summary: you bring jack as your date to a wedding and he brings everything you’ve both been avoiding. (4.8k)
pairing: jack abbot x reader
content: grief/mourning, heavy angst, emotional themes, mutual pining, mention of death of a spouse, fake dating without actually fake dating.
your cousin maria’s wedding invitation had been sitting unopened on your kitchen counter for almost two full weeks before jack abbot found you blankly staring at it during a lull in the shift.
the er hummed around you in that familiar exhausted rhythm.
someone laughed too loudly at the nurses' station because everyone working twelve-hour shifts eventually lost their sense of appropriate volume.
a trauma pager went off nearby only for somebody else to groan, "not it," before disappearing around the corner anyway.
you were sat hunched over stale coffee in the break room, turning the envelope over and over like repetition alone might solve the problem.
you were fully established in your career, the kind of life that had taken real effort to build and yet somehow every family gathering still circled back to the same conversation.
not your job. not your achievements. not the years you had spent becoming someone you were genuinely proud of.
just whether you had a man.
your aunt was going to ask. she always did. same expression. same concerned little tilt of her head like your love life was a error she was personally trying to make her mission to resolve.
it annoyed you more than you liked admitting.
you had worked too hard. you had survived too many overnight shifts. missed too many holidays and birthdays and pieces of your own life trying to build something meaningful just to have your existence narrowed down to whether or not somebody was waiting for you at home.
you had made peace with it a while ago, quietly and without drama. if it happened, it happened. if not, your life still existed in full colour.
other people just seemed determined to view it in grayscale.
jack dropped into the chair beside you with a tired exhale, his legs stretching beneath the table until the toe of his shoe bumped yours accidentally.
neither of you moved away.
his wedding ring caught briefly under the fluorescent lights when he reached for the abandoned bag of pretzels beside you.
jack never talked about his wife much, but he didn't hide her either. there were small things people learned over time — that he had been married young, that she had died years ago, that he still wore the ring afterward without explanation and without apology.
you had never asked him about it. partly because it didn't feel like your place and mostly because the existence of it had always felt like a line neither of you were supposed to cross.
which was probably why nothing had ever happened between you despite months of lingering looks and conversations that stretched too long after shifts ended.
you had assumed jack felt it too. that whatever existed between you lived permanently in the category of things quietly left alone.
"you gonna open it," he asked, glancing at the envelope, "or are you hoping telepathy kicks in?"
you snorted softly despite yourself.
your thumb dragged along the gold lettering. your cousin's name stared back at you in elegant script that felt aggressively cheerful.
"eventually."
jack leaned slightly to get a better look. "wedding?"
you nodded once.
"you don't sound particularly excited."
you tipped your head back slightly. "because my entire family is gonna be there. and my aunt is definitely going to ask why i'm still single like she's conducting annual performance reviews."
that got a real laugh out of him. "harsh."
"last christmas she asked if i was 'being too picky,'" you muttered. "which is a crazy thing to say to someone who once dated a man that thought foreplay was sending me a thumbs-up emoji."
jack choked on his coffee. you looked over in alarm just as he started coughing into his fist, eyes watering slightly.
"oh my god," you said through laughter. "are you okay?"
he held up a hand, still coughing once before looking at you with disbelief.
"a thumbs-up emoji?"
"yellow too," you said solemnly. "not even one of the skin tone ones. just default settings disrespect."
jack laughed again, quieter this time, shaking his head. the sound settled warmly somewhere under your ribs.
"so this wedding is basically psychological warfare," he concluded.
"exactly."
he hummed, watching you for a second longer than necessary.
the silence between you had started feeling different lately.
charged in this quiet, impossible-to-ignore way. too many lingering glances. too many moments where one of you would look up and catch the other already looking.
you looked at him then, fully intending to make some throwaway joke about him being the perfect fake boyfriend to survive the weekend.
but the words stalled halfway out.
because jack looked unfairly good for a man who was simply eating your pretzels from the vending machine. there was something annoyingly magnetic about him lately. maybe not lately. maybe always.
you were just making the mistake of noticing now.
"you should just come with me," you said lightly. "save me from being interrogated about my romantic failures."
you expected him to laugh it off but instead, he went still and when you looked back at him, he was already watching you.
something unreadable crossed his face before he smoothed it away. "...okay."
your stomach dropped immediately.
"wait," you said, sitting up straighter. "seriously?"
he shrugged, trying for casual and missing by a mile. "if you want me there."
"abbot—"
"sounds like you could use the backup."
you stared at him.
he reached for your abandoned coffee, took one sip, immediately grimaced, and pushed it back toward you.
"this is awful, by the way."
you blinked. "you just drank my coffee."
"i was trying to understand your emotional state."
that startled a laugh out of you so suddenly you nearly spilled the cup. jack smiled a little at that.
"it could be entertaining," he added. "watching your family try to figure me out."
"oh they won't try to figure you out," you said immediately. "they'll decide who you are within thirty seconds and never revisit it."
"great." he leaned back in the chair. "can't wait."
the problem was jack abbot didn't really do things like this. he didn't casually agree to weddings. he especially didn't casually agree to weddings with you.
and the fact he had said yes so easily lodged itself somewhere dangerous in your chest for the rest of the shift.
you spent way too long getting ready not because you cared what anyone thought but because jack was picking you up.
your dress fell against your body in deep satin, somewhere between wine and dark brown depending on the light. it slipped slightly off your shoulders, neckline dipping just enough to feel intentional without looking like you had tried too hard.
the fabric hugged your waist before falling softer around your legs, elegant in a way that made you feel oddly unfamiliar in your own skin.
you kept adjusting it anyway.
once at the waist. once at the straps. once because your hands apparently needed a job or they were going to start shaking.
by the time your phone buzzed with a simple 'here', your pulse was already embarrassing you.
when you stepped outside, jack was leaning against his car waiting for you and unfortunately, that was a problem immediately.
his suit fit him unfairly well. dark, simple, expensive-looking without trying to be. his tie was already loosened slightly like formalwear physically offended him.
outside the hospital, he looked different. sharper somehow. less like the steady er doctor you saw every day and more like someone fully capable of destabilising your emotional wellbeing in entirely new settings.
your pulse stumbled the second he looked up and then stopped completely when his expression changed after seeing you.
just for a second.
his eyes moved over you once before he looked away toward the street like he needed a moment to recover privately.
your heartbeat tripped over itself.
"wow," he said finally, his voice sounded rougher than usual.
you tried to laugh through the heat climbing up your neck. "that bad?"
his gaze snapped back to yours immediately. "not even close."
the sincerity hit harder than flirting would've.
jack cleared his throat softly and walked around to open the passenger door for you.
you blinked at him. "...who are you?"
one corner of his mouth lifted. "thought i should pretend i was raised correctly for one night."
you laughed quietly, shaking your head as you got into the car.
his hand settled briefly against your lower back to steady you. both small and polite and completely ruining your life.
you noticed the absence of the ring almost immediately after. your eyes dropped automatically to his left hand resting against the steering wheel.
bare.
your breath caught before you could stop it and jack noticed instantly. his fingers flexed once against the wheel before he spoke, quieter now.
"figured people might have questions if i showed up as your date wearing a wedding ring."
the honesty of it hit harder than you expected.
your chest tightened painfully as your eyes flicked briefly toward his jacket pocket before back to him.
"it's still with me," he added after a second, his voice low and steady. "just... not on tonight."
something about the way he said it made it clear this wasn't him moving on. it wasn't him letting go.
it was practicality, consideration, and maybe even an attempt to make things easier for you more than himself.
"okay," you said softly. you didn't ask anything else. you didn't ask whether taking it off felt wrong. you didn't ask how long he'd sat with the decision before picking you up. you didn't ask whether he was regretting it already.
somehow not asking felt more intimate than if you had.
you glanced down toward his right leg instinctively when he adjusted slightly in his seat, subtle enough most people probably wouldn't have noticed. but you always noticed with him.
the stiffness after long shifts. the slight hitch when he stood too quickly. the way cold weather irritated it more than he ever admitted.
you had argued with him for almost ten minutes the previous day about driving. him deciding to be your date for already enough of a favor.
"jack, it's over an hour away."
"and?"
"and your prosthetic been bothering you all week."
"i'm surviving somehow."
"you're limping."
"don't worry about it." he had refused flat-out after that, already reaching for his keys in his pocket before he had shook them in your face while you had glared at him.
now, quieter, you looked over at him again. "i'm driving us back, by the way."
jack's eyes flicked briefly toward you before returning to the road. "we'll see."
you narrowed your eyes immediately. "that's not an answer."
a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "you always this bossy outside the hospital too?"
"only with difficult patients."
that earned you a soft huff of laughter and then, after a second, he tapped his fingers once against the steering wheel.
"fine," he said. "you can drive back."
the victory felt weirdly satisfying.
you smiled despite yourself, settling back into the seat as the city lights blurred around you.
and beside you, jack glanced over once—brief, quiet, fond in a way that made your stomach tighten all over again.
the drive blurred past in warm city light and half-finished thoughts. jack drove one-handed, relaxed in a way that somehow still looked deliberate. every so often he adjusted his tie with visible irritation like he was resisting the urge to rip it off entirely.
you kept catching yourself staring at the soft line of his jaw under passing streetlights. the quiet focus in his expression when he drove. the way he looked solid even in silence.
eventually, without looking over, he said, "you're doing it again."
heat rushed into your face instantly. "doing what?"
his eyes flicked toward you briefly. "staring."
you swallowed hard. "sorry."
a faint curve appeared at the corner of his mouth. "i didn't say you had to stop."
your stomach flipped so hard it genuinely irritated you so you turned toward the window immediately to hide the smile breaking across your face.
jack noticed anyway.
you could hear it in his voice when he said, quieter now, "there it is."
you looked back over. "what?"
"the smile you've been trying not to do for the last five minutes."
you hated how warm your face got and you hated even more that jack looked quietly pleased with himself for causing it.
that was the exact moment you realised this entire night was going to be a disaster one way or another.
the venue glowed warm against the dark sky, golden lights spilling across the courtyard while music drifted softly through the open doors.
guests clustered together in little pockets of conversation, champagne glasses flashing in the light every time someone laughed.
the second you walked in with jack beside you, your family noticed instantly.
your cousin maria spotted you first near the bar and immediately pointed between the two of you with the expression of someone witnessing breaking news.
"oh, this is insane," she said before you had even reached her. "you brought a hot doctor?"
you nearly choked on air.
jack, meanwhile, looked completely calm as he held out his hand politely. "jack."
your cousin ignored the handshake entirely and hugged him instead.
"thank you for finally giving this family something interesting to talk about."
"maria," you hissed.
she pulled away only to look between the two of you suspiciously. "wait. are you guys actually together or are you doing that thing emotionally unavailable people do where they stare at each other for six months instead of going on a date?"
jack actually laughed while you stared at him in betrayal.
"wow," you muttered. "great to know who's side you're on."
"she seems perceptive," he said calmly.
maria pointed aggressively at him. "i like him, a lot."
things only got worse from there.
your mother adored him within approximately four minutes. then jack found himself helping your uncle carry extra chairs over because apparently he possessed the deeply dangerous quality of being both attractive and useful.
you watched from your table as your niece anna climbed directly into his lap without invitation halfway through dessert because she had apparently decided he looked trustworthy.
jack didn't even blink. he just balanced her there naturally while she explained something extremely serious about horses.
"that one's mean," she informed him solemnly from his lap while pointing at a centerpiece swan sculpture. "you can tell."
jack nodded gravely. "absolutely. bad energy."
anna looked delighted. your mother looked emotional and you looked like you needed to be tranquilised.
jack glanced across the table toward you with anna still tucked against his side, and something in your chest pulled painfully tight at how easy he looked there.
how natural.
like he had belonged in your life long before tonight.
your aunt eventually cornered you near the drinks table with a glass of wine in hand and an expression that immediately made you defensive.
"he looks at you very carefully," she said.
you blinked. "what does that even mean?"
she shrugged lightly. "like you're something he's trying not to want too much."
your stomach dropped so suddenly. "you are unbelievable."
"i'm experienced," she corrected. "there's a difference."
you rolled your eyes, but heat spreading across your cheeks.
across the room, jack caught your eye over the rim of his drink and then smiled slightly when he realised you had been caught looking at him again.
you looked away first.
the ceremony started and slowly, almost invisibly, something changed.
jack still smiled when people spoke to him. still let your mother drag him into family photos. still nodded politely through increasingly invasive questions from distant relatives who had apparently already decided you were secretly engaged.
you noticed first that he stopped moving.
the little idle shifts disappeared. his expression quieted into something too still for the warmth of the room around him.
at first you thought he was just tired but then the groom's voice cracked during his vows and jack froze. only for a second but you felt it immediately beside him.
his right hand slipped into his pocket and stayed there.
your gaze dropped instinctively to the ring hidden against his palm.
your throat tightened painfully.
he stared forward, composed enough that nobody else would notice anything wrong, but you could feel the tension in him now, sharp and controlled and exhausting.
like he was holding himself together through sheer force alone.
and suddenly guilt hit you so hard it made your chest ache.
you shouldn't have asked him to come.
you shouldn't have put him in a room full of promises and first dances and forever.
you turned slightly toward him, unsure what to even do with the hurt suddenly sitting between you.
the bride and groom swayed slowly at the center while everyone around them softened into blurred movement and warm light. your cousin laughed against her husband's shoulder, her eyes closed like happiness was the easiest thing in the world.
jack looked away first then his hand shifted against yours on the seat. hesitant and barely there, like he almost stopped himself.
your breath caught. slowly, carefully, you turned your hand just enough.
jack took it immediately, his fingers slid between yours like it was the only steady thing in the room.
he still didn't look at you but his thumb moved once over your knuckles while his other hand stayed buried in his pocket around the ring.
past and present held in the same breath.
and you didn't let go.
the night had gone quiet in the way only weddings do after the noise finally runs out of permission to exist.
the reception thinned slowly until it became something softer. chairs being stacked in uneven piles, glassware clinking in distant trays, music fading into something almost imagined rather than heard.
outside, the air had cooled properly now, settling against your skin as you sat on the stone steps behind the venue.
the kind of quiet that didn't feel empty so much as exhausted, like the whole day had finally collapsed into itself.
jack was sat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed when either of you shifted. his suit jacket sat around your shoulders, still warm from him, the fabric heavy in a way that felt more intimate than it should've been.
his tie hung loose, shirt collar open slightly, sleeves rolled unevenly like he had stopped caring about precision hours ago. he looked tired in a way that wasn't just physical.
you could see it now that everything had slowed down enough to notice.
neither of you had spoken for a while.
not because there was nothing to say but because everything felt too close to the surface.
the distant sound of cleanup drifted faintly behind the venue doors. laughter from inside had dulled into occasional bursts before disappearing completely. even the wind felt slower somehow, like it didn't want to interrupt.
finally, your voice broke the silence, quieter than you meant it to be.
"i'm sorry for tonight."
jack didn't look at you immediately. his gaze stayed forward, fixed somewhere in the dark beyond the parking lot, like if he focused hard enough he could keep himself steady in place.
his hands were loosely clasped in front of him, but his fingers kept flexing like they couldn't decide what to do with themselves.
"don't do that," he said eventually.
"i brought you here and—"
"i said don't." it wasn't sharp but just strained like he didn't have the energy to let you take responsibility for something that wasn't just yours.
that should've been the end of it but something in his voice made your chest tighten instead of settling.
you turned slightly toward him and that's when you saw it properly. his jaw wasn't as controlled as it had been all night. his mouth had gone tight in a way that looked like restraint held too long. there was a faint crease between his brows that hadn't been there earlier.
his breathing wasn't quite even anymore, subtle enough that anyone else might've missed it — but you didn't.
"jack," you said carefully.
he exhaled through his nose, slow and uneven, like he was trying to reset something internally.
"i'm fine." it was automatic but not very convincing.
you didn't push. you just stayed there beside him, letting the silence sit again, softer this time. the kind of silence that didn't demand anything from him but didn't leave him alone either.
a long moment passed before jack shifted slightly like his body had tried to hold itself together and failed quietly.
his hands went to his face, slow at first like a reflex he didn't mean to follow. he dragged them across his eyes, as if trying to physically reset something inside himself.
but it didn't work like something inside him had reached its limit without warning.
you saw it in his posture first. the way he bent forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, head dipping like the weight of everything had finally become too much to hold upright. his fingers curled against his face again, but this time they didn't steady him.
his breathing turned uneven.
"jack..." you started, softer now.
he shook his head once, sharply, like he was trying to stop you from witnessing it fully but it was already happening.
his voice came out rough.
"i'm trying," he said, barely audible. "i'm trying to keep it together."
your chest tightened immediately.
he let out a short, broken laugh under his breath but it wasn't humor. it was disbelief at himself.
"it's just... tonight," he added quickly, like he needed something to anchor it to. "weddings are—"
he stopped because whatever explanation he had reached for didn't make it out.
his hand dropped from his face and you saw it then.
his eyes were wet.
not fully crying yet. not openly. but close enough that it made your heart ache, like something in you had dropped in response.
he blinked hard, once, like he could force it back down through effort alone but it didn't work.
his voice broke slightly when he spoke again.
"i thought i could do this."
you didn't move closer yet. you didn't want to overwhelm him or make it worse. so you stayed where you were, steady beside him, letting him have space even as he fell apart in it.
"you are doing it," you said quietly.
he shook his head again, sharper this time.
"no." his voice cracked on the word. he swallowed, looking away like he couldn't stand being seen. "i'm not."
and almost like it slipped out before he could stop it. "i miss her."
that landed between you like something heavy and irreversible.
jack's hands clenched together once, then loosened again like he didn't know what to do with them. his breathing stuttered as he tried to steady himself.
"i see things like this," he said, voice roughening further, "and i think i've gotten used to it. like it doesn't do anything anymore."
his eyes shut for a second and when they opened again, they were glassier, more exposed.
"and then i come here and i realize i haven't."
he looked down at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "and i miss her so much it feels... wrong to still be sitting here."
your chest ached in a way that felt almost physical but you didn't interrupt and just listened.
he dragged a hand through his hair, messier now, less controlled. "and then there's you," he said quietly.
that made your breath catch but he still didn't look at you. he physically couldn't.
"and i don't know what to do with that either."
silence hit again, heavier this time. his voice dropped further. "because it's not the same. it can't be. but it's still there."
his jaw tightened like he hated how honest it was.
"and i feel guilty for even thinking about it," he admitted, his voice breaking again. "like it means i'm letting her go."
that was when his composure finally gave out completely. he covered his face again, his shoulders shaking once as he tried to inhale properly.
it wasn't loud crying. it was controlled grief collapsing under its own weight.
years of holding it in finally slipping through all at once, right there on the steps behind a wedding where everyone else had already moved on to happily ever afters.
slowly and carefully, you shifted closer until your shoulder pressed gently against his. not forcing anything and offering presence without demand.
jack didn't pull away. if anything, he leaned into it slightly like his body had been waiting for permission to stop holding itself so rigid.
his breathing was uneven against your shoulder, catching and releasing in broken rhythms as he tried to steady himself.
you stayed like that.
you let him miss her without interruption. letting him fall apart without trying to reshape it and letting him exist in the space between grief and everything else he didn't know how to name yet.
eventually, his voice came quieter again.
broken, but steadier than before. "i didn't expect this."
you didn't ask what he meant because you already knew.
he let out a shaky breath, wiping at his face once more like it frustrated him that he couldn't just stop the emotion on command.
"i'm sorry," he added immediately, instinctively, like apologising was still his first reflex even now.
you shook your head slightly. "don't. you don't have to be sorry for missing her."
that made him go still.
his breathing slowed gradually after that, not fixed, not resolved, but settling enough that the moment stopped feeling like it might shatter completely.
you thought that would be where it ended but jack inhaled slowly, like he was gathering something heavier than breath.
his hand dropped from his face.
he didn't look at you right away and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than everything else that had come before it—steadier, but stripped down.
"there's something i need to say," he admitted shaking his head once, like he didn't love the vulnerability of even starting.
you shifted, just slightly. your fingers tightened around the fabric of his jacket still around your shoulders—like you had only just remembered it was there.
"i've been trying not to say it for months."
that made your pulse pick up as jack finally looked at you. not like a colleague. not like someone passing time. not like a man trying to behave correctly at a wedding.
just... him.
"i've liked you for the longest time," he said simply.
your breath caught sharply.
he didn't rush it. he didn't overexplain it and just let it sit there in the air between you like it had always been there anyway.
"and it hasn't gone away," he added, quieter now. "if anything it's gotten worse overtime."
a short, almost helpless exhale left him like he was annoyed at himself for saying it out loud.
his gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again.
"i would ask you out," he said, voice rough but honest, "if i wasn't... like this."
he gestured vaguely to himself—not just the night, or the grief, but everything sitting behind it.
"i'm not in a place where i can do that properly," he admitted. "not without dragging all of this into it. and you really don't deserve that."
your nodded slowly and he swallowed, his jaw flexing slightly.
"i need to sort myself out first," he said more firmly, like he needed to believe it. "before i ruin something that shouldn't be touched by this."
you let out a breath that almost turned into something else. not a laugh but something softer, more incredulous. it cut through the tension just enough for you to find your voice.
"jack," you said to which he stopped instantly which mattered more than it should've.
your voice came out steadier than you felt. "you don't get to decide what i deserve."
his eyes flickered—not away, but through that statement, like it landed deeper than he expected.
you hesitated for a moment "and you don't get to decide you ruin things just by wanting them."
your fingers tightened slightly against his jacket again. "i'm not asking you to be whole," you said. "i just wish you'd stop acting like you're not allowed to want anything."
jack didn't answer you right away.
his gaze dropped for a moment, like something inside him had been interrupted mid-collapse and didn't know what shape to take next.
when he looked back up, he still looked wrecked.
very much still human and still carrying everything but now he looked like he was in it with you present, not alone inside it.
and that changed everything in a way neither of you said out loud.
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A/N: I feel like my writing style has changed once again and I don't know how to feel about it. But compared to my other pieces, I think I like this style the best! I have made a start to the Pope Cody fanfiction I promised ages ago, so that's some good news! But I really wanted to write for Jack again in honour of no more Pitt content for a WHILE.
No collage header again :/ This was another one made on a whim.
Warnings: This is basically "my personal nightmare" but in a different font (reader is shy and kind of a loser this time LMAO), reader is female/fem presenting, lots of teasing from Jack, reader loses all common sense when Jack is around (me if he was real)
WC: 1.4k
Being a nurse is hard.
Understatement of the century, huh?
Add working the night shift - functioning with nothing but a half-eaten granola bar and less than three hours of sleep - on top of that, and you have yourself a new kind of torture.
Not only do you have to deal with patients with no patience (ha, get it?), that resist medical advice from health-care professionals, all sorts of bodily liquids that nothing could ever prepare you for - but you, personally, have a whole other problem on your hands.
Jack Abbot.
You'd be minding your own business, trying to get through the night with as little trouble as possible, when Jack would appear seemingly out of nowhere to pester you.
"How's charting going?" He'd mutter, leaning his thick arms on either side of you as you're sat at a work bench.
'He's trying to kill me. I'm sure of it.'
"It's, uh, going. You know?" Is this your first time speaking? No? Well, it absolutely looks like it.
Jack snorts, amused at your reaction, "Yeah? That's good to hear." He pushes himself up, rolling a chair beside you instead.
"Robby's been telling me that the new attending, Dr. Al-Hashimi, has been up everybody's ass about charting. A real methodical type. Don't want that happening to you, sweet thing. Understood?"
Your jaw is on the floor.
Were you drooling? Good God.
The effect this man has on you is insane.
Which is why you respond, idiotically, "Dr. Al-Hashimi works the day shift, doesn't she? So, she couldn't, uh, 'get on my ass,' right? Technically?"
Jack Abbot's signature smirk has found its way to his face again, but this time, it's more humorous than it is flirty.
"Hah, you really are something else..." He mumbles into his hand, fingers moving to cover his lips slightly, trying to hold in a laugh. It made you want to disappear off the face of the Earth.
"Maybe I worded it wrong, sorry, sweetheart. I'm a bit vulgar, that's just the old man in me. Sure, Al-Hashimi can't 'get on your ass,'" Jack lets out a small titter, "but she can express concern if you fall behind in charting. I just didn't want to you worry about another thing. You nurses have it tough enough as it is."
Ever the thoughtful man, Jack Abbot.
Screw him and his thoughtfulness.
Your heart is beating a million miles a minute, meanwhile your mind can barely rub two braincells together to form a cohesive sentence!
Why did he have to be hot, funny, and caring? It's so unfair!
"R-right. Thanks, Dr. Abbot." Is the best you could come up with.
"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart," he pats your shoulder as he rises to his feet. "Us nightcrawlers have to look out for each other."
The monicker was silly, as all monickers are, but somehow, Jack makes it sound fit for a king. Like the name means something.
In a way, it does. It represents the unity of the night shift. 'The weirdest and the wildest of them all.'
It doesn't take a genius to decode what he meant.
He's saying that you belong.
As he makes his way to complete his rounds, he throws over his shoulder, "And call me Jack!"
"When are you and Abbot gonna tie the knot?"
You nearly choke on your spit.
Parker Ellis, one of the night shift residents, has a tendency to be blunt. The E.D. toughens people up, and she sees no reason to filter her thoughts in a place like it.
After all, what's the point of dicing words when you face atrocities (such as death) everyday?
"W-what?" You gasp, trying desperately to regain composure.
Ellis serves you a deadpan expression, "Don't act dumb. Anyone with eyes can see it."
Scoffing, you retort, "See what, exactly? Dr. Abbot's just friendly, that's all."
You speed up the rate of your walking, hoping to reach your patient before Parker could make a comeback.
But, alas, the universe is determined to make every waking moment of your life embarrassing.
"Keep telling yourself that."
Stopping in your tracks, you bore your eyes into hers, "Look, whatever you think is 'going on' between Jack and I is nonexistent, you hear me? He's just messing with me."
You felt bitterness seeping in when you uttered the last sentence.
Parker raised her hands, attempting to de-escalate the situation, "Whoa, I hear you, alright? I didn't mean anything by it."
That only annoyed you further.
"Yeah, well, seems like everyone's playing with my emotions around here."
You didn't mean it.
Not entirely.
But the whole ordeal was just so confusing - when was Jack messing and when wasn't he? That is the question. Or whatever Shakespeare said.
It's difficult to tell because Jack's the kind of guy that breaks hearts without ever intending to.
He's just so magnetic that everyone gets sucked in whether they want to or not.
And unfortunately for you, you're knee-deep.
Jack finds you out in the ambulance bay, taking a breather (one of the luxuries he grants you).
"A little birdie told me that my favourite nurse is upset. Why could that be, hmm?"
Squeezing your eyes shut, you will yourself to turn to the familiar presence.
Abbot's eyes automatically flick to your face, a gentle smile on his.
"It's nothing."
He huffs out a disbelieving breath, "'Cause that's totally what people say when nothing is bothering them." The man wanders to your side, wrapping his hand around your forearm. "You can tell me anything, sweet girl."
His voice drops an octave, meant only for your ears.
The gruffness of it makes you shiver, "You should stop calling me that..."
Jack nods, "I should, shouldn't I?" There's a certain lilt when the question escapes his mouth, like a soft whimper. It makes a lick of heat run through you.
His hand shifts from your forearm to your middle, ever so slowly closing the gap amidst your bodies. "What's going on?"
You can feel the warmth of his breath fan over your skin, it's a delicious contrast to the cool air. All of a sudden, your eyelids feel so heavy, and your palms find purchase in his shirt - tugging at the collar minutely.
"Parker..." words are hard to come by when Jack is this close, the tips of your noses brushing against each other, "she, uh, asked when we were gonna 'tie the knot.'" You gulp, willing yourself to go on, "I told her that you're just messing with me, and God, it's just so painful to say aloud."
You feel Jack's chest vibrating, clearly finding the situation at hand hilarious.
"Don't tell me you seriously think that's true?"
Keeping your eyes downcast, you shrug, "You make it hard to believe otherwise."
He tilts your chin up, cooing, "Sweetheart... really? Do I have to get on my knees and beg?"
You let out a giggle at that, "It could help."
Jack, never doing things half-way, drops himself on his knees, looking up at you with those hypnotic hazel eyes.
"Jack! You're leg!"
"Shh, it's not like I can feel it anyway." He snorts, "Just let me do this for you."
He engulfs your hands in his, placing soft kisses on each finger.
Your face is burning; if a thermometer were to read it, you're sure it would declare you have a fever.
"I'm not standing until you give me an answer, sweetheart."
Right.
Speaking.
Words.
Both of which you have lost the ability of using at the moment.
"I, uh, yes?"
Your response elicits a loud laugh out of Jack, struggling to get up, "I'm unsure if that was a question or an answer, sweet girl."
Without thinking, you grab his face and kiss him on the lips. His lips were slightly chapped, but not uncomfortably so. You could feel how tense he was, eyes blown in shock, so you tangle your fingers into his luscious curls.
Jack's hands rest respectively on your upper back, knowing that if he let them slip any lower, he would wake up to a bajillion threatening emails from Gloria. That thought wasn't enough to pull him away from the kiss - the kiss that he waited for what felt like eons to finally happen.
It was quick (quicker than Jack would've liked), but it spoke a thousand words, which was much more than you could conjure up.
In the end, both of your scrub tops were in similar levels of disarray, hair mussed, and lips swollen.
Neither of you would have it any other way.
Chuckling to yourself, you ask, "How was that for an answer?"
P.S. I accidentally deleted like 300+ words from this fanfic because I was an IDIOT and pasted something when I was trying to copy, and my heart sunk. Why does this always happen to me, huhu
I’m thinking of Jack Abbot, who’s scared of admitting his feelings to you because he didn’t think anyone would love an old man like him
I’m thinking of the same Jack that showed you a million ways on how much he loves you, without actually saying it
The five love languages? Yeah he ticked every single box, except the physical touch. He wasn’t sure if your touch would be addictive like a drug, and he was too scared to take that risk.
You thought it was platonic, his love for you
Because if he wanted to ask you out, he would have done it by now, right?
The time was just after 8pm, and you were still nowhere to be seen for your shift
He rang your mobile a million times, but you didn't pick up once. He paced around the floor and asked everyone to call every single person they can think of that you know.
No one knew where you are.
Jack was certain he was going to go mad if he doesn’t hear from you.
His mind reminded him of all the things he should have said to you
How he should have confessed his love
“Jack…” someone says slowly, pointing at a figure walking through the doors.
Your scrubs are dirty, covered in blood but you are here. Alive. With him. Safe. You look a bit confused, scared even.
Jack doesn’t know what to say, except that he takes you into his arms, kissing your lips as hard as he could almost knocking you off your feet.
“What happened are you hurt where have you been!” He pulls back for a split second then goes back to kissing you
“I’m fine” you mumble, feeling yourself dizzy because of how electric his kiss is “I wasn’t even in the car, just helping-“
“You’re here” he cries, “you’re here with me and you’re okay”
“Jack-“ he interrupts your sentence with another kiss, “everyone-looking- jackkk-“
“I don’t give a fuck baby” he mumbles against your lip, “just like I thought. Addictive.”
And Jack learnt his lesson that life’s indeed too short, so he might want to take more risks when it comes to you. And your lips? Certainly addictive.
You are bend over, hands on your belly as you get wheeled into the ER. The pain started so suddenly and wasn't going anywhere so your coworkers called you an ambulance.
You protested at first, not wanting to be trouble but now you are more than happy to be inside a hospital.
You don't see any familiar doctors or nurses. No Robby, no Dana. Only that pretty, blonde doctor who's name you can't recall right now.
"Hello, I'm Dr. King. Did you eat something unusual today? Any allergies?" She starts off firing questions while she pokes at your stomach with her hands.
You wince as she does it, pain only growing with the touch. "No, no. No weird food, no allergies."
She asks a few more questions but you can barely remember enough to answer her, the pain becomes just too much.
Thankfully, Dr. King has a diagnosis for you almost right away. "Unfortunately, it seems like you have appendicitis. You'll need to have a surgery or it could burst and cause much bigger problems. Is there anybody who you would like for us to call?"
They are quickly wheeling you out of the room and that hurry sends your worry spiking a little. "Call Jack. My emergency contact."
You see her nod, and she hurries away, probably to make sure that somebody calls him. You just hope he'll be there by the time you wake up.
-
"Hey, Dana. Could you call the emergency contact of my patient please? Thank you." Mel hands your papers to Dana.
"Sure, kid. You got it." Dana reaches for the papers and stops short when she sees your name sprawled on top of it.
She reaches for her own phone, dialing Jack immediately. Jack's pretty, lovely girl is about to have a surgery and he's nowhere to be found? No way, Dana can't have that.
"What's wrong?" Robby clocks in Dana's distressed face almost instantly, too.
She only shake his head at him and pushes the papers towards him. He curses when he reads your name.
"Is she still here?" He asks as Dana starts explaining everything quickly to Jack. It's all quick and precise words, just to get him here as soon as possible.
"She wasn't with Jack?" Robby asks with a frown after Dana hangs up.
"No, she got here from work. Ambulance brought her in. Jack didn't even know and she looked pretty bad, Robby..."
"Jesus." Robby scrubs his beard. "Will she get a bed upstairs after the surgery?"
"Doubt it. But I'll see what I can do." Dana promises, already picking up her phone again. Recovering in the ER is not that ideal with all the noise.
"Thanks, Dana. Send Jack my way if you see him before me, yeah?" Robby gets a nod and gets back to work. A piece of his mind still on you though. You've become his very good friend ever since you met Jack. And he hates seeing the people he loves get hurt.
-
Jack doesn't go to the Pitt, he heads straight to the surgery floor. He almost convinces the nurses there to let him inside but they make him stay in the waiting room.
And by the time you get out, Jack's sick with worry. He immediately runs to your bed as they wheel you out. He only listens to the surgeon say that everything went perfect with one ear.
His sole focus is on assessing you with his own eyes and touch. He brushes some stray hair away from your pale face.
He blows out a breath of relief, finally able to function full, again. Jack hasn't felt this kind of panic in a long, long time. Not since his late wife.
"Is she staying here?" Jack asks the nurses, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.
One of the nurses shakes her head. "No, we don't have any open beds. We are taking her downstairs."
Jack nods, it's nothing unusual. He takes ahold of one side of the bed and helps push you. He's gonna stay with you until you wake up and until he can take you home and take care of you there.
Jack stays quiet the whole way down. Clutching your hand in one hand and the bed in the other. When you finally get inside the halls of the Pitt people Jack's colleagues, gawk at him.
Murmurs go around as they look with wide eyes. He didn't even realise that people didn't know that he had a girlfriend. But he finds that he doesn't particularly care about their interested gaze, not when you are there.
"Jack, room 4 is ready for her." Robby comes up to him, clasping him on his shoulder in comfort.
Jack gives him a curt nod. Words a little bit thick with emotions as he says. "Thank you, brother."
"Don't even mention it. Call for me if you need anything, yeah?" Robby squeezes his shoulder one more time before he leaves you two be, needed in trauma again.
Robby is replaced by Dana almost immediately. She helps Jack wheel you in and hook you up to all the monitors.
"What did the surgeon say?" She asks with soft eyes.
"She said that the surgery went well, and that if all tests are good, she can go home tomorrow." Jack doesn't even know how he managed to remember all of that when he was barely listening.
"That's great, Jack." Dana tucks the blanket higher up your chin. "How are you holding up though?" She gives him a look that says that he shouldn't try to lie.
"Better now that I'm with her. I was so worried, Dana." He shakes his head, it's not easy to talk about his emotions. "Thank you for calling me."
"Of course, Jack. She's a strong girl and she got here just in time. Just stay with her and you'll both be fine. And don't worry about work, Robby already talked to Gloria. You can take as much time off as you need."
Jack mouths 'thank you', afraid that his voice might betray him with all of the emotions he's feeling.
Dana leaves him with a warm smile, waving his gratitude off.
Jack waits for the anesthesia to wear off and to finally see your pretty eyes.
-
You find Jack leaning over you with a relieved smile when you wake up. The second thing you notice is the pain being gone, replaced by the floaty, painless state.
"You are here." You whisper with a hoarse voice. Hand reaching up to wipe away the lonely tear sliding down his rugged cheek.
"Of course, I'm here, angel. More of a surprise is that you are here." Jack tries to crack a light joke, just to see your smile.
"Sorry." You say sheepishly, giving him that damned smile he wanted to see. The last bit of worry slips away as the corners of your mouth go up.
"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Good thing you came here. The surgery went well, they took it out so there shouldn't be any more pain like that." He gives your hand a gentle squeeze.
"Good, the pain was so sudden. I didn't know it could feel like that. I thought I was gonna pass out from it." You explain. "I didn't even want to come here at first but I'm glad I did."
"Jesus, baby, next time call me if anything like this happens to you, please. And don't even try to say you didn't want to bother me, that's such a nonsense."
You give him a shy smile. "Okay, Jack. I promise to call next time." And then you ask. "Do you know when can I go home?"
"If the tests are good, then I'm taking you home tomorrow. And I'll be fussing around you until you are back to 100 percent." Jack grins at you. "You might even start getting sick of me by then."
"Sick of your handsome face? Never, Jackie."
"Is that all I am to you? Just a pretty face for you to look at?" Jack's heart is practically singing with happiness as he hears you banter back.
"Maybe." You smile teasingly at him, even forgetting that you are in a hospital when Jack is with you.
"Wow, okay, I'm going to call Dr. King, and let her keep you here forever." Your laughter dies down at his words, realisation striking you.
"Wait. Does...Does everyone know about us then?" You ask, a little wide eyed but excited. You've been itching to meet everyone. Especially Dr. J, her videos are so fun.
"Yes. Is that okay?" Jack questions, eyebrows raised up uncertainly.
"Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to meeting everybody."
Jack gives you a big smile at that answer, leaning in to softly brush his lips against yours.
"Okay, sweetheart, I'll let them know that they can come introduce themselves later. But you should try resting some more, okay?" He can't resist planting one more kiss onto your cracked lips. He should find you a lip balm, he pockets that thought for later.
"Okay, will you stay?"
"Of course, angel. I told you, I'm not going anywhere." And with his reassurance, you close your eyes and let the exhaustion pull you asleep once again.
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Content warning; Mentions of prosthetic limbs, shower sex, female reader
Summary; You want Jack to feel comfortable in your space, even if that means making a few home improvements
He knocked twice, then let himself in with the key you gave him last month, takeout bag in one hand, an easy grin already on his face in anticipation of seeing you.
"Hey, I brought, " he stopped in the hallway. The bag crinkled as his grip tightened slightly. He could hear you in the bathroom, the hum of a drill, and a thick air of concentration. He set the food down on the counter then he stopped. Leaning neatly against the arm of your sofa was a brand-new pair of crutches.
They weren't his.
The rubber tips were spotless and they still had the plastic films wrapped around the length. He reached out, running his thumb over the plastic.
"What?"
A mumble floated out of the bathroom, and he followed the sound. The bathroom door stood open with you, kneeling on an old towel spread across the tiles, drill clutched in one hand as you tightened the final screw into a stainless-steel grab bar mounted beside the shower. The room looked like a renovation site. Your toolbox laid open on the floor, surrounded by scattered screws, instruction booklets, a tape measure, and a level. Fine white dust coated the towel beneath your knees, and another streak dusted the front of your jean shorts where you'd wiped your hands without thinking. You leaned back, squinting at the grab bar before holding the level against it.
"Hey." His voice was careful, the ER calm he uses when he doesn't want to spook someone.
You jumped, looking over your shoulder. "Jesus Jack!" The drill nearly slipped out of your grip and you pressed a hand to your chest. "You scared me."
"I wanted to surprise you." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely, eyes tracking over the rails, the seat, even a small rubber mat waiting to be unrolled, then back to you.
"What is all this?"
Your smile became suddenly unsure and you didn’t know what to say.
"There are crutches on your couch." He said, pointing to the living room.
You glanced past him.
"I was wondering where I left them." You joked, and he crossed the small bathroom in two steps, crouched down next to you, and wrapped a hand around the rail, testing the give. Solid. Level. Anchored properly.
"I watched a lot of YouTube videos." You told him and he laughed, but it caught halfway and when he looked at you his eyes were too bright for it to just be amusement.
He didn’t say anything else for a moment. Just stayed crouched there next to the rail, one hand still resting on it, like he needed the solid weight of it under his palm to believe it's real.
"Jack?"
"Yeah. Sorry. I'm," he shook his head, huffed a breath out through his nose, and when he looked up at you his eyes were shining in a way that caught you off guard. "Can I sit down a second?"
"Of course."
He didn’t go far, just sank down right there on the closed toilet lid, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them like he was trying to hold onto something.
“You never stay here, you always find an excuse why we should go back to yours instead, and I realised that you’re not comfortable here.” You gestured to your handy work, “but I want you to feel comfortable. I want you to be able to come back here, and not think.”
He lifted his head looking at you through his lashes.
“I know your apartment is easier, but I want it to be easy here too. So after work, if you come here you’ll have crutches and you won’t have to put your leg back on in the night to pee, and I don’t know.” Your voice trailed off, going quiet. You and Jack had only been dating a month or so, and you weren’t sure if you had overstepped.
"I've spent years figuring out how to walk into a room and just read it," he said, eyes drifting back to his hands. “You get good at doing the math so fast nobody even notices you're doing it." He laughed, but it didn't have much air behind it. "I'm good at doing the math." He looked up at you, and there was nothing guarded in his face then, none of the easy charm he wore at work. Just him. "Nobody's ever done the math for me. Everybody loves me, everybody's kind, but it's always me figuring out how to fit into their space. Their apartment. Their life." His jaw worked for a second.
Your throat went tight, and you tried to hold back tears. "It's just grab rails."
"It's not." He reached over and took your hand, turning it over like he was checking it for damage, thumb tracing over your knuckles. "It's you looking at your apartment and thinking about my body instead of just my company." His voice cracked slightly on the last word and he pressed his lips together, blinking hard.
"Hey." You slide onto your knees in front of him, hands coming up to his face. "Hey, look at me."
He did, his eyes were wet now, unashamed of it in a way that undid you a little. He let out a shaky breath and pulled you into him, forehead dropping to your shoulder, one hand fisted gently in the back of your shirt like he was anchoring himself the same way he anchored his hand to that rail a minute ago. You felt his body shake.
"I didn't know," he whispered, "how badly I wanted somewhere I didn't have to think."
You rubbed slow circles across his back. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red and cheeks damp.
“You’ve given me the first place, other than my own apartment,” his smile trembled, “that feels like home.”
Your eyes filled immediately, you cupped his face, kissing him gently, tasting salt and coffee and relief.
By the time you had both wiped your faces and laughed a little at yourselves for crying over grab rails, you migrated to the kitchen. The food was lukewarm but neither of you cared.
"So," he said, popping the lid off a container of noodles, "tell me about this YouTube deep-dive.”
"Oh, it was extensive." You hopped up onto the counter, swinging your legs. "I watched probably twelve different videos on stud finders alone. Did you know there's beef in the accessibility-installation community about magnetic versus electronic stud finders?"
He laughed real and warm, the heaviness from a few minutes ago starting to ease off his shoulders. "Is that right?"
"I’m serious. I have opinions now. Strong ones. And I measured everything,” you held up two fingers, very serious. "Twice. How far out from the wall it needed to sit so it'd actually hold weight and not just look nice. I did not want to be the reason you ended up back in the ER. Can you imagine? Patient's girlfriend attempted home renovation, patient acquired new injury via poorly anchored bar.'" You shook your head. "We would never live it down. Absolutely not happening on my watch."
He grinned around a mouthful of noodles, and for a second he just looked at you like he's still catching up to the fact that you exist and did all this, sitting on your counter joking about stud finders.
"There's more, actually," you added, a little more casual than you felt. "I'm not done. I still need to put up shelving in the shower, lower down, where you can actually reach it without stretching weird. So the shampoo and everything's just right there. I don’t want you having to reach up and over the seat for stuff."
He went quiet again, fork slowing.
"You've really thought about all of this."
"I mean, what's the point of half doing it?" You shrugged, picking at the edge of your own container. "If your shampoo's up on some shelf that's designed for someone who's just standing there, that defeats the whole purpose, right? Might as well not bother."
He sets his fork down, reaches over, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb lingering against your cheek.
“It gave me an excuse to buy a drill. And as it turns out, I'm very handy. It's one of my best qualities."
"It's up there," he agreed, voice softer now. "Right up there."
He leaned in and kissed you softly. The kiss lingers a little longer this time, his hand sliding up into your hair, and when you finally pull back you're both a little breathless.
"I'm covered in drywall dust," you murmur against his mouth. "Very unsexy. There's dust in places dust should not be."
"I hadn't noticed." He definitely noticed. His thumb brushed a smudge of it off your cheekbone anyway, gently.
"I should probably shower.” You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "You know. Since I have a brand new, very sturdy, very Jack-approved shower seat just sitting there. Unused. It seems kind of a waste."
He huffed a laugh, forehead dropping to rest against yours. "You're serious."
"Gotta test the workmanship somehow. Quality control."
He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, really look, the way he did when he was deciding whether to let himself want something. Whatever he found in your face settled it. He took you by the hips, helping you off the counter.
"Lead the way," he said. "But if that rail so much as wiggles, I'm writing you up."
"Duly noted."
The bathroom air felt cool against your skin as Jack's fingers worked the buttons of your shirt, sliding the fabric off your shoulders while your hands tugged his shirt up and over his head. His pants followed, then yours, until both of you stood bare. He pulled you close for a slow kiss, his hands tracing over every inch of your body.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled into your neck as he planted kisses before biting at your ear and sucking the pain away quickly. His hands left you, and your body felt heavy without him there to hold you up anymore. He slipped into the shower quickly, lowering himself onto the new seat. He settled back, looking up at you with a small smile. "Take it off for me," he said, nodding toward his prosthetic. You joined him, halting for a moment before dropping to your knees.
“Are you sure?” You asked, your hands reaching out for him. He ran a hand through your hair, nodding with a content smile on his lips. You slowly eased his leg free and set it aside outside the shower, leaning against the glass door. Jack watched you carefully. You stood and reached for the shower handle, turning the water on, letting the hot spray burst from the showerhead, falling over both of you as steam began to fill the space. His hands found your hips as you stepped closer. "Come here," he murmured. You straddled his lap, Water streamed down your back while his hands stayed at your waist for a moment, steadying you. He reached past you to the ledge, fingers trying to close around the bottle of soap.
"Pass me that," he said, voice low over the rush of water. You gripped onto his shoulder, reaching up and handed it over without hesitation. Jack worked the soap between his palms until thick lather coated them. He started at your collarbones, sliding his soapy hands outward across your shoulders, then down your arms in long, firm strokes. The suds left a slick trail as he moved inward again, palms gliding over your chest. His thumbs dragged slow circles around your nipples, pressing just enough to make them tighten under his touch. He kept going, washing lower, hands smoothing over your ribs and stomach before returning upward to cup your breasts fully. Suds slid between his fingers as he squeezed and rubbed, making sure every inch was covered. You shifted on his lap and he continued, soaping down your sides and along the curve of your waist. His hands dipped lower still, gliding over your hips and the tops of your thighs where they rested against him. The soap rinsed away gradually under the spray, leaving your skin warm and clean. Jack leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, his freshly washed hands sliding up your back to pull you closer against his chest. Beneath you, his cock began to swell and harden against your folds. You felt the firm length press upward, growing thicker with each passing second as his hands continued their slow path over your skin. The sensation sent a rush of heat through you, and you felt yourself growing slick between your legs, your pussy starting to coat his shaft with your own wetness. Jack's breathing deepened against your neck as he noticed the shift, his soapy palms still moving over your hips while his cock throbbed harder beneath you. His mouth found yours quickly, lips parting as his tongue slid against yours in a deep, hurried kiss. You kissed him back, hands sliding up his chest while his fingers traced along your spine. You reached beneath you guiding his hard cock to your entrance before sinking down onto him. The thick stretch pulled a moan from your throat. Jack groaned, fingers digging into your ass as you started to ride him, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the sound of running water.
"Fuck, that's it," he breathed. "Just like that. God, you feel so good."
You moved faster, bouncing on his cock while his hips thrust up to meet you, the seat creaking under the force. His thumb found your clit, rubbing circles as pleasure built between you. "Come on, baby," he urged. "Let me feel that pussy squeeze me.”
Your pace quickened, water cascading over your breasts as you bounced on.
“Jack,” you mumbled, unable to form a thought with the feeling of his inside you.
"That's my girl," he panted. "Fuck yourself on me. I want to feel you come."
You leaned forward, hands on his shoulders as you ground down, circling your hips. Your orgasm hit hard, your walls clenching around his cock as you cried out. Jack held you through it, thrusting up into your spasming cunt until he followed you over the edge, groaning your name as he pumped you full.
“So beautiful,” he pushed your wet hair from your face, still buried deep, his forehead pressing to yours while the shower washed away the evidence of your release. His breathing slowed against your neck, one arm still braced to keep you both steady under the spray.
A week later, and your apartment already looks a little different. A pair of Jacks sneakers by the door, kicked off next to yours instead of carried home in a bag. The shower seat always has a permanent film of steam-fog on it most mornings now, evidence it's actually being used instead of just admired. It was Sunday when he brought it up over coffee, casual, like it's not a big deal even though you both know it kind of was.
"Think we would go to the hardware store today, get something for the rugs, keep the edges down. The runner nearly got me on the way in.” He nudges your foot under the table. You look up from your mug, trying not to make too much of it and failing a little anyway. He says it so easily now, nearly got me, like it's just a fact of the apartment, like he's allowed to notice the hazards out loud instead of quietly working around them and never mentioning it at all. A few months ago he wouldn't have said anything. He'd have just filed it away, adjusted his own path through the room, and let you go on not knowing. Now he's just telling you. Asking, even. Like this is his space to have opinions about. It makes something in your chest go soft and warm, watching him take up room here, literally, happily, without apologizing for it.
"Yeah?" you say. "You want to go to the hardware store with me?"
"I want the rug fixed before it takes me out." He shrugs, easy, but there's the faintest smile tugging at his mouth like he knows exactly what he's doing. "And yeah. I like going places with you. Even the hardware store."
"Even the hardware store," you repeat, standing to rinse your mug, hiding your own smile in the process.
"Especially the hardware store." He catches your hand as you pass him, tugging you back down for a quick kiss. "Turns out I've got a lot of opinions about flooring safety. Didn't know that about myself till recently."
You're still smiling about it twenty minutes later, shoes on, his keys jingling in his hand as he locks up behind you both, and the two of you head out into the Sunday morning together, in no rush at all.
The hardware store is nearly empty and Jack's pushing the cart, his arms braced on the handle while you trail behind with your phone out, scrolling through reviews.
"Ok, this one." You hold up a package of thin white mesh squares. "These had good reviews."
"Those'll work for the bedroom rug, maybe." He takes the package, turns it over, unconvinced. "But that runner in your living room's the real problem. Honestly? I think that one just needs to go. Or get rolled up and put somewhere that isn't the main walking path."
You cross your arms, mock-offended. “I’d like to remind you of how expensive that was.”
"So's an ER copay." He grins softly, but doesn't back down. "I'm not saying throw it out. Put it under the coffee table where it's decorative and I don't have to cross it to get to the kitchen."
"Ok, that's reasonable. What about the bedroom?"
"That one's flatter, no curling, so grippers under it should be fine." He hands you the mesh pack back. "Get the thicker gel ones though, not this mesh stuff. Mesh flattens out in like a month and stops doing anything."
"How do you know that?"
"Same way I know everything about flooring hazards. Bitter, extensive personal research." He says it easily, grabbing you and turning you around with a kiss to your cheek. "We need the gel ones. Aisle's back that way." You backtrack with him, falling into step, cart wheel squeaking. He tosses the gel grippers in the cart, then pauses, glancing sideways at you. He laces his fingers through yours as you head toward the checkout, cart rattling along behind you.
"Wait." You tug his hand, slowing him down before you reach the registers. "Can we go look at lamps before we leave? I've been meaning to get something for the corner by the bookshelf."
He raises an eyebrow, amused. "Is this the part where we spend an hour with you trying to decide which lamp to buy?"
“I just want to look."
"Uh-huh." But he's smiling as he lets himself be pulled along, cart trailing behind.
"Five minutes. I'm timing you."
You don't make it out in five minutes. You end up standing in front of a whole wall of lamps, tilting your head at a warm brass one with a linen shade, while Jack leans against the cart and watches you more than the lamps themselves.
"That one," he says finally, nodding at the brass one. "Goes with the wood on your bookshelf."
"You have opinions about lamps too now?"
"Turns out I have opinions about a lot of things when they're in your apartment." He says it easy, like he's only half joking.
Back at your apartment, grocery bags of grippers are dumped on the counter, you both stand in the living room surveying the runner like it's a crime scene.
"Okay," you say, hands on your hips. "Operation Relocate the Rug." You give the rug a final roll and lug it toward the coffee table, a little breathless. Jack shifts the table out of the way for you to place the rug down.
"There," you say, straightening up, hands on your lower back. "Out of the walking path. Vintage rug preserved. Nobody faceplants."
"Big day for rug fanatics.”
"Huge." You flop down onto the couch next to him, surveying the newly rearranged room, the coffee table pulled a few inches to the left now, more room between it and the armchair, a clear path from the front door to the kitchen without a single obstacle in sight.
Jack's looking at it too, quiet, one hand coming to rest on your knee.
"It's a good room," he says finally. You lean your head on his shoulder, and for a minute you both just sit there in the rearranged quiet, grocery bags still waiting on the counter, the whole apartment slowly turning into something built for both of you.
summary: based off this request! it’s the middle of the night on jack’s day off when you ask him to open your phone, completely blinding him in the process.
warnings: nothing… kind of a crackfic tbh, old man jack, implied (legal) age gap
a/n: i’m sorry if this is bad, im on vacation right now and as soon as i got this ask i wanted to write for it because i thought it was so cute!! dividers by @/sweetestpeacreates and @/kthice
jack absolutely loves having days off.
it’s not because he hates his work; no, on the contrary, he loves his work, it’s what keeps him alive. but he loves being with you even more.
tonight, like any other of his nights off, the two of you are in his bed, you sprawled across his chest while you tell him about your day. “it was so fun, jackie, my walk was sooo nice! i saw so many cute animals.”
he’s half asleep, but he’s focusing as best he can. he really just loves hearing you talk, it lulls him into complete serenity. he hums, “yeah, baby….? what animals?”
you go on excitedly, “so, at first i saw this fat orange cat right across from the house, and it was so cute! it let me pet it, so sweet. and then i saw a few birds…”
despite your enthusiasm, your voice is putting him to sleep. he’s trying so hard to stay awake for you, to listen to the story you’re so excited about, but he’s exhausted.
eventually, your voice wakes him back up. you chirp, “jackie, can you do me a favor? pretty please?”
he starts stirring again, rubbing his eyes and sitting up on his arms. “huh…? yeah, baby, what’s up…?”
you keep playing with your hair, already occupied. “can you go on my phone and go to my camera roll, pretty please? wanna show you the bunny i pet.”
“mhm, you got it…” he mutters, still somewhat half asleep as he reaches for your phone and unplugs it from where its charging. as soon as he turns it on, he’s practically blinded by how bright it is. everything is so… colorful. intense.
he groans, “jesus christ, baby, what the hell is wrong with your phone…?”
you frown at him, “what’s wrong with it? is it broken?” you lean over to look at it, and you see him shutting his eyes tight and rubbing them to relieve the shock he just went through. you giggle, “oh, is it too bright? jack, it’s just colorful. it’s fun.”
“fun is… i don’t know, not this, sweetheart. this is so bad for your eyes.” he’s still rubbing his eyes, like the drama king he is. it’s really not that bad, he’s just sensitive.
rolling your eyes, you give in, “fine, fine, i’ll turn the brightness down.” you fix your settings, then turn back to him. “c’mon, i wanna show you the bunny. look.”
he smiles when you show him the cute photos of you and the bunny, loving how you’re just naturally so… friendly. even shy animals love you. “s’cute, baby.
you giggle, “thank you, old man,” and press a kiss to his nose. “give me the phone, wanna show you some more photos.”
in which jack abbot is the first to notice the wallflower resident of the ER.
summary; reader has always been used to being left behind, and eventually stopped trying to make space for themselves. she doesn't think anyone notices her, until jack abbot starts paying attention.
warnings; fem!reader. use of y/n, use of she/her, probably medical inaccuracies bc all my medical knowledge comes from shows lol, also NO AI used !!! i use em dashes sometimes but i PROMISE this is strictly a no-ai account!! also reader has a cat bc i said so
i might make a part two of this tbh but i wont label it as a series bc then my brain will start procastinating and i'll lose all motivation to write it LOL
The noise of the ER buzzed around you. The muscles in your neck ached, begging to be stretched and massaged. One of your hands came up to gently rub on your neck, the other slowly typing out the chart of your latest patient.
Some of the interns were huddled together, giggling to each other about something. It had become a habit of yours to listen in on them— on whatever gossip they had going on this time. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you were part of it. That you got to gossip with friends just like they do.
That'd never been the case for you. In your intern year, you were the only one. Already feeling alienated, you struggled to find your place in the ER. Everyone seemed to already know who they were, aside from you.
For a while, you tried. You tried to include yourself. You joined the others when they went for a beer after a heavy shift. But as time went on, you didn't feel any closer to belonging. It didn't feel like anyone was making room for you either. So, you stopped showing up. And no one said anything.
Now, you just worked. You took all the patients no one else wanted. You stayed a little later to make sure another coworker could get home on time. You helped in traumas, then slipped away as soon as it was done.
This routine worked. It'd been your routine for years now. It wasn't that you were a bad doctor, no. You just didn't fit in.
A small wince covered your features as you rubbed your neck again. You truly couldn't wait to get off shift, and go home. You know your cat must already be sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the sight of you walking through the door.
"Nice catch, earlier." You heard a gruff voice behind you— one you recognized as your attending, Jack Abbot. Being the eavesdropper you are, you waited to hear the response of the person he was complimenting. You wondered if they'd be humble or gleeful. You know that if you were complimented like that, you'd be over the moon.
The light of the monitor made your eyes burn a little, but you just had to push through this last chart.
Then, you felt a hand tap your shoulder.
"Kid?" Dr. Abbot hummed, looking down at you, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. "Did'ya hear me?"
Your eyes go wide, and you swear you can feel your heart jumping up into your throat, making your breath hitch. He was talking to you. No one ever bothered talking to you, not if it wasn't necessary.
"I— er- sorry, what did you say, Dr. Abbot?" You cleared your throat, trying to get your heart to return to a normal pace, the chart all forgotten now.
He watched you for a moment, his gaze softening from playful to a more gentle one. "I said..." His hands gripped both ends of his stethoscope, the one he always had around his neck, "Good catch earlier. With the silent heart attack patient. Not many of us could've caught that."
The apples of your cheeks shifted into a deep red color, your eyes darting from him to your keyboard, then to your water bottle, the floor, keyboard, him...
"Oh- um, yeah, thank you, sir." You nodded in response, already mentally degrading yourself for being so awkward. This is your attending, for gods sake. You should be professional.
But that easy grin rested on his face, and he nodded. "Oh, sure, kid. You're one hell of a doctor. Keep it up." He gently squeezed your shoulder, and walked off. And that was that. He complimented you like it was nothing.
That simple compliment swam in your head the entire day. It made you smile as you prepared your lunch for work at home that evening. It made you hum with content as you settled into bed, curtains drawn shut to hide the rising sun.
Good catch earlier.
It started happening more and more. Abbot would pull you into traumas with him, let you take the lead on them, and then give you a small compliment, and one of those warm smiles. He'd linger when you charted, always trying to spark up small talk.
You never came out of your shell, though. It was driving him insane. He tried everything. But you always shut it down and got back to work. For a while, he thought you might just dislike him. But he could see the small smiles you gave him, and the pink tint in your cheeks at his compliments.
So, he tried asking the other residents about you. Imagine his shock when no one knew anything about you. Everyone just responded off-handedly.
'Oh, Y/N? Yeah, she's a quiet one. Dunno much about her.'
'Y/N? Great doctor. Haven't talked to her much.'
'Saw her a few times in her first year of residency. Then she stopped coming out.'
No one knew anything. That's what made Jack perk up a little more. He tried to subtly keep notes on you throughout the day. See who you spoke to. If maybe you left with someone. Maybe discussed patients. But he got nothing.
You were all alone.
The last straw was when he spotted you slipping into the abandoned wing of the hospital, settling yourself on the dusty staircase, and opening your lunchbox. You even hid away to eat.
He had to fix that.
So, he became a little more persistent. He'd ask you to eat lunch with him, and before you had a chance to decline, he'd already led you into the breakroom, making you sit down with one pinned stare.
He could tell you were a little anxious. So he always made the first move. He'd ask questions that required more than a nod for an answer, just to get you talking. And he would listen. Full attention, eyes glued to you the entire time you spoke.
No dismissive nods, no hums of acknowledgement in a way to just make you feel heard, no. He made sure you knew he was listening. When you mentioned your cat, he asked for its name. He asked to see pictures. When you made an offhanded complaint about the hospital coffee, he asked what your favorite coffee place was.
The next day, a coffee from said place was waiting for you.
you know how iphones have that feature that sync photos you've received and upload them to your photo album? well jack abbot certainly doesn't know how to turn it off. all i can think about is sending cleavage shots, teasing pictures that were only ever meant for him to see when he's in the confines of the ED bathroom trying not to rub one out there.
he is trying to show robby something about a motorcycle he saw the other day. slow swiping fingers on his screen as he tries his best to make out each image without pulling out his readers. he takes too long of a pause, a blown up photo of you in skimpy lingerie, spread across his bed leaving little to the imagination. jack doesn't rush to swipe away, having momentarily forgotten what he was doing.
"jack–" robby groans looking anywhere but the screen knowing this image will flash in his mind the next time he see's you.
"right! sorry... she looks great, doesn't she?" jack says looking over his shoulder at robby.
summary: as a fourth year resident in the Obstetrics department at PTMC, and the wife of jack abbot, calls down to the ER almost always brighten your day. certified wife guy jack abbot loves to see his girl in action.
content warnings: MDNI! graphic descriptions of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, a lil angst, husband jack abbot banter and fluff with his favorite person, you ;)
word count: 3.3k
authors note: just a little something that popped into my mind rewatching that season 2 case. pretty medical heavy but drop a comment if you enjoyed :)
“Hey, Dr. Abbot,” Medic Nguyen says, pulling out the heavily pregnant woman on the gurney from the back of the rig, “this is Judith Lastrade, 36 weeks pregnant with two days of headache, now a 10 out of 10 with blurred vision. BP 174/120, heart rate 92. No relief with fentanyl.”
“Judith, I'm Dr. Abbot,” Jack says calmly, “any weakness in your arms or legs?”
“No, no. Is this a stroke?” She says, resting her hand on her stomach.
“We need to check for everything,” Jack says, pushing her gurney into the ER with Robby and the medics.
“Where are you doing your prenatal care?” Robby asks.
“Nowhere.” Judith says, firm and defensive. “It's a wild pregnancy. I want a free birth.”
“Uh, ok,” Jack says, exchanging a charged glance with Robby as they push her into trauma two. “Mateo, Nazely, Henderson, with me. Lena, call up to OB, ask for-”
“I know who to ask for,” Lena says, smiling, phone already to her ear.
“CTG is on,” Mateo says, adjusting the strap on Judith's belly.
“CTG?” Judith says, looking up at him.
“Cardiotocography. Measures the baby's heart rate and checks for contractions.” Jack says, crouching forward, reading the stats on the machine, “fetal heart rate 128. Normal range, Nazely?”
“110 to 160,” Nazley says.
“So the baby's OK?” Judith says.
“Right now, yes.” Henderson says, “128 is reassuring,”
“Your next move, Crus?” Jack asks.
“20 of labetalol, IV push over two minutes,” Crus says, pulling the meds from the nearby drawer.
“Uh, what's happening?” Judith asks, the monitors beeping rhythmically in the background.
“You have a condition called preeclampsia,” Nazley offers gently.
“And how did it happen?” Judith says, voice laced with worry.
“Uh, nobody really knows, actually,” Jack says, looking out the glass doors towards the hub, wondering where you are, “it affects about 10% of the pregnancies. High blood pressure, headaches, protein in the urine, and swollen ankles.”
“Ok, well, it's a wild pregnancy, so that means no medical care,” Judith says,
“Then why are you here?” Robby says, no concern in his voice.
“I just need to get rid of this headache,” she says, tears starting to well in her eyes,
“Well, if we don't lower your blood pressure and treat with magnesium, there can be problems.” Abbot says gentler, trying to correct Robby’s harsh tone.
“Like what?” Judith sniffs.
“Seizures, bleeding, even death, for you and the baby,” Crus says.
“Oh, my God,” Judith cries.
“Robby,” Dana says, poking her head in the room, “need you in trauma one,”
“OK,” Robby says, following Dana out of the room, “you good?”
“Yeah, I'm good. I got it. With my eyes closed. But I won't. Maybe one eye.” Jack clicks his tongue as he winks at Judith.
“Jesus, Jack, she’s already pregnant,” you say, a cheeky smile on your face as you push through the back door of the trauma room. His whole face lights up as you walk into the room, your jade green scrubs hugging your hips just the way he likes. He shoves his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to you and squeezing your waist.
“She’s the other Dr. Abbot?” Nazley says under her breath to Crus, “she’s so much younger than him,”
“Yeah,” Crus murmurs back but you and Jack don’t hear them, the two of you in your own world for a moment, “they kinda don’t give a fuck,”
“Hey,” Jack says, his voice dropping to something much softer. He’s in awe of how beautiful you look under the harsh fluorescences of the ER.
“Hi, Dr. Abbot,” you smile, shaking your head, rubbing in the purell on your hands. The little group of nurses and doctors gather around you. You nod hello to Crus and Mateo, pausing on Nazely, “I don’t think we’ve gotten to work together yet,” you hold out your hand to her introducing yourself.
“Nazley Toomarian, intern,” she says, “I- I just started tonight,”
“Jesus and they put you on the night shift?” You turn to Jack, “free her.”
“I didn’t assign her to the night shift,” Jack holds his hands up in self defense.
“Well, it’s really nice to meet you Dr. Toomarian,” you say, “you’ve got a good teacher here,” you wink at Jack.
“You’re not biased or anything,” Jack smiles.
“Not at all,” you roll your eyes playfully, “whaddya got for me?”
“This is Judith. G1, P0 with no prenatal care. Preeclampsia with severe hypertension,” Nazley says, standing up a little straighter as she speaks to you, before turning back to Judith, “How's the headache?”
“Still a 10,” Judith moans.
“More fentanyl?” Crus asks.
“Yep,” Abbot says, trying to suppress the smile that wants to form on his face now that you’re in the room. He leans into you and murmurs under his breath, “missed you,”
“Jack, you saw me two hours ago,” you smile, "remember? We carpooled from our house?”
“BP's good,” Crus says, eyes on the monitor, “another fifty,”
Your eyes linger on Jack as he beams at you while you walk over to the patient's bedside.
“Hi Judith,” you say softly, “I’m Dr. Abbot from OB,”
“I thought he was Dr. Abbot,” Judith looks towards Jack.
“He is. I- uh- am too,” you smile at her, “we’re married,”
“Oh,” Judith sighs, “that’s nice. That you get to work together I mean. Do you have kids?”
“No,” you say, and you don’t have to turn your head to see that Jack has walked up next to you, to feel the tension radiating off Jack at her question. Thankfully Crus intervenes before Jack boils over.
“Some jelly on the belly. Gonna take a quick look with ultrasound.” Crus says, handing you the wand and gel.
“No, no, no.” Judith wraps her arms around her stomach, “ultrasound can harm the baby.”
“Not true.” Jack says curtly.
“I understand that you feel scared but not doing the ultrasound can end up harming you and the baby,” you say gently, “I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Ok,” Judith huffs, dropping her arm, “just do it as fast as you can,”
“Why no prenatal care, Judith?” You say, no judgment in your voice, squirting the gel on her stomach.
“I wanted a free birth,” she says defensively, “no doctors, no hospital, no medicine.”
“Mm,” Jack says from beside you, “you have a midwife? A birth doula?”
“No, I don't need one,” Judith says, as you drag the wand over her belly, “women have been having children on their own for thousands of years.”
“Yeah,” Jack says, clearly getting irritated, “with an infant mortality rate of 30% for most of those thousands of years,”
“You know Judith,” you say, cutting off your husband, speaking softly while keeping your eyes on the screen, “for a lot of those years birthing was a community event. Women relied on midwives and the other women in their lives to help them during childbirth.”
“What is this good cop bad cop?” Judith moans.
“I know this isn’t how you envisioned it,” you say, turning to her, “but there are a lot of people here who are more than happy to help you, if you’d let us.”
“Dr. Abbot is the best doctor in this hospital,” Jack says, feeling his heart swell at the patience and care you’re offering such a difficult patient, “I’d listen to her if I were you,”
“Femur length seven centimeters,” you say to Jack, “37 weeks. I’d induce.”
“What?” Judith says, panicked, “no, no, no. Absolutely not.”
“At 37 weeks, the cure for preeclampsia is to deliver the baby,” Jack says firmly, but with a little less bite, “we need to get you upstairs so Dr. Abbot can induce labor to save you and your baby.”
“No.” Judith sits up, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”
You stand, exchanging a knowing look with Jack before walking over to the phone and calling up to the OB department for a room.
“Labs are coming back.” Nazley says, pulling the labs up on the computer, “Hemoglobin 7.5, platelets 40. LFTs are sky high.”
“HELLP syndrome,” Jack shakes his head, looking at the results.
“Hemolytic anemia, elevated liver enzymes, and low platelets,” Crus explains to Nazley.
“They're cleaning a room,” you say, hanging up the phone, “I can bring her up in ten minutes.”
“How you doing, Judith?” Jack says, walking back to her bedside.
“I- I-” Judith’s eyes roll back, her body starts to spasm.
“Oh, she's seizing,” Nazely says.
“Oh, shit,” you say, moving next to Jack, “10 of IV diazepam. Have another 10 ready,”
“With all the movement, we can't get a fetal heartbeat,” Mateo says, checking the CTG.
“Putting on 15 liters by mask. Should we intubate?” Crus asks.
“Hold intubation. Let's try to break this. We don't want to mask seizures with paralysis unless we have to,” you say to Nazley, explaining your rationale.
“Nazely, what's the diagnosis?” Jack asks.
“Um, with the seizure, now it's eclampsia,” Nazely says.
“Fetal heart rate is about 90,” you shake your head, “way too low,”
“Mom's sats are going down,” Mateo says, his eyes on the monitor.
“Time to tube her?” Crus asks, looking between you and Jack. The two of you stare at each other, seeming to telepathically communicate.
“Set up for it, but wait,” you speak for the pair of you, “another 10 of diazepam. Push 4 grams of Keppra.”
“Pulse ox is 88,” Mateo says, shaking his head.
“Dr. Abbot?” Crus says, looking at Jack, “Intubate?”
But Jack looks at you.
“Let’s do it,” you say.
“Nazely, what do you suggest for rapid sequence induction?” Jack says.
“Etomidate and roc,” Nazely offers her best guess.
“Mm, not quite, Dr. Toomarian,” you say, snapping on a pair of gloves, “120 of propofol, 60 of succinylcholine.”
“Why is that, Crus?” Jack says, pulling on his own pair of gloves.
“Propofol for the anti-seizure effect, sux to avoid prolonged paralysis so we can check her neuro exam.” Crus says.
“Exactly,” Jack nods.
“Pushing the propofol,” Mateo injects the medication into Judith’s IV.
“Once she's flat for intubation we need to displace the uterus to the left,” you say across the table to Jack.
“Nazely, that's you. Big hug, both arms. Get the baby off the vena cava.” Jack mimes the movement, guiding her.
“What's she had so far?” Shen says, walking in the room.
“30 of diazepam, a full load of mag, Keppra, and propofol,” Jack says, eyes on the monitor.
“Damn.” Ellis’ eyes follow Jack's, “What's your next step?”
“Any ideas?” Jack asks the room, “Nazely?”
“Dilantin? Valproate?” Nazely offers.
“Infusion is too long. Push 100 of ketamine. That's had results with refractory status,” you say, nodding at Nazely. She injects the ketamine into the IV and immediately the heart rate picks up, but not as much as you’d like, “little better.”
“Yeah. She should be upstairs with the rest of OB,” Shen shakes his head.
“Best of OB is down here with us,” Jack says, looking at you with adoration. You smile and shake your head at his compliment. The phone in the room rings and Ellis moves to pick it up.
“Ok, got it.” she says, “OB says send her and Dr. Abbot up. They have an OR ready.”
“This one looks like it took a turn for the worse,” Robby says walking into the room, and as if he spoke it into existence, Judith’s heart starts to fail, “fuck. V-fib”!
“Chest compressions, Dr. Toomarian, Charge to 200,” you say, commanding the room, “Prep the belly. Get a baby warmer. Call the NICU. Start a timer.”
“Charged. Clear.” Mateo says. Everyone raises their hands off Judith and steps back. A shock jolts her body but her heart doesn’t pick up again on its own, “continue compressions!”
“Gown up, baby, it's you and me.” Abbot looks across the table at you and you give your head a little shake at the pet name in this dire circumstance.
“Dr. Toomarian, do you know the four-minute rule?” You ask as Mateo helps you slip on a gown.
“Uh, not sure.” Nazely says, tying Jack’s gown for him.
“Pregnant patient with a viable fetus, you have four minutes after cardiac arrest to save the baby.” You say, sliding your goggles up your nose.
“And the mom,” Jack adds, “we don't call it a postmortem C-section anymore. It's a resuscitative hysterotomy to try to save them both.”
“But she doesn't want any medical intervention.” Nazley says tepidly.
“Doesn't matter. Mom and baby are both dead if we do nothing.” You say. “OK, charge to 200. One more rhythm check and then Jack and I are gonna cut. Ellis, you and Crus on Mom resuscitation. Shen, you and Nazely take the baby. OK, hold compressions.”
Everyone steps back, raising their hands off Judith’s limp body.
“Still V-fib.” Crus shakes his head.
“We need to get this baby out right now,” Jack says to you, and you nod, “let’s have eyes on Dr. Abbot, this is a priceless demonstration we’re about to get,”
“Ok, ten blade,” you say, holding out your hand, grateful you’re masked up so the trauma room can’t see you blush. Mateo places the scalpel in your hand.
“First incision is from the xiphoid to the pubic symphysis through the skin to the linea alba.” You say, dragging the blade down her belly.
“Second incision goes through the peritoneum, exposing the uterus,” you’re laser focused, making an identical incision on the deeper layer of skin.
“Ellis, gentle traction,” Jack says, pulling back his retractor and she mirrors his movements.
“Ok, making a small vertical incision through the lower uterus so as not to cut the baby,” you say, taking the scissors from Mateo, “using scissors to extend superiorly.”
“Ellis, hand retract the uterus with me.” Jack says, knowing what you need before you have to ask.
“Amniotic fluid looks good,” you say, as it spills out, “give me some fundal pressure.”
“Breech position,” Jack says, as you reach into her uterus.
“Baby's out. It's a girl!” You say, and Jack can hear the smile in your voice. He knows that this is your favorite part, usually much more joyful and with the mother conscious.
“Ok, blue and flaccid. We got mommy, you take baby,” You say to Shen. Everyone works in frantic precision. You pull out the placenta in a smooth motion, getting it all out in one go.
“Hold compressions.” Jack says.
“I got a weak carotid.” Mateo says, and you breathe out in relief.
“No seizure activity on the EEG.” Crus says, eyes on the monitor.
“Ah!” Shen calls from across the room, “Baby girl just scored the winning point! APGAR of 8 is pretty normal.”
“Holy shit,” Dr. Pettyfer, your OB colleague pushes in the room, “what did I miss?
“Eclampsia with status, HELLP syndrome, cardiac arrest, resuscitative hysterotomy.” Jack says, resting his hands on his hips.
“I was in the OR with a septic twin C-section,” Pettyfer says, looking between you and Jack, “got your text 12 minutes ago.”
“Shit happens fast down here,” Jack shrugs.
“Dr. Abbot did a resuscitative hysterotomy in 36 seconds.” Crus says, awe in his voice.
“Impressive,” Pettyfer crosses his arm, looking down at Judith.
“You’re not gonna ask which one?” Jack says, crossing his arms.
“I don’t have to,” Pettyfer smirks.
“NICU's sending a team down,” Mateo says, hanging up the phone.
“Alright well I can take mom along with my star resident,” Pettyfer nods at you before turning to the ER crew, “you guys are rock stars,”
“We like to be referred to as crawlers of the night,” Jack says, a playful lilt in his voice.
“My god,” you roll your eyes at him, before turning back to Pettyfer, “can I meet you up there in five? I wanna wait for NICU to come get the baby,”
“Yeah, no problem,” Pettyfer says as Crus and Ellis help him roll Judith out of the room, the rest of the ER staff clearing out leaving you and Jack alone. You lock eyes and let out a long, deep breath.
“You were amazing,” Jack says, walking towards you, the tip of his boot bumping against your sneaker.
“I fucking hate anti-vaxx, make america healthy again bullshit people,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Jack teases as he moves his arms around your body, holding you against him. You pinch his side and he yells out a little yelp.
“She was scared,” you say, breathing in his smell, “idiots can be scared too, Jack,”
“So true, baby,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back, “you were good with her,”
“I was,” you sigh.
“I didn’t like it when she asked if we had kids,” Jack says into your hair.
“She was just scared, looking for a little connection,” you say, pulling back so you can look your husband in the eye, “it’s ok that we’re doing things our own way. We’re allowed to not want kids.”
“I love you so much,” he says, squeezing your hip.
“I love you so much,” you echo.
“Fuck kids,” Jack says.
“Fuck kids,” you say so enthusiastically Jack can’t help but laugh, “...for us though. For other people it’s super important to my livelihood.”
“Right,” Jack nods in mock seriousness. You smile at him, running your hands up his arms, locking your fingers behind his neck.
“I want you all to myself,” you whisper, leaning up, quickly biting his ear lobe. Jack grips down on your waist and lets out a small, soft groan.
“You got me,” he rasps.
“I know,” you smile, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I gotta get back upstairs my love,”
“Ok,” he says, trying not to be so disappointed, especially after getting to spend a little extra time with you.
Jack shoves his hands in his pockets as the pair of you walk towards the elevators, knowing he’d be too tempted to take your hand if he didn’t.
“If I give you constructive feedback will you still love me?” You say, as the pair of you move slowly through the pitt.
“I’ll love you no matter what,” Jack hums.
“You should try to call Nazley Dr. Toomarian,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back, “she just became a doctor. And I know you have your whole fun-attending-night-crawlers thing but… she worked hard to get here and I think it could mean a lot. Especially because the night shift down here is kind of a boys club,”
“We have Ellis!” Jack says.
“Jack…” you stop in front of the elevator giving him a somewhat incredulous look,“Ellis is the head of boys club,”
“Point taken,” he laughs, pausing, letting his eyes run over your face. “Ok. I’ll work on that. Can I give you some constructive feedback?” He pushes the elevator button for you.
“Of course,” you smile. Jack leans towards you, letting his finger brush against the back of your palm, against your wedding band.
“Your ass… looks amazing in those scrubs,” he whispers.
“Jack!” You laugh, as the elevator dings open, starting to walk through the doors.
“Hey,” Jack says in almost a whine, grasping your hand in his.
“What?” You smile.
“No kiss?” He says, his eyes wide and puppy-like.
“We are at work,” you smile, squeezing his hand and he gives you this look like he knows you want to kiss him just as badly. You sigh, “fine. A little one,”
“Just a little one,” Jack says, crinkling his nose, leaning towards you, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You giggle against his mouth, turning your head away.
“That’s all you get,” you smile, pulling away, backing into the elevator.
“I’ll see you later,” Jack says, the tips of his ears red, burying his hands in his pockets.
“Bye, Dr. Abbot,” you say, drawing out his name with a flirty twang.
“Bye Dr. Abbot,” he nods at you with that smoldering look you love so much. You blow him a little kiss before the elevator doors slide shut. He catches it and presses it against his heart. It’s gonna be a long shift.
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synopsis: two months, you've kept this situationship with jack under wraps. no one knows, and neither of you plan on telling anyone any time soon. but somehow, robby finds out. and he's pissed. just like any father would be when they find out their daughter is dating their best friend. but that's not what scares you. now that the secret's out, how is jack gonna react? 4.5k wc
warnings: dad's bsf so obvi age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is mid 20s), reader is robby's goddaughter but she calls him dad, robby calls reader bug, a couple uses of y/n sorry :/, cursing, smoking/vaping, allusions to past smut and masturbation so mdni, robby's a dick what's new, jack is so sweet with the reader, there's some daddy issues her duh, slight angst but there's a happy ending i promise !!!
here's the long awaited part two !! read part one here !
the next morning, jack buys you breakfast from a donut shop down the street. almost having your exact coffee order down to a t. the two of you spend hours talking about anything that came to mind. well, you did most of the talking while he just listened. kind of like last night. and when you inevitably have to leave so you can go home and clean up before your shift, he walks you to your car. even kissing you goodbye.
but after that night together, you had just assumed that jack would forget it ever happened. not that he seemed like the type of guy to do a one and done. but you'd rather assume the worst than hope for the best. however, he acted as if nothing had changed. if anything, it was like it changed for the better. he texts you whenever you come into his mind. which is almost all the time. it starts off as little things. like a simple 'good morning' or a quick check in here and there.
jack starts to hate working nights. not because of his crew. god, no. he knows he probably has the best one. but because it means whenever he has down time in between patients, he can't ask you how your day went, knowing his text will go unanswered since you're fast asleep. sometimes you'll respond on the nights that your insomnia is really bad. but then he'll start feeling guilty for keeping you awake. so he'll instead just text you a soft command about going to bed so you don't feel sick in the morning. he knows that you get really bad migraines the day after you don't sleep. something you mentioned in passing, by the way.
but the best part about working nights? it means robby's at work when jack's not. he'll catch a few hours of sleep before driving over to your place and taking you out for lunch. maybe a quickie in his truck if you're feeling up to it. and then he'll drive you to work, walking you inside. much to the amusement of your coworkers. he'll kiss you on the cheek, knowing how much you hate physical displays of affection, before wishing you a quiet goodbye before leaving. the first time he dropped you off, all of the girls turned to you and started giggling, asking who the mystery man was.
"he's just a friend," you replied, walking away to restock one of the cd shelves. one of the girls, shelby, rolled her eyes. "oh, yeah, sure. because a hot, older guy driving you to work and kissing you on the cheek is 'just a friend'."
but now, about two months later, it's normal for them to see jack around. because in said two months, you and him only grew closer. over time, the lines between whatever you had going on with him began to blur. it felt less like hookups and more like an actual relationship. not that you're really complaining. he's treated you better in these past few months than your ex ever did in those five years.
the only issue is having to hide it. like right now. football season had recently started, meaning every weekend possible, robby was over at jack's place. much to robby's surprise, you had requested if you could come along. when asked why, said that you just wanted to spend some time with your dad. not a total lie, but not the full truth. you definitely didn't want to tag along because his hot best friend was also your fuck buddy. no, definitely not.
robby sits on one side of the couch, with you sitting on the other. meanwhile, jack is lounging on his recliner. the same recliner he fucked you in about a week ago. you shake your head, attempting to forget that memory as you try and focus on the script in your lap. there was an audition coming for a side character in a thriller tv show. you highly doubt that you'll get the role, let alone a callback, but you're not ready to give up on your dreams just yet. both men let out a loud cheer when the team they're rooting for, the steelers, score another touchdown. a whistle blows, signaling that halftime has just begun.
"i'm gonna go get another beer. need anything, brother?" jack asks robby, slowly standing from the chair. he stretches his arm, making his shirt ride up just a bit. the waistband of his boxers peaks out, which definitely catches your eye. he's doing it on purpose, you realize. because the second your eyes land on the small strip of skin, he's already looking at you with a small smirk. you quickly avert your gaze back down towards your script. "nah, i'm all good. thanks though," robby replies, completely focused on the tv.
jack nods, walking behind the couch and to the kitchen. but as he passes, he lightly tugs on a couple strands of your hair. a silent tell to meet him in the kitchen. you wait a few minutes before saying, "i'm, uh, gonna get more soda." not as smooth as jack, but robby barely even glances at you before absentmindedly nodding.
when you enter the kitchen, jack's back is turned to you, washing some stray dishes at the sink. slowly, you creep up on him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. "hey, sweetheart," he coos, turning to face you. careful to dry his hands on his pants before touching you. "hi," you greet back. meeting you halfway, he captures your lips in a quick kiss. nothing but a wall separates you and him from your dad sitting in the living room. so unfortunately contact has to be kept to a minimum. "i've missed you," he whispers once pulling back. "you saw me last week," you reply.
"yeah, a week too long. been lonely without you. how you doing, huh?"
"i'm alright. been missing you too. the store recently got stock of that springsteen album you mentioned. i bought it and have it waiting in the apartment."
jack's face softens. "you shouldn't have done that. let me pay you back," he insists, but you shake your head. "you buy so much for me. the least i can do is buy you a record."
"you're amazing, you know that?"
you shrug, feigning humbleness. "so i've been told." he lightly pinches your side, making you squeal softly. "shh, baby, gotta be quiet, remember? you still coming in while i'm at work tomorrow?" he questions, a bit of hopefulness present in his tone.
"of course, jackie," you confirm. ever since moving in with robby, you've made a point to visit the pitt every monday. gifting the day shift with whatever baked goods you made over the weekend. and jack has started coming in earlier on said mondays. making up some excuse about wanting to make sure everything is prepared for the week ahead. definitely not because he wants to have a few minutes with you while locked in the supply closet.
"good. because they all miss you and your sweet treats."
"do they, huh? or do you?" you tease.
"can't it be both?" jack leans in to kiss you again, but then robby calls you both. halftime is over. an annoyed sigh escapes him as he leans forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder. you chuckle softly at all his incoherent grumbling. then pressing a kiss to his temple. all he wants is more time with you. but life keeps getting in the way. "tomorrow, okay? i will actually kiss you tomorrow," he promises. he instructs you to leave first, making sure to slip a soda in your hand to keep up the act. right before you leave, however, he lands a soft slap on your ass, causing you to glare at him playfully.
the next day, you show up at the pitt, just like you promised. it's eight o'clock, nearing the end of robby's shift. you can't find him when you enter through the ambulance bay, but langdon greets you warmly as he reaches out for some dessert. "what do you have for us today, lil robby?" ever since you've started stopping by both, he and a few of the other crew people on day shift have begun calling you 'lil robby' after your dad. it's not the cutest nickname, but it's the thought that counts. "uh, double fudge brownies," you reply.
"sounds amazing. hold on, these aren't laced are they? one time this lady brought in brownies to thank us, conveniently leaving out that they had weed in them."
"oh, yeah, jack told me about that the other night."
langdon looks at you suspiciously. even you know how it sounds. to the outside eye, you and jack are practically strangers. why would he tell you about a funny situation at work? thankfully, langdon isn't gonna push for an explanation. "if you're looking for your dad, he's with a patient. want me to go get him?"
"no, that's alright, i'll just drop them off with dana."
"alright, sounds good. thanks, again," he says, grabbing a brownie, maybe two, before going on his way.
you find dana where you expected her to be. right at the nurse's station. that bitchy nurse, monica, isn't around. she hasn't been since you first met her. thank god. instead, there's a new charge nurse in training, emma. a sweet girl. she says 'hi' to you as she passes by.
"hey there, honey. it's good to see you," dana says, pulling you into a hug. "your dad is busy right now."
"i know, langdon already told me. he'll be home soon, so i don't mind. i'm just gonna drop these off here, yeah? that way everyone can find them."
"that's alright with me," she replies. just then, jack comes in. eyes lighting up when he sees who's standing with dana. "hey, sweetheart," he greets, sliding up to stand beside you. your mutter a soft 'hi' in response. his hand rests on the small of your back just barely. enough for you to feel him, but not enough for anyone else to notice. except dana. because dana notices everything somehow. he nods at dana once before leaving to go to his locker.
as soon as he's gone, dana looks at you with that knowing look in her eyes. "what's going on between you and abbot, huh?"
"what do you mean?" oh, god. how did she figure it out? whatever... this is between you and jack had been contained for two and a half months. and you had done a pretty good job of keeping it hidden since then. but you're anxious look is answer enough for her. "i knew it."
damn her and how smart she is. "what? how did you know?"
"he's been happier than normal. brighter and less tense. besides, he has that look in his eyes whenever someone mentions your name. i haven't seen him with that look since..." her voice trails off, sentence unfinished. but she doesn't need to for you to know who she's talking about.
jack's wife. she passed just over a decade ago. he's told you things about her here and there. how beautiful she was. how kind hearted she was. how she was the one who kept him from quitting his job when things got a little too hard one night. from what he's told you, she sounds like she was a wonderful lady. so to have dana somewhat put you on the same pedestal as her... it's intimidating.
"well, we're not dating, though. we just hook up every once in a while," you try and explain. "then maybe you should tell jack that, honey," dana replies. someone calls her name, pulling her away from you shortly after. you look for your dad, who you still can't find. before looking for jack, who you now can't find.
ultimately, you decide to just head home and catch some sleep before work tomorrow. but even as you crawl under the covers and lay your head on the pillow, dana's words still stick with you. "maybe you should tell him that." you wonder what she meant by that.
you never get the chance to find out, though. because his line of work never sleeps. jack gets called in early almost every single day this past week. every single time it happens, he texts you with one of those sad faces you taught him how to do. this one :(. he hates it. not being able to see you. but he'll take all the quick phone calls he can get while on the way to work. you haven't told him about what dana said. you figured that that kind of conversation was better to have in person and face to face.
the time you end up seeing him isn't until a week later.
you come into the pitt, this time with cupcakes, and place them down at the nurse's station. unfortunately, you're not greeted with the familiar smile of dana. nor are you greeted with emma's warm smile. no, you're greeted my monica. and barely at that. she glances up at you, rolling her eyes. she does a piss poor attempt at trying to hide it, but you catch her anyway. "bringing cupcakes into an emergency department? are you serious?" she sneers.
"it's just for the workers in case they get hungry," you explain. you even try to give her a cupcake as a peace offering, but she's having no part of it. "i didn't say i wanted one, did i?" she snaps at you. saved by the bell, or the man, jack comes from around the corner to your rescue. "hey, sweetheart, it's good to see you. how about you come with me?" he says hurriedly, not even sparing a second glance to monica.
gently, he grabs your wrist and tugs you over to the storage closet down the hall. "thank you, jackie," you whisper once inside the small space. his response is pulling you into a breath stealing kiss. one hand on your waist, the other tangled in your hair. your hands reach up to rest on the front of his chest. fingers curling into the black fabric of his shirt. you needed this. both of you did. he taps you on your side twice, a silent command to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist. which you do without a second thought.
jack's hands come down to cup the bottom of your ass, before holding you up against the wall. he breaks the kiss to start kissing down your neck. he gently bites on your pulse point, making you whimper. he shushes you softly, reaching up one of his hands to slip his thumb into your mouth. something small for you to suck on and keep you quiet. "you're so warm, baby. i missed this. missed you," he says against your neck. "been thinking about you all week, you know that? about you and your body. how pretty you looked on top of me those two weeks ago riding my cock. fuck, couldn't stop touching myself to you."
the memory sends a shiver down your spine. you hadn't forgotten about that shared night, either. it was the most recent, sexual encounter with jack, so it was the one you thought about when touching yourself late at night. but your fingers never felt as good as jack's. not as good as they feel dipping into the waistband of your jeans. his thumb slips free from your mouth, giving you the chance to speak. "jackie, aren't you needed out there?" you worry softly. "no, i got a few minutes, baby. you can come fast, can't ya?" he teases, and you nod rapidly. "yeah, good girl, i know you can."
but it doesn't go much farther than some over the clothes stuff. in the heat of the moment, jack forgot to make sure that the door was locked. with him being older, he doesn't hear it at first. but you do. the clicking of the door being opened makes you perk up and push his hands away. you do your best to smooth down your clothes and hair in the two seconds you have. it doesn't help that you end up face to face with your dad. "brother? i was looking for you and monica said-" robby begins to say, but his voice trails off.
both you and jack realize just how bad this looks. there's no way of lying out of this one. why would a good-looking guy and a pretty woman be hidden away in a closet together if not doing nefarious activities? it doesn't help that jack is sporting a huge hard on right now. which he does his best to cover with his hands. "are you fucking serious?!" robby exclaims, his voice booming. "dad, please, i can explain," you try and say, but he wants to hear no part of it. "i don't wanna hear anything from you, do you understand?" he snaps, silencing you immediately. robby got annoyed at you, sure, but never angry before. not like this. "both of you outside. now."
he turns his back to you both, assuming that you'll just follow. which the two of you do. walking through the emergency department, you notice how nearly everyone is silent and looking at the three of you. some are looking at you with pity, while others don't even attempt to look due to awkwardness. but there's one that sticks out. monica. she's looking at you with nothing but smug on her face. you feel ashamed like a kid who just got caught with their hand stuck in the cookie jar. but even now, jack pulls you closer and forces your head to rest in his neck. if you can't see them, they can't see you. and if anyone even dares to say anything, he'll say something back.
once you're outside, robby turns back around to look at you two. "you get your hands off her right now," he commands, and jack listens. but he doesn't allow you to go far. instead, he moves his body to stand in front of you, blocking you from robby's piercing gaze. "listen, before you start, don't go and get mad at her. this was all my idea, okay? she didn't do anything," jack says, arguing in your favor. which you appreciate, but he's making himself sound like some weirdo. "jack, what are you doing?" you whisper to him, tugging at the back of his shirt. "helping you out," he replies.
"no," you say, moving to step between the two men.
"no?" they ask in unison.
"yeah, no. i wanted this too, just as much as jack did. he didn't force or coerce me into anything. i chose this. so if you should be mad at anyone, be mad at me."
robby just stares at you. for a second you think that this whole thing has just been finished on under five minutes. but then he says, "i just can't believe you. i thought you were smarter than this. you're just so young and he's..."
"he's younger than you," you retort. "but he's still almost twenty years your senior!" he argues back. those words act as the catalyst. the two of you start going at it, yelling about anything and everything that comes to mind.
jack can barely make out what you say, because your voices are so loud and heavy they start to overlap each other. but what he does notice is how similar you two are. he can tell that robby was the man who practically raised you. shit, he wouldn't even be surprised if robby turned out to actually be your father. the two of you have that same line between your eyebrows when angry. the same stance of your hand on your hips or your arms crossed over your chest.
"uh, robinavitch?" dana asks, stepping outside.
"what?" both you and robby ask in unison. if it weren't for the tense situation, jack would probably make a joke about how the two of you look like twins at the moment. "not you, honey," she says sweetly at you. but her expression hardens when she looks over at robby. "you. get inside, now." robby sighs, rolling his eyes and rubbing harshly at his forehead. "we're not done, understand?" he says before following after dana.
the second he's gone, you feel as if you can breathe again. a shaky sigh escapes you, as well as a tear. and then another. then another. before you know it, you're completely breaking down in the middle of the ambulance bay. jack is there to comfort you. pulling you into the tightest hug imaginable while rubbing circles on your back. "just breathe, baby, breathe. you're okay," he coos. "how about you head over to my place for the night, okay? unless you wanna go to yours?"
you shake your head. "no, i-i wanna stay at your place."
"okay, baby. still got your key?" he asks, which you nod.
"alright, head there and get some sleep. i'm calling you out of work tomorrow. you need it." jack kisses your head, then your cheek, before pressing a quick one on your lips. "i love you, baby," he murmurs. a look of panic washes over him at his choice of words. no fucking way. his first 'i love you' and it's right after getting into a verbal tussle with your dad. it's a fucking dick move. but then all his worry goes away when you whisper, "i love you too, jackie." that makes him smile. "keep my bed warm for me tonight, alright?" he commands gently, before sending you away with a soft love tap on your ass.
the shift is long and grueling and completely awkward. dana forces robby to go home shortly after the whole debacle, and jack watches as his friend glares at him the whole way out. he can't blame him for being upset. if the roles were reversed and robby was secretly banging jack's daughter, he'd be pretty pissed off too. but jack loves you. god, he loves you so much. he's not in it for just the sex like most older guys would be. sure, the sex is amazing, but he loves your smile.
he loves that little snort laugh you have whenever you watch your little youtube videos. he loves watching you perform all your lines in front of him while he sits on the couch. and he loves the look you get in your eyes when you watch him while lying in bed. you look at him like he hung the moon and stars himself.
once he's home, jack shrugs off his jacket and backpack onto the hanging rack before slipping off his shoes by the door. he heads towards his room, ready to crawl into bed with you, but you're not there. he checks the bathroom, you're not there either. you weren't downstairs in the living room or by the pool. now he's worried. but then he notices that the balcony door is cracked open. he makes his way out there, which is where he finds you.
you're wrapped up in one of his hoodies and a pair of your shorts, legs pulled up tight to your chest. a cigarette hangs between your pointer and middle finger. you probably haven't noticed him yet, and he doesn't wanna scare you. so he slowly sits down beside you on the empty chair. you glance at him then, but don't say anything. you don't wanna talk, that's okay. he's not gonna force you to. instead, he just sits. and waits.
the moment feels so reminiscent to the night you first met. but yet, it feels like the beginning of the end. you don't know what jack is gonna say. is he gonna break up with you? technically, you're not even together, so can he even do that? either way, you don't want him to. you just wanna keep him forever, but you feel like forever is slowly slipping away from you. the thoughts become too much, and you need answers now, so you blurt out, "are you breaking up with me?"
"huh?" jack asks, eyes bugged out wide.
"are you breaking up with me? which, i don't think is possible because we're not dating. but i just-" you take a hit of the cigarette to calm down, "i just need to know, jack. are you breaking up with me?" you repeat.
that... wasn't what he was expecting from you. like, at all. "i'm not breaking up with you, baby, why would you think that? besides, i thought we were dating...?" he questions, a bit confused.
now it's your turn to be confused. "really? since when?"
"since the night we slept together," he replies, as if it was so obvious. "are you serious?" and he nods in response. "well, how come you never told me?" you ask. jack shrugs. "i thought you knew. i made it pretty clear." he's always been a gentleman. he was raised by his mother to be respectful and kind to any and all women he comes in contact with. that's how he was with his wife. that's how he is with you. if he had known that he had to tell you outright, he would've done it.
"oh..." you murmur. "i'm sorry, i didn't know." he shakes his head, kissing your temple.
"don't apologize, baby. that's on me. but i'm not breaking up with you, okay? what happened with robby is not gonna scare me away. it takes a lot to do that, baby," he promises.
"i just, i feel like i've messed everything up, jackie. dad's not gonna want to talk to me."
"that's not true. you didn't mess anything up, sweetheart. he'll come around, he always does. robby's just a stubborn asshole, kind of like someone i know," he teases, bumping your shoulder with his.
you playfully roll your eyes and shove him lightly. he catches your hand in his, pressing a kiss on each knuckle. "how 'bout we head to bed, yeah?" he offers. "i took tomorrow off, so we can sleep in as late as you want." you nod, letting him pull you up to stand. you put out the cigarette on the little ash tray that jack bought for you to keep outside.
you sit on the bed while he excuses himself to change and get off his prosthetic. when he comes back, you're nearly passed out. slowly, he crawls under the covers with you, tugging you into his side. your head rests right under his chin, on top of his chest.
you're not sure when robby will talk to you. maybe tomorrow, maybe a week from now. you hope that he does, because at the end of the day, he's still your dad. blood related or not. but you're not alone anymore. you have jack, and for now, that's all you need.
Summary: After months of shameless flirting and undeniable chemistry in the ED, Jack finally stops fighting the pull between you — and gives in to the feelings he’s spent so long trying to bury, admitting just how badly he wants you.
Tags: Fluffy idiots in love, Mutual pining between colleagues, Workplace romance, Endless banter, Flirting, Kissing.
Word count: 5.6k.
The night shift started the way it always did, with controlled chaos. Monitors chimed in uneven rhythms, stretchers rolled through the ambulance bay doors, and somewhere down the hall someone was already asking where Dr. Abbot was.
You found him exactly where you expected. He was standing in front of the patient board, coffee cup in one hand, tablet in the other, with his reading glasses perched low on his nose.
“You know,” you said, walking up beside him, “those make you look old.”
Without looking away from the board, he replied, “And you’re late.”
You checked the clock. “I’m three minutes early.”
“You were supposed to relieve McKay seven minutes ago.”
“Are you counting?”
That got his attention. His eyes flicked toward you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “…Yeah.”
You grinned. “That’s kind of cute.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“No?”
“No.” He took a sip of coffee, finally looking you over. “Did you eat yet?”
You blinked. “Good evening to you too.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I had a coffee.”
“Caffeine isn’t a meal.”
“It’s close enough.”
Jack sighed through his nose. “You’ve got about twenty minutes before it’ll start getting busy in here. Go eat something.”
“Are you giving me orders now?”
“I’m your attending.”
“Only in here,” you said, gesturing around the department.
He looked at you for a beat, then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Go.”
“Bossy.”
“And yet, you’re still standing here.”
You held his gaze for another second before turning away. “You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll page you if I change my mind.”
⸻
An hour later, the ambulance bay exploded, just like Jack had predicted.
“Incoming trauma! Male, twenty-three, high-speed MVC. Hypotensive en route.”
The doors burst open, and everything else disappeared.
“Trauma Two,” Jack barked. “Move.”
You were already moving. The room filled in seconds with doctors, nurses, and trauma surgery on standby.
Jack snapped on a pair of gloves. “You with me?”
“Always.”
He didn’t even look to see if you were ready. He knew you were. “Airway?”
“Secure.”
“Pressure?”
“Eighty systolic.”
“FAST-exam?”
“Negative.”
“Hang the second unit.”
“Already running.”
Every order was followed before he finished saying it. Every instrument he reached for was already in your hand. You worked perfectly in tandem with barely any verbal communication. At some point your shoulder slammed into his as you switched sides of the bed. Neither of you apologized. There wasn’t time.
Then, the patient’s pressure tanked.
“He’s crashing.”
“I know.”
“No pulse.”
“Start compressions.”
The room blurred into muscle memory. Minutes stretched. Then, time stopped. A heavy silence settled over the trauma bay in the worst way. Jack looked at the clock. Nobody spoke while he called it. Not until the family liaison quietly asked for the time.
⸻
The room had slowly emptied. You stood at the sink, scrubbing blood from your hands harder than necessary. The water was almost too hot.
“You’ll take your skin off.” Jack’s voice was quieter now.
You didn’t look up. “I missed something.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
“I should’ve caught the bleed sooner.”
Jack stepped beside you, washing his own hands. “You did catch it. It was a hard one. ”
“It wasn’t enough to save him.”
“No.” His honesty made you finally look at him. “It wasn’t.” He dried his hands. “But that doesn’t mean you missed it.”
You hated when he did that—refused to sugarcoat anything. Somehow, it always made you feel better anyway.
“You okay?” he asked.
You shrugged. “I will be.”
He studied you for a second too long, then reached over without thinking. His thumb brushed across your cheek.
“What—”
“You had blood on you.” His hand dropped immediately.
“Oh.” You touched the spot yourself.
Neither of you moved. For one suspended second, the noise of the department disappeared.
Then, someone called Jack’s name from the hallway.
He cleared his throat. “I need you to finish the chart.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
“And eat something.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You almost had a nice moment.”
He huffed a laugh. “Don’t push it.”
You watched him leave, trying very hard not to think about the warmth of his thumb against your skin. Over at The Hub across the corridor, Dana, who was working a double, watched the entire exchange.
She caught your eye and raised one eyebrow. You immediately looked away.
“Oh, shut up,” you muttered.
“I didn’t say anything!” she exclaimed, her accent thick as usual.
“You didn’t have to.”
She smirked. “You two are getting worse.”
“We’re coworkers.”
“Mhm.”
“He’s my attending.”
“Mhm.”
“Are you done?”
She picked up a chart. “When one of you finally kisses the other, I expect flowers for putting up with this for ages.”
You scoffed. “As if.”
On the other side of The Hub, Jack was observing the patient board again. He looked away for the briefest moment, and his eyes met yours. He smiled. Small. Barely there. It was enough to make your stomach tighten. You smiled back before you could stop yourself.
Dana groaned loud enough for both of you to hear. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
Neither of you acknowledged her. Neither of you stopped looking.
You walked over to him with the intent of joining him on his next case. You were both staring at the board when another patient popped up.
“Central Eight,” he said without looking at you.
You glanced over his shoulder. “Abdominal pain?”
“Seventy-two-year-old. Spiked a fever in triage.”
“You always give me the fun ones.”
“You always steal the fun ones.”
“I learned from the best.”
He snorted. “Doubtful.”
You bumped his shoulder as you passed. “That’s almost a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
⸻
Mrs. Alvarez smiled weakly when the two of you walked into the room.
“Good evening,” you said, pulling the curtain closed. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N, and this is—”
Jack shot you a look.
You smiled innocently. “…my attending.”
Mrs. Alvarez laughed. “So you’re the important one?”
Jack sighed. “Unfortunately.”
You finished taking the history while Jack listened, occasionally jumping in with a question you’d missed. By now, the rhythm between you was automatic. He knew when to let you lead, and you knew exactly when he wanted more information without him having to ask.
By the time you stepped back into the hallway, he’d started putting orders in.
“CT, labs, lactate,” he said.
“Already did that.”
He stopped typing. “You did?”
“I was standing next to you. I’m good at multitasking.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You look surprised.”
“I am impressed.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“I'm pretty sure that was an actual compliment.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You make a terrible liar,” you said smugly, nudging him lightly in the side with your elbow.
“I make an excellent attending.”
“You can be both.”
Before he could answer, Dana waved the two of you over. “Abbot, EMS just called. Two minutes out.”
“What’ve we got?”
“Possible overdose. Found unresponsive. Given Narcan on scene with no effect.”
Jack nodded once before looking at you. “You with me?”
You looked back at him like he’d asked something ridiculous. “Since when am I not?”
For the briefest moment, something softened in his expression. Then it was gone. “Let’s go.”
⸻
The patient rolled in, still unconscious and with blue lips. The room shifted instantly into motion.
“One, two, three.”
Transfer.
“Bagging?”
“Respiratory’s got it.”
“IV access?”
“Working on a second line.”
Jack moved around the bed with practiced calm, calling out orders as the team responded around him. You were half a step behind, anticipating what he needed before he said it.
“I have the naloxone,” you said, already connecting the syringe to the patient’s IV.
“Push it.”
A beat. Nothing. Another. Then the patient jerked, coughing violently. The room collectively exhaled.
“Welcome back,” you muttered under your breath.
Jack heard you anyway. “Professional.”
“I am.”
“You absolutely are not.” The corner of his mouth lifted.
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“I saw it.”
“You imagined it.”
“You smile at my jokes all the time.”
“I tolerate them.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
He looked at you for a long second. “My face doesn’t say anything.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The monitor chimed as the patient’s oxygen saturation climbed. Jack turned back toward the bed, but you caught the ghost of a smile before it disappeared. You counted that as a win.
⸻
The next couple of hours refused to slow down. A toddler with a febrile seizure. A college kid who’d managed to dislocate his shoulder trying to impress his friends. A chest pain that turned out to be anxiety. The board filled. Emptied. Filled again.
By two in the morning, the department had settled into that strange rhythm only the night shift understood—everyone exhausted, nobody slowing down.
You were finishing a note when Jack’s voice carried across the station. “I need another set of eyes.”
You rolled your chair over. “What’ve you got?”
He turned the monitor toward you. “EKG.”
You studied it. “…No STEMI.”
“No. But something’s off.”
You leaned closer. “So that’s why you called me.”
“I called you because you’re good.” His words came so matter-of-factly that they almost slipped past you. Almost.
You looked up at him. “Wow, Abbot, again with the compliments?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The grumpy old man.”
“I’m fifty.”
“I didn’t say ancient.”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did.”
He shook his head, reaching for his coffee. Empty. He frowned into the cup like it had personally offended him.
“You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re about to steal mine.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was considering it.”
You slid your coffee across the desk before you could think better of it. He looked from the cup to you.
“I’ve had half,” you stated.
“I know.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I’ll survive.”
Jack hesitated. Actually hesitated. Then he picked it up and took a sip.
“You know,” he said, setting it back down, “that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever done.”
You scoffed. “I covered your shift last month.”
“That benefited you too.”
“It did not.”
“You got overtime.”
“I got yelled at.”
“You did.”
“And you didn’t even thank me.”
“I bought you breakfast.”
“You bought everyone breakfast.”
“I bought you an extra hash brown.”
“…You remembered that?”
“I remember everything.”
The sentence hung there a second longer than either of you intended. Jack looked back at the computer.
“So…”
“So.”
Neither of you finished the thought.
“Abbot!” Dana poked her head over the monitors. “EMS. Three minutes.”
Jack stood immediately. “What’ve we got this time?”
“Industrial accident. Crush injury.”
His expression changed in an instant. Focused. Calm. Professional. “Trauma Two.”
⸻
The patient came in awake. That almost made it worse. He was young, early thirties, gripping your wrist hard enough to hurt while you cut away the shredded sleeve of his work jacket.
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“I know,” you said evenly. “Stay with me.”
Jack arrived at the bedside a short while later. “Walk me through it.”
You rattled off the vitals while the nurses worked. He listened without interrupting.
“Compartment syndrome?” you asked quietly.
“Maybe. Call ortho.”
You nodded once. “They’re already on their way.”
Everything moved fast after that. X-rays, pain control, consults, phone calls. The room gradually emptied as the patient was stabilized for transfer upstairs. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
Jack was stripping off his gloves. “You called ortho before I asked.”
“You were going to.”
“I was.” He looked at you for a second. “You’ve started anticipating me.”
“I’ve worked with you long enough.”
“It’s getting annoying.”
“You mean helpful.”
“I mean annoying.”
You laughed. “I’ll try to be less competent.”
“Don’t.” The answer came too quickly. Too honestly.
Jack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I think I do.”
Before either of you could say another word, Dana leaned through the doorway. “There you are. I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”
You both looked at her simultaneously. “What happened?” Jack asked.
She folded her arms. “The vending machine ate my five dollars.”
You blinked. “…That’s why you interrupted us?”
“I need an attending,” she said, winking at you.
Jack stared at her. “For the vending machine?”
“It’s a crime scene.”
You laughed hard enough to bend over.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I went to medical school for this.”
Dana pointed at him. “See? She laughs at your jokes.”
“I didn’t make a joke.”
“You exist. Close enough.” As she walked away, she tossed one last look over her shoulder. “And if you two are done making heart eyes at each other, Central Nine’s waiting.”
You and Jack answered at exactly the same time. “We’re not.”
Dana just laughed and kept walking.
Jack sighed. “This department is unbearable.”
“You could transfer.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re the problem.”
You stepped backward toward Central Nine, walking in reverse. “And yet you keep asking for me.”
His eyes followed you all the way down the hall.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “I do.”
You didn’t hear him. He was almost glad you hadn’t.
⸻
By four in the morning, the waiting room had thinned. Not emptied—that never happened. But for the first time all night, there wasn’t an ambulance backing into the bay or a trauma paging overhead. The lull lasted exactly eleven minutes.
Jack was halfway through signing off on an admission when you dropped into the chair beside him.
“Tell me you’ve got something interesting.”
He didn’t look up from the chart. “You volunteering?”
“Depends. For what?”
He swiped the screen of his tablet. “South Twenty.”
“What is it?”
“Foreign body.”
You groaned. “No.”
“Yep,” he said, popping the final p.
“Please tell me it’s a kid who swallowed a Lego.”
“You wish.”
You closed your eyes. “…It’s not.”
“It is not.”
“You can go by yourself.”
“I’m the attending.”
“So attend.”
He finally looked over at you, fighting a smile. “You scared?”
“I’m tired. It’s four in the morning.”
He stood, grabbing the chart from the printer. “C’mon.”
You stayed exactly where you were.
Jack stopped after a few steps. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “You coming?”
“You can’t make me.”
“I can.”
“You literally can’t.”
“I’ll assign you to hallway admits for the rest of the shift.”
Your eyes narrowed. “…You fight dirty.”
“I learned from you.”
You pushed yourself out of the chair with an exaggerated sigh. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You sound awfully confident.”
“I am.”
⸻
By the time the patient had been evaluated, reassured, and referred to the appropriate service, nearly half an hour had disappeared. You stripped off your gloves and stepped back into the hallway.
“I don’t get paid enough.”
Jack fell into step beside you. “You got to tell someone not to put random objects where they don’t belong.”
“I’d rather not have that conversation ever again.”
He laughed. A real laugh—the kind that made the fine lines around his eyes crinkle in that way you adored. It was rare enough to make you glance over at him.
“What?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“You laughed.”
“So?”
“So you usually don't.”
“I laugh.”
“You smirk.”
“I laugh.”
“You exhale slightly harder through your nose.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
He looked genuinely offended. “I laugh.”
“Do it again.”
“I’m not performing.”
“Coward.”
“You done?”
“Never.”
The Hub came into view again. Jack had stopped by the break room to pick up two fresh coffees while he waited for you. He held one out.
You blinked. “I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
“You got this for me?”
“I got two.”
“You hate this roast.”
“I do.”
“So…”
“So take the coffee.”
You accepted it, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. Neither of you pulled away immediately. The touch lasted just long enough to notice.
Then, a monitor alarm started blaring in Central Eleven, breaking the spell.
“I’ll get it,” you said, chugging the lukewarm coffee as you went.
Jack nodded. “I know you will.”
⸻
Central Eleven turned out to be nothing more than a loose lead. When you stepped back into the hallway, Jack was standing at The Hub, elbows braced against the counter, tablet in front of him as he scrolled through lab results.
You walked up beside him and nudged his arm with your shoulder. “Crisis averted.”
“The ECG lead survived?”
“Barely.”
“I’ll notify its family.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That was terrible.”
“You laughed.”
“I pitied you.”
“Sure.”
He was still smiling when he pulled up the next chart. Before he could read it, you reached over and turned the tablet your way. You quickly skimmed through the information while Jack still held onto his end of the device.
“How come you’re always stealing my patients?” Jack asked, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
“I read the chart first.”
“I was literally holding it.”
“Possession isn’t ownership.”
“You making legal arguments now?”
“I’m making winning arguments.”
For a second, neither of you let go of the tablet. It was stupid. Childish. Completely unnecessary.
Jack looked down at your hand over his, then back up at you. “You planning on letting go?”
“Are you planning on asking nicely?”
“I’ve never asked you nicely.”
“I’ve noticed.”
His head tilted just slightly. “You like pushing my buttons.”
“You have so many.”
“And one day that’s going to get you in trouble.”
You smiled. “With you?”
His gaze held yours. “Yeah.”
The answer came low and easy. Not a joke, and not quite a warning, either. Before either of you could decide what it meant, the overhead speaker crackled: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”
He let go of the tablet first.
“Saved by the pager,” you said.
Jack didn’t answer. He just looked at you for one lingering beat before turning toward the ambulance doors. “You coming?”
You fell into step beside him. “Always.”
The doors opened before either of you reached them. “Incoming.”
Jack’s expression changed immediately. The teasing disappeared. That was the thing about him—no matter how much you pushed him, no matter how much you got under his skin, the second someone needed him, he was exactly who he was supposed to be. Calm. Focused. Unshakable.
“Give me your report.”
The paramedic rattled off the details. Forty-five-year-old female. Found unconscious at home. Unknown downtime. Family on scene. You moved into position beside Jack without thinking. The two of you had done this enough times that there was no hesitation. You just knew where you belonged.
“On my count.”
The stretcher moved.
“One, two, three.”
The room filled. Orders, numbers, questions, hands moving, voices overlapping. Jack stood at the center of it all, directing the chaos into something controlled. You watched him do what he did best, not because you had to, but because you always did.
“Pressure’s coming up.”
“Good.”
“Glucose is low.”
“Treat it.”
“Getting a response.”
The patient’s eyes fluttered. The room exhaled. Not relief exactly—not yet—but enough to keep going.
⸻
When the patient was finally admitted, you found yourself standing at the sink again. Same place as earlier. Same fluorescent lights. Same exhaustion settling into your bones.
“You have a favorite spot in this department or something?” Jack’s voice made you look over.
“You keep finding me here.”
“Because you keep coming here.”
“Maybe I like the sink.”
“Interesting choice.”
“Are you judging my taste?”
“I am.”
“Rude.” You smiled despite yourself.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The shift was catching up with both of you now. The adrenaline had worn thin, the jokes were quieter, and the space between you felt different.
Jack leaned against the counter beside you. “You were good tonight.”
You looked over. “That’s thrice.”
“What?”
“You’ve complimented me three times this shift.”
“I compliment people.”
“Not like that.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you mean it.”
A beat. Then another.
“I do mean it.”
The answer was simple. No teasing, no deflection. Somehow, that was worse.
You looked away first. “You’re dangerous when you’re tired.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You get honest.”
“I’m always honest.”
“No.” You glanced back at him. “You’re careful.”
Something in his expression shifted, because he knew you were right. Jack Abbot was careful. With patients, with decisions, with people. Especially with people.
“Maybe careful is a good thing.”
“Sometimes.”
“And sometimes?”
You shrugged. “Sometimes it just means you spend a lot of time not saying things.”
The silence after that was louder than the department. A monitor beeped down the hall. A nurse laughed somewhere near triage. The world kept moving.
Jack looked at you. “You always this difficult?”
“Only with you.”
There it was. The thing neither of you acknowledged. The line—the one you kept walking toward and then stepping back from.
His mouth twitched. “That’s what I thought.”
“You think you know everything.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you?”
His gaze stayed on yours. Long enough that your heartbeat changed. Long enough that you remembered exactly how close you were standing.
Then, someone called his name. Again. Always again.
Jack looked toward the sound, then back at you. “Saved.”
You smiled. “You say that like you’re disappointed.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
“That’s because I work here.”
“Convenient excuse.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Central Six.”
“Are you assigning me?”
“Yes.”
“Bossy.”
“Yes.”
“Enjoying it?”
“Maybe.”
The honesty surprised both of you. His smile faded slightly, not because he regretted it, but because he realized you noticed.
“Careful, Abbot.”
His eyebrows lifted. “With what?”
“Getting honest.”
For once, he didn’t have a comeback. You walked away before he could find one. And you hated how much you wanted him to.
⸻
Five-thirty came around without either of you noticing. That was the dangerous part of the night shift. Time stopped meaning anything. There was only the next patient, the next call, the next thing that needed doing—until suddenly there was a clock on the wall telling you the sun was going to come up soon.
You were finishing a chart when Jack appeared beside the workstation.
“You’re still alive.”
You looked up. “So are you.”
“I’m the attending.”
“You say that like it’s a personality trait.”
“It might be.”
You smiled. “That’s actually concerning.”
He ignored that. “How many charts left?”
You glanced at your screen. “Three.”
“Three?”
“Don’t sound so offended.”
“You’ve been here all night.”
“So have you.”
“I finished mine twenty minutes ago.”
“Congratulations.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No one thanked you.”
“They should.”
“For doing your job?”
“For doing it efficiently.”
“You mean quickly.”
“I mean efficiently.” Jack shook his head. “You make everything more complicated.”
“And yet you keep talking to me.”
The words slipped out easily. Too easily. Neither of you laughed this time. Jack looked at you for a second.
Then, the familiar voice of the overhead speaker filled the space once more: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”
He looked toward the doors, then back at you. “You’re enjoying this.”
“What?”
“Winning arguments.”
“You make it very easy.”
“One day that’s going to backfire.”
You leaned back in your chair. “Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
His eyes held yours. “No.”
Something about that answer made you forget your next smart remark. Thankfully, the ambulance bay doors opened before you had to find one.
⸻
The final case of the night was never really final. There was always something standing between you and going home.
This time, it was a woman in her sixties with shortness of breath, a husband who wouldn’t stop apologizing for bringing her in, and a room full of worry. You took the lead on questions while Jack examined her. Between the two of you, the diagnosis came together piece by piece. Medication history, recent symptoms—you caught the detail everyone else had missed.
Jack saw you catch it. He didn’t interrupt or step in. He just let you work. That was one of the things about him that you appreciated. He never needed to prove he was the smartest person in the room.
After the patient was stabilized and admitted, the room finally emptied.
You exhaled. “Done.”
Jack checked the chart one last time. “For now.”
“You ruin everything.”
“It’s the ED. ‘Done’ isn’t really a thing.”
“Let me have my moment.”
“Fine.” He stepped back.
“Done.” You looked at him.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.” You laughed.
And there it was again. That look—the one where he forgot to look away. The one where the attending disappeared for a second and he was just Jack. Tired. Human. Standing too close.
“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re not as intimidating as everyone thinks.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It’s an observation.”
“Even worse.”
“You have a reputation.”
“I know.”
“And then you do things like buy people breakfast and remember their coffee order.”
He shrugged. “People work better when they’re well taken care of.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He knew. You could tell by the way his expression changed, the way he looked down briefly before looking back at you.
“You should go home,” he said.
“You’re avoiding the conversation.”
“I’m telling you to get some sleep.”
“You should too.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The silence stretched. Jack looked away first. It was a small victory, but you took it.
“You do that a lot,” you noted.
“What?”
“Change the subject when something gets too close.”
His jaw tightened. “You do that too.”
That caught you off guard. “What?”
“Make a joke,” he said, pausing. “Make it easier.”
You didn’t have an answer. Because he was right. He always was.
Dana walked past the doorway. “Either of you planning on leaving today?”
You both stepped back at the same time. The moment broke.
“Eventually,” Jack said.
Dana looked between you. “Sure.” She walked away.
You grabbed the last chart from the counter. “People are annoying.”
“People notice things.”
“People should mind their own business.”
“Maybe.”
You looked at him. “Maybe?”
“Maybe they’re not wrong.”
Your heartbeat kicked. But before you could answer, Mateo called out from nearby, “Abbot, your sign-outs.”
He sighed. “Saved by paperwork.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound tired.”
“Liar.”
He looked at you with a tired smile on his face. A real one. “Finish your charts.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“And eat before you leave.”
“There he is.”
“What?”
“Bossy.”
“You’re welcome.”
You watched him walk away. For the first time all night, you didn’t make a joke. The truth was becoming harder to ignore. The shift was almost over—and somehow that felt more dangerous than anything that had happened inside the ED.
⸻
Six-fifteen. It was the hour where everyone started moving slower. Not because they were lazy, but because hours of alarms, trauma calls, admissions, and impossible decisions had finally caught up with them.
The ED was still alive, but the edges had softened. The waiting room had emptied, and the board was finally clear—a miracle.
You finished your last note and leaned back in your chair. “Tell me we’re almost done.”
Jack was at the workstation beside you, signing off charts. “We’re almost done.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That was suspiciously easy.”
“It was a simple question.”
“You never answer simple questions simply.”
“I just did.”
“Exactly.”
He glanced over. “You always this paranoid?”
“Only when you’re involved.”
A small smile pulled at his mouth before he caught it.
“There.”
“What?”
“You smiled.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Jack.”
His eyes flicked up. Not doctor. Not Abbot. Jack. It was a tiny reaction—barely anything—but you noticed. And judging by the way he looked away, he noticed too.
“Your chart is missing a medication list,” he said.
You stared at him. “That’s your move?”
“My move?”
“Changing the subject.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re such a coward.”
That got a quiet laugh out of him. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because one day you’ll say something you can’t take back.”
You leaned back in your chair. “Maybe I already have.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. Jack looked at you. Really looked. Then, the printer started up—loud, obnoxious, and perfectly timed. You both looked away.
“Saved by office equipment,” you muttered.
“Apparently.”
⸻
By seven-fifteen, the last sign-outs were done. You grabbed your bag from the locker room while Jack finished his handoff to Robby in front of the board. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave. That should have been the first sign.
“You leaving?” Jack asked.
“Eventually.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Because you avoid answering.”
“You’re good at noticing things.”
A pause.
“Yeah,” he said.
The quiet honesty of it made you look over. Jack seemed to realize what he’d said. Neither of you moved.
He looked toward the hallway. “You should go home.”
“So should you.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
For once, neither of you laughed. The supply room door stood open down the hall—empty, quiet, and private. Jack noticed you looking. You nodded toward the door and began walking without turning around to check if he was following.
You knew he was.
The door clicked shut behind the two of you.
“You know this is the part where we’re supposed to make the smart decision,” Jack murmured.
You stepped closer. “Are we?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m trying to be.”
“Trying?”
A tired laugh escaped him. “You really don’t make anything easy.”
“You like that.”
His eyes met yours. “I do.”
The answer was immediate. Too immediate. The silence afterward was different—not awkward, just honest.
Jack shook his head. “You know how long I’ve been trying not to?”
You tilted your head. “Not to what?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me say it.”
You held his gaze. “Maybe I want you to.”
That was it. Not some dramatic moment, nor some perfect confession. Just the last bit of restraint finally wearing thin.
Jack looked away for a second, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
“Yeah.” He paused, looking back at you. “Yeah, I am.”
The supply room light hummed. The hospital carried on around you, but for once, nobody needed anything from him. No patients, no decisions. Just this.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” he asked.
“Noticed what?”
“Every excuse you find to come by the board. Every argument you drag out longer than it needs to be. Every time you look at me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Your mouth curved. “Maybe I do.”
His eyes dropped briefly before finding yours again. “That’s the problem.”
“Why?”
When he answered, there was no teasing left in his voice. “‘Cause I want ya.”
The words were quiet, but they were everything he’d been refusing to say.
You didn’t move.
Jack exhaled, almost like admitting it had taken something out of him. “I want ya, and I’ve been trying not to.”
The space between you felt smaller.
“Because you’re my coworker,” he added after a pause. “Because I’m supposed to know better.”
You looked at him. “And now?”
His eyes stayed on yours. “Now I think I’m tired of pretending.”
Neither of you said anything after that. You didn’t need to. The kiss happened because there was simply nothing left to argue about. Months of almost. Months of looks across the department. Months of pretending the pull between you was just banter. Gone.
His lips were soft against yours, and you couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped you. Finally.
Your hand came up to tangle in the graying curls at the nape of his neck. His hands were steady at your waist, keeping you grounded. For a moment, neither of you moved, like you were both waiting for the other person to realize what was happening and pull away.
Neither of you did.
The kiss deepened slowly, carefully. Not rushed, and not uncertain, exactly. More like both of you were trying to memorize something you had spent too long pretending you didn’t want.
One of his hands left your waist, coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed along your cheek with a gentleness that almost undid you more than the kiss itself. Jack was always steady, always controlled. But here, with you, there was something softer. Something honest.
You leaned into his touch without thinking. His forehead rested briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe. His eyes stayed closed for a second longer than they needed to.
For a moment, the ED disappeared. The noise, the exhaustion, the rules you had both been so careful about—all of it vanished.
When you finally pulled back, Jack stayed close. He took a quiet breath, a small, disbelieving smile touching his lips. “This is still a bad idea.”
You smiled. “Probably.”
“You’re agreeing?”
“Absolutely.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you were right.”
He shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
This time, he didn’t argue.
The sound of footsteps outside the door reminded both of you where you were. Reality came back. The hospital was still there, and the shift was still ending. Jack stepped back first, because of course he did. Control. Always control.
But the look in his eyes said it wasn't as easy as it used to be. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice a quiet invitation.
Summary: At a wedding, Jack can’t help but feel so lucky to be the one who gets to take you home.
Tags: tooth rotting fluff, partners also being friends, smut!, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, light dom/sub, brief mention of “daddy”, reader and jack have a happy healthy relationship, idk man it’s joyful and fun
WC: 2.8k
Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to write shorter blurbs here and there to keep my lovely readers fed in between my 20k nightmare fics.
————
Jack Abbot was normal. He was fine. He was definitely not seething watching you dance with friends. The problem with dating the hottest woman in existence was that he couldn’t exclusively monopolize your time. He barely knew anyone at this wedding, it was your friend’s wedding.
She had too many sisters to have you as a bridesmaid and in the comfort and secrecy of your bedroom you had whispered to him that you just didn’t have it in you to be in so many weddings—most of your twenties had been spent traveling around the country to be in friends’ weddings.
Now, he was watching you in a gorgeous plum dress dancing around barefoot with girls you’ve known for over a decade. Some of their husbands were tolerable. Your best friend and her husband were here. Most of the time Ted was fine. Drunk Ted cared a lot about golf and Jack, drunk or sober, couldn’t give a shit.
When P!nk’s “So What” ended you meandered back over to Jack and to his surprise (and delight), collapsed in his lap.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m a little tipsy.”
“So I see,” he replied, lightly pushing your hair back away from your face. Your nice hairdo had long since come unraveled and kept falling in your face.
“I like you so much,” you said leaning into him.
“You don’t love me?” He asked with a smile on his face. You snorted.
“Of course I love you. But I also like you.”
“Thanks?”
“I don’t think all my friends like their husbands,” you whispered a little too wet in his ear. He had to resist the urge to push you away to wipe it off.
“What makes you say that?”
“Take me back to the hotel and I’ll tell you,” you said laying your head on his shoulder. It definitely didn’t look comfortable, largely speaking to your exhaustion. You had been dancing and jumping with your friends for multiple hours.
“C’mon, babe,” he said shifting your legs off his lap.
“Ugh,” you groaned standing again. “I need to tell Claire goodnight.”
“I’ll get our stuff,” he said.
The send off had been a few hours ago, before the elderly relatives had left. Now, it was just a fun party with friends. He loved watching you light up and enjoy being around your people. He loved his people, but they were far more subdued than yours.
Across the dance floor you approached your friend who threw her arms around you with heartfelt but drunken balance and coordination. It made his heart swell, watching how happy you were. Fuck, he loved making you happy. All he wanted in life was to make each day just a little easier; he wanted to do his best to make you happy.
By the time you’d extricated yourself from your friend’s embrace and made your way back to him, Jack had a hold of your purse and coat. He also had already dug your ugly Birkenstocks out of your purse so you didn’t have to put your heels back on.
“Fuck you’re so good to me,” you said, holding onto him while you slipped the shoes on.
“Well if that’s all it takes,” he replied, helping you into your coat.
He kept a hold of your bag when walking out to the parking lot. Just like his mother taught him, he held the door open on the rental car and shut it gently behind you. When he got into the drivers seat, you had dug your water bottle out of your purse.
“Ugh, I’m already sobering up,” you complained.
“So you don’t want drunk fast food?”
You gasped dramatically. “Do you kiss your mother with that dirty mouth?”
Jack laughed and grabbed your hand as he turned out of the parking lot heading back to the hotel.
“What did you mean earlier about your girlfriends not liking their husbands?” He asked pulling into a greasy fast food joint. It rarely mattered which one as the point was disgusting food.
Once the French fries and chicken and burgers had been acquired, Jack pulled into a parking spot towards the back of the lot. One of the first things you both discovered you’d had in common was growing up in small towns. It meant that you both had fond memories of idling car conversations and the occasional makeout. Even now, a long away from your teen years, you both adored your post party ritual.
“So,” you began, curling your legs up. “Abigail, not technically my friend, but she’s a good time. Was talking to me about how glad she was that her husband couldn’t come and that was fucking bonkers to me. Why would you marry someone you don’t like?”
“You would be sad if I couldn’t come?”
“Sure, I like spending time with you. It’s not like it would ruin it for me, I basically barely hung out with you tonight, but it’s fun coming back and kissing you before dancing to Pitbull songs with everyone.”
“I think that’s a compliment,” he laughed.
“But seriously!” You said nudging him. “I like being around you. It’s fun. You’re just as fun as my friends.”
“Even though I can’t dance with the energy of a drunk college girl?”
“Even then,” you laughed. “Hear anything good with the spouses?”
“Ted likes golf,” Jack sighed.
“God he’s so boring,” you laughed. “But she needs boring after the shit head she used to be married to.”
“Do your friends think I’m boring?”
You scoffed. “No, they think you’re a crazy adrenaline junky, not boring. Did you notice the groom’s sister had a fucking weird speech?”
For the next hour you both sat in the car, eating food that would clog your arteries and gossiping about the wedding. It was life giving and comforting in ways you never wanted to lose. You’d had this with friends but Jack was the first man you’d ever dated who wanted to do stupid shit with you. He wanted to go to weddings of people he didn’t know. He wanted to sit in a slightly too heated car talking shit about speeches. He wanted to do nothing and everything with you.
“What’s that look?” Jack asked.
“I dunno,” you sighed. “I just really fucking like you.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I really fucking like you, too,” he said. “Even if you dance like a baby giraffe.”
“Fuck off!”
When you both got back to the hotel, Jack helped you search for the various pins hidden somewhere in your hair.
“You’re so pretty,” he said mouth at your bare shoulder.
“Are you trying to get in my pants, Dr. Abbot?”
“You’re not wearing pants,” he said, bracketing your body against the counter of the bathroom. “You are, however, wearing a gorgeous dress I’ve wanted to peel off with my teeth all night.”
“Your teeth, huh?” You asked making eye contact with him in the mirror.
“God I’ve wanted to touch you so bad all night,” he whispered in your ear, pressing a soft kiss right near your hairline.
“You look so good in that suit,” you grumbled, pushing your ass back against his groin. “Kept coming back to kiss you so everyone knew you were mine.”
Jack’s eyes fluttered closed as he buried his face in your neck. Being wanted by you was intoxicating. Knowing that you coveted him as much as he coveted you was more than enough to turn him on. He could feel the ghost of your cunt clenching around him. It had been two weeks since he last fucked you. Both of your jobs had been hectic.
But now, in the privacy of the too expensive hotel room, he had you at his mercy.
“Look at me baby,” he said softly against your ear, relishing in how you shivered against him. “All mine, right?”
“Only yours,” you breathed. “I’ve missed your hands.”
He ran his hands from your thighs up your dress to cup your tits. The strapless dress was held up by tape and some intricate ties in the back. He pulled the tape off your chest gently and then yanked the fabric down under your tits, bra and all. You looked so good. In the dim light of the bathroom, he drank in your heedy gaze.
“Beautiful,” he said attacking your neck again.
Having you in his bed for so long, meant Jack knew just how to kiss you and play with your chest to make you soaked. It’s like he had a cheat code to turning you on. It helped that most of the night had been subtle foreplay between you both. During dinner his hand was definitely too high on your thigh but he couldn’t bear to move it.
“Fuck, baby, take me to bed. It’s cold as shit in here,” you groaned.
“Anything for you,” he said. “How hard do you want tonight?”
“Rough,” you replied.
He wove his fingers through your hair, close to the roots and pulled. He drug you back into the main room and tossed you on the bed face first. Holding you down with one hand on your upper back, he slowly pulled the zipper of your dress down.
“Look at this sexy body,” he said. “All for me.”
You wiggled a little as he unhooked the strapless bra with one hand. It had taken him nearly a year to master, but it was one of his most used bedroom skills. Letting you go, he pulled off the dress harshly, taking your underwear with it. Then you were face down on the bed, naked and already dripping for him.
You had arched your back, preening under his gaze. With a sharp smack to the meaty part of your glute, he watched you jump and settle back into your skin. A few more spanks and he quickly shoved his fingers inside you making you gasp.
He loved all the noises and movements you made during sex. For the duration of your relationship, he had been making a running catalog of how to get you to do a sound or movement. While he harshly fingered you, enjoying the way you squirmed under him, he began unbuckling his belt and pants.
“Feel good, baby?”
“Fuck me, please,” you panted against the comforter.
Shoving his pants down just low enough let out his dick, he pulled his fingers out of you and rubbed your wetness along his cock. Just the smell of you was sending him over the edge. He made sure to clamp down on your hips tightly, hoping to leave a bruise for you to enjoy, before careening his hips into yours aggressively.
There was a grunt as the air was knocked out of you. For a moment he paused, enjoying how you felt. Your cunt always felt so fucking good against his dick. You were so warm and wet and you clenched so beautifully when he spanked you. As much as he loved to be the one furiously fucking you, he also loved having you in charge.
He always enjoyed feeling your nails rake down his back. He was desperate to feel you closer against his skin, so while he had your hips pinned to the bed, he quickly ripped off his button up and undershirt so he could wrap his arm around your neck and pull you up against his body.
Once he felt you against his chest, he began to thrust ferociously against your cunt. He loved how it fluttered and the grunts and groans you released as he harshly pounded into you.
“Fuck, baby,” Jack growled harshly. “You feel so good. Made for me. Carved for my fucking dick, isn’t that right?”
“Just for you,” you said breathlessly.
You were clutching onto the bicep his had wrapped around your neck (more so your chest than neck, but it had the same effect). He felt you meeting his thrusts sending shockwaves through both of you.
“I love it when you’re rough with me,” you heaved against his assault. “Harder, please.”
Your tone was always so breathy and almost whiny when you got worked up like this.
“Anything for my naughty girl. Do you like this dick pounding into you. Does it feel good to have someone treat you so meanly?”
“Fuuuck,” you groaned arching against his grasp more. “You feel so good inside of me.”
“You make me so fucking crazy, pretty girl,” he hissed against your ear. “Watching you tonight was like my own personal dream. The prettiest girl in the world dancing and jumping but always coming back to me. Can’t be without me can you?”
“No, I can’t,” you whined as one of Jack’s hands roughly kneaded your tits. “Your hands are so good.”
“Rub your clit for me, baby. I want to feel you cum on my dick. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.”
“Yes please,” you mumbled. He felt one of your hands leave its iron grasp on his arm. “You fill me up so good.”
Jack felt himself getting close so he pulled out and finished taking off his pants. Getting his prosthetic off quickly was a hard fought for skill, but he managed to push you flat on the bed covering your body with his own before slipping back inside of your warmth.
He wrapped his arm around your throat again and grinned at how you moaned wantonly.
“So pretty when you’re being used by me.”
“Please,” you managed.
“Prop your hips up, baby,” he said getting on his knees to allow you room.
The harsh sounds of him slamming into you filled the room while he kept whispering debauched things in your ear:
“You’re made for me and only me.”
“Using you feels so sweet.”
“Are you going to cum on my dick?”
“I’m so fucking deep, baby.”
“I’m going to make you cum so hard.”
He was so focused on making sure you came, he didn’t noticed how you turned your face.
“Please, daddy, harder,” you moaned.
His hips stuttered and to control himself, he bit into the muscle of your shoulder. He almost felt guilty for how hot he found your cry of pain to be.
“Rub your clit and say it again,” he mumbled against your skin.
Your hand snaked underneath your body, and gasping under his assault you said,
“Harder, daddy. I want to feel you cum inside me.”
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned.
He was so close when he felt the tell tale flutters of your cunt against him. He nearly wept with relief you finally were close enough for him to say,
“Cum on my dick, pretty girl. Show me how good I make you feel. Milk me. Milk daddy.”
You cried out as you tensed and gasped underneath him. He made sure to keep moving as you clenched against him until your shaking thighs collapsed. He continued his furious pace until he felt himself orgasm. It felt like he came forever. When he finally collapsed and rolled over next to you, he chest was heaving.
“Daddy, huh?” He asked.
“I don’t know where it came from,” you laughed. “But you clearly liked it.”
“Surprise for me, too,” he huffed. He pulled you against him, reveling in how your naked skin felt against his.
“You’re sweaty and hot,” you grumbled, nuzzling your face against his chest. It was said like a complaint but you weren’t moving away.
“So are you,” he laughed. You tweaked his nipple.
“I’m fresh as a daisy.”
He laughed and kissed the top of your head. “Want to shower first?”
“Yes please,” you said. “Will you keep me company?”
He snorted and nodded.
The accessible bathroom had a removable shower chair that he used while he waited for you. Unlike the shower at home, it wasn’t big enough for Jack, his shower chair, and you. So he watched as you tied your hair up and quickly rinsed off. He noticed your wince when you gently cleaned your vagina.
“Do you want me to check it?” He asked a little concerned.
“Nah, just sensitive. You did a good job.”
“Wow, did I get an A-plus in sex?”
“Fuck off,” you laughed.
While Jack showered, you began working through your nighttime routine. You took off whatever make up hadn’t been sweated off during the wedding or the following sex and washed your face. By the time Jack got out, you were brushing your teeth.
Before leaving the bathroom you kissed him and said, “I love you.”
“Wuv yew,” he said with his toothbrush in his mouth.
Using his crutches, he made his way back to the bed, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before sliding into bed with you. Like you always did, you slept on the side farthest from the door. It was one of the many things that lingered from the war. Jack wanted to be between you and anything unexpected.
He pulled you against him, in the dark, enjoying how warm and soft you were.
“A good night,” he mumbled.
“And good sex,” you said.
He laughed and closed his eyes, feeling so much love and affection for you leaking out of his chest.
summary — jack has seen you leave a trail of broken hearts and bad dates, and he’s determined to prove to you that you’re looking for love in all the wrong places.
warnings — 12.6k words. age gap (jack’s around 50; reader’s a 4th year resident, so 20s), attending/resident power dynamic; mentor/mentee relationship, idiots in love maybe?? yearning!jack, jealous!jack, jack ‘i’ll pay for it’ abbot strikes Again!!!! hurt + comfort (one instance of jack being an ass, but he smooths it over during the same shift - they can’t stay mad at each other), mild angst, patient death, jack’s leg - reader helps him adjust the prosthetic and takes care of him during a long shift, canon-typical medical scenes and probably lots of inaccuracies (i’m an english major reddit is my best friend) ; on-page patient death, reader performing compressions, reader DATES DATES and may be unprofessional (affectionately she just wants to find love and her entire life revolves around the hospital who can blame her), reader’s written to have hair she brushes and can pin up, she also gets on her toes to kiss him but that can be ignored i just liked the image jack basically bribes her into a date, no smut but they’re So very much thinking about it, rushed-ish ending i think?
notes — wrote this in a slump it took so Unbelievably long and i’m not even sure i like it but i wanted to post something before i give up on writing anything ever again!!!!
It was midnight and a peds nurse was lingering by the ambulance doors, and Jack knew that he wasn’t meant to be there. Lewis was his name, maybe, but Jack couldn’t even be sure of that — and knew he had no reason to be sure of it, because the guy wasn’t meant to be there. Running the ER in the middle of the night, with all of the day’s patients handed off, and the night’s still finding their way through triage, was difficult in itself, and he didn’t have the energy to also babysit Ryan-or-Lewis-or-whoever hovering there like a little boy waiting to be picked up from school.
“Is he meant to be here?” Jack asked, closing the space toward the desk where Lena was pointing something, jutting his thumb in the direction of the guy.
Lena flattened a printout on the desk with two fingers, hardly sparing him a glance.
“Him. Peds. Why is he there?” he tried again.
“Couldn’t tell you,” she said, but the corner of her mouth had flicked up, proving that she was simply choosing not to tell him.
“He’s off his unit,” he said. He knew he sounded just slightly silly stating the obvious.
“Seems so.”
“Send him back, then,” Jack drawled, incredulous, hands finding his hips. “There’s enough shit going on here.”
“You send him back,” she retorted, amused just slightly. “If you’re so concerned.”
Jack looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head as his hands went to rest on his hips. When he looked back down, he found you walking toward the nurse and it suddenly made complete sense.
He let out a sigh. “This has to be a joke.”
His eyes, as they did more often than was appropriate, caught on you, hair coming down loose from where you’d pinned it, the scrubs lopsided at one hip, riding lower than where they’d started at the beginning of the night. You turned to say something to the guy quickly, and the movement caught the slip, your scrub top moving up half an inch, and Jack’s eyes went there before his brain could tell him that was wrong, some groove in him that noticed you before it noticed anything useful. He had a second of pure, unhelpful distraction before his brain reminded him that he was an attending and had things to do.
“I actually think it’s funny,” Lena said, shrugging.
Of course it had something to do with you. He should’ve figured it out the second he saw the guy standing there with his hands in the pouch of his scrubs, rocking heel to toe like the floor was just too exciting to be standing on. Nobody loitered around the ambulance bay at midnight for good reason. People came through those doors bleeding or they didn’t come through them at all, and this guy had shown up with nothing wrong with him, except maybe a case for some lovesickness.
“I’m gonna make this stop,” Jack said, already pushing himself away from the nurse’s station.
Lena’s eyes widened slightly. “Don’t say anything that gets you sat down with HR.”
“She can goddamn try me,” he said, and went. Also because Jack was fairly sure you would never report him to HR.
He crossed the floor and caught the tail-end of your conversation as he closed in.
“ — just tell me when you’re free, that’s all I’m asking,” the guy was saying.
You were already half-turned, already gone as you waved a hand loosely beside you. “I don’t know, I just don’t think we should try again.”
Jack blew out a breath, standing a few feet short of you, your back facing him. Why was he not surprised? He’d been keeping tally without meaning to, and he knew that was embarrassing. There was the radiology fellow who’d started hand-delivering films that very well could’ve gone through the system; the travel nurse who’d washed through in six weeks and left the floor faintly weird in his wake; the anaesthesia resident who now took the long way around the department if he saw you at the end of it, as though he were a dog who’d learned the fence was electric. And now this one, apparently, Peds with his whole hopeful heart hanging out in Jack’s department.
“You’re so sweet for coming down here,” you practically crooned at him, shifting on your heels, eyes flicking down to the form in your hand. “But I really do have a whole long night ahead of me, and I know my answer’s not gonna change, so I won’t make you wait around for it, okay?”
Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes when you said the words with the upward lilt of a woman sending a toddler back to his mother. He wanted to laugh a little when he saw that the guy had taken it standing up like it was a gift.
The hell of it was that Jack understood the man. He understood every last one of them because he stood next to you fifty hours a week, had been doing so for three years, and whatever the department thought of him after his consistent therapy, he was not carved out of stone.
Jack was afraid that if he hadn’t been your attending these last four years and a little younger, wearing his heart on his sleeve, he’d have been eating out of the palm of your hand.
You gave the guy a there-there pat, and it was only then did his eyes land on Jack, who he probably knew was your fucking attending. You turned then, and immediately said, “Oh, Dr. Abbot, I’ve got the guy in six’s labs back, the potassium —”
“Mhm.” Jack’s hands came up and landed on your shoulders before you’d finished the sentence, squaring you off the spot where you stood and turning you bodily back toward the floor like you were a gurney.
“It is four-point-nine, but the EKG’s good, so I was gonna recheck in —”
“Let’s recheck it now,” he said. He kept you moving, his palms broad through the cotton of your scrubs, steering you a few feet till your own feet caught onto the idea.
You grumbled something under your breath, and once he’d stopped you right in front of six, you turned to face him with your brows raised.
“Say something?” he asked, tipping his chin down.
“You seem like you’re mad at me,” you said.
“Huh. I do?” He let go of your shoulders — noticing, distantly, the exact second his hands came off and suddenly felt too empty — and reached past you to pluck six’s chart off the tray, more to have something to do with them than needing it. “You’re right. You should recheck in ten minutes.”
“You’re mad at me,” you said again, crossing your arms over your chest.
He blew out a breath, and suddenly felt just a little silly at getting worked up over a nurse by the doors when there was a large, glowing board behind him full of names that needed his complete, undivided attention.
You were a senior resident, after all, four years deep, one of his sharpest — you’d treated the guy in six, hadn’t you, you’d flagged it and called for the EKG and made the right call on the recheck before he’d even asked, all while dismantling some man’s hopes. Somehow, your mess and competence ran on the same current. You never let the first touch the second. He’d have loved, some nights, to have an excuse to be mad — a missed lab, a blown line, anything he could write up and point at — and you kept declining to hand him one. All of this meant he was left with this vague swampy irritation, and Jack wasn’t the sort of mentor who liked to hound upon that.
“No, sweetheart, I just love it when you get random men hanging around the department,” he settled on saying, feeling his shoulders visibly loosen a fraction.
You winced, eyes darting over to the emptiness in front of the doors now. “Sorry.”
“You’d say it won’t happen again, but we both know better.” He shrugged. Then, he reached out his hand — he wasn’t sure why, except that it just happened naturally — and patted you once on the shoulder, then on the second turned you to face the curtains leading to your patient. “Doctor up.”
And you did, the loose, embarrassed shape of you being replaced in the space of a single breath, being replaced by something Jack had watched grow into you over the years and still hadn’t quite gotten used to.
Trauma called it in nine minutes later, an MVC, unrestrained driver, GCS dropping in the field. Jack was working on a laceration in four when he heard the crackled warning, and by the time he’d looked up out the curtains, you were already moving, gowned and at the head of the bay calling out assignments like you’d been doing this for a decade.
“I need two units O-neg before he rolls in,” you said, voice pitched high enough to carry without yelling, cutting clean through the perpetual noise of the department. “Somebody get me a second eighteen-gauge ready, and I want an ultrasound in here.”
Donnie and Mateo were already moving, and so were the people around you, falling into your orbit like the room had easily reorganized itself around your voice the second it went up. Jack stood by the curtain, gloves from the lac still on, and found he couldn’t make himself move just yet.
The doors banged open. EMS wheeled the stretcher through fast, calling out vitals over each other, and you were already on the patient’s side before the gurney had fully stopped moving, hands moving on his neck, chest, eyes scanning his pupils in a matter of ten seconds. He began walking over, catching your voice as you called out your reads as someone hung the blood and someone else prepped the ultrasound wand. “Page neuro now.”
“On it,” Mateo said, already moving.
You had both hands on the patient, running the primary survey quickly, confirming, checking, discarding possibilities out in short, clipped sentences Jack recognized as the sound of your brain running six steps ahead of your mouth. Sweat had started on your hairline. You called out for OR to be on standby, eyes flickering around the room and landing on Jack. “OR, please,” you said, aimed at him, brows going up.
“On it,” Jack said, because there was no way he was going to let you be wrong about needing something and didn’t make sure you got it.
The next six minutes went by fast and loud, in bursts and then suddenly quiet, the room narrowing down on functionality. You stood at the center of it; you called it and ran it. You got the man upstairs stable enough that Walsh didn’t sound worried for one second, and that was a compliment from her.
Jack watched the whole thing from four feet back, arms crossed, and chipping in when your brain had snagged. He was feeling a heat in his chest helplessly and entirely unprofessional, it was always present when he was able to see, in real-time, how far you’d come from your first day of residency when your hands were a second too slow on the central line and how your voice would pitch up at the end of every read, asking for permission every time instead of stating it like a fact, eyes finding him across the room each time, checking.
There was none of that left in you now, he realized, had done so a long time ago. He thought, watching you now, that this was the closest thing he’d let himself do to falling in years, standing uselessly riveted as he watched a woman he’d taught outgrow the need for him in real time, and finding that instead of the loss he’d expected to feel when the day finally came, all he felt was warm and terrifying and too much like pride.
When the room had started clearing out, he watched your mouth drop open as you let out a heavy breath, eyes going over to him. The second he watched you realize he was still there, your face shifted, the relief turning into something sharper.
“Why didn’t you jump in?” You crossed the floor toward him in four hard strides, gloves already peeled off and balled tight in one fist, snapping the second one free with a motion that looked terrifyingly like it wanted to be aimed at him. “His pressure tanked for thirty seconds and you just watched.”
“You had it.”
“You didn’t know that,” you said, voice going up an octave, adrenaline still thrumming through you, hands coming up the gesture at the blood-streaked floor. “I could’ve missed something. You’re the attending, Jack, you’re supposed to catch if I missed something —”
“I would’ve,” he interrupted, stepping in close enough that you had to tilt your head back to keep glaring at him properly. “The second you needed me, I would’ve stepped in. I wasn’t gonna take it from you before you did.”
“You can’t gamble like that with a patient —” Your chest was rising and falling fast, gloves now crushed in your fist, and he could see the fear catching up now that everything around you had gone quiet enough to let it, something that looked more like fear of yourself than for the patient. “What if I’d frozen —?”
“I knew you wouldn’t.” He reached his hand out, thumb catching a smear of the blood at your jaw you’d accidentally smeared on yourself, wiping it off carefully with the pad of his thumb, and felt you go still under it. “You don’t trust my judgement?”
“You know I do. You just could’ve said something.”
“I could’ve. He dropped his hand from your jaw only to catch your wrist instead. “Didn’t wanna interrupt you being brilliant. Kinda liked watching it happen.”
Your mouth opened, surely to let out some unnecessary retort, and died there when he pressed one slow stroke of his thumb against your wrist, raising a brow.
“Relax,” he said, voice going rough as he leaned in a little, forcing you to meet his eyes properly. “Just take the win. That’s an order.”
“Now you wanna give orders,” you mumbled.
He barked out a short laugh, letting go of your wrist. “Only when you’re being stubborn for no reason.”
It was sometime during the second year of your residency when he’d started catching your drift. It had started with a random Friday shift. He’d seen you at the station, elbows on the counter, telling Lena something conspiratorially. Jack was meant to be reading a chart but couldn’t help how his ears had perked up. Anything to get through the shift, he supposed.
“ — no, but he was perfect on paper,” you were saying, “kept his house clean and everything. He told me he kept his plant alive for six years —”
“So, what happened?” Lena said flatly, like she already knew what you were going to say but wanted to hear anyway.
“He wanted to take me bowling on the second date,” you said through a sigh. “I know how it sounds, but you’ve gotta hear me out —”
“I’m genuinely not going anywhere.”
“ — for the first date, bowling’s fun. But he took me to a nice dinner the first time, he set a standard, and then the second date he goes bowling, which means the effort’s already —” You created a little downward slope with your hand. “And if it’s already sliding on date two, where’s it at on date two hundred? I can already see my marriage with him and it’s bad.”
It seemed you had a criteria, Jack learned then. It was proven even more when he’d heard you talk about your other failed dates, seen them, and learned — without ever wanting to — what they were, to an extent.
He knew you couldn’t stand a man who ordered for you without asking. He knew you’d written off a fellow for the way he talked about his mother, and another one — an accountant, a rare specimen who had no clue what an EKG was — over a text message you’d read aloud to Ellis in a voice of complete horror, though Jack had never caught what it actually said, only your face while you read it. He knew you gave people precisely three dates, that this was a rule you held if the first and second date went well, three apparently being the magic number at which a person could no longer hide the demon they were going to turn out to be (your words).
He knew, too, that you only allowed one kiss after the first date, if even that. It was never up for negotiation, no matter how beautifully the night had gone, for you never wanted to end up “emotionally overdrawn on an account you hadn’t even opened yet.”
He knew you a man lost real points if, over the three dates, if it involved drinks, he ordered the same one. He knew a man gained them, silently and instantly, for being able to sit in a lull without narrating his way out of it, and that you considered this the single rarest trait in modern dating.
He knew you were looking for something you had no name for and would recognize on sight, which struck him as a hell of a way to run a search.
He’d have told you, if you asked, that he tuned most of the station chatter out as a matter of survival, for while he enjoyed the occasional gossip, he couldn’t very well absorb everyone’s business. And that was true about everyone’s business but yours, apparently, because yours came in clear.
Your business he retained against his own better judgement, and he realized — once, during a slow shift — that he could’ve drawn you a better map of your taste than you seemed to carry yourself. He could’ve told you, if you asked, exactly the kind of man who’d finally clear your bar, and exactly why he had yet to show up.
It was almost nice, some nights, watching you try anyway. The ER was a place where everyone was kept tethered to the world by a thread, and everyone who worked in it long enough to develop some version of the same calluses. Jack had grown his years ago, and he wore them invisible, occasionally aching, and had come to terms with it being permanent.
Love, for Jack, had stopped being a real noun before you’d shown up, somewhere between things he used to want and things he’d decided weren’t for him anymore.
You still believed in it. You’d watched this place take everything soft out of grown men twice your seniority and somehow walked through the same fire hopeful, still convinced, against every scrap of evidence, that somewhere there was a person worth all that hoping.
For that reason, he had decided to not interrupt your endeavors, not until now, when he noticed you during hand-off before your night shift with him started, in front of Robby, of all people.
While Jack loved Robby like a brother, he had a documented, department-wide, actuarially reliable seven-week expiration date on every woman he charmed out of this building. He’d heard intra-departmental gossip about him. There was, Jack was fairly sure, a running joke about it that predated your residency by years.
He knew you definitely were not finding love in his best friend. But Jack felt the buzzing in his mind go quiet and mean watching how you with him.
You laughed at something and Jack lost, for one humiliating second, the thread of what he’d walked over to say. It happened sometimes, more than he’d admit to anyone. Ordinary noises out of you hit him somewhere in his chest before the better part of him flagged it as a problem, and he had to physically clear his throat before finding his footing again.
“ — Italian’s always good after pulling a double,” Robby was saying. “But I do love some microwave ramen, too, when I’m missing my med student days.”
“Oh, so your standards have been raised being chief?” you said, and Jack could hear the smile and wariness in it.
“For sure —”
Jack let out a huff, something resembling a laugh, as his feet planted him between the two of you. He was close enough that his shoulder nudged yours and you had to step back to keep your balance. He felt your weight land for a second against him with a satisfaction he had no, absolutely no business feeling for something so small. So childish.
He turned to Robby, spreading his hands wide, mock outrage. “My resident.”
Robby looked mildly amused, unbothered, so Jack added, before he could respond, “Go home before I report you to HR.”
“You’d do that to me?”
“In a heartbeat. Have some shame.” Jack kept his shoulder where it was still angled half in front of you, an old, unexamined instinct keeping the line drawn even though Robby had already backed off.
He tipped his head toward the doors, toward the gold light coming up in them, the day shift draining out around you both. “There’s a whole rich life waitin’ for you out there.”
Robby just smiled and pushed off the counter, giving you a small wave before he left.
Jack turned to you then, brows furrowed. “Seriously?”
You let out a short laugh. “Work hard, play hard?”
“Soundin’ a lot like a frat brother right now. Never have those words been said in an ER,” Jack said.
“I wasn’t actually going to do it,” you said, rushing the words out with something more honest in them. “For the record. I know what — he’s got a reputation.” You picked at the counter. “I was just talking to him. He’s funny.”
Jack had to recalibrate for a second. “You were talkin’ sweet to him.”
“I talk sweet to everyone.” You lifted a shoulder, completely unbothered. “You should try it sometime.”
He rolled his eyes at that. He reached over for your cup of coffee sitting between you — closer to his elbow than yours — and drank a sip, eyes going up to the ceiling at the sheer volume of syrup you’d decided you needed in your bloodstream today. “The hell?” he muttered, turning the cup slightly as if that would help. “Are you trying to embalm yourself?”
“Give it back.”
“In a minute.” He took a second sip, slower this time, and watched you over the rim of the cup. Then, he set it back a few degrees off how you’d had it, just to see your jaw tick.
You pulled the cup back in, thumbed it around until the lid faced you again, and drank from it without breaking your explanation. “I’m offended you think I’ll get wine and dined by the chief attending.” You tilted your head. “Give me some credit here. I won’t be his seven weeks.”
“Huh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, which was warm. “Well, good. Don’t think he’ll clear your bar anyway.”
“See, you get it,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “At least someone around here does.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tipping his head slightly forward that even he hadn’t realized that he had shifted the distance just slightly. “Better than most.”
Your eyes widened slightly at that, and Jack took that as his cue to step back, clear his throat, as he jerked his chin toward the board.
“Alright, time to work. Stop the play,” he said, trying to get his voice the right level. “Go look at chest pain on three.”
“So bossy,” you said, but you were already turning around to go to three.
Well, that’s what he was, wasn’t he? For some reason, he had to remind himself that.
It was what he had to remind himself as his hands hovered your trembling ones as you tried to pump air into Mrs. Foley’s lungs, knowing she was already gone — had been for a while now, if he was honest — longer than it took you to admit. He knew it, he’d grown the grim ability to recognize when a body stopped being a patient and being someone you were performing compressions on for the family’s sake, for your own need to have done everything.
He’d let it run anyway, because you hadn’t accepted it yet, and he’d wanted to give you that extra minute to arrive at it on your own.
Mateo had come up to Jack’s side, snapping his gloves off, the sound of it overshadowed by your own heaving.
“She has to call it,” he murmured. “You want me to —”
“No.” Jack’s eyes, he felt, could not move away from your distress. “I’ve got her.”
Mateo looked at him for a moment longer than the moment warranted, and then he stepped back and let Jack be. You were still going, your compressions had gone harder, faster, less like genuine medicine and more like you were pleading with Mrs. Foley herself now. Sweat had gone to the hair at your temple. Your jaw was set in a clench Jack recognized all too well, and for a moment, Jack wished that he didn’t have to be so acutely tuned into watching what the job did to others, the same way it did to him.
He stepped in behind your shoulder, close, and brought his hand down over yours where they were locked on the old woman’s chest.
“Look at the clock,” he said quietly into your ear.
“One more round —”
“You’ve done plenty.” He pressed, gently, until your hands stilled under his, and felt your entire body resist it. “You know she was gone before we could’ve even done anything —”
“She’s been my patient for years —”
Jack knew then that while you may have been an excellent doctor, his senior resident that had bloomed under his mentorship but still could’ve gone without him and done just the same, it wasn’t a good feeling to wonder if the job would dim you the way it had him.
“I know.” He kept his hands over yours with enough pressure so as to not let you drive them down again. “That’s why it’s yours to call. But you’ve gotta call it, Doctor.”
Your breath hitched as you turned your neck to face him, and there was a pool brimming on your lashline that you kept at bay, nodding. Your hands under his stopped straining upward, and he felt the exact second you accepted it, for it moved through your shoulders and down your spine and left you a little smaller standing there, the fight trickling into the moment after, which Jack always thought was worse.
“Time of death,” you said, forcing your voice back into the procedural tone, “oh-three-forty-one.” You peeled your gloves off finger-by-finger.
His hand found the small of your back after taking the minute, leading you to the little family consult room with the boxed tissues and fake ficus with a couch that had absorbed more bad news since longer than you or he had worked there. He shut the door with the flat of his hand and let the floor’s noise cut to a hum through the drywall.
You stood in the middle of the room with your arms crossed, holding yourself, and stayed silent.
Jack propped himself against the table, arms folded, as he breathed out a small sigh through his nose. He knew you weren’t a talker after the bad ones. Some residents came out of a loss with their mouths running, narrating it into something survivable, and some went quiet and small and had to be waited out, and you were the second kind. So he waited.
You broke it eventually, like he always knew you would have. “I’ve got a butterscotch she gave me seven months ago in my locker still,” you murmured, craning your neck so you were looking at the ceiling. You wiped under your eyes with the heel of your hand roughly.
“Think I’ve got one, too,” he murmured, wincing as he tried to shift his weight.
It had been building up for the past few hours, a hot ring of wrong down below the knee where the socket had gone slick and furnace-warm because it was past hour fourteen, when he’d sweated the fit and never changed the liner because there’d been no window that wasn’t already accounted for. He shifted his weight off it, trying again, and reached down to thumb the release, breaking the seal.
He let out a short, punched out sigh as he pulled himself down onto the chair behind him, one hand balancing himself on the table. “Sorry,” he gruffed out, jaw clenching.
Your eyes flickered down to the prosthetic limb he was balancing against the pole of the table and you were already moving before he could finish apologizing. You never asked if he needed a hand. You’d learned sometime during your second year that asking him gave him a chance to say no, and you’d quit handing him that chance sometime during your second year, so now you just came. You went down on one knee at the pole of the table.
“Don’t say sorry,” you mumbled, eyes not meeting him.
His jaw stayed tight and he didn’t fight it, fight you. That was a formality and you both knew it, a thing he did with his shoulders and not his hands, but he watched the top of your head and thought — like he always did, each time, and never said out loud — there was no one else on god’s green earth he’d let do this in the way you did. Not the prosthetist, who did it clinically. Not the VA, who did it tired. You did it each time like it was nothing and everything at once, as though this something not worth remarking on.
He very badly wanted to thank you, despite how small he always felt when you did this. He wanted to tell you that you were, without question, better at this than anyone who was paid to do it.
Your fingers found the socket and went for the liner because you knew the fit went bad and the sweat before it went bad anywhere a person could see, knew he’d have to run it slick and furnace-hot than spend the fourteen minutes off the floor. You rolled it back with the flat of your thumb, easing the trapped heat out of it, and he felt the pressure of the ring of raw below his knee and had to clench his jaw to not let the relief show on his face. You spared him anyway by keeping your eyes down where they’d been.
“You’ll strip your skin doing this,” you said conversationally, the roughness still present in your voice from the code. “You know that. You keep running it past twelve and one of these nights it’s cellulitis and I’m admitting you.”
“If only I could be so lucky.”
He ducked his head slightly, a part of him wanting to catch the reaction, and he saw how one corner of your lip was barely turned up.
You thumbed a line of red where the socket’s edge had bitten in, checking it, and your touch went careful around there. “This is new. The edge is catching higher than it was.”
“Went to a new liner last month,” he said, voice low. “Not broke in yet.”
“Then you break it on your days off. Not on a fourteen hour.” You finally looked up at him, shaking your head with this flat, fond expression he’d come to realize was your favorite way to look at him. “You’d write me up for less.”
“I’d write you up for a lot less,” he agreed, thinking back on the time you’d fought him tooth-and-nail over staying through a migraine, refusing, point-blank, to hand off a soft rule-out chest pain at eleven when the migraine had started very visibly began creeping up on you.
He’d caught you before you’d said a word about it because you’d begun squinting at the numbers and pressed the heel of your hand against one eye for a moment too long between patients, thinking nobody was watching. He was, he realized, always watching you in some way.
“Go home,” he’d said quietly, catching you by the elbow outside the curtain. “That’s not a request.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve got a migraine.”
“I’ve got a job.” Your jaw had clenched, stubbornly, and Jack had thought that even if he’d put all his strength into it, he wouldn’t have been able to unclench it for you. “I’m not handing off a chest pain because my head hurts. This guy has waited long enough for a bed. I’m not the priority here.”
He’d wanted to tell you that you were, actually, that you were exactly the priority, and watching you white-knuckle forms with your pupils blown different sizes from pain scared him more than any board full of critical pains ever had. But he’d just pulled down the light two notches, told the nurses to shadow eleven’s discharge, and put a bottle of water and two Tylenol on your desk without a word. And thank god, you’d taken the Tylenol and finished the shift standing up because sitting made the room tilt worse, and only taken on non-critical cases. You’d refused until the end that you should’ve gone home three hours earlier.
Now, you huffed something that was nearly a laugh, your first real once since the code, and went back to setting. And Jack sat there with his arms crossed in the dark with your hands on the worst-guarded part of him and the door shut against the whole floor, and thought about how he believed nobody deserved you. People were vile and sucked and cut in line and let doors swing shut behind them, and you handed out three dates to men who wrote sonnets in your voicemail and couldn’t clear a bar you’d never once lowered for anyone. He’d thought, more nights than he liked to admit, that these people had no idea what they were auditioning for.
His eyes snagged on you because there was nothing else in this small room worth looking at. There was still salt dried in your lashline from the code. You were a wreck and you were fixing his leg anyway, still half-shaking from a woman you couldn’t save, and it hadn’t occurred to you to stop and put yourself back together first. It never did. Jack had seen the care run out of you before you ever decided to spend it.
“I’m sorry about Mrs. Foley,” he said.
You shook your head, face still angled down, thumb pausing mid-motion. “I’ll be okay,” you murmured, lifting up one shoulder. “I just hate that she couldn’t get here sooner.”
“You did nothing wrong,” he said plainly. “Family said she’s been feeling off for two days now.”
“I know.” Your voice cracked, betraying the flatness you were trying to present. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
You lifted your head for a moment, then, looking at him with a sad smile he knew you were painting on to get him to stop talking.
He nodded stiffly, tipping his chin down. “Alright. Finish my leg and we’ll run this floor together.”
Up in radiology a few nights later, Jack had gone himself to sort out a reading that had been sitting long and he’d cornered a tech and got what he needed and was already halfway out the door, jacket sleeves still rolled from the last set of compressions, when he saw the guy standing off by the light boxes.
Younger. A resident, he supposed, in scrubs a size too crisp for someone who’d actually been on the shift long enough to earn wrinkles in them. He’d been watching Jack the whole time — Jack could feel it, the itch of being observed — shifting his weight heel to toe against the linoleum floor.
“Somethin’ on my face?” Jack said flatly because he really did have to get back to the floor.
“You’re — sorry, you’re Dr. Abbot, right?”
“Last I checked.”
The guy’s hand came out of his jacket’s pocket, and there was a piece of folded paper in it. Jack looked at it like it was a spider, hoping — no, praying — it had something to do with work.
“Could you give this to her?” the guy asked, and Jack’s hope died, as he stepped closer. “The senior resident on your shift. She’ll — she’ll know who it’s from.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack murmured, brows pulling in together. “You ever heard of texting, kid?”
“I did,” he said, and Jack could practically feel the heat radiating off of him. “She stopped answering, so I figured, maybe on paper, she’d actually —”
“Take the hint,” Jack grumbled, snatching the paper out of his hand. Then, as he turned to the door, he said, “You know I work in the ER?” When the guy only nodded quickly, he added, “You know she works in the ER?”
“I — yeah. Obviously.”
“Then you know she doesn’t need this.” He held up the paper between him and the guy. “She’s got enough on her plate without some guy too chicken to call her handing me a note like I’m her mailman.”
The guy opened his mouth, nose scrunching at Jack’s words, but nothing came out.
“Yeah.” Jack was already walking, note tucked in his pocket, done with the conversation. “Try calling next time. Or don’t.”
The guy looked at least a little sheepish, a little ashamed, and Jack thought good, he should feel ashamed. He wasn’t sure what the protocol in dating was now — he’d been just a little rusty and out of the stretch for a stretch of years he preferred not to count in single digits — but he was fairly certain that whatever the rules had curdled up to, this could not possibly be inside them.
He rode the elevator down with the note in his pockets, and he could feel the small stiff square of another man’s hope pressing over the outside of his thigh.
He found you at your desk, hands running restlessly through your hair as you spoke into the microphone, charting. The words were coming out of you bluntly, mechanic and after saying the same variation a thousand times over. There was a pen behind your ear you’d forgotten about and the residue of a lab value gone blue across the back of your hand where you’d scrawled it hours ago and never washed off.
He stood there for a second before you noticed him, and thought — not for the first time and with the same low irritation he always felt about it — that he had no earthly business being the man this got routed to.
Jack leaned down so his head hovered beside yours, scanning your work on the screen, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours, head tilted to read your screen at an angle that had nothing to do with actually needing to see it.
“The man wants an espresso martini?” he asked, furrowing his brows as he read over your notes, right by your ear.
You jumped just slightly and swivelled on your stool to face him, then back at the screen. “Shit — Jack. Announce yourself.” You scanned the words on your notes, shaking your head and already backspacing. “No, that was me talking to myself. Stupid mic picked it up.”
“Long as it’s just the one,” he drawled, staying there in your space a little longer, watching the side of your face instead of the screen now. “Those things sneak up on you.”
“Speaking from experience?” You turned on your stool to face him fully, chin tilting up to meet his eyes, something playful and a little challenging in it.
“I’ve got a couple decades on you. Everything’s snuck up on me.”
You held his gaze a little longer, then looked away first, tongue coming out over your lips for a second. He took a small satisfaction in not being the one who blinked first.
He blew out a breath through his nose, remembering, with reluctance now, what he’d actually come here to do. “Speaking of sneaking up.” He pulled out the note from his pocket. “I got something to deliver to you —”
You furrowed your brows when he handed it to you. “Secret admirer?” you asked jokingly.
He barked out a short laugh. “Nothin’ secret about it. You ignoring some radiology fellow?”
You grimaced, opening the note and scanning over the words quickly. He could’ve left, but stayed instead and watched you read it. The frown only pulled deeper, and he saw your eye twitch once as you scanned the words.
Against his better judgement, he murmured, “That bad?”
“Uh — no, it’s okay.” You shrugged stiffly.
“Huh,” he breathed out, studying you outright now. “Wonder what you’re doin’ to these guys to get them so wound up.”
You chuckled, mostly to yourself. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
His chest tightened at that. It was unfair how you could make anything to him sound like something he’d been waiting to hear. He swallowed. “Suppose I would.”
“That an offer, Dr. Abbot?”
“Might be,” he said, shrugging one shoulder.
You laughed — surprised, the tension in your shoulders breaking slightly — and shook your head, folding the note back up. “You’re ridiculous. Well, thank you for getting it to me. I’m sorry he bothered you with this —” You swivelled, placing the note on your desk before picking up your phone. “That’s really weird.”
“That’s one word for it,” Jack said, and left it there, because you’d already turned and had your phone in one hand and the microphone in the other. The small furrow was back between your brows, and he’d learned there was a point past which pushing you got him a brighter, smaller version of whatever you were covering.
He drifted toward the far end of the station where Mateo was crouched at the crash cart running his palm along the drawers, checking seals, restocking and checking the fact of it on slower nights like this.
“She okay?” Mateo asked, snapping the drawer, seemingly having caught the interaction.
“Oh, you know.” Jack leaned a shoulder into the wall, arms crossing. “The belle of our ball. Can’t clock in without collecting a proposal.”
Mateo huffed. “She loves love.”
“That she does.” Jack watched you across the station, the phone lit against your ear now. “Don’t know why she keeps doing that to herself, though.”
“She’s an optimist.” Mateo clicked a seal into place, then moved down the cart. “Thinks someone’s gonna turn out different.”
Jack hummed, then, because the question had been sitting low and unlovely for a couple hours, he asked, “You two give it a run ever?”
Mateo turned his neck to look up at Jack. “Me and —” He jutted his thumb behind him to vaguely gesture at you. “Her?”
“Mhm.” Jack kept his eyes on you. “You’re close.”
“Nah.” Mateo went back to the cart, shaking his head as he chuckled softly. “I don’t think I’d pass a single one of her tests. Besides, I got my eye on someone.”
“Apparently I don’t make the list either, I guess,” Jack murmured.
Mateo laughed through his nose, eyeing Jack with something new now. “You want to?”
Jack caught it, reaching his palm and smacking it against Mateo’s curls with no force. “No. Now, do your job.”
“I am —” He laughed through the words, eyes scanning over Jack’s stiffened posture now. “It’s good you don’t, then. Couldn’t handle her anyway.”
“Sure, I could,” Jack said immediately.
Mateo’s head turned again, lips curving upwards at Jack’s words, and he felt momentarily blindsided by his own mouth, entirely too honest for something that had started as a joke.
“Sure, you could,” Mateo teased, drawing out the words.
“Shut it.” Jack grabbed a box of gloves off the cart and set it down two shelves lower than it needed to go, purely to do something with his hands that didn’t involve reaching for Mateo’s collar. “Wasn’t a real question.”
Couldn’t handle you? As if he didn’t know, without having to think about it, that you took the stairs two at a time instead of the elevator when you were annoyed and needed somewhere to put your extra energy, or that you’d started drinking your coffee black on nights a patient reminded you of someone, syrup and cream abandoned, like sweetness felt wrong to have that shift. As if he hadn’t noticed, months ago, that you hummed the same four off-key notes from a jingle neither you nor Jack could place when a chart was boring you to death, or that you double-checked every single IV line now, ever since one bad mistake in your first year. He could very well handle you, he simply hadn’t been given the chance to do so.
Most of the time, Jack was fine with watching your love life play out in 3D. More often than not, he knew they’d never work out. You were just too good for anyone who came sniffing, and there was a grim comfort in that, in knowing the fellows and the nurses would wash through and out and leave you exactly where he found you, three feet down the counter from him, close enough to keep.
Tonight the comfort wasn’t coming. Mateo’s accidental interrogation had rubbed Jack wrongly, somewhere he had yet to fully locate yet, and was sitting in his chest like a splinter he kept forgetting was there until he turned the corner over the night, saw you, and noticed it was there. He should’ve let it stay as nothing, but his brain had apparently decided three hours later was the correct time to relitigate the whole exchange, turning it over at odd intervals between patients like a tongue worrying a chipped tooth.
It was the bad sort of slow in the ER, the sort that let his brain fill up with things he’d have no time for on a real night. Ellis had wandered over to your desk with two energy drinks and placed her arms loosely beside your computer.
Jack was distantly aware he had misplaced labs to hand back to you because they’d gotten lost in the system, and he told himself that was the whole reason his body had started moving in your direction.
“I got a rundown from Marge,” Ellis said, dropping into an empty stool beside you. “Apparently he wrote it out of the OR.”
“You’re joking,” you muttered. “I don’t understand it.”
Jack stood there with the labs in his hand, close enough to hear it.
“I’m still wondering if I should respond,” you were saying, half into your hands. “Is this romantic? This one’s never happened before.”
Ellis laughed slightly with you, and the two of you had built one of those small pockets that slow nights sometimes allowed, thirty seconds of being people instead of clinicians.
Jack set the labs down at the edge of your keyboard harder than he meant to, the papers slapping flat against the desk, and both of you looked up at him like he’d grown two heads. Fuck — had he? It sure felt like he was operating off of whatever chemical cocktail his brain had whipped up for nights like this, some ugly little compound of jealousy and exhaustion. He was fairly sure if you pulled his labs right now they’d look like a man in the middle of a bad reaction to something not yet figured out in the scientific world.
“Labs on eight got lost.” His palm stayed on the sheet for a few seconds too long, some instinct telling him to keep his hand on something solid before the rest of him did something stupid. “You’ll want to recheck the trop.”
His eyes cut, against every ounce of better judgement he had left, to the note still folded in your hand, the same one he’d carried down like it was radioactive, the same note that had clearly done something for you that four years of Jack standing next to you clearly hadn’t. An unreasonable, low feeling creeped up behind his ribs at the sight of it, hot and out of proportion to a piece of folded-fucking-paper.
Ellis’s smile went uncertain as he felt her gaze snag on him.
You blinked up at him, and whatever had been sitting easy in your face a second ago curdled itself away, the corners of your mouth retreating. He knew this same retreat, had watched you recalibrate your muscles, swiftly, built to be unreadable against anyone who hadn’t spent four years learning your face.
His stomach dropped and heat climbed up the back of his neck, jaw tightening on its own. He hated that his body had learned to answer you the way it answered a motor alarm. He hated more that some raw, cornered part in him — still smarting about Mateo’s offhand comment and sore from that folded note — felt it wasn’t soothed.
You blinked up at him, and the laugh faded off your face, and you said, easily, warm, “Yeah — course. I’ll get right on that.”
He shrugged up one shoulder, lips pressing into a thin line. He turned, already walking away. “Whenever there’s a gap on your social calendar, I guess.”
He heard the small silence that opened behind him, and he could practically imagine you and Ellis looking at each other. Then, he heard you push back from the desk, the stool wheels catching, and your footsteps coming after him like he’d known they would, because you were the last person to let something like that go.
“Hey.” You fell into step beside him, voice pitched low, still giving him more benefit than the doubt had earned in the last ten seconds. “What was that about?”
“Nothing.” He tilted his neck up slightly to do a quick scan of the board, some stubborn muscle in his neck refusing to let him meet your eyes. “Got a department to run.”
“And you’ve been running it great. You just became weird right now.” He could feel you working it over beside him, shifting on your feet as you toed the line between resident and the hard-won territory neither of you had ever named. “Jack.”
“You want to laugh about your shitty dates, that’s your business,” he said instead of letting it go, sounding too far from the man who’d had his hands hovering over yours an hour ago, watching you put in a chest tube, telling you that you’d done well. “Do it a little quieter. This is an ER, not a lunch table.”
His words stopped you for half a step. Jack kept walking, an ugly, cowardly momentum carrying him three more steps before you caught back up.
He heard you recalibrate your voice in real time when you said, “I was charting on a slow shift,” carefully. “You’ve made worse jokes when it’s even more busy. What’s this about?”
“It’s about you treating this place like it’s your dating pool and not your place of work.” The words came out much uglier than he meant, and he didn’t have it in him to call them back. “It’s not professional. It reflects on the department. Reflects on me. Somebody’s gotta say it, and apparently that’s me, since you clearly enjoy it too much to stop.”
You stopped walking altogether this time. He turned to face your stillness whole, then, and found your eyes narrowed at him, looking like you’d been hit from a direction you hadn’t been completely guarding against.
He let out a breath, fingers going up to his forehead to wipe at sweat that wasn’t there. “I’m just saying what —”
“I’m sorry,” you said, voice going level and courteous, as you nodded quickly. “You’re right. You’re my attending, it reflects on you. I’ll keep my personal life out of work.”
“That’s not —” he tried, but you were already turning away, shoulders squared and chin level, professional armor snapping into place just like he’d told you to. It should have made him feel better to watch you take it so cleanly, to not make a big deal out of it. All it made him feel was like something had been surgically removed from him.
“Stop —” he tried again, to your back now, and the sentence died somewhere between his teeth and the air. That was okay. There was no end to the sentence that didn’t sound worse than the beginning anyway.
He blew out a sharp breath through his nose, standing in the middle of the floor with his hand still half-raised toward you, fingers curling back into his palm when he realized you weren’t there to reach. Jack felt, distantly, uselessly, like the only thing standing still in the entire building.
“Great going,” he heard Lena say, trailing past him, a tray tucked against her hip, not even breaking stride. “You got rid of the one entertainment we’ve got around here.”
His shoulders stiffened, and he caught up with her in three steps, jaw working around words that wanted to spill out defensively and came out simply tired. “It’s not entertainment if she keeps getting hurt,” he grumbled. “She’s not a show. Stop treating her like one.”
“Didn’t look like she was the one getting hurt tonight,” she said, rounding a corner and leaving him standing there.
Jack let out a low groan, running a palm down the lower half of his face, and dropped his hand only when he’d scrubbed enough friction into his jaw to feel it sting a little, which was at least a sensation he’d chosen, at least tonight. He stood there a second longer, staring at nothing in particular. His hands found his hips on reflex.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, and dragged both hands back through his hair, gripping once at the roots before letting go.
He rolled his neck, felt it pop unsatisfyingly, and pushed off the wall he hadn’t even realized he was leaning against. His leg fucking ached, the burn starting behind his knee. He ignored it like he always did and started walking anyway, jaw still held tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he could physically hold himself together with the seams of his own black scrubs.
It was by the lockers after hand-off that Jack saw you next. Both of you had conveniently managed to work over-time; he because there was nothing to get home to, and you — he’d heard through the grapevine — because one of your patient’s little sister was coming in toward close, and you simply wanted to talk with her instead of handing the situation off to one of the day residents.
Usually, nobody had asked you to stay when you did. Most times, there was no version of staying that showed up in your favor; he and Shen were gone, so there was no attending grading you on it; no hours that counted. It was just for a kid who was going to get bad news from a face she’d seen before, so you cost yourself hours of sleep you most definitely needed to be the soft spot for a stranger’s little sister, and hadn’t mentioned it to a soul, and he knew you would’ve been embarrassed if he brought it up.
He found you using the little mirror inside your locker to apply some kind of pink-tubed gloss with one hand while the other ran its fingers through your hair. Jack pursed his lips, eyeing you from the doorway, because he was pretty sure you’d done something different to it in the last ten minutes.
“Look nice,” he tried, biting the bullet and walking toward his own locker. “Goin’ somewhere?”
You caught his eyes in the mirror instead of turning around. “Just breakfast,” you said, and there was none of the earlier lilt in it, the warmth that you’d always aimed at him gone functional. You capped the gloss with more force than it needed and dropped it into your bag.
Jack stood there a second too long with his hand over his own locker without opening it. He’d expected — and he knew he was more optimistic than usual for doing so — your easy back-and-forth, his slip-up from earlier forgotten. He wasn’t sure what to do with the quiet or you not looking at him properly, hairbrush working through your hair in short strokes.
He’d saved around thirty lives tonight, and that was what he was good at. He was not good, and had never claimed to be good, at the aftermath of hurting a person he’d have put his own body between a stretcher and wall for, without meaning to, over something that had never been about the radiology fellow at all.
He opted out of opening his locker and chose instead to lean his bicep against the locker, eyeing you in front of him. “Mad at me?” he murmured.
You let out a short breath, shaking your head, and he tracked all your micro-expressions through the mirror. “On the clock?”
“Well, we’ve both been off it for a while now,” he said, watching the shape of your mouth in the mirror, waiting for it to give something away. It didn’t. “But no. Asking as your —” He stopped himself, because ‘friend’ seemed not to be the honest word though it was the first one that popped up. “Off the clock. Whatever I am to you right now.”
You set the hairbrush down on the little shelf with more care than the moment needed. “It’s okay, Jack,” you said, shaking your head.
“Don’t think it is. Try again.”
You watched him for a second in the mirror, then you turned.
“It’s just embarrassing,” you said, and the words came out smaller than anything he’d heard out of you in years. You crossed your arms over your chest. “I respect you and I hate that you’d think for one second I don’t take this place seriously.” Your voice cracked on the last word, just barely, and you pressed your lips together. “So, yeah. It’s embarrassing to have my attending confirming I’m exactly what people think I am.”
He was shaking his head before you could even finish the sentence. “Nobody thinks —”
“You do,” you said, voice rising slightly. “So, off the clock, I’m embarrassed, and tonight, I’m going to be your resident. Because I agree with you. It’s been unprofessional of me to keep dating within the hospital —” You threw your arms up halfway by your side, and you let out a short laugh that came out dry and wrong. “And I hate that you’ve probably been thinking it for four years.”
“I haven’t,” he said too fast. God, he’d come here to make tonight better for you, not to make you re-evaluate all your years working with him. “Sure, I thought it was none of my business how you spend your good nights off. Didn’t stop me from thinking they didn’t deserve ‘em.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that now ‘cause you feel bad.”
“Wish it were that simple,” he said, and chose to leave it unelaborated because it wasn’t that simple and he had no intention of explaining exactly why. “Half the time, you know it’s not gonna work out. You’re breaking my heart by making me watch you break yours.”
You blinked, and he watched the fight loosen out of you by inches. “It’s just a free breakfast, Jack. Nothing to get your heart broken over.”
Jack let out a huff through his nose, mouth opening to say what, he didn’t know. “Is that all? ‘Cause I can get you free breakfast for the rest of your life.”
You laughed, disbelieving, through your nose, some of the night’s weight finally cracking off of you. “You’ve got a weird way of apologizing.”
“Just to my favorite resident.” He pointed his index finger at you, lazy, and pushed himself off the lockers. His shoulder blades left a faint dust-print on the metal where he’d been leaning. He thumbed in the combination without looking at the dial — muscle memory, years of the same locker — and the door swung open with a rusted squeak. He pulled out his bag. “So?”
“So what?”
“You ditch the fellow.” He slung the bag up over his shoulder, close enough now that he caught the tail-end of the perfume you’d lightly spritzed over yourself. “I buy.”
You looked at him for a second too long, lips pushing to one side, as though you were gauging whether this was a bit or not, another line he’d tossed and wanted to let die on its own. He stood there, jaw set and features relaxing to show you he did mean it, more than he wanted to admit, if he was being honest with himself.
“You’re serious.”
“Do I look like I’m not?” He nodded once at your locker, your bag sitting on the shelf. “Grab your stuff. We’re going.”
“Fine,” you said finally, reaching over and zipping your backpack all the way before throwing it over one shoulder. “Can you drive? I’ve been taking the subway.”
“Why?” he asked drily. “You’ve got a car.”
Jack realized, as he watched you slide in across from him and folding both hands around the coffee before it was all the way poured, that he’d never once been on a date where the woman had no idea it was one.
It wasn’t lost on him what that made him, a man old enough to know better, letting a thing be one thing on his side of the table and another thing entirely on yours, saying nothing to square the difference. But he’d meant what he’d said, and he was going to feed you.
You ordered a short stack, eggs, hash brown, decaf on loop. She wrote it down, definitely having heard worse from better.
“Thanks for the treat, Jack,” you said when Dina left, bringing the rim of your cup to your lips. “Don’t think I could’ve done another breakfast to let him down gently.”
“We have to make some changes to your lifestyle,” Jack replied, voice rough, as he eyed you.
“Oh, yeah?” you murmured. “We?”
“Well, I did have to deliver a note to you today. In all my life working here, that’s never happened.”
You laughed around the rim of your cup. “In my defense, I don’t think anyone’s wrote me a note out of an OR either. That’s a first for both of us.”
“Glad we share the experience.”
Dina came by with a pot and topped you off without being asked, and placed the food in front of you. Jack watched you reach for the salt before your fork had even touched the eggs, shaking it twice over the plate.
“You’re gonna give yourself a stroke by forty.”
“You’re gonna give me a stroke right now if you comment on my food.” But you set the shaker down after the third shake, which he noticed and had to bite back a smile.
Dina dropped his plate in front of him — bacon, eggs, no pancakes — and you were reaching for it with a piece of your fork before she’d even finished setting his fork down. He gave you a faux-frown, picking up his fork and, without looking, spreading a piece of your hashbrown off the opposite plate in trade. He wasn’t sure when the two of you had started stealing bites and sips off of each other’s stuff, only that it’d started somewhere and calcified into something neither of you mentioned.
“Rude,” you said, mouth already full.
“Learned it from you,” he muttered, nudging his plate an inch closer to your side of the table, which you took full advantage of.
Dina’s radio crackled through something twangy and close-to-familiar behind the counter, competing with the clatter of a skillet somewhere in the back, the whole place smelling like batter and grease soaked into decades of countertop, syrup that had dried a hundred small amber rings nobody had ever fully scrubbed off.
“I’ve never been here before.” You absentmindedly cut the hashbrown in half as your eyes raked over the place. “This a regular spot for you?”
“Since before you joined,” he said easily, but his brows furrowed as he realized he’d been coming here alone for years. He was in the same booth when he could get it, ordered the same order, and it struck to him only now, watching you eat your hashbrowns, how much smaller and less lonely a booth felt with you taking up the other half of it. “Used to be the only quiet I got on some weeks.”
You hummed. “And now?”
“Guess the quiet’s pretty negotiable.” He shrugged. “I can go without it.”
You smiled down at your plate, something easy working at the corner of your mouth. A thread of syrup had gathered at the seam of your lips — you hadn’t noticed, too busy considering his answer — and before he’d cleared the impulse with the rest of himself, his thumb was already moving, catching it at the corner quickly, no different than when he swiped under your lashline for salt after a bad night.
You stayed still, having gotten used to his hands somewhere during your residency.
“You’re a mess,” he said, wiping his thumb off on the paper napkin folded under his elbow.
“You’ve got coffee on your scrub top,” you said, eyes flicking down to his chest. His brows furrowed and he looked down, and you were right. “Pot, kettle.”
He’d been about to say something else, he could’ve sworn it, but had lost every word of it watching you smile so unguarded, free enough to let him look at you. He had to reach for his coffee just to have something to do with his hands.
When the check came, folded in its little plastic tray, you both reached for it at once. Your hand landed flat over his knuckles. Neither of you moved it for a second, for his hand stayed exactly where it was, broad and unmoving under yours, and something unspoken passed through the two inches of fornica between your faces as he raised a brow at you. He slid the tray out from under you slowly.
“Said I’m buying,” he said, shaking his head slightly.
The drive back had been quieter than the one there had been. It was nearing ten in the morning, and he knew both of you had stayed up longer than intended, especially for two people who had to clock back in in a shorter amount of time than he deemed plausible to reset completely.
He’d cracked the window down an inch, and the air coming through carried the smell of wet pavement and the sound of a garbage truck grinding its gears three streets over. Your neighborhood, he was learning, woke up slow; there was a paperboy on a bike, a guy in scrubs different from yours locking up his own car after a shift that wasn’t at the PTMC, and Jack drove through it with two fingers loose over the wheel. Neither of you had bothered with the radio.
You’d gone somewhere billowy around your third cup of decaf, all the sharp edges of the night replaced with something looser and sleepier, and you gave him directions in a voice gone thick from exhaustion as you were likely starting to feel it behind your eyes.
He pulled his car along the curb and let it idle, one shoe braced against the floorboard, watching the numbers of your building.
“Gonna sleep?” he asked.
“Gonna try.” You were already working the bag strap over your shoulder, hair falling loose out of the knot you’d put it up in at some point at the diner, strands of it catching the early light. “I’ve got no idea how you do this then take SWAT calls.”
“You’d be able to do it, too, if I put you on the field.”
You mumbled something, letting your head drop against the window for a second, before picking itself back up. “Stop threatening me, Jack.”
He watched you fight your eyelids, his mouth pulling up at the corners at the sight. “C’mon. Get inside before I gotta carry you up.”
You snorted, half-hearted. “You can’t. You’d throw your hip out.”
“Try me.” He was already rounding the hood before you’d gathered your bearings, boots loud on the quiet street, and you let out another laugh and let him get there first, too tired to argue about who gets to open what.
He walked you up the cracked path, palm settling at the small of your back, and you leaned back into it, half your weight given over without you noticing it.
At the door, you fumbled with your keys out from under a granola wrapper and a capless pen, missed the lock twice, and gave up trying on the third. You turned to face him instead with your back against the frame and your bag slowly sliding off one shoulder.
“Thank you,” you said, words coming out loose and filtered by the exhaustion even as you tried to meet his eyes head-on. “For the — everything. The explanation. And the breakfast.”
Jack felt his lips curve up, fingers flexing at his sides. “Anytime.”
“And for driving me there — thank you. And for the drive back.”
“Uh-huh. You gonna go inside?” he said, voice going quieter as he looked down at the ground, at how the toes of your shoes were almost touching. “Or keep thanking me until you fall asleep standing up?”
You cocked your head to the side, your lips moving upwards into a fuller smile. His own mouth curved as he shifted on his feet slightly, closing the barely-there inch between his shoes and yours.
“Jack?”
He hummed, and you went up slightly onto your toes before he’d finished deciding what to do with you. Or maybe he’d moved in first, or maybe there was no real order to it at all. His mouth found yours somewhere in that uncertainty, slowly despite it, because he’d already worked out every version of this moment and this one had simply appeared in front of him.
His hand came up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb settling into the soft hollow just beneath your ears. Your skin was warm despite the cold snap in the air, much softer than he’d let himself imagine, and he felt the exact second your breath caught against his mouth, a small stutter that made his fingers curve around your jaw, index resting against your cheekbone.
He kept it slow, it was the only thing he had any real control over right now, the pace of it instead of the fact of it. He used what little he had left, dragging his mouth against yours, like he could somehow make up for four years of nothing by refusing to rush the first thirty seconds of something. His other hand found your waist, and his palm felt how your back curved into him, the hitch of your ribs on an inhale, and he pressed you back the last inch against the doorframe more to ground himself.
Your fist found the front of his canvas jacket, dragging him in the last stubborn space he’d been too careful to close himself, and a sound came out of his chest that embarrassed him a little. He felt you smile against his mouth, and his entire body felt warm at having been caught enjoying this entirely as much as he was.
He tilted his head so his forehead pressed against yours and pulled his mouth away. His lips jutted out slightly, feeling suddenly empty and unwilling to put the full distance back between the two of you.
Your eyes were still shut, and you were breathing unevenly. “Thank you,” you murmured.
He huffed a short laugh, and in it, realized how breathless he, too, was.
You tipped your chin back up, already chasing him.
Jack felt the want knot up inside him, greedy and unreasonably leaning back in to meet you halfway before the rest of him had caught up and made him stop. He made a small sound in his throat and pinched his eyes shut, letting you get right up to the edge of it, breath already tangling with his, wanting so badly to just let it happen, before his finger came up between you, pressed light against your bottom lip to stop you a hair short. It was more for his own sake than the words he remembered you telling someone years ago ringing in his head.
“Ah-ah.” His voice came out rough with want, entirely at odds with his actions. “Your rule. Only one kiss after the first date. I’m trying —” he exhaled hard, almost dramatically, “— trying real hard here to make it to the second.”
“Huh?” Your eyes peeled open. “This was a date?”
“Best one you’ve had I’m guessing, with the way you’re breaking your rules.” His finger stayed right where it was, and he watched your eyes struggle to focus, still glassy from the kiss. He could feel the warm huff of breath breaking unsteady against his fingertip, could feel your mouth soft and parted underneath it, waiting on him.
You pressed a peck against his finger instead, your mouth barely dragging against his skin as a shy smile formed behind it that he felt more than saw. “Maybe.”
“Well, good.” He smiled, despite himself, and pushed himself off your forehead, opting instead to press his lips there. “Get some sleep,” he murmured against your hairline, lips lingering a little longer there. “Might be able to get a full seven hours.”
“Will you?”
“Doubt it.” He pulled back enough to look at you properly, thumb tracing a line along your cheekbone — his touch feather-light, tracking the exact curve of it, memorizing the route — before he made himself drop his hand entirely, fingers curling loosely at his sides because suddenly he had no idea what to do with them without you under them. “Kinda got a lot on my mind now.”
“Yeah?” You bit back a smile, still not quite steady on your feet. “Anything you wanna share with the class?”
“Not a chance.” He bent a fraction and hooked two fingers under the strap of your bag where it’d slid down to your elbow, dragging it slowly back up to your shoulders, knuckles grazing your arms the whole way. “You’ll find out. Eventually.”
He forced himself to step off the mat — one step back, then the second, putting real distance between you now — forcing ease into his expression that he definitely wasn’t feeling. He stopped a few feet away from you anyway, unable to fully commit to walking away, watching you stunned and still in your doorway, mouth a little kiss-soft. He felt so completely helpless and pleased at the sight. “Text me when you’re up and I’ll get to planning date two.”
You raised a hand into a wave, fingers curling in the air.
“Bye, Jack,” you said, and his name came out of your mouth softer than you probably meant it to, smooth and cushy the way it never sounded on shift.
He lifted his chin up at you once and made himself turn, finally, finding the path back to his car. He made it to the curb before he looked back again, and you were still standing there, one hand braced on the door, watching him go with an expression he was sure he was going to think of the entire drive home.
summary: the three times jack abbot compared you to someone else vs. the one time you were exactly who he wanted but couldn't have anymore.
tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, deep insecurities, jack compares you to samira, robby, and his late-wife (I named her alice), a few scene changes but it's for the plot, trying out [name] but if I don't like it, it's back to y/n for all of you, jack is lowkey an asshole on accident (thinks he's meaning well by complimenting others, but tears you apart in the process), medical inaccuracies, hurt/no comfort (at least for jack), eventual breakup, special end scene guest star, age gape (28-32/50), heavily inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo (which I suggest listening to while you read) and all the feels that come with that, 18+ MDNI
notes: this hurt to write, and this better hurt y'all in the best angsty way possible! just a reminder that my requests for the hatosyverse are open, and that I'm doing smutty blurbs to build my writing abilities, enjoy!
word count: 7.4k
You didn't understand how you'd been able to score Jack Abbot.
Somehow, the universe decided that you'd be his match, the one he chose to go home to at the end of a bad shift, the one who'd been able to give him the most comfort during his darkest days. You knew what you'd be getting into: the PTSD, the depression, shifts where he felt more like your boss than your partner. But you believed you could get through it; Jack was older, and you liked to think you were mature enough to handle anything thrown your way.
For almost a year, your relationship bloomed in stolen glances across the Pitt, hidden moments in supply closets, and late-night baths spent at his house trying to bury yourself next to his heart. Jack was it for you, and you let yourself dream about a future, ring on your finger, possible children running around the house you shared. The two of you rarely fought, often choosing to apologize for anything under the sun before arguments grew too large for your feelings.
Never once did Jack make you feel inadequate, even if you had voiced early on that you truly didn't understand why he picked you. Compared to his gorgeous salt-and-pepper curls and freckled skin and large stature, you felt plain. Your hair was always pulled into a slick ponytail, makeup caused acne breakouts after 12-hour shifts, and what little time you had to yourself, you spent it at home, reading a book, instead of going out with friends and colleagues. People looked at you without so much as a second glance. Jack, on the other hand, made heads turn and nurses blush if they somehow caught his attention long enough for him to send a look their way. You couldn't remember the last time you went through a shift where a female (or sometimes male) patient failed to make a comment about the sexy, silver fox doctor.
You never made it more than it was: harmless flirting from people Jack would never think about again once they got discharged.
After, you and he had gone through the HR meetings, the contract signings, and the swearing that your relationship wouldn't get in the way of saving lives or have Jack start playing favorites. To further this, around the 9-month mark of being Jack's, they plucked you from the safety of the nightshift and dropped you right into Robby's hands. But this was how it was going to be from now on; there was no point in arguing as long as you got to keep Jack.
For three months, you persevered. Finding a groove with an already well-oiled shift proved to be harder than it looked. People talked. Nurses gossiped. Doctors speculated. You, through it all, kept your chin high. Their words didn't get to dictate your relationship. During handoffs, Jack still swept you into his arms and kissed you like a man coming back from war. He still told you that dinner was in the fridge once you got home and napped. He still continued to send updates during his shift, text messages from the separate night-shift group chat made after your departure chiming loudly while you ate. And most important of all, he still loved you.
However, nothing could have prepared you for the three times you felt the most unloved.
I care, I care, I care, like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin', hidden in plain sight, ooh, I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear
"Hey, Dana," you called out while swimming through the chaos only brought on by a 4th of July shift.
At her name, Dana looked up over the thin frames of her glasses, pausing momentarily to look your way before going back to her board. "Please don't tell me that the 36 hot dog guy is back."
You shook your head, hands coming to rest on top of the vinyl counter. "Not that I'm aware of."
"Thank heavens. What can I do for ya, hun?"
Leaning in, you did a quick glance around the department. "I heard Jack was here early?"
Her eyebrows almost rose to her hairline. "Yeah; he came in with one of his SWAT buddies. GSW to the man's neck, but it looks like he's going to be okay." She reached over and grabbed a tablet. "Actually, can you find Jack for me? He wanted an update ASAP."
Your fingers drummed against the counter anxiously before you took the tablet from her. "I was just about to ask if you'd seen him."
Dana glanced over your shoulder and stuck out her chin in the same direction. "Saw him duck into Room 15. Might be taking a breather; Lord knows he needs one after that raid." She gave you a knowing look, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you're exactly what he needs."
A rush of heat flooded your face, eyes darting away from hers. "I'll see if I can find him."
You turned away before she could say anything more, hands desperately holding the tablet to your chest. Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor, steps bringing you closer to the room Jack was supposedly in. Once at the door, you raised a hand to draw the curtain away, but the sound of voices—plural—had you stopping. Saliva pooled between your teeth as you listened closely.
"—is the hospital going to pay for it?"
There was a pause before Jack clearly grumbled, "I'll pay for it."
You slowly moved to the side next to the wall where the curtain didn't completely cut the room off. Through the slot, your eyes widened at the sight of a Jack, shirt off, pale chest, wound-care swab twirling in his fingers with Samira sitting in one of the chairs. In the next beat, she stood and walked right past the curtain slot, completely oblivious that you were right behind it. She stopped near the wall and grabbed a pair of gloves before snapping them on.
His brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"
She smiled before rounding to stand behind him. "What you clearly can't."
Begrudgingly, he handed over the swab.
"Did you make a chart?" she asked while dipping the cotton end into a wound cream.
Jack crossed his arms, and his shoulders rolled and dipped. "No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or police department."
Samira paused. "Would you rather me go get Dr. [Name]? I'm sure she could do this much better than I could."
"No," Jack responded, shaking his head. "She'd just panic about this. There's no need to throw her off her game."
Your stomach flipped. He thought you'd panic? Sure, you'd be worried, but it wasn't like you hadn't seem him hurt before. Whatever wound he had on his back wouldn't be the worst thing he'd come home with after a SWAT shift.
"Isn't she your girlfriend?" She began dabbing at his back, the swab coming back bloodied.
"Yeah, but it's different with you. I don't have to worry about you taking your time or being indifferent about this." He winced at a deeper brush into the graze. "She's not like you, Dr. Mohan. She wears everything on her sleeve. Really, she could learn how to be more level headed like you, Dr. Mohan. I've seen the way you handle traumas. We wouldn't be so in the low if we had about 10 more of you."
He ended with a chuckle like what he just said didn't feel like a knives to your stomach.
Is that what he really thought about you? That you should be more like Samira and her ability to stay cool through anything thrown at her? With a blink, your eyes glossed over.
Jack turned his head, neck twisting to he could meet Samira's eyes. "You won't tell her about this, right? Our little secret?"
You didn't stay to hear what she said, choosing to turn around before you could watch any longer. It was incredible that you were able to stay for so long, submitting yourself to a new kind of torture. Walking back to the nurses station, your steps slowed as if molasses coated the floor, its stickiness clinging to your shoes.
At your oncoming presence, Dana looked over. "Did you find him, hun?"
You forced yourself to not look back at the closed curtain. "Yeah, but he's in the middle of something right now. I'll just catch up with him later."
The tablet gave a small thud as you placed it back into the holder, and you desperately tried to find another patient to busy yourself with, specifically one furthest from Room 15. However, before you could grab one, a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.
"Hey, I need you for the incoming trauma," Langdon said as he dragged you with him. "Twenty-year-old female, unconscious for an unknown matter of time."
You nodded silently, allowing him to keep walking you like a dog on a leash until he stopped in front of the ambulance bay sliding doors. Your lungs expanded in a deep, wavering breath.
Now was not the time to panic. You could do this. You could be like Samira. You could show Jack that you could handle a trauma.
During your internal pep talk, the doors slid open, giving way for the gurney and two paramedics.
"BP is 140-over-92 and climbing. No relevant medical history. She woke up once on the way over and vomited before passing out again."
You quickly followed Langdon into the first trauma room and helped transfer her over onto the bed. Immediately, numbers started being shouted while you started your initial exam.
When nothing seemed to blare any red flags, Langdon started impatient as the woman kept deteriorating. Through it all, you willed your hands to stay steady, your mind calm while you mentally went through what could be the matter. You took a step forward, body positioning near her head so you could look at her pupils one more time, and that's when you smelled it: the acrid, fruity smell puffing out of her mouth as she struggled to breath.
You jerked back quickly. "Dr. Langdon, is there a history of diabetes or hyperglycemia? Her breath smells like rotting fruit."
Langdon looked over at you before leaning toward her face. He hissed a curse before barking for a blood sugar test. Your eyes widened when the screen flashed a 450 mg/dL.
"She's experiencing diabetic ketoacidosis," you breathed.
"Let's get her on an insulin drip, now," Langdon hissed, face pinched until he looked over at you with a softer expression. "Great job catching that and staying calm." He chuckled slightly. "Never seen you like this but keep it up."
You knew his words were meant to be encouraging, but all they did was send bile up your throat. Without saying anything more, you tore off the gloves and shoved them deep into a biohazard bin. You wanted to cry, wanted to find the nearest restroom and tug at your hair.
But that's not what Samira would do your mind provided; the thought ugly and green. She'd shrug it all off and keep working like nothing was the matter.
Your teeth ground together, shoulders squaring in tandem. If everyone would rather have you calm, you'd be calm. You'd tuck your heart away rather than show it to the patients who needed someone that wore it on their sleeve. You picked up another tablet at the nurses station and got back to work.
The rest of the fourth went by in a tornado. Systems went down after a cyberattack; fireworks boomed off in the distance; you stayed busy. Each of your patients were in and out at a lightning speed, and by the start of the night shift, you were ready to go home and cry your heart out into a pillow.
You'd seen Samira every so often in between patients and a small lunch break. Like always, she smiled at you and waved and chatted when she could, but her actions made you want to wither up like a dead flower. You couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that you should be more like the woman in front of you, mind comparing your features to hers at a rapid speed you couldn't stop. She somehow looked like an angel in the middle of a place jokingly nicknamed one of the seven layers of hell, skin clear and hair somehow perfectly put in a bun. You tried your best to match her enthusiasm, but the poison had already been drank.
On the contrary, the only time you really saw Jack was at the start of handoffs. He had helped with one trauma before going to the on-call room for a needed nap, and you hadn't wanted to talk to him then, scared of how he'd act around you.
"There you are, sweetheart," you heard him say as you finished up converting with Lena about the man in Room 5. "I've been looking for you. Thought you might have left without saying goodbye."
You winced slightly. "No; I've just been busy."
Jack hummed and smiled warmly at you, but the expression was tainted by his words earlier. "I heard. Langdon's been nothing but praising you for earlier. I'm proud of you."
"Sure you are," you muttered too lowly for him to catch. Your lips thinly stretched into a smile that didn't meet your tired eyes. "Thank you, Jack," you settled on instead.
His hazel eyes scanned over your face, and his smile slightly dropped. "Are you okay, though? You look a little down."
"I'm fine," you shot out. "Today's just been long, and I'm ready to get home."
Jack nodded. "I left food in the fridge for you, so make sure you eat it after you sleep for a bit."
"Got it."
He looked at you expectantly before rolling his eyes. "Come here."
Like it had been etched into your DNA, you listened and fell into his open arms, face tucking into his chest. He squeezed you tightly before placing a kiss to your temple.
"Proud of you," he said. "You do such a good job. We need so many doctors like you, my perfect girl."
Perfect felt like a twist of the knife, because if you were so perfect, why had he told Samira that he wished you were more like her?
I feel your compliments like bullets on skin. Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?
As the weeks went on, Jack's words never left your soul, the damage irreparable in everything that you did.
Second guessing yourself had been a struggle you'd dealt with since an earlier age. Normally, Jack would be able to quiet all those thoughts; he had chosen you; he loved you. But now, as you second guessed everything you did, you also second guessed everything Jack said. You picked apart every encouragement, every compliment, every sweet promise he whispered in your ear.
What he said now couldn't be taken at face value, and you wondered if that feeling would ever go away. You'd asked him about the bullet graze a few days after the 4th, acting completely oblivious to what you knew. Like you thought, Jack assured you that he got it handled and for you to not worry about it, like that did anything to settle the rolling feelings in your stomach.
You tried your best to move on, knowing you'd only bring yourself down more if you dwelled too long about really how much Jack's words had affected you while he never said anything directly to your face. The idea that he wanted you to be like someone else made your heart clench tightly to the point you often wanted to call off work, hoping that you could just wallow in self pity for hours and hours.
But the Pitt did not care for you like that; it demanded twelve hour shifts and grueling doubles. So every day, you rolled out of bed before Jack got home and pulled up your big girl pants.
You worked through it. You'd learned how to stay calm, how to not panic under duress, and it killed you to admit that you'd become a better doctor because of it. You hardly ever hiccuped during a trauma, gaining compliments from the surgeons and Robby for your techniques that were close to flawless. For the smallest second, you would preen under their words before the ugly, repulsive reminder that they might not be real swallowed you down in a nasty gulp.
"Dr. [Name] follow me please," Robby called as he brushed past the nurses station where you were currently typing away at a chart, hands clutching a chart out in front of him to read. "Quickly."
You pushed up from the desk, chair rolling far behind you from the force of your legs. Not wanting to lose him, you rounded the counter and jumped into his long stride.
"Yes, Dr. Robby?" you asked.
As far as you knew, there weren't any incoming traumas and it was too late in the day for him to have questions about your patients that were currently waiting for a room.
Robby paused in front of an empty trauma room. "Jack just let me know that he found a man in need of medical attention and is bringing him in before handoffs, and I thought you could help him out." He handed you the tablet, already ready to go with updated information.
You took a quick glance over this. "Um, Dr. Robby, it looks like he'll need a pericardiocentesis."
"It's good that you know exactly what he'll need. What's the issue?"
Your eyes looked from the screen to his brown eyes. "I've never done one before."
He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder. "That's why Jack's going to lead you through it. I would stay, but since he's coming in early, I'm going to head out."
You tried to quirk a smile. "Got a hot date waiting for you?"
A low chuckle shook his shoulders. "You got jokes. My bike needs some repairs, and today's the only day I can get it into the shop. But I know you'll be just fine. Your improvement in traumas will only grow if you step out of your comfort zone."
The automatic sliding doors slid open, and Jack plus a nurse wheeled a man through on a gurney. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his brows pinched when he noticed Robby's bag slung over the taller man's shoulder.
"You leaving early, brother?" Jack questioned as he stepped past the two of you.
Robby's hand gently rested on your shoulder. "Yeah, but you two will have this handled."
You inhaled deeply, the weight of his hand and words pushing down on your chest.
Robby was counting on you. Don't fuck this up. Don't panic.
With the tablet tucked under your arm, you walked into the trauma room before pulling on a pair of gloves. Jack had already cut through the man's shirt.
"I need two 18-gage needles, one 9cm and one 15cm, a guidewire, dilator, and 8Fr pigtail catheter." He looked up toward Jesse. "Let's give him 10ml lignocaine 1%."
You quickly gather what he needed and placed him on the dressing that covered the side tray.
"Okay, Dr. [Name]," Jack said, lips twitching upwards at using your official name, "I need you to place an ECG electrode on the pericardiocentesis needle with a crocodile clip and insert. Once the tip touches the myocardium, the trace should show immediate ST elevation. Once that comes up, insert the wire to aspirate the fluid."
His words tumbled through your mind much too fast to the point that you wondered if he didn't know you'd never done this before. You pursed your lips as you tried to remember everything. In the grand scheme of things, your training provided everything that needed to be done.
Yet, there was a big difference between studying and actually doing the procedure.
You kept your breath steady as you readied the needle, clamping on a clip before turning the pointed end toward the man's chest. The first part went smoothly, and the needle went right through. However, instead of the consistent beeping that should have followed if the needle was in properly, an onslaught of alarms sounded through your ears.
You had missed something.
Jack whipped his head toward you and sneered. "You went too deep. I told you that the needle needed to touch the myocardium not go all the way through. Give it here."
He didn't even wait for you to transfer the needle over, hands already grabbing at it. His head bent down so he could see what was happening. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the needle exactly where it should have been.
"Fuck," he whispered, "Robby wouldn't have done that. I don't know why he handed this off to you if he knew the patient would need a pericardiocentesis for tamponade."
You thickly swallowed pooling saliva to clear your throat. "Sorry."
"Just—" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I'll finish up here. You go home."
You jolted just a bit. Go home?
"Jack, I can still assist. You're going to need—"
"We have it covered. Catheter is in place, and you'd just be standing around. You're good."
Suddenly, a wave of anguish flowed through your body. It was happening again. Jack had just added fuel to the ever growing fire of jealousy and self-loathing. The feeling sized your chest, and you stepped back from the bed, shaky hands ripping off the nitrile gloves.
You couldn't help the stressed wheeze that pushed from your lungs.
Don't panic. Don't panic. He didn't mean it. He was just stressed. He didn't know that you'd never done that before.
Numbly, you walked back to the nurses station and sat back down in front of the computer, but your hands didn't raise to the keyboard. Your mind had already taken over, spewing rotten things about yourself that you could fix.
Be like Samira. Be like Robby. Jack won't keep wanting you if you aren't like them.
Your tongue ran across your dry lips in an attempt to wet them, but even your mouth had gone parched.
"Is charting really that bad?" you heard Dennis ask you as she sat down at a computer to your left. "You look like someone just told you they flushed your fish down the drain."
In a jerky motion, you turned towards him and did your best to compose yourself. "Oh no. I, uh, I didn't do well on a procedure with Dr. Abbot, and he asked me to leave."
Dennis at least had the decency to look sorry for you. "I bet you didn't do too bad. What was the procedure?"
"A pericardiocentesis," you said shyly.
He nodded slowly. " Shit, that's like one of the first things Robby let us do." He turned towards his own chart. "I could probably do them in my sleep by now."
Because he wasn't looking at you, Dennis missed the way your shoulders dropped and tears welled in your lash line. Jack's comment had been bad, but he just completely shattered any confidence you had left for the day.
"Right," you muttered. "Of course it'd be that easy if Robby taught you."
And you'd be right. On the night shift, patients like that rarely if not ever needed such a complex procedure. You could only think to one time that a woman came through almost needing one before they were able to use a different method to get her stable enough to be transferred to the OR.
With keys clacking loudly, you quickly finished up the chart before turning the whole thing off. You didn't even try to find Jack before you left, choosing to slip out before he even noticed you'd left without saying goodbye.
Once you were home, you stormed past the fridge and went straight to yours and Jack's shared room. Your scrubs hit the floor, and you didn't even bother to put on pajamas. The bed dipped under your weight as you pulled the duvet up over your body in a sad attempt at being comforted by its weight.
Sleep came quickly, only being interrupted by the door opening, a signal that Jack had gotten home. Blearily, you listened to him walk around the room before his edge of the bed sunk after he sat. The familiar hiss and pop of his prosthesis preceded him turning to lie down. You kept still as he scooted closer before wrapping an arm around your middle and molding your back to his chest.
"Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered sleepily. "Tried to find you before you left, but I guess I missed you. Wanted to say good job for that trauma. You helped so much."
You clamped your eyes shut, squeezing a fresh round of tears that dripped down your cheeks to puddle on your pillowcase.
After Samira, you had done your best to convince yourself it had been a slip of his tongue. But now after Robby, you weren't too sure that Jack would keep you around for much longer before finding someone better. Because there was no way you could ever amount to someone like Robby.
It was impossible.
I care, I care, I care, like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots, you got the one thing that I want. Ooh, I try, I try, I try, try to rationalize people are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust.
You were trying but failing to pretend Jack's words and comparisons hadn't left a giant, bleeding gap in your heart. Before everything happened, you never ever wondered if Jack loved you. Except now, you waited with bated breath for him to just drop the bucket and break up with you. You walked on eggshells around him.
Don't panic. Be put together. Keep your heart to yourself. Be calm like Samira. Don't fuck up. Know how to do your job. Be confident like Robby.
Those thought became your mantra and lifeline. No one seemed to think twice about your recent personality change. They loved the way they could count on you, the way you had an answer ready for everything. To the day and night shift, you were the epitome of composure. But behind closed doors, you were falling apart and into a pit you didn't think you'd be able to climb out of.
Jack didn't help with that either. You guessed he didn't even know what he had done to you, going on with his life like he hadn't given yours so many potholes that you couldn't continue on without falling behind. Everything you did was carefully thought out, every patient you talked to met a version of you that didn't reflect what you felt inside or outside.
You avoided mirrors the most, their reflections showing you exactly what you weren't. You weren't Samira with her lovely thick hair and clear skin. And you weren't Robby who carried years of trauma like it was apart of his body.
You were you, and you loathed it entirely.
You hated the glances you caught between Jack and Samira across the department. You hated the way they looked like they knew what the other was thinking before they spoke. You hated how you felt like on onlooker to a relationship that wasn't even happening.
You also hated the way Robby changed from a mentor to an idol. He had soon morphed into someone you wanted to so desperately be to the point you lost yourself in ambition.
And the worst part? You held nothing against them personally.
They didn't know what Jack had said. They didn't know that you were dying on the inside every time they raised you up during shifts. Bits of you crumbled away while they continued to glow.
Every morning you woke up, you wondered if the day would provide the straw that broke the camel's back with the way you felt like a stretched out rubber band waiting to fly.
A soft, savory aroma wafted through your kitchen. You absentmindedly stirred the spatula through the sauce, eyes glancing back and forth from the pan to the recipe. The instructions were written in beautiful, slanted cursive with curled letters that danced together. You'd found the card mixed in with a bunch of recipes Jack kept in his drawer. With a quick read told you that the owner of this one was his late wife, and the heart next to the title had you guessing if this was a favorite for the two of them.
Without thinking, you plucked it from the drawer and started working. After a week of back to back cases that ended in more loss than wins, a homemade meal was exactly what you and Jack needed after a day off. He was currently out getting his truck washed, and you wanted to be finished by the time he came home.
Quickly, the separate parts of the recipe—the chicken and veggies basting in the oven, the sauce on the stove top, and the wine chilling in the fridge—all came together right as Jack walked through the door.
"Hi, baby!" you called out as you pulled the pan from the oven. "Dinner's almost ready!"
You picked up on Jack's slightly clompy gate as he got farther into the house.
"Smells good," he said, walking over to stand behind you. "What did you make?"
Suddenly, you got nervous. What if it didn't taste correct? What if Jack didn't want you to make something so special between him and his wife. What if you ruined everything.
You didn't meet his eyes and poured the sauce over the top of the chicken. "Uh, a recipe from the drawer. It looked good, and we already had the ingredients."
He grabbed the card and held it up to his face, and you held your breath. When he didn't seem to get angry or sad, you counted it at a win.
"There's a bottle of white in the fridge if you want to get it out," you offered.
Jack stayed quiet. You didn't dare look even as the sound of a cork popping echoed in the room. While his immediate lack of response didn't cause concern to rise, your stomach still churned. To mirror him, you also didn't speak while you set the table.
He sat down, and so did you, your chairs facing the other like you'd done so many times in the past. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he took the first bite.
Loudly, he smacked his lips, setting his fork down at he chewed. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard in the silence.
After a minute, he finally spoke. "Did you change anything in this?"
Your racing heart plummeted to your feet. "No. I kept it just like the card had it."
His brows furrowed. "Really? It tastes different than how I remembered it last."
You dug your nails into the fabric of the table running. "Does it not taste good?"
Jack looked up from his plate with wide, hazel eyes. "No, no, it's just different."
"But not good," you scoffed.
"I'm just trying to say that maybe you missed something. I know Alice's handwriting isn't the easiest to read."
"I know how to read cursive, Jack," you spat lowly. "I followed every single instruction on the card. It's the exact same recipe."
"It's not that big of a deal, sweetheart," he tried. "Maybe if you had a bit more practice like her, it might have come out the same. You're a good cook, don't get me wrong, but—"
Your hands slammed on the table in frustration, causing Jack's eyebrows to pinch as his words died in his mouth. He went to keep talking but stopped when he noticed the frustrated tears fall from your eyes.
"I'm done," you breathed, eyes darting around the room.
"Done?" Jack echoed. "What are you done with?"
"Everything," you hissed. "I'm done with this—" You gestured to the food with a wave of your hand. "I'm done with-with you. I'm done with it all."
You pushed up from the table and walked away, leaving Jack to scramble out of his chair and follow you.
"Sweetheart, what's going on?" he loudly asked, but you ignored him.
By the time he made it into the bedroom, you had already ripped out a suitcase from the closet and were pushing clothes into it without making them neat.
"Hey," Jack said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't think it'd upset you this much, but you don't have to leave."
You paused in a mid-throw of your shirts and spun to face him. A disbelieving laugh bubbled wetly through your throat. "That's the problem," you muttered, "you don't think."
He crossed his arms, biceps resting against his chest. A need to defend himself bloomed in his stomach. "What's that supposed to fucking mean."
You threw your arms up with an exasperated scoff. "Oh, so now you're concerned for what I'm saying. Maybe you should be concerned more with your words." You sucked in a deep breath. "Just go on and say it."
Jack took a step forward. "Say what?"
"That you'd rather me be someone else!" you screamed. "That-that I'm not enough by myself for you anymore." Pants heaved in your chest. "I'm sick and tired of standing here stuck listening to you compare me and wish that I'd be like or act like someone else."
Your words stole the breath from Jack's lungs as confusion and dread washed over him. "What?"
You closed your eyes and dropped your shoulders. "I heard you; I keep hearing you."
In another step forward, Jack was within two feet of you. He swallowed thickly, but you beat him to more words.
"On the fourth," you began to explain through tears, "I saw Samira patch you up, and I heard the way you told her that I could learn how to be more level headed like her."
A chill crept up Jack's spine. "Sweetheart—"
"Don't," you ordered. "Don't do that where you try to make it all better. I heard you loud and clear, Jack. And that's fine. I knew I could be more calm during traumas, so that's exactly what I did, but apparently—" You chocked out a laugh. "That wasn't enough for you."
He shook his head, hazel eyes swimming with guilt already.
"And I really thought that if I could be anything like Samira, your words wouldn't hurt as much. But then you had to go and tell me that you wished Robby had been there instead of me to do a pericardiocentesis." Your breath shuddered in the next exhale. "Did you even know that was the first time I'd ever been asked to do one? And instead of teaching at a teaching hospital, you threw me to the side saying Robby—the fucking chief attending—could have done the job. No fucking duh, Jack."
You threw a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "And now this? I thought that maybe I could be like Samira or study enough to be like Robby, but h-how am I supposed to compare to the woman who had your love first." You turned back toward the bed and haphazardly packed suitcase. "That's unfair to me. So, like I said, I'm done."
A pleading sound ripped from Jack's throat at the sound of your suitcase zipper closing.
"No, sweetheart, please. Let me fix this; tell me how to fix this," he begged.
"That's just it, Jack. I don't think this can be fixed. I've spent weeks with your words in my head wondering how I can be the perfect person for you. And I don't know if I can keep going on pretending."
Jack's body shook under a small sob as everything came crashing down. He absolutely had no clue what he had done to you, but thinking back, he understood that his careless words wracked irreparable damage to you and your personality.
"I'm sorry," he managed, voice breaking in a whisper.
"I know you are,' you responded, "and somehow that makes it hurt worse. Because while you were trying to compliment everyone else, you made me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life." Your fingers wrapped around the suitcase handle and tugged it off the bed. "I can't stay with someone who keeps hoping I'll be a conglomeration of all the best parts of others; that's not me. And I'll be honest, I don't even really know who me is anymore."
He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing from your face to look down at the floor. "So this is it? You're leaving?"
Another round of tears spilled down your cheeks as you choked on a sob of your own. "I don't want to, but I need to."
"But I love you," he croaked, eyes coming back up to meet yours.
"You love the best parts of me, Jack," you said, already moving to walk past him. "And that's never going to be enough to make me stay."
Your shoulder lightly brushed by his as you walked out of the room and all the way out the front door, leaving Jack behind in a house he realized he didn't want empty.
You poison every little thing that I do, Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately, and I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you, yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you
Jack didn't truly realize what he'd done until almost six months after you left him crying in his bedroom.
Your absence in his life gave him a lot to think about, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you were absolutely right. It didn't matter if he'd compared you to others unconsciously; he made you feel like that: worthless, in need of self change, inadequate; the list went on.
He'd seen the small changes too late.
The next shift he worked with you, Jack tracked every minuscule thing you did, and it felt like one big punch to the gut. He saw the way you constantly checked your hair, ponytail pulled tight enough to give you a headache, skin, and scrubs and the way you straightened your stethoscope so it rested perfectly across your collarbones.
His stomach dropped when he watched you pause before a trauma and gulp down air before heading inside like someone who needed to take control before it could get out of hand. Before him, you weren't like that. Yes, you could be nervous to mess up, but you didn't act like you had to be the smartest person in the room.
He did that to you. He made you feel the need to change. And it killed him. It killed him once he learned you transferred over to a specialty in orthopedics, and his mind made him think you did it just to get away from him.
He was slightly correct, but not entirely.
You needed a fresh start, somewhere where you knew no on had any high expectation of you. And somehow, orthopedics gave you just that. And you thrived in the environment, only coming down to the Pitt when they needed a transfer or second opinion. Sure, you had to accompany Park the Shark more than you'd liked to, but through your time there, the old you was coming back, the one who worked through her panic instead of shutting it down, the one who only got frazzled when she cared about patients and their needs.
It was never weakness you showed, and you had to learn that all over again.
Someone helped you see that along the way as well.
"What do got here?" Park asked while snapping on a pair of gloves, eyes predatory as he walked into Trauma Room 1.
Jack looked up with pinched brows when he realized that you didn't walk in behind the larger man. "Where's Dr. [Name]?"
Park didn't even acknowledge his question. "For fucks sake man, you didn't even pack this right."
"You should know how to put a detached leg together even if I missed the pressure of the wrapping by an inch," Jack shot back.
"Abbot, you should know that I can't fucking put your patient back together after you decided to play Barbies. It's not as easy as popping a joint back in place."
"Dr. [Name] could do it."
Except for the monitors, everyone went quiet. Jack tore his eyes away from Park and looked back down at his blood soaked gloves. Reality crashed down on him as he realized he just did to Park what he'd done to you. Even if he knew he probably didn't hurt Park's feelings at all, it sucked to know that he was still so quit to throw out words like that.
Park's shoulders rose in a shrug. "She could, but she isn't here right now. She switched shifts and won't be in until 7." He smirked. "Think she said she had plans with someone."
An ugly roar of jealousy clawed at Jack's insides, nails sinking deep in his gut.
You were with someone?
He went through the motions of his shift, mind still on the fact that you weren't on call because someone had taken your time and attention away from the hospital. His knuckles turned white around the tablet he held while going through handoffs. He didn't know if his body was still trained to look for you, forever waiting for your soft lips against his, but Jack couldn't help but keep his head on a swivel and ears open to catch the sound of your voice.
Like a laugh in his face from the universe, your laugh fluttered through the ER, and his head whipped hard enough that his neck hurt in order to find you. When he finally saw you walking in, his heart dropped to his feet, because there you were, smiling brighter than he'd seen in a long while, hand enclasped with a man's.
Jack swallowed thickly. He instantly hated the way his blood boiled at the sight. He looked back down at the tablet after your voice seemed to draw closer to where he was standing.
"Andy," you sighed wistfully, "you didn't have to walk me all the way in here. I know you're weary of the germs."
"I know," the man—Andy (you gave him a fucking nickname?)—muttered back, wide, hazel eyes looking down at you like you hung the moon. "But I wanted to."
You pouted playfully. "You're so sweet. Am I going to see you tomorrow morning, or are you working again?"
He hummed. "My morning's yours if you want it."
"You know I always do."
Jack watched the corner of the man's mouth twitch into an almost-there smile, and he had to look away when his head started leaning in toward yours.
The small smack of your lips on his made bile gurgle in Jack's stomach.
"Okay, you gotta go save lives."
You giggled again. "I just put people back together, and technically, Park's the one doing all the procedures. You know my hands start shaking."
From the corner of his eye, Jack watched him lift your hands to his lips and kiss the tops of your knuckles.
"Just breathe and know that you alone can do this. You were the one to get into the program, so they want you, shaky hands and all."
Jack's heart clenched to the point of a physical reaction to the pain. He should have been the one saying that to you, standing in your corner and building you up one compliment at a time.
But now, he had to stand on the sideline and watch a man (someone who scarily looked a bit like him) give you all the praise and love you deserved. And while Jack could do everything in his power to let people know how good of a doctor you were, it wouldn't ever be the same, forever stuck loathing the moment he lost you without knowing.
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content warning: fluff, probably medically inaccurate, mention of blood, reader accidentally gets hurt, jack is overprotective and patches her up!, idk don’t question why dana robby and jack are here all at once
a/n: ts was lowk like self indulgent and its kinda horrible but whatever! hope u enjoy :3 not proofread!
masterlist
there were two things you knew for certain in your life.
one was that jack abbot was your soulmate, and the other was that sometimes becoming a nurse was something you deeply regretted.
right now was one of those moments.
you were helping dr ellis with a 6 year old who had ended up in the ER with a broken leg. he was flailing around quite destructively in an attempt to fight off the needles and medical equipment.
the room was loud and small, and everything happened in one quick moment, so much so it took you a second to realise you were on the floor.
the boy had kicked you with his good leg. the surprising amount of force sent you flying against the wall, hitting an IV pole on the way down.
you had only registered the throbbing on the back of your head and the cut on your arm when you had steadied yourself back up.
ellis insisted you leave to go patch yourself up, and after a lot of back and forth, you relented and attempted to slip away to an empty exam room.
unfortunately for you, your boyfriend intercepted you on the way.
“hey, sweetheart!” he called out down the hall, squinting and frowning when he approached you and took in your appearance.
jack raised an eyebrow and looked you up and down before almost jumping up into place. “are you bleeding? what happened?!” he demanded instantly, grabbing your shoulder and practically dragged you to an exam room.
“it was an accident.” you began to explain. “it was an agitated little kid, he accidentally kicked me. i got launched into the wall.” you murmured, giving jack a half hearted smile as he gave you a stern glare.
he began his clinical checks, checking your vitals and pupils, hands gentle as ever as he held you steady. “shit, did you hurt your head? your hair is bloody.” jack said firmly.
“yeah, i did. but i’m fine!” you were quick to reassure him, but he didn’t listen. his eyes were determined and worried as he worked to check if there was truth to your words.
it took jack twenty minutes to ensure you were okay. the excessive treatment was more for him than it was you.
you had a bandage over the cut on your arm and your head had luckily ended up not being serious. jack seemed satisfied with your condition when you laughed at one of his stupid jokes.
“i’m glad you’re okay, honey. i was really worried for a minute.” he said seriously looking at you with what could only he described as pure devotion.
you smiled weakly, shrugging at his words. “i’m tough. toughest nurse you know.” you joked, leaning up on your toes to kiss his cheek.
you two were never really openly affectionate at work, but it was nice to feel the comfort and familiarity of your secure relationship once and awhile.
but even when you were quiet, you both knew you loved each other.
little did you both know, dana and robby were watching you both from the central station.
“god, i love the way he looks at her.” dana sighed. robby chuckled and shook his head. “you’re not even apart of the relationship.”
“i don’t care. i’ve never seen jack care so much.” dana argued, smiling at you when you caught her eye.
drabble synopsis 𓂃 ໒꒱ you accidentally kick jack in the crotch while you’re asleep, and he’s left questioning whether he’ll ever recover. (0.7k)
pairing 𓂃 ໒꒱ jack abbot x fem!reader.
content 𓂃 ໒꒱ established relationship, fluff, sleepy antics, dry jack humour.
Jack had come to the conclusion that you somehow became an entirely different person once you fell asleep.
Awake, you were always looking for him. Whether it was your hand finding his while you watched a movie or absentmindedly leaning against him while you brushed your teeth, you always seemed to gravitate towards him without thinking.
Asleep, however, you were a genuine hazard.
It never started that way. Every night, you’d curl into his side, stealing his body heat and mumbling something incoherent before drifting off. He’d lie awake for another ten or fifteen minutes, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing until he was certain you were asleep.
Then the adventure began.
Sometimes you stole every inch of the blanket. Other nights, you’d somehow end up lying across the mattress at an angle that defied basic human anatomy. More than once he’d woken up with your arm thrown over his face or your foot pressed into his ribs, leaving him wondering how someone so peaceful looking could move so much without ever waking.
Jack usually found it amusing.
Usually.
Tonight was no different.
You’d fallen asleep tucked beneath his arm, one hand loosely gripping the front of his shirt as if letting go wasn’t an option. Jack smiled to himself, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before settling back into the pillows. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the occasional hum of the heater and your soft breathing against his chest.
It didn’t take long before he started drifting off himself, but then you moved.
At first, it was nothing more than a sleepy stretch, your shoulder nudging against his side before your legs shifted beneath the blankets.
Jack barely noticed.
The next movement came out of nowhere.
Your knee drove straight up between his legs.
The air disappeared from his lungs so quickly he wasn’t even sure he’d made a sound until a strangled groan escaped him. Every muscle in his body locked as he instinctively curled forward, one hand gripping the comforter while the other clamped over his face.
“Jesus…”
The sound startled you awake almost instantly. You blinked blearily into the darkness, pushing yourself up on one elbow, your hair sticking out in every direction as you looked over at him.
“Jack?” you mumbled. “What’s wrong?”
He stayed exactly where he was for another few seconds, taking one slow, painful breath before finally answering.
“…You got me.”
Your brows knitted together in sleepy confusion. “Whhat do you mean?”
“You kneed me.”
You frowned, still trying to wake yourself up, “where?”
Jack slowly cracked one eye open to look at you. “If I have to answer that, I’m even more concerned.”
It took a second before the realisation crashed into you, “oh my god.” Your hand flew to your mouth as your eyes widened. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” he said, finally managing to lean back against the headboard. He let out a slow breath, still wincing. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
You were already reaching for his arm, your brows pinched together with guilt. “I was asleep, I swear. I didn’t even know I moved.”
“I know.” He turned his hand over so your fingers laced together, giving yours a small squeeze. “You’re okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’ll survive.”
You searched his face for a second, trying to figure out whether he was saying that just to make you feel better. “Are you sure?”
Jack glanced down at the blankets, then back at you, one corner of his mouth twitching despite himself as he shrugged. “I’d still like to have kids with you someday, babe,” he said dryly. “So maybe we retire the flying knees.”
A horrified noise left you before another apology could tumble out, but Jack was already chuckling under his breath.
“Hey.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear before tugging you back against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m kidding.”
“You better be.”
“I am.” His hand resumed its lazy path up and down your back, waiting until he felt you finally relax against him. He let the room fall quiet again, listening to your breathing even out as you settled against him.
After a moment, he looked down at you with a smile he couldn’t quite hide. As much as he knew he probably shouldn’t, he couldn’t help slipping in one last joke. “I’m still trying to cope with the fact my girlfriend nearly ended my bloodline in her sleep.”
“Jack,” you murmured in warning, your eyes still closed.
He only laughed, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before settling comfortably back into the pillows with you tucked against his side.
