I'm Having A Bad Day

The second the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running, Dean is on you. Mouth on yours—hot, urgent, all teeth and tongue. No time. His hands are everywhere, dragging your shirt up, tugging your shorts down halfway before your brain catches up. Your back hits the wall, and he groans when his fingers find how ready you are.

“Five minutes,” you whisper.

”More than enough. Gotta be quiet, sweetheart — you think you can do that for me?”

You nod, but you both know it’s a lie. His fingers slide between your thighs, slick and purposeful. You stifle a moan against his shoulder, biting down hard. Dean curses under his breath, lips dragging down your neck, hand working you like he owns you.

“Dean—” Your voice hitches. Your hips chase his touch. “Hurry—please—”

He doesn’t hesitate. Spins you around, bends you over the motel dresser. Your palms slap the surface, head swimming. Then he’s inside you—fast, deep, relentless. No warning. Just him, filling you all at once. You bite your lip hard enough to sting.

“Fuck,” Dean grunts, breath ragged. “So fuckin’ tight—you’re so fuckin’ tight for me, baby—”

The dresser thuds against the wall in time with his thrusts. Dean reaches around, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to ruin you. Your legs tremble.

“Gonna take me like a good girl I know you are,” he growls, voice rough and right at your ear as he slams into you again, harder this time—deep enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

You nod, helpless, trembling. Dean groans into your shoulder, thrusts once more and stills, burying himself deep with a sharp, broken grunt. It’s enough to finally throw you over the edge. You come hard, fists clenched, jaw locked. Lips swollen. He stays there, panting. When you look back, breath ragged, your hair a mess, Dean smirks.

“Told you we had time.”

Cassie could only nod as she thought about her own son experiencing that, “Alright Mohan come with me we’re gonna take her to south-15. Mel, can you talk to the boy and see if there’s anyone we can call for him?” 

Going to their respective tasks, McKay and Mohan took the young mother and Melissa went to introduce herself to the boy. He was still standing with the EMT, clutching his hand tightly while watching the hustle and bustle that was the emergency department. 

“Hey… Can I talk to him?” Mel approached slowly and the EMT squatted down to look the kid in his eyes. “I have to go now but uh- Dr. King here is gonna take really good care of you while your mommy gets help, okay?” The boy just nodded, going to hold his own hand. 

“What’s your name?” Mel asked, offering her own hand for him to take as they walked away. His grip was soft, if not a little clammy, and he toddled behind her as she led him to the family room. “Lucas…” he took his own deep breath, unsure of himself and the situation. 

“I heard something pretty scary happened at the park. Are you doing okay?” Lucas gave a little shrug, giving her hand a squeeze at the mention of the incident at the park. 

“I think so, is my mommy gonna be okay? Daddy says bees are bad for her, and the pen is supposed to make her better but it didn’t...” 

Mel opened the door to the family room, having Lucas sit in one of the chairs near the small coffee table. She had learned in the past couple of months that children liked to be distracted in situations like these. Clearly the little boy was feeling down, his once peaceful day at the park now ruined by an unfortunate accident. 

She sat down beside him, helping him take off the backpack he was wearing hoping maybe there were some more identifying clues lying within the blue cloth.  “Well your dad must be very smart, but your mom is being taken care of by some really cool doctors and I think she’s gonna be okay and excited to see you again.”

Unzipping the bag, Mel gave Lucas a gentle smile as they pulled out the contents together. Inside were the usual kid essentials — a juice pouch, a small sketchpad with dinosaurs drawn in crayon, and a pair of cleats and matching socks balled up and forgotten at the bottom. She sifted carefully, searching for anything that might tell them who else to contact. A pair of car keys sat in the front pocket, but no wallet or any other identifying placards. The EpiPen sat visibly in the mesh side holster, unadministered and effectively useless now. The air was light between the pair while the Intern thought of her next moves, and Lucas had started coloring next to her to keep his mind off of things. 

  She thought about askin Robby or Dana for next steps, and definitely wanted Kieara to stop by. “Are we able to contact your dad? I’m sure he’d want to know what happened,” Mel said, stumped at what to do next. 

“He’s pretty busy and um- his number sheet is in my other bag in the car… Mommy was supposed to make two, but this is the fun bag so it wasn’t supposed to matter.” Lucas explained, though that’s fair considering he’s only five or so. 

“Oh! Well where does he work? We could try calling them and he should be able to come here,” 

Lucas closed his eyes and wiggled around in his chair as he tried to remember the name, “Uhhh- oh Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!” 

Mel’s eyes lit up at the mention of the very hospital they were in. “Well that’s where we are! Let me go grab someone real quick and we can start asking around, how does that sound?” Lucas silently agreed and went back to coloring as the blonde woman left the room. 

The Intern succuried around, hoping to find Dr. Robby in a moment of peace where she could talk to him about the situation. Thankfully, the older man was sitting near the nurses station typing away at one of the computers. 

“Dr. Robby! I uh- I have the son of a patient who was admitted not too long ago, he said his dad works here and I was hoping you could help us locate him? He’s only about five so he doesn’t remember too much besides that.” Mel stood expectantly, as the older man got up and pushed his chair in. 

“Lead the way Dr. King, let's find this boy's dad.” Robby ran a hand down his face as he followed after Melissa who was leading him to the family room. Putting on a brave face, he hoped to god this wasn’t going to lead into a hospital wide manhunt. They kept a steady pace, pausing outside the door. “What was the other patient admitted for?” He asked, needing to know if this would be bad or not. 

“Mom was taken to South-15 after experiencing anaphylactic shock from a bee sting. The uh- EpiPen failed and some joggers helped them out, Dr. McKay was trearting her and everything was stable when we left besides the swelling and hives she had.” she explained keeping her recounting of it short, really wanting to find Lucas’s father as soon as possible. 

The two stepped inside the small room, the young boy sitting in the same cramped chair, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Hey, Lucas. This is Dr. Robby he’s gonna help-” Mel could barely get the rest of her sentence out before the boy looked up and rushed into the arms of the man beside her. 

“Uncle Mikey!” he cried out, latching onto the older doctor who scooped him up. 

“Hey Luke, what are ya doing here buddy?” Still a bit shocked, Robby gave the boy a quick scan looking for any sign that something could be wrong, “I heard your mom got stung by a bee.” 

Lucas let out a small sniffle, resting his head on the shoulder of his uncle. “It was scary… an-and mommy left her phone in the car so-so I couldn’t call anyone!” He kept his little body close, fists locked onto the blue hoodie Robby was known for wearing. He was still scared, just now beginning to process everything that had happened in the past hour or so. 

Mel stood off to the side, letting the two talk amongst themselves for a few moments. “You know Dr. Robby, Lucas?” 

The pair turned to her and Robby adjusted the boy so he could see the woman a bit better. “Dr. King meet Lucas Abbot, I’m surprised he didn’t say so sooner-probably the nerves.”  The older man looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him, the only familiar person he had seen since arriving to the PTMC. “You wanna go find your dad?” 

Lucas nodded a resounding yes, keeping his face buried in the neck of the older man hoping he would keep carrying him. 

“Dr. King, I got it from here if you want to go back and work,” Mel took her leave after that, giving Lucas a small wave goodbye before going back into the fold. 

Robby set the small boy down, repacking the scattered items back into the bag. He tried not to think about the faulty EpiPen, or how Jack was going to react upon finding out what had occurred. If anything that man was protective, and if hearing that his wife had been admitted didn’t set him off—hearing his son was here and hadn’t been able to contact him definitely would. 

“Yo Dana, we have a visitor with us today.” The brunette gave the curls on Lucas’s head, a trait he got from his father, a small rub, as they got to the charge nurse’s attention. The blonde let out a small gasp as she bent down to give the boy a hug. 

“And what are you doing here, little man? Where’s your mama? Your Dad’s running all over the place today, have you seen him yet?” She looked back up at Robby, holding the boy close. 

The older man gave a small shake of his head, a knowing look in his brown eyes. “She’s uh- She’s in south-15 and we were actually looking for Jack, have you seen him?” 

Dana glanced at the board, “He was about to discharge a patient from north-8, you could probably catch him before the next Ambo pulls up.” 

“Alright, buddy,” Robby said, offering his hand to Lucas again. “Let’s go find your dad before he disappears on us.”

Dana gave the boy one more quick squeeze and a wink before standing up again. “Tell him to take five once you find him. He’s been running around since before you got here.”

They made their way toward the north wing, weaving between carts and stretchers, the bustle of the hospital constant. Lucas stayed close, wide-eyed but silent, clutching Robby’s fingers like a lifeline.

As they rounded the corner near North-8, Robby spotted him—Dr. Jack Abbot clipboard in hand, shoulder leaning into the doorway of a patient room as he gave discharge instructions with that familiar composed intensity. Even from here, Robby could see the stress around his eyes. Whatever calm Jack projected, it wasn’t rooted deep today. The patient stepped away into the crowd of people and Robby stepped into view, catching his eye.

Jack nodded a little when he saw him, expecting a routine update—until he saw the small figure beside him.

“Lucas?”

The clipboard hit the counter with a clack.

Lucas let go of Robby’s hand and ran straight into his father’s arms, the impact knocking the breath out of Jack for half a second.

“Hey—hey, what—” Jack crouched down, holding Lucas tightly, searching his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Lucas clung to him like a koala, cheeks red and eyes glassy. “Mommy’s sick,” he whispered. “The pen didn’t work. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

Jack’s face paled. His arms tightened instinctively. “Where is she?”

“South-15,” Robby answered quietly, giving the man a moment before continuing. “It was a bee sting. The EpiPen failed. She was treated right away, vitals are stable, McKay’s with her.”

Jack didn’t move at first, just held his son close, forehead resting against Lucas’s curls as he processed it all—the sudden fear, the guilt, the helplessness. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“I didn’t even know—no wonder she wasn’t answering her phone.” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay,” Robby reminded him gently. “And your son? Absolute champ. Kept his head until the crews showed up.”

Lucas pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t cry. I was gonna, but I didn’t.”

Jack smiled through the tightness in his chest. “Good job, bud.”

He stood up slowly, Lucas still in his arms, and turned to Robby. “I need to see her.”

Robby nodded. “Go on, Brother. I’ll let Dana know what’s going on, let her know you’re clocking off early.” He handed over the backpack and let the father/son duo head off. 

Making their way to you, where you were taken was a bit more private than other rooms and the soft beeping could be heard from outside. The two stopped outside, Jack prepping the boy for what he was about to see. 

“Hey…So mommy’s probably gonna be sleepy and she might have a hard time talking okay? We should be able to see her though.” Lucas nodded into his dad’s shoulder, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of Jack’s black scrub top.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I won’t be loud.”

Jack gave a little smile at that, brushing his son’s curls down gently before reaching for the door. The soft click of the handle felt louder than it should have, and as they stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—like adrenaline and the memories embedded within the room.

The room was dimly lit, with only the overhead light above your bed on. You were propped up slightly, eyes closed, an oxygen cannula under your nose. Your arm had an IV line, and Princess was quietly making notes on the monitor screen.

Jack’s breath hitched in his throat.

Lucas didn’t say anything right away. His gaze was locked on you, his brown eyes wide and unreadable as he stared at his mom, so happy and full of life only hours ago, now tucked into white sheets with wires and machines surrounding her.

“Mommy…” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, sluggish but aware. You turned your head slightly, the movement slow and pained, but unmistakably focused on him.

Jack stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed so Lucas could see you better.

“She’s awake,” Jack said softly. “You can say hi, baby.”

Lucas’s lip trembled, but he leaned toward you. “I’m sorry,” he blurted suddenly. “I tried with the pen but it didn’t work and I was scared and I couldn’t call—”

Your fingers twitched and slowly reached for him, and Jack gently helped guide Lucas’s hand to yours. Holding the both of yours within his strong grip.

“You did so good, baby,” you said, your voice hoarse but warm. “I’m okay, and you were so brave.”

Lucas crawled gently onto the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into any of the cords or wires. He curled up beside your arm, still holding your hand tightly.

Jack sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his face and finally letting out a shaky breath.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said quietly, half to himself, half to you. You gave him a tired smile, and Jack reached up to brush your hair from your face.

“But you’re here,” he said. “And we’re okay. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky we weren’t closer to Pres, would’ve really lost your shit…” you gave him the best smile you could muster, while he gave you a knowing look. 

He let out yet another sigh, still keeping your hand in his. “We need to get you another EpiPen, and put my goddamn number in that park bag.” 

“You have fun with that, babe,” you murmured, voice still rough but tinged with just enough sass to draw a soft snort from Jack.

“Oh, I will,” he said, dragging the chair a little closer to the bed. “You’re gonna have a laminated emergency list in every bag we own. Backpack, baseball bag, glove box—hell, I’ll sew one into your damn jacket lining if I have to.”

Lucas perked up a little at that, lifting his head. “I can start baseball?”

Jack looked over at him, mock-serious. “Only if you promise not to spill a bunch of stuff in the bag again.”

Lucas giggled for the first time since they got there, that tiny sound easing something deep in Jack’s chest. You chuckled too, though it ended in a soft wince as your ribs reminded you what happened.

Jack leaned forward instinctively, hand pressing lightly over yours again. “Easy,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, but your grip on his fingers said another thing.

I love you, I’m sorry. 

The room fell into a quiet rhythm after that—the soft hum of monitors, Lucas gently dozing off against your arm after hours of turmoil, Jack watching both of you with an expression halfway between exhaustion and fierce devotion.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a moment, just for him.

He looked up.

“For having such good doctor friends, for loving me… For being a good dad,”

Jack leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Always.”

“wait, wait!” santos laughs, “drunk vs table top dancing!” that caused more cackling.

whitaker rushes back in then, two purses, two jackets, and one strappy heel in hand.

“and what do we have here?” john asks as he approaches the trio, whitaker frantically trying to get the girls to quiet.

“johnny boy!” you yell on his approach. “i fought gravity and lost!”

whitaker—seemingly deemed designated driver and therefore sober—clarifies nervously, “uh, 27 year old female presents with severe pain in left ankle after falling from…height—“

“i was dancing on the bar!”

“—ankle had rapid swelling and bruising in route. um, and she’s drunk.”

john looks back down at the r2 in the wheelchair—clearly either the adrenaline or your drunkenness has lessened the pain, you once again cackling with santos about some guy in a fedora you saw earlier.

“south 22 is open,” lena calls from the hub.

“alright, let’s get you guys back—“ john is cut off by two emts pushing in a gurney.

“who the hell parked their car in the bay!?” one shouts.

whitaker let’s out a quick shit! before shoving the items from his arms into john’s.

11:23pm and he now had the perfect case to leave abbot.

SHEN $50 THEY JUST FRICK NASTY

———

jack abbot first took real notice of you during your first stretch of night shifts as an ms4.

you were smart, easily keeping up with the intern you’d been assigned to. you were a team-player, willing to step in wherever needed, even if that led you to scut work or covered in bodily fluids. you were kind, volunteering to hold a toddler’s hand while they received stitches instead of clamoring to do them yourself.

and yeah, jack noticed that you were attractive, okay? objectively, clinically—not in any way he would ever entertain, let himself think twice about. that was until he caught a whiff of your perfume at a patient’s bedside.

it was barely there, like you’d put it on that morning hoping it’d wear off before shift. but it was enough. enough for him to catch the faint vanilla sweetness. enough to be familiar.

enough to remind him of the scent his wife used to wear.

———

bridget takes over wheeling you into the pitt, trinity stumbling in her own heeled boots behind you, now holding your bags and coats.

“so, you all havin’ a fun night?” bridget teases as you arrive.

“yeah! girls’ night out!” you reply, precariously hopping into the bed.

“wasn’t dr. whitaker with you two?”

trinity snorts plopping into the now empty wheelchair, “yeah. like she said, girls’ night out.” that sent you both back into your hysterics.

bridget just smiles with a shake of her head as she sets up for your iv, throwing a blanket over your legs for good measure. your short dress continues to inch up in your antics, no need to give the whole er a show—maybe just a certain doctor.

“just couldn’t stay away, could ya?” bridget asks, making quick work of your iv. a hushed ow, shit! escaping you.

before you could, trinity answers. “she wanted t’see her maaaans,” rolling foward.

that catches the nurse’s attention. “oh, her mans, huh?”

you answer with an exaggerated dreamy sigh, “yeah, hal ‘n i got somethin’ special.” hal, the 70 year old, part-time security guard stationed at the metal detectors. hal, who’s been married for 40 years…to a man.

that earns another snort from trinity, you following shortly. bridget wheels trinity out of the room with a heeey! from both drunken doctors.

BRIDGET $20 ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY

———

trinity santos wasn’t nice. she was tough and sarcastic and brutally honest, quick with a witty response or teasing dig. trinity santos wasn’t nice, but, as much as she liked to deny it, trinity santos was kind.

she befriended you during her second year of residency.

charting at the hub toward the end of a night shift, trinity couldn’t help but notice your phone vibrating on the counter—again.

“you gonna get that?” trinity asked with raised brows.

not looking up from the computer, you replied, “it’s just my landlord. he’ll leave a message if it’s important.”

“your landlord calls you at 4 in the morning for unimportant things?”

after a beat, you rushed to answer your phone and began walking to the break room.

a while later you returned red eyed and jittery, but went back to your charting without a word. if you weren’t going to mention it, trinity wasn’t going to either.

as he came to return a tablet, dr. abbot also noticed your change in demeanor. “you good, kid?”

head jerking up, you plastered on an obviously forced smile, “yeah! just bad news from the landlord. i’ll be—“ your voice caught in your throat.

dr. abbot looked at you, head leaning forward as to tell you to continue.

letting out a shaky breath, you did, “my apartment building flooded and since i’m on the ground floor my unit is trashed and my landlord said there’s no way i can stay there after my shift and that he won’t know how long the repairs will take or if he’ll just break the lease while work is happening and my roommate said she’s gonna stay with her boyfriend but that there’s no extra room so now i’m just out on the curb and i’m freaking out a little—“

you continued to panic at the nurses station, dr. abbot patting at your shoulder as some form of comfort.

as trinity stood to check on a patient, she caught dennis’ eyes from across the hub.

trinity, we have a couch, they seemed to say.

no fucking way, huckleberry, i haven’t gotten rid of you yet, she willed her expression to reply.

c’mon, he gave with a disappointed tilt of his head.

rolling her eyes, trinity turned to you. “hey, huckleberry and i have a pull-out couch. you can crash with us.”

that’s how you became trinity’s second offering from the fourth year medical student distribution system, one she hoped wouldn’t become a foster-fail like the last.

you ended up staying for two months until you found a new place.

SANTOS $20 SHE MARRIES HIM FOR HIS VA BENEFITS THEN HE MYSTERIOUSLY CROAKS

———

jack abbot’s residents were smart. he made sure of it. only the best and brightest able to last under his tutaledge. his residents were smart, but god could they be idiots.

so seeing santos and whitaker after hours, one clearly drunk sitting in a wheelchair, both dressed like they were going out, he knew it couldn’t be good.

“what are you two doing here?” jack asks as he approaches the pair.

“just an little accident at—“ whitaker answers at the same time santos says, “bar fight,” rolling herself back and forth in the wheelchair.

jack looks between the two. neither look injured—one clearly intoxicated, but not injured.

as if reading his thoughts, santos clarifies. “we’re fine, dr. abbot,” a shit-eating grin slowly growing on her face, “can’t say the same for twinkle toes over there.” she nods her head toward south 22.

looking up at the board, jack sees your name: possible ankle break, iv fluids started.

letting out a huff, he calls over to the other r2 at the far end of the nurses station, “javadi, with me.”

———

the first time you fucked jack abbot was in a bar bathroom toward the end of your final year of medical school.

the day shift had gone out to celebrate dana’s birthday, joined by a few night shift friends not scheduled that evening—jack included. a night filled with drinking and stories and shots and celebration.

you sat at a table with dana, cassie, and jack, picking at some over-priced appetizer platter and listening to them recount stories of the birthday girl. you hadn’t expected to be invited out with your colleagues, but dana insisted that everyone was welcome, even wide-eyed ms4s.

and maybe you were edging a little past tipsy, maybe you were just deluding yourself, but you swore you could feel jack continue to lean closer to you, his focus shift more intently on you. maybe it was the fifth drink you’d seen him down that night, maybe it was the months of you following him around like a starstruck idiot, but you swore you saw his eyes flicker down to your mouth more than once.

trinity appeared then, hands full of unnaturally pink shots, squeezing next to you into the chair you already occupied. “for the birthday girl!” she cheered, raising a shot glass in one hand and handing dana another, “and co,” signaling for the table’s other occupants to take one as well.

coughing after shooting down what must have been strawberry scented nail polish remover, you looked to jack. his normally stoic face was twisted into a look of horror, causing you to burst out laughing. his gaze returned to you, the corners of his mouth twitching up—eyes once again darting to your mouth.

before thinking, you quickly stood and announced that you were running to the restroom, shooting jack a look over your shoulder as you walked away.

it took 27 seconds—you counted—for him to join you in the room, clicking the lock shut behind him.

it took another 14—again, you counted—before his mouth crashed into yours, all clacking teeth and bumping noses, desperate and drunk.

pushing you against the sink, jack moved sloppy kisses across your cheek, over your jaw, down your neck.

“y’changed your perfume,” he said nosing behind your ear. not a question, an observation.

as his mouth moved lower to your collarbone, you answered, “gotta couple diff’rent ones. you noticed?”

jack didn’t reply, just let out an mmm as he worked at the button of your pants, swiftly pulling them down, trapped at the ankle by your shoes.

kneeling in front of you, jack lifted your legs to rest over his shoulders before he dove into you. he was sloppy, uncoordinated, moving your panties to the side to lick into your cunt.

he added his fingers after only a moment, a strangled moan ripping from your mouth at the intrusion. he sucked at your clit as he scissored his thick fingers, attempting to prepare you for the stretch of him.

the mix of alcohol and blood rushing from your head had you dizzy, intoxicated in more ways than one.

satisfied with his work, jack stood between your legs, trapped ankles locking around his hips. you both fumbled at his belt, pulling his jeans down only low enough to free his cock—red and angry and leaking and thick.

you let out a shaky breath as jack spit into his hand, giving a few tugs at his length. he again pulled your panties to the side before bringing himself to your entrance.

the thick of his head breaching your walls ripped a loud moan from you, jack moving his free hand up to quickly cover your mouth.

“y’gotta stay quiet. can’t let ‘em know,” he grunted as he continued to slowly thrust into you.

nodding your head behind his hand, he released it, and you brought him in for another desperate kiss, hand fisted in his hair, tongue fighting for entrance to his mouth.

jack began thrusting into you in earnest then, the wet smack of skin on skin echoing in the small room. he moved his hand back to your swollen clit then, fingers moving expertly to bring you closer to your orgasm.

you trade moans and grunts into each other’s mouths, you keening loudly, too loudly, as you’re brought over the edge, walls spasming around his thick cock.

and he didn’t ask. and you didn’t remind him. so when jack’s orgasm hit him, he came buried deep inside your fluttering warmth, mouth pressed tight against your neck.

after a few moments, he pulled out of you, cum leaking from your cunt. slipping off your shoe to allow one leg to go free, jack stepped back to tuck himself back into his pants.

before he could move out of your reach, you grabbed at the hem of his shirt. mind suddenly devoid of everything you’d ever wanted to say to him, you just stared up at jack, willing him to read your thoughts, for him to say something first. instead, he stepped in and placed a lingering kiss to your forehead before exiting back into the bar.

returning to your seat at the table, you didn’t notice that jack had gone to sit at the bar with robby, downing two more drinks since he’d arrived. leaning your head against trinity’s shoulder, you didn’t notice the drunken smile on your lips—you didn’t notice the knowing expressions adorning cassie and dana’s faces. letting your eyes flutter shut, you didn’t notice jack’s cum dripping out of you.

DANA $10 THEY DANCE AROUND IT UNTIL IT’S TOO LATE :(

MCKAY $10 THEY HOOK UP 1.5 TIMES

———

sometimes victoria javadi still can’t believe she decided to match into emergency medicine. most days it’s great—interesting, thrilling, challenging. some days it’s terrible—tragic, depressing, stomach-turning. but every so often, it’s eye roll-inducing, scoff-worthy, second-hand embarrassing—tonight is one of those nights.

walking into south 22 with dr. abbot, she comes face to face with her fellow r2—though gone are the normal black scrubs and bare face, replaced with a tiny going-out dress and the remnants of eye makeup. you currently had the foot of your good leg in your lap, trying to undo the one strappy heel you still wore.

“vicky!” you exclaim with a smile seeing the doctors’ arrival. “help a comrade out?”

before victoria can, dr. abbot steps forward and makes quick work of the heel, setting it next to the discarded one on the chair next to your coat—weird.

tucking your good leg back under the blanket, dr. abbot asks—smiling? “you really did a number on yourself, huh?”

in lieu of a real answer, you grin and lift your injured leg into the air, letting out a ding!, the hospital blanket the only thing keeping you from flashing everyone—jesus, you must be drunk. that gets an actual laugh from dr. abbot—so weird.

you vaguely listen as victoria presents the case, going over the initial treatment plan—pain meds and x-rays—and future possibilities—ortho consult, surgery, resetting, casting—more interested in the other doctor in the room.

“hey there, handsome,” you say to dr. abbot after victoria finishes, drunken smile on your face.

victoria gasps, quickly whispering, “please don’t say that about our boss, oh my god.” she could not be a witness to your hr violation, couldn’t let yourself get fired.

“why not? jackie’s a catch!” you say looking from dr. abbot to victoria.

“yeah, i’m a catch,” dr. abbot mocks. “i get sweet discounts and get to park wherever i want.” he doesn’t seem upset by the comment, so victoria just excuses herself to call x-ray.

so weird.

JAVADI $5 NOTHING (HE’S OLD, YOU GUYS!)

———

michael robinavitch was a good friend, or least he tried to be. his therapist helping him learn to open up to his friends, and in turn, encouraging his friends to open up to him.

but when robby’s closest friend—his brother in arms, his partner in crime, the pain in his ass—drunk in the passenger seat of his truck on the way home from dana’s party, asked, “get ‘er a dose’a levonorgestrel in the mornin’ fer me, yeah?” robby didn’t know how good of a friend he wanted to be.

“what?” he asked, head snapping between jack and the road.

jack murmured out something that sounded a whole lot like your name, then, “the mornin’ af’er pill. getter a dose. ‘m sure she’ll get one, but jus’in case.”

robby was rendered speechless for the rest of the drive to jack’s.

as he fumbled to open the door with his keys, jack poked robby in the chest. “lev’norges’rel,” all he said before swiftly opening and closing the door in robby’s face.

the next morning, robby found you—his med student, for fuck’s sake—at your locker. pulling the brown pharmacy bag from his backpack, he sat it in the open door.

“what’s this?” you asked peering into the bag, the word levonorgestrel staring back at you.

you quickly crumple the bag closed, head whipping to robby, eyes wide. “what!?” you whisper shouted.

robby held his hands in front of him, palms open. “i’m just the messenger.”

“what did jack tell—“ you start, but are interrupted by robby waving his outstretched hands once, before placing them up to his ears as if to cover them if you try to speak.

“i don’t know anything. i don’t want to know anything,” he stated, turning on his heel to walk out of the hallway.

robby decided he was the greatest friend jack would ever know, and that he owed him big for this.

ROBBY $50 HE JUST PINES UNTIL HER RESIDENCY IS OVER

———

lena doesn’t love using the intercom to announce incoming traumas, not at night. with as many boarders in the pitt as there were anymore, the loud tone followed by a bodiless voice echoing the halls could be startling to those who’d actually manage to fall asleep. so when able, when she knew the current location of the attending, she would gladly walk to them to announce the incoming, giving even a moment of peace to the souls with them for the night.

typically when she found jack, he wasn’t hovering at the bedside of his pretty little resident.

jack has both hands on the bed’s side rail, leaning casually against the edge. he smirks down at you, face softer than lena had seen in a long time.

you were laying partially propped up in the bed, smiling up at jack with a big grin, speaking rapidly about something. the index finger of your hand closest to jack was fiddling with the draw string of his scrub pants—not sexual, not even flirtatious, but familiar, like maybe you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

what really did it for lena, though, was when you said something that caused jack to smile—an honest to god, open-mouthed, teeth-showing smile; that was the jack abbot equivalent of twirling his hair and giggling like a school girl.

lena couldn’t even bring herself to be mad she seemed to be out 15 bucks.

“they’re being weird, right?” dr. javadi says as she steps next to lena, tablet in hand. the young doctor looks legitimately concerned.

bumping her shoulder, lena just replies, “come on, kid.”

walking closer to the curtained room, jack notices the two approaching and quickly backs away, stoic expression returning. if he had noticed lena noticing them, he shows no indication.

“jack, we got a level 2 trauma incoming, 7 minutes out,” lena informs. “the v.i.p. will hafta make due with the resident.”

“yeah, v.i.p., learn your acronyms,” you mock as jack moves to leave, him shooting you a look as he does. you just grin big in return.

as dr. javadi makes work explaining your treatment—non-displaced ankle fracture, walking boot, no weight for a minimum of three weeks—lena adds, “dr. whitaker left to take dr. santos home. told him i’d tell you. said to call when you’re getting dispoed and he’d come back up.”

in reply, you give a small, “sounds good, queen,” the night finally catching up to you, sleep tugging at your eyes.

LENA $15 THEY GO ON ONE AWKWARD DATE

———

the second time you fucked jack abbot, it was on the hospital roof part way through your intern year.

ever since that night in the bar, things had changed between you and jack, grown tense. gone were the puppy dog eyes and good works, replaced by impatience and ever increasing criticisms.

“god! you are such a fucking prick, sometimes!” you screamed at him after reaching the roof. the pitt had grown too used to your spats with jack, but that night’s bout was especially hostile, shouldn’t be heard by hovering ears.

“and you’re a whiny fuckin’ brat when you don’t get your way!” he returned.

“i wasn’t whining, jack! i was advocating for my patient!”

the senior resident you’d been assigned to that shift hadn’t taken your proposed diagnosis seriously, said you were just a little intern hunting zebras. when his treatment plan led the patient to crash, you snapped. you seemed to release all the built-up frustration inside you, all the anger from months of being doubted by your attending. and yeah, maybe the resident shouldn’t have been on the receiving end of it, but your diagnosis was correct, and he did belittle you for it—your rage only pausing when jack stepped in with an enough! before leading you to the elevator.

“maybe so, but you’re sure as fuck are whining now,” jack said lowly, if not a little demeaning.

his tone snapped something deeper in you, giving a shove to his solid chest with a shout of “asshole!” you didn’t know why you did it, you were never a violent person. and though the push barely seemed to rock jack, it made his expression darken.

before you could open your mouth to apologize, jack pulled you in by the neck for a bruising kiss. pulling at each others hair and nipping at lips, he slammed your back against the brick wall of the roof, the hand cradling the back of your head the only softness from him.

“you’re such a mouthy fuckin’ brat,” he grunted into your mouth, tugging at his belt, “y’should put it to better use.”

it shouldn’t have turned you on, guys talking down to you like that usually didn’t, but god, something about it coming from jack made your thighs squeeze together.

dropping to your knees, you finish helping him out of his boxers, gripping the base of his leaking cock.

you placed sloppy open-mouthed kisses along his length as you stared back up at him, his brows furrowed and breaths coming harshly from his nose.

when your mouth finally wrapped around the tip, jack’s hand flew to your hair, grabbing it harshly. he set a steady rhythm with the grip on your hair, you hollowing your cheeks and letting him use your mouth to chase his pleasure.

one hand clawed into his firm asscheek, your other snaked down the front of your scrub pants, fingers attempting to give yourself some relief.

noticing the movements, jack yanked you off him forcefully, an involuntary whine leaving your throat.

hoisting you up, jack turned you to face into the brick wall, ripping your scrub bottoms down. he didn’t offer any prep that time, just glided his cock through your slick folds, gathering your wetness, before slamming into you.

you choked out a shout, or maybe a moan, back arching away from the man behind you, strong hands holding you in place.

pounding into you, jack let out only grunts, no words giving away whatever was going through his mind, what he was thinking.

your hands gripped desperately at the brick of the wall, searching for leverage, for something to hold. jack moved one hand from your hip to rest over the back of yours, fingers lacing together. another moment of softness, cut only by the bruising grip at your hip, the nipping at your neck, the slam of hips against yours.

resting your forehead against the back of his hand curled around yours, you once again reached the other between your legs, rubbing tight circles around your clit—this time, jack allows it.

moaning and panting and grunting, your paces quicken, grips tighten. you came with a sob, the head of jack’s cock hitting the perfect spot inside you, your fingers moving deftly between your thighs.

when jack pulled from you, he tugged at his length until he was coming against your ass, ropes of cum hot in the cool pennsylvania air.

his head dropped to your shoulder, your hand reaching to card through the hairs at the nape of his neck, each of you attempting to catch your breath.

for a moment it was peaceful—no shouting, no bickering, no digging critiques—just two people sharing pleasure.

jack pulled a wet wipe from one of his cargo pockets—a soldier’s always prepared, he used to joke—gently swiping it to clean his spend from you, before pulling your scrubs back up around your hips.

you wanted to say something again, as you did when this happened before, but jack just placed a large hand between your shoulder blades, fingers giving the slightest pressure to your skin, before turning and walking back into the hospital.

when the email came the next morning, stating your night shift rotation was ending early and you were to report back on days, you didn’t try to stop the tears from falling from your eyes.

———

it could have been minutes, but must have been hours, when you wake to jack shifting the hospital blanket further up your body.

“‘t time’s it?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “‘m i bein’ dispoed?”

“around 3, sweetheart,” he answers. “don’t worry about calling whitaker, robby’s heading in an hour early. i’ll drive you to yours to pack.”

“to pack?” you ask, only slightly more conscious.

“you live in a third story walk-up. if you’re plannin’ on leaving it for the next three weeks, you’ll have to stay somewhere else.”

“any ideas where?” you ask, eyes closing again.

jack just smoothes a hand down the top of your head and tells you to go back to sleep. for once, you listen.

———

the third time you fucked jack abbot is at the end of intern year.

after receiving the email all but banishing you to day shift months prior, you only caught glimpses of jack at turnover, all your future night shifts under shen as attending.

you looked for jack in the early hours of the day, hoping to catch him before he left, but he was always unavailable, preoccupied, gone.

he didn’t bicker or criticize anymore. he didn’t banter. he just ignored, he avoided. the silence that stretched between you two grew palpable, suffocating.

and finally you’d had enough.

it’d taken until then, that night, to work with jack again.

“why do you hate me?” you asked after cornering him in the staff parking lot after your shift, dawn settling over pittsburgh.

that gave jack pause. “excuse me?” he replied, looking at you with furrowed brows and squinted eyes, thick arms crossing over his chest.

the weight of jack’s stare was always heavy, intense, but this was nearly unbearable, drowning you in pools of hazel.

but you’d made the decision to confront him, needed to stand your ground. taking a shaky breath, mirroring his stance, you said again, “you heard me. why do you hate me?”

jack’s brow twitched minutely, a nearly imperceivable crack in his armor. he saw you mirror his stance, but your posture was vulnerable, your eyes sorrowful. it compelled him to start honestly, “i don’t hate you.”

that wasn’t what you were expecting—a dismissal, probably; a confirmation, maybe, but not that.

your stance shifted, weight rocking from one foot to the other, arms wrapping tighter around you. “then why—“ you started, looking away then seemingly forcing your gaze back to jack, steeling yourself.

speaking firmer, you continued, “we were fine until—until dana’s party and then things changed. you changed. not even oh-shit-i-screwed-my-med-student awkward changed—“

“lower your voice—“ jack said stepping forward. that wasn’t something he needed overheard.

“but you got…mean. cruel even. you criticized me harsher than everyone, like suddenly i lost all credibility—“

“that’s not—“

“—like i was suddenly an ms3 on her first day again, trying to impress everyone and feeling like an idiot every step of—“

“i was impressed by you as an ms3.”

“—the way and you’ve been so fucking—wait, what the fuck is that supposed mean?” you finally paused your rant, take aback by jack’s words, the intensity of his stare.

“you’ve always been impressive. and i’ve never hated you, that’s the problem. i let myself slip that night and—“ his hands moved to his hips, his head hanging to look at the ground instead of in your eyes, “and pushing you away with cruelty was easier than staying away in silence,” he finished, head moving to look off to the side.

“jack, what are you—“

his gaze shot back to yours, stepping closer, “but even with the cruelty you came closer, just as fiery, calling out my bullshit because you knew that’s exactly what it was. and that still didn’t fuckin’ stop my mind from slipping again.”

“jack—“

he pushed the heels of his palm into his eyes as he continued, “and now i’m all scrambled in my head and i can’t get myself to keep this up. i can’t fucking tell when i stopped chasing a ghost and started chasing you. i don’t know how to act around you anymore—“

“jack! what are you trying to say?” you had to interrupt him, had to, before your mind spun his words into something they weren’t, into something that lit a spark of hope in your chest.

“i lo—“ he blew out a breath, dropping his hands to his sides, “i like you. care about you. more than i should. not like an attending should a resident. not like a teacher should a student. like how a man cares for a woman, how—“

“have dinner with me.”

“what?”

now you took the step closer, eyes never leaving his. “have dinner with me. like a date.”

he tried turning away as he said, “honey, i’ve been so fucking bad to you—“ but you chased his gaze.

“then make it up to me. have dinner with me.”

and he did. and it goes great, how it should when a man cares for a woman.

he drove you home afterward. and he said yes when you invited him up, holding his hand, smile on your face. and he said yes when you asked him to come inside, fist in his hair, moan in your throat.

the first time jack abbot made love to you was after your first date.

———

six am comes quickly. a pain behind your eyes accompanies the pain in your ankle as you’re shuffled back into a wheelchair by bridget. jacket around your shoulders, booted ankle propped up in the footrest, you’re rolled through the ambulance bay doors once more.

the drive back to your apartment with jack is quiet, peaceful.

“you never answered my question, by the way,” you say, turning to look at him.

“you asked a whole lotta questions last night, baby. gonna have to be more specific,” he says, a hint of humor in his voice.

rolling your eyes and hitting his arm with the back of your hand, you answer, “the one where i asked where i was supposed to stay.”

glancing to you, he smirks, “you’re stayin’ with me ‘til you’re at least able to put weight on that ankle.”

“hmm, just ‘til then?” you ask playfully.

jack just looks back to the road, reaching to curl your hand in his and giving the back of it a kiss, fighting the smile tugging at his lips.

———

dennis whitaker was raised to believe that honesty was the best policy; that lies were sinful and would only lead to ruin, that truth would lead to blessings. but growing older, growing beyond his small nebraska town, dennis grew to know that a white lie to spare someone’s feelings was better than brutal honesty just for honesty’s sake.

maybe that’s why he kept the betting pool a secret from you for so long.

you may have thought it uncomfortable, inappropriate even, if you found out the way your coworkers had bet on whatever the hell was going on with you and dr. abbot. he thought maybe it was a kindness to spare you the theories and guesses regarding your personal life. and maybe he would have never mentioned it, had your attitude toward dr. abbot not again changed recently.

disagreements and debates had replaced curiosity and longing glances over year ago, but now, palpable tension and suppressed smiles where the norm between you too.

“there’s a betting pool, y’know?” dennis asked out of the blue one afternoon.

you turned from your charting, “there usually is. what’s this one on?”

dennis shook his head. “no, there’s a secret betting pool. on you…and dr. abbot,” he ended in a whisper, hoping no one heard him spill the beans.

your face lit up in amusement at that, “oh, is there now? what’re people saying?”

“i don’t think you wanna know.”

you huffed a laugh at his seriousness. “well, then what was your bet? maybe i could help ya win some money, denny.”

dennis just shook his head, “sorry, no influencing. it wouldn’t be fair.”

dennis whitaker was an honest guy. and maybe that honesty helped bless him a whole lot of money.

WHITAKER $20 THEY FALL IN LOVE

———

jack abbot wasn’t a religious man, not anymore. but he liked to think his wife was still out there, somewhere peaceful, watching out for him. maybe she had sent him a gift—someone new to love, and to love him in return. someone who held him accountable, called him on his bullshit. someone warm. someone sent wrapped in the scent of sweet vanilla.

———

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"Hi, handsome."

"Wanna come over after your shift?"

Read.

You huff out a humorless laugh. The old man really left you on Read.

You know Jack isn't a big texter, making the age-gap between you hilariously obvious. But today it gets to you.

Jack isn't your immediate superior, but you wonder if this is why he's been acting cold. More than usual.

The ER staff love to talk. Of course they do. But neither Jack nor you care about that. You’ve made it clear there’s an undeniable connection between you.

So, you’ve acted on it.

The last couple of months have been bliss, an unspoken understanding of exclusivity.

But now, Jack's been distant. Swapping shifts, avoiding working with you.

Was it something you did?

You've already double texted him today, wishing him a good shift and letting him know that Robby's asked you to 'babysit'.

How embarrassing. But you draft another.

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, will be up for some fun when you get home... ;)"

You delete the last part. God. Don't show your age!

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, see you soon."

You hit send.

Code Triage. Emergency Department Now.

The mass casualty event is in full swing. Patients come and go. Green. Yellow. Pink. Red. Black and White.

It's a haze of coordinated chaos.

Jack keeps trying to reach you in-between treating patients, leaving you countless voicemails.

Of course he would.

"Hey, Y/N. It's Jack. Call or text me the second you get this message, okay?" His voice trembles. "She's not picking up."

"I can't reach Jake either." Robby mutters.

"I'm sure they're ok." Dana offers gently.

Time slips away, minutes turning into hours. Their shift was supposed to end a while ago, but they've stopped keeping track.

"I'm going to check on triage." Robby announces, stepping out to help Shen and Ellis assess incoming patients. "No pulse. Black and white. Pink zone. Strong pulse. Unresponsive. No obvious GSW. Red zone GSW left chest."

A familiar voice cuts through the noise. "She was talking when we first got into the truck. T- There was so much blood."

"Jake!" Robby's at his side in a flash.

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad...", Jake cries out.

Robby is at a loss for words, his medical instincts fighting the fatherly ones in a gruesome match.

"I've been putting pressure on the wound the whole time", Jake stutters.

"That's good. You're good", Robby reassures him, more for himself than Jake.

The team rushes Leah into the ER. Jake follows closely behind. "You can't stay with her. There's no room and we need to work on Leah right now", Robby says firmly, getting to work immediately.

Jack spots them and hurries over, panic rising in his chest.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asks, voice tight.

"I- I don’t know," Jake mutters. "She stopped Leah’s bleeding, then went back in."

"What do you mean?" Jack growls, trying to keep his voice calm.

Robby looks up, taking in Jake's words. The lines on his forehead growing deeper.

"People were screaming. The shots were so loud. She- She went back to see if others needed help." Jake's eyes well up, before he is wheeled off to get treated.

Of course you would put someone else's safety over your own.

Others might see it as noble, but Robby and Jack think it's reckless.

They exchange a look, knowing there's nothing they can do to reach you. To make sure you're okay.

Jack is called to another patient, while Robby proceeds to work on Leah.

Despite their best efforts, it's not enough.

Minutes pass. Jack watches Robby closely, his desperation becoming more evident by the second. Dana gives Jack a knowing look, recognizing the only person who can reach Robby right now is him.

Jack steps closer, glasses off, his voice gentle.

"The bullet tore through her heart", he says softly, giving Robby time to process.

"Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can't keep up with the blood loss. If she was our only patient, we'd do a thoracotamy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we'd get her back." Jack's words hang heavy in the air, but he continues.

"We're gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl." Jack doesn't let it show, but it pains him to see Robby hurting like this.

Robby does one final pulse check. But Leah's heart is no longer beating, the realization shattering his own.

"Okay, we're done", Robby whispers, breaking.

"We stopped at 19:47", Dana declares. "Move her to Pedes?", she asks gently.

Robby just nods.

"You want me to go with you to talk to Jake?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, thanks. I got it."

But another gurney is wheeled in. Robby notices first.

"Jesus Christ", he mutters. "What's going on?"

"Female. 30s. GSW to the right inguinal region. Retroperitoneal bleed", Dr. Mohan declares. But there's someone else kneeling at the end of the gurney, holding the patient's leg up. Robby and Jack's eyes widen, when they meet yours.

"The bullet must have tracked north and hit the external illiac", you state nonchalantly, ignoring the stunned looks from your colleagues.

It was supposed to be your day off.

"Dr. Y/LN did a REBOA in the field to stop the bleeding", Samira continues.

"You did what?!" Robby gasps, incredulous but unable to hide his pride.

Jack is by your side in an instant. "Are you shitting me?"

"Hello to you too, Dr. Abbot", you smile weakly, still focused on the patient’s wound.

Another time, your smile would’ve lit a spark. Not now.

Jack's anger is palpable.

You’ve seen it before, his cold, stone-faced demeanor, always one existential crisis away from breaking. But never directed at you.

"Are you hurt?" Jack’s voice is dangerously low.

He's scared.

Robby and Jack scan your blood-soaked clothing. You quickly dismiss their concern.

"Uncontrollable bleeding from a pelvic artery, no other options. I blew up a balloon in the aorta to stop the bleed. Going in a few inches, zone three, below the kidney. I just needed to hit the femoral artery."

You hesitate, but go for it anyway.

"Piece of cake", you grin, weaker than usual, but you hope they don't notice. They do.

"Radial's stronger." Mel confirms.

Robby and Jack both notice your uneven breathing but chalk it up to the stress and trauma you've experienced.

"Also, GSW to the chest, left hypochondriac region. Probable internal bleeding", you continue.

"No. That's not true-", Samira objects.

You direct everyone's attention to your own chest, your breathing becoming erratic.

"What?!" Jack's voice cracks, disbelief, shock and fear hitting him all at once.

You feel like you can hear your own heartbeat, the ER growing eerily quiet at your confession.

"Okay. Let go of her leg", Robby orders in an intimidating tone.

"Gurney!" Jack barks.

"I need to lock the balloon first." You stare directly into Jack's eyes, knowing he won't budge. You turn to your friend and mentor, pleading.

"Robby." He knows you're right.

"Do it." Robby nods, ordering Whittaker to check the wound once you're done.

"BP's 110, by palp", Donnie announces.

Jack remains frozen, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

"The balloon can stay up for an hour max. Get IR and Vascular on the case." Robby directs, before drawing everyone's attention back to you.

Your patient is stable.

You've done what you can.

But the blood loss is catching up with you.

"I- I think it's a through-and-through. My back hurts like hell and my legs feel funny." Jack snaps out of his trance, his training kicking in.

Robby lifts your top, shocked at the severity of the injury. Jack shuts his eyes, unable to stomach the sight.

It must be bad.

But it doesn't hurt too much.

Not a great sign.

"Okay. Stabilize her", Robby orders, multiple hands are on you immediately, steadying you. Grabbing the base of your neck, your shoulders and hips, securing you in place.

You're still sat on the gurney, but have now let go of the patient's leg.

"Strip her", Jack commands, voice low and firm, eyes dark and unreadable.

You try to lighten the mood. "Gee, buy me dinner first, won't you?"

A few giggles from the team, but Jack's lips are tightly pressed together in a fine line, facing downwards.

Dana cuts through your top, leaving only your bra. Unusual. But you're relieved to not flash your coworkers. You'd rather like to maintain the mysterious vibe you've got going on.

"Cowards", you tease. More chuckles, but worry growing on everyone's faces.

You whisper to Jack, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't respond. Can't look at you. Instead he orders a chest tube and a unit of blood.

A sharp gasp rips through you, the weight on your chest suddenly making it hard to breathe. "Fuck, that hurts." Any last traces of playfulness vanish, replaced by something else.

Fear.

Jack realizes he has to save his anger for later. "Hey. It's okay", a slight smile now tugging at his lips. "I've seen you worse", but the vulnerability in his voice betrays him.

Shit. It must be really bad. He's cracking jokes now?

Your anxiety spikes.

Is Jack about to watch you die?

You shiver at the thought. Or maybe it's the blood loss. Probably both.

Your vision blurs. Your thoughts get foggy.

"J-Jack?" You're not sure he hears you. Or anybody really. Did the words even come out?

Your eyes flutter shut. There are no more thoughts.

Only darkness.

Robby orders Jack to step back, the roles tragically reversed.

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He has been distant with you. But not because of your age, or your careers.

No, it's because letting you in means risking losing you and he knows he can't survive that kind of pain. He’s seen too much death, too much loss. And loving you only makes that fear stronger.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"I know." Robby is laser-focused, but shudders at the thought of Jack up on that roof again.

Painfully aware of the inevitable cost of losing you.

They won't. They can't.

Monitors and machines beep in a faint rhythm.

You wake, eyes heavy. A familiar figure is propped up in the armchair beside your bed.

He looks like shit.

Jack's wearing the same bloodstained scrubs, dark circles beneath his eyes, hair dishevelled. On second thought... it's a look.

"Hi, handsome", you whisper, unsure if it’s the relief of being alive, the pain meds or just seeing Jack, but a wave of comfort floods you.

He leans in, eyes wide with tenderness.

"Hi, beautiful."

His gaze radiates a warmth that kept you alive, even when your skin grew cold.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is soft. So unbelievably soft. The anger has subsided, but you know there’s a conversation you’ll have another day.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Peachy", you exhale, giving him a warm and genuine smile. He returns it, his shoulders relaxing more with every steady breath you take.

You hesitate, but finally go for it. "So, about you leaving me on Read." Your smile turns into a familiar smirk. "You know only old people leave voicemails, right?"

Jack's breath catches in his throat, caught off guard. He chokes out a strangled laugh.

"You're unbelievable", he says, before leaning down, his lips brushing gently over yours.