s worth its weight in gold.
santos tugs you down into the spot next to her. your eyes trail to abbot, who’s moving towards the bar with ellis. he glances at you over his shoulder and nods— and you don’t have to be a genius to know that means he’ll be walking back with a margarita in hand for you. “so,” santos says loudly. “have you decided to stop torturing yourselves and just do it already?”
“trinity!” you gasp like it’s shocking, or out of the realm of possibility. she looks at you like you’re full of shit, which you reasonably are. “no, we haven’t.”
“i really need you to consider getting on top of that, literally, because i have to win my bet with whitaker. i put all my christmas eve tips on you hooking up before halloween.”
“i can’t believe you put those tips on the line for anything, much less the status of my sex life.” you and trinity had become fast friends when she started working with you. where others saw a brashness, you saw… something different. not softer, definitely not, but perhaps it was that you felt a little bit like the opposite side to her coin. regardless, you liked the tough parts of her. you liked that she said whatever she felt like to rude guests. you liked that she was braver than the rest of you.
“your sex life, generally, is not what i find interesting. i find the will-they won’t-they between you and your boss to be interesting, though. especially when, like, every other person here wants the both of you.”
you shrug your shoulders, just as abbot is approaching, frosty glass in hand. “every other person?” you ask with a cheeky grin, all the while holding out your hand for jack to place your drink in it. treated like a true princess. you’re met with a begrudgingly fond eye roll from santos.
it should be easy to hate you. you can be occasionally aloof, a little bit of a drama queen, and definitely a gossip. but for some reason the amalgamation of these traits concocts into something charming.
“thanks,” you say. he winks at you, the way he’ll occasionally wink at a sweet old lady when they ask to give their compliments to the chef. you imagine that it has a similar effect on you that it has on the pittsburgh elderly.
jack spends his time in his pocket of the bar, you spend it in yours. you win a couple rounds of cards and get your next three drinks paid for. you finally get to smoke that cigarette that had been long forgotten during your break when abbot came out to talk to you. you’ll look over to shoulder to find that he’s already glancing at you. always smiling or smirking or laughing at something that someone said, and you feel this bubbling sensation inside of you. one that has been dormant for a long time, but has become harder to ignore.
“oh, yeah. you’re definitely not seeing my christmas eve tips,” you hear trinity say under her breath to whitaker, who scowls down at his beer.
the words hit you in your periphery. you’re more focused on jack. he saunters towards you and nods his head towards the dance floor. well— dance floor is a sad name for it. a handful of drunkards who have taken it upon themselves to create a dance floor. “didn’t you say you needed a dance partner?”
“is that how you ask a lady to dance? my oh my, where are your manners?”
he goes low. to his knees, practically– down at your feet, his hand up turned, looking up at you through thick lashes. “my lady.”
trinity cheers, fueled by alcohol and the prospect of getting whitaker’s christmas eve tips. you laugh and let your palm settle in his, stand and allow yourself the image of him on his knees for you. he comes to full height and tugs you a little bit closer, and then leads you to the center of the dance floor.
the music is intoxicating. you like a bar that has touchtunes, and you’d been queueing music all night long. uncle ace by blood orange plays over the speakers– not great speakers, and that almost makes it better. it crackles and pops just a bit at you, and reverberates in your ears. jack pulls you in, nice and slow. there’s nothing separating the two of you other than your clothes; you’re pressed against him flush, all by his design and the pressure of his hand on your lower back. your hand snakes up his arm and to the back of his neck, and you bite down on your lip, letting the music wash over you like a cold plunge.
his mouth finds your ear. “what has santos been badgering you about all night?”
your nails rake against the place where his hair curls and he holds you tighter. “her and whitaker have a bet going.”
“i’m sure they do,” his fingers slip into the belt loops of your pants. you press against him just a bit more. “who’s gonna win?”
“jury’s still out.” you laugh a little. “but i think trinity might be onto something.”
the conversation dies as the music swells. everything else fades away into nothingness– all there is is you and abbot and the music and the alcohol. your head sways side to side and jack gathers your hair up into his hand, pulling it away from your face for you. you hum, and you think he must feel the vibration in your chest, because he hums back to you. your lips part and you watch jack’s eyes track the bead of sweat at your temple. everything quiets while he puts a hand on the side of your neck, the pad of his thumb getting comfortable on your jaw. everything is on fire– your skin and your mind and your emotions.
jack says your name. and your eyes blink open at him. you’re about to say something– kiss me, fuck me into your mattress, take me home, fuck me in the bathroom– but you don’t have a chance.
“whitaker– i told you, dude. they’re not making it to fucking halloween.”
Dennis drinking an energy drink at the tail end of his fifteen hour shift because he knew he'd be driving Amy home and most likely helping out with the baby too. That boy is so willing to run himself ragged and that burn out will creep up on him before he realizes it.
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This is my first published fic (be nice or I’ll cry) also posted on AO3! Link below!

“Hey… You ok?”
You look up from where you’re scanning in charts next to Santos and Whitaker. Jack’s voice pulls you away from the business of the ED. He’s talking to Dana, who looks like she could burst into tears at any moment. Something you rarely see from your firecracker, hard-ass mother figure. Jack’s softness and concern, however, is not something you’re unfamiliar with. Even if you’re one of the few people to ever experience it.
“No. I’m sad. Or scared...”
Jack tries to talk her down. You hear them talk about your father, Dr. Robby, confirming the fear that has settled deep in your stomach over the last few weeks.
When Dad first mentioned going on sabbatical, it was obviously surprising. The Great Michael Robinivitch taking a break? Not in this life or the next. Then came the motorcycle. You relentlessly teased him.
The statement was obviously supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t land like one. Your laughter was not met with any form of humor from him. The truth in the statement became more noticeable as the weeks trudged on.
One moment of Jack and Dana’s conversation sticks out. Doesn’t leave your mind.
“He doesn’t like to listen.”
He hasn’t even tried? Jack is your dad’s best friend. The person you trust more than anyone in the world, second only to your dad up until just recently. But now he’s saying he hasn’t even tried to talk him out of his soul quest death crusade? After everything Robby has said. After everything you’ve seen. He hasn’t noticed, let alone tried.
You’re still sitting at your spot charting when EMTs wheel in a cardiac patient. Even at this hour and the exhaustion that comes with a nearly fifteen hour shift, your muscle memory kicks in. You know what to do. You know how to react. Treat the patient, send them up. You don’t plan on Abbot stepping into the room with you. Your hands grab what they need, but your brain goes blank in rage. How can he not care? How can he not want to save Robby? How can he not see how much this is weighing on you?
He sees it. He always does. They way you aren’t speaking. They way you aren’t taking control of the room like you tend to do. The way you aren’t looking at him. He can’t remember the last time you didn’t look at him in a trauma room. It sets him on edge. Makes his hands shake slightly and his mind wander.
When the patient has been sent upstairs, you leave the room without a word. Without so much as a glance in his direction. You will your feet to bring you to your desk to finish charting, but the stale smell of the ED and the harsh lights are making your heart beat too fast. Your skin doesn’t feel like it’s sitting correctly over your muscles. You can feel bile rising up in your throat from your stomach. Not that you’ve eaten anything worth coming up in the last week. Or two. Your feet bring you to the ambulance bay. The hot summer air settles on you, not making the nausea any better. If anything it’s harder to get a good breath in. Everything feels wrong. Physically and emotionally. The one person you would go to in a crisis is causing the anxiety. The next person you would go to seems to be enabling the behavior. Everything you know about the way this ED functions, the way your life functions has been completely flipped upside down.
Jack sees you. Hands on your hips, swaying slowly, facing the parking lot. Your shoulders moving a little too fast, signaling uneven breathing patterns. He doesn’t hesitate. Never has when it comes to you. Never felt like he had to. A feeling he’s pushed down and ignored as best he could since the beginning of your R1 year.
“Hey,” he comes up behind you keeping at least an arms width of space between his body and yours. Safe distance, something he’s gotten used to implementing when it comes to you. “You good?”
“You haven’t even tried to talk to him?” You spit out spinning on your heel to look at him dead on. Your voice is dripping with anger. You can feel heat in your face, but no tears. Not yet.
“What?”
“Robby. Dad. You haven’t tried to talk him out of this death vacation he wants to go on? I know you see it. I know you know what he plans on doing.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop it. You didn’t want Jack to know you had caught on to Robby’s plans. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you seeing that. Didn’t want him to be mad at Robby for introducing you to that kind of fear. The fear of losing someone you would risk anything for, and not knowing if there was anything you could do about it.
“You know he doesn’t like to listen,” he says softly. How can he be so calm when you are so obviously not.
“Of course I know that! I’ve been dealing with it for weeks now! The entire time he’s been in my life before that! But I didn’t stop trying. You haven’t even started!” You feel completely hysterical, yelling at Jack in the ambulance bay, your hands gesticulating wildly. But nothing feels more appropriate right now. “You’re his best friend. God, do you even care what happens if he goes on this sabbatical? What that could mean for him? What that could mean for me?”
At that, his softness is overtaken by mirrored anger. ”Of course I care! How could you think for one second I don’t care what happens to Robby? Or to you? You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did!” You’re breathing heavier now. It’s almost concerning how difficult it is to slow your breathing. You lift your hand to rub your chest, hoping to massage the knot that seems to be cutting off your airway.
When Jack sees that he lets the anger go. He takes a step closer. You take one back.
“God, kid. You know what I would do for you.”
“Then talk to him,” you plead. “I’ve tried! I’ve begged him to stay. I’ve begged him to change his mind. To get help. He won’t listen! I’ve cried and screamed and talked normally and nothing gets through. You have to try to get through. He listens to you.”
Tears spring in your eyes. The breaths come out choppier now. The whole bay starts to spin.
“Hey,” Jack reaches for you before you tip over.
“Why won’t he listen to me?” You cry, “Why am I not enough to get him to stay?”
The dam breaks. And you are taken down with the rush.
There’s no time for Jack to overthink. He just moves. He grabs you and pulls you to himself. One hand holding you upright on your lower back, the other cradling your head as your face falls into his chest. He massages your scalp while you grasp at his scrub top, gasping for air and staining his scrubs with tears and snot.
“Calm down, baby. Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” He coos. His hand never stops its calming circles on the back of your head.
Everything around you seems to fall away. All that’s in front of you is Jack’s voice and the insurmountable fear of losing your father forever. Jack’s hand low on your back. The conversations you and Robby have had in the past weeks. Your hands gripping the front of Jack’s top. The way he smells. The way you know him.
Soon, breathing comes easier. You start to feel the earth more stable under your feet. Jack doesn’t let you go until you relinquish your grasp from his scrub top. Even then he moves his hands to the sides of your arms, massaging up and down. Your embarrassment threatens to break through the surface, but you can’t seem to find the energy. Not with so much else to worry about. Not with Jack so close in a way he never has been before.
“Jack,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.
“He loves you. If he stays- when he stays- it’s gonna be for you,” he says lowly, squeezing your biceps lightly in an effort to get you to look at him. “He’s gonna stay.”
You look up, deep into his eyes, yours welling up at the overwhelming pressure of having his on yours. “He’s all I have left, Jack.” You try to ignore the thought in the back of your brain that tells you that’s not wholly true. The thought that wants to know for sure that Jack is there too. You know he is. You want to hear him say it. Now isn’t the time to ask.
Jack knows this isn’t the time to argue that. He knows what you mean. He can wait to argue his case at a later date.
You can’t stand to leave it like that anymore.
“He’s the only family I have left,” You amend.
He notices. He always notices.
He nods slowly. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make his listen”
You let a breath out so strong and deep you fear it will knock you over. Everything in your body melts down. You slip your arms around Jack’s waist and rest your forehead in the crook of his neck. Nothing has ever felt this natural in your life. He wraps his arms around your neck and shoulders.
“Thank you. God. Thank you.” A few tears of relief slide down your cheeks and into his skin.
“Anything for you. You do know that right?” He asks, pulling back slightly to see your face. He tracks the tears still sliding down and wipes them with the back of his thumb. Every nerve in your body lights on fire.
You stare so intently at his face, tracking every tick of his jaw, every breath that flares his nostrils, every time his eyes move from yours to the other parts of your face.
“I’m starting to,” You admit.
You go to pull away, but before you can fully untangle yourself from him, he places a lingering kiss on your temple. Innocent. Chaste. But you both know in that moment what it really means to each other. With a final squeeze to your arm, he walks away from you.
You see him follow Robby into an empty exam room, pulling the curtain behind him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Freaking out. Didn’t realize people were actually gonna read my shit from a butt. I love every single person that has interacted with this. I’m gonna find you and kiss you on the mouth.
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This is my first published fic (be nice or I’ll cry) also posted on AO3! Link below!

“Hey… You ok?”
You look up from where you’re scanning in charts next to Santos and Whitaker. Jack’s voice pulls you away from the business of the ED. He’s talking to Dana, who looks like she could burst into tears at any moment. Something you rarely see from your firecracker, hard-ass mother figure. Jack’s softness and concern, however, is not something you’re unfamiliar with. Even if you’re one of the few people to ever experience it.
“No. I’m sad. Or scared...”
Jack tries to talk her down. You hear them talk about your father, Dr. Robby, confirming the fear that has settled deep in your stomach over the last few weeks.
When Dad first mentioned going on sabbatical, it was obviously surprising. The Great Michael Robinivitch taking a break? Not in this life or the next. Then came the motorcycle. You relentlessly teased him.
The statement was obviously supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t land like one. Your laughter was not met with any form of humor from him. The truth in the statement became more noticeable as the weeks trudged on.
One moment of Jack and Dana’s conversation sticks out. Doesn’t leave your mind.
“He doesn’t like to listen.”
He hasn’t even tried? Jack is your dad’s best friend. The person you trust more than anyone in the world, second only to your dad up until just recently. But now he’s saying he hasn’t even tried to talk him out of his soul quest death crusade? After everything Robby has said. After everything you’ve seen. He hasn’t noticed, let alone tried.
You’re still sitting at your spot charting when EMTs wheel in a cardiac patient. Even at this hour and the exhaustion that comes with a nearly fifteen hour shift, your muscle memory kicks in. You know what to do. You know how to react. Treat the patient, send them up. You don’t plan on Abbot stepping into the room with you. Your hands grab what they need, but your brain goes blank in rage. How can he not care? How can he not want to save Robby? How can he not see how much this is weighing on you?
He sees it. He always does. They way you aren’t speaking. They way you aren’t taking control of the room like you tend to do. The way you aren’t looking at him. He can’t remember the last time you didn’t look at him in a trauma room. It sets him on edge. Makes his hands shake slightly and his mind wander.
When the patient has been sent upstairs, you leave the room without a word. Without so much as a glance in his direction. You will your feet to bring you to your desk to finish charting, but the stale smell of the ED and the harsh lights are making your heart beat too fast. Your skin doesn’t feel like it’s sitting correctly over your muscles. You can feel bile rising up in your throat from your stomach. Not that you’ve eaten anything worth coming up in the last week. Or two. Your feet bring you to the ambulance bay. The hot summer air settles on you, not making the nausea any better. If anything it’s harder to get a good breath in. Everything feels wrong. Physically and emotionally. The one person you would go to in a crisis is causing the anxiety. The next person you would go to seems to be enabling the behavior. Everything you know about the way this ED functions, the way your life functions has been completely flipped upside down.
Jack sees you. Hands on your hips, swaying slowly, facing the parking lot. Your shoulders moving a little too fast, signaling uneven breathing patterns. He doesn’t hesitate. Never has when it comes to you. Never felt like he had to. A feeling he’s pushed down and ignored as best he could since the beginning of your R1 year.
“Hey,” he comes up behind you keeping at least an arms width of space between his body and yours. Safe distance, something he’s gotten used to implementing when it comes to you. “You good?”
“You haven’t even tried to talk to him?” You spit out spinning on your heel to look at him dead on. Your voice is dripping with anger. You can feel heat in your face, but no tears. Not yet.
“What?”
“Robby. Dad. You haven’t tried to talk him out of this death vacation he wants to go on? I know you see it. I know you know what he plans on doing.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop it. You didn’t want Jack to know you had caught on to Robby’s plans. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you seeing that. Didn’t want him to be mad at Robby for introducing you to that kind of fear. The fear of losing someone you would risk anything for, and not knowing if there was anything you could do about it.
“You know he doesn’t like to listen,” he says softly. How can he be so calm when you are so obviously not.
“Of course I know that! I’ve been dealing with it for weeks now! The entire time he’s been in my life before that! But I didn’t stop trying. You haven’t even started!” You feel completely hysterical, yelling at Jack in the ambulance bay, your hands gesticulating wildly. But nothing feels more appropriate right now. “You’re his best friend. God, do you even care what happens if he goes on this sabbatical? What that could mean for him? What that could mean for me?”
At that, his softness is overtaken by mirrored anger. ”Of course I care! How could you think for one second I don’t care what happens to Robby? Or to you? You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did!” You’re breathing heavier now. It’s almost concerning how difficult it is to slow your breathing. You lift your hand to rub your chest, hoping to massage the knot that seems to be cutting off your airway.
When Jack sees that he lets the anger go. He takes a step closer. You take one back.
“God, kid. You know what I would do for you.”
“Then talk to him,” you plead. “I’ve tried! I’ve begged him to stay. I’ve begged him to change his mind. To get help. He won’t listen! I’ve cried and screamed and talked normally and nothing gets through. You have to try to get through. He listens to you.”
Tears spring in your eyes. The breaths come out choppier now. The whole bay starts to spin.
“Hey,” Jack reaches for you before you tip over.
“Why won’t he listen to me?” You cry, “Why am I not enough to get him to stay?”
The dam breaks. And you are taken down with the rush.
There’s no time for Jack to overthink. He just moves. He grabs you and pulls you to himself. One hand holding you upright on your lower back, the other cradling your head as your face falls into his chest. He massages your scalp while you grasp at his scrub top, gasping for air and staining his scrubs with tears and snot.
“Calm down, baby. Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” He coos. His hand never stops its calming circles on the back of your head.
Everything around you seems to fall away. All that’s in front of you is Jack’s voice and the insurmountable fear of losing your father forever. Jack’s hand low on your back. The conversations you and Robby have had in the past weeks. Your hands gripping the front of Jack’s top. The way he smells. The way you know him.
Soon, breathing comes easier. You start to feel the earth more stable under your feet. Jack doesn’t let you go until you relinquish your grasp from his scrub top. Even then he moves his hands to the sides of your arms, massaging up and down. Your embarrassment threatens to break through the surface, but you can’t seem to find the energy. Not with so much else to worry about. Not with Jack so close in a way he never has been before.
“Jack,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.
“He loves you. If he stays- when he stays- it’s gonna be for you,” he says lowly, squeezing your biceps lightly in an effort to get you to look at him. “He’s gonna stay.”
You look up, deep into his eyes, yours welling up at the overwhelming pressure of having his on yours. “He’s all I have left, Jack.” You try to ignore the thought in the back of your brain that tells you that’s not wholly true. The thought that wants to know for sure that Jack is there too. You know he is. You want to hear him say it. Now isn’t the time to ask.
Jack knows this isn’t the time to argue that. He knows what you mean. He can wait to argue his case at a later date.
You can’t stand to leave it like that anymore.
“He’s the only family I have left,” You amend.
He notices. He always notices.
He nods slowly. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make his listen”
You let a breath out so strong and deep you fear it will knock you over. Everything in your body melts down. You slip your arms around Jack’s waist and rest your forehead in the crook of his neck. Nothing has ever felt this natural in your life. He wraps his arms around your neck and shoulders.
“Thank you. God. Thank you.” A few tears of relief slide down your cheeks and into his skin.
“Anything for you. You do know that right?” He asks, pulling back slightly to see your face. He tracks the tears still sliding down and wipes them with the back of his thumb. Every nerve in your body lights on fire.
You stare so intently at his face, tracking every tick of his jaw, every breath that flares his nostrils, every time his eyes move from yours to the other parts of your face.
“I’m starting to,” You admit.
You go to pull away, but before you can fully untangle yourself from him, he places a lingering kiss on your temple. Innocent. Chaste. But you both know in that moment what it really means to each other. With a final squeeze to your arm, he walks away from you.
You see him follow Robby into an empty exam room, pulling the curtain behind him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
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