Living Vicariously Through Fandom

Readers POV

At two forty-three in the morning, The Pitt was not quiet. It was never quiet. It just changed volume depending on the hour. By midnight, the department had been loud in the obvious ways: stretchers rattling through ambulance doors, family members asking for updates every seven minutes, monitors chirping over each other, somebody crying in the waiting room because the vending machine had eaten their card. By two forty-three, it had gone into a different kind of noise. The tired kind.

The kind made of phones ringing too long, printers jamming, half-finished orders, low voices behind curtains, wheels squeaking over linoleum, nurses saying, "I'll be right there," in the exact tone that meant they had already said it five times.

You stood at the nurses' station with trauma shears clipped to your scrub pocket, two labels stuck to your wrist, and a computer frozen on the medication record. You tapped the mouse. Nothing. You tapped it harder. Still nothing. Jack stood beside you, looking down at the screen.

"Threatening it won't help."

You didn't look up. "I'm not threatening it."

"You're staring at it like you know where its children go to school."

"I do. They're all in radiology, refusing to upload images."

His mouth shifted. Not a smile. Almost. That was usually all anyone got from him at this hour. You reached for the keyboard and hit enter again. The screen stayed frozen.

"Brilliant," you muttered. "Love a machine with boundaries."

Jack leaned one forearm against the counter, close enough that his sleeve brushed yours. "Try logging out."

"If I log out, I may never get back in."

"That sounds dramatic."

"This hospital once locked me out because I entered my password too emotionally."

"That explains several things."

You turned your head and gave him a look. Jack looked back, perfectly bland. The fluorescent light cut shadows under his eyes. His scrub top was wrinkled at the collar, and there was a smear of dried betadine near one cuff. He looked tired in that clean, contained way he had, like exhaustion had asked for permission before settling on him. Infuriating. You clicked the mouse again. The system gave one weak blink and unfroze.

You lifted both hands. "See? It responds to fear."

Jack's eyebrows rose. "Disturbing management style."

"Says the man who makes residents apologize to CT."

"They should."

"They absolutely should," you said, and reached for the med scanner.

Across the station, Perlah was on the phone with lab, using her calmest voice, which meant someone was in danger. Princess stood at the counter with a tray of specimens, labelling each one with the focus of a woman who had entered a temporary spiritual agreement with order. A call bell went off. Then another.

From Curtain Three, a woman called, "Excuse me? My father still hasn't gotten his sandwich."

Princess closed her eyes for half a second.

You looked toward the curtain. "He's NPO."

"She says bread doesn't count if it's hospital bread," Princess said.

Jack glanced toward Curtain Three. "Creative."

"Medically useless, but creative."

Perlah hung up the phone and said, "Lab says they never got the green top from Bay Six."

Princess held up a bag without looking. "That green top?"

Perlah stared at it. Princess stared back.

You whispered, "Nobody move. It might be a trap."

Jack took the specimen bag from Princess and checked the label. "Bay Six."

Princess pointed toward the tube station. "It was waiting for the printer."

"The printer doesn't process labs."

"It had an attitude. I was letting it calm down."

Perlah came over and snatched the bag. "I'll walk it down before this place invents a new failure point."

She left with the grim purpose of someone going into battle.

Jack watched her go. "She's handling the night well."

"She threatened to divorce the tube system ten minutes ago."

"Healthy boundaries."

You scanned the medication and signed it off before the computer changed its mind. "You always this supportive of workplace conflict?"

"Only when it's justified."

"That's every night."

"Then yes."

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Jack looked at you. Only for a second. But there it was again. That almost-warmth. That almost-softening. The look that made you forget, briefly and stupidly, that you were at work. You looked away first. Safer. The problem with Jack was that most people saw the sharp edges and stopped there. The dry comments. The clinical stare. The way he could flatten a room with one sentence and no raised voice. All of that was real. But it was not all of him. You knew that now.

You knew because he remembered which patients made you clench your jaw. Because he put coffee near your charting hand on bad nights and pretended he had just "overestimated his own caffeine needs." Because he stepped in when a family member got too loud, not to take over, but to stand beside you while you handled it yourself.

Because he had a way of seeing too much and saying almost nothing. Tonight, he had seen Curtain Twelve. You had known he had. The patient had been septic, febrile, frightened, and strong enough to grab your wrist when you leaned over to adjust his line. It had lasted maybe three seconds before you got him to let go. Princess had been there. Shen had been called. The man had apologized afterward, confused and shaking. It was over. It should have been over. But Jack's eyes had dropped to your wrist three times since. You kept pulling your sleeve down without meaning to. Jack noticed that too. Of course he did.

You tried to ignore it by moving. That usually worked in the ED. There was always something else to do, somewhere else to put your hands, another task to fold yourself into until whatever awkward, tender thing had started to rise between you sank back down again.

You checked on Bay Five, who insisted his breathing was "fine now" while still requiring oxygen. Ellis adjusted his orders and gave him the kind of look that made him reconsider lying to women in scrubs. Shen finally got cardiology to answer by using Jack's name like an institutional threat. Princess found two missing saline flushes in a linen cart and declared it "evidence of collapse."

Normal. Annoying. Alive. By three ten, you were back at the station, rewriting a discharge instruction because the printer had decided to cut off everything after return immediately if— which felt medically bold. You reached for the tape dispenser and winced before you could stop yourself. It was small. Barely anything. The kind of automatic reaction you would have ignored on any other night, from any other bruise. Your wrist had twisted awkwardly when Twelve grabbed you earlier, and the movement pulled at the sore place just enough to make your fingers pause. You recovered quickly. Not quickly enough. Jack was three feet away, signing a chart. His pen stopped moving.

You looked at the papers very hard and pretended not to notice him noticing. That was usually the safest method with Jack. If you gave him an opening, he would walk through it with that quiet, terrible focus of his, the one that made patients confess symptoms they had planned to take to the grave and made residents suddenly remember protocols they had been ignoring. You reached for the tape again with your other hand. Jack said nothing. Which meant he was absolutely going to say something. You could feel him beside you, still and silent, while the department kept moving around both of you.

Princess passed behind the station with a stack of clean blankets and paused long enough to look between your wrist and Jack's face.

"Nope," she said under her breath, and kept walking.

You shot her a warning look. She ignored it with professional ease.

Perlah leaned around the corner from the desk phone. "Radiology says the portable chest from Four is 'in process.'"

You latched onto that like a life raft. "It's been in process for forty minutes."

Jack's gaze did not leave your wrist. "Did they define process?"

Princess, already halfway down the hall, called back, "They defined it as 'in process.'"

"That's circular," Jack said.

"That's radiology," you answered.

It almost worked. For about three seconds, the conversation went back to normal. You wrote another line. The printer coughed. Someone laughed down the hall. Shen's voice rose from Bay Six, calm but deeply tired. Then your sleeve slipped back as you reached for the discharge packet. The red mark showed again. Jack set his pen down. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough that you heard it. You looked at him. He looked at your wrist.

And then, quiet enough that it did not belong to the station, he said, "Let me see."

You glanced toward Curtain Three, toward Princess disappearing down the hall, toward Perlah still half on the phone. Nobody was watching directly. Everyone was probably listening a little, because this was The Pitt and walls were a myth, but no one was making it obvious. You could have told him no. Not because you wanted to. Because saying yes felt like letting him stand somewhere closer than either of you usually admitted he already did. But Jack did not reach for you. He just waited. A request. Not an order. That was worse, somehow. You turned your wrist over. Jack took your hand carefully. Not dramatically. Not like you were fragile.

Like he was trying very hard not to make you feel watched. His fingers settled around your palm first, warm and steady. Then his thumb shifted the edge of your sleeve back just enough to see the faint red mark circling the skin. It barely hurt. You had seen worse bruises from IV pumps and supply carts and the med room drawer that stuck every time someone needed something fast. Jack's jaw tightened anyway. You watched his face instead of your wrist. That was safer, and somehow not safer at all.

He did not look angry exactly. Not in the easy way. It was quieter than that. Controlled. Focused down into something small enough to survive at the nurses' station. If he had been another man, he might have made noise about it. Asked too many questions. Turned concern into a spectacle. Jack didn't. He just looked. That made it harder to breathe. His thumb did not press the mark. It rested just beneath it. Warm. Steady.

A point of contact small enough that anyone walking past could miss it, but you couldn't. You felt it all the way up your arm, under your ribs, in the place where your heart had gotten embarrassingly used to making bad decisions around him.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

Quiet. Still not quite doctor. Not quite anything else either.

"No," you said.

His eyes lifted to yours.

You amended, because Jack had a gift for making lies feel useless, "Not much."

His gaze held yours for a beat. Long enough that the sounds around you seemed to thin out — not disappear, exactly, because The Pitt never allowed anything that generous, but fade to the edge of awareness. The phone ringing. The printer grinding. Princess saying something down the hall. Shen's voice from Bay Six, calm and deeply tired. All of it kept going. You and Jack didn't. His thumb moved once. Not over the bruise. Just beneath it. A slow, careful sweep against your pulse. You wondered if he could feel it jump. You knew he could. That was the problem with him.

He noticed everything and let you pretend he hadn't. Jack's eyes dropped to where his thumb rested against your skin. His expression stayed almost unreadable, but something in his face had gone still in a way that made your stomach tighten. Not clinical. Not anymore. There was no reason for him to keep holding your wrist. He had already seen the bruise. Already assessed the mark. Already confirmed you were not hiding anything worse under your sleeve. He should have let go. You should have pulled away. Neither of you did. Your fingers shifted once against his palm. Barely. An accident, maybe. Except Jack looked at them. Then back at you.

Your breath caught before you could stop it. His thumb stilled. For one dangerous second, you thought he was going to say something. Not a joke. Not a clipped instruction. Something real enough to make the station lights feel too bright. But Jack was Jack. And the room was full of patients and nurses and unfinished charts and every reason in the world not to cross whatever line the two of you kept walking up to and pretending was just part of the floor. So he said nothing.

He only turned your wrist a fraction more, checking the mark from the other angle with a care so quiet it almost hurt worse than words.

"You should ice it," he said at last.

There it was. A safe sentence. A clinical sentence. You almost smiled because it sounded so much like him and so little like what was actually happening.

"I'll add it to my glamorous post-shift plans."

His eyes lifted again. "You have plans?"

The question was too casual. You heard what sat under it anyway.

You shrugged lightly, because you were not brave enough to do anything else. "Sleep. Maybe laundry. Maybe staring at a wall until my soul comes back."

"Ambitious."

"Don't be jealous."

"I'm devastated."

His hand was still around your wrist. His thumb was still against your pulse. You looked down at it, then back at him. Jack noticed. Of course he did. This time, his expression changed before he could stop it. Not much. A flicker of restraint. The faintest tightening around his eyes. Like letting go had become a choice instead of a reflex. Like he knew exactly how long he had been touching you. Like he knew you knew too. Your mouth went dry.

"Jack," you said.

Not warning. Not question. Just his name. His fingers flexed once around your hand. Then, slowly, he released you. Not all at once. His thumb left your pulse first. Then his fingers loosened from your palm. Then your hand was yours again, and somehow that felt colder than it should have. You tucked it against your side before you could do something stupid, like reach for him again.

"Thanks," you said, because you had to say something.

Jack nodded once.

His voice was even when he answered, but quieter than before. "Tell Shen if Twelve gets agitated again."

"I will."

His expression told you he did not fully believe that. Your expression told him you knew. Neither of you pushed it. That was the thing between you lately. Everything unspoken, and somehow all of it too loud. For a second longer, Jack stayed where he was. Close enough that his sleeve nearly brushed yours. Close enough that you could see the tiredness at the corners of his eyes and the line his mouth made when he was keeping too much behind it. Then Princess's voice carried from down the hall.

"Radiology says the portable chest from Four is still 'in process.'"

The station exhaled around you. The moment broke. Not cleanly. Not completely. Just enough for both of you to pretend it had.

You frowned toward Princess. "That's what they said ten minutes ago."

"They have committed to the bit."

Jack reached for the chart you had been about to grab and handed it to you. "Bay Five needs reassessment before he negotiates another cigarette."

You took the chart. "He offered me three dollars and half a pack of gum earlier."

"Was the gum sealed?"

"No."

"Then no deal."

You smiled. This time, Jack almost did too. The station settled back into motion.

You checked on Bay Five again, adjusted his nasal cannula when he tried to claim oxygen worked better if it was "nearby," and reminded him that lungs were not spiritual. Ellis laughed into her chart. Shen finally walked past with a face that suggested cardiology had answered the phone and made him regret wanting that.

By three twenty, you were back at the station again, rewriting the discharge paper because the printer had cut off the final line a second time. Jack came up beside you with a chart in one hand and his good pen in the other. You looked at the pen. He looked at you.

"No," he said.

"I didn't ask."

"You looked."

"I admire quality stationery."

"You steal quality stationery."

"I prefer redistribute."

Jack handed you a different pen from the cup. You clicked it. It didn't work. You clicked it again. Nothing. You held it up. Jack looked at it, then sighed and gave you his.

You accepted it with great dignity. "That was very brave."

"It was a lapse in judgment."

"Still counts."

"Give it back."

"When I'm done."

"You've said that before."

"And yet here we are."

His shoulder brushed yours as he leaned closer to read the discharge paper. It was not necessary. The font was large enough. Neither of you moved away.

"You misspelled dizziness," he said.

You looked down. You had.

"You saw nothing."

"I saw malpractice."

"It's three in the morning."

"Dizziness still has two z's at three in the morning."

"Does it?"

"Usually."

You corrected it. Jack stayed there, close and quiet, his attention ostensibly on the paperwork. Your attention was on the warmth of him beside you. On the place where his hand had held your wrist. On how he had not said what he was thinking, and how somehow that made it worse. Then the ambulance radio crackled. The whole station shifted before the words even came through. Everyone heard the tone first. The clipped urgency. The incoming.

"Medic Seven to Mercy, inbound with trauma alert."

Jack straightened. You felt the change in him instantly. The warmth, the almost-smile, the quiet station version of him vanished behind something stiller. Sharper. The radio continued.

"Adult male, early twenties. Blast injury from unknown device. Penetrating abdominal trauma, burns to torso and upper extremities. Hypotensive en route. Altered mental status. ETA four minutes."

For a breath, nobody spoke. Blast injury. Unknown device. You looked at Jack. His face had closed. Not panic. Never panic. Something older than that. Something trained into the bones. You knew pieces of his army history the way most people knew pieces of Jack — incompletely, carefully, mostly through what he did not say. But you knew enough to recognize when certain words landed badly. This one landed. Then he moved.

"Trauma One," Jack called, voice cutting clean through the station. "Now."

The department snapped with him. Princess was already reaching for the blood cooler.

Perlah grabbed the phone. "Surgery and anesthesia?"

"Yes," Jack said. "Tell them penetrating abdominal blast injury, unstable, possible retained foreign body. Shen, airway side. Ellis, monitors and access."

Shen came out of the physician workroom, expression gone alert. "Unknown device?"

"Unknown," Jack said.

Just that. But it changed the air. You stripped off your old gloves and moved to the trauma sink. Jack turned toward you.

"Left side," he said.

Not a question. Not quite an order either. He trusted you there.

You nodded. "Already there."

His eyes held yours for half a second. Whatever had passed between you at the station was still there, pushed down beneath the incoming trauma, beneath protocol, beneath the part of both of you that knew how to work when the room got loud. Then Jack looked toward the ambulance doors. The sirens were close now. Growing louder. You pulled on fresh gloves, your wrist still warm where his hand had been. And waited for the doors to open. The ambulance doors opened hard enough to rattle the frame. Noise came with them.

Wheels over linoleum. Monitor alarms. A paramedic's voice cutting through the department. Rainwater hitting the floor from jackets and boots. The metallic smell that always seemed to arrive before the stretcher did. Blood. Smoke. Burned fabric. You had half a second to see Jack's face. Still. Not blank. Jack was never blank. There was always something moving under the surface with him, even when he didn't let it reach daylight. But this was different. The words from the radio had followed him into the trauma bay. Blast injury. Unknown device. For one breath, he looked like a man hearing something from a long way away.

Then the stretcher crossed the threshold, and Jack was back.

"Trauma One," he said. "Straight in."

The paramedics moved fast. The patient was young. Early twenties, maybe. Hard to tell beneath the soot and blood and the harsh white light of the bay. His clothes had already been cut open in places, most of his shirt peeled away, the edges of it blackened and wet. Burns marked his chest and shoulder in angry red patches. His left arm was wrapped above the elbow with a tourniquet, blood dark around the torn sleeve below it. But his abdomen was worse. No. Not abdomen. Side.

Left flank, low and ragged, half-covered by an EMS dressing that had already soaked through. Blood had spread beneath the padding and down onto the sheet in dark, fast streaks. You moved to the patient's left side without needing Jack to point. That was where he put you. That was where he trusted you. Shen took airway. Ellis moved to the monitor. Princess came in with the blood cooler and set it where you could reach. Perlah stood at the threshold with the phone pressed to one ear, already calling surgery. The lead paramedic started report before the stretcher stopped moving.

"Twenty-three-year-old male, Evan Mercer. Found in a garage after reported device failure. Fire was still securing the scene when we left. Burns to torso and upper extremities, penetrating injury to left flank and abdomen, altered en route. Pressure eighty over palp, pulse one-forty, respirations shallow. One eighteen in the right AC, fluids running. Tourniquet left upper arm placed at zero-two-fifty-eight."

Jack listened without interrupting, eyes moving over the patient, over the lines, over the tourniquet, over the soaked dressing at his side.

"What kind of device?" he asked.

The paramedic shook his head. "Unknown. Fire said homemade. We weren't given details."

"Any concern he brought anything active in with him?"

"Not that they told us. They cleared him for transport once they got him away from the workbench. They told us not to pull any debris, minimize movement, get him here."

"Did anything shift during transport?"

"Not that we saw. Dressing stayed in place. Bleeding got worse in the last three minutes."

That mattered. You saw Jack file it away. The patient moaned beneath the oxygen mask. His eyes opened and rolled toward the lights.

"Mr. Mercer," Shen said, leaning in. "You're at Mercy. Stay with us."

The patient jerked weakly against the straps.

Jack stepped closer. "Mr. Mercer, I'm Dr. Abbott. You're in the emergency department. We're going to take care of you."

The patient's mouth moved beneath the mask. Nothing came out.

"On my count," Jack said. "Ready? One, two, three."

Everyone moved. The transfer was brutal and clean. The patient slid from stretcher to trauma bed in one coordinated pull. The monitor shrieked as leads were switched over. Ellis called out numbers while Princess snapped open blood tubing.

"Pressure seventy-eight systolic," Ellis said. "Pulse one-forty-six. Sat eighty-nine on non-rebreather."

"Shen?" Jack asked.

"Airway's not great," Shen said. "He's tiring. Burns near the neck, no obvious soot in the mouth. Voice weak."

Jack said, "Prepare for intubation. I want anesthesia in here."

Perlah called from the door, "Anesthesia's coming. Surgery too."

"Good. Two large-bore IVs if we can get them. Blood now. TXA. Burn dressings after hemorrhage control."

You cut away enough of the remaining fabric to expose the dressing EMS had placed. The gauze was soaked through. Not just stained. Saturated. Blood welled at the edges with each shallow, frantic breath the patient took.

"Dressing's saturated," you said.

Jack was there immediately. "Active bleed?"

"Looks like it."

"Hold pressure. Don't pull anything. Don't remove anything embedded."

That was standard. Normal. Trauma nursing, not surgery. Control the bleeding. Maintain pressure. Don't go hunting. Don't extract anything. Keep the patient alive long enough for the people with scalpels and better lighting. You placed both gloved hands over the dressing and leaned in with firm, even pressure. The gauze gave beneath your palms. Warmth pushed up between your fingers. Mr. Mercer bucked against the bed.

Shen caught his shoulder. "Easy. Easy."

Mr. Mercer's eyes went wide. He tried to speak around the mask.

"No—"

Jack looked at him. "Mr. Mercer, stay still."

"No," he gasped. "Don't— don't touch—"

"You're bleeding," Jack said. "She's holding pressure."

Mr. Mercer shook his head weakly, panic cutting through shock. "Don't move it."

Your hands stayed where they were. Pressure over dressing. Nothing more. But the blood kept coming. Too much. It slid hot under your palms, slicking the gauze until the pressure dressing no longer felt like pressure at all. It shifted beneath you, unstable and soaked, and the patient's pressure dropped on the monitor with a sharper alarm.

"Sixty-eight systolic," Ellis said.

Garcia entered then, gown half tied, hair pulled back, already gloving as she crossed the room. "What do we have?"

"Blast injury," Jack said. "Unstable. Penetrating left flank and abdomen. Active hemorrhage. Possible retained foreign body. Dressing's saturated."

Garcia stepped to the opposite side of the bed and looked down. Her face sharpened.

"That dressing isn't doing anything," she said. "We need direct pressure at the source."

Jack looked at the wound. Then at you. A single beat. A decision neither of you had time to make gently.

"Can you maintain pressure if we open the dressing?" he asked.

"Yes," you said.

Your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

Garcia's eyes flicked to Jack. "We don't pull anything."

"We don't pull anything," Jack said. "We expose only what we need to control hemorrhage."

Anesthesia came in behind Garcia, mask hanging around his neck, respiratory at his shoulder.

"I hear airway and hypotension," anesthesia said.

"You heard correctly," Shen said. "He's tiring."

Jack didn't look away from the wound. "Prepare for intubation. Hold until I say."

Anesthesia's hand paused, but he nodded. "Understood."

Jack looked at you. "Ready?"

You nodded.

"Slow," he said. "Only the dressing. Hands steady."

Garcia cut the outer wrap. You kept pressure until the last second. Then the dressing opened beneath your hands. Blood surged. Dark. Fast. Immediate.

"Pressure," Jack said.

You moved before the word finished. Not exploring. Not searching. Just following the bleed. Your right hand pressed deep into the torn opening at his side, fingers sinking past slick tissue and ruined fabric, down to the place where the bleeding seemed to pulse hardest. Your left hand braced over your own wrist to hold the pressure steady. The heat of it swallowed your glove. Mr. Mercer screamed.

Shen leaned close. "Mr. Mercer, stay with me."

"Pressure?" Jack asked.

You swallowed hard.

"Better," you said. "Not controlled."

Garcia leaned just close enough to see without touching. "You're tamponading something."

"I can feel resistance," you said.

"Debris?"

"I don't know."

You did not move your hand. You did not lift. You did not go deeper. You just held. That was the job. Hold pressure. Keep him alive. Let surgery get there. Mr. Mercer's hand jerked toward his side.

Ellis caught it gently but firmly. "No, Mr. Mercer. Don't grab."

His eyes fixed on you. On your arm. On where your hand disappeared into the wound in his side.

"No," he gasped.

Jack leaned over him. "Mr. Mercer."

"No. No, no, no."

"Listen to me," Jack said. "You're bleeding. She's stopping the bleed."

Mr. Mercer shook his head. Tears mixed with soot at the corners of his eyes.

"Don't move it."

The room tightened. You felt your own breathing change. Jack saw.

"What?" he asked.

You kept your eyes on him because looking at your hand suddenly felt impossible.

"There's something against my palm."

Garcia went still.

Jack's voice stayed controlled. "Describe it."

Your mouth had gone dry.

"Hard," you said. "Smooth edge. Not loose."

Anesthesia's hand stopped above the medication tray. Shen looked from the patient to Jack. The monitors kept beeping. Nobody else moved. Jack's face did not change. That scared you more than if it had.

"Mr. Mercer," Jack said, voice low and controlled, "the foreign body in your flank — what is it?"

Mr. Mercer stared at him. His breathing hitched hard.

"I don't know."

"Mr. Mercer."

"My brother said not to pull it."

The words dropped into the trauma bay one at a time. You felt each one. Jack's eyes moved back to yours. Still calm. Too calm.

"What exactly did your brother say?" he asked.

Mr. Mercer's eyes filled.

"He said if part of it got stuck, don't pull. Don't let it shift."

Garcia's face changed. Anesthesia looked at Jack. Shen did not move. Princess stood by the blood cooler, suddenly pale above her mask. Mr. Mercer sobbed once, weak and terrified.

"He said it could still go."

The room lost all its air. Could still go. Your hand stayed inside his side. Pressed against blood and torn tissue and the hard, wrong shape beneath your palm. For one strange, awful second, your mind did not give you fear. It gave you details. The heat of the wound. The pressure of your left hand bracing your right. The ache already starting in your shoulders. The slick pull of blood around your wrist. The blood warmer humming. Jack's face. God, Jack's face. He looked down at where your arm disappeared into Mr. Mercer's side. Then at the wound. Then back at you. The old stillness was there again. Not panic. Training. Memory. Calculation.

Something awful and familiar moving behind his eyes.

Garcia spoke first, very quietly. "Jack."

"I know," he said.

Anesthesia's voice was low and tight. "Is he saying there's an active explosive component inside the wound?"

"No one says that yet," Jack replied.

His voice was calm. Too calm. He lifted one hand slightly, palm down. A signal to the room. Hold. Stay. Do not react. Then he looked at you. Only you.

"Do not move your hand," Jack said.

Your throat locked. Your whole body wanted to nod. His voice sharpened immediately, not loud, but absolute.

"Don't nod. Don't shift. Don't do anything with your body except breathe."

You froze. Everything in you went still. Your hand stayed inside Mr. Mercer's side. Exactly where it was. Jack's eyes stayed on yours.

"Just keep looking at me."

So you did. The rest of the room blurred around the edges. Your right hand was buried in the wound. Your left hand braced over your own wrist. Your palms were warm with blood. Something beneath your hand might have been a piece of metal. Might have been nothing. Might have been everything. But Jack was in front of you, eyes steady, voice low and certain.

"Good," he said. "Exactly like that."

Your breath came too fast. You tried to slow it. Failed. Jack saw that too.

"Breathe with me," he said.

You didn't want to. Not because you didn't trust him. Because breathing felt like movement. Because your ribs moving felt dangerous. Because every tiny part of your body suddenly seemed capable of betrayal. Jack understood before you said it.

"You can breathe," he said. "Slow. Small. Nothing else moves."

You followed him. In. Out. Small. Careful. Your eyes stayed on his. Behind him, the room remained frozen in pieces. Garcia's hands were lifted away from the field. Anesthesia stood still near the airway cart. Shen held his position at the patient's head. Ellis had one hand hovering above the monitor controls but did not touch them. Princess stood near the blood cooler, face pale above her mask. Perlah was at the threshold with the phone still in her hand, eyes wide and fixed on you. Jack did not look away from you.

"Perlah," he said, voice still quiet.

Perlah startled, then caught herself. "Yeah."

"Call security. Quietly. Possible explosive hazard in Trauma One. No overhead page yet. Then get hospital command. Tell them we need police bomb squad."

Perlah swallowed. "Okay."

"Slowly," Jack said.

She moved. One step back. Then another. The room watched her leave like even the air had become tripwire.

Garcia's eyes stayed on your arm. "If she's tamponading the bleed and stabilizing the object, we cannot move her hand."

"She's not moving," Jack said.

"I know."

"She's not moving," Jack repeated.

The words landed harder the second time. Not harsh. Final. You were grateful for it. Terrified by it too. Because he was right. You could not move. Not your hand. Not your wrist. Not the fingers pressed against the hard edge inside Mr. Mercer's side. Not the wrist Jack had touched ten minutes ago when the world had been annoying and alive and ordinary.

Anesthesia spoke carefully. "Airway is still a problem."

Jack's jaw flexed once. You saw the calculation move across his face. The patient. The airway. The bleed. The possible device. You. The people in the bay. The rest of the department outside the doors. All of it. All at once.

"What can you do without shifting him?" Jack asked.

Anesthesia answered just as carefully. "Support ventilation. Prepare meds. But intubation means movement. Even minimal movement."

"Then prepare. Don't proceed until security and command are in the loop."

Anesthesia nodded. "Understood."

Mr. Mercer was crying now, silent tears cutting through soot on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. We didn't think it would—"

"Mr. Mercer," Jack said, still watching you. "You're going to stay very still. You're going to let Dr. Shen help you breathe. You're not going to reach for the wound. Do you understand?"

The patient gave the smallest nod.

Jack's eyes flicked to him. "No nodding. Say yes."

"Yes," Mr. Mercer whispered.

"Good."

A sound left you before you could swallow it. Barely a sound. Almost nothing. Jack's attention snapped back.

"You're okay," he said.

You couldn't answer. He corrected immediately.

"You are doing okay," he said. "That's different."

That nearly broke you. Because it was different. Because you were not okay. But you were doing it. You were standing there with your hand inside a patient's side, not moving because Jack told you not to move, because a terrified patient said the thing beneath your palm might still go off, because the ED had suddenly become the centre of a blast radius and you were holding the middle of it against a stranger's body. You kept looking at Jack. He kept looking back. Security arrived at the trauma bay doors. Two officers. Both trying to look calmer than they felt.

Perlah stood behind them, phone still pressed to her ear. Jack did not turn fully away from you.

"Possible explosive hazard in patient wound," he said. "Restrict access to Trauma One. Quietly clear adjacent bays and the immediate hallway. Get hospital command here now. We need police bomb squad. No overhead announcement until command decides. Nobody runs."

One guard swallowed. "You want the ED evacuated?"

"Not yet," Jack said. "We don't know enough, and moving everyone at once creates more risk. Immediate area first. Then command makes the call."

The guard nodded and moved. The second stayed at the door.

"No one enters without my permission unless they are security, hospital command, or bomb squad," Jack said.

"Understood."

The door area cleared. The room felt smaller. Your hand did not move. Your arm was already beginning to burn. Not badly. Not yet. But enough to remind you that muscles were stupid, disloyal things. Jack saw your eyes flicker.

"Stay with me," he said.

"I'm here," you managed.

"I know."

His voice softened by half a degree. Not enough for anyone else. Enough for you.

"Keep looking at me."

So you did. The monitor alarmed louder.

Ellis read the number, voice strained but steady. "Pressure sixty-eight systolic."

Garcia cursed under her breath.

Anesthesia said, "Jack, we're running out of airway."

Jack's eyes stayed on you for one heartbeat longer. Then he looked at the room.

"Okay," he said, voice low and absolute. "Nobody moves unless I tell you."

He looked back at your arm. At the wound. At the thing beneath your hand. Then at you.

"Nobody moves."

Nobody moved. For three seconds, maybe four, the trauma bay held itself in an impossible stillness. The monitors did not care. They kept screaming. Mr. Mercer's pulse raced across the screen in sharp green spikes. His oxygen saturation hovered too low. His pressure sat in the kind of range that made everyone in the room want to do something with their hands. But nobody did. Not without Jack. Not with your hand inside Mr. Mercer's flank, braced against a foreign body that might be harmless debris, might be unstable metal, might be the thing everyone in the room was suddenly trying very hard not to imagine.

You kept your eyes on Jack. That was the only instruction you could follow without thinking. Just keep looking at me. So you did. His face was steady. Pale under the trauma lights, yes. Sharper than before, yes. But steady. You hated him a little for that. You needed him for it more.

"Okay," Jack said, voice low. "We're going to slow this down."

Garcia's eyes flicked to the monitor. "He doesn't have much slow left."

"I know."

"Pressure's still dropping," Ellis said from the monitor. Her voice was tight, but controlled. "Sixty-four systolic."

Jack nodded once, like he had already built that number into the room.

"Blood keeps running," he said. "No one crosses her side of the bed."

Princess stood near the blood cooler, frozen with one hand hovering uselessly in the air.

Jack looked at her. "Princess."

She blinked. "Yeah."

"Blood tubing. Can you reach the pump without crossing behind her?"

Princess looked. Calculated.

Nodded once. "Yes."

"Slowly."

Princess moved like the floor might object. One step. Pause. Another. She reached the pump, adjusted what she needed, and backed away with the kind of care usually reserved for live wires and sleeping infants.

"Blood's running," she said.

"Good."

The word had weight in Jack's mouth. Not praise exactly. More like a rope thrown across the room. Everyone took it.

Shen stayed at the head of the bed, jaw tight, one hand supporting the oxygen mask. "He's tiring."

Mr. Mercer's breaths had turned shallow. Fast. Wet at the edges. Anesthesia stood beside Shen, meds ready but untouched, body held in the miserable restraint of someone trained to act and forced to wait.

"Jack," anesthesia said, "if he arrests, we lose every option."

"If you intubate and he bucks or we shift his torso, we may lose the room."

The words were quiet. No drama. That made them worse. Your fingers wanted to tighten. You did not let them. Jack's eyes moved back to yours instantly.

"Don't change pressure," he said.

"I'm not."

Your voice sounded thin.

His softened by a fraction. "Good."

Garcia watched your arm disappear into the wound. "How's your hold?"

You took a careful breath. Small. Jack's eyes stayed on you.

"Stable," you said. "I think."

"Bleeding?"

You did not look down. You couldn't. Jack looked for you.

"No major change," he said. "She's tamponading enough to buy us time."

"Not much," Garcia said.

"No," Jack said. "Not much."

That was the thing about him. He did not dress bad news up. He did not hand you false comfort and ask you to swallow it because it was easier for him. If Jack said something, he meant it. If he didn't know, he didn't pretend. Right now, that should have scared you. Instead, it made the floor feel a little more solid. You kept your hand still. Kept your palm exactly where it was. The foreign body stayed pressed against the heel of your hand, hard and wrong beneath slick heat and torn tissue. Security had begun moving outside the bay.

You could hear it in fragments through the glass and open doorway. Low voices. Footsteps. A stretcher wheel squeaking away from the adjacent trauma room.

Someone asking, "Why are we moving him?"

A security officer answering too calmly, "Maintenance issue in the trauma corridor. We're moving you somewhere quieter."

Maintenance issue. You almost laughed. The sound got nowhere near your mouth.

Perlah appeared at the threshold, phone still in hand, face pale above her mask. "Security is clearing the immediate hall. Hospital command's been notified."

"How long for police?" Jack asked.

"Dispatch says units are close. Bomb squad is being requested through city."

"Estimate?"

"Not yet."

"Get one."

Perlah nodded and stepped back carefully, like even the doorway had become dangerous. A minute later, Lena Handzo appeared behind security. Night-shift charge. She did not enter the room. She stopped exactly where the security officer told her to stop, one hand braced on the doorframe, eyes taking in everything with brutal, efficient speed. The patient. Garcia. Anesthesia. Shen. Jack. Your arm. Her face did not change. That was how you knew she understood.

"Abbott," Lena said.

"Lena."

"Perlah says possible explosive hazard."

"Possible," Jack said. "Foreign body in the left flank. Patient reports it may be part of the device. Her hand is controlling hemorrhage and stabilizing it. She cannot move."

Lena's eyes came to yours. No panic. No pity. Only command. Only: I see you. Stay steady.

Then she looked back at Jack. "Adjacent bays are clearing. Security has both ends of the corridor. I'm moving ambulatory patients first, quiet and slow."

"Good."

"Waiting room?"

"Not yet," Jack said. "If the waiting room hears bomb, we get stampede risk."

"Agreed."

The administrator beside her — hospital command, suit jacket over a dress shirt, hair mussed like he'd been dragged from a sleep room or office couch — looked like he wanted to say something. Lena beat him to it.

"We stage evacuation," she said. "Immediate corridor first. Then the department in zones once police gives us routes. Nobody runs. Nobody says explosive in front of patients."

The administrator swallowed. "Hospital policy requires—"

"Hospital policy doesn't move sixty patients safely in thirty seconds," Lena said, not looking at him. "Give us three minutes and a plan."

Jack gave the smallest nod. You saw it. So did Lena. For a second, the two of them spoke the language of people who kept departments alive when the building tried to eat itself. Then Jack looked back at you.

"Stay in this room," he said.

You blinked once. Not too hard.

"What?"

"Not the hallway. Not the department. This room."

You realized your thoughts had started to follow the noise outside. The stretchers. The patients. The people being moved because of what was under your hand. You brought your focus back to him.

"Okay."

His gaze held yours. "Better."

The room narrowed again. Jack's face. Jack's voice. Your hand. The foreign body beneath your palm. Mr. Mercer made a small, broken sound beneath the oxygen mask.

"Am I going to die?"

The question hit the room differently than the alarms. You felt it under your hand. Not movement. Not pressure. Just the human awfulness of him being awake enough to ask. Jack's face changed as he looked down at the patient. Focused differently.

"Mr. Mercer," he said, "right now you are alive. We are going to keep working from there."

Mr. Mercer's eyes rolled toward him. "I'm sorry."

"Save your energy."

"I didn't—" His breath hitched. "We didn't mean—"

"Mr. Mercer."

Jack's voice cut cleanly through the panic. The patient went quiet.

"You are going to breathe slowly," Jack said. "You are going to listen to Shen. You are not going to reach for your flank. You are not going to help. You are not going to apologize. Do you understand?"

Tears tracked through the soot on Mr. Mercer's face.

"Yes."

"Good."

Jack looked at Shen.

Shen nodded once and leaned closer to the patient. "Follow me. Small breaths. In. Out. That's it."

Your own breath tried to follow. Jack caught it. Of course he did.

"One breath at a time," he said to you.

You gave the smallest nod before you remembered. Your stomach dropped. Jack's eyes sharpened. Nothing happened. Your hand had not moved.

His voice stayed level. "You caught it."

Your mouth trembled once. You locked it down. Outside the bay, Lena had already started moving the department around you. You could hear her in pieces.

"Not that way. Use the east hall."

"Tell transport I need two more stretchers."

"No, do not say Code Black in front of the waiting room."

"Perlah, you're with security. Princess stays until Abbott releases her."

"Clear Trauma Two first. Then Curtain One through Four. Quiet."

Her voice stayed low. Firm. Unhurried. Exactly what the hallway needed. Exactly what you needed not to hear too much of. Because if you thought about the whole department, you would come apart. Jack seemed to know that before you did.

"Small room," he said.

You stared at him.

"What?"

He kept his voice quiet, pitched for you and no one else. "Make it small."

You swallowed. "The room?"

"Smaller."

Your fingers stayed locked in place. "How?"

"My face. Your hand. Mr. Mercer breathing. That's all."

That was almost funny. Almost.

"You make crisis sound like a mindfulness exercise," you whispered.

"I make crisis sound survivable."

You breathed once. Careful. Small.

"Okay," you said.

Jack nodded. "Good."

The administrator's voice carried from the doorway, lower now but still strained. "Do we need to evacuate the entire ED?"

Jack did not turn fully away from you. "Prepare for it. Don't initiate full movement until police arrive unless threat changes. Immediate zone first. Critical patients only if they can be moved safely. Everyone else stays calm."

"Can the patient be moved?" the administrator asked.

Garcia answered before Jack could.

"No."

No hesitation.

The administrator blinked. "No?"

Garcia's eyes were cold. "He's hypotensive, bleeding, airway unstable, and there is a possible explosive foreign body in his flank being manually stabilized by a nurse who cannot move. So no."

The administrator went quiet. Good.

Anesthesia spoke carefully. "Airway is still a problem."

Jack's jaw flexed once. You saw the calculation move across his face. The patient. The airway. The bleed. The possible device. You. The people in the bay. The rest of the department outside the doors. All of it. All at once.

"What can you do without shifting him?" Jack asked.

Anesthesia answered just as carefully. "Support ventilation. Prepare meds. But intubation means movement. Even minimal movement."

"Then support ventilation. Prepare for intubation. Do not proceed until police and bomb squad are in the loop unless he crashes."

Anesthesia nodded. "Understood."

The room moved in millimetres. Not inches. Millimetres. Shen shifted the seal on the mask with exquisite care. Respiratory adjusted tubing. Anesthesia watched Mr. Mercer's chest rise just enough. You did not look away from Jack. You could hear everything. You could feel too much. The patient's blood warm around your glove. The pressure of the foreign body beneath your palm. The careful brace of your other hand around your own wrist. Your arm had begun to notice the position. Not pain yet. Not really.

Just a growing awareness in your shoulder, a low pull through muscle and tendon that said this was not something a body was meant to hold forever. Not forever, you told yourself. Eight minutes. Or twelve. Or however long it took for someone who knew what they were doing to walk through the doors and tell you how to survive this. Jack's eyes flicked once to your shoulder. Then back to your face. He didn't ask if you were fine. Maybe he had learned. Maybe he knew better than to give you the opportunity to lie.

"Still with me?" he asked.

You breathed in carefully.

"Yeah."

"Good."

That was all. No speech. No softening that would make the room look too closely at either of you. Just the word. Good. You held onto it.

Lena reappeared at the doorway. "Police are coming through the ambulance bay. Bomb squad is being routed now."

"How long?" Jack asked.

"Dispatch says at least twelve minutes."

Twelve. You tried not to count it. Twelve minutes sounded short until you were not allowed to move.

Garcia glanced at your arm. "How long has she been holding that position?"

Ellis looked at the clock. "Since zero-three twenty-three."

Only minutes. It felt longer.

Garcia's face tightened. "We need a plan before fatigue becomes part of the problem."

"It's already part of the problem," anesthesia said.

"Not yet," Jack said.

He looked at you when he said it. Not pretending. Not comforting. Assessing. You understood the difference. He wasn't telling them you could do this forever. He was telling them you were steady now. For some reason, that helped more than if he had told them you were okay.

Lena's gaze moved from Jack to you, then back again. "I'm opening the evacuation plan for the full ED. Quietly. We'll move by zones if police confirms route."

"Do it," Jack said.

"And Abbott?"

He looked at her.

"When the bomb squad gets here, this becomes their scene."

Jack's face did not change.

"I know."

Lena studied him for one second. Maybe two. Like she heard what he did not say. Then she nodded once and disappeared from the doorway. Mr. Mercer's eyes fluttered again.

Shen's voice stayed calm near his ear. "Stay awake if you can, Mr. Mercer."

"I'm tired," the patient whispered.

"I know."

"I'm cold."

Princess looked at Jack. Jack nodded once.

"Blanket from the warmer," he said. "No crossing her side. No touching the wound. Lay it from the legs up."

Princess moved with awful care. A warm blanket unfolded over Mr. Mercer's lower legs, then his hips, stopping well away from your arm and the injury. Normal nursing care in the least normal room in the world. Mr. Mercer cried harder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

You wanted to tell him to stop apologizing. You couldn't trust your voice. Jack did it for you.

"Mr. Mercer," he said, "save your strength."

"Tell my mom—"

"No," Jack said.

The word was sharp enough that the room looked at him. Even you. Jack's eyes stayed on Mr. Mercer now.

"You are not giving messages right now," he said. "You are breathing. That is your job."

Mr. Mercer's mouth trembled.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Keep doing your job."

Then Jack looked back at you. Like there had not been a knife hidden in that sentence. Like he had not just stopped a dying man from doing the exact thing you would later need to do. Your throat tightened again. You did not know why that hurt. Only that it did.

Lena's voice came from the door. "Bomb squad ETA eight minutes."

Eight. Jack's gaze stayed on yours.

"Don't count backwards," he said.

You gave the smallest breath of a laugh, barely enough to move air.

"Bossy."

"Efficient."

Then he looked back to the room. "We use the time. We do not stare at the clock."

Garcia watched the bleeding. Shen watched the airway. Lena moved the hospital around the blast radius. Jack stayed in front of you. You watched him. And under your palm, the foreign body stayed exactly where it was. Eight minutes did not pass cleanly. Time in the trauma bay stopped behaving like time. It became numbers instead. Pulse one-fifty-two. Pressure sixty-two. Sat eighty-eight with assisted breaths. Blood running. Second unit ready. Police on site. Bomb squad inbound. Your hand inside Mr. Mercer's flank. The foreign body under your palm. Jack in front of you. That was the shape of the room. Everything else moved around it.

Outside the trauma bay, The Pitt was being quietly dismantled piece by piece. Not evacuated all at once. Not at first. That would have been chaos. A stampede in a department full of chest pain, intoxication, fever, fractures, elderly patients with walkers, children with frightened parents, nurses pushing stretchers, doctors trying to decide who could move and who absolutely could not. So Lena moved it like she moved everything else. In zones. With a low voice and no patience for panic. You could hear her beyond the glass, firm and clipped and too calm.

"Curtain One through Four, east corridor."

"No, not that way. East corridor."

"Tell transport I need two more stretchers."

"Do not say bomb in front of patients."

"Safety relocation. That's the phrase."

"Who is with Bay Six?"

"Then find out."

Security stood at both ends of the trauma corridor. Police had come in through the ambulance bay and were keeping everyone back. Hospital command hovered near the doors with the anxious uselessness of someone discovering that a laminated emergency policy was not the same thing as an emergency. Inside Trauma One, no one wasted motion.

Princess had backed away from the blood cooler after setting up the second unit. Ellis stayed at the monitor, face pale, voice steady. Shen held airway support with the tight focus of a man trying to keep a dying patient alive without letting the patient move. Anesthesia stood beside him, ready for the moment the risk of not intubating outweighed the risk of movement. Garcia watched the wound. Jack watched everything. Not just you. That would have been easier and worse.

He watched the patient's pressure. The blood pump. Shen's hands. Anesthesia's medications. Garcia's body language. The doorway. The hall. Lena. Security. The place where your arm disappeared into Mr. Mercer's side. And you. Always back to you. A check. A question. A promise he had no right to make. You had stopped trying to name what sat between you. There was no room for it now. No room for the memory of his thumb under your bruised wrist. No room for the almosts and maybes and silences that had been building for weeks. Except, somehow, that was all there was room for.

"Sat's holding at eighty-eight," Ellis said.

"Holding is generous," anesthesia muttered.

"It's the word I have," Ellis said.

Jack did not look away from the monitor. "Keep assisting. No intubation unless he loses respiratory drive completely."

Anesthesia's mouth tightened. "Understood."

Mr. Mercer made a thin sound beneath the mask.

Shen leaned closer. "Stay with me, Mr. Mercer. Small breaths."

The patient's eyes fluttered. "My brother?"

Jack's face changed by less than a breath.

"Police are speaking with him," he said.

That was new. Your eyes moved to Jack before you could stop them. His gaze caught yours. Yes, his face said. They had found the brother. They knew more than they were saying. A cold line opened down your back. Before you could ask, Lena appeared at the threshold again, one hand over the phone tucked against her ear.

"Police have the brother," she said. "Bomb squad is two minutes out. They're getting information from him now."

Jack's jaw flexed.

"Is he stable enough to talk?"

"Panicked, but talking," Lena said.

Garcia's eyes stayed on the wound. "If there's information we can use, we need it."

Lena nodded once. "They're relaying to bomb squad, not us."

Anesthesia looked up. "Why not us?"

"Because if it's what we think it is," Jack said, voice low, "they'll want the room cleared before they say it out loud."

The silence after that was worse than the alarms. You stared at him. He did not look away. The hallway behind Lena had changed again. There were fewer voices now, but more movement farther away. Bigger movement. Stretchers. Wheelchairs. Orders passed between staff. The wide machinery of a hospital trying to shift its own weight without collapsing. A security officer approached Lena from the side.

"Immediate trauma corridor is clear," he said. "Police are expanding perimeter. They want the whole ED evacuated."

Lena's face did not change. But the air did. The whole ED. Not adjacent rooms. Not the trauma corridor. Everything.

Waiting room. Curtains. Bays. Hall beds. Psych holds. Boarders who had been waiting upstairs for beds that did not exist. The old woman in Curtain Two who needed oxygen. The kid with the broken wrist. The man in Bay Five who thought oxygen worked if it was "nearby." The septic patient in Twelve. People who had come to The Pitt because something was wrong and now had to be moved because something worse had followed someone else inside.

Your stomach turned. Your hand did not move. Jack saw the change in your face.

"Don't take it," he said.

You could barely hear yourself. "They're evacuating the whole ED."

"Yes."

"Because of—"

"No," he said.

The word cut through the thought before it could finish forming. Your eyes burned.

"Jack—"

"No. Because of the device. Because of the risk. Because that's protocol. Not because of you."

Your throat worked. You wanted to believe him. You mostly did. It didn't help as much as you needed it to.

Lena looked toward hospital command. "We evacuate by acuity and mobility. Ambulatory to the east hall and outpatient corridor. Stretcher patients to radiology holding if police clears it. Criticals go to pre-op and PACU overflow. Psych stays with security escort. Anyone on oxygen gets portable tanks before movement."

The administrator blinked. "Can we move patients into PACU without—"

"Yes," Lena said.

He opened his mouth. She looked at him. He closed it. Good man.

"Call upstairs," Lena continued. "Tell them ED is unloading into every available monitored space. I do not care whose census sheet gets ugly."

Security spoke into his radio, then nodded. "Police cleared east hall and outpatient corridor. Ambulance bay is locked down. Incoming ambulances diverted."

"Not critical trauma," Jack said, still watching the monitor.

Lena's eyes flicked to him.

"If a critical trauma is ten minutes out, they can't circle the city," Jack said. "Robby or McKay can make that call outside. But no one comes through this corridor."

Lena nodded. "I'll route command through Robby."

"Robby's here?"

"Just arrived."

Something moved across Jack's face. Not relief. Not exactly. Robby meant backup. Robby also meant someone who could look Jack in the eye and say no. You saw Jack understand both things. He said nothing. The ambulance bay doors beyond the hall opened again, and a new kind of quiet entered with the people who came through. Bomb squad. You knew it before anyone said it.

Maybe it was the way the police officer near the door straightened. Maybe it was the way Lena shifted aside without being told. Maybe it was the shape of the two responders who stopped behind the marked line, one with a hard case, the other speaking low into a radio. The lead tech was a man in dark gear, hair cropped close, face composed in a way that did not belong to hospitals. Calm like roads blocked at midnight. Calm like wires and blast radius and choices made very slowly.

"I'm Sergeant Vale," he said. "Bomb squad. Nobody changes position."

Jack answered immediately. "No one has."

Vale's eyes moved across the trauma bay. Patient. Wound. Your arm. Garcia. Shen. Anesthesia. Ellis. Princess. Jack. Then back to you. He did not ask if you were okay. You were grateful.

"We spoke to the brother on the way in," Vale said.

The words changed the room again.

Jack's voice stayed level. "What did he say?"

Vale did not answer. Not yet. His eyes moved to the number of people in the bay.

"I'll brief essential personnel only."

Jack's expression hardened. "My trauma team is essential."

"Not all of them," Vale said.

Garcia stepped forward half an inch, then stopped herself. "This patient is unstable."

"I understand."

"With respect, Sergeant, if he bleeds out or loses his airway while you're clearing the room, the device won't matter."

Vale's gaze stayed level. "With respect, if that device functions the way the brother described, nobody in this room gets to use the airway."

Silence. No one breathed right for a second. Your hand stayed inside Mr. Mercer's flank. You felt heat. Blood. The hard, smooth edge pressed beneath your palm. For the first time since this began, the foreign body stopped being unknown. Not to them. Not to the bomb squad. They knew. And they were not saying it in front of everyone. That scared you more than the guessing had.

Jack looked at Vale. "Who stays?"

Vale answered without hesitation. "The nurse with her hand in the wound. Me. One medical lead outside the immediate radius to advise. Everyone else leaves until assessment is complete."

"No," Jack said.

Flat. Instant. Lena closed her eyes for half a second in the doorway. Like she had been waiting for that and hated being right.

Vale looked at Jack. "This is not negotiable."

"I'm the attending."

"You can advise from outside."

"The patient is unstable."

"And the device is unstable."

"You don't know that until you assess it."

"We know enough," Vale said. "That is why I'm clearing the room before I give details."

Garcia's mouth tightened. "I need to be able to control hemorrhage."

"You cannot operate around a live device."

"I'm aware."

"Then you are outside until I tell you otherwise."

Garcia looked furious. She also looked like she knew Vale was right.

Anesthesia spoke next, low and tense. "If he crashes while we're outside—"

"I'll call you back if I need you," Vale said.

"If you need us, it may be too late."

Vale's eyes flicked briefly to Mr. Mercer. "I know."

That was the first human thing in his voice. Not softness. Not comfort. Just the truth. Jack did not move. His shoulders had gone still in a way that made your stomach tighten. You had seen him calm all night. You had seen him controlled. This was different. This was refusal settling into his bones.

"I was in the army for years," Jack said, voice low. "I've seen devices in bodies. I've seen what happens when people move wrong."

The room seemed to hear everything under that. Blast trauma. Blood in places blood should not be. Rooms that did not stay rooms. Vale's expression changed by the smallest degree. Not softened. Understood, maybe.

"Then you know why you can't stay," Vale said.

Jack's eyes stayed on him. "Then you know why I won't leave."

Not her. He did not say that. He did not need to. Everyone heard it anyway. Then Mr. Mercer's monitor alarmed again, high and shrill. Ellis flinched but did not touch anything.

"Pressure fifty-eight," she said.

Garcia looked at Jack. "He needs more blood."

Princess shifted automatically toward the cooler.

Vale's voice snapped across the room. "Stop."

Princess froze. The blood pump clicked steadily.

Jack's eyes cut to Vale. "You cannot freeze all care."

"I can freeze movement until I know what's safe."

"He dies if we do nothing."

"He may detonate if you do anything."

The sentence landed like a physical thing. You heard someone inhale. Maybe you. Jack's face turned hard enough to frighten you.

"Then tell me what it is."

Vale looked at the room again. At all the people. Too many.

"No."

Jack took one step toward him. Small. Controlled. A movement with no wasted motion. Vale did not flinch. Lena stepped into the doorway. Not into the room. Just enough.

"Jack."

He did not look at her.

"Not now," he said.

"Yes," Lena said. "Now."

His jaw tightened.

"Abbott," Vale said, "you have ten seconds to step out before I have security remove you."

Jack almost laughed. There was no humour in it.

"Good luck."

Lena moved then. She crossed the threshold carefully, hands visible, her eyes locked on Jack rather than the bed. She did not come near you. Did not come near Mr. Mercer. She stayed on Jack's side of the room, outside the path Vale had claimed.

"Lena," Jack warned.

"No," she said.

One word. Charge nurse voice. Not loud. Immovable. Jack finally looked at her.

"You need to leave," Lena said.

"I'm not leaving."

"You are."

"I am the attending physician responsible for that patient."

"You are a body in a blast radius."

His eyes flashed. "Don't."

"I will not let you dress this up as medical necessity if it isn't."

The room went still around that. You felt the words hit him. Because they were true. Because everyone knew they were true. Because you knew they were true too. Jack looked at you then. For one breath, everything else dropped away. Not the patient. Not the bomb. Not the blood. Just the noise around it. Jack looked at you like if he held you there with his eyes hard enough, he could make the next five minutes survivable. You wanted to let him. You wanted to be selfish. You wanted to say, Stay.

Instead, you heard yourself say, "Jack."

His face changed. That soft version of your voice had always done something to him. You had seen it before in smaller rooms, over smaller wounds. Not like this. Never like this.

"Don't," he said.

You swallowed. Your hand did not move.

"I need you to go."

His eyes sharpened with something almost like betrayal.

"No."

"Yes."

"You don't get to ask me that."

"I'm not asking."

Lena went very still. Jack stared at you. You forced yourself to keep looking at him because if you looked anywhere else, you would break apart. Your voice shook once and then steadied.

"You told me to keep the room small."

His throat moved. You kept going.

"I can't do that if you're arguing with the bomb squad."

His mouth pressed into a hard line.

"That's unfair," he said quietly.

"I know."

"You're using my own instructions against me."

"Yes."

A tear slipped down your cheek. Still, your hand did not move.

"I need you outside," you said. "Where I know you're not standing next to me if this goes wrong."

Jack's eyes flashed. "Do not say that."

"Jack."

"No."

"If you stay, I'll be thinking about you."

The words came out before you could stop them. Too honest. Too late to take back. His face went still. You breathed in carefully. Small. Shallow.

"I can't think about you," you said. "I have to think about my hand."

For a second, no one moved. Then Jack closed his eyes. Just once. A blink too long. When he opened them, something had changed. Not acceptance. Never that. Understanding. The terrible kind. Outside the room, the ED evacuation widened again. You heard Lena's radio crackle from her shoulder.

"All units, full ED evacuation is active. Repeat, full ED evacuation active. Move by zone. Maintain east corridor. No patient traffic through trauma."

Full ED evacuation active. The words made your stomach turn cold. Jack heard them too. So did everyone.

Vale glanced once toward Lena. "Now, Dr. Abbott."

Jack looked at your arm. At the wound. At the place where your hand disappeared into Mr. Mercer's side. Then back at your face.

"You listen to Sergeant Vale," he said.

You almost nodded. Caught yourself.

"Okay."

"You do exactly what he says."

"Okay."

"You do not improvise."

Your mouth trembled. "That's rich, coming from you."

For the first time since Vale arrived, Jack's mouth almost moved. Almost. Then it vanished.

"I'll be right outside."

You wanted to say that wasn't enough. You wanted to say it was too far.

Instead, you whispered, "I know."

Lena stepped closer to him.

"Jack," she said softly.

He did not move. She put one hand on his arm. Not yanking. Not forcing. Just contact. A reminder that he had a body and it needed to leave the room. Jack looked at her hand like he might argue with that too. Then he let her pull. Only Lena could have made it look like she wasn't dragging him. Only Jack could have made being dragged look like a tactical retreat. He stepped back once. Then again. Every inch looked carved out of him. At the doorway, he stopped. Vale's patience had clearly reached its edge, but he held. Jack turned his head. Not fully.

Just enough to look at you one more time. You held his gaze. There was so much in his face now that it hurt to see it. Fear. Fury. Helplessness. Something else too. Something neither of you had said, but which had been living between you so long it almost had a pulse. You did not say it. Not yet. Not with him there. Not when it might make him step back into the room. So you gave him the only thing you could. You kept your hand still. Jack saw. His face broke for half a second. Then Lena pulled him across the threshold.

The security officer closed the trauma bay door behind him. The sound was soft. Final. For a moment, Jack stood on the other side of the glass like he had forgotten how to exist there. Lena stayed beside him, her hand still wrapped around his forearm. Not because she could hold him if he truly decided to go back in. Because she would try. Behind him, the hallway was no longer The Pitt as you knew it. It was evacuation. Security. Police. Stretchers disappearing around corners.

Staff moving patients away from the room where you stood with your hand inside a man's body and the centre of the disaster under your palm. Jack did not look at any of it. He looked only at you. Vale stepped closer. Not blocking him completely. But enough that your world had to change shape.

"Okay," he said, voice calm in a different way than Jack's. "Now I can tell you what we're dealing with."

Your stomach turned cold. Outside the glass, Jack went utterly still. Vale set the hard case down with careful precision.

"Look at me," he said.

Can't wait to read the rest, read the entire story here now.

“Resuscitation efforts discontinued at 14:51,” Robby said and she felt like see had been been punched in chest. Kid loses always hit everyone hard. Especially a drowning. Y/N’s eyes locked with Robby’s as the mother of the lost girl screamed with grief. She just shook her head as she bolted from the room, not wanting anyone to see her tears. She always felt like so weak when she lost it after losing a patient. She had been a doctor for 10 years, it should affect her as much anymore. But the hard cases always got to her. 

“Caring does not make you weak,” She could hear her husbands voice in her head say as she reached for the necklace he gave her. “It makes you a better doctor.” 

She stumbled out to the ambulance bay, taking a deep breath. The cool air filled her lungs and she felt like she could breathe. She wiped some tears away as she pulled out her phone, pulling up Jack’s contact. She knew he would be waking up soon if he wasn’t already. They had a tradition of texting one another if something happened at work that upset them. Sometimes it was easier for Jack to write down his feelings than it was to speak them out loud. Y/N appreciated him sharing in whatever form made him feel the most comfortable. And Y/N always knew the best things to say to make him feel better.

“Just had a really rough case. Lost them. Just wanted to remind you that I love you more than anything in this world, and you make me incredibly happy.” 

“You have time for a call Doctor?” A text shot back and Y/N smiled as she hit call. 

“What are you doing up?” She laughed. 

“Ugh, you know I can’t sleep without you next to me.” Jack said groggily. “What’s going on Doll.” 

“It was a six year old kid, Jack. Drowned.” Y/N said her emotions coming to the surface again. “She was trying to save her little sister.” 

Jack remained silent just listening as Y/N explained everything they tried to do to save the girl. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry” 

“I just kept thinking, what if it was our baby lying on that table.” Her hand instinctively hovered over her stomach. Neither of them had told anyone yet, but Y/N was about 8 weeks pregnant. 

“Y/N, you can’t think like that. If you connect every lost kid to our baby, you are going to go insane.” 

“I know. It’s just hard.” Y/N sighed. 

“Well, just think, in a few more hours, you will be home with me, I will make us dinner, and then we can do whatever you want to take your mind off the day.” 

“Oh anything I want Doctor Abbott that sounds like you have something dirty in mind.” Suddenly Y/N felt something heavy and blunt against the base of her skull. 

In one ear she could hear Jack talking about all the things he wanted to do with her. In the other ear, she heard someone whisper. 

“Hang up the fucking phone. Now.” 

“Jack, honey, I have to go. I love you so fucking much.” She said and she quickly hung up, just as she heard Jack call her name questioningly. 

As soon as the phone was hung up and put in her pocket, Y/N felt an arm wrap around her chest pulled her roughly back as the barrel of a gun was placed against her temple. 

“Inside. Now.” The voice snapped as he started to drag her inside. 

Her mind was a blur as they came in through ambulance bay doors. She immediately saw the look of horror on everyones face as they came in. 

“Listen here!” The voice screamed. “I want to be treated fairly, I want to be seen by a doctor!” 

Y/N saw Robby come into main area and his eye went wide. 

“I need everyone to calm down.” Robby said with as much composer as he could, but in his head he was full on panicked. “Sir, I need you to let my resident go.” 

“No. Not until I am fucking seen. I have been waiting for hours and no one has seen me yet. It’s not fair. So I am going to get someone to help me, or so help me God I won’t hesitate to shoot her.” 

Ahmad took a step forward but the minute he did, the man cocked the gun and Y/N flinched. 

“Don’t you fucking move, you piece of shit, I’m not joking I will kill her. I need you all to take me seriously!” 

“Mr. Driscoll, we are taking you very seriously…” Robby said hands up his eyes looking over at Y/N’s scared form, trying to figure out some way to get her out of this. 

“Well then who is going to treat me!” Doug screamed as he swung the gun out at the rest of the group causing everyone to duck for cover. 

“I will!” Y/N screamed. “I will treat you! Just don’t point the gun at anyone else, just at me got it.” She negotiated and she could feel her phone buzzing in her pocket. Jack. Her heart broke, she hoped that by seeing this patient she could deescilate the situation. But she also knew that if he was going to these extremes, there was a higher than likely chance this could end in violence. 

“Y/N.” Robby said shaking his head.

“Listen Mr. Driscoll. I have been a doctor for 10 years. I am confident that I can get you the care you deserve.” 

“Finally, that’s all I’m asking. Was that so fucking hard!” Driscoll screamed. “Now,” He said as he started to drag her toward the empty room he could see. “If I so much as see a cop, things won’t end well for…” He leaned over to read her badge. “Dr. Abbott here. Is that clear?” 

“Mr. Driscoll, this is…” Robby started again but Driscoll quickly moved the gun to under Y/N’s chin shoving her face up so she was looking at the ceiling.

“I said is that fucking clear!” He screamed and Y/N could feel a tear roll down her cheek. 

“Crystal.” Robby snapped a look of pure rage in his eyes. 

Everyone watched in silence as Doug Driscoll dragged Y/N into one of the exam rooms and shut both doors. 

“Robby.” Dana said panicked. 

“We need to start moving all the other patients elsewhere for their safety. Also we need to…” He started but he could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. 

He pulled it out to see he had multiple missed texts and calls from Jack. 

“What’s going on with Y/N. She sounded weird when she hung up the phone.” 

“Robby, I’m worried about Y/N.” 

“Can you just let me know if she is tied up right now. She’s not answering me and I just want to make sure she is ok.” 

Robby sighed. He didn’t want to make this phone call, and he knew what the outcome would be, but he knew Jack deserved to know. 

“Is that Jack?” Dana asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“You want me to call him.” 

“No, I got this, go try to calm down the newbies. And let’s get everyone moving.” He sighed as he pulled out his phone, his eyes still fixed on the room Y/N was in. 

“Robby, brother, thanks for calling, Y/N sounded really weird on the phone and I swear to God  I heard another voice in the background I know it’s probably silly, but I got this gut feeling…” Abbott started. 

“Jack.” Robby cut him off and Jack instantly went silent. 

“What’s wrong?” Jack said fear filling him instantly. 

“There has been an incidence. A disgruntled patient and he…” Robby hesitated. 

“Is she ok?” Jack asked and Robby could hear the sound of rustling as he was sure Jack was starting to rush out the door. 

“She’s ok, but the patient brought in a gun. He currently is holding her hostage in one of the exam rooms.” 

“Fuck!” Jack screamed and Robby heard the sound of Jack’s truck peeling out of the driveway. 

“Jack if you are coming here I need you to remain calm and level headed ok. That’s the only way we are going to get Y/N out ok.” 

“I’m not going to remain calm! He’s got my girl Robby. And she…” Jack hesitated his voice catching in his throat. “Have you called the cops?” 

“Not yet, I need to get all the other patients somewhere safe, and I need to talk to Gloria. And he threatened to kill Y/N if he saw any cops.” 

“I’m on my way, please don’t call the cops until I get there. I’m only about 5 minutes out.” 

“Jack you live 15 minutes away how the fuck are you already…” 

“I really don’t give a shit about speed limits right now.” Jack screamed before he let out a loud sigh. “Micheal, I can’t lose her.” 

“Don’t think like that ok, we are no where near that point. This guy is just pissed off but I think once he gets what he needs I think he will be gone.” Robby tried to reassure. 

“She’s pregnant, we haven’t told anyone yet because it is still super early.” Jack said and Robby could hear him breaking. 

“Why are we not taking my truck again?” Jack yawned as he stretched out as much as he could in the cramped Prius. 

“Because someone decided to work a shift the day before we left for vacation, and is currently running on 2 hours of sleep.” Y/N laughed. “And you know that I don’t like driving the truck.” 

“You can put in a chest tube without blinking but you are still scared of driving a stick.” He laughed. 

“Will you just sleep, you are too sassy when you are sleep deprived and we will not survive the 3 hour drive if you keep acting like this.” 

“Fine! But I would be much more comfortable in my truck and not in your toy car.” He teased. 

“Jack, you forget I can murder you and make it look like an accident.” 

“You took an oath to do no harm Doctor.” 

“I think they would understand.” 

Jack smiled as he reached over and gently placed his hand on her check and she leaned into his touch. 

“I love you so much.” He said and her heart swelled. She and Jack had been together for over five years, but everyday she still felt so lucky to have him in her life. 

“I love you too you old grump.” She said as she turned to look at him taking him in. “Now sleep.” 

“As you wish” He teased quoting her favorite movie as he closed his eyes. 

Y/N giggled. 

She barely had turned back to look at the road, when she felt the impact of the car, and everything went black 

*******

Jack woke with a groan, every part of his body hurt. He had blood on the side of his head. 

“Y/N,” He grumbled as he tried to get his eyes to focus. All he could see was the shattered glass of the windshield. “Y/N” he said again, hoping for a response. He could feel the ever familiar sense of dread washing over him. “Please,” He whispered as he slowly turned to look at Y/N. 

His heart stopped as he saw her. Her side of the car was absolutely caved in there was shattered glass all over her lap and her face was covered in blood. And she didn’t look like she was moving or breathing.

“Y/N!” He screamed as he tried to reach over to her, but the seat belt locked him in place. “Fuck!” Quickly he reached down to his pants pocket to grab his pocket knife. Jack winched in pain as he could tell his wrist was fractured, but he pushed past the pain to cut through his seat belt and leaned over to check on Y/N. “Sweatheart, open your eyes for me.” He pleaded as he held out a shaking hand and felt for a pulse. 

“No,” He gasped when he didn’t feel one. “Y/N, don’t do this.” And in that moment he fully kicked into doctor mode. He quickly reached over and sliced through her seat belt, one hand supporting her head. “Y/N, come on, I need you to wake up.” The minute she was free Jack started to pull her out of the car. His whole body screamed with pain but he pushed it down knowing that Y/N needed him. 

The minute he got her out and laid down on the wet grass, he started compressions. 

“Come on Y/N.” He kept repeating. His wrist felt like it was on fire as he put all of his body weight into his hands for the compressions. 

“Is she alright?” A voice called. “I’ve called 911, they are on their way.” 

Jack didn’t respond, his whole focus was on getting Y/N’s heart pumping again. 

“The other driver barely has a scratch on him,” The bystander called. “He is loaded though, there are open cans of beer in his passenger seat.” 

Rage rushed over Jack as he looked up from giving rescue breaths. 

“What?” He growled. “He was drunk.” 

“Yeah the car reaks. Who the hell is getting drunk at 10am in the morning?” 

Jack’s whole body shook, and if the love of his life wasn’t hanging on by a thread, and his hands weren’t the only thing keeping her alive at that moment, he knew that he would be on top of that bastard ripping him to shreads. 

It felt like hours before he finally heard the sound of the sirens growing louder as they headed his way. 

“Do you hear that baby, the ambulance is on it’s way. We will be back to the Pitt soon, and Robby’s working today, he will fix everything.” He soothed mostly talking to himself trying to keep himself from spiraling. 

“Dr Abbott?” A voice said and he turned to see that he recognized the paramedics. 

“Y/N isn’t breathing and she currently doesn’t have a pulse, we need to keep going with compression and…” He started rambling a bit. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Don’t worry about me, we need to save her.” He snapped as one of them took over on compressions.

The exhaustion and pain was starting to catch up with him as they all loaded into the back of the ambulance. 

As he watched the parametric work on Y/N, Jack could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t survive it. 

Quickly he pulled out his phone, that miracuriously wasn’t damaged in the crash. He mindlessly called Robby his eyes never leaving Y/N’s pale form. 

“Brother, you haven’t even been gone from this place for a full 4 hours, what are you doing calling. I thought you and Y/N were heading up to the cabin this weekend.” Robby teased

“Robby,” Jack started his voice cracking. But he could hear the sound of the intercom calling in the incoming ambulance. 

“Listen I have to go we have…” Robby started. 

“It’s me, I’m coming in the ambulance.” Jack snapped. 

Robby froze. “What?” 

“Y/N and I got in a car wreck. Some drunk bastard hit us.” 

“Are you…” 

“I’m fine, but Robby, Y/N she’s… God… I had to do compression until the ambulance showed up, and she still not… I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

“We will be ready when you get here. Jack. We are going to do all we can.” Robby said but he felt like he was going to lose it. Jack and Y/N were the closet thing he had to family. And he knew that Jack worshiped the ground that Y/N walked on. He had never seen someone more devoted to another person in his whole life. And he also knew that Y/N was incredibly good for Jack. The change that Robby had seen in his friend since the two had been together was amazing. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they lost Y/N. 

It only took the ambulance around 10 minutes to get to Pittsburgh Truma Medical Center and as they rolled in Jack could see the entire team waiting for them. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are not ok.” Robby snapped watching as Jack limped in, covered in blood. 

“Robby, she needs you, please don’t worry about me. Y/N needs you.” He pleaded and Robby had never heard his friend sound so broken before. 

Robby nodded. “Dr Mohan will you take Dr Abbott to a room to check him over.” 

“No Robby I need to be with her I need…” 

“Jack you know you can’t. You are hurt. Please go with Samira.” 

Jack looked over at Y/N who was in trauma one already and was surrounded by people working on her. 

Jack just nodded as he limped behind Dr. Mohan following her as she brought him into room.

“I think I’ve got a fractured wrist.” He started as he hoisted himself onto the gurney wincing with pain. 

“You are limping pretty bad, does your leg hurt?’ Mohan asked. 

“My leg always hurts.” He snapped back, he know he shouldn’t take everything out on Mohan, she was just trying to help. But all he wanted was to be back next to Y/N. He needed to be useful in some capacity or he was going to lose his mind. 

“Does it hurt more than usual?” Mohan continued. She had only worked with Dr. Abbott a handful of times, but she knew enough that he got defensive and standoffish when he was stressed. Not that he wasn’t always standoffish. 

He sighed. “Yeah,” He reached down and started to take off his prosthetic. “I think my prosthetic pushed back into my leg in the crash.” When he pulled the prosthetic off he coud see that there was quite a bit of blood. “Fuck.” 

While Mohan worked on Dr. Abbott, Robby was working on Y/N. She had broken ribs, and some internal bleeding from the wreck as well as a shattered femur. 

“I think she has a collapsed lung.” Langdon said. 

“Fuck,” Robby sighed. “Is Garcia on her way down?” 

“She’s stuck in surgery, she said she will get down as soon as she can.”

“I don’t know how long Y/N has to wait.” 

“I know boss, I’m going to put in a chest tube, give her the best chance. Have you checked in on Abbott?” 

“Mohan is with him.” Robby said and he didn’t know if he could face his friend again without having any good news to share. 

“He’s probably losing his mind, I know I would be if this was Abby.” Langdon said his voice cracking. Every doctor’s worst nightmare is their own loved ones coming in and their inability to help them. 

“Robby,” Dana said popping into the room. “They just brought in the other driver. .350 blood alcohol, small lacerations on his arms from the air bag, but that’s it.” 

“Fuck,” Robby sighed. “Do not let Abbott know he’s here, and we need to stick security outside his room, I’m sure the police will want to talk to him.” 

“How is she?” 

Robby just shook his head as he ran his hands over his face. “It’s touch and go, she needs surgery but everyone is tide up. I don’t know what he is going to do if we lose her.” 

“Hey, don’t think like that, not yet. That girl is a fighter, lord knows she has to be in order to put up with Jack.” Dana said and Robby cracked a smile. 

“Will you go check in on the other driver, if I go in there, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

“And you don’t think I won’t smother him with a pillow. That’s our girl in there.” Dana said seriously tears in her eyes. “I’ll send one of the med students. I’ll make it Santos, Lord knows that girl could frighten a nun.” 

“Robby!” Langdon yelled as he burst out of the trauma bay. “She’s coding.” 

“Shit,” Robby ran in. “What happened!” 

“We had her back and stable, but then she started seizing.” 

“God call Nuro, she most likely had some severe head trauma. And where the fuck is Garcia!” 

After being patched up and told that he needed to stay off his leg for a few days to allow it to heal, Abbott sat in his hospital room, running through scenerio after scenarios of all the injuries Y/N could have because of the crash. And he kept cursing himself for picking up a shift the day before. If he hadn’t he could have driven, and it would be him in that room not his girl. Y/N didn’t deserve this. Not after putting up with him for so long. He knew he could be an absolutely menace to live with. Some days he would come home from work and not want to utter a word to anyone. Other times, he needed to hold her as close to him as possible. She was he anchor. She kept him going. 

“Jack,” A voice said and his head snapped up to see Dana making her way in. 

“How is she, is she ok?” He rambled his eyes wild. 

“Robby is still working on her, so is Langdon.” She sighed as she walked up to his placing her hand on his back, as she rubbed circles. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’ve got a fracture wrist, but Dr Mohan’s got this temporary brace on, so it feels better, and my prosthetic cut into my leg, but she’s got that wrapped up as well. She wants me to get a head CT but I…” 

“I read your chart Jack, but how are you doing?” She asked looking into his eyes. 

“I…” And finally the flood gates broke. “I can’t lose her Dana.” He sobbed. 

“Oh darlin’” Dana wrapped her arms around him. 

“She’s my whole world, and I know I don’t deserve her, hell she deserves far better than me, but I can’t lose her not like this. It’s my fault. I took the shift last night, and Y/N didn’t want me to drive because I didn’t get much sleep. And she won’t drive the truck so we had to take her stupid fucking prius. It should be me Dana.” 

“Jack Abbott, don’t you dare talk like that.” Dana scolded. “That girl loves you so much. She would be so angry at you talking like this. And you know that the only person whose fault this is, is that drunk bastard who hit you.” 

Jack’s head snapped up and his eyes were filled with rage. 

“Is he here, did they bring that fucker here.” 

“Jack, you know I can’t tell you that.” 

“Y/N could die, and that fucker doesn’t even have a scratch on him.” 

“Jack,” Robby said as he walked in the room.

“Michael, how is she?” 

Robby’s jaw clenched as he pulled a chair closer so he could sit in front of his friend. 

“No, don’t do that. Just tell me.” Jack snapped. “Is she alive?” 

“She’s alive, but it’s not looking good Jack. She came in with a collapsed lung, internal bleeding, her left femur is shattered and we think she has a brain bleed.” 

Jack let out a shaking breath. He knew he should ask more questions, but he couldn’t form words. 

“She is going to head up to surgery, did you want to see her before she heads up.” Robby asked. 

“Yes.” He said as he reached for his prosthetic. 

“Jack, let me get you a wheel chair. Dr. Mohan said…” Dana started. 

“I’ll be fine.” He snapped as he stood up wincing slightly from the pain but he limped his way out into the hall and to trauma one. 

The minute he laid eyes on her, the seasoned trauma doctor froze. He had seen so many horrific injuries in his time both in the service and as a trauma doctor, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing Y/N lying there looking lifeless. Tubes running all around her and the intubation tube running down her throat. She was still covered in blood and bruises but Jack couldn’t help but think that she still looked absolutely stunning. 

“Are you ok?” Robby said laying his hand on Abbott’s back.

“No. I won’t be until I know she’s going to survive this.” Jack sighed as he walked into room and in just a few strides was by Y/N’s side her cold hand tightly in his grasp.

“Y/N, I’m here.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You are going to be just fine. You have to be. You cannot leave me. What happened to you taking care of me when I turn senile.” He tried to laugh but it sounded more like a sob. Behind him he could feel the eyes of all the med students and nurses staring at him. But he didn’t care. “You have to pull through. You fight, you fight harder than you have ever fought before. You are so fucking strong. You can beat this. Just come back to me.” 

“We are ready for her.” Garcia said quietly. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I love you so god damn much.” He kissed her forehead again. 

The minute Y/N was wheeled out of the room, Jack felt his knees buckle and he collapsed. Luckily Robby was waiting behind with a wheelchair. 

“Thank you for all you have done for her Robby. You gave her a fighting chance.” Jack said. 

“Don’t thank me, it was your quick work after the wreck that really saved her.” Robby said as he started to wheel Jack out. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore… I want to go home. Why won’t you let me leave.” A voice yelled across the Pitt. 

Jack looked up to see what was clearly a very drunk man argueing with Ahmad. 

“That’s him.” Jack growled and he was up before Robby even had a chance to stop him. 

“Jack don’t!” Robby screamed. “Ahmad stop him!” 

Ahmad quickly turned just in time to catch Jack as he he lunged for the guy. 

“It should be you up there getting surgery. You hear me you piece of shit! How is it that you walked away with a few scratches, and the greatest woman I have ever known might die!” He screamed. “I should kill you.” 

“Jack stop.” Robby said as he finally reached him grabbing him and pulling him back. 

“He did this Robby. He’s the reason Y/N could die.” 

“I know, I know Jack. The police are on their way.” 

“It’s not enough, it won’t be enough if she dies.” 

“I don’t even know who you are man.” The guy slurred and for a moment Robby thought about letting Jack have at him. But just in that moment two officers came in, ushering the drunk man back into his room to ask him questions. 

“If she dies Robby, I swear to God I will kill him.” Jack said as he started to stagger. Robby quickly ushered Dana to bring the wheelchair back over. 

“You will have to get in line. Everyone in this hospital has already called first dibs,” Robby said trying to lighten the mood. “Now, we need to get you up for a head CT.” 

“I do not need a CT, my head is fine I…” 

“At the very least humor me, I would like to know if your ego shows up on that CT since you got such a big head.” Robby teased and for the first time all morning, Jack cracked a small smile. 

***********

It was hours before any new came about Y/N. Everyone kept checking in on Jack, trying to make sure he was staying preoccupied. They found on head CT that he has a slight concussion, but nothing that was concerning. Robby would pop in and run through all the patients they had so far, he knew that Jack needed to work in some capacity other wise it would drive him insane. Dana popped by while things were slow and the two of them watched their favorite cooking show, the one they used to watched together when Abbott used to work day shift. Even Langdon popped by a few times. 

Jack had just closed his eyes to get some rest when Dana rushed in. 

“Jack,” She said tears in her eyes. 

His heart stopped. “Did I lose her.” He gasped. 

“No they said everything went really well, and she is showing improvement. They are relatively confident she is going to pull through.” 

His head slumped forward and he sobbed. It felt like the weight of the world he had been holding in, waiting for it to fully crush him was finally lifted off. 

“Oh Jack,” Dana said as she ran to him pulling him into her arms. 

“She’s ok,” He sobbed. “She’s going to be ok.” 

“They said you can come up and see her, they have moved her into a private room.” 

In an instant Jack was reaching for his prosthetic. 

“No, hey, listen here mister.” Dana snapped. “Robby has insisted the only way you are getting out of this ER is if you use the wheelchair. He told me I had permission to use the soft restraints if you refused.” 

“Who knew you were so kinky Dana.” Jack laughed. 

Dana let out a loud laugh, there is the pain in the ass Dr. Abbott I know.” She smiled as she helped him into the chair. As they headed out Dana called out. “Princess your in charge until I get back.” 

Jack felt like his whole body was vibrating. All he wanted to do was see her. 

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Dana rolled him into her room and he laid eyes on her again, and he let out a loud sigh. 

She still was covered in wires and tubes and she still had the intubation tube down her throat, but her color was so much better. When he reached out for her hand it didn’t feel nearly as cold. 

“Hi baby,” He breathed and he pulled himself up so he could lean forward and kiss her forehead. “I’m here baby, you pulled through. I’m so proud of you.” 

Against all of the hospital prodocals, Robby pulled some strings and had another hospital bed added to Y/N’s room. He knew there was no way Jack was going to leave that hospital without Y/N by his side, and although Jack swore up and down he could just sleep on the couch, Robby wasn’t about to let one of the best Trauma Doctors throw his back out. 

He never left Y/N’s side the whole time she was out. And every day the doctors came back with good news. By day 3 they were able to pull the intubation tube out, just leaving her with cannula.

Jack was doing laps around the room, trying to get the strength back to his leg after being off it for a few days, when he noticed Y/N shift. Instantly he was by her side again holder her hand tightly. 

“Baby, Y/N, can you hear me.” He pleaded desperate to see her eyes open. 

Slowly Y/N’s eyes cracked open and she winced from the pain of the bright lights. She could feel the pressure of someone holding her hand as she looked to see it was Jack. The minute she saw him and saw the stitches on his head, she remember the car wreck. 

“Are you ok?” She asked looking him up and down. Her voice was rough and horse, and it hurt to talk. 

Jack smiled sadly tears in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you are the one laid up in a hospital bed, you shouldn’t be asking me if I’m alright.” 

“Car crash I…” She said trying to remember anything, but all she remember was Jack telling her he loved her and then the loud crash and darkenss. 

“Some drunk asshole hit us, don’t worry I have already talked to the police, that fucker is going to do some hard time.” Jack said and she could see the rage in his eyes. Carefully she lifted her hand up to place it on his cheek. “I thought I was going to lose you Y/N. You weren’t breathing when I pulled you out of the car. I couldn’t find a pulse. I… I have never been more terrified in my entire life.” He said as he leaned forward placing his forehead on hers. “You can’t ever leave me baby. I need you more than I could possible explain.” 

They stayed like this for a while, Jack finding comfort in the sound of her labored breathing. 

“Well, I don’t have a ride anymore, so I wouldn’t be able to leave even if I wanted to.” She teased. “Guess you are going to have to teach me how to drive the truck.” 

Jack laughed as he leaned down to kiss her.

The aftermath of Pittfest hit you hard. Never in your life had you imagined you’d find yourself in that scenario. The screams of the wounded, the smell of metal as blood poured from gunshot wounds and pooled at your feet, and then silence. When you walked out of The Pitt that night into a world that kept on spinning, it felt like a punch in the gut. The air was cool and crisp yet you struggled to take a breath. Before you knew it, your head was in the nearest trash can, Jack holding your hair and rubbing your back in soft circles.

“I got you. You’re safe.” Your husband assured you as your stomach revolted against you. Jack had been to war. He had seen the carnage on the battlefield, the worst man had to offer. Hell, his own caravan had be hit by an IED leaving him with a prosthetic. To him- tonight, this was nothing more than a Friday. But to you… well that didn’t happen here. That didn’t happen in Pittsburgh. Not the place you loved. Not the place you want to raise a family.

The drive home was quiet. Jack turned his police scanner off when you jumped at sound of radio chatter. The sound of his truck engine was drowned out by constant ringing in your ear. Jack glanced over at you, to find you almost shell shocked. Your eyes were wide but glazed over, your hands trembled in your lap, and his heart was breaking at the mere sight of you. He kept quiet though, knowing you weren’t in any frame of mind to discuss anything beyond who would shower first- which he already decided would be you.

He helped you out of the truck, stopped you before shutting the door.

“I love you.” He grabbed your arm, giving a squeeze. You didn’t answer. Not that you didn’t reciprocate those feelings, but you didn’t exactly know what you felt in the moment. You were completely numb, and he didn’t take it personally. You walked up the sidewalk into the house you two had just bought not long ago. The walls were still bare and it lacked the warmth you planned to give it. The place felt sterile, just like the hospital you just wanted to escape from.

He ran your shower without saying a word and helped you undress from your bloody scrubs. For the first time, he undressed you in a way that wasn’t sexual. There was no hunger. There was no desire. Just gentle precision and care. As you showered he brewed you a cup of tea and laid out some pajamas on the bed. He picked out one of his old Army t-shirts, the one you love to wear because you say it smells like him- no matter how many times it’s washed.

You two laid together that night. The adrenaline still high. The gravity and weight of the situation still not totally hitting you. You couldn’t cry, as much as you wanted to. He kept his arm wrapped around you, resting his hand on your hip. “I love you.” He told you again. This time you answered.

“I love you too, Jack.”

The weeks that followed were tumultuous. You took the role that once belonged to Jack and found yourself waking up each night in a panicked frenzy. Each night Jack talking you down from your own head and lulled you back to sleep. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were sunken and grey, just like the walls of your home that still remained bare. Jack tried to his best to bring you back to life again.

“We should hang one of our wedding photos above that fireplace.” He suggested one morning after coming home from a long shift. You had taken time off from work. You didn’t have it in you to go back. He hates leaving you alone, but you didn’t let him take time off, knowing he’d go stir crazy at home.

“Yeah that would be nice.” You replied solemnly on your already third cup of coffee. The nights Jack was gone were the hardest. Waking up to find his spot in bed empty, it was impossible to fall back asleep.

———————————————————————

When Jack came home one morning to find a picture hanging in the kitchen, he smiled. It was small, just some watercolor painting of fruit, but it was you.

He looked for signs. He tried pulling you out of your slump. He suggested morning walks together, no matter how grueling of a shift he just had. No matter how badly he wanted to take off his prosthetic and put his leg up. He'd watch you, the way the morning sun illuminated your face.

It started subtly.

"Those flowers are pretty," you pointed to an azalea bush on one of your neighbors gardens, "I always like azaleas. It's a shame, our house gets too much sun. They need shade."

"Since when did you know anything about gardening?" Jack asked, raising his brow. You always had a little hobby on your nightstand to calm your mind, one month was crossword puzzles, another was knitting needles, but you never mentioned you had any interest in gardening.

"I always liked gardening. I just takes a lot of time I dont have. My grandfather had a huge vegetable garden I used to help him tend to." you shrugged and started listing off flowers you loved. Dalias, poppies, peonies, hydrangeas, ranunculus, allium, geranium, petunias, portulaca. The list went on and on as you told him about all the different flowers. It was all foreign language to him, he had a better understanding of Latin than whatever you were going on about. But it was the first time in weeks he saw a spark in your eyes again.

Next he found your laptop left open on the bed as you showered. You had beens scrolling Pinterest, looking at different gardens and green houses. He smiled and snapped a few photos of the screen with his phone before climbing into bed to get a few hours before his shift.

When he came home the next morning he came holding a little bouquet of flowers. You were already up, making him some breakfast.

"Hi Ja- what are these?" your eyes instantly lit up at bouquet in his hands.

"I stopped and got these on my way home, you said you like pee pees or whatever these are called." he kissed your cheek.

"Peonies Jack. Peonies." you belly laughed and kissed him back. "And they're beautiful. Thank you, baby." you interlaced your fingers for a moment as you admired the flowers. "Now go shower, you stink."

When Jack came back to the kitchen no longer smelling of urine and other bodily fluids, he sat down at the table.

"I booked a trip."

"What?" you asked him inquisitively. "Where are we going?"

"Not we, you. I booked you a few days at The Lodge at Woodloch. Its a bit of a drive but they have some spas, horseback riding, hiking, and lots of gardening classes. We were slow last night and I had time to look at everything. You leave tomorrow."

Your mouth hung open and your stomach churned. What was it you were feeling? Could that have been excitement? You wanted to argue but he seemed so happy. Plus, he had been putting so much time in lately to make you feel yourself again- you figured maybe he needed a break too. You agreed and began to pack until you looked at the price, $1,200 a night? You didnt care he was sleeping soundly, you barged into the bedroom and flipped the light on.

"Jack, have you lost your mind?" he shot up dazed and confused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light.

"What? What happened?" he said in a tired panic.

"The price of this fucking hotel, are you insane? $1,200?" you both were pretty modest with your money despite living more than comfortably on two doctors salaries. You both preferred to save your money, plus you two were always too busy to spend it anyway.

"Baby, just let me do something nice for you. We have the money. Now can I go back to bed?"

"No, you cant." you argued, sitting at the edge of the bed, "I cant believe you would spend that much money without talking to me first."

"That would defeat the purpose of a surprise." he glanced over at the clock, 12:03 pm. He had only been asleep for about 2 hours.

"Jack..."

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up towards his chest. He buried his nose into your hair, smelling your rose scented shampoo. "Baby... you deserve this. I wanted to do this for you. I just want you to be happy." He rested his head against the headboard, his eyes fighting to stay awake. "Plus its nonrefundable. Now can I go back to sleep?"

You looked his face. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his skin was slightly pale. Brushing your hand along his cheek you kissed him tenderly.

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"And yet I remember you accepting my engagement before I could even get down on one knee."

"Because I love you."

"I love you. Now please. Enjoy yourself, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"Now will you get the fuck out so I can sleep?"

The next morning you kissed him goodbye and made your way towards your all inclusive resort. But that was just the start of the surprise, and where Jacks project had just begun. Remember those photos he took from your Pinterest board? He spent all his free time writing plans, researching all those strange flower names, the best dirt to use, how much sun the backyard got. With his plans in hand, he got to work. As you were in the middle of your massage, Jack spent the first of his many hours garage, cutting and staining wood. You were right, although the massage felt heavenly, no one knew your body as well as Jack.

You'd occasionally send him a text massage with photos of your trip. He opened his phone to a photo of the floral arrangement you made.

"I added some pee pees in there just for you." you sent with a winky face, making fun of the fact he can never remember the name Peony. It made him smile.

"It's beautiful. When you get home I'll have another pee pee for you."

Hours later his hands ached, covered in splinters but he did not stop. Another text message.

"Making infused oils with stuff from the farm. Made this garlic rosemary infused oil. Cant wait to cook something for you with it. <3"

"Sounds Delicious"

"Going Hiking"

"Be careful, text me when you're back. I love you."

A selfie of you with a horse

“Her name is Petunia.”

“Beautiful… you aren’t so bad either.” He was such a sarcastic little shit.

Your 5 days of pure bliss had come to an end and you pulled into the driveway to find Jack sitting on the porch, covered in dirt and sweat. You looked amazing. Your skin had a sun kissed glow from your time outside, eyes sparkling with a glint of hope, hope that you’ve begun to heal.

“What’s all this? Have you been working outside?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his sweaty frame.

“Just a bit.” He smirked. If only you knew. Only knew how many hours he had spent working while you were gone. His body ached, his arms felt like jello, but a part of him came back to life with you in his arms, kissing you. You smelled like pine and citrus. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” You lifted your head from his chest. He lead you through the house, covering your eyes and guiding you towards the back door.

“Okay… you can open your eyes”, you heard the latch of the door and your eyes shot open, your breath hitched in your throat. The backyard had been completely transformed into a gardening oasis. Beautiful raised garden beds with cobblestone paths between them. Two greenhouses stood in the corner with ample shelving and pots full of seeds. The smell of the flowers filled your nose as you took a step forward, your mouth hung open in complete disbelief.

“I uh… I was reading that marigolds help keep pests away from fruits and vegetables. I got some of those over here.” He pointed to some of the pallets of flowers that still needed to planted. The thought of him researching all of this for you, when you thought he didn’t care. When you thought he wasn’t really listening. That whole time he was taking notes, reading articles, and asking people at the store for help. The whole time he’s been working day in and day out building your own sanctuary. You looked at him, he was nervously rubbing his hand on his neck. But there was a sense of pride of his face. He liked working with his hands. He liked creating. He liked creating for you.

“Jack…” you whispered, your eyes were full of tears as you walked around and took in everything, trying to find the words. He didn’t miss or skimp on any detail, I guess being a doctor helps. He hung lights, he even built his own irrigation system.

“Do you like it?” He finally asked, your silence was deafening.

“Jack… yes…” you choked, your voice shaking. “I love it. I don’t know what else to say… I-I-…it’s perfect.”

He came up behind you, looping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re perfect. You’re my world. And you deserve the world. My little wildflower.”